Have just read back through novembre onscreen Which is a bit of a novelty Though it makes for a whole heap of wonderment/as to what it is all about & all also gives rise/where should this month venture? Where should it go? In what set of parametes should it set its heart? Straight or surreal? Steam of whatsit or stream of the breeze? Should one issue a rowboat or a paddle? A canoe or a lifebelt? Is it too prolix? Can it actually be so in this format? Whither doth one go? Searching out what end in site? Whither? Whether?

A doc zhivag vehicule experiencing a current outing Uses actual contemporary docu footage Plus Much outtakes from eisenstein The latter often totally indistinguishable from the former For sergei himself appropriated actual lenin material Showing Already The intertwining of the fact/fiction conundrum Giving rise to films possible influence on futures past 500 yrs hence will murnau’s nosferatu be sighted as conclusiv eponymous evidence of actuality Will the cadaverous max von schreck be accepted forreal Instead of supreme embodiment of abandoned transylvanian waif spirit That burned the heart of uncle brams brave dram Which the creatures of the night so ably demonstrated

Splash N’ paste is the main schtick holding this together Take the merest whisp of idea The slimmest kernel of subject matter Or could be nation Then twist with three parts djinn & a generous slice of lemon Blind for preference Though not quite legless Knott in gaza Or radioed in gaga In a most prophetic vida Then sauté lightly With any mixed potions to hand Stir in generous amounts of flimflam Petty fandangos & other divers accoutrements that may be floating clear Pull on somebodies coat Bend anothers ear Finally saying what all this then At all at all

a welcome day off. from the nutz. and the boltz. have been doing fourteen hour shifts & hundred mile drives. which doesn’t leave much room. for this or anything else. certainly anything in the way of cerebral pursuit. except for the thrill. vicarious or otherwise. of seeing ones stuff in print. so to speak. to basque perhaps. sharklike & james. amidst the glow of abstruse wordz. reflexive. sedimentary. pertaining to nothing at all. but following instead arcane subterranean passageways of the salvadors subcutaneous alliterative type. looking up mock alleyways for hidden sites. or begging the question from some hidden suggestion

Slash N’ gloo is possibly the intellectual burne that is keeping this prose upright. laying waste to the subco hinterlande. transmuting slosh to drush with efficient bureaucracy. turning out alternative mindspeak in the form of mainstream dialectic. with the sharpness of a redundant cattle prod. standing in for discursive vigour. applying a veneer of ersatz endeavour to otherwise unremarkable projectes. tailor made for internet time frames. perfectly dovetailing into twenty first century time spanns. where all must begotten down in admirable haste. ingested poste chasably. then spat out quick. toot sweet & pronto. to make way for the next load

being, somewhat of an alternative writer, a baroque spieler even, i'm of a mind to use such punc marks as ….. however i feel that theres a problemo here since this ….. actually constitutes a word in terms of the count. as a professional counter, of nutz & boltz, in my daytime job, my immediate inclination would be to ignore this and count simply the wordz. however, when i let the machine loose on this to rip out the total it would appear to include them within the days count. so. there you go. whats a poor boy to do.

….. so to use or not to use. thats the question so it is. and one, one fears, that may never be answered. though in a global, not to say cosmic, sense does it really matter, and quite obviously it doesnt. for writing is but a spectator sport, for sure, and one in which voices will oft be heard saying they know where they’re coming from but, and heres the rub, as bonnie prince ham was quoth to remark ( or was it his grandpa, or his grandpa’s ghost – poached on toast) does it really really matter. does it …..

nutz & boltz in romford. always a dodgy area. does not start well. rumours flying round that we’re fifty counters down. which means, if true, we’ll be there forever. well not quite but the sheet does say 100 strong and if only half that turn out then. obviously. the job will be veering into that vicinity that is commonly called, down the shitpan. but throughout all time etc. and of course they prove knott to be so. things go well & unbelievably we are finished by 2.15am. then back on the road & licketty spliff through the tunnel & home.

looking out the window theres the guy with the stick from the bosses shoppe assisting some dame to park. now obviously he’s giving it his best but the dame, who is certainly from genus nice, looks a tad alarmed at his energetic exhortations. then when this is done who appears but Mr DomeSticK who has some bizness with him. afterwards Mr D starts to fill out a benefit book. right there on top of next doors stoop. is this then the source & dispostion of his funds. strangest of all though was the stick. no sox. and in this weather!

twenty one hours on the nutz & boltz. well with five of same on driving. the endless highway. grinding into lockdown. at every conceivable opportunity. however am kept going by the thought that. if Jelly Roll Morton could drive coast to coast across amerique. in his late fifties. And. in far from good health. And. towing one car ahent the other. one his pride & joy. the other home to him & his worldlies. well sure as hell hits highwater & whatsit the fan your ‘umble scribe oughtta be able to do this homeward slogg like water offa ducks behind.

zoot is in somewhat of a paddy. worked up about the usual things. hassle. the daily grind. the endless etc’s. also ‘bout whether he should be referring to himself in the third. well stencil certainly did it somewhiles back. in a novel Z has presently forgot. musically as well it would make good sense. however if madame got to here of it there would certainly be trouble. and theres enough doog house goin’ round just now. to satiate reilly. to the gills & beyond. so the premiere moan. ‘bout schlepping upto the schoolhouse will have to wait.
yes sirree bob.

Went to see the new james bond Which was rather tasty They’re such an institution now Squire brosnan is definitely the best since uncle sean & this latest seems to hark back in feel to the very first Where story was placed ahead of gadgetry Apparently theres 70 paid product placements in it Though of course all this sort of guff is lost on yours truly here What really counts is the magic The whole experience of the darkened theatre The primal buzz of the magic lantern etc Oh & the boys thought it was pretty cool too Sayonara chaps

Yo! anyone out there stuperstitious. Scene any unrequited cleavers out there looking for a home? Any phantom slashers in search of a burn (or a urinal even) Ho hum Xmas is almost upon us which accounts Perhaps For this brief burst of lewd brevity (or ruud pravo) Must get the boxes & doodle up the cards Buy the prezzies & go round dispensing good cheer & hoho hoing in a mood of panic struck manic desperation Pulling fluff out the old beard and skelping the bum of the lead reindeer Eating mince pies & cherie & getting stuck in chimlies

went out for the evening to islington. most pleasant time had by all. arrived home tired but happy. work colleagues of madames. wonderfully relaxed atmosphere. the onset of the christmas festivities. we may be going again on xmas eve. (stay tuned for further developments) listening to various eighties music. also mentioned. by the by. asimov. kubrick. bobba dee etc. & tried to do the crossword. failing tres miserable. had vegetarian meal which same quite splendide for rejuvenation of the ole innards. borrowed billy bragg who i once saw. not live but real live as in sitting on the piccadilly line.

slight altercation this morning with some buffoon who backed his merc into our old motor. then to make matters worse the sonofabitch decamped into the spires. no doubt to dispense good werkes hoho. madame suggested he looked like some defunct holy roller preacher which fairly hits the nail on the head. then post noon to grannies. which went surprising well. the mellowing of age what. baby bear is still on about china. which if not quite reaching syndrome proportions could at the least prove problematical. shall see. no doubt a dilemma that all mom & pop bears have to face.

Why is spam called spam? Does anyone out there know? On an onomatopoeic level it would certainly fit the bill Or is it composed from some boringly mundane acronym (or even anachronism)? Or is it(and this would surely be most favourite) from monty python The vikings in the caff Ordering breakfast Breaking into song Spam spam spam spam (and again) Spam spam spam spam Anyway Ho hum Your ‘umble is out to lunch For a rousing plate of spam spam spam spam chips spam & spam “Sorry mate You’re too late We ain’t got any” Well in that case …..

Trundling on through the daily grind Listening to modern russian music Preparing to siphon coolant out the radiator and replace with antifreeze Having refrozen the deepfreeze after defrosting & refrosting & all the time the temperature dropps Not drastically or cataclysmically but with the relentless downward spiral of an escher mechanical Leading to some scarcely imagined swannsong The cheap evocation of marching boots over glistening cobbles On to the dockerys The miasma of embarquation The doggs of whatnot lett loose & cried havoc Encore une fois Lets smoke ‘em out Lets boldly go Till earth ends Till time ends Until?

seems like the china question may have been settled with a compromise excursion to disneyland. Which would be okay. madames suggestion as usual saving the day & mom & pop bear from a deal of soul searching. To say nothing of casual heartache. perhaps this does a great disservice to baby bear. And. of course. It goes without saying it must be considered somewhat of a sadd sign of the times to swapp walt for fu manchu but there you go.
c’est la vie.
Que sera sera.
give me a vector victor.
Roger roger.
over
&
out.
Boutros
boutros
galli.

If the ornithological genus is truly the living breathing descendant of dinosaurs then certainly looks as though those critters are in for a comeback. Well judging by the amount of chicken that gets eaten hereabouts.
F’rinstance just take a butchers at the local supermart & checkout the amount of sauces there are specifically designed for this humble yardbird. To say nothing of all the different varieties of prepared bird on offer. Plus theres all the permutations of raw product to vector in.
Then as if that aint enough didn’t it go & put a handle on the birth of bebop.

What should be put here A whole string of eyes A series of rooves Expressionistically retreating Into the soft smokey insomnia of the dusktime veldte A long line of victor hugo lookalikes Doing quasimodo numbers by the bucketload On the nod for old claude frollo Stomping down the battlements in his usual repressionistic stew The stranglehold of church & state making insouciantly merrie with his redundant codpiece Spelling out “esmeralda put a spell on me” In mile high marquee flash While stuttering hale maries through low cal rosary beans & wondering the while whether he’ll make it to one hundred

Well here we are writing in the hills Drove up after christmas shopping at the break of day Waiting for the various emporia to open up & engorge their charges Then it was all hands to the pumps (and never mind those vandals) Moving like well oiled machines Tres nippy sweet Into the coffee shoppe & onto the road jack Through rolling fog & dismal rain & endless grey vistas that remind of north belgium & zola & mining towns tipped over edges of desperation & then finally here Sweet repose At daze end In the shadow of the mountains

Baby bear is aloft He cannot sleep Perchance the excitement of the season has overcome him & layed waste his powers of reason Then again mayhap the heating here is a tad on the overpowerful side Whatever Yours truly is down here at the keys feeling most guilty he should be up there applying salve to the troubled brow of baby bee Who though doing his level best to concentrate on lying quietly at the beach & drinking in the warmth of the sun is in fact no doubt much more focused on the imminent arrival of his game cube

Travelling down to the west country today Of all things that could have come screaming out of the sun Zoot is hit with an attack of the runs Most inconvenient Not to say embarrassing Going through three pairs of boxers in just over an hour is not designed to raise anyones feelgood quotidian And the quality of his stools Once his pride & joy as they emerged with proud joycean regularity at the appointed hour in the jakes have now disintegrated into a sad catastrophic mulch And As a final insult Madame has proscribed all discussion pertaining to these matters

Almost here The witching hour of rampant consumerism Gone madd in a trance With a licence from saint nick For a shot of globalisation Spread the word Near & far Roll up roll up Do your bit Distributing prezzies From the bigg red sac Ho ho ho Capitalism is king on capitol hill George dub is smoking them them out He’s on the trail He knows the way his dad told him He learnt it from cowboy ron On the run with his buddy bozo A film man in the white house Is certainly the one to pull the trigger

Yabba dabba doodle batdudes Its here And he’s been All the trawling & traipsing that has been going on these last few daze has culminated in this day of fruition A melding of all the sidewalk dreams & barroom hopes that have crowded in on the memory banks of late Has it been worth it though? Who can tell? Who knows? We are like lemmings is all Or should it be lemons? Playing the blues & lamenting our lott ho ho Even now looking forward to the next one Planning & plotting Vowing to make it even bigger And better?

Boxing day & talking of which The ague that has shot a hole through zoots alimentary these past daze hence is still abroad Having now layed both zoot & baby bear low Madame as well possibly though its difficult to tell She being want to play her cards incredibly close etc We should have been off to the country aujourd hui But this has had to be shelved However let us not slough in despond Baby bee et moi made it north of the river on xmas eve & all three of us to country plumstead on the day itself

Back to work Counting But not nuts or bolts This time hinges Hundreds & hundreds By the armful & legful Going on all day When the usual unreliable sources had all forecast an early bath Racking up endless varieties of every imaginable type To put in windows Hold back doors Prop up dressers Close out hatches All this being done with an ongoing case of the ague Burning up the guts Signalling unscheduled sojourns in the benghazi Being struck by the fastidious coincidence of discovering that the vast majority of said hinges were of the butt variety for gods sake

Have been up all night Through a variety of circumstance too tedious & mundane to recite However have been using said time gained to effect a little M & R on the machine Finally figurin’ out how to get scandisc running Then Would ya believe getting’ some defragmentation cookin’ Well your ole ‘umble ‘ere thought it was pretty cool And probably it was at 5.45am Watching the details of clusters unfold across the soft blinkin’ screen in the dusty predawn undertow Anway Enough of these petty details What matters is the big picture Which rolls along splendiferously Which is nice

Sitting Staring at a blank screen is Perhaps Not the best predicament for the generation & gestation of ideas Where comes the ritual spark The low flown beam of dark imagination To scar a plume of faint illumination across the damp twisted squid of nightlight presently casting ersatz shadows into the redundant maw of this half exploded softly ticketless word conjuring machine Who indeed is the ghostly muse who sits atop the scribes shoulder sharply muttering Stuttering Rumbling Throwing untold spaniards into the werkes Spannering out the anagrams with the residue of hidden suspension & cobbling it all together Precariously

The hi protein diet said

For Lunch the menu included

Bacon butties + sausage sarnies. Smothered in ketchup Followed by mince pies smothered in dooble creem.

for Tea

An olympic breakfast with all the trimmings was served ie fried bread shrooms toms sausage bacon chips & fried eggs with their sunny faces shining forth with kubrickian insouciance. At the second little chef no less. The first being strangely & given the location somewhat surreally closed.

For supper

More mince pies & more double cream

(No wunner mah stools is not performing with their usual high octane efficiency blast )

Hmmm

Aye There ye go pal Auld years nicht Here again Like clockwork Giving us all a dig in the ribs Things to do Things not to do What might get done What never gets done anyway Resolutions & promises The bearer to pay On demand Each lang syne The oft said litany Burbled out for one & all Here at chez nous This has gone by default Baby bear has crashed out in front of some alleged alter ego comedics Madame has retired to the boudoir in the direction of the land of nod Zoot is here with the ague