OMG…I SLEPT WITH THE BASS PLAYER!

OMG…I SLEPT WITH THE BASS PLAYER!

Bass players are gross

Bass players give you a dose

They usually have long hair

And they’re always scratching down there

They just stand around looking dopey

And their voices are usually ropey

Then they pluck on them string…things

And the sound…omg…my head just whings

And then I look at the lead guitarist play

And I think, he can tickle my frets any old day

So to find myself waking up next to a bass-playing dope

Makes it kinda hard for a girl to cope

‘Cos nobody sleeps with the bass player innit?

Sod it, I’ll do the drummer in the next bed in a minute!

 

0n A Ruined Farm Near The ‘His Master’s Voice Gramophone Factory’ – Poem by George Orwell

My Writing Life

ON A RUINED FARM NEAR HIS MASTER’S VOICE GRAMOPHONE FACTORY    by George Orwell

As I stand at the lichened gate
With warring worlds on either hand —
To left the black and budless trees,
The empty sties, the barns that stand

Like tumbling skeletons — and to right
The factory-towers, white and clear
Like distant, glittering cities seen
From a ship’s rail — as I stand here,

I feel, and with a sharper pang,
My mortal sickness; how I give
My heart to weak and stuffless ghosts,
And with the living cannot live.

The acid smoke has soured the fields,
And browned the few and windworn flowers;
But there, where steel and concrete soar
In dizzy, geometric towers —

There, where the tapering cranes sweep round,
And great wheels turn, and trains roar by
Like strong, low-headed brutes of steel —
There is my world, my home; yet…

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CITY OF LIGHT

CITY OF LIGHT


A disused rail track in south Paris;
A dark tunnel;
Crawling, wading, through water
To a dank chamber with vaulted ceilings.
This is where the cataphiles meet;
Lovers of catacombs
And all things underneath.
The walls are covered with art
Awash with glow-in-the-dark paint,
Egyptian black-and-orange devil faces,
A multi-coloured parrot image.
One wall is encrusted with mirror shards
The centrepiece a glittering disco ball
The ghostly faces leering
Down the long subterranean hall
This is the City of Light
Where nobody sleeps at night
And where the remains of six million Parisians,
Transferred from Paris’ overflowing cemeteries
More than one hundred years ago,
Dwell.
Now artists prowl these same catacombs
Sometimes unseen
Ghostly in their movements
The spectre of real ghosts always in their slipstream. �3:1?�k

HOLOGRAMS UNITED

2 poems by Tom O’Brien

THE UNIVERSE AS A HOLOGRAM
I was happy as I am
Living in a hologram
Please don’t add to my confusion
Is my 3D space just an illusion?
Am I in mired in someone else’s dreams?
Well, fuck you buddy
Life just ain’t what it seems.

THE UNIVERSE AS A HOLOGRAM PART TWO
According to Einstein
Energy created the Universe.
I seem to have little of that these days
So my powers of creation are limited.
Should I try Vibrational Medicine?
Quantum Mechanics has the answers
Apparently.
Every cell, organ, arm and leg
Has an emergency frequency signature
Broadcasting whatever it needs
Moment by moment.
Now science is imitating nature
Creating a Holographic Universe
Where I can seemingly be in different locations
At the same time.
(a bit Doctor Who-ish, I know)
World-wide authentic native wisdom
Shares the sacred secret
In our understanding of the Quantum Hologram.
If it is not on the Quantum Hologram
It cannot manifest in the ‘real’ world
Quantum Hologram equals reality
And reality means
I am…
Something ��Z�