Sunday, June 23, 2013

some more short lyric like fragment for BBQ

I do not see it as a problem or wrong doing to provide an archive with this blog of the way Barbecue  is being put together. This sort of collage and mosaic method rests as much on the poetics being put together, revised and rewritten as the final printed versions may be. And some more...

embellishment as the words are passed along
adding exit clauses to gay liberation stories
day light and curfew after sunset imposed by
parents limiting his movements and night time
meetings only some passed as a sleep over with
his high school best bud and could have been boy
friend except knowing each other and loving
like brothers this would be perhaps too much
like incest not that they see any wrong with
this being ways can and love may happen no real
needs for prohibition except their loving is
illegal in too many ways each approachable as
arrests and ending in court a large fine or
in prison and we just now really know fighting
is the only way just now left open and to go

Tuesday, June 18, 2013

...and more fragment BBQ

Frayed at the edges narrative which go nowhere;  there are tables left vacant, as time passes. Unusual traumas and lost at a young age suggest a frayed to the breaking point narrative image. The lost positioned by HIV/AIDS still remains to be wrapped up,  if it may ever be, living in chronic fatigue.

an age of neuralgia and nostalgia, and grey
sitting by pink camellias in flower, a garden
for which you no longer can care, delay is
all that happens now, way pass an age where

if it comes to that, goodbye is enough, no
we do not have bad regrets, my funeral I do
not care, that is up to you still alive who
can still decide and have it continue toward

for sure that which we not yet know, can we
think again if the choices are against life
if such dice throws may shut down to zero so
we alive may hide in under ground shelters

what is to be good for techno cyber-mechanical
underground complex linked hidden bunkers of
a failing master nationality is ongoing wars
of type and sorts disguised as minor squabbles

past times contractors did their cybernetics
and arguments went so far and ends with easy
this is new ways we are going to have it done
supplying novel little wars across geographics

it is sending most secret messages, such that
admittance of communication cannot be known
yet the secret must be known or risk a leak
into green cyber swamp ocean swilling across

lines on tidal water edges to land definitions
and secrets in a bottle may wash up on shore
but who is there who opens and carefully reads
messages obscure belonging to some other time

paper printed charts way out of date, getting
lost at sea like lost in endless sand deserts
and quiet back in the garden smelling roses
and more flowers, thousands of flowers bloom

Wednesday, June 12, 2013


...some more BBQ  drafts...

from, post-traumatic stress disorder
there's that word again, it was need
a decade in a job killing thousands
computer desktop running ms os

and make enough to retire for life
expecting an early demise, spend
big, over indulge with drink and drugs
clashes between police and protesters

and the government did not back down
he wiped a few thousand out, on his
desktop machine running ms os, too
neat, he watched all die in pixels

like his own fellow citizens, can he
ever come over this cold sharp erasure
it was the delete key that did them in
he was taught to get hard and orgasm

masculine sexual response, on a video
 where death and porn come together
and it is not supposed as such as real
just a desk job, in the armed services

while running for political office, open
a campaign fund bank account, let funds
flow in from donating wealthy sponsors
and run  quickly away disappearing face

transfer gold to some secret vault lost
while sailing way off shore and no beacon
request for care until too late rescue now
not possible and it must have all gone down

gold sinks quickly into a deep blue ocean
and the bid for election still floats on
water drifting out there, now Arctic ice
seeding another melting iceberg to sink

an un-expecting heavy iron ship, ripped
apart by government policies and a nation's
most top political journalist wrap it up
this to be human in up-turned and strife

Tuesday, June 11, 2013

death at sea, more BBQ fragment

dying at sea in the middle of the night

through infra red binoculars i watch
as sharks rip off both his legs warm
infra red blood fades to black, then
away with his life, dear he was to me
you chose to sail with me, he could not
live, he knew too much of who i am

a cold killer, danger to get too close
i should have said beware, would this
then be true, would this requiem need
be written in this secretive manner

some more fragment BBQ

Some fragment of filial narrative...

slotted into lower middle class
          working class to be true

bigots hide behind
           invented gods

gods                human inventions
what claims are made in their names

impossible to believe
          faith          so lost

there is a lost kid         he is my son
he fears faggot             in the locker room
high school sports day            the word that is
         and he don't know        what it is he feels
just fear        anguish trauma          no shame

he's not permitted shame            that most
adolescent of emotions              shame being a kid
         seek shame              so at least
he can say             human again

Saturday, June 8, 2013

...and some boyfriend talk for Barbecue

This below fragment is almost close to a first draft, or as close as a text editor will allow. From here it is going to have to find a way of fitting in with the rest of the narrative, like a new kid in school. BBQ is now looking like a book length long poem and perhaps verse novel in as much as the collage narrative is dialogic and novelistic and not the monologic form of lyric poetry (after Bakhtin's essays.) It is called boyfriend talk just so a directory full of txt files can be sorted. Poem titles are going to be deleted so BBQ is one long dialogic  poem.

Boyfriend talk

you're really hot in the sack
not able to guess his response
we could go all day and night
a hard day's night screwing
like bunnies making a plague

is a good time we are
he shops his lover like
a department store and
very rich no limit
magnetic card they
leave a doorman opening
doors into a big motor
car like we did at
all times like yes

who is to get over there
first and make all grades
top shelf nothing less have
standards we do none other
are you going to cry out
hard and loud the walls
are all soundproof none
will hear screams of love

except the lovers on a
bear skin rug in front
of an artificial gas fire
not providing any heat
central heating for that
and rooms are never cold
high up and streets below

we want to pick where to
go next blindfold with a
pin into a map that's it

a powerful sports car is
wasted in grid lock city
cars inching and stopping
yet he drives it still a
roaring 12 cylinder motor
empties a small fuel tank
to save weight very fast

a prime wealth display
an excuse for a car not
able to go anywhere
quick that walking is
quicker to get there
this is a scarlet high
power many layers of
hand applied paint car

he smiles to himself at
his boyfriend trying to
impress he is so cute
he would be better with
a two seater city commuter
hybrid or a driver with a big
brute of hard steel military
strength squashing any that
may seem begin to object
and other such fancy of love

the armed forces will bull
dose them through city
jams with new roads behind
a schedule of traffic growth
on paper computer projected
needs for the next 20 years

and he just wants to be with
his boyfriend now is that
too much an ask let traffic
splintering steel grind still
slow scream of colliding metal
and plastic cracking up glass
shatters safe in little cubes

Thursday, June 6, 2013

Collage and cut up

...another draft poem for BBQ using cut up and collage of digital news feeds... like Burroughs cut ups get edited to fit in and be done from yr head, no need to cut up physically

meta data up


        extraordinary repudiation

 pretense of constraint

        particular  suspicion

                    does precisely that

the data base of war on spinning digital disk after spinning disk

extreme interpretation of law

            excessive domestic surveillance

suspected of being an agent
        terrorist group

    this hostile foreign state

    rights &    finite set of individual targets

and i let him shoot inside me & come with me

and i wore that itch he gave me

        inside for a month

            until antibiotics got things right

        sleep with a secret service officer

    swinging he says both ways

        & carry sexual filial infections

along with a sub machine gun pistol
            under their off the hook coat

            badly fitting

Monday, May 27, 2013

More BBQ drafts...

...again this works with diagonal links across pages which may be variously several pages apart and for want of a better term, collage narrative,  allowing narrative to emerge and thinking of getting rid of sentences as much as possible leaving clause chains...

a computer encrypted plastic
magnetic card opening door
the code being correct lets
       us in we may enter now
            every floor in this domestic
                  affair into matters of fact

burning ships sink in harbour
sailing does not have any faith
in a boat pitching and bending
       and men overboard are wrapped
             in arm's tender care hauled up
                   with lines to a rescue helicopter


a crack in time on every floor
of this palace a home cold drafts
get in through ice winter nights

running men naked doing things
follow like dogs on a short leash
and targets of weakness sent away

sweet fruits butter mock cream
between layers of a sponge cake    
and after fresh butcher red meat

eyes behind dark sun glasses
do not give away heavy stares
of lust for naked male forms

a palace of lust is icy cold
like the lower ranks of hell
and keeping warm is a delight

body against body against body
multiple sexual partners' place
in drawing rooms with cigars

males pull in close together
and contact is made lip to lip
boys have cake and eat it too

proteins artificially made food
for a growing boy created flavours
to make it nice to eat face pulled

not nice is this artificial stuff
one must protest let there be food
one may swallow without distaste

your heart of gold cannot fight you
are better known then your manifest
so may one recreate your fool's gold

yet again again and there is more
with a hot metaphysical being innate
nature crossing real states of affairs

and a purple head slips inside warmth
a strange hollow and empty feeling now
can we be friends again with benefits

how many comes can you do in one night
soft fluffy warm wool on naked flesh
and cold into wilderness an exile

being some kid without any talent
a strong discipline is needed in reply
knocking us off our feet before we flee

are there more tricks up your sleeves
hidden secrets known to be in there
can it be said looking for a way out

and stretch the skin around his balls
hanging loose in hot tropical days
sweat pours from his leaky body

should my kiss for him be shared
my slim waist soft skin teen body
is not so alien and strange as what

what can I say a mystery is made
in these days of my immature youth
my loves letting me down betrayed

Sunday, May 26, 2013

... and 36 more lines for BBQ

These 36 lines felt difficult to write and in the main, very difficult to revise and even after this there will be, of course, more revision and rewriting. The only way I can see into writing this long poem, now over 50 pages, is with fragments like this.

I  like the way a blog can be an archeology. What is now appearing is a formal queer structure as diagonal connections across and between lines of text often pages apart. The etymology of queer is a diagonal move across the flow, also a rival.

he erupts in my mouth
    sweet fructose semen
         a volcano shattering earth's crust
        as if a felony for sucking dick
        and non-reporting misdemeanours
        it was pot        no victim this crime
with a magistrate's word        and no way out
slowly seeping through cracks
    between local area courts
    an arrest warrant is made
    Ignore the illness & treatment
    attack those with diagnosis
    heinous serious crime
    cannot go unpunished
    prosecute misconduct
is there any relief from legal abuse
        justice miscarries
        a trope of pregnancy
        law breaking
        being aborted
        feminine failure
    child birth images of filial inference
    rule lives no matter the pain
    legal with patriarch law
    present search warrant        & raid
    homophobia is better        for pain
    the fallacy of right
    advert opportunity        can fit here
    make money with            illicit drugs
        play on words         come hard
        go to hole like     gay hole
        gaol etymology
        from old french

Saturday, May 18, 2013

More for the Barbecue book and note on narrative


Transitive theories of narrative that are based on a-priori structuralist story and written form, as a theory of narrative or narratology, are unable to provide a pragmatic poetics for collage narrative as immanent to itself. Such narrative practices are not transitive productions in the way the formal story/discourse is set out by structuralist narratology.

Despite claims to the contrary, structuralist narratology cannot account for the immanent appearance of narratives and those narratives which can be said to be experimental and modernist, in a way that allows a pragmatics and poetic practices. This inability is so since lyric and narrative are already given as separate categories. How the difference is made and how lyric and narrative can be a-priori given as different cannot be accounted for. It is as if god has already proscribed for each what cannot be said in lyric or in narrative. (Deleuze's conceptual problem of difference in itself may be of use, here.)

It seems we can only get so far with Aristotle and run into problems that do not allow us to get to making and thinking narrative in the first place, so to speak. So, as if from a new beginning narrative needs a new thinking. A novel discourse and the collisions of collaged images may be one way, following suggestions taken from Mikhail Bakhtin's dialogic novel discourse and polyvocal or multi-verse ways of writing.

Barbecue is being written as a novel, more so using accidental collage then any set out plan, which is to say the narrative emerges as a narrative image. The images and verse are often written as an encounter with other media forms and technologies. Encounters may be critical and what Barthes may say is a writerly text. Narrative is a circumstance as an occasion and encounter.

(WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN, working title to delete)

    ...and where have you been; he demands
                    this is no country, for those
                                       your phobia, your fear, will not let near.

And it was such an easy day dreaming lost in the clouds, idle
and a plot to make oneself a fool's many secrets and is this
what you want. You are wanton; say this again, repeats, yes in
sexy wet dreams where I lay your body bare and command your hand

in a day; and multiple orgasms when we meet in dark moonless air
so the mystery is? Perhaps a thing that is not to be spoken yet,
written; even that is proscribed, etymology is a prevention here
enough to demand silence as a trickster's opening on the babble;

too many words fall and slide over each other, like another trick
walking and drifting into disassociation, skipping over the horrors
and you piss in your pants; that's the fright. Command your feet
they will walk. Sharp teeth, love bite neck to blood metal taste.

On a lover's tongue. A word forbidden and outlaw to write, so
what can be said. Not much it seems. Proscription, lots of noise.
Changes not registering on any meter, that as much can be said
carry a cold dead skin as an absolute leaky container, let it bleed.

Earth quakes and big sea waves wash the borders clean away, so go
far inland to dry dead desert sand and return this sewage to sea.
Big wild fires burn fast across dry forests dying with drought
wild late afternoon storms pelting ice block rain melting in flames.

With his boy tied to his torso by hard rope he jumps into the sea
hoping to save his boyfriend with himself, love is not lost, hope
day after day after day they cling together, sea soaked skins,
take on sweet tastes and out of the hard acid sea, sweet smells.

Monday, May 6, 2013

...and some more dramatic monolog for BBQ

(working title-- horse&buggy)

        like        riding a horse and buggy
        to a gay bar         like last year
   well I did             ride a horse
        took him              home with me

            a double articulated horse
   sucking me           a red lobster
   this guy                 who could not
   quite believe             what I was

   quit sucking my cock like a girl
   guys know        how sucking dick's done
   and I like          to stand        straight
   you want         so much         to suck my dick

   getting there too late          sharing
   say goodbye             I always told you
   be an internet         porn star
   get beat up               and get raped

   your cherry        for another dick
   is focus             greasy fingers open
   get ready         &           enter this
   life claim          deep in the butt

Wednesday, May 1, 2013

2 more sonnets for Barbecue

These two sonnets are some leftovers from the daze induced by being immersed in realist internet writings about gay teens and young college gay males in North America. (If one wishes to understand a society, study the educational institutions; comment attributed to Lacan.)

A sort of collage of colliding images in apparent collapse, is one suggestion;  another being always a happy ending and boy falls eternally in love with boy. And the pop music and media soup in which these characters are immersed. Internal rhyme takes up here, also. (and The Eternal Return)

echoes in capacious rooms he feels
deals an inverted claustrophobia
deserted and lost in booms of heavy
artillery fire which then inspire

surrenders without any pretenders
that may turn the weather black
concerning fictions invented rented out
with no copyright claims on vented anger

frizzle hot in drizzle face shape chisel
not even the rain comes down with frowning
crowning a clown in pain not even you will
blame drowning at sea and main frame failure

let it be for now not a cow or bull
computation comes later; a lame game

what does your surname mean; did you ask?
what way, would say an adventure tale
of clan rivals taming these names, fleeing
aristocrats from liberty, revolution

abhors abrupt mere doormats, no dentures
no teeth for the poor, being oppressed
swarming boys exceed limit line equals
mobbing one with feeling, the great unwashed

a daily bath in water for a ruling class
and a path of wrath; without polished,
clout; who has it. A convoy of people march
getting hotter, ballot rigged against hope

selling as dope civil basket religiosity
bracelets on wrists bracket this claim

Sunday, April 14, 2013

God hates drug addicts sonnet

(A love poem sonnet)

Police say fentanyl is becoming a killer street drug
     have just started using this nice pain medication
            I can say it does work, I do like it
                   and rather quite a lot; what is it of

those who say I must suffer my pain disabling rather
     then easy pain relief; god hates drug addicts
          & I love fentanyl!
             no longer do I knock myself

out on powerful sleep inducing sedatives
       hoping the next morning not to wake
            again in pain but be dead; it is better to
                  wish for death against severe disabling pain

then to be an addict           as I am no doubt gripped by an evil killer
and bible thumping neo-nazi christian logic has it better I am dead

Monday, March 11, 2013

It is raining fish on the Australian outback

NOTE: on further readings, I do not  like the line break version... try an edit of the short prose piece...

I first wrote this as a prose poem but found it too difficult to read and I did not feel it worked. So I rewrote as line verse as below, four line stanzas with a closing couplet. To me this reads better as a way into suggestions and ideas offed by ficto-criticism, written as a verse novel, rather then the prose poetry version.

It has to be read such that each line break is a new breath which interrupts the flow of breath suggested by a prose version. Each stanza break is a bigger interruption to a line break alone with the breaks or interruptions inside each line made by commas, semi colons, full stops and so forth.


Wild melons growing in summer over
black soil plains in north west New South Wales
are called paddy melons. I once told some
of my Sydney friends how it rains fish out

here in violent late summer, late afternoon
thunderstorms. They refused to believe me.
No bullshit, fair dinkum, it rains little fish
about a quarter to half an inch long

sucked up from waterholes which have not dried
out in the hot sun with strong updrafts to
be dropped again into puddles and holes
squiggling and drying out in the small to

medium sized puddles to become fish
emulsion fertilizer and survive
in larger lagoons to again be sucked up
to fall with the rain down onto the plains

Bobby Cod, they are called and that is how
fish spread across the plains. A cowboy has
left a note for me to meet him at the
beat across the road from where I live and

we leave felt tip needs on toilet walls that
is how we meet. There is nothing as
sensual, erotic as making love to
a cowboy in the swishing black mud when

the late afternoon summer storms belt heavy
fish rain onto our wet naked bodies.

Saturday, March 2, 2013

High school art class

...some more draft verse for the Barbecue verse novel idea.

This is first person point of view and I am thinking that doing verse in first person, second person and third person may be a way into free indirect discourse lyric in verse novels.

What ever; I would freak if a high school art student said this to me.


it was my art class home work
draw a nude figure of same gender
male for me that is me being male

my teacher had a criticism on me
when presenting my drawing saying
his penis is too big that is wrong

No I said that is my boy friend
and I really do know how big he is
having taken it inside many times

FIRST SEX (more BBQ verse novel)

Some more draft verse for Barbecue verse novel... this fits in somewhere in the middle of the novel narrative. This is being put together as a collage and using first person here. Point of view changes perhaps as a way of doing free indirect discourse in a verse novel. Lyric as narrative?

12th birthday/ when first I experiment
a way born into living/ having fun
not lifestyle choosing but innate where I am
so I tell you/ this is the way it is going to be
now handle this/ again your only choice
to be already chosen/ if a few
just three chosen ones/ will make a triplet
without now concepting straight against gay
in days of liberation/ is to be
politics champion/ identity
and this is where it is happening
and after what is coming to be said
we march on the streets/ angry defiant
all illegal charges are dropped in court
and this/ was a way the marching went
on days of demanding/ our human rights