Wednesday, 29 December 2010
Tuesday, 28 December 2010
Friday, 24 December 2010
Thursday, 23 December 2010
Wednesday, 22 December 2010
Monday, 20 December 2010
Sunday, 19 December 2010
Saturday, 18 December 2010
Wednesday, 15 December 2010
Tuesday, 14 December 2010
Monday, 13 December 2010
Sunday, 5 December 2010
Saturday, 4 December 2010
CAFAZIAN EMBASSY CABLES
In the latest outrage, there has been a serious breach of confidentiality that has affected the esteemed person of the island Kingdom of Cafazia, his most excellent and all mighty Sheridan Mortimer Winslow II. The "leak" has been published in full (as in keeping with the Cafazian Post's promise to publish and be f**ked!).
Last Wednesday, during a state visit to our beloved island, tucked away, far away from GPS and Google Map people, the most excellent deputy deputy deputy deputy prime ministers of Afghanistan and Iraq, deposited a total of 3 trillion US dollars into the Cafazian Offshore Bank. (COB).
The previous Monday, Angela Merkel dropped by to meet with our holiness, the Archbishop Sheridan Mortimer Winslow II. They discussed religion and the separation of powers. At the same time Angie (as she likes to be called by Robert de Niro - who was also visiting), told our beloved head of religious affairs that she thought God was against the Euro. The Pope who was next door in the Putin suite, rang the Vatican bankers, using the Cafazian telecom.
Monday, 29 November 2010
Saturday, 27 November 2010
Thursday, 25 November 2010
Wednesday, 17 November 2010
Saturday, 13 November 2010
Wind Turbines & Mozart
Under water with the effortlessness
of baleen whale fins, the giant paddles
move, and then in defiance to the moon
the wind turbines like violins start to play
with the vigour of the wings of bees
elsewhere the drums slowly with the flow
go a fraction up and another down
enough to light the homes of a thousand
as these instruments of waves rotate
or undulate, the music of Wolfgang
Amadeus Mozart on an ancient cassette
recorder energized, plays Elvira Madigan
one thinks of the tightrope hung
between the film and the concerto
as one sucks on the strawberries
The Art of Power, drives the association
below, in the future, the Soviet vision
of modernity, where Atlantis is lit
and we as fish will flit from Copenhagen
to New York in solar powered submarines
then back to the music that as a soundtrack
to the Green dream, turns the turbines
into instruments in the orchestra , now they
play the allegro.
of baleen whale fins, the giant paddles
move, and then in defiance to the moon
the wind turbines like violins start to play
with the vigour of the wings of bees
elsewhere the drums slowly with the flow
go a fraction up and another down
enough to light the homes of a thousand
as these instruments of waves rotate
or undulate, the music of Wolfgang
Amadeus Mozart on an ancient cassette
recorder energized, plays Elvira Madigan
one thinks of the tightrope hung
between the film and the concerto
as one sucks on the strawberries
The Art of Power, drives the association
below, in the future, the Soviet vision
of modernity, where Atlantis is lit
and we as fish will flit from Copenhagen
to New York in solar powered submarines
then back to the music that as a soundtrack
to the Green dream, turns the turbines
into instruments in the orchestra , now they
play the allegro.
Mornings
mornings were once divisible by the touch and the caress, by the kiss, and by the hugs,
they were divided into the exchange of pleasantries and smiles, in the trade of intimacies
with others, now they have become lifeless and listless, as the forces of Nature, even her storms,
those harsh winters, the bright and sunny summers become one greyness; the mornings in a word
become a continuum of extended sovereignty and government of the ubiquitous internet
that switches you and I on in the mornings, we are subjects in its domain, its strangle hold
incrassates, so now we do not care for the tree that spans the view, its spindly branches
in abstract drawing close the blue and grey of the storm coloured skies awakening to our eyes
all become, like the blackbird on the wing, an email, a blog, a news digest, a banner a pop
up, our minds are parished by the servers, as the content of those mornings dissolve
in the repetition of the lonely and sad key tap as we the Babes lost, suck on the lit screen
nourished by truths furnished by Cyber liars and our moments across the table with love
enfleshed, in the tingle of the single finger tip the sensation of Life, are now saved for IT.
they were divided into the exchange of pleasantries and smiles, in the trade of intimacies
with others, now they have become lifeless and listless, as the forces of Nature, even her storms,
those harsh winters, the bright and sunny summers become one greyness; the mornings in a word
become a continuum of extended sovereignty and government of the ubiquitous internet
that switches you and I on in the mornings, we are subjects in its domain, its strangle hold
incrassates, so now we do not care for the tree that spans the view, its spindly branches
in abstract drawing close the blue and grey of the storm coloured skies awakening to our eyes
all become, like the blackbird on the wing, an email, a blog, a news digest, a banner a pop
up, our minds are parished by the servers, as the content of those mornings dissolve
in the repetition of the lonely and sad key tap as we the Babes lost, suck on the lit screen
nourished by truths furnished by Cyber liars and our moments across the table with love
enfleshed, in the tingle of the single finger tip the sensation of Life, are now saved for IT.
Thursday, 4 November 2010
Thursday, 28 October 2010
Wednesday, 27 October 2010
Thursday, 21 October 2010
Wednesday, 20 October 2010
Friday, 24 September 2010
Thursday, 16 September 2010
Friday, 10 September 2010
Tuesday, 7 September 2010
Monday, 6 September 2010
Tuesday, 31 August 2010
Thursday, 26 August 2010
Wednesday, 25 August 2010
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