Sancho: Mark Springer | Lilianne: Jennifer Oliver | Harp: Ozlem Simsek | Words: A. A. Walker
Sancho: Mark Springer | Harp: Ozlem Simsek | Words: A. A. Walker
Coming soon, a new chapbook…
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[pdf: The Present: Atrocious]
A cynic wastrel, mind numbed by terminal, spiteful, make-believe reason and the feckless, indeterminate Will-to-Truth, like a brain surgeon on a learning curve on a mobile spiral, invariably went and made the mistake of beginning in assuming that rationality of argumentation and ideology-mongering does, in the end, prove correct, if disagreeable or open to Criticism, properly speaking. It is preferable to mix the Absurd with the irrational, to blur the boundaries between this Jezebel replica of seamless timeliness many conjecture will stall the mountain of the previously held belief custom that is the steaming orifice of the world-view as it is promulgated by rationalist supervisors and documentary flimflams.
What language is this? (Read more… )
Lilliane’s new song poured from the hi-fi, bringing me to tears: “What Will We Be Burning?”. I was honoured to be inhabiting her lyrics. In one of her rooms where Sancho had fitted a black taxi cab, I read aloud one of my screenplays. She was so hyperactive and thin and muscular. Really elegant! Irresistible, despite our better judgement.
So, in the morning, we found ourselves displayed lewdly at the table, breaking our fast on one another’s bodies, and avocado and papaya and coconut. Once we were conjoined, we became very still in the fusion of pompoir. But, she called a sudden halt, panicking over what to wear for her appointment with a photographer she was already late for.
She showed me a warning she’d scrawled with a felt-tipped pen on her denim shirt sleeve cuff.
After many attempts at costume, she settled on a bright orange business suit, blue silk stockings and stilettos.
We met a photographer in a gallery and he talked about ‘creating an image, the capturing of a soul’s light’.
Later, we browsed through a record shop and Lilianne seemed to realise, ‘there’s no point in anything’. She was accosted by a supercilious music radio station host who recognised her from her last television show.
‘I’m more shy than I think I am.’
‘No, it’s the other way round.’
He didn’t need any persuasion.
© A. A. Walker
Whether or not it is an everyday observation, have you ever tried to do anything but decipher codes? You will perceive that here, where what is there, is in the making of the difference being made, but it is merely between the choice and the record, no more, no less.
Some time during my sojourn, I would regret it later but be obliged to play tribune to that part of human consciousness which is of its time [insert date] yet without a contemporary, which means to say for each of us it is in fashion. This thought occurred like a rapture pliant with foolscap devices, randomness, accounting, murmuring.
A sense of belonging concerns the definition of how desire takes place within a custom or saying, which at present is bearing a resemblance to literature. That is, to furnish knowledge going near, without or toward, relative to the images of the characters of the written word. In truth, not even the speech, and neither the thought!
But the written. (Read more… )