September 3, 2019

you hold me close
a little thorn in your side
nearer to you than your own
do you understand me
this bare woman
beside you
we are rumpled versions of ourselves

Regina C. J. Green


September 3, 2019

The worst thing about wars is that they reduce the enemy to a single characteristic. The country ceases to be history, language, architecture, theatre, gardens, and legends;  a heritage of love stories, philosophy and science; shared ancestral dreams and uncountable varieties of human striving along the roads of the universe. Instead, everything becomes a mere label, blot, field of battle. This is what war has done to the names Palestine, Vietnam, Lebanon, Bosnia, Kosovo, Afghanistan, and Iraq. These are no longer multifaceted countries and their names are mentioned in news bulletins not as such but as ‘fields’ – fields from which the numbers of the dead and wounded are garnered daily like the output of a canned goods factory.  The whole of history is now  ‘today’  and today has become a reduction of every ‘yesterday’ that has passed over the face of this earth, a reduction of all history. As though al-Mutanabbi had never walked the markets of al-Kufa hugging himself with joy at a nation that would be singing his verses for a thousand years.  As though the Abbasids had never built their libraries on the banks of the Tigris and Abu Nuwas never maintained his pinnacle of shamelessness and flagrant sexual indulgence through to the pinnacle of day,  after first exhausting the night with poetry and lovely depravities that spared neither male nor female. As though al-Hallaj had never been crucified defending what he had seen with the eye of the imagination and the eye of the mind. As though Hammurabi had never written his code on tablets of burnt clay before Coca-Cola and McDonald’s had been transformed into a religion for all mankind, while Gilgamesh,  who achieved immortality but not finding the plant of immortality on the steppes of his everlasting legend, is treated as though he were not of the land of Iraq. Bush and Rumsfeld reduced all of this to the word ‘enemy.’

Mourid Barghouti
I Was Born There, I Was Born Here

methane dress

September 3, 2019

remedy advance
omniscient pavement

sickly uniform
exchange headstone

thump cyclone
adulterate unit

fleetingly diagnostic
especially fracking

whenever ancestor
buck room

secrete muscle
generation stains

distance basket
bouncing courtesy

proxy hernia
rainbow cursor

faux radio
welt crash

warring fractions
upholstery elite

special synthesis
favorite contempt

classic stranger
sorting award

plastic hallway
troubled fume

smoking typology
album drone

conclusive cards
laughing privilege

unexpressive net
crushing filaments

window justice
handheld sigh

irrelevant hazard
uninterrupted sleeve

indelicate pool
enjambed vista

vintage prong
non-normative feeling

stuck in impossible buildings

dizzy elegance
in a binary diagram

the bedsheet wind
is deafening

imaginary portraits in
sedated reflection

brittle flags for
vinegary excuses

pulse friendly a
buffed environment

scripted bodies
boycott levers

oversized facial
for bandaged perfume

casual stooges
lift up slime

sentimental abandonment
of polite zeroes

platform veneer
wears methane dress

Jane Joritz-Nakagawa

Suggested hobby

September 3, 2019

Everyone should have a hobby, boys & girls, something to take your mind of everyday cares and woes. Could I suggest you take up flashing? You can do it anywhere, anytime, and at any age; also you don’t need expensive equipment etc, which is another big plus.


September 3, 2019

When they tell you, ‘moderation in all things’, I assume they mean reality also?

The darkness inside

September 3, 2019

Oh, yes, we must accept it. The darkness inside. We must live with it and learn from it and recognise it in others. If we can’t love the darkness inside ourselves, then how the hell can we love the darkness in another? For truth to tell, boys & girls, there is darkness in all of us –