Category Archives: XTREMES

I’m hairy on the inside. Angela Carter, Company of Wolves.

 

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I am not one of those weak-spirited, sappy Americans who want to be liked by all the people around them. I don’t care if people hate my guts; I assume most of them do. The important question is whether they are in a position to do anything about it. My affections, being concentrated over a few people, are not spread all over Hell in a vile attempt to placate sulky, worthless shits.”

― William S. Burroughs

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The Vocal Vamp by C.J. Dennis

By Perry Middlemiss on November 1, 2013 7:11 AM | No TrackBacks
Say, kid, I used you like you some
When you were beautiful, but dumb.
   Them pearly teeth, them rollin’ eyes —
   Dreamy and of amazin’ size —
That leak large tears of glycerine,
When you got mushy on the screen,
   They set my feelin’s all awhirl,
   An’ made me go all goofy, girl.
Cutie, I fell for you, I did.
I thought you were a reel nice kid,
   Them close-ups! Say! Them cunning’ curls!
   You seemed the niftiest of girls.
Them swishy looks you slung about
When villainy was winning’ out
   An’ you was suffering’ the jars
   Of bad men chewing’ big seegars!
Aw, kid, my heart was wrung with woe
To see my baby treated so.
   In agony I watched the screen,
   An’ when I seen ’em treat you mean
I longed to leap from out my chair
An’ be your champeen then an’ there.
   Yes, all het up I was each night.
   You sure vamped me, all right, all right.
Why couldn’t I be well content
With gifts that Hollywood had sent
   Of old — the sight of you so cute
   Without no vocal attribute?
But, sweetie, man ain’t built that way.
I craved to hear them sweet lips say
   One little sentence, soft an’ sweet,
   To make my happiness complete.
Honey, you said … Oh, that night!
When my great love, conceived at sight,
   Was buried in the cold, cold ground
   Because the films took to sound.
A buzz-saw, Babe, believe me true,
Ain’t got one single thing on you;
   For you sure spoke a noseful, kid,
   I’ll tell the cock-eyed world you did.
First published in Stead’s Review, 1 November 1929
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An empty head gets the easiest sleep. Norwegian.

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JOHN LEONARD

All my words are gunning for extinction, all they can tell
     us is:
live more.
The photos you retrieve are a scream -
heart-battering reams of fortune, shadow and sleep,
                                                 as if "the sun fell . . . 
or leapt."

The lizard that jumped from the high iroko tree to the ground said he would praise himself if no one else did.

http://lwlightwords.blogspot.com.au/2008/01/african-proverbs-and-wise-sayings.html

1 water dragon

Lizard, lizard on the wall.

I don’t mind spiders, I don’t mind bugs,
I can coexist in peace with worms and slugs.
What I can’t stand, if anything at all..
Are lizards…  They make my skin crawl!

Right through summer, seen around,
Yellow, slimy, makin’ a ‘ tuk-tuk’  sound,
They get to me…big or small,
And then to spot a lizard on my wall!

An eye on the computer…I can’t think,
An eye on the lizard, I can’t  blink,
My eyes are frozen, my head in a spin,
How in the world could it get in.

 

Lizard, lizard on the wall., a poem by Nishu Mathur, India

http://www.voicesnet.org/displayonepoem.aspx?poemid=214940

dive into your inner wisdom, and uncover what’s already under your nose.

 

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Though everyone in town was safe, the beaches were gone . . . all covered by the cool green Flood, which almost paralyzed her with its beauty, its clarity . . . for “days” she could watch nothing else, while all around her the town adjusted to its new shoreline and life went on. Late at “night” she went out on her deck and stood just above the surf, looking toward a horizon she couldn’t see, as if into a wind that might really be her own passage, destination unknown, and heard a voice, singing across the Flood, this wonderful song, the kind you heard stoned over at some stranger’s place one night and never found again, telling of the divers, who would come, not now but soon, and descend into the Flood and bring back up for us “whatever has been taken,” the voice promised, “whatever has been lost.”

–Vineland

Clouds gather before a storm.

020

O ease our restlessness, Wild wandering dark,

vague hurrying depths of storm, pause and be full,

and thrust your fullness into our desire

till time release us, till we sleep.  And wake

to a cool sky and a soaked earth left bare

to drink its light in peace

DRY STORM by JUDITH WRIGHT.

foto – clouds over ulmarra 2009 december