(untitled 1)

We'll drive to the furthest end of the country
write the greatest story ever imagined
we'll sit reading it together and when we're done
we'll tear up the pages and throw them to a fire

50 Pearls of WisDom #24

This self portrait (above) is taken from Takashi Murakami's latest exhibition "EGO" at the Museum of Islamic Art in Qatar, his 20 foot tall inflatable likeness struck me as cool. Murakami's aim is to create an exhibition which is "a dialogue with one's own ego." as he fights to create his own fictional universe in response to the current information overload. But what is cool? 

Cool is but an image in the water, a reflection of you! 

Pickin' Up Poop (P.U.P)

"Just for a laff."

The Diamond Queen

Don't Bite the Apple Eve

I've come to believe we never truly love someone else, but we instead love what we see of ourselves in others. Which goes some way to explaining our bond with our often defunct family members as well as that pleasant sensation experienced when strong feelings are felt for someone outside of it. But we have all descended from very few and I figure by this age all of those few reside in all of us too. If the bible is to be believed (and it’s my belief that it taste better with a pinch of salt) we came from just two. So I guess Adam and Eve are love and hate combined, to make you. 

Autumnal Discomfort

The crispy leaves crackle like a bon fire under my walking boots. What's this I've stepped upon? A glimmer of gold pokes out through the rustic leaves. I use my foot to unveil what looks like a large coin or a ring but it’s lodged in the turf it seems, realising I’ve no longer a desire for either I leave it be. There was a time once not so long ago, when the pursuit of those objects ruled my decision making, the desire for the sound of ringing wedding bells or cash registers occupied my thoughts and the acquisition of one seemed entirely dependent on the gratification of the other. A flash frame of déjà vu whizzes past. A branch of a thorn bush twisting and stretching upwards snake like clings to the side of my corduroy trouser leg, for now this is my only enemy, I shake it off. The setting glow of orange mass paints a dash of red life over the backs of my hands, as it tends to this time of year, the glow adds a rosy tint to everything at ground level, the clouds partly obstruct its glory, regardless it won't be forgotten, perhaps in an hour from now it will leave the sky but it promises to return. However what of me? The sun returns, the world turns. What of me? North York is a long way from home, what reason brings me here? I ask myself though I already know the answer, for it’s the same reasoning that brings any of us anywhere, that has any man wandering for miles, trudging through the moors and marshes to arrive alone in the countryside. I close my eyes for a heartbeat and try to imagine the colourful scale of a rainbow gracing the hills of these villages, what delight that must bring to the inhabitants. I’m sure they must get plenty of rain here and that must occasionally be accompanied by a fare share of sunbeams, yet I can’t picture such a spectrum across these villages. I see before me upon a hill a church buried amongst the near bare trees, yet I know there are no houses for some distance. It’s almost as though religion is trying to hide out here with nature. 'Why do you try to hide religion?' I ask, as usual it gives no answer. ‘How typical’ I think, the waving trees rock back and forth in the wind.

Take a minute IV

The Summer of My Discontent

I pictured my annus mirabilis

But the fire was quickly stoked

As the only plan you can plan on

Is the plan to be broke

The sun had risen and the world was sweet

Just 21 and my knowledge complete

Time has no 2nds in education

And the only thirst is for information

So this piece of paper

I thought was the key

A carrot on a string of a donkey

I dissect my character

Piece by piece

I chase the shadows

and chase the Geese

I rest in noise

and live in peace

I become ashamed of how I cease

Banking on my relatives, empty as a glove

But what I'm withdrawing isn’t sterling its love

I cannot cook their meals

and I cannot pay their rent

This just the 1^st stanza of a Sumer of Discontent

In the streets my beef with the earth grows

What can I teach them?

What do they know?

Does DNA run through their bones?

If you cut them are they clones?

I'm not the hunter

But I'm not the fox

And you can't put me in a box!

This is the way I'd like to be

Indefinable D, a mystery

Martyred and confined to history

I aint the pod but the pea that’s free

So when you live your lives like yesterday

Do you see tomorrow?

When you pierce me in my chest

Is it my soul you aim to borrow?

A face that was once flawless

Has now become so creased

I used to be hear the preacher and now I am the priest

But I can’t find a channel somewhere my fears can vent

This fact marks the daze of a Summer of Discontent

The Top of the hill I saw at last

The tree led me up the garden path

The prettiest pear

My apple toots

For the sweetest is forbidden fruit

I scratch my head

I can't believe

The forbidden fruit is actually Eve

So just once I stand above you

But I'm still not quite on top

Jack and Jill roll down the hill

And Dom is left to plot

Plant the seeds of destruction

Then leave without a trace

I don't know where you are

But what you are is a disgrace

Even though you hurt me, I'd do it all again

'cos every bruise you’ve given me is power to the pen

It's silly now I look at it

A man-eater has to eat

If love is constipation

Then this is my excrete

I summed up this summer

A summer that came and went

And in summary indeed it was the sum of my discontent

Domi Walker (Age 21)

A question that doesn't expect a response.

What is a rhetorical question?

What!?! Is a rhetorical question.

What is? A rhetorical question.

Garrett Morgan

The inventor of the traffic light was African

Now you may think that's obscene

But if you read the signs between the lines

You'll see: Red, Gold and Green

11/11/11

50 Pearls of WisDom #23

"Power tends to corrupt and absolute power corrupts absolutely." - Lord Acton

Pam Hogg

Below is a bit I wrote about my favourite designer Pam Hogg for a job interview with Lisa Maffia from So Solid Crew:
Pam Hogg Spring Summer 2012 Paris

My favourite fashion designer at the moment is Pam Hogg, whose outfits have been worn by prestigious celebrity trend setters such as; Rhianna, Kylie Minogoue, Lady Gaga, Daisy Lowe and to a far lesser extent Peaches Geldof. The style of Hogg’s collection is futuristic yet elegant; Hogg has clearly taken some inspiration from the jump-suits of Science-Fiction programmes like Star Trek and Space 1999 at the same time the outfits remain sexy and sophisticated. For the more formal pieces Hogg combines sheer fabrics with denser materials such as leather or velour and for her more casual catsuits she opts for lycra or spandex, while realistically these might work up a sweat in day to day chores they look fantastic on stages and runways. What makes the designs work so well is the contrast of the new-age fabrics and the traditional cuts, Hogg pieces often accentuate the shoulders, it’s somewhere between punk and couture. I was fortunate to have the opportunity to see her London fashion week show at On|Off I was completely blown away, as well as brilliant outfits she also knows how to put on a great show with exuberant head wear and harsh make-up. It was her second appearance at On|Off fashion week (which is designed to bring attention to up and coming designers), with the buzz surrounding her work now it seems Pam Hogg will soon have to find a bigger stage as everyone who's anyone clamours for her outfits. Her designs go some way to bridging the gap between how I once imagined the fashion of 2010 would look and reality.

The pain of the painter

Must every picture I paint be her portrait?

Am I not supposed to see any beauty in the world?

Can she not see her selfish jealous heart

could be the ruin of my art if she had her way?

And I, who would never stray

Not for the love of a thousand: Helens, Venus' or Aphrodites

No, what I don’t want could never tempt me

When there is an ounce of her in all my pots

So each stroke still shows some semblance

Show me that woman who would even envy a landscape

I will show you the girl trapped

Because it makes no sense that someone with your attributes

That the earth cries its dew in awe

and the sunflowers turn their heads for

should begrudge my subjects of such ugliness

Yet when you’re in the picture no one else is in the frame

Leave me? Halve me

Well that won’t do

Take a seat - let me get my brushes

Pressing Charges

She was the type of girl, who had a little curl right in the middle of her forehead, which is to say she was rotten! A low down dirty -- good for one thing. She was so bad she once fingered herself in a police line up even though she was innocent... once. She turned to the officer and said “Stick with me kid.” He reluctantly agreed as the boys in blue are always on the beat. She was charged with perjury forswearing. Perhaps it was the raw magnetism that caused the bent copper to press charges, but any way you look at it, it was an offence to lie with an officer. In the end the he was pleased, she went down for 6 months.

How to write a good poem (in my humble opinion.)

Take life, look at its bright side,

For its only wee isn’t it?

Best not to piss it away, ay?

Though I’ve heard some Popstars say

“Times never wasted when you’re getting wasted.”

Which is good for you but what about us?

Alas, take a blatant pop reference from common culture

Be the culture vulture, Kaka! Kaka!

Be the walrus,

Where possible take a sample from the Beat-Alls.

Grab a hand full of concepts complex like Oedipal:

It’s amateur psychology in a nutshell,

No this is amateur psychology in a nutshell...

“What am I doing in a nutshell?”

Assume that the oldies are the best

And don’t mess with your contemporaries’ contrariness,

Where they might have friends and peers

It’s up to you to have eyes and ears.

Take time, take your time

Pillage it to pieces,

For it is an infinitely sourceable resource

That will always be up with itself

Much like your reader, thus they can relate.

Kill your babies... No... Drop your kids off at the pool,

Then flush the little shits, they stink!

Throw in some homonyms for the Hayter’s, they love that shit.

Listen to that little voice

Follow it because you have no choice.

Know true poetry is conceived in romantic frustration

Exorcise your thoughts lyrical masturbation.

And just for the dramatic effect

Always end on some form of a little death.

50 Pearls of WisDom #22

Life is but a joke and the laughs on you...

The Signs Between the Lines

Notice how he doesn’t notice them noticing him. So enthralled he is with the words hidden within the pages, as he searches for the meaning hidden within the words. Meanwhile the girl opposite to the left sits crossed legged, right knee over left, the girls to the right with their left knee over their right and the girl directly opposite with her knees together, feet facing forward. All the female feet on the carriage pointing towards the fool immersed in his text, they oscillate as he turns the page, yet his eyes remain focussed on the prose. He was certain that books could help him win women, missing the women there for the winning. He keeps his eyes on the prize, whilst the goal remains gaping, pleading with him to take the lead. At each station stop he takes the precaution to look up from the page to make sure he has not missed his destination. At last now he sees the pretty darlings, coyly he quickly looks in the direction of the one he finds most appealing, when she’s not looking. Look how sensual she is as she bites her lower lip, he thinks how those lips might look locked with his and then as she looks towards, he looks away lest she thinks he’s some sort of sordid sexist. Imbecile. He returns to his study of how to obtain what’s already his, meanwhile not using whatever it is, whilst it is. Engaged now, he takes a sly glance topside of his Penguin classic, she’s looking away, so he lingers a moment on her subtle bosom. In an effort to disguise his voyeurism from the other passengers, he looks up at the tube map, plots this journey he already knows off by heart, left to right his eyes travel along the route, returning down they meet with a mature lady, she stares directly into his face, her two discs burning right through to his very essence, to him she seemingly sees with the judgemental eyes of his mother, her majesty the Queen, his Grandmother, his kid sister, the Holy Mary mother of God,  the nurse who birthed him, and the lover he is yet to love. Rebuked. He hastily returns to the sanctuary of his novel. Where was he?

Act da Fool

A crappy little tale.

Edward seemed destined for a career in marketing, but could never quite sell himself. In a recent job interview he knew he had to sort his shit out, so he opened the filing cabinet and defiled under ‘D’,"how’s that for defecation in the face of advert city?" he asked. Needless to say he got the job. He repeated this task once a day, the office was a mess but at last Edward had his shit together.