Selections from Adjunct: an Undigest (Barque Press 2009).
- Follow this link for a machine-translation of Adjunct into Norwegian.
- Follow this link for a collage of Adjunct-related material.
- Follow this link for page one of the Adjunct Manuscript.
- Follow this link for one of the pages of random numbers used in composing Adjunct.
The game of life played on the surface of a torus. Guilt. Concept album about garlic. Some verbs allow clitic climbing and others do not. ‘Mice-Vite’. Pause in the middle of writing two ‘m’s. Suck as through teeth of air into bean can. Runny candle won’t last. British Telecom answering machine brochure stuck by an unidentified odourless liquid to back of Adjunct. I showed Mary herself. Panther monster. Mind you, the sun isn’t such a great thing. FOLD BACK AND MOISTEN your special introductory offer for you to enjoy THE JOURNAL OF erotica Dear Reader, The notebooks of Bob Geldof. A photograph of a poster of Vaclav Havel, taken while standing, clothed, in the bathtub. I would have said it was more to do with the line of the jaw. He is expelled from college after two terms for ‘social and political immaturity’. A book on French painting, once owned by my father, has a drawing of a woman’s face – presumably by him – indented into the cover, and a tiny, long-dead spider pressed into the title page. No drama is complete without the sight of naked bodies writhing and pumping on each other with the aural proof of their ecstasy on the soundtrack – Mrs. M. Blend, London N10. Here is a letter from De Krim, a little village, it lies about 15km south-east from Hoogeveen. I will thank you for your report. That you have receive me on 14.12.85 on 1611kHz which Simpo 43443. The records were also intend for you. The biggest distance where they have received me was 1500km-2000km. Now I will tell you something about myself. I am a men from 28 years old and I work as a carmechanic. I am broadcasting mostly on the 180m. The police had catch me two times. Huge jacket too small for me. Brian Redhead is Dead. No I made that up. Do not you talk in here. A photograph of Alison eating a roll. Berio’s Folksongs taped over Hits of 86. There’s somebody shaving. Photograph of me sitting on arm of my mother’s chair, Christmas 92, with sore red eyes, looking like Oliver Reed on a bad night. High, high, high, looking low, low, low. The bad boy of Scottish Serial Poetry. Developing an acrid smell. CHRIST’S BODY BROKEN FOR YOU! My father once fused the bar of an electric fire with a flying toenail clipping. Can’t stop sneezing for long enough to note that absorbency in handkerchiefs is a function of age. Recently, we have attracted younger, more conservative readers. dog, being a god. A bird pursues a bee, and the fall. Back beat and get it under three minutes. Strict regime of cold baths. An accident with a fountain pen. Welcome to Cairo. Seniors need affable housing. Before and afterbirth. Doctors declared her career over when That fantastic photocopier which made everything look like a Munch woodcut. BLACK BAGS + YELLOW TIES = CUPBOARD. Smashing cats. Wrong voice. A post it note bearing the name Peter Finch (twice) and the titles of twelve poems, not by Peter Finch. Use Addition rule to generate table of values mod 2 for Pascal’s Triangle. Faber Book of Modern Verse smells of cat pee. No recollection of emendation on page 20. She collapsed at the 1934 French Open, but despite a heavy smoking habit, she came back to win the singles, doubles and just imagine what you could do with £23.4375. Record player in Bonhams refuses to play Sting properly. An insane Venezuelan brings the tea. Do you know what this is called, then? No? It’s called rubber tubing. I have never been able to explain why this happens. Finlay’s past credits include Hitler, Jesus, Napoleon and Casanova, along with the morose Peter Manson in ITV’s 1970s drama serial, A Bouquet of Barbed Wire. Third Text is like a skylight – one could look upwards through it: and one can read by it (John Berger, France). Chinese rice bowls give out a very pleasant tinkling. Only remember to turn radio on ½ hour into 3 Constructions after Kurt Schwitters, and start crying. Natural Activated Attapulgite. Peter Cushing is dead. The bass note is always one of cheeseparing pedantry. Lord Title is inTebbit. Innocent of soup stains on slept-in tee-shirt. He who cuts water with a sword and wounds it is water itself, the bird that gives birth is the bat, and the beast of prey that lays eggs is the weasel. You don’t surface expressively in your poems. In a near-perfect instance of synchronicity, explain cottage cheese. I think you were a bit coy about the mandragora plant. Litho Chronicle Surface. Avocado stone breaks. That’s definitely fmsbw, but is it a tape of Hausmann? IN THE NAME OF GOD verification of reception report Islamic Republic of Iran Broadcasting. What do you wear at weekends? The Psychological Review 1896 Normal Motor Automatism. Some Music and a Little Wart. An oil painting of a photograph of a gas fire. Christ and the Mother of Christ and all His mallows. It is an achievement surely to make soup as bad as this. On hearing of the death of an elderly regular, Dick went rigid. Please Leavis’ ear. to-me wants to-put-on-him a hat. You might want to come and see our acupuncturist for that. Fragments of antic masonry. A BEARSDEN woman will be installed as the first woman. The bulbous end of Peggy Guggenheim’s nose. Telly Savalas is dead. A book of one word poems, with index. Bob Cobbing and Mark E. Smith have both written things called Entitled: Entitled. Remnants of youthful skin tone. Faecal vomiting. Not a Dry Blackthorn Day. The world owes the poet nothing and we should not be expected to dig and delve into a rambling discourse searching for some inner meaning. A pigeon the size of a midge buzzing around the room. It flies in under the froth on a plate of tomato soup. I blow back the froth and it is swimming like a duck in the soup. I lift it out on a spoon, dry it on a napkin and it is none the worse. Complete failure of 1980s BBC attempt to send computer programs over the radio because of multiplexing in satellite feeds. MULTIPLE REDUCTION COPY MACHINES. James Hunt is dead. Let me out I’m a cloud. Just one cornuto. Glasgow School O fArt. That male model smile. A pain in the hair. That little gob of phlegm which adhered to Terry Eagleton’s lower lip for the whole hour, no matter how many times he tried to wipe it off. That isn’t what pseudo-random means. All he had to show for his investment was a mummified cat. Always wanted a fasciated cactus when I was a kid. Dendritic growths of native silver. A strange, crooked piece of wood from Angola, said to be an eighth century representation of the head of an anteater. The final leg of the journey is in five sections. Cajun Cage. Glue on self-seal envelopes gives off blue static sparks when peeled. Reading Portraits and Repetition on a Southbound train at 3.20am. The radiator bleeder that catches the drips. My protruding lower lip. Smurfit Osprey. Grease stain on a random number table. Maggie sets hair on fire. How do you know I don’t have a mental life? A photograph of my brother Derek eating a roll. Obscene runic inscription FUTHARS. But I watch Heimat anyway. Breath smells of bad brie. Anthology of poems comparing the sound of a lark to a radio tuning, and containing the morpheme ‘Finch’ in the author or title field. In this, Clark Coolidge’s eighteenth pub. Houmous and water biscuits. A letter-card from Beckett to Joyce, giving a text in Greek which Joyce seems not to have used in the composition of Finnegans Wake. The Almond-bread set. Radio Times interview with Chad Varah describes him as looking like a superannuated muppet, which seems unfair. On whom did Wim bleed? Assorted sundries, £0.95. Widows’ Endorphins. Remote Customer Self Reading. This statement, I wonder why he has retracted. Whenever he came home I seemed to be endlessly breastfeeding, particularly in the evenings. Surge of adequacy. who are thrown into frantic ecstasies in which they handle red hot iron and eat reptiles with impunity. ADVICE BY H.M. GOVERNMENT If you smoke cigarettes leave a long stub. Remove from mouth between puffs. Inhale less. Take fewer puffs. We could use a trellis, but that’s pretty intrusive. Big blue bruise where the needle went in. And he’s got a free hat-wash into the bargain. Dimples! The handwriting of a person from Fife. Years ago Nigel Henbest and Heather Couper met someone who was a devotee of eugenics. But the goodness of Dada adore it for Ivor. Genetically-engineered salmon are being injected to make them grow 37 times faster than natural salmon, but is there a dangerous Frankenstein factor here as well as bumper yields? Michael Forsyth saying ‘Rupert the Bros’. English woman in startling green tartan hot pants in Bonhams 7/11/93. Luminous blue abdomen, you are following me around. A mallet kept for chipping the penises off antique statuary. The Diazepam closing full in Manson. Vodka tastes of TV licensing envelope glue. Suffering from the tropical fungus infections. Guilt at moving into a nicer council flat. I don’t remember eating that chicken. New research suggests that kestrels have ultraviolet-sensitive eyes that can see trails of vole urine, which lead them to their targets. Sprouted avocado stone looks like an early Baselitz painting. Kenny Everett is dead. Expansive gesture with both hands catches Phillip Hobsbaum on the lower arm. And what are we to make of the tall figure in the right background with the lum hat? A small, hard animal, straining. Sounds like Bruce Andrews. One cup chips, 50p. Anal Chair. Dry my hair in Burger King. Harold Wilson is dead. Purely syntactic failure to get out into the rain. Pasta – antipasto – bang! Douglas Oliver Review scans. John Cage’s giggle transcribed HeheheheheHEHHE HEHEHEHEHEHEHE in Transatlantic Review interview May 1976. Stereolab playing King Tut’s on Friday. Drop bottle of whisky: buy another. Rhynie chert. Anne King shares a modern Scots word for condom with radio four listeners this lunchtime. Artificial teeth are considered as partial or complete sets, according as any natural teeth remain or not. Fat and hydrochloric acid. Visuality. That’s what catches my eye. Donald Pleasance is dead. Studied bookbinding with Hazel Dreis, formed quartet of bookbinders for playing of percussion music. The first woman to play in an all-out attacking serve and volley game was the Californian, Alice Marble, in the late 1930s. There’s a big puffy fabric doll been papped over a fence into one of the no-man’s lands in Nansen Street. It’s lying face down. I don’t like it, and I’m glad I’ve moved house. So Katherine Osbourne is wrong, George Hellman is wrong, Harry Moors is wrong, Malcolm Elwin is wrong, Frank Swinnerton is wrong, Frank McLynn is wrong, and so by implication are many other writers (Margaret Mackay, Ian bell etc) who do not like Fanny. We took refuge in the glass outhouse built especially for Hugh MacDiarmid to write in. If the hearse is rockin’, don’t come knockin’. A photograph of a wooden duck held at arm’s length. Oil paint is the reason flesh was invented. Female horseshoe bats have false nipples. Experience in retail management preferred, or a suitable clothing background. Teeth don’t fit together any more. Larry Grayson is dead. I got methane all on my mind. Time of the monk. The wings of my ears flapping in a not-unambiguous wind. And against all visible obstacles, something nice did happen. John Major resigns, sort of. He would like to have entry charges, or free entry. His parents were very humble folk who, for lack of a richer inheritance, bequeathed their children unusual talents. OUR BUNS ARE STEAMED! The Opalinidae have no ‘mouth’ or contractile vacuole and are parasitic in the rectum of amphibians. Experience a ‘souk’ (an Arab market place). I’m mad on souks! Scotch pies are illegal in Germany. Beard’s going ginger. A small fly sticks to the oil paint. My throat is gurgling. Outlandish gums. Here is my sausage. The Pontiff is psychologically unwell. It is related that when he was at school, he seldom mingled in play with the other boys, but retired to his chamber; where his sovereign pleasure was to sit, hour after hour, while his hair was combed by somebody whose service he found means to procure. 9.05 Desert Island Discs General Norman Schwarzkopf chooses eight records. Comes in cream bath and cream shower. Keiching see KITCHEN. Bears are good at punting. Burp turns into a vomit. Charles Bernstein, Leaking Truth. Radio 3 continuity announcer saying G-spot Tornado. What are the two figures doing with that stubby equipment? Ginger Rogers is dead. Stop drinking again. Oil paint is the reason turpentine substitute was invented. ALERT OVER FAKE TEA BAGS. Caron Keating finds that juggling motherhood with a successful television show doesn’t leave much time for eating. A quick hot snack with soft cheese is the answer. Non-self-identity card. Odd metallic taste in the mouth (where else?) Too green piss activist. Mardi Gras Sunday 15th March. Elderly woman farts loudly on entering Babbity Bowsters. A major new step forward in the battle against blue-green algae has been pioneered by Strathclyde Country Park. Belly dancer required: experienced rigid. TEN REFUSE SACKS. Win a quality terracotta bread warmer (see far left). Garlic plant smells of garlic. Generous nutter quotient. I’ve got a crap windscreen. Nipple floss. Laika the dog. Duchamp was ageing rapidly. Readers’ wighs. That bridge has been died/frolicked under for years by trolls. Mishear Ernesto Cardenal as Eric Cantona on telephone, and emit a badly-received chuckle. Marking small undulatory bits on Larbert’s farmers’ fields. Unique toothpick for you and your pet. Chlordiazepoxide 10mg x 6. A bottle, empty of water. Sense of ‘menopausal’ sprouty onion. It is easier to set cable in fixing hook (D) with pushing by thumb like that sketch. Early 80s children’s programme in which two teenage girls sing I wish I wish he was like Michael Fish to a bemused Fish on the roof of Broadcasting House. Imperial beard to look like Yin/Yang symbol. Deep sea explorer avoids urinating for 18 hours. At the height of their success, The Rollers imploded. Arthur English is dead. Mistype flapped as fingered. Only occurrence of the word ACNE on my hard disk is in the name Aonghas Macneacail. Jeunes Francophobes. Lumpy canvas under Miro’s Maternity. As if by magic, Anne King appears. HEART’S ERECTIONS Pierce a piece of paper with your nipples and send for a sculptural collage. Public stomach. Mao Tse-Tung appears to swim in the Yangtze river 16 July 1966. Ethnic hats. Box certificate this CORRUGATED box meets all construction requirements of application. Radio Moscow sells airtime to Japanese religious broadcaster. Woken from a dream by the telephone, and deliver a complex sentence containing the word ‘oval’ to a woman who has phoned the wrong number. Rotate a Euclidean rectangle in quaternion space. A pond is outside of Ian Hamilton Finlay. Oatcakes without cheese. Plucking the young ashberries. The caramelisation of Modernism. ‘Snever happened before that I can think in the history of Scottish Literature. A mutilated tract on God’s Mercy and Justice and Material for its Reconstruction. Jobby by Hans Arp. How bad is Peter Howson? Laureate of the unseen purple cow. Has the photographer been up to some sort of primitive ‘tricks’ or is this man genuinely massive? Puberty again. The grimmest exude a stimmung otherwise familiar in circumstances where little can be seen but much can be sensed, and Still would have known such moments on the barren prairies, especially at night. Willow Springs and Abiko Quarterly have recently published his poetry and essays, respectfully. Liver checkup 6.4.95. Moustache smells odd. Though Price can show a gift for the startling image, the much underestimated ‘ordinary’ reader would only be occasionally engaged by these often obscure pages. In Venice in 1948 he met Peggy Guggenheim and admired her Jackson Pollocks. Barry McCormick’s Antonio looks like he’s tasted a sick man’s urine. Have I eaten a tomato? Freebase Accordion. Postman must have heard me rehearsing that soundpoem. The catering trolley will shortly pass through the train. Old Icelandic for window is glug. Sure is, Petunia! Straggly starlings at the limit of visibility. The laxatives were a mistake. Epiteeth. When you’re born into an aboriginal, kind of, family. Bed Teragon. Potato explodes, shattering microwave bulb. Hooded concave. Poultice a self-induced wave of irritation. Sounds like Lou Reed. I PROMISE: Forsyth moves to help stroke man. Asteroidal bombardment destroyed the dinosaurs … the Manson Crater, Iowa … the Manson Crater was 65.4 million years old, give or take 0.4 million years … most Manson rocks have normal polarity … the Manson impact could have occurred either 200000 to 300000 years before or after Chicxulub … alternatively, Manson could have occurred during a brief and previously unknown interval of normal polarity during the reversed polarity period … Manson-sized impacts should occur every few million years, so it is suspicious that the Manson Crater is so close to the Chicxulub. He maketh me to lie down in green waters. I wonder what the first entry was. That powdered milk smells terrible. Females please send me your colorful photos where you are quite undressed, and I can see all of your body, in return I will send you my undressed photos or banknotes from my country. Self Portrait of 1650. Three bottles of spirit in two days. Zen flit in which nothing is broken, lost or damaged. Foetus like a grasshopper from out my nose. ‘The Dark Night of the Soul’ weeks 1 & 2 Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays. Draw or otherwise represent your sex organ inside a 2″ (5cm) square, size is everything, will be used for a mini-zine. Hypnagogic state in which dream figures are ventriloquised by the radio. The insanity which struck his otters. That’s a very long Cliff Richard advert. That man in the square hole died of plague. Give a sausage to a woman in Great Western Road. Sir Michael Hordern is dead. Soft paint sediment. Brian Coffey is dead. Have With You to Saffron-Walden. A Guide To Kill A Mockingbird. Who could forget Jenny Agutter in The Railway Children? Get a grip now. Unidentifiable dry crunch in tuna stir fry. Zukofsky is in the habit of sudden switching. Leigh Bowery is dead. Her molten voice is a balm of anaesthetic proportions. Fall off a dustbin in 1991. Uma Thurman masterclass. Does anyone in the room remember Musical Youth’s Pass the Dutchee? No. Get the feeling you are breathing up and down your spine. Einstein was born without a particularly angular head and his grandmother thought him ‘much too fat’. Buckingham Terrace West Railing Development. Day one, shakes; day two, sweats; day three, dizzy/panic; day four, pain. I used to say I would do anything for a photograph, like when I was naked in Vogue. Entries must be typed on A4 paper. Poems must be based on a theme taken from a poem in ‘The Sand Garden’ by Dr. Thom Nairn (the title of the poems must be stated). Inlets, three players of water-filled conch shells and one conch player using circular breathing and the sound of fire. Back cover photograph by Gerard Malanga. Insect heads in tomato puree. Short stiff shags of. My mind is odd. The numbers haemorrhaging west. Can we (a) drop the word ‘fractal’ in each title, & give it the collective title ‘Five fractals by Peter Manson’, (b) ask you to write one paragraph on how you generate them (or is that a guild secret?) Lucidity has been my constant will-o-the-wisp. Lard and chocolate gnawed by the artist. The sheer scale of the Bottom she’s fallen in love with. I’ve always meant independence by equidistance. Send me belly button fuzz, dolls and images of the Madonna and I’ll send you something special. Lungs fill her whole abdomen, like a frog. Urban condom. Bruise or break central toe. ‘A permanent erection’ – The Scotsman. The dialogue at this point is the kind regularly heard in old fashioned films from high-born girls living in historically oppressed countries. It’s Sunday all this week on the BBC World Service. 90% of Schizophrenics smoke. Equals lentil goo. Tessie O’Shea is dead. These cannot exist in the abstract, which is a blind alley. Five or six little thoughts I have not indulged in. A bruise the same shape and colour as Kandinsky’s Black Strokes no. 1, 1913, though smaller. When I eventually found the Poincaré cupboard. Ida Lupino is dead. The Queen Mother Sampler kit. Jimmy Jewell is dead. Try not to look like Tom McGrath. Um Bongo still exists. This hippo-man: will I be able to trace him? Will I be able to find him at all? Venus sets ahead of Moon. Mite-infested second-hand copy of A Void. Amateur FAX transmission sounds like infant heartbeat.OP6 printed on too-thick paper. The hippo-man is taking off his hippo-teeth, rather like a clown in a circus. Manzoni dies Feb 6, 1963. Arthur Mullard is dead. Skin still discoloured two months after bruise. Brewed according to the Reinsheitsgebot Purity Law of 1516. Dean Martin is dead. Actually, you can have too many experiences. Rubbing your face with the afterbirth. Louis Malle is dead. Stop painting again. Happiness is a Philip Hobsbaum. How do you cope with being caressed naked by Belinda Lang? Production of Purcell’s Dido and Aeneas, chorus arrayed on the left for the Lumberjack Song. Gertrude Stein’s cheeks. Stéphane Mallarmé spellchecks as Stephanie Mallard. Solar powered plant pot turner. TAB TO BLOCK BICUSPID: THE JOURNAL OF WARM SOFT FACTS. John Cage inserts a rising ‘hm?’, seeking assent, into every sentence. Bull’s pizzle remedy for sex drive. You can tell an old cock by the length of its spur. What do primroses connote? Why have I not been charged yet (unless I have)? Dennis Hopper’s Gerard Depardieu wig. Spend 3 hours constructing a cardboard ventriloquist’s dummy head. TV licensing don’t believe I’ve still got a B/W TV. Chemically smoked salmon. Well I guess radical adjuncts. Pretexts for the unconcrete. Accidentally impersonate David Bowie. Broken light bulb left on bedroom floor. Gilles Deleuze is dead. Rotted bag of carrots turns out to be Brillo pads. Body-responsive / so what if it doesn’t like you? This is a sketch I made last night with my 15 inch reflector. Put garlic plant outside on window sill. Do all Welsh people close letters with the word ‘onwards’, or only the ones who know Peter Finch? My ice-cream cone’s gone all like hair. My mother’s fridge still covered in pirate radio stickers. Cage’s Cartridge Music sporadically synchronises amusingly with dance accompaniment. I might have been quite baffled by the sight of an upright bush travelling across the water, under what appeared to be its own steam. Six Towbs Poetry Festival. Bingo Mavers. The rock singer Star … the rock star singer Sting … Red Rum is dead. Frame-grabber only sometimes works from Pascal. A man with no memory goes to the toilet. Dream in which I receive a letter from a Dutch sound-poet, intended for Lawrence Upton, concerning Domestic Ambient Noise and enclosing some chocolate mis-shapes which I eat and replace with a bag of Jelly Tots before forwarding. This is page 63. This intimate portrait of his wife in his Dresden studio, presents us with her back, surely a daring pose in 1812, but also quite ‘Dutch’. Maurice Saatchi’s wife ritually plays Surabaya Johnny after Sunday dinner. Journalist, assumed to be working for Q magazine, turns out to be writing for Kew magazine. Second unsuccessful Voltaic pile 24/12/95, tho I do get a few mA out of a single cell. Do you use your exercise bike? We are unintentionally publishing the work of the Beats, but I don’t know why. Pulsing dendrites inside broken LCD display. Wibbly-Wobbly Picture Film sent to me by Radio Pyongyang. Paul Eddington is dead. Kingsley Amis is dead. Why have I just offered to design a voltage regulator? Man of mystery: Michael Ball as the English composer Henry Purcell in a play by John Osborne. Felt tip recovers when capped. A SAE is enclosed as I would appreciate it if you could let me have your standard ‘Guide Limes’ regarding items for submission to your publication. Skin tightens on face. Lower right eyelid swells up. You carry your blanket with you from cell to cell. Probably the first time ravioli has been eaten with rice. The next thing I remember is a police cell. Bruise on left forearm © policeman with six fingers on right hand. On a rather hypothetical note how would Cunninghame Graham have fared today? Not very well I would imagine, he would be quite simply a duck out of water. Puck fleeing the dawn. Install a new ‘up’ button, but it’s broken. Front door set fire to by misinformed neighbour 6/11/95. How on earth did I manage to bruise the back of my knee. Marti Caine is dead. 2 x signs for Lionels Lovely Pizzas. Poetry from Havering school children aged 7 – 16. World of the Beavers by Hope Ryden. The laxatives were a mistake. Raspberry ripple Blu-Tack. The sound of an infant soiling herself during a Hamish Henderson performance. Mandy Smith’s skin colour. While we waited, Dan told of how he had watched beavers as a young boy. Volume style with hot hand. My latest stomach-amoeba. Stick surface frying pan. Lana Turner is dead. After all, where is the flesh and blood of horses and the skill of the bolas while staring blankly into ‘virtual reality’? Tiny van marked ‘Mobile Creche’. Expected to see a Hilbert curve in magnified cheque-card hologram, but didn’t. Bowel movements revenged by vicious kids in Texas. ‘OP has the widest range of any poetry magazine’, says Manson, whose own work is strongly influenced by the musical and performance experiments of John Cage. Knurled knob tube holder. Longueur starts here: But nothing daunted, and like the stuff of ‘ripping yarns’ we did inhabit parts of South America and became gauchos like the main subject of this issue, RB Cunninghame Graham. Discharge harmlessly into bladder. Have I no beans? Career alcoholic. Marginal cobblers. Acromegalic cheerleaders. Christmas card from Clydeside Press turns out to be from Robin. Robert ‘Fluff’ Creeley. Ivor Cutler is a Ron Silliman fan. Preservative-treated oranges all contain a baby orange under the foreskin. Norman Mailer by Peter Manso. The last thing I remember is Stockwell Street. Chapped face ointment. Once a journal of descriptions of actual defecations, Shit Diary continues to mutate in form and content. Ed Balls is Gordon Brown’s economic advisor. — from which shower of discriminated yellows (modulation of the golden shower) a Roman wedding party emerges, Aurunculeia’s, the one celebrated by Catullus (Carmen 61), with its saffron shoe crossing the threshold, its flung nuts (‘Da nuces’), its Hymenaeus: OP6 looks better than it is. A bad year for Kentish cob-nuts. Dylan Thomas has no eyebrows. Sï-Hü is intestines; Sihu is flower. Once he observed two beavers perched near a dam, where they nuzzled each other and made soft whimpering sounds. The span of an Italian’s outstretched arms is equal to his height. Peter Riley walks in with a carrier bag full of Barry MacSweeney’s Pearl. LOGIES TACKLE OPENING SHORTLY. More excellent (i.e. better). Krzystof Kieslowski is dead. Published by Mr Upton, a man skilled in languages, and acquainted with books, but who seems to have no great vigour of genius or nicety of taste. 28 hours of blank tape not recorded over near Barry MacSweeney. Silk barcode. He showed me stuff I’d never seen before — he came from Australia. Good gardeners should never use peat. Chladni’s figures exhibit the vibrations of metal or glass plates. A coat on the end of an NHS crutch became Kimberley Gordon who shunned his love and he ‘drank’ from another. Bubonic plaque. Tiny Rowland’s smile. Sedimentary aspect of Little Richard. Glutinous soap with Cheryl Ladd. The elderly Erik Satie, who was reaching fifty. Whistling noise made with wine bottle and haridrier. Larry Eigner is dead. What a voice, what a name – that was Bonga. Those patients who are waiting on their liver results. Large salads. This is the beautiful court of the myrtles. Not that Stuart Hall. Nearly A4, glossy, dark gradation of a black and red on black whale with inner sleeve grey on white offset whale facing a clear leaflet Indian drawing and matching front cover on back. CHITALDRUG. Dither over going to see Spanish film due to suspicion that soundtrack might be by John Cale, not John Cage as printed. Freckles (who knows how?) Helen Chadwick is dead. Here’s a dimpled ball, as you’d expect. Saint Sebastian is never shown being clubbed to death. Wooly soft-options regurgitated from the 1970s. I don’t eat a lot of meat personally but it makes you scary. Key cut for back door only 3 years after moving into flat. How can you tell if your baby is dehydrated? Nothing in this mag will appeal to the majority of poetry readers. The Dadaists organised a Dada season for the spring of 1921, in order to express their desperate revolt in other ways. Subject of re-enactment of trouser advert using chewing-gum on a National Express coach. 8.15, 3 Cups, Sandland Street, 26.3.96. Willie fails breathalyser and gets thrown out of unit. The myth of the eternal woman is symbolised by a type of pump or compressor. Imperial, Totty. Between drink and Nelly et Monsieur Arnaud, choose drink every time. Bill Clinton: Yitzhak Rabin was my partner, and I loved him very much. ITN newsreader: Goodbye. Butcher’s disease-resisting cucumber. A straw-filled plush monkey, fixed onto a canvas. Of course, few techniques are more exhausted than mere quotation, a quotation which stands in for thought as though it were already masterly irony. Simon Cadell is dead. Candle-smoke painted over twice before I realise it’s a shadow. Never fellate a platypus. announcing the presence of Charlie Chaplin in the flesh. Eyelid splits. Goodbye, Mrs. Noah! Cycling in search of the Cathars. The final twitches of Dada saw the ex-friends come to grips during an evening organised by Tzara at the Théatre Michel on July 6th, 1923. Scrap Meta Merchants. Tampon-gravure. Give up drinking 7.3.96, sort of. A genus of small armadillos with peculiar armour. He spent much of the least real conversation he had with me talking rather frivolously of Mallarmé and his mistress. Which is called Sparky. Why play with any other milk-cap? Spraying the notebook with cheap alcohol-based deodorant body spray, until it is no longer likeable. We learn to walk and talk in very different ways, and at different speeds. As open pussie’s mortal foes / When, pop! she starts before their nose. While Hoffmann, notwithstanding all his grotesque bogies, still clings fast to earthly realities. Lady Godiva’s squash. Crash Gerry Loose’s DOS. Dummy head with faulty eye control gazes qistfully upwards. You want to have met me before I became a geomancer. Diarrhoea smells of Lilt. Consciousness expanding again. Powdered milk goes like iron filings on hitting the steam. Lower right eyelid swells up. Alexei Sayle skit on John Smith accidentally repeated 2 years after JS’s death. Gran dies in vat. Give a pound to the woman who got the sausage in Great Western Road. Arp’s relation. It has to be the real thing making us feel pissed off and a bit sore afterwards but nobody cares because you’ve just got to wise it up and have hard eyeballs. Curtain piping used as dressing-gown cord. Arp hastily retreated to Zurich, Ernst emigrated to Paris and Baargeld died in 1927, hit by an avalanche. Deaths of celebrities distributed through editions of 6 O’Clock News as a Cantor set. Not the high point of this. I have carried Farmfoods bags to all major poetry events of the 90s. Longueur starts here: Tear duct stops being septic 8.4.96. As the divorced soul from her body parts. Synchronicities on the name Toni Basil. Blood tastes of black pudding. Mandy Patinkin being vibrated. Your request is processed Being. Tazos and Pogs. Greer Garson is dead. Louisa Elizabeth Riddell born 6.3.96. Hearing impaired by Afghan Whigs concert. If you haven’t got a Chihuahua you’re not a woman. Photograph of Lou Reed shooting my next door neighbour. George Mackay Brown is dead. Edvard Munch painting of Thora Hird. My penis in blue jeans. Pesto sarnie. Au seul sourcil du voyageur. The kind of child you can tell is called Jake. Author of Chitty’s Practice (11th ed. 1881). It comes with LXEXE.EXE the public domain French compressor. A line of azure mince. Back of leg rips. The United Airlines flight from Frankfurt was 40 minutes from landing in Washington when passenger Gerald Theriault began to berate flight attendant Graham Spadey, insisting that he had bumped him several times with her trolley. John’s purple carrot. Smurfit Waste Paper. Nobody dying at the moment (famous last words). Realise I’ve been sending postcards of radio sets made in Fascist Italy to my friends for years. Fresh Budgens. Local Bodleian people. Plain white Ariocarpus seedling, possibly damping off, has a look of salt crystals. Hamster starter kit. Your brother walks into your half of the partitioned bedroom, early in the morning when you haven’t yet cleared up the debris of bottles and cans. A surge of guilty panic turns to bewilderment when your brother good-naturedly opens the curtains and hands you a spray-can and plastic cup. The spray can has the Microsoft Windows 3.1 logo printed on it. You spray two squirts into the cup and breathe deeply. A Windows desktop appears in the air before you, followed by an error message and instructions to try again. The error message consists of an image of Casper the Friendly Ghost superimposed on the desktop. Saline drip held aloft by Helium balloon. There is sickness in the rear carriage and the middle carriage, but not the front carriage. The Language Poets Use. The MoD would also consider any suitable airhead in the London area. A post with teeth. Smack for Blair at Birth of Euro. Julie Andrews Horse Insurance Services. STILL MAKING EXCUSES: Peter Manson of the ‘CPGB’ criticising open polemic with OP’s reply. Secondly, Husserl’s phenomenology has never caught my attention and at this moment I can remember nothing of it. Enough said. Now to Heidegger. No memory of faxing a silhouette of Louis Zukofsky to my work’s fax number. Surprise filling: Alan Titchmarsh emerges from his cake hiding place. What do you call a Roemertopf in English officially? The Large German has chicken brick. Is this ok? Sounds a bit dubious to me. Rod Hull is dead. …extending the PFI and building on the reservoir of experience… 33196100-1 Devices for the elderly. Polystyrene cottage cheese tub, filled with bulb fibre, topped with sharp sand, in which leaf cutting of Gasteria plant is inserted in pointless hope that it will root, is overrun with flat-leaved parsley seedlings. Do you think I’m a sensory fiend? *OLD GARDENER: Sculptor Heather Keir Cross with one of the life-sized ice sculptures of a pre-First War gardener. As a result of this gaping vomit (escaping from it). Bowl of squid rings coated in light batter. Death penalty / evolution theory / school uniforms / lap dancing clubs / sabbath observance / new age travellers / patriotism / modern art / self-denial / working mothers / horoscopes / birth control / military drill / co-education / Divine law / socialism / racial superiority / moral training / suicide / parental control / legalised abortion / empire building / student pranks / licensing laws / rave music / chastity / royalty / women judges / conventional clothes / teenage drivers / apartheid / nudist camps / church authority / disarmament / censorship / white lies / birching / mixed marriage / strict rules / unconventional music / handcuffing prisoners to hospital beds / casual living / Eton and Harrow / divorce / inborn conscience / tight immigration controls / biblical truths / alcopops. There goes Plan B. Noli me palpere. The All-Colour South African Cook Book. 29712000-3 Electrical domestic appliances for use with the human body. Derek Nimmo is dead. We are on the edge of a slippery slope to European defence industry irrelevance. ZUR VERLANGERUNG DER LEBENSDAUER IHRES ANZUGS SCHLAGEN WIR DEN KAUF EINER WEITEREN HOSE VOR. Our next poem is also about what heaven might be like for fish. ‘I’m going to tell them all about your bisexuality, cross-dressing and alcohol problem. Take me to court to stop me. Love, Bill Giles’s daughter.’ Lavatory hopes for mortuary. Les Dawson plays Harry Partch. I used to have an irrational hatred of Edward de Bono in the early 90s, apparently. Grebes are so *primitive*. Gaelic without Organs. The red pilot flashed from the dashboard unintentionally. Robin Nedwell is dead. Stephen: ‘The great thing about OP was that it was edited by two of the most total nihilists anywhere’. Robin: ‘And that was just Peter’. Letter from JF Nims printed in the TLS one week after Nims’ death. Junior Boys’ toilet with glazed activity space. A picture of the Mona Lisa without a moustache. Marginally pre-pubescent electronics enthusiast in self-absorbed monologue to camera about sunburn alarm. Cheshunt Compound gives me a headache. Gold Alcoholics Anonymous credit card. Tomio Miki, who died in 1978, devoted much of his life to sculptures of the human ear, though he claimed that he longed to express himself differently. Trousers consist entirely of lint. Saturate my Crassulaceans in Malathion by mistake. Dr. John Wilkinson, the subject of this obituary, introduced the woggle to Albania, not the toggle. Make Your Cat Think It’s Come. Earlobe boil bursts all over distant curtains. Abrasive Developments Ltd. Knock over glass as first impression in job interview. That’s yesterday’s pakora. Gayle Borst and I are planning a couple of cob oven sessions in April. Interest in cobbing is very high, and we’re happy about that. Once dubbed ‘the white negress’ by Cliff Richard. ‘beznaga de estropajo’ (carrot-like vegetable sponge). My dentist, he told me they were a very sentimental fish. Support and love matter, not blood, writes Ros Wynne-Jones. Will the small bespectacled lady using modern crutches seen Exeter High Street last Tuesday afternoon pleace contact admirer too shy to speak. Ezra ‘Bart’ Pound. Wankie Colliery Company (incorporated in Zimbabwe). Traffic Impact Study in connection with the preliminary proposal for a garden to commemorate Diana, Princess of Wales. Gorilla ‘bites buttocks’ of fugitive. Wake to find a completely untouched fish supper in my jacket pocket. Bleed spontaneously into right index knuckle. As if this earth in fast, thick pants were breathing. An act of mercy, with no less than two figures naked. (and the mysterious, real constipation, which ended with her husband’s death). He was, in his poetry, allied with the other political poets of the thirties – Auden and Spender and Day-lewis – and he went for walks on the South Downs with Cambridge economists who told him that when the revolution came it might be necessary to shoot his parents. Jane Goodall analysed pant grunts over a twenty year period. Hundreds of police officers are to be given a second chance to take promotion examinations after failing because they were unable to deal with black actors pretending to be traffic wardens. The appalling toxic legacy of a Victorian philanthropist. Underpants chase bobby honoured. Twins for wife who put testicle in flask. Lone Yoda Persona. Pol Pot may be dead. USAFE Contracting Squadron. 55311000 Restricted-client restaurant waiter services. Benzedrine-fuelled reverie. ‘The Idiots’ isn’t very good. Nazi Hess was sulky. Yehudi Menuhin is dead. Mobile dog excrement removal equipment. Cliff Hanley is dead. These include a new heart monitor operated through the patient’s mouth, and a glass bolus, much like a boiled sweet for cattle and sheep, which dissolves over a period of months, releasing essential vitamins and minerals. Tingling in entire left side of body. Where is the initiative syndicate? The severe adverse effects in the Acamprosate-treated group were 2 case of depression, 2 cases of tiredness, 1 case each of gastric hemorrage, abdominal discomfort, myocardial infarction and dislocated shoulder. Oliver Reed is dead. It appears that Didieria trollii is the fastest-growing diddies for me. Microporous polymer butt splits. Care worker in charge of group of people with learning disabilities out for a walk expects total eclipse in Glasgow, 11.8.1999. Roy Rogers is dead. My main argument against you is that you are an abomination. Happiness is a warm puppy. Dream in which I am hitchhiking on a motorway bridge with Philip Hobsbaum. The bridge contacts to a foot wide span; the bit I am on has the name MANSON on it. You like / who wrote DE book? Bearded tea. There was almost applause. How tall are you? Guinness is God for you. Breast icon. Vomiting nephew. The spellchecked selected poems of Hugh MacDiarmid. Beard tries to link up with eyebrows. The planet – which we often call ‘the world’. Butter coolers are also made from zinc. A plastic ruler from the Johnson Space Center covered in teethmarks. The core of the book is the midget’s passion for the full-sized Fanny, beautiful and false. Which is presumably French for Mister Chips. Robert Lowell’s Limitations. The non-sticky sticky stuff. He did indeed walk a tightrope. But because of his latent mental instability he came to the Surrealists. So you’re keeping to the old poetry magazine format, then? Red wine stains on a random number table. Boredom results in unsuccessful attempt to make a Voltaic pile out of small change. DIY stores always situated so as to be visible from trains. You like / he why / write DE book. Crunch underfoot turns out to be hundreds of mating snails. He has jet black-hair and a white beard, an odd combination, but not unsatisfactory as a symbolic expression of his bi-partisanship in matters of pigmentation. So I wrote on the present passage in 1828. Fat man in a Samuel Beckett tee shirt. That’s the Queen’s signature. None of the lavatories worked, so we used the East Anglian Daily Times instead. Who needs Optrex? Dry cleaning ticket bookmark found in second-hand copy of New Quests for Corvo. When did Barry MacSweeney meet Liz Lochhead? Has your appearence affected your career? Tap hard on window: pigeon falls one yard before remembering it can fly. Weather forecaster sounds like William Burroughs’ Towers Open Fire. Perloff Explains. His body is slim, supple and erect like an aquatic plant, and in his otter’s face with its two pale, sapphire eyes dwells the slightly hunted look of a lost, startled child. They are accompanied by the Glasgow-based Gaelic waulking group, BANAL, a group of soloists whose love of the songs associated with tweed-making brought their remarkable talents together. Snail trail on a donkey jacket. I want to not know you. A representative Papic Drone. A bust of Norman MacCaig carved from TippEx. Belly increase of 6 inches since last pair of trousers. Ask for a 69 at the ice-cream van. There is a fashion now for small girls in mob caps. The people who Clark think are in the garden. Opens buttocks with door. To avoid injury, be careful to adjust cable-length. Take a hold on Fanny. The tea in Rosy Lee tea has been selected to give a tea with a strong flavour. Hot water pipe makes a noise like Bob Cobbing. S/he wants to put a hat on with respect to me. Hate Ashbery. Self mirrored in spectacles of the (m)other. Sometimes Fulton poses like a William Carlos Williams with a conscious chip on his shoulder. Bump into Colin, who’s been photocopying Mashall McLuhan. He was praised by Radio 4 listeners for his clarity of thought and ability to speak in grammatically in complete sentences. Lager slush-puppy. They have softly apparently landed on the roof. ‘Listen, José, don’t wear those pants (with respect to me), because if you do I’ll never go out with you again.’ Filter placed on eyes to enable teapot to be seen more easily. YOUR PERSONAL SEWING KIT Kuwait Marriott Marina Hotel. I remember Ernie Bishop. A photograph of Simone Weil looking like Philip Larkin. Coffin-shaped highlighter pen. A group of exciting poems showing the vital influence of MacPherson’s interest in the blues tradition and in African-American quilt-making. HERE, MRS MANSON, ARE YOUR SEVEN LUCKY NUMBERS FOR THE £50,000 PRIZE DRAW. A tape of Norman Lamont talking at the wrong speed. Chin touches collar. Rise at 11.30pm, which is a record. New Universal Encyclopaedia volume 13, RHEU – SICK. CFC FREE BIG MAC. That’s Pablo Neruda. Life is too short for diffusion- limited aggregation. Antwerp, City of Culture 1993. Saudades / Is what my student said he’d feel for me / upon returning to Brazil. Brogan (Denis) Centre. It happened in the midst of the dissipations attendant. Yellow Neville. But I’m not wearing a collar. Nasal gliding. Katharine Allen (incorporating Heather Jenner). Double chin contracts when observed. The children of the embryonic school. I bet that gives them white finger. Horseless cabbage. Hyperactive 85-year-old, built like a jockey with a mobile phone. Get a file. The truss-advertisement is language itself. Strathclyde Police working to improve community safety with Kuwait Petroleum (GB) limited. George has probably wisely gone home. We are literally scraping the bottom of the barrel for candidates. Perhaps that’s if there’s no active licking involved. Samartians. Reconstruct a victorian schoolgirl from fragments of skin. Joe hit him frequently on purpose. Ears spontaneously unblock during a Bob Monkhouse Sekonda advert. Schwitthaus. Go / read / make / wash a person / become replete. The class sneak, the class clown, the class structure. The mention of her boil. Tracey and Ian, along with Pat Wilson (journalist and marketing manager) have published the work of 5,000 poets since 1990. I call this my porous pot model. It consists of a porous pot. A photograph of TS Eliot looking really pleased. Creeping crack cure. I didn’t pretend to buy a dog. Portugal: friend or enemy? A BIN – EDDIES HOOSE. Noodles fried in human fat. Department of fecal studies. Diet Lucozade. Hard bench of the socks. To me not on-you to-me put those pants. Warm olive oil poured from a teapot into my right ear. The only fly in the ointment was Keith’s dog George. Pan Am advert on colophon of Artaud Collected Works volume one. A photograph of a TV set showing the message TRANSMISSIONS ON THE MARCOPOLO SATTELITE HAVE NOW CEASED. FOR INFORMATION ON ALTERNATIVE SATTELITE SERVICES PLEASE CALL 0506 460346. Four Happy Days, two pints of Guinness, a double Grouse, a double Southern Comfort and a litre and a half of Bulgarian Cabernet Sauvignon. John likes to unfold (objects). The spine of Modern Thought is broken. 9.45pm, BBC lunchtime concert. At this time Dylan Thomas was very thin and small; his face gave the appearence of being covered in knobs; he looked like a bug-eyed pixie; he was one of the most delightful clowns I have ever come on. Roy Plomley: You moved around a lot as a child? Gary Glitter: Yes, a lot. Motherwell Bridge Security Services Void Property Protection. oGod condition. Medical writer would like to contact vegetarians who have given up. Attempt to recall the surname of a Mr. Bank results in the initial guess Mr. Hunt. The three degrees being enjoyed in the western parts. Structural linguini. A traveller family with its bender, west coast of Scotland, about 1910. A dinner plate the size of a bruise. Andreas Whittam Smith denounces it as a frontal attack on civilisation, which he equates with his organ. Pasta fractals in tomato sauce. Regurg into mouth tastes like licking open battery. Mortal and Hatless, the Stoic Comedians. Rick Wakeman tells of the hymns that have given him Sweet Inspiration. That’s four quid for a cheese roll. The passage has shape in the way that a dog’s leg has shape. The Farquaharson appears to be an enlarged version of the right hand side of the MacWhirter. DTP program can’t cope with verse lineation. Vibrating fridge in strict harmony with Ligeti. His development followed a normal path, moving from realism to a form of expressionism accentuated by a stay in northern Germany in 1922. Organic and Mineral hairdressing. You’re no spring roll yourself. Africa no. 1 thank you and assure you of her deep friendliness. ‘I’m the unhappiest man on earth!’ he said to me, with his mouth puckered into a crazy laugh. United Kingdom intervention beef. Percolation. Wipe out. That looks like a sponge.