POETRYTHURSDAY±3

SHOOTING 'UFO WOMAN'
by Patience Agbabi

Action! Alien with Day-Glo afro
(wig) and eyes (lens) like stained-glass window,
mount silver stairs, float down to eart
(down-escalator Canary Wharf),
make earthling (hardcore dealer) pause en route
to admire strange skin (ogle PVC spacesuit).

Alien would conquer world
from business epicenter, with S-Curl

but the lens regressed to sand, attacked my eye
and blaxploitation sci-fi
turned film noir.
I left the dark glasses,
in a black cab like Metamorphosis,
each streetlight burning in my vision
how fact (I could be blind for life) shot fiction.

Trying to make a conscious decision to choose poems that aren't about sex. Why are all the good poems about sex? Dammit...


Hope you like it!

ITSJUSTONETHINGTHATSGOTMETRIPPING

100th post!

One thing I'm sorry about:
Being such a crap blogger of late. I'm sorry. I went back to college & suddenly had all this work to do that I actually enjoy & wanted to do! & I've been watching football & doing this:



One thing I can't stop thinking over:
There was this guy who came up to me when I was walking with my friend and said, "I thought you were cute so I told myself to come and say hi". My friend walked off embarrassed, but I humored him, said thank you when he said he liked my boots. Then he said, "Maybe I shouldn't pay you too many compliments, you might get a big head, yeah I don't like your shirt, it's a bit plain". I replied again and it carried on to the traffic lights where he said "I wanted you to be meaner". At this point my friend bolted so I went after her and we took a detour so we didn't have to carry on down Park Street with him. That's stuck in my head though, "I wanted you to be meaner", as if I was a cartoon character he'd seen in the street and thought up a personality for, as if I walk around looking like a pissed off, mean slutty dickwad who just loves talking to strangers about how they plan to play computer games all day. Don't get me wrong, I do like talking to strangers, but it was just that phrase. "I wanted you to be meaner." Just because I dress a certain way doesn't make me your fantasy. If you don't want to break it, don't talk to it.



One thing I'm considering:
Whether to delve into my sexual/relationship past for an art project. So we're doing 7 deadly sins & I want to concentrate on lust so I can do my whole feminist shizzle next year. But my art teacher (who I've only had about a week) started asking me all these personal questions about my opinions on stuff & I don't know... I'm quite vocal about these things usually but there's something about putting it down in my art coursework that makes it different you know?

One thing I'm proud of:
Seeing this embroidery project through. I've been embroidering helvetica fonted words of phrases that I've said or people have said to me, as a sort of therapy/ artistic outlet/ fun! Here's a sneaky peek of a tip my friend gave about picking up girls:




One thing that pissed me off:
A guy trying to ram his car past (& into) mine, when the road hadn't split into 2 lanes yet. I was moved over for the bus lane & when I felt him hit me & turned to look at him to say "what the fuck are you doing? That's not how this driving thing works" he looked at me as if I was in the wrong & then sped off as soon as we moved an inch forward. What is it about driving that brings out the worst aspects of people & humanity in general?



One thing I need to do:
Make a proper start on the next issue of SWEAT. I've already got some wonderful interviews down but I'm on the hunt for some art! If you want to contribute e-mail: sweat.zine@gmail.com




Now I tag all of you who read this post (& can be bothered) to answer the same 6 questions
1 thing you're sorry about
1 thing you can't stop thinking over
1 thing you're considering
1 thing you're proud of
1 thing that's pissed you off
& 1 thing that you need to do

GO!

(Quote from Angela Carter's The Company of Wolves)

POETRYTHURSDAY±2

If Love Was Jazz
by Linda France

If love was jazz,
I'd be dazzled
By its razzmatazz.

If love was a sax
I'd melt in its brassy flame
Like Wax.

If love was a guitar,
I'd pluck its six strings,
Eight to the bar.

If love was a trombone,
I'd feel it's slow
Slide, right down my backbone.

If love was a drum,
I'd be caught in its snare,
Kept under it's thumb.

If love was a trumpet,
I'd blow it.

If love was jazz,
I'd sing it's praises,
Like Larkin has.

But love isn't jazz.
It's an organ recital.
Eminently worthy,
Not nearly as vital.

If love was jazz,
I'd always want more.
I'd be a regular
On that smokey dance-floor.

Photos: weheartit// flickr

YOUMUSTHAVEDONETHISALLYOURLIFE.CARRYON.

Elodie Bouchez & Natacha Regnier in La Vie revee des anges or The Dreamlife of Angels. It's a lovely, odd film about friendship & boys & France! I can't wait to go to Paris...

Hello to all the new followers! 70 is a big number. 70% of something would be a hell of a lot. So thank you, I may not be the best of bloggers & my posts may vary A LOT in quality but I love this blog & the people I've met through it & it sounds cheesy but something a girl just needs to click 'New Post' & feel like she's creating something all of her own? Does that sound preachy? Eugh. Anyway...

I'm feeling so inspired that I don't know where to begin.

Do you know what I mean?

POETRYTHURSDAY±1

I love love poetry.
& I love love Thursdays.

So I introduce to you, fair readers, Poetry Thursday. To try & force myself to look out for/ research/ find new poets & poetry I will try & post a poem every Thursday, from now until I get bored of this.

The first poet is one of my all time favorites:
Roger McGough

I have posted one of his poems before. But this one is a new personal favorite from a volume I saw at work & bought, but didn't read until Mr Jay picked it out on my floor a few weeks ago.



The Act of Love

The act of love lies somewhere
Between the belly and the mind
I lost the love sometime ago
Now I've only the act to grind.

Brought her home from a party
Don't bother swapping names
Identities not needed
When your only playing games

High on bedroom darkness
As we endure the pantomime
Ships that go bang in the night
Run aground on the sands of time

Saved in the nick of dawn
It's cornflakes and then goodbyes
Another notch on the headboard
Another day wondering why

The act of love lies somewhere
Between the belly and the mind
I lost the love sometime ago
Now I've only the act to grind.


Photos: Lauryn Holmquist


Do you likey?

WOULDYOURISKITFORACHOCOLATEBISCUIT

Robert Clergerie is God.
Robert Clergerie is God.

//link//

(quote from Slaughterhouse 5. read it, it's amazing.)