Monthly Archives: June 2008


water takes the shape of the container in which it is poured. it is not a gas.

we learnt these obvious things in school.

I swore that I could hear the soft hum of electricity passing through the wire, if you listen hard enough. I was told not to be silly.

I was no good at algebra, because there didn’t seem to be much sense in adding numbers to letters, if they did not result in words.

On one occasion, I deliberatly misheard the rules of the task, so that I could write a poem.

When I was a fan of Micheal Jackson, I became enraged with Jarvis Cocker’s stunt:

Jarvis Cocker’s Stage Invasion (1996)

“In 1996, Michael Jackson was given a special “Artist of a Generation” award. At the ceremony he accompanied his single “Earth Song” with a stage show, with Jackson as a Christ-like figure surrounded by children. Jarvis Cocker, of the band Pulp, mounted the stage in protest of the performance. Cocker ran across the stage, lifting his shirt and pointing his (clothed) bottom in Jackson’s direction. Cocker was subsequently questioned by the police on suspicion of causing injury towards three of the children in Jackson’s performance, although no criminal proceedings followed. “Earth Song” became Jackson’s biggest hit in the UK, spending six weeks at the top of the chart.” – Brit Awards

I rallied some of my little schoolfriends around to produce posters denouncing the actions of the lead singer of Pulp.

So that’s how I missed the point of Britpop, while Rich was at his happiest when discussing Sonic The Hedgehog.




A Patch of Life 

“one can work small wonders”, said he.

the small prince sat
in the same glass you keep your toothbrush.

Don’t fill it up with water,
find another thing to drink.

The small prince thought
“…but i’m too small to be a monarch

when shall I grow up?”

The small prince asked his mother.

The small prince is so small
that to look at him makes you nauseous,

he cannot be seen by most naked eyes;
wear as many clothes as you can.

The small prince reads a small-print edition
of Dmitri’s theories of pyrology

He was plagiarised from a European
copy of a grandmother’s
puppet that blew in from the window.

The window was small,
and the room’s wooden mirror,
could never show his face,
and was warped by the glass.



A Minute’s Worth of Story

An elephant painted a picture.

lots of important people said that the picture was good, and talked about it for a long time amongst themselves.

it was then revealed that it was an elephant who painted the picture, and the man said this was proof that the painting was bad, and all the people who liked it were silly for saying so.

the elephant was sad, and sat weeping in his house

for days and days and days


For days and days
without a sound,
looking through holes
made by woodworm.

the small prince was here,
surveying the plans
for his castle
to be built inside a pillbox
for the sick.

“These blueprints, make them greener
then you will have my permission,
to plant a tree so huge
it blocks the entrance,

there i’ll be.”

whispering “grat-zi” under my voice

Another Day in Diary Form, which one I could not say.

George Bush is in town, which means that in certain areas of Rome you canàt walk more the 10 centimetres without chancing upon a roadblock, like an invisible wall in a bad videogame. Tom Hanks is here too. Say hello, Tom Hanks. So the traffic is insane and the romans like the sound of horns.

Took the bus to nowhere today, its very hot espiecially if you are on a bus. Got lost “in the sticks”, as it were. Sorry, im not sending a postcard, what is it you want to hear in  11 mins worth of spontanious net cafe prose.

trying to find some feeling in my sea legs land legs, whetever legs. like tenticles of emotion. i am too tired to entertain you. there is little confot in the hare sometimes. these italians with their small dogs they let into supermarkets, The Hare wont let me stroke him. I think its considered wrong in his culture or something.

“Many things are considered wrong” I say.

It would be nice aFTER A DAY OF GETTING LOST




Guided Visits of Faith and Art – A Swift Memo from Rome

Yes, another thing to go in the “Travel” category without being all abstract and metapèhorical about it.

Peace, children I,m on a strange italian keyboard. Anyway a brief account of my time, which I am still spending.

Now, Upon seeing a piece of mediocre art, say you and a compèanion are viewing a competant but workmanlike film by Ron Howard, one of you might remark “It,s okay, but its not The Sistene Chapel.”

Well, I,ve seen The Sistene Chapel, and thing about that is that it is The Sistene Chapel.

By which I mean, it can ligimately claim to be what it is.

Ron Howard and The Pope

I have seen both of these people – the latter from a distance, the formers baseball cap and beard, which is required uniform for a succesful film director.

Also, the thing about beggars ranting and giving you stern looks in another language, is that they can impart any wisdom you wish to hear. I decided he took offence at my priveleged, sickeningly modern, 21st century postmodern ways, so I gave him my mp3 player. I didnt of course.






Soundtrack – Oh Brother- DowntotheRiver.mp3

search engine curio.


a small prince once came to me,

who was sent by

peter nikolai.


dropped like a hot painting of a potato,

by the framed portrait of The Hare.


In the company of

Cain, Eros and Associates –

noon-day smile

and gypsy fairies;


cute monkeys for kids eyes to see,

the optical properties of chameleons.


“what does it means when a pigeon follows thee?”

Questioned nikolai’s

small prince,

of the footsteps.


The neglected children cry and

their painter

demands silence.


They walk out of the frame

into another,

and another,


“Oh my,


what could the matter be?”


Catch them if you are quick,

the small wings of a butterfly.


“Is a dromo a shape?”

asked the girl with the antlers.


The ugliest woman

said to paint a woodland scene.