Sunday, 15 June 2008

from "sniper one"

By Sgt Dan Mills and Tom Newton Dunn.

Lying up means controlling your bodily functions too. Sooner or later, they are going to be issues if you're in an OP for any length of time. If it's a piss you need, then you slowly roll onto your side and piss in an empty water bottle. Otherwise you or your spotter will have to lie in it for the rest of the night. If it's something else you need to do, then you reach for your clingfilm, turn over, trousers down, and off you go. It's not the most enjoyable experience for your oppo, but needs must. Once you're done, you wrap it up and pop in your Bergen so your hide isn't detected when youeave it. A regular snipers' wind-up is to put your poo in someone else's Bergen. When they're back in camp unpacking, you can normally hear the shout for miles.

"Wharr, who's shit is this?"

If you didn't like the platoon commander, you'd shove it in his Bergen instead.

On my sniping course, I put my Number Two through even worse. We'd been in a hide on the edge of a wood in Salsisbury Plain for two days waiting for a target to turn up. I'd managed to suppress the urge for the whole time, right up to the moment the target's car turned up. I couldn't believe it, it was coming and he was coming, and there was nothing either of us could do about it.

There was only one option available, so I slung a quick tree hook and got into a squat. While still marking the target through the sight, I pulled my trousers down. My Number Two got out the clingfilm and held it under my arse. While semi-retching from the pong, he still managed to catch all my warm faeces, and ten seconds later I got the kill. I had to buy him a fair few pints that ight to stop him whinging.

Monday, 9 June 2008

New(ish) How(2).


"I resist ecopoetics. And definitions of ecopoetics. I resist it as a neat category into which one might insert my own work, like some car slipping into its slot on the freeway."


"These days, utopia is being lived on a subjective everyday basis, in the real time of concrete and intentionally fragmentary experiments. The artwork is presented as a social interstice within which these experiments and these new “life possibilities” appear to be possible. It seems more pressing to invent possible relations with our neighbours in the present than to bet on happier tomorrows."

Thursday, 5 June 2008

from "dog puke"

By Jamelia Wigmore.

[...] Sweet dung up.The mower
The sudden gust whips up the scrum’s skirt
& don’t
the weeds
about her heels smell sweet A reql
child of a fuck Approaches off a
cowtip in every small lift of limb

If you are ever in danger, blow this chiropodist
and serve him nerve endings. And some older
punks you have cleansed with your pinna. You er
know by don’t you. (He with his long fingernails
sets sail out of a charnel hatch.

The dalek is expanding and the dark matter . . .
is you! Orgasms with an um. The clinkers
are full of thinkers so Ja Jeff
(Hilson) Sets sail for never mind that but
does it bursting out of a
Total Trap *not clearness. Lets have a gurn’see
the circlets among the whiteswarm of him have pixie missions
of they own, circularly golden-calf-tipping for instance
or other hex prank What Is There To Do. Thanks to Rednex mexico
plinkers remix. Bleach cuffs that round and round This transluscent mess

Softly Austral in this Scotch English chain store
I am looking for a lighter sheet I had one to Dora.
A bold gib that. The closest he come to admitting
What’s been happening to the Princesses of Fact.


I hand the pixel mission 'velope to the generaless
who hands it to the scion of oblivia. He glances at it,
looks on the back, then clears his throat:

“in vain
onto a slumbering dalek
We soldered a vane”

“hey guys anybody mind if I zoom in”
“no go head” we all murmur
… “I’m just going to scroll up if that’s ok”
“yeah sure do it” we agree about it

Wednesday, 4 June 2008

Jumbo and strategic reading tomorrow night at The Leather Exchange near London Bridge. La Langoustine est Morte, Thursday at the Poetry Cafe, Betterton Street: Michael Mellor, Keston Sutherland, Alyson Torns & James Harvey, hostis/inimicus Anthony Joseph & Ronnie McGrath -- where's SAS Cha Cha Cha? -- & a new issue of DEFAULT is out:

Sean Bonney
Emily Critchley
James Davies
Paul Lewis
Mario Susko
David Toms
Augusto Corrieri

5 euro/£3 incl. P&P

James Cummins
12 Gardiners Hills Avenue
St Lukes

Review copies available * trading possible * always seeking submissions

Tuesday, 3 June 2008

from "wordsworth's philosophic song"

By Simon Jarvis.

Marx’s conception [of ideology] was not primarily an assault on mystifying ideals. It was an assault on the idea that assaulting mystifying ideals would make you free [...] What we now call ‘ideology-critique’ is what Marx meant by ‘ideology’.

Monday, 2 June 2008

shall we have those curtains

His hobo lit her Lucky Strike in vain. "Dreams don't cite," she strategised between puffs. "Lords and cannibals, revellers ... they're her 'fan base' ... I see you've started working me over with a toffee hammer. Though you asked for it straight."

"Lullaby, lullaby baby,
little candy joy,
queen of the queers art thou born to be,
in despite of boys."

"Sure resolve my core to an orrery of revolving flaws, like that's mature."