JO is for Jazz Octave

Acrillic Figa

Blue thunder thumbs half notes,

Weeping willows look all

Wes Montgomery.

Art Blakeys drums of experience,

Stix glossinging to

Animal skinheads.

Like a Taoist typesetter

Thelonious fingers –

Do the talking.

Hornet Coletrane Ellington

Fitzgerald Pharaoh

New jazzera.

Annalivia Elvin Jones

AfroJazz machine setter

Smiling physicist.

Unified field theory or just sheets

Of sound?

John Coltrane = physicist.

Alice Coltrane – timetraveling

Mother Harpist,

Mythological scholar goddess.

Kept Reel McCoy –

Ravi Pharoah Moffet

Harland – theology goods.

Inside the wheels of funk –

Sissy strutin spun

Clockwork –

Meters reformation.

ESP direct sustained Magus

Miles ahead

Above, and beyonder.

Potting string theory quilted with

Jolly Grant Green

Fields og gold.

Charlie Bird, Donald Byrd

Playing babyskyblue spells,

Birds flew far and

WG is for WAR GAMES: Do you want to play a game?

McKittrick: See that sign up here – up here. “Defcon.” That indicates our current defense condition. It should read “Defcon 5,” which means peace. It’s still on 4 because of that little stunt you pulled. Actually, if we hadn’t caught it in time, it might have gone to Defcon 1. You know what that means, David?

David Lightman: No. What does that mean?

McKittrick: World War Three.

E is for End of the football season.

  1. Freestyles for the sake of crillick for lick
  2. Anita tongue bung lung twisted tales carn’t stop me,
  3. spillin til dawn till i yawn and lie back with my head
  4. on the ege of the bed – dreamin – stargates cogs and spiral galaxy
  5. travel – woundead whorlds like cream stirred with sugar
  6. in my coffee priXion
  7. Sure thing i’m humble as pie super baked bird
  8. plane, kamikaze freak home rule comet flash out the sky. Bck from before timespace beyond
  9. me and my peeps used to live in the pond at the back of your house with likkle doormouse,
  10. we run with wild grouse, door louse nation > Alphabets are off, c ords pulled out wall sockets, but lights still shinin low.
  12. lower lights tribe beat tanned tawny star bulbs – manga tanka vivid proseody. octosyllabik carved my dna
  13. out of a block of jello. hello! “
  15. noway! tiss true – i wobble as you gobble sweet raspberry – merry pie sized cake holy jiffy – contents spillin from me gobblets, aerospace pirates wanna go play star wars > i got knu’s for your navy blues > live’s with the sky, ocean eyes the hues of this postion, Azure deep whales know what i’m sayin yeah – 1o’000 leagues under the sea it gets darka, i’m down there, with Leviathon, Hobbes and swift’s tale of tub, Rubber dub dub plate – walkin a straynge new land, born into debt from the second world war – 
  17. my folks were drafted into it by Newton. Aristotle put whisky in my Grandfarthers bottle. Same doctore put him on milk cheese and alchahol In ireleand > never met im, but i’ll never forget im > [as i swig from the bottle for Belushi] Lenny bruce talk dirty but intelligent too – but most foul mouthin fakers seem lyk a really bad joke – a sad adult joke – makes me wanna puke in the jukebox > over them unpoetic tradjick approaches and encraochments into mysterious innocent young posters 
  19. End of the football season tickets sold out , poets bailed out on the woid, or were they hijacked and gagged robbed and burned shot and set up for suicide? poets of Sun/moon don’t forget, thats never too cliche. Che she planet flows, all creatures, people dont loose it. Dont forget your galactic heritage – star born – Dont let hate sickreate itself into your sight. whorlds still ours. always wuz cuz we be the divine kings without staff and with graff. turntables microphones and a name to come, if you invite me to jam i’ll bring kazzoos and me drum.
  20. ratta Tatta ting. and yeah – i gut
  21. swing unta skins. Grady tate’s great when i’m curlin like a Buddha i’m learnin, fakers and taper’s hoax shows of my flows, what i mean, sed sayin who knu and who knows?
  22. no charge – all electricity on the field – shroom guide to dummies, a cyclopedia in yr/ tummies.
  23. I’m born of irish brummies, yeah straight out the Industrial Bull ring of fire, bit like detroit – factory minds built by Marx Engles Manchaster slums spread evil capitalism. heh hem > each weekend kids still die on the street, lack shoes on their feet or a “GOOD” thing to eat. four reel > ill gangs and thugs still smoke the wrong druqs but with a mycological atalas in yo tummy you just start te’think it’s all funny > teacup fury freaky brothers, i just entertain cuz outside and in > tv’s just payne and corportate gain. again and again and again
  24. Words our kraft what we own, our poetry a radioactive field of protection. defense of meaning like it was my dog. defense of the craft freestyle > from the heart of no nation no agenda, race blood > Just healthy life lows just believe me as i weave
  25. you – and breath me into frost. most high tracked bounce track to track boom bass snare snappy. Although white my afro beats nappy. 
  27. I’m playin the kid, my conclusions illusions and i knew that much. remains unamed lessons in yangjung wrong
  28. theory, like leary tuck tiss sentunce and spun frontspace backblurr curvizz refracto morpho actions. What…. “shapes” i gesture …..[onward.] Up and into the future – pushing for a solution, real;ization. encouragement for my otherr peeps who wanna just wright but wunt just let go. let loose. Fight the powers that be, slay em each night before tea.
  29. Clear Channel ‘poof” goodbye. No wires with just two texts finnegans wake and cantos bring Internet straight to the sauce perceiver – ridiculous you might be tinkin at fust, but baby baby please believe me,
  30. if the heavens fell tomorrow get a copy and swallow the cantos and awake. somawake and study till you bake and your tongue turns ruddy > Until cherry red lipsick appears to draw itself onto your lips, bringing your family closer, the familiar sketched in a mirror- tattooed onto your skin, a poem > de revolution in the minds of the people. steep and tall order, but odd numbers never been my forte. new scientific breakthroughs are being made, the chains of law> broken. Resurrect – direct – so eat well gather your strength – stop hatin! start marchin and gettin jiggy blunted > responsive , prepared. Not so scared. Freestylyn for free for unity
  31. between all MC’s, web sites celebrate mostly party
  32. saddness kills me and i am drawn to it, remindead me of my own loss, in my own life things missing,
  33. absense the toast highest formation of pressence. Pressage of my gills brings golden juice to switch on the lights of new dawn, new age, get up somaawake. it’s time heard it echo! . get up awake, todays the day – the woids baked frum the grave we splinter dogma like it was logs, keep eyes peeled out like dogs
  34. Independent no joke
  35. im still frsh out the yoke mathematical dope krunch table twine table tableau rosa – mind chess crest on my vest – eyes playing games behind my back at least thats how i’m feelin, animal farm gets brighter 1984
  36. Oh why in the presence of such beauty and bounty would you try and stop the clock – broken for 4 years.
  37. I’m from the future
  38. introducing masterplans, escape from planet earth with marching bands – beats to propell the sons of the sun, the daughters of the sons of the muthers matix arc malarchy. look up, the sky still sits amongst it’s background, with it’s own problums amongst stars and galaxies. loonies in power must be stopped, must be you might thing – at least, presented with some good food, andsome great music, mebbe they all gotta just get down get over it laugh get plastered and take shrooms. yi hee. be happy and skip about and act enlightened. I’m being sarcastic! can you tell? – the smell is your past work rotting, corpsemanure in the pastgrave, written and smitten. what’s written dead on it’s footnotes So i bust live from the hive who a bee acrillic maverick returned in times of disaster and panic, what the fuck else can i do, tread carefully until everything returns to “NORmal. I’m brewin kryptonight on the wheels winding flows till dawn if that’s what it takes i stand the ground, although it’s just ground up rice cakes.
  39. Empire of a donut glazed monster face lift!
  40. cosmetick tocks time for your knu nose job, time for
  41. your tity expansion – “implants” – credit cards,
  42. mobile phones > whatever makes you happy,
  43. well,
  44. if you knew you’d prolly drop a squid in yer nappy. Likkle braun nuggets of truth phill my draws, i pooped myself cuz my rhymazones squirly, don’t know if it’s jimmy dave sammy or shirly. it’s late. No – it’s early. merry gentlemen
  45. and women i’m spillin for thrills , might bethe illist > I’m deff called “crills’ > growing wings and gills so i can live under ocean. respect is nills for trash talkin leaders, eye can see thousands bleadin for uncle Bushsammy? > disturbs me Like Ivan the terrible! Ghengis khan – killers
  46. thugs pirates, like a macrocosm of the local G crack dealer – global speed pusher and coke synthetic monsanto monster clause, i’m disgusted by the chemicals put into kids food, it’s just rude man!
  47. wot cha doin? At the supermarket why you gottcha put bright Candy, choco and MSG filled Cows bones krushed up and called ‘Kids super hero gum” you fuckin sadists. ?
  48. I’ll, come put pounds shillings and sense inyour makers
  49. Safeway noway – wal mart , crewl stagga lee
  50. Sears go figure, in fact most money makers don’t wanna consider the other options. Luckily super bionic critters are here!
  51. no more sicko posters here –
  52. playin off each others ambiguous puke,
  53. united in sour stale adult banter. wack and slack, go step outside. cool of your macho self and penis.
  54. Praise mountain, the crystal computer. praise trees and grasses for goods sake. yes, i mean it might feed ya, My poms from the heart i’m blunt and honest today -i always thought Bucky fuller had the mobile house made anyway,
  55. whats government doing – people stewing > whats anyone doing? well im goinf off topic bck to the supersonic, back to the building of the revolution in the minds of the people. not a moment too soon my minds on the moon, pullin waters too and fro > soon soon i’m patient. Just sitting observing drip drop beats and rock rhymes but not running for congress. i’m not a law changer, policy maker, meddler in others bizzness.
  56. Arts for change or just that we don’t yet realize the power of our farts, if in unity we can cause a big stink, imagine if we filled a whole ice wrinq –
  57. what a smell > shoot hell what a stink new world order slushed down the drain pissed on. Control stuck inside alphabetical prixonx, break out!
  58. tell your fam and pops, time to write your book of spooks, speel the wheels, entice thrice greatness deep within your being, channel the flannel which washes the face of a bass line i ain’t describin cuz you gotta feel it.
  59. carn’t learn too mcuh. some might step away when i open my mind to the vultures and the critics > deep thinkers: thought police hackers and wack exec’s.
  60. there all out there waiting for people like me. fresh faced genius with a hot cup a tea. boilingover off the temperature scale, blah blah, i should remind y’all agen what i say ain’t set in stone, that’s my punch line, i don’t stop,
  61. respect to plurality but what we are doing is shortcircuiting gravitea, reality and authority.
  62. don’t believe me ask yourself, what ingrediants you see left on the shelf,
  63. microphone [ dusty and unplugged] – takes my eye
  64. i have waited and contemplated the players and craft builderbrothers – The cannibals of Europe are eating their litter. zukofsky make a rich man puke, angleton gave your aunties heart attcks. Unbutton your shirt now baby, it’s info for sexual favours, i’ll tell you the passwerd to my “skull and bones ‘ mens club. No nation owns me, contain or refrains me spittin > these truths spill over hills and mountains, far and yonder hey listen i got sumthin to say > i’m acrillic
  65. not a critic, i’ve been shinning all day. hey,
  66. wots up in your local neighbourhood? who’s the baddy the robber? who distributes your facts and how?
  67. Bread line was left to guide me to back to castle, grab my sword and cut the kingdom up into 22 pieces
  68. split em and be as cosmopolitan as i can make myself, afro celt tibetan irish bards, made of nothing but love – yeah LOVE i said it. sey Cheese. Thugs need love and doves and pigeons. gang’s just describe a group in the plural, but with added social moral poop. Here’s a scoop >
  69. most troops talk poop and peace talkers talk piss. in fact all the preachers talkin more stinky manure – funny to see donkey dropping splatter stunkle out of knowers gobbs. worries at the same time though. Angry mobs of knowers with horse manure falling from their chops, smells like the army, smells like the cops,
  70. i’m droppin science in the name of humanity, meaning gets twisted for rhyme and your sanity.
  71. Don’t stare just continue like that, i’m not fruntin, don’t wanna prove nutt’n just grove and add sumth’n – fly agaric muscarinik flavour naughts – element zero at each momoent i perceive, i read the notes on my sleeve about building stargates
  72. to lands of Ellingtons standards on rotation. be bop futures spontaneous, beats carn’t be heldf, marchin bands, snares rata tata rap slap rim shot, flutter like a rattle snake tale. A male, big one angry rattler must think of the force, no anger, no hoarse. [i cough and think to myself am i proff] from cambridge or oxford, or is this ox crap which spills from my glands?
  73. am i in the runnin
  74. got a point you recognize?
  75. re size the universe and put yerself in, make a edit and feed it back to the sphere – medias live don’t feed it in 0h phive. become the media more and more each day, microphone pychologist everythings possible, most stains washable. frum worsster sauce i first dribbled, from the UK you might say and then i woke up dribbled to the land of the free where pounds shillings and sense mean’t nuttin to most > no beans on toast and marmalade no > decent chocolate in the 711. I’m in heaven 20 years ahead, but 12 years behind in my blind, gagged and bound hijacked state > love you all, i’m here to help
  76. i carry raps i got the torchlight tight > tonight i sprint wirless back from the primordial ooze, dialed and projected i’m sorry if you observe me as absurd, abstract or silly. yo, my names cap chilli call me fly hash or crilli. it’s the twentyfirst milly according to many but each day is your own event horizon > your chance to become fully satisfied. remember the past when we was not under threat from the returned nazi storm troopers? and the propagandists. i recall my youth when i tucked in the world to my stinky shorts and farted between nations. Creating inflations and economic situations that effected – as it turns out, over nine other nations too. holy hole in a dionut. i’m doin it live. shoutin me gob of in the name of cheese. havin fun readin yes i seen john cleese. My projects funky half
  77. finished never spell’t wright cuz the empires aflame, set alight by Dada, Vico and Voices of Joyces ghost’s, Hi ho > a toast !
  78. to escaped scribes > drove mad by a world in a straight jacket, hooked on nothing put the bright packet. cozmetic souper kosmick christmastime > bring the truth in a broth,
  79. Suntergrass, grass and yoga maps to the cosmo alignment code. tricks to puttin chakra’s in a puttin line, knockin bones into alighnment, wishn i was a chiropracter of this government. last night i dreamt i was a poet and woke with the cantos impressed in my nose, Adams and Kung Fu fightin it out in my temporal lobes, straight to the flows. who knows > ninja cuts cut and transformed, rewound plus six, damn!. is this thing on…..?

P is for Pickapen: write a pickled peppoem in my YOUTH


by Steve ‘Fly Agaric 23’ Pratt.
2005. California. USA/

Eye see you
th’ glass of tyme, slowly melting
into new forms

Glass being transparent, like my
tongue thats apparent,
how not to be impressed, upon this window –
my nose smushed up against the payne.

I see children playing, lungs full of fresh air
sky blue n’ Everything in its right place.
Suddenly – i get a flash through time, its 4 billion b
sea-side thats before me.

Scholar mysticks throwinged biscuits to
divine the future, but it’s no ordinary bread,
like she said –

“Live from the Bread line”, in space and time..
Power of moons in runes to undo these
baboon tunes.

The domesticated primates in revolt.
Language revolting the revolution
measured in amps, heaven
it was always volts, revolting apes
with a finger on the switch.

Treatin women and kidz
like a troopa treat his bitch
bomb dropped flaps

kindness, forgiveness, co-operation.
These are the jewels of peaceful living.
And i feel it.

In these times, in the walls of my
adulthood i hide, afraid to paint the ceiling.
Afraid to paint my meaning.
And i dont stop.

keep turning over words like runes.
So to bring flowers and foods to government

in the windows of my youth
i find the soloution, foating in the aether,
in the wendy house i play’d in.

Imagination was the key to me becoming me.
You see, me was ste –
likkle kid with glasses sin the windows
of my youth

i used to wear dubble glazing – my werds
were splintered my paintings amazing.
yet the older i get the more i forget
about my paint palette.
thanks for fillin it. bringin it.

Crills spills down yr window, like
moisture layered between implicit and explicit.

if i was a prophet i might guess
that the future sounds like Charlie Moffet.
in my windows i draw pictures of letters.

letters scholar mytics forgot. letters
i remeber while lying in my cott.
When my head got hot, in windows of my youth
i got steamy and created condensation

poetry for a nation. In my windows
i see digits in mackintoshes.
Traded keys for brushes
beer for mushies.

In my windows i used to
draw gates in the winda moisture
conducting heavenly muzic
with my little finger, drawing in
the condensation poms for a nation.

Locked in youth i brake out
when the clouds open.
In my windows i found
doorways, paths to the future
of graffs.
Like prof’ Giraffes in masks.
Rewound windmilling turntableux

Clarity became the gravity
to prove to me that the dance
is wot it’s about, the dancehall
fire creatin’ moisture

hot sweaty dancers
i saw in the windows
of my youth.
Age 10 i looked down at

the bottom of the pool
goggles misty moist from super
bionic chronic sonic prayers i kicked
out my feet.
swimin through windows in my yoof.

Then i got out the pool
looked around and thru
school. So i finished up my time
and made friends and got drunk.

In my mind i was a goddisturber,
in my dreams i was a punk.
an orgasm addict listenin to the Clash
and Buzzcocks in my windy memora.

 I threw rocks and authority.
It scared me even then. Now it’s proof.
You gotta’ be fckn’ hooked on coke
to not see the “reality” being stuffed down

our throat. in my youth i was
unprepared for the new world order.
In my dreemz i used to
order chips and a battered sausage
a bottle of milk

so suckle nipple muther lost
and mebbe a point of beer takes
me myd off of the big mind?

likkle did i know
that by next year the “dark forces of evil
christian socialist materialism
the republicratic,

consolabour liers and prize pricks
the male dominator culture I
was unprepared, in my youth.

Now I got my tongue chemically
laminated with souperflowous bong juices.
in my youth i tripped with fear/and
i still do

lets get that clear, here it’s
Hiphop culture eara neara
although the beer slowly fogged
my googles

and the water trickled down my spine
full of Chlorine, and i became cheimcally
imbalanced, in the wintaos of my yutt

they put metal in my mouth
I knew not about floss
ignorance might result in
the loss of my teeth

but and i can still hold a
spliff in my mouth like a rocket.
boom boom i drop woids,
to move and fix thoughtz.

words for worlds
sake cuz hot weather
means shorts bro’

My windows were long
stretching from ear to venus.
I used to think the world wd/ never get
bewteen us.

Until Bush and company
popped up in myroom and i got
swept up, and out the door
with my own poetic broom.

Zoomin out to
space like Zao
Ming Chan.

I’m spittin some fittness.
fly in the jam.
Slamb ram aword configuartions into
my text for the masses,

putting maybe in drinks
and hoping it lassez.
lasts or lass-ou’s all writers
to throw down their blues.

99 percentage of humanity in question,
waiting for a meal, a dime a light
The fights underway and i’m not
qwhite lookin straight.

Still dancin in the wild white west
with the Bohemian groove

Blackapocalypse on the T.V. Culture
pirates imitate gangsters
who’s masters are priests,

TV execs. excuse me
while i flex some wind from my youth…
when i thought the Hospital was
hospitable, when i thought

god wuz good before i found out
that the devil was just d’ eevil
and word warriors hold
hopes in their imagination

And i imagine the windows
of my youth
have enabled me to see back
and feedback my seedback to back
to life –

to reality, reelee. Spillin crillic
it’s about 18 feet deep,
in dreemz of spacetime jump.

i just fell asleep, week to week i weep
willows for my home,
the pool the pond lake side
river side, o’er the pond.

Snakes pulling ladders
from pour window wipers.
Window cleaners left hangin’
with butchers and with cobblers.

Cops and Robbers,
the family mum and pops store gettin
eaten by Bigness.

‘Industreel Cannibulls of europe are eatin their litter.

These letters slide out from beneath
my finger nails onto
the screen.

Power cord pulled tracks slows down.
In the windows of my yute
i played flute and kidz follow

revolving thoughts, I was a bird ,
it was a Robin or was it a swallow.
I dunno i forget.

But Obe One Kinobe told me some
trooff about ice sickles,
and rhythm ripples,

Government be cripples, clogging the
system with unpoetic sentences relating to
bloodline rites and alphabetical
prison sentence.

self re/ferwrenshull turrrenshal terrestrial
anthropocentrick tried and tested true
liers the size Sirius B. I mean the size of
Dizzy’s cheeks or dirk digglas wiggle.

i got fresh perspective in the windows of my youth.
Unhooked, unhinged – unimagined and tonicked.
Subsonic soothsayer – with leo sayer
play’n on me rekkid player.

I say i say i say. In the windows of my youth,
i read this poem and blew my own head away.
The football season has not finished.

The final whistle has blown.
Fakers are in power blood suckers on the throne.
reptiles repin guilt, in 2000 years more blood has been spilt
than houses the so called “civilized” built.

So….i’ll quilt a new path on the fly right up
your legs and into yr/ eye, a whisper in silence
on the wind up on one hind leg, i beg the elements
to condense electricity and provide
power in this hour of exhibitionism.

poll liturgical things weigh way over the hill.
Yeah thanx you pick’d me ballx up rather smartly.
rather slight of handfully.

To brand an idea into the souls of my feet,
i have set keel to breakers and think funk it. xheet.
Live raps which rap up my tongue,
been dripping salivia pluralbellend
and now i lap up, like a prayrhee dog,
like a leary frog – light_-lee dunk.
Amber nectar, stick’n to me bckteeth your wright.

Mouth full of metal i got.
But the dentist likes me. implants
poems in the roof of my mouth –
roof of the world, axis mundi –
praxis tuesday – taxes wednesday –
waxing – thurdsday, my daY iz fli day,
a why day, knu dey.

Sun light and growth, imitatin my brudder
o’er pond frum howth. gro’th and groves
perception of different directions.,
erections and elections share similar
fractions in math and poetry and language
drip from the sam weepin willow noses.
passion has been looted from the fruitfullness
of our collective heritage damn it.

Our group porridge – now hoardin
in the “NwO’s garridge,
greedy blodd suckers lurk on the corner,
my peeps out in the streets sayin
“No “to the man, and werkin a slave life

we “All “slaves, and when you
wake up your tongue
takes over, no stoppin the word

when it hunts down the brutes,
the real heart of the problum,
heart of the beast

The imperial empirckle mirakle of the reel,
howz that for a start? me arts in it –
farts crumble empires built on gas
and hot air blown down ugly old fat white men,

not just white but all greedy. corpses gotta go,
waiting for them to die. yes. And in the meanitime
i’ll unfasten these strapes, write it write it.
dont fight it. fuel to the fire, lick it. ignite it.

Don’t listen to nobody but your self,
your own ‘Angels” mine are just jewels on show,
find yr/ own mind own it zone it clone it
and send a message to the breakfast table
of the cosmic blues burgar flipper
– the everyday chap – everyman, everywomen,
that’s who writes these wordz –
tryin to reach an equalibrium,
not all human but the tree if that be my story.

I the record, the needle tipp flipped dub
rubs in the jam, shakin dancehalls while
the best minds of our world are commited
to describing the destruction of our learning
center’s and Kultures of aboriginality.
One world party is a two edged sword
word, a Occamickle chemical quation.

A quaver of love
Party in the face of disaster.
Love the blues, feel the hurt and loss

compassion to come with. But
don’t let images and pain prevent
you breaking down the barriers.
from calling out the fake.

half fak’d theory called ‘Realism”
it’s up to me it’s up to you too,
so watch me stew my mind here

souper rap ego broths boil.
like a cook and professor of mythology
went nuts in a grave yard
digging up recipies from 3000 B.C,

diggin in the creates of the
phantom, sleepin in coffins like
vampires, counts life coin

from eggyptian lodge some
magical pirates are at war with the children.
tragedy of gravity imposed on the
young and flips and flows of this sung
left in dung.

music two hours a wik, math 8
geography 6, English tweleve,
History 9 n’ half hours

Political mystical experimentation
40 hours a weak.
Kids playn in the yard just hangin out,
rolling, goofin, slackin, it’s alright ma
i’m only goofinn Huck

Conneticut Clements –
imagine your there,
be the poet be yr/ hero.
Doctor savior lover muse and
then share bare bck to backstrokes.

open legs to autumn
and feel the gushing winds of change,
easy breeze.

Xneeze raps and wipe em up
with tripple clean X skip keels
to breakers, unstrapp the rapps
round the harbour, she shanties
about the salt sea moisture in panties

submarine coloured they were, lime green
Emerald panties skipper, tighty “greenies”
my flow watched em’ down 20 thousand
leagues i’m hot on fire,
talkin shit, forkin it

the words got me matey,
pirates stole the world
The word was snatched like a bag in
shoreditch, oh maytees
in a council state of mind,
im feelin that.

Baked beans and marmalade
dreams, lucid clouds and maxwells
hammer in the hands of John Bon’
singin tzolkien tales of Ol’e england,

Welsh, celtic root round the
breaky table, milky tea, dull silver
spoons reflect the down out high
rise lab’

skippers set keel to breakers
to the waves, break out and be free,
re-connect yr/ Turntables
dump yer CD’s Im not on vacation
i been here for years

amongst the cosmos, dollar race runny nose
like watchin “Liberty” skiddin down slope,
illusion familiar as cousins.

demons in sugar coated macs,
the devil in a record industry chair.
And i grow my hair,
stair fwd, rwd, reality
get a load a me, fuel for the fire
word is born Ohm

To Toast Higher.
on the….fly
Well im pullin down raps
rolling in my own dung,
singing my own sung, mebbe a bit
too long?

so although i still ain’t “gettin paid”
and yet still, i’m gettin planty laid,
i must say that i pay my dues.
refuting civilization.

Pulling down the veils of illusion
“hung” by the great pirates,
the thought police who tell you
which which is which,

well i got news. “Glitch”
in the
core it’s more
like I Ching to me,

Zeropoint probability zone.
instant. now. Zen.
refute all science,
reason and common knowledge.

All blown to the wind by the throw
of a dice and consultation with the oracle,
whos optical tropical chronicle
bionicle ancient temple
of natures cycles, seasons, equations,
archetypes, colors, branches, stems,
so on and so fourth it goes.

We are still just waiting for the new flesh to dry.
Painting wet in galleries.
artists damp with perspiration.
Anticipation of the revolution.

Language bck’ in the handicrafts
heads and hearts of the people.
never take that away.

Tanks roll in the street,
and i bring them crumpet
and tea bags for breakfast.

Teleporting planets here
in by the back garden shed.
nuff said. Acrillic spill it. unedit.


WINDOWS OF MY YOUTH by Steve ‘Fly Agaric 23’ Pratt. 2005. 
Edited Jan. 2012.

Acrillic Figa

Acrillic Figa

[starts rolling the next joint]….a lot of timespace has passed since i last posted. Reading Alan Watts has been difficult and testing. Although in some sense he holds the Kryptonite, the antitdote to our “media monster word virus run wild in the western lands” )+()_()+(

[takes a swig of red nectar beer, pulls on spliff] Since i last posted i have also spent months working towards the publication of maybelogic quarterly – a labour of love which i am still recovering from, in regards to being subject to it’s contents. As editor i was able to work right up until the very last few hours with the content of my own pieces about hiphop and the New scientific language of maybelogic. Without cell phone, television or regular internet access i am able to project “Internet” onto just two texts which i am currently embroiled and entangled within; Finnegans Wake by james Joyce and The Cantos by Ezra Pound. Both of which seem able to telecommunicate certain structures through the air – like wireless internet. I know it sounds rather strange but i am not joking about the power of poetic verse and meter, especially when recited or sung and danced about, shouted maybe even, to “teleport” what you might call “Web sites”

Out of thin air.

Get the two texts and try it. I swear it’s better than gameboy

Acrillic Figa