dementia II

now ‘ow’d I do it agen : “that” then that or that then “this” then “that”? nan’s head’s a sack of cabling smeared in lard. plaques harden like bacon grease gluing memories in a lump. when did the lump become a lump? the excruciating breakage of familiarity. the world turned uncanny as protein gluts brain…

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dementia I

When my grandma died from COVID in December, she’d also spent many years descending into dementia. After listening to a 6 hour long ambient album called Everywhere at the end time by a musician from Manchester called The Caretaker, which attempts to sonically represent the slow declension into dementia, I decided to write a series…

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Noise II

ring tones & motorbikes chatter like angry macaques. cars purr like horny lions in the formation of offensive elephants. buses blare like confident ostriches in devastating clans of particles. clockwork objects sound the sounds of wildernesses aggregating. there are inversions in the world : vastly populated worlds beneath the “world.” it will take evolutionary events…

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Noises

even the seagulls have begun to rev like motors their urgent apocalyptic craws embed the cathedral green in the revelatory compass which points to doom : the bins gushing with liquescent detritus. the crow rickshaws & the magpies pummel the air pneumatically. the trees inhale like air-brakes on buses. the seasons conveyor-belt & churn out…

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between noisescapesilence

Haven’t written a poem for a while, but this has emerged in the last few weeks. Very much a sensory response manifesting out of my studies into my actual encounters & affiliation with a world of objects, object-sound, object-smell, object-taste. between noisescapesilence   the extractor fan           in the bathroom   is too loud     its             loudness…

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Meaninglessness

I think this is one of only a handful of poems I have written since moving to Exeter, to study. Somewhat influenced by Camus, his persuasive Absurdism, which to me has always been a methodology to encourage an acceptance of life as ultimately meaningless; this isn’t something to despair over. It is only meaningless in…

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Human Flourishing

The title is misleading, sarcastic. This poem is a response to a talk by some guy called Alex Epstein, who started something called The Human Flourishing Project. Alex believes nonrenewable energy sources are the reason for human flourishing. The rise in population (which he seems to think good because that means humanity is flourishing), health,…

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Motif Lately

This is a motifational poem. The motif motifates the writer, spurring associations to render the poem into a unity, if only a superficial, galvanizing unity. But where would anything be without either motifation or superficilaity? Nature made man & man makes superficial motifations. It’s endless. The motif for me is occasioned by a form of…

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Morning on & on

Been rummaging—again—through the poems I wrote on my return to England. Found this one, with a refrain, a repetition, & repetition is very much puncturing the days without mercy. I don’t recall the exact details of my disposition at the time of writing this. Poems tend to fall into a constellation of activity, a particularly…

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Future

I was browsing through the 30 or so poems I wrote—& agonized over the quality of—on my return to England & this one feels cogent to the circumstances we currently find ourselves groaning under. I have been writing about access to futures through the lens of queer theory and ecology. They share a common problem:…

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