From Dreamswept Fuckscape

Posted: October 25, 2016 in Uncategorized

Big Ape Diary

From dreamswept fuckscape

you surfaced to skin.

From sleepsunk night

through half hidden borderlands:

the interstitial spaces of want and have

to the flatlands of a needsome Now,

and found like all surfacing, the superficial

safety of non-committal

pales beside the depths of mingled DNA-

where we exist at truest, 

Where communal histories dance

in millennial veils.

 

Dreams, our clothes at their most naked

and in the awakening we feel

all surfacing a lie-

and yet, where we intersect

at the boundaries of sentences and skin

weaving ourselves to the depths of us,

searching for the other,

we imprint our loves

on the descent into us,

drag the ghosts of our impressions of them into cores

where bodies cling to crusts

and intellect slips to the mantle of our being.

We make phantoms of ourselves

and bind ourselves to myth.

 

We live tangential to life

pulling the…

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Coughing out the lightness in

smoke and spiral motes of dust

mutable bed and our body acquisitions

cuttlefish ass damp from before

if I was not so ignorant

i would feel again

the tapestry of tattoos on her flank

precise inks more trustworthy

than my cock of threat

in denial and veiled seduction

pressed against her

the hum of bee air conditioning

positioning for me with rump pressure

she felt I could make her sparkle and shine

instead that tremored gasp

returning to her back

looking with a certain knowing

that I was a flake

who would leave and  betray

adding to that pile of detritus

and awful decay that was her life

they told me about the garden of love

which I knew never existed

just like the dew settles

a feeling came over me

reaching touching feathery leaves

someone lurked in the darkness

a glimpse a furtive shadow

i needed to draw out of the gloom

no fee to be paid

as wallet forgotten

my fingers picked a rose

holding it aloft to the sun

shadow emerged reaching also

for the rose

sunlit face exquisite beauty

naked radiance for me to see

entranced entwined enthralled

in a boiling swell of passion

i was consumed

infused with the flowers and trees

the garden in this garden

i would remain

many stories can be untold

but this one cannot

i belong to that once furtive figure

no more in the density of foliage

but with me

together as one

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Together always

22 years of marriage to be celebrated

Follow the link to see my wife’s Photography website award winning art you can own and desire “The first half of the 20th century belongs to Picasso, and the second half is about photography. They said digital…

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An Irish film that looks to be very good and one to watch

One to watch you can view it in many locations and is filmed in Birkenhead up the road from where I live

GIRLS ON FILM

The Violators - Cast & Crew-175

Not knowing what to expect when I walked into Birds Eye View Film Festival’s screening of Helen Walsh’s THE VIOLATORS last year – having never heard of this novellist-turned-director before – I was lucky enough to have one of those cinematic moments that stay with you forever. I fully admit to not being able to have dispelled the memory of this film from my mind since.

Situated in the barren so-called ‘wasteland of Liverpool, where Walsh grew up, THE VIOLATORS is as much a ghost story as a coming of age one. It is an environment teeming with the threat of decay that Shelly (Lauren McQueen) lives within, trying to simultaneously play mother to her little brother and reckless teenager discovering her sexuality. This mature-yet-immature, maternal-yet-vulnerable tension influences much of the film’s story, peaking in the meeting of the opportunist Mikey (Stephen Lord) who threatens to dig up the past for Shelly…

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