Please excuse Ernest Hemingway.

April 5, 2009 at 8:59 am | Posted in australian poetry, contemporary poetry, poetry, writing | 8 Comments
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It really wasn’t his fault. He spent far more time watching bulls behave sat next to the crazy Spanish sketcher hastily arranging. And not enough on practising his cleverness of tongue.

Caution, live thought, carelessly tossed aside in some Alessandrian swirl,
whilst some hare tutted over words we were not qualified to use
and Bauer, the clever bastard, how I miss him.

energy passes through the complete unreliability
of memory ancient desire arises and it is difficult to
concentrate when crickets line up to the rhythm
of some monk’s left hand in this forest
in which we land, my dear.

sunonhead learning, hmm,

the keith jarrett riff,

August 1, 2008 at 6:58 pm | Posted in genre isn't dead yet but it should be, music | 10 Comments
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hey, you gotta have a hand jive
bootsy said if we’re going again,
count those silly bubbles,
pop pop pop
deep below some ancient carp is
singing some wild and thrubbing song
and sunonhead is drifting off,
he hopes his work is surely done

hey, Squires he says jangling the keys,
home time frog jumps in beer oclock,
ding ding, Shanghai, we’re here
wake up, says F, slamming his glass down on the piano, jesus man the parties just begun, i tell you you play great but I ain’t hiring you, goddamn junkie dead and done,

he turns from the obvious mirror in which his reflection can’t be seen,
i remember the days, sir ian, in wonderful suits of grey,
pluperfect in green felt hat,
some whiskery comedian,
some less outrageous Monk,

somebodyelse’s fault,

April 9, 2008 at 7:31 pm | Posted in music, poetry, prosepoemthingy, writing | 9 Comments
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beautiful big fat Hammond organ with rotating speakers driven by literal electric motors not some adolescent electronic warble, the bass drum you know is actually kicked in,
even Mamu on bass would flirt with a halfsmile as his huge hands conjure that thrum
somewhere between the resonance of the drum and the mad right hand doodlings
of some manicstrange and loopy cat, is that Monk’s mad hat and shuffle?
Ray Manzarek, perhaps, and when the still sea conspires in armour,

yayayaya, Monk does his dance in this clip, (when the still sea…is a quote from a Doors thingy)
now, where is she,

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