If words describe my face not shade not shadow nor contours hue purple blue, brown yellow the desire of words I hear words I seek I can see beyond words ink to liberties speak that are free like the Nile of blank creases inside my hand held firm amidst a delta of pains shaking the hands of words that grip us voiced that craft loud full the African jewel that ever shield the us and the ancient tusk of bold gold -black sway the psalm of found memory and sound of verse that anci

Share me with your laughter remind me of such grief longings free that covetting master that faceless embrace of tears' shadow across the glance splinter the bright fierce that self spiking flat lifeless draught a piercer of healed neglect without light and shadows compass to distort with what care we alight

"What about 1 and a half million gypsies who died in the Holocaust ? -But they were largely catholic ? -Those guys and giys, those men and wimmin were Christian weren't they ? -Well of course they were !?!It ties in with his hatred towards Christians today ! He may have thought it was an insurance policy of a prenup or prequel,you know.....if the Jews didn't conform to his master plan ! Nazi's didn't cut any corners ! But Imagine having to be a Nazi womun where you were m

Gasps stunned resistant yet rooted silence breathless groan in this half-buried dawn awaits withered winter through the scrape of the garish covetous flake a tsunami of sprouting clutter lime teeming inside dank mists disdaining the swells of the emptied hollow cavern like a light spreading remorseless leap over the forgotten coals half mast half full half emptied in a shot or pint glass yet that brazen imposter will still not out run being caught by the thrust of the sun

Heat's lightning tear fissure rips to break upon summer's knife and so tip earth to stream clouds amongst humidities shroud. Windless that fly bounds the bass that lies lowest root that holds the skies to the ground. Croak or quench the heights that fall the brink that skies the sun are forewarnings that beat on crops by hazes dip too many wings lost in a flock too many veined shapes desperate in the heat that starves the cot and dries the peat

When blend of sight eye the castes of wondering's fall whose pen is grey by sleepless roar may be the blight of shining memories strung or loosened flight or just that lands the curd saved from the whey ? Half low and screened of ageless stir will sore meander a sprawl of dismay But who that crafts the store will school the shaken whirl then adept can be tall of the cruel

For the heart is the guide sounded in scale the strut of this origin of offence diseases the blame that fools infect not. Even is the sense both claw and eye for in not having learnt the shape of pain stolen is the teacher of pleasures strain.

R- That is your shallow liberalism showing through! P- And you say you're a Socialist? R- Climate change could be the most contemporary re-distributor. P- Why would you want to push for Climate change? However, it is war that is the best form of inequality! Mass murder and the owners or the leaders sit pretty! R- En-masse? today’s pensioners in the UK, have paid a lifelong series of taxes that their great grandparents paid, their grandparents paid, and their parents paid in

Play emerges from another dialogue between Randall and Painter. R- Let's put together all the dialogues we've made together. P- All of them? R- Why not? P- How far do you want to bury ourselves in the past? R- they are all useful...well to get a better picture. P- I see what you did there! Very too obvious! R- Okay, let's start with today. P- We've got to get a context first... R-...............................................well it's not going to be the last is it!?! P- To

The Painting medium became (by the 1980s) a victim of a Paint gold rush for the medium and would have burnt-out temporarily but was used as a power asset of cultural warfare to perpetuate the decline of the prevailing soviet credo, Marxist-Leninism. No wonder the Painting medium got a kicking by the West, it was being seconded to do a job on Sovietism! Yet ironically it had been a staunch defender of freedom against Soviet as well as Fascist 'hate Art criminality!' It had bee

Post modernism and the structuralist debate was actually a tool and a tactic in the 1980s and 1990s to undermine all radical ideologies ostensibly, but its true aim was to dismantle the Soviet Marxism 'superior science of linear Dialectical Materialism' that had been the stalwart of the Cold War's Soviet conflict with post imperial Western powers. Imagine you'd need to evaporate, disintegrate and fragment 'the Marxist appeal by destroying the reality that there was fundamenta

If this light writes the ale of fortune stripped of vine can it be the tongue of merriment or the eyes of stars squinting at moon's steady rail ? But basking the lighter blurr grapes the stilled haloes that ache mornings wince and yet can the long-sighted soothsayers be those who shrink the printed blink of days silk just to preen or flint and spark calumnies draught to shudder in the human tithe of the past ?

Beam's strip across the night call the doors without the light like long keystones beyond their edge and stretch between sins to flatter their lies of centuries to collect and to peel the skins to wind back the words to pray to the witless nib and shun the hors d'oeuvres. So peer under the floors of chalk versus ink and sigh for scribblings to grey and to strap on the faceless shrink to lie for the left-overs and frame their spite and glue their ceiling but never abandon the

P-I didn't know you had a box here? R- One for all the jocks and lawyers, the jocks (judges) get fat and the lawyers wear wigs! P- It's the 8-course fine dining and not the drama's I'm here for R--Ambrosia and nectar too! P- ..and the other entertainment? R- we get to see into a police cell, all the dramas, tragedies and comedies in real time! P- any beatings, or just standard injustices and suicides? R- you have to pay more for that. P- But still the same costume dramas? R-

Ironically it was the idea of the boy who'd survived a eugenics experiment who initiated the very trial that officially murdered 5,000 children's lives, but unofficially would kill more than 500,000 children instead. Such lives in this villainous trial were beyond the count of grief for a society that allowed itself the self-assertion of upholding the highest standards of 'inalienable rights for all', that couldn't countenance such a 'holocaust of the 21st century by the hea

When rememberers begun stooped sun and barley shared memories' story of lush lit flood-fields of skies that anchor westwards in spite of shadows guise history falls on words not the sword but words are the knife within the skewer of the sword.

Early tentative print erased white path of gentle motionless grace and unfierce time the chastened gap leafless by simple slow winter's time unburdened swoop. swollen hesitant midday's gravity late swoon gleams the silent reluctant the eye settling upon lifted ridge with trickles of heaven dust like fur on low footprints that hides empty scent of scavengers resting ice sparkle and shimmer dreams of care and pine too early to wake upon the desert step but out of time to slumbe

Lydia herself was a mother and grandmother, but she would become a mother to her 3rd sons' daughter. Officially, this was deemed so offensive that it induced expulsion from the Soviet Union who deemed such an abomination and such a western perversion that the West deserved to be dumped upon for its 'subversive amorality' Lydia would become a permanent refugee so degenerate as to be a matter for the narcissistic MI6 who would be self-harming and even hand the East an opportun

It was almost as though he couldn't' quite recall what this one word could be that felt like a pulse that was getting nearer and now right next to him, but he only truly got curious when the pulse started becoming more distant. He smiled mischievously to himself: why don't I build a false narrative even a form of reference to the only two people of note that he'd seen in a while. This was his theoretical exercise of the day, so if they had used trigger words or references to

Scene 2 Wakes up by hearing a young woman screaming. He recognizes her voice but can't picture her; no visuals? wait for more intel. Then realizes he's in a hospital bed with plaster mostly over every limb and also most parts of his face. What has he just survived? now he's in some pain. He tries to move but is hampered by the plaster over most parts that seem to not work because of it. Is he being supported and healed or coercively constrained? But isn't he meant to know?