Spoilt Rotten

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My soul has buckled under the weight of all the strange gifts you have given me,
Crumpled like the silver linings I crushed with the beer cans in the recycling.
But still you keep giving, donating twisted things to a
Cabinet of curiosities that’s already bursting at the seams.
You –
If that is your real name.
Me,
And my essence depleted to the compact crystals of flint.
But still you bleed me like a maple tree,
Leech from me
I walk through the streets like a zombie.
Not hungry.
Dim mist is me.
You
Who kicks stones at the legs that keep marching,
Keeps laughing at the ghost with no life-lines.
“She’s so persistent; but aren’t they all
Drowning in my dream whirlpool.”
Can you see us in the water?
Can you see us in the bright blue-green?
Can’t you see that I’m your daughter?
Can’t you see I’m in the waving trees?
It’s
Such
A
Long
Fall
For
You,
You who speaks in sunlight
But giggles in blackness.
Yeah you,
Who I forgive for the heavy treasures I did not wish for,
That I will not list here –
Did not put on my Christmas List either –
Because there is warmth in the wind, there are grebes in the pools and there is
A man who speaks softly to his dog. Who speaks like the earth.
Press this still-wet summer grass against my flesh.
In the seconds of this particular forever
All is well, and all that is wraps me in its bubble
And rolls me down the hill. To the lake
Where the bathers go to chill their brittle bones.
So cold.
Where did you go?
There are whispers when it’s hardest that
You
Do not exist.
But there is drama in your silence
Like the bottom of the sea.
See me: I am the echo of the waves.
Living proof of
Nothing
But a siren call called
You.

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Painting: Milky Way by Peter Doig

Review of Austin Osman Spare Exhibition, the man who refused to paint Hitler

My review of the amazing exhibition at The Last Tuesday Society of Austin Osman Spare’s (one of Alan Moore’s favourite artists) work for Creators — you can sit and have a tea or alchy drink and look some of the creepiest and most beautiful artwork on the planet. They’ll charge you £20 to go see Hockney or Picasso down the road, balls to that. This guy was compared to Michelangelo Buonarroti and Dürer and it’s free x x x

https://creators.vice.com/en_us/article/austin-osman-spare-forgotten-occult-artist-hitler-london

 

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The Art of Dream Interpretation

In the new, very Hockney-esque, issue of Breathe Magazine I have written an article on everything you need to know about dream interpretation through the ages and how to get started interpreting your own dreams. From the history of dream interpretation, the psychology, dream interpretation in literature, to the most common themes in dreams (fire, falling, dying etc.) and what they mean, and a ‘beginners guide’ to interpreting your own dreams …

 

 

http://www.breathemagazine.co.uk/

Mr Macmillan Blue

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I am a cat in love with a goose
‘A who?’
A goose. She’s the moose
Of the sky, the ice cube of the lake
She is the cherry on top of the
Farmer’s cake.
But I am a cat,
I cannot fly, let alone swim,
And what would the moose of the sky
Want with that?

I am no ordinary cat, it is true:
My name is Mr Macmillan Blue and
I’ve got 18 lives not 9 (I’ve already died 11 times).
Some other things it’s worth to mention:
I’ve never eaten a fish for supper and
I’ve not once killed a mouse; at age seven
I was labeled the strangest cat in London
Because I’ve never been able to purr a purr.
But what I know and all I know
Is I’m in love with her.

Oh my Lovely Lady Goose!
Whenever I go near,
She flaps her wings like an angry angel
And starts screeching in my ears.
I know that she’s just pleased to see me
But sometimes her squawking hurts my feelings,
I just want to spend one evening
With lovely Lady Goose.
My moose, my moose,
My moose.

I, Macmillan Blue,
Am the most romantic of cats,
I have left presents for my keepers
Everywhere from the litter tray
To the kitchen table,
I have meowed
The finest songs of love to butterflies
And beetles. But when I saw my Lady Goose,
Why! I got pins and needles.

Alas, there is a divide between
My great moose of the sky and I:
For one, we are a different species,
For two, I cannot reach her over water,
For three, I cannot follow her on the wind.
Other cats tell me that I’m foolish,
That we’re too different — ‘Two worlds apart!’
To them I say, ‘I love her features,
And it is the distance
Between us
That lets me see her heart.’

I, Macmillan Blue,
The most romantic of cats,
Will stop at nothing.
None of god’s obstacles
Can stop me from reaching
My darling swan of fighting.
No tides or winds can break me,
There’s nothing in this universe could shake me
Off this path of love —
Except of course, my Lady Goose
And her great big wings and screeching.

 

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Doodle by Andy Warhol x

 

 

My Sister and Goethe Up A Tree

Well, my sister has won this incredibly incredible prize for the translation of A Whole Life. I’ve said it at least once or twice, maybe three times. But I’ll say it again: Read A Whole Life. It is completely beautiful. My sister won for a reason. (Isn’t life great.) x x x

https://www.goethe.de/ins/us/en/kul/ser/uef/hkw.html

 

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Interview With Banksy Collector

If you’ve ever wondered why you don’t have enough money, it’s probably because you haven’t collected enough Banksys. In Flux Magazine I chat with a collector from Bristol who started buying Banksy’s when they were cheap, now he’s using the money to redecorate his Regency house. Nice, nice … He tells you how to do it too. x x x

http://www.fluxmagazine.com/collecting-banksy-street-art/

 

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Voyage D’etudes Scrapbook of America

The result of many hours shouting at a typewriter: Paula Goldstein’s amazing Scrapbook of America — it’s got chat from Buzz Aldrin, boobies, poetry, memories from the Civil Rights movement, skateboarders, New Yorkers, memory from Dolly Parton, a Kennedy …. basically everything that makes up modern America, including an FBI-themed investigation on the Darker Side of Disney from me.
Can buy here x