spiders web holds the dew as do you in your heart

elijah speaks.1
chapter.1 (katiejane)


some mercurial defeat

i'm not so sure about my motives

background underground selfish clamourings

life is as life does

those that take rarely give

i am a taker, a seagull, a vulture

its all for me and poured into my tiny empty cavernous chest

feed me feed me in excelsusis

is there a line of contact for anything? shopping lines? washing lines? and checking surreptitiously for scraps under the table

this vein seems full of oil rich sticky black minerals today

can i reroute the brain?'

choose to think differently'?

can i do that or do i just step sideways and let the downpour fulfill her own prophecy?

she jump all over pinging and springing in ricochet like a flea circus

always returning to the same place


chapter.2 (elijah and katiejane)

stone turns eventually, kick back and shake away all that disables your true purpose, elijah is no shriven task master or fool, make your beautiful work for that is all and why would you question intent for the clouded and silver linings abound, your lovely veneer dust and clothing will make for cascade(ing) enormous discoveries and made when the servant takes herself around the back to do the tasking ascribed unto the logical outcome of such genetic, abuse is a cold blade and the knife falls away in the hot spring spas, cover, submerge and take the form

'can you hear me?'

of course, smiles and imagination is no distraction,

'shall i go to whales?'(wales),

do anything you want

'speak to me elijah'

amongst plans and scripture there is a golden rule and nothing can obscure this from you and your name has been forged from the prophet isaiah

'what can i do with the selfishness in my heart, with my crude and cold longing?'

lie down as a lamb



elijah speaks .2

clouded silver lining therein, enough to hold when the seas are threatening, you are aligned and affinity with this progress, you are so loved in the great procession of souls crossing over the ice fields, for we do know how cold it has been for you but this forges deep into your heart allowing for my intake of breathing through you and all this time you thought you should take your leave but you now know how all things make sense eventually



elijah speaks.3


elijah'what has happened to nev?'

(this is) beyond the context of this interview

rolling green hills, there is water, the river, drop everything, lie down as a lamb

sequential visitations, notice

coming the answer to questions that need answers, will shine in the truth from which they came, (do not?) leave any stone unturned, beneath rocks always a dazzling river, for the underground is a mine in the rainbow quarries, salutations sunrising from the depths of your heart and we ask you: worry about nothing for you are in beloved arms reaching from galaxy to starbursting moonshadow on the heart (is a temporary moment of reflection), morrow light a million ways spreading and cascading beyond and in crucial moment in tachet (tacit?) morrow, forebear and breeding, collect at the subatomic particles for our inventory, tomorrow you always strike for when this moment is the only one within your grasp complete and intertwining with beautiful moonbow so shadows unlock your heart and therein find your dwelling place

'fiachra, varya, why do i print those names elijah?'

animals in the zoo need feeding and extra love and attention, varya needs your love, she feels observed and you understand, i do not need to say anymore about that, where once she was wild and free now she is captured and this makes a soul to be as if in a cave, so we must open some doors wide for her where her spirit can adventure and kill (feed) and explore

'what of fiachra?'

(then always tomorrow and) the unwinding set in motion is in her becoming stages, hearts with holes cannot hold their true vibration, so much work will be done to mend our broken hearts though as you know so much loving on the shadow side of the moon this gestation and becoming

'please speak to me directly'

a message for this moment: cleaning is a directive from spirit, walk and be allowing of the restful sky to calm your breath and to quiet down the walls, whitewash clear and clean the graffiti etched onto you soul, a new page and a clear day for the writing and music spilling from your heart, allow me to speak blessed and beloved in all our configurations, spiders web holds the dew as do you in your heart

my dear black ships, the duality of dissolution

my dear black ships, most of my work doesn't represent the conception i have of myself either, maybe this is the way it is for most of us doing this work or maybe it isn't, i'm not privy to know that but i enjoyed all your comments and as ever they got me to thinking

on a good day the queenadreena persona is a 'kali' poster pasted over a shopfront window therein a frightened, deserted child is grappling in the dark with too much knowledge, corruption, witness, experience and survivalism, she is not severed from love but has suffered in human hands and she has known what it is to deal a bad hand too, she has a street savvy and her body has been her currency, this for her a simple transaction and an inevitability for what else in her situation would she do?, she is very aware of the heart beating in her and even the love of god though she would not use those words, with her 'things tend to come out all wrong' if at all as these days, there is not much of herself left in the casket, she went to live upstairs with angels and stars and leave the conflicts beneath her rustling away in some distant place for her own safety (that's probably the coldness and sadness you see), this removal of self has created problems but she seems to be able to cope with them better these days, by living 'amongst' rather than in a kneejerk preferred isolation means she is adhered or stitched onto the firmament rather than adrift with dissolution, the other music i sent you is more about angels, stars and dissolution (dissolution for better or worse, i know the duality too well being the absolute absorption into the infinite or the terrible existentialist[wrong word i know]severing which put me in hospital a while)

on a bad day its all desperate vacuous noise and i can't be bothered with her or it, genica-pussywillow has been a wonderful companion in bringing me into form, she was so sick but so sweet and responded to me in a way that made my heart weep and life was witnessed in its heartbreaking fragility and beauty, she seems strong some days and is eating, i don't know how long she will be with us, i am so sad my dear black ships for the departure of your beloved, my heart truely goes out to you, we are just so lucky to have known or know these wonderful creatures, companionship is all and the delights and sorrows of our shared journeys, what else is there

as ever thankyou for caring and listening to me and for getting the cogs turning, and i do appreciate your 'concern', self destruction is not pretty, i hope none of this offends (the p.s. inparticular, i'm just trying to illustrate cause and effect and the struggle to not put more crap out into the world without repressing and suffocating the instinctual, essential self)

i would love to come visit and see dungeoness in daylight as i've only walked the beach at night, hope you're settling in and bless you all
much love from katiejane xxx

p.s. this is a quote from angela carter that rang so many bells for me at around 23 and probably played a strong hand in all this
...the reluctant prostitute...who never wished to sell the body she regarded as an inalienable possession.....will be murdered by a sexual maniac, a man whom repression has turned into a monstrous scourge of whores....she pays the price of expressing an unrepressed sexuality in a society which distorts sexuality....this is the true femme fatale...she lives her life in such a way her freedom reveals to others their own lack of liberty. So her sexuality is destructive, not in itself but in its effect...the significance of the femme fatale lies not in her gender but in her freedom

peeling blue paint and the red and black snake

anti static, london buses, a collective of intent to go somewhere, something, somehow, the red button, the undo button, my instinct to cut and paste over all knowing and to what end?, what will really be done in the enclosure?, got sunlight on water clinging to rocks a red rag and what else? can you ever see the 360 degrees in five dimensions?

cross fire indulgence, peter change gear, yellow black zebra crossing big sailors knot, unmatched limbs, blindspot shopping list turnstile, the cow jumped over the moon, penzance poet living on a boat tingling affirmation, nev red and black snake, backfoot a loveless house, kimcatchaside radio nothingirish boy sweetly but in kindness an aversion for me, kindness weakness, blotter, butterfly burning up in a dim candle light casting a winging black shadows, i stretch as if drugged in his arms (who's arms?), so careful these days, i lost myself in the mix, red and black snake

i'm locked out
there is a mote, i cannot cross
a loveless house
there are abandoned cars, burned out scooters shopping trolley debrie
there is a quarry with tippedovercars on the cliffs
there is a shout back clapping and resounding
sweeping me back inside
a gash of a voice sweeping through me again and again
drawn down on the inbreath with the weight of lead pushing on the head and shoulders
there is a tiny red kite way too small
we are lost at sea
with the light on my watch as our only witness
the blue light from the first digital watch given me by ma and pa
i board a plane kicking and screaming in my fathers arms
age nine or ten i guess
digital watch blue light
and a gash storm of tears
condensation freezing cold sweat in rubber
a tumble down oblivion ingrown
to fall asleep in the drugged and fuck place
to be taken away
being alone is not good for me anymore
i become so frightened
tiny red flag on the mountainside
waving not drowning, drowing not waving
drowningtowavingtodrowningdrowning
wavingdrown


red and black snake

there is a door and sand, we are underground in sandy tunnel, a door far away, what is the other side of the door?, peeling bluepaint, ease up and walk with your own rhythm, yeah we can hear the drums some way away but i feel them moving into my body, first to the red base of the spine, holding sucking memory and form, pooling and building gathering essemblance, a key is swinging before me like a pendulum hypnotising and sending the eyes into the back of the skull, so the dance is rounding in the belly and pushing firmly inevitably into the heart and the red and black serpent is on the move uncoiling into my spine, i feel her into my fingers and tongue flicking at the back of the eyes and cheeks and spilling out through the eyelashes as the vacuum haemorrhages on the exhale to flood the 'sunken ship quarry' with the tiny red kite

blindeye

precipice court summons, a boy with wild hair reads me his poetry

suspended in glue, keep the variables at bay, my common place is everyday domestic violence, its what i know and i know what to expect, it keeps the variables at bay otherwise i might have to board a ship or a plane, buy a ticket and risk some fantastic adventure, i would risk death so its better to eke it out in my slow death where the variables are kept at bay

low self esteem dogged

i thought i saw a ghost of a footprint but genica-pussywillow was nowhere to be seen, i wonder the circumference of the horizon, i have a high point rocky outcrop but not even a sign of a vulture, there is a high sun

i am swimming backwards against a current, i carry his indictment as bricks and rocks stuffed into my waterlogged clothes, fluids lapping away at my nostrils and pooling at the back of my skull

what shape would you take by dint of certain pleasure, imagine gingham and an apron a fifties forced americana smile, i am confused by complexitudes, trepanning deems only logical and why would i subject you to this terrible outpouring? and i do mean terrible

wake up katiejane


blind eye
was here one time
vacant and unuse of space
no vacuum in response
to your leaving
just the tension gone on the
in breath
best not to look
as her stretch is overstretchedand
lying limp somewhere
diminishing desert lines
Nasca lines
she had a wing
but i didn't pull on the string
i would not reel her in
and the fish died
at the end of a line
with a hook through her lip and eye

pregnant, question mark

pregnant, question mark

no, the system is splanging cogs and springs all over the place while i reflect on the cardboard cutout version of katiejane edgeing her way down the street slightly ahead of me, i find that i am camera shy and wish for a time of squatting down by the river, pushing said child into the world and washing the traces back into the river, but thats not the way for katiejane, its cameras and a fallopian count, seems the uterus tips back as if over the edge of a cliff, who am i to say which what where and why?, customer services, 'what do you want dear?' if only i could begin, circumference and dimensions, body count resplendant, increasing emptyness and symmetry drawn around the room with a tape measure, i wake with the image of green algae in a bucket increasing til the green is impenetrable with her cross fertilisation and inbreed, freud would laugh at my crude speculations, i got not a poet just a wannabe child kicking on the back with a cockroach legs in the air, UCL tottenham court road


there was fiachra, neville, henry, peter and me, we were pushing and pulling, turning over, there was a black and red snake tattooed on nevilles shoulder

angels and the black earth, get me the fuck out of here, 'work is all'

genica-pussywillow sits back on her heals and spits, the sun is coming up but she is careless and picking her fingernails, she will not be stirred by the magnificence of that that has robbed her, the leaking red gold ink spills into the sky, washes down her hair and skin then soaks into the desert sand as blood, there is a white fox, temporarilly pinking up and some scorpians, her black cat and some vultures just in case