Oblomov's Design: 2010

Thursday, 23 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.

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.

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.