9 Jan 2008

From the Ebbw Vale shoreline, spying drunken boats on a topographic ocean, Phoenix Vaudeville, like some vapour christ, shunts in moderate fantasy violence; lending a flattened left-hand, but no thumb, to Decimal Cezanne and Old Mother L. Ron Hubbard. Visible t-shirt says ‘Meat and Potato Piet Mondrian’ (recto), ‘Born Deleuze’ (verso). English Continuous, current leader of the pack, makes VCS3 flatulence at E.P. Thompson’s grave, as free Marxist jainjazz; whilst dizzied documentorians and the usual urlocutioneers recite ‘…1 September 1651; Crusoe sailed from Hull…’, by way of explaining themselves to themselves. This forms a location. One of the latter group, Weddle C, is hippie-corporeal, and scribbles portmanteau prose with iodine ink, as prole polemic, as carbon copy, on paper made from prisoners of Zenda. This appears, and verbatim, as the b-side to a reissued, remastered, reworked version of the Wishbone Ash classic, Argos, with Stephen Smallfry narrating. All instruments have been removed, in favour of sharpened sticks; singing voices now cracked, electronic, circumcised. An apple - as a truncated appellation, free gift, and with no pun intended - hovers in the eve, in the Eve, as if by magic. Evil is detected, by spyware made from biodegradable, now-defunct philosophical systems, crossed-out by Keith Tyson, in a sponsorship deal worth hundreds. A geographical limit is reached at the same established location. Vaudeville, Cezanne, and Hubbard alight. Meanwhile, Pastorius and Wittgenstein are murdered, one after the other, again and again, over and over. Meanwhile, too, the newspaper industry decides to call it a day, in favour of a rocket to the moon, Eno Genome. Spidy Agguter makes arithmetic at the disco, swooning to the sounds of the incondite, eloining plainsong of ’Iceman vs. The Hulk’, by the funereal sixth Beatle, Paul McCarthy. Agguter, now visible, speaks in tongues, but caricaturedly so, to Dan Briscoe, who, meantime, tweaks and twiddles mysterious, scientistic objects on a new virtual version of Keith Rowe’s table-top guitar. This, as Aggutter and Briscoe both agree, has the added advantage of a nominal beatbox, from which Rowean flights can be systematised, numbered, and danced to. Agguter shuffles, Briscoe brainstorms, both twitch in time to songs like: A brick from Jackson’s balcony, a power heirloom in so being; a dead hen at Ipatiev House; Lovecraft at Gethsemane; cock in a frock; wrongers wronging, so strong, so opaque. Lux Pogo, shouting ‘…Kevin Eldon loves Youko Ahola…’, knows that, whatever love is, the one-eyed man is king and that the headline, Gallows on the Moon, belies Strobe Effects and two ontological collisions: Milligan:Antrobus and Heidegger gets the girl.

All the while, ‘under the spreading chestnut tree, I sold you and you sold me’.

Hello yellow brick road.



Robert said...

this is superb

so hard not to bite you sometimes, i swear

murmurists said...

Thanks Robert. Appreciate it. Bite away... I'm thinking; though I don't know what you precisely mean!

Robert said...



and you are one of about 15 writers on the web that i read religiously, and my writing does tend to reflect who im reading at the moment, so the fact of the matter is that i DO bite you

all the time

yesterday, i became aware that i was doing it, though :D

Aaron Held said...

your writing can not be read just once(along with everyone else on here) but there so much stuff mentioned it's hard to swallow all at first

Jaie said...

hey, i popped.

cocaine jesus said...

i have bitten of the M on many a time. not only tastes good but reguritates superbly as well.

kek-w said...

"Old Mother L. Ron Hubbard" - LOL!

murmurists said...

Oh, I see ...! Very flattered Robert. Thanks a lot.

Cheers Kek - nice to raise a chuckle.

Thanks all of you. Really appreciated.