three cards only regret

August 9, 2008 at 5:24 pm | Posted in writing | 5 Comments
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On the Tokyo-Brisbane Express. “Thank God the liver remains undamaged,” says Dr Benway as he throws his bloodied chain mail gloves over his shoulder and reaches for his martini. “Through co-option and degeneration of the image, he says,” who, is it sir ian playing WSB again, but if all there is is the buzzing of bees and rain dripping down the window of the limo. Hmm, he looks down again at his hands, slips them into his pocket. There is value in pocketable wealth, jewellery, but these days nothing else is worth much of anything. A limo cruises by the bus stop containing some aging rock star and a bevy of businessmen ghosts busily plotting graphs.

I wish it was raining, he thinks, instead of this endless blue,

A girl is standing bored chewing gum on a corner, he leans forward to whisper Mamu slow down but a ghost appears between them waving a release form for a camera crew. Three Card looks out at the favella passing by. He remembers Saudade. She writes, “it is not so cold as I had imagined it might be,” her fingers turning blue shaking gripping the pen,

He settles back into his leather, the limo ssshhes by, everyone lives he thinks, everyone dies.

Three Card prepares for a big night out.

April 29, 2008 at 6:10 pm | Posted in writing | 10 Comments
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Madness, they say, is doing the same thing repeatedly and expecting a different outcome but I had forgotten that I have such a bad memory, Three Card says, adjusting his pink bowtie in the mirror.

King Lear Tattoo

July 8, 2010 at 6:26 pm | Posted in poetry, writing | 10 Comments
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behind the mirror shades
the zap of flash bulbs
three card slips into the back of the limo
exhales the long held breath

the Edgar engine purrs the street scene blurs
he drifts between the his the hearse
this strange and aweful awesome curse

where are we going to sweet Mamu
“when sudden lit beneath
a spotlight mooon,
he chuckles, wiggles
his Lear tattoo pay day
soon, accelerate,

Gabrielle Bryden listening to Oscar Peterson

August 9, 2009 at 8:41 am | Posted in australia, writing | 14 Comments
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This incredibly wonderful human type creature, a Gabrielle, lives just up the coast from me. She is a protector of strange chickens which remind me of French noblemen. They are indeed marvellous creations.

She worries about chicken hawks and I can well understand the difference between Oscar Peterson’s obvious lyricism and Monk’s right hand. I wrote a series of poems in which a mysterious man is always popping in and out of limos, his name was three card.

Both those gentleman understand that there is narrative in sound. A narrative in other than words

And now, Gabrielle, I am sitting here on a gorgeous blue winter morning. The air is so clear. Some woodland bird is practising his first mating call. Spring and the tiger meditation, not yet sprung,

(listening to Oscar Peterson’s Night Train, link goes to a cool review.)

“They glow unbearably bright”

July 14, 2009 at 10:07 pm | Posted in writing | 12 Comments
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“When there is nothing left to burn, set fire to yourself.” Graham Nunn

Haiku-schmaiku he said hic and stood up from the computer. Hit it boys, stepping over the dog on his way to the kitchen to refill his glass. Pointillism and limousines, just as an image perfect formed and complete opened in his mind like modus ponens is the principle by which the scientist distinguishes herself from the alchemist as the whiskey scent chased the words away, brushes past the stereo, “Have you ever had the feeling… The old three-legged dog looks up about to interject, if p then q, p, therefore, but thinks better of it just as the colour shaped in motion like the proposition which underlies all logic with neither words nor petals dissolves. It describes linear causality like this, not unlike the scent of a child laughing and he sat back down and started typing, threecard dissappears chuckling into the
limo, hit it boys that
you know podus monens, the talisman of those who place their faith in reason
just as those who are afraid to fly
place their faith in gravity.

Outside the open window the ancient fig tree grumbles, shakes her leaves and sighs, just as three card slips into the limo, hit it boys, that one,  excuse me while I

soundtrack – “scarey monsters” misspelt by David Bowie

October 15, 2008 at 7:24 pm | Posted in poetry, writing | 12 Comments
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the limo pulls up in the pouring rain
a cliched crack of thunder
and she uncrosses her long legs
clad in jeans so tight you
can sense the swing in her
the rest of her dressed in scent
nobody noticed, don’t move Mamu
she said,

i prayed to the Lord the man
in the gun grey suit let it rain let it rain

he says and hangs up the mobile phone,
come in…

three cards waltz he coulda called it
zeus but then you would have seen it come
in my dear, sings best when blessed in

Mamu’s Watch.

August 20, 2008 at 6:49 pm | Posted in writing | 11 Comments
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     Mamu turned off the radio and its Incessant Babylon and looked at his watch. It made no sense to him, it was the old man’s watch and there were far too many dials and jewels and it bedazzled him momentarily. It was a distraction from the waiting. He wound down the passenger window bent his massive frame and peered out of the limo into the dark of the alleyway. He suddenly remembered he was still wearing Bootsy Collins sunglasses. No wonder,
    He couldn’t tell if the band was still playing in the club or it was the sound of his heart beating. He really shouldn’t have taken Three Card’s limo without asking but she had been insistent and even though Mamu knew that many other men who actually had things to give to her also loved her, he could not help himself. He settled back into the soft leather. Besides, he was Mamu.
    There was a sudden clatter as the door at the back of the club flew open, and fucking stay out! Said F. throwing the pianoplayer into the garbage cans. Not again, thought Mamu, who tattooed who this time? He looked at his watch then turned the radio on,

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