Mags Loves Jimi

“They thought I was a Surrealist, but I wasn't. I never painted dreams. I painted my own reality.” ― Frida Kahlo

Month: February, 2015

# Untitled 16 (Drowning)

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I want to;

Let go –

Throw off,

 Re –

Lease

Into and aside

 Seas that hunger

 For your waves.

I’ve followed rivers

Bluer than you.

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# Untitled 15 (Room Service)

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Visions are clouded;

Lucid and present.

Are words of affirmation

Tasty?

Pinching with myth/

                                            Baking with shame.

I am on fire!

Peppered accounts and

Floured potential

Leave overcooked terms –

                              (Residue)

I will burn later to keep warm.

# Untitled 14 (When)

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You ask;

When?

And the need I want is deep,
Desperately seeking surface.

When is a word –
Used.

                   Are chills ever fully quenched in the
Selective ghaint heat?

You chatter slow,
Deliberate and hard and –
Yakka:

Stuck-up. Presumptuous. Fickle. Obtuse to the point of naivety. Novelty. Notoriety –
Wonderful.

Some things slipped in throats –
Mind the gap.

Tasting the thick fog of full vision democracy in my exotic;

Often mistinted to glow with different hues.

(User friendly.)

Cannot! – Will not;
Sing notes of letters and numbers I leave on your tongue.

Speak now!

‘Yes. No. Please.

Stop.

Sure. Fine. Why.’

When

Has to be –

‘Then. There.

Once. That.’

When

Has to be –

The past.

# Untitled 13 (Remembrance)

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The first line of defence is remembering to breathe.

Inhale – deflect. Exhale – reject.

Please exit the area.

(Share and devour).

Chests that rise populate the land of the one –

Islands fascinated, filtered and favoured.

Mouths on minutes sounded off. The stretch in my complacency and misused pronouns heard the scratches.

Instant gratification will always be liberty a heart can never fill.

Brethren we are bound by the H2O of cosmetic applications.

The roads less travelled became matter multiplied.

Paths grew with each periodic sigh of belonging

Styled in convenience; armed and dangerous –

Dismal

                       (in dialect).

Requests

                    (boxed in).

We danced in cerebral cortexes cloudy;

choosing not to abandon the search for stars –

                    (reparation),

While peering into lungs.

It’s only tenant embraced transgressions –

Rising in the mist of consciousness,

Drowning in moot of innocence.

The first –

The last –

The only,

Line of defence is

To remember.

# Untitled 12 (Ship Wrecked)

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I waited.

Your lighthouse and safe port

Misty in Nubian rain.

 Was I the

Velvet slip?

Lace on leather, suede with silk

Bearing weight –

Bravado gems,

Rosy eyes

Dewy skin.

You expressed your delivery

Pre-order/

                     Lay-by?

I come in custom.

One-size.

Woven in uneven textures,

Privy to

Made-to-measure memories.

                           Cargo on ships –

You remind me of habits.

            Stolen.

Eternity surrounded us

 Reminding God doesn’t love for plans or promises.

Do you feel the sweat

In this savannah?

***

“It’s What I do – I Feel. I Dream.” – Buddy Wakefield

Dangerous

# Untitled 11 (Consumption)

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I consumed today.

Searching creative tongues;

Second-hand syllables,

Sentences paper finds too subtle.

I consumed;

Books on discount –

                Miller‘s moons over June…

Believe.

It is easy to have you at charge

When I danced

 That devil –

His advocate.

(Subconsciously and not entirely

Of my own mechanical facets).

Talk

                         – Like passion –

Is always on sale

Big spender.

Dusty Leaves

El Asombrado by Les Wicks

1.

& a small splash of fresh blood on a stone.
An unusual, dark maroon.

Boots plod through dirt
or volcanic ash, semi-comic puffs mark every stride
& the sound of the doorbell is like a squeal/

Three women watch twelve naked men in
the afternoon sunshine, their beards
glisten with beer.

The wet slap of passion does
not echo in the walls of this engagement &
out on the patio
nature’s darlings,
the pigeons & starlings
are birds in the same game deck
of peck
& struts ….even
the sun is mounting our privacy screen.

Like evolved beasts, shaved all over
& wearing sunglasses for effect
each talks before tumble,
ask before we bask.

Bald & bandy
eats his candy.

2.

With a crack of the whip
the Mistress supervised a line of six men
milking their condom coated cocks
like a mad old military band.

Pleasure…

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Unmastered: A Book on Desire Most Difficult to Tell

“We have no dominion over desire. It’s our ancient, aristocratic master, like hunger or sleep. It sings in our bones and stains our clothes and conspires to make us look ridiculous. Perhaps that is why every new book on desire—and there is always a new book on desire—seems so brave. Every one, an attempt to put into language what is essentially hostile to language and resists interpretation. ” – Parul Sehgal

Parul Sehgal

By Parul Sehgal, Slate, June 7, 2013

We have no dominion over desire. It’s our ancient, aristocratic master, like hunger or sleep. It sings in our bones and stains our clothes and conspires to make us look ridiculous. Perhaps that is why every new book on desire—and there is always a new book on desire—seems so brave. Every one, an attempt to put into language what is essentially hostile to language and resists interpretation. 

Unmastered is the first book from Katherine Angel, a British academic who brings a supple intelligence and a slithery style to her personal account of a love affair. She’s a sexual intellectual with the hauteur of a Hitchcock blonde. The lady doesn’t come, she arrives.

Angel asks the same questions we always ask about desire: Why do I like what I like?Am I wrong to like what I like? and Why is it…

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# Untitled 10 (Stories)

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We will never share a story
Poem
Memoir.
Fiction for the non –
Conformists.

No, we will never paint a picture;
Baiting with word, falling for failings
In canvas size places
Printed with people, used.

No protagonist
Plot twist
Curated myths
Facetious tiffs –
Verbatim? Unsaid.

We could never keep
Enough
Lines straight
To sound off truths

About time
That had space
To scream;
“What about me?”