27 december 2011

24 december 2011, saturday ( Thoughts )

This idea of the child that we all are – stripped of our vanities and self-delusions – comes through strongly in my poetry. 
  And although I love to dip – like the bird – into the world of art and literature, I remain on the outside, rather like a girl peering into a crystal ball.  It attracts me and I gaze into its realms, but I am aware of its ability to swallow one up as Venus Flytraps do.
  I find, in any case, that I am too lazy, whimsical and kinetic to be a serious student of or indeed, participant in the literary world.  I sing - and let those who have ears.

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HOUSE OF THE PURPOSE in dreams we are leaving world from the centre of eyelids the living radio is playing in the darkness on the desert of dead real world where we are meeting The ghosts doors Nirvany and Queen asking about the road and the music where now Laydy Gaga is reigning Lesbians and pedals as far as the ceiling is being leveled with flooring of the galaxy zmeconej with morning of the greyness of reality screwed up in the range of the Internet dumb of touch we are waking up in colourful world with black belt crossed out

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