I like laughing .... it's my favourite ....
......
THE RETURN OF THE GOTHIC FLOOZIE
Bowie - Heroes
........>
Music
..>
High Fidelity
That song will always remind her of you, dear.
The tape you made that day in the kitchen.
You put our music on a cassette for her.
I fused those words. I sang those songs
showed you my dance, the steps Id learned.
The music was playing in my head and you
could hear it too till you refrained,
took it as your own and gave it away.
In a box of tricks you tucked our tune
in a corner with a gag in its mouth, you
enlighten her with my love of music
filtering through the walls and mingling
with the surround-me sound of infidelity.
She tells her friends about you in her car
as the tape plays. Music is so heartless.
Deaf, blind and innocent, its just anybodys.
Movies
Little Black Dress
The little black dress wants to be worn by Audrey Hepburn in a movie
appear sweetly bedraggled after a paddle in the Tivoli fountain
to dry off on the back of a Lambretta,
arms wrapped round Johnny Depp a biker.
She wants to hang out on the balcony of their hotel room
having lain in a heap on the floor on the way to the bed.
She wants to add simple accessories at dinner
then fling herself wantonly off by the jacuzzi,
her diamante to glint blue in the eye of his pool
to be caught in flagrante delicto in a dry cleaners',
chastened by chemicals and polythene,
then smuggled back to her room and ripped open,
draped over the piano in all her loveliness.
She wants to dance slowly in the moonlight,
sway in the chantilly lace of the air,
grab Johnny in a haze of absinthe
lapache till dawn beneath a chandelier.
None of this joining the cortege:
no hymn books and handkerchiefs,
no earth-stained gloves or silence in a chair.
She wants to go to Tiffanys and stay there.
Television
......>
Heroes
....
My Favourite Spider from Mars,
in memory of Mick Ronson.
Hod-carrier in lurex, bleached-blond, feather-cut,
Mick Ronson leans back on his guitar
paces his wrist action amazing hand-job
as they whip Ziggys clothes off, revealing
kimonotastic thigh-boots in a flash of strobe.
Flexing his Les Paul, Ronson is working; the jangle
of his Gold Top drives the band; colours in columns
twitch on Bowies satin as he kneels and gets off
with everyone at once. Reach out to touch him
his face is an inch from Ronnos guitar, it being slung
on his hip, well-hung and played by Bowies tongue.
Red light caught on his retina red-eye, blue-skinned
purple in his glory he stands, fixed like chrome,
pearlised; lip-stick kiss. Mick submits to flirtation;
back-to-arched back, looks straight into the camera
making eye contact with a fourteen-year-old glitter-witch.
Shes crying because shes never going home with him
planet earth is blue and theres nothing she can do.
The fans sing-a-long:
Watch that man Oh Honey, Watch that man
Wrapped in fishnet and mohair I was undone.
Zips I couldnt reach he fastened for me.
The leather jacket Id never had - he wore.
Skinny bondage, shivering on speed,
see-through mac, pinned like our eyes;
we dyed our hair black to match.
We were punk peas in a pod.
Nihilism was a word we had to look up.
It was said we represented all it was.
We couldnt believe it! We denied everything!
Pale and moon kissed, our hair like clenched fists,
inhabiting dark nothingness, we were night birds,
neon-lit feral children in empty streets.
Born to be wired, we cross circuited the city.
The world owed us nothing. We laughed.
Lived anywhere. We were in the moment.
not compromising - much. Freedom is a luxury.
He was sweet-faced and complicated,
I was buried treasure, it was simple;
We meshed together like chain-mail.
Protest and survive! they cried - We lied.
I was a wind-up - an arch vamp.
Backed against a wall?
I wouldnt bat an eyelid.
I couldnt care less.
Id hail a cab and leave him there.
He wanted self-sufficiency, needing nobody.
I grew sick of him and his neediness.
He removed himself, disappeared.
I remained, elaborate and magnified.
The Mediterranean moon is huge in the sky.
Amazing moon, in sky, green as the glittering sea.
Not just anybodys sea This is my sea,
reinvented and more beautiful than any other.
Beyond words; the curve of its horizon is limitless.
You can sense it in the waves, or in the view
from Dylans boathouse. It is more beautiful even
than the sea Jesus walked on, or that Shelley drowned in;
deeper than the sea the sirens sang across, and darker
than the one the Titanic sucked into its belly; the one
that will rise and fall with the pull of the beautiful moon.
Not just anybodys moon This is my moon.
I remember a party at my house long, long ago.
The telescope was on the patio and you looked
through it, at the full moon, as I watched you.
I saw the moon in your eye. It fell in the green
of your eye and your gaze held it there in its entirety.
I knew then that I had no need of telescopes,
the wonder of the universe was right there
in your eyes and I searched your face for truth
and I found some therethat closeAnd this
is me saying that I recognised something in you
something more than moonlight. And that
this is not just anybodys love This is my love.
Hello Annie! Many thanks for the add! You may be interested to read my blog, Marie's Voice, about a child I met when I worked at Nazareth House in Bristol. Take care. Michelle
i'm starting a cult. it's called the cramps fetish night. non believers will not be tolerated. we hope and pray you will join us, for the love of ivy. x
lol Good point. Been there, done that once myself, so you're right, yes, probably not a good option. :/ It still looks like a good prenatal hangout anyway. :D Provided you can get back out of it.
Trick or Treat! Hope you had a great Halloween
What a pair!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Two PEAS in a POD! I'm voting for these guys!
Good-bye for now and may God bless.
Brian Hoffman - Red Skelton tribute artist.
x
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What a pair!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Two PEAS in a POD! I'm voting for these guys!
Good-bye for now and may God bless.
Brian Hoffman - Red Skelton tribute artist.
