Kilgore Trout
contemporary mood:
viewing the western world
through a basketful of
stereopticonic hallucinations
all is unfolding
like a Kurt Vonnegut novel
or worse,
like a Kilgore Trout story
concentration
shattered into
distractions
a slurry of
the bland where
there is no impact
but that of
porridge
in a sock
searching for unreasonable reasons
as for a noodle in a haystack
behind a carnival of fakes
waiting for the fate train
to roll on down the lime
old enough to know better
dumb enough to give it a try
art never got anywhere
by hanging around
waiting for permission
or payment
Imaginary works with real titles: for Frank
You do what I can only name – Frank O’Hara
Glass kites on a windless day
Cousins a la masquerade
Jimmy, my God, they’re burning down the barn again
A life among the inflatables
Clifton Hill reflections
Lane
Weeping woman unable to afford the latest iPhone upgrade
It’s not about balance, it’s about wobble
Ramadan is done
The last time I saw Constantinople
Inchoate chocolate butterflies
I know a gunslinger when I see one
Flaneur: Napoleon’s ghost in St Helena
Self-portrait with daemons
autobiographical fragment: job interviews
once I interviewed to be a writer of singing telegrams
everything had to be written to the same tune
a prayer: thank goodness
once I interviewed to do job training in retail
and was told I’d have to cut my hair
a prayer: thank goodness
once I interviewed to run a warehouse for a shampoo distributor
and was warned that the sales team would try to trick me
a prayer: thank goodness
once I was interviewed to work for an internet search results aggregator
they seemed to think I was overqualified
a prayer: thank goodness
once I was interviewed as a waiter in a waterfront cafe
apparently I was too old
a prayer: thank goodness
once I was interviewed to transcribe Parliamentary proceedings in Canberra
seemed like a good idea at the time
a prayer: thank goodness
once I was interviewed to transcribe at home in Hobart
lost serious points for attending in a leather jacket
a prayer: thank goodness
once I interviewed to transcribe court proceedings in Cambodia
just when life looked bleakest
a prayer: thank goodness
untitled
life is
what
happens
when you
don’t know
what time
it is
shadows
shadows turn into cats
and back into shadows
the air creaks under
atmospheric air pressure
variations too sensitive
for instruments to detect
a slow leak
gradually deflating into
soft night silence
a slink across a space
into a devilish cocoon
or at least a replica of one
using smoke and mirrors to
conjure halfhearted demons
left to itself it has
nothing to follow
its context stripped with time
robbing it of its smoke
and shattering its mirror
into fragments of light
that it tried so hard
to synthesise and impersonate
static
witterings in corners
lurches in the rafters
stains on the stairs
one of these days
I must do something about it
changing the direction of sleep
must signify an unexpressed desire
for change don’t you think?
clutter of sedentary accumulation
a visual reminder of unmoving
furnishing the hiding place
with detritis
might be better if
things were different
also it might be worse
one of these days
I must do something about it
vivid and vague
vivid
vivid
vivid
and vague
this battered shoebox
is full of a scattering of
reflective memories
of characterisations
and echoes of
exasperated mutterings
and unmutterings
and distillations of import
and outbursts of insight
that blur into
forgotten nights
through lapses of concentrated air
choked with smoke and chill
vivid
vivid
vivid
and so vague
we are unfired clay
after all
