The QUANTUM BROTHERS

As widening cackles of uncertainty spread
urban graffitti make furry squirms
over the subway underpass

As the black towers/blocks/towers
riff past the train's sprayed glass

Blue smelling sparks orgone scribble
drive through nerves' armouring

As the black towers/blocks/towers
riff past the train's sprayed glass

Smaragdine table my lost gold
is boxed in time/ "he goes"

As the black towers/blocks/towers
riff past the train's sprayed glass

International cubists boogie down space
in search of the perfect money

As the black towers/blocks/towers
riff past the train's sprayed glass

Learning systems go to go/go
supply the demand reusable skills

As the black towers/blocks/towers
riff past the train's sprayed glass

You are the manager of a learning environment. Learn this: IN TUNDRA HUTS BURN TOO SLOWLY, TONS OF METAL IN THE FLIGHT PATH. I can merge inside her downside, to come up swimming into the pink bedroom.

Bengali boys have provided many layers of deep mix singalong into this homeworld homeworking. Sha Nah Nah Ha. Who's got two red pens?

EATING FUNGUS ISN'T NEW. You can control with little movements, moments of elasticity, YOU SEE NOW, DON'T YOU? SIT DOWN! Our story begins in the 1960's. The language was tested on animals and human volunteers in the setting of a mechanised factory. That was overwound, so leave it alone. Please listen.

A CLUMP OF HOT ROCKS IS MOVING INTO THE ASTRODOME

Nobody's got a whole sheet on soya or even pulses. WHAT WOULD HAPPEN IF AN ALIEN SOFTLY TONGUES HER TIRED FINGERTIPS? That would be a striking case of non-adjustable role mismanagement.

THAT FLUID WOULD NOT CORRECT THIS.

The shout came out of his mouth with a hairy catapillar

This extreme brownness and brothy dessication would have already been closing in on him, despite this omission of the full stop

He has been working on and in himself for only smallish daily honoraria

The swollen moonbum boys with the exactly correct trademark appeared in order to shout out of order during his reordering their adrenalin stockpile. They couldn't register his old new age bondage.

He as a reactivated cell mechanism of 1950s stylee bourgeiousie was running himself down from the feet up and down to fit them up good in pretty crimes.

The very little silences were painfully hateful, they insisted via direct speech on a shagging aromatic throatburn.

He filtered them good, he got on with it. It was God all love and working out. If a real object could have forced itself through a share of the community notice wall, a punctuating outcropping hard-on of psycho-membrane, through the chalky greenboard, the grey familial sugarpapa narrative drawings of familial nuclei - that looming agglutinated bulk ectoplasm could have split, spluttered, arterial fluid from the paleolithic lump, the tool of his artefact, to forge their will.

The old syntax cannot deal wth the trick cyclists of the third world pulling their long-necked baskets of heroin and neither could he not.

Please, please, please, Sir , rap up a sentence about nuking.

SIT DOWN SHADDUP YA KNOW WHAT I MEAN
ONE WORD IN MY HAND GONNA CLEAN YOUR SCREEN

GAZUMPING STATUS CHECKS OUT FINE
WHAT'S MINE IS MINE IS MINE IS MINE

FRIGGING IN THE LIGGING AT THE PEEPERAMA
LEISURE SEX IS A BLACK BOX TRAUMA

GOTTA WORD INNABOX BRAINS INNA BAG
GIVEAWAY NECKLACE TAKEWAY SCAG

TAKE IT TO THE BRIDGE
WAIT A MINUTE
TAKE IT TO THE EDGE
WAIT A MINUTE

TAKE IT TO THE BRIDGE
WAIT A MINUTE
TAKE IT TO THE EDGE
WAIT A MINUTE

No use what's a use
crying out loudness his control
is a silicate medium

function: to keep a brisk friction
between the ghost of electrified words
and nudge money

wished he was Jung /YO/ a screaming pope

kids are all younger, Stalinised

into collective dream farming

consuming papers in order 1- 10
to be consumed by guileless entropy
drifting from thrash to trash

increasing protectionist sentiment in Washington
the only official source of news bright news
more resignations are reported breeze freeze
one of the demands of the rebels teachers believe
speaking of his speech undermine gold scheme
going back on constructive reply on operation
visiting imbalance creating explosion
very harsh produce legislation computer dumping
refugee camp aid mittens "shabby morality"
rejected death penalty aged 67 without going down this road
gold sun boost bomb death pipped the first cuckoo
mainly for pleasure to sow the seeds from a military wing
urgent unrest urgent unrest urgent unrest
the question of deliverability is of no consequence
for the next century had an immoral stance on a technicality
tossed from a passing delivery vehicle priceless antiques
in a designated grey area without going through due process
to face a firing squad stripped in the vicinity of the lay by
to project an image in view of Glasnost policy
we do know she bought an egg we must speak to anybody
bringing new hope for specialist treatment turn over
what is possible in contact provided we can snatch him
with any signed agreement to manufacture the enzyme
for work on thermal imaging to trap victims specially made ones
extra special plant no connection timed to cause maximum death
expert on knots called in on temperature drop to cause injury
in a lake quoting odds on in the world running traffic in death
business explanation is required how it happened
in an independent non political organisation something very fishy
just as the ploughman begins his digging gas jumped four
gold and gold related generally new highs gyrating
bring back that spark a special kind
well known for its chemicals in the events of recent days

This is an expert system
it is most of you,all of me
but no balls at all
or meaty valves to go loafy

This,in an expert system
signifies higher performances, monkeying
I am not just competent only
I stuff the right noises, right to the right

Inexpert systems
will not sound quite so rich
and bright. I in I can simulate leather stimulus
on stinky clean fingers, you stiffs

systems approach to mammal
or automatic environments
surrounding shunted input
from prettied-up heuristic fleshports

To output larger knowledges
process endless
exciting performances

INEVITABLE/UNPUTDOWNABLE
INEVITABLE/UNPUTDOWNABLE
INEVITABLE/UNPUTDOWNABLE
INEVITABLE/UNPUTDOWNABLE

Filling in the boxes
with spittle of quanta: THE BIRD FACTOR

putting a death star
in the right boxes

Play up, ye god, crapping dice
into his lock up box

SCHROEDINGER'S CAT
is darkly familiar

ride a riddim
locked inna box

the random curves
into a plural of new crazies

so try hard to eat the words THOROUGHLY
a new line in distribution.

A battle of molecules over the centuries
the precise mathematics of fern development
or a fork in the burning woods.

THE SLOW LEARNING

Decoding the last orders of the brazen head
to change shape very carefully
or a print-out of stellar implosion escape velocity

THE SLOW LEARNING

A more ecological attitude to sex preferences
a declared end to quick lumpy closed-circuit bonking now
or an overwoman's view of the gene-editing suite availability

THE SLOW LEARNING

How the sun is sacrificed to create the order of the biosphere
and electrons fired at TV screens simply turn up at the target;
a supply of ghosts on permanent standby

terror strikes my lymph thrashed in scare trump
all the state is of some new death and so to bed
runnels of pink paper and carbon our Friday footprints
into military yellow rooms of old smellies
walk on chased by memnon's imp did the lipped cup harbour horror
what yall do to me do it right nuff backson to yoo hoo
no caustic line out to saviour cushions
RAZOR DOWN THE TONE BEADS
host sex raises doubts
FORMATION SQUATTING
photoplay majesty on the hump of a blue monday beating meat
plauditing the full county politic as a brown hatter
to fat urb the thought pipette
sweet as a grease as a slob as a running raindrop on tins
"Tessa did the process a long way back"
AGRICULTURE IS THE BEST CULTURE
you can't get enough, the latest schlock
massive predator drools on consultative strata
the cradle of licking beans old alternative rattling men
1935 references taken in grown unwashed
THE PIT THE PIT THE EMOTIVE CRUMP OF A PIT
library fan a mouse keening scatter thrusts
rib of mouth flute pain worry inspectorate
spittoon collectable associate
flying pizza invention cheer lovely TV grass sundown
bye bye... bye bye... repeat in hole of throat

wind stopped/the wind-up buildings
falling/into sockets/of enemy craters

"the jewish/hizbollah shackles"
heckle meaning, are hacked

in a roundabout establishment
near wired Cheltenham

via fungi of conical metal
who's in the listening post aha

the fibre sky will tell tales
to assemble hourly

Earth's loiterings
and fancy deaths spreading natter

Centre yourself in the middle of the tone.

sexual shopping is now the safe way
s'n'f incessant metal boxes on the moving belt

raincheckers (brain-fresh)
snuffle the tinned pyramids metal boxes

to win metal boxes metal boxes his coveted shield of policy
and control via metal boxes metal boxes an infinite quality of states

a cargo cult
swims out of 1963

gimme SLOP money
SLAP money

easy living in faster chairs
to sell by dated carbon

Explain the following, how many and why.
Go on. There is wilding in New Utopia.

Recall the last Oil Fields; entitle these franchises:
LEMMING! MAUREEN! BLOWFLY! ANTHRAX!

the world tube burnt her finger with its intelligence
you have to assert against an age, the unverifiable chrome age

all connections grow in concertos
into a platter of past lives, spin it...

that particular person's lexical radiance
multiplied a terraform for centuries

"that is exactly what the hell you meant"

"try to be nostalgia purified just for me"

his face, her face turned backwards
all for a shortened spiritual discharge

in a museum display : muons, gluons
not those nouns with lights in the midst

the worldly tub steams
with tropological violence

time the motion of a car schematically
too many, maybe 40% surplus, boot up a disaster

in the space to fit our latest work
for tomorrow's commuters in space

he had a further telepathic dream, called it
The Poetics of Face

how air smudged around her legs
her mind remains unsigned

Poetry is a tricky land. It streams with fluid promises. I have always concentrated on being seduced by it. It becomes also a choking structure, somewhat like the burning lattices of the airy Hindenburg but the printed bluster goes up, who looks for portals in the undersiding of our clones, our cloisterings?. We, I mean the terminal users, are taken up into the grey belly of the brain.

Elsewhere is the time-locale. Got to meta-jump that event-trap. So! Constant input of place - exotica hunting in woolly hats, s/o sincere in their Afri-Kars posing with muddied guerillas, mmmnnn, and holidays are too amniotic and dearest.

See Lyn in a wooden house, dished by electrical intrusions from the labs. Fifty years ago my father used to dream of Charlie Chaplin and Ford Sterling. It is all the same, kind of weird, your collectivised molecular activity. America controls parallel space. Where else?

The play of blue. Plural organs are droned and dangled by those tripped events, persons call for the staccato and the finely fibrous and the newly euphuistical. There is a basket of sophisticated marketing in the backing of the frontal lip/in a wisp of photon activity. Try the Baudelairean exotica of sexual decision-making strategies. Vive la difference. Vive le exobiology!

So elsewhere is outside warm trousers, in some sloppy eau-de-nil light in a room, staff only, and I am not in front of my senses, see, repetiteur of a workout on the planes, how bellowing denizens of the higher life memorised all along the watchtowers. Space is on the surface of a very hot funnel. The place to be.

Where else to keep running into, waving one's long pointed head.... The House of Youth, where else, as time trap, time share opportunity. Here the fantasy halls of appropriated memory shudder with tramping verbs. Tar traps for tartars, tartan'n'n brass tarts : Somebody's gums at age five nibbled by dragon decay, a fast domestication of fears by the stove. Kneeling in submission to gilt and plaster was a key theme for forecasting punishment. A piece of memory is called a meme.

Don't defer that gratification, try drawing another red crayon aeroplane on broken plaster; but they're never the same again. An infantile patina was once created by secretions and the taste of sugar on buttered bread. That black music box was/is at breaking point. Not enough recorded on spiked drums but the child made many final attempts to rediscover by acts of desperation. I must go on existing in this world somewhere.

Mammaries are not etched in error, terror. The fist boys stop their repression. They no time for it, my man. For them time flies through the morning with a smell of small fuses. It is blue as grass, it is a music of tiny feathers. Peace drills...

There are certain places I will defend, they form my sealed envelope. I am not imitating a shamanic disease. The lamp is an owl in the adjacent sky. Magic should be easier. I am a regret posture. It, the stretched air, goes on for ever against the skyline of stones. The factor miming me is a trick of atoms that were always too weak. So biology should be stronger.

So, for example, he would like to study her icon now, and now. Don't stop there. All the girls are naked in the grave, sir.

fronting the night' s mirrors
in search of your latest net stockings

so any exhaustion with beaten wings
tunnels straight into me

I'm already nervous, in the wrong tense,
quite flaccid with dread

but I must devise a commercial
without reference to my point-of-sale

for interlocking nightmares about high security matters

affect/disaffect our raw suburbs
with macrobes/microbes/burnt chips

and no body wants to be joined up
with phosphorescent jottings

the vacant houses are wired for high consciousness

in a private room barricaded with old photos
I'm writing against a grey cold morning/sickness

no buddha plays against the terror
of biting off more than my own head

clarinets march through a radio
to provide local colour

I have not much perception to go on
my continuity is a spiral of invisibility

"in the midst of life we are in crisis
a house is but a shed"

an unfamiliar trickle of pain
is not something to get heated about

everything that lives yells

let it come down
our brood of slippery molecules

(the aggregation of neighbourly noise
in picnic clearings coniferous plots
indexes a deep statement of panic)

Star-date 1970: I began narrating chiliasms of a dead hippy:

"WE HAVE A WEB-FINGERED HOMUNCULUS SOFT SHOE DANCING AND DRIBBLING DISUSED HUMAN HEAD ACROSS THE DESERT SANDS SINGING IN THE HARD RAIN AND BESTREWING HIS LAST PRINT-OUTS. HE HAS KEPT HIMSELF ALIVE VIEWING THOUSANDS OF CORPSES NOW READY TO RISE JABBERING ROLLING BACK THEIR MOTTLED ARMS AND MOSSY STONES THEIR STINKY RESURRECTION OF THE DEATH 'N' SEX BODY... AND FASTER ACTS TO FOLLOW...."

Well "I" was complicated but very limited
in a photo-booth of sensory howl-around
in the soft cities of the instantly edible West

while those not eating globally were (editorially) deprived of a (objective) statement but were depicted on their feet cheering on their disaster teams or eviscerating themselves cheerfully

into a million pellets of dead water

and connected images blob up and down slick as sea horses
a menstrual glory that will not outface all men yet

constricting lights
matriculate the cloudscape
and that's the whole point of it

format a new head
pee against that wall
don't care what you do

just pretend it's quality time
building up (to salivate against)
your digital fax'n'info

a star gate rattles and smells old

The wind died. The earth split. The fire gave us shit. All those deaths. Disaster master anniversaries. America and Great Britain relate to us. I'll try for upbeat intimacy. So much pressure.Woomera was the code for spear.

Bouncing boxes, I'm trying to crack my head open! I'm trying to feel something directly in the middle. But nothing is wha'appen mon, me cyan believe it! He said Canadians, however, like to get drunk and be other people, furtive visitors.

She once pretended to be the skull of the Czar, who lived in another world. The rocket church appeared. To be built of blue steel. I just aggregate stuff for them. The spectators did not have the right tongue of fire for what was happening to them.

They opened them all right up. Up they were tied. I'm trying to get outside the body, you see. Define new orbit. Stick it in amateur night. Trepan me some shamanistics, right, right, voices growing up like smoky mushroom jambalaya. Just shrinking. Cars fell out of the air. Services were abnormal.

The large cities were shown to other planets. Eventually. The world was frivolous. Some harsh additives were really taking the roof off. The world games were desperate. People wearing glasses were shot first. How would you like this new name? He hacked right into the bio market. The names just piled up. It was hard to carve everyone out. There were subsequently ninety minutes of empowered sewage left. The sections crumbled into explosive dust.

the drunk poems
were catalytic mistakes

detach a retina of green curves
mortal in tight panting

of finny frolicking I squeak into lust craft
pod ships under disintegration

smears of light years echo
drone of the west world

sex must signal something quite good no way
to transliterate DNA

and I have encrypted sequences of barking
"mad as a secret squirrel" memorising

their invisible exits on points
of wheelies skimming over/under green light of rain

over/under thwarts of loving
a mere murmuring molecule complex

illusion of total hitsville
my arcana of fire for pleasure

Concorde rumbles a big nose of noise
acrostics of squiggle-free electrics paging

its profitable flightpath sperm of my flying greed
to intersect all angles, interest all angels

I'm using me for a convenience of myths
but turn around those lower brain levels

to stir up the firing order of star neurons
these dodgems of light crashing out

the night grows in on you
such is the opening of its electrified tree
and such a tacky cerebellum

optimum privatisation thrills
strike to zip a fart darkly
I tell my comrades

getting too old to opt for demonology my tag would be perfectly electronic
across the sky-channel

cars whiz as often in comic strips
I want/you find an authentic voice of happiness

high as cumulus and definitely cold

lager depressives have driven through regular

history contines to do nicely
and I wanted to be in it

The chair speaks prior to confusion. The polyglot report makes a good statement. Use is prior to knowledge. Teaching all creatures to talk taller "is" his/her particular bad dream orifice. Stop the stock-pile report piling on the abstract agony.

Don't shout. You are dancing too too lyrically in the sunny spots of his/her own hydrogen/helium street-life confusion. Humane modifications hurt like ears, fingers, toes, all the impatient extremities..

The committee sits somewhere in dry ice. Try to flip-flop their NAND gates, keep your story growing.

Plot this: I really "am" supercharged with lost narratisations, trick jargon of very old October letters, smog on a cold lovely cheek, dark calves, it was all as necessary as the higher vacuum of my near future.

He said he wanted pure linguistic targets. They got into the riper flesh of the section. To enrich, to enlarge, to exhance, to expand. A black man in blue denim lived in the wall. Solemn bison-eyes leaves to forage in the south. She asked for quicker identity blips. We demand an ideal drinking system.

She challenged the skills of lying down - such rainbow riots! And don't forget a heiroglyph leaves tooth-marks. He certainly liked the alphabetic bias of the studies but do we whirl our dervishes in this inner room? No, the minutes are all lost on the surface of things. It is a dust rap, dust trap.

Any other business? It was suggested generally the trick is to keep bugging their all-round causality. Don't produce that meaning. She reported back he had an low-profile attitude problem. He replied he was sick of death. They observed a light like molten metal proceeding across the table-tops. She imagined a sun-sign over her bedroom. He filed away her secret teeth. The cupolas of the rockets were suddenly turned skyward, please agree. It will end now.

that boy is missing options
/his optics slit/ /nuclear light/

but the Koreans have already graduated 21% more
winning the grimace style war

with micro-worlds in space
their video koi will expand a decaying face

into all usable memory
in the economy of time

Don't; the pressure; the marbled repression

gas from the back benches
the secret matter
of England

the tiny battling Brains of Britain
exchange ripfart rancour
store their Harrovian rules
insist on bowing
to piss in champagne buckets golden showers
on her Barbour account

"we mould our lumps and gists
by promoting competition
between cells"

I got references, actuality, here, everybody comes, on report. Saddam Hussein went to the desert for a media event in virtual darkness. He cooked yellow liquids in a fuming pot for his guards. They stood in the shadows. He embraced them. They stared coldly over his shoulder into immortality. He nodded in the night, muttering in the firelight, tossing in mystery ingredients.

Now this is real. Insects swerve in the lamplight. Saddam masticates something, a sheep's head perhaps. This is the beginning of Holy War against the games consoles of the infidel west. The suicide squads are off-camera, being prepared for heaven, with its soft fruits and bodies.

The sweet-eating butcher from Takriti is rehearsing to be everybody - technocrat, imam, Kurd, father-figure, good man to do business with. Everywhere he is an artefact. Tonight he is Saladin with a long ladle. Look out.

Reports indicate he is a post-modernist Assyrian architect . His cohorts gleam with bloody stumps. His eyes are constructed as black pebbles. You, madam, could have invented him, with huge reamed tubes and death-rays. We, personally speaking, condoned the interior decoration of torture rooms, what was done to men and women on frequent photo opportunities. He is the preserved djinn unbottled by Goddess Tiamat The Babylon Avant Gardener after some convening of chance wizardry, Nasrudin's bad joke.

The old motherlands are empty. Scarred hamlets became huddles of burnt shelters for the rest of eternal life. Scorch marks on corrugated iron and the pervasive smell of pus. So much information bleeds in - a woman napalmed in the womb, family-sized torture beds, I'm trying to flatten it.

Go away. You'd like to do it to burglars anyway, why not. Exterminate goolies. Give them the existential thrill, very cheaply. Protect the family circle in the savannah of night, from smell of giant animal turds, the battering of light along the horizon. Fire is falling all over the world.

This violence is the spilled cocaine of history. It make me snuffy, pretentious, puffed up like a tight boil, just to write about it playing with the pound in my pocket, my king-size wedge. How I admired Iago hurling his sword over the battlements, a global gesture, our heroes have filled the worlds with it.

Rapture!

spears of ice
on tower pipework

blotto sunlight highlights squinting
by desperate syndicated worshippers

all that humanity grounded
into studying state-of-the art Thiokol product count-down

wobbling on fire
to go with throttle up into clouds of expanding brain
over a wrinkled sea

and smoke trails like ganglia
"1200 children watching
sent to their classrooms"

telemetry of burnt bone
has gone off-line: abort

SAY: they died in the ironic universe
to save us from nuclear complications
and our post-family complexes

HERE: in the rocket's grey glare
the president's bowels are missing a kink
what is this tree of smoke pushed out the wrong side of envelope launch time
to boldly indicate
a war star
goes video nova

Poetry's carrier-wave is the over-allusiveness of my times, and the general unfocussed feeling here is that if only we can firm up enough chaos , having it away at a correct signal-to-noise ratio, t h e n some fractal is going to push the globular spaceboat into new shape to save the noosphere...

MY VIEWPOINT IS YOUR VANISHING POINT! Whatever you like, we can sample it. Please be my victim. There's a current lust for organic material. See today's mothers bubbling under, getting ready to sing along with their choice of acid knickers. The Euro-world of zero pop is post-modern enough for her poultry-sickness love, so they modem it, for instant translation into neuro-vision. Say, she's a real peace commodity fetishist, she'll be shot down neater than a sheriff from the burning prayer towers, you understand what I'm praying? The bulk ego will pump your butt dry.

WE SPECIALISE IN THE INTIMATE EVENT!

The fax remain untransubstantiated. And here we are, frauds of the phatic discourse, in the Kingdom of the Water Goat. Let's stage-manage a leak from the nearest future: THE VAST MULTITUDE OF GHOSTS ACT IN COLLUSION SPITTING NEW LIFE INTO ELECTRICITY.

this boy with a nose job keeps rapping
swing into hi-fi with hot wire-tapping

We heard it through the grapevine

mouth zip up-tight on a dead spliff
I'm extra, fast-forwarding my red/green shift

We heard it through the grapevine

into the hot head-time, bed-time, my pleasure dome
is a leisure centre, just take me home

We heard it through the grapevine

I'm the kind of guy who likes to get around
up over and under the girls dancing on the ground

We heard it through the grapevine

Zero is me, mash up your old mythology
Slash your inner rhythm, I got parapsychology

We heard it through the grapevine .

I got a black cat bone I gotta mojo too
I got God this morning, you can eat him too

We heard it through the grapevine

I can learn you from cracking you up to break the code
jack up my soft circuit! I'm in the over-mode...

We heard it through the grapevine .

puff to push hollering prophet way out of glitzy coffin
extrude more funky stuff go you boffins!

We heard it through the grapevine...

DON'T TURN IT DOWN
TURN OFF

she's too anxious
his hands are empty claws
the claps fill his ear
to create a false wall

DON'T TURN IT DOWN
TURN OFF

start-stop, it's only stormy Sunday
read my cosmetic lips
continue to operate please support
on-line management of the red-eye whips

DON'T TURN IT DOWN
TURN OFF

Any person's aphasia. Goes like this. The generating of god-given gaps. My mind is not quite completed. Empty halls for flying in. Cut the log, fog lady. The curl of time and lost interest.

I wish I knew No sheltering. Out of control, deterioration of command centres. Underlying condition not so green. Uncertainty rallies, into the grey, bubbly with borrowed time against future money.

Less isn't more. That aromatic tarot should have been used more often. Which of the niches fit your archetype? Dreams are out of order. Nasal despair. The nonces fly hither. Base of foggy bottom is a solid rock crunch.

Well I never. The word's decline and fall. The incorrect use of the apostrophe is even more obvious with pseudo-gothic lettering. The waste will be timed precisely. The spectacle failure will under- educate so many embryonic people. That was a mind-control device which fai1ed a test.

There, there. Let us pray with both hands creamy, up and down. The computer has given us verbal superiority, not supremacy. I only wanted to grow new faculties, to fast delicately, to applaud Miss Dainty Nose 1990. I'm quite certain of all that. Quite !

the simulated poet virtually replicates
evolving on parallel world-lines

into a Chinese whisper of simians
tuned into different fantasies

at a first sighting of dead microphones
splitting new life into electricity

the universe only contains one electron
evolving on parallel world lines

the stimulated poet loses it
loses his verb,

to increase productivity
modem it

for instant translation into neuro-vision
steal his word (world)

for our universe is scattered backwards in time
the sky is used for a tattoo of interfering signal

to increase productivity
multiplex vast multitudes of ghosts in collusion

You just try to improve my improvisation against death. Its loopy memories were suppositories of the wise. The sentimental learning is to forget a secret, slow burn of child heat. We braves, tied to our separate trees, sizzle quietly on the big set...

I can see clearly now, kilometres of sand, beach huts in the rain. Enclosures of shame, for initiates only. The rhetoricians cannot eat their prizes. I can see clearly, now, that virtual poetry is a disease. War of the hidden god on the human brain.operating theatre, tinkle of autoclave why is the world just so terribly quiet why is this global labor of killing a few scruff birds tagged as friendly fire

A bitmapping of the smart world keeps our boys going mad in the sands of some condom- strewn desert. They're not sartorial now, no. Their refined squashed saurian remnants won't be worth a squabble no use telling that to the blotto planet. Memorise another dream of blotched flesh.

the plebs wanted their eating contests their three tier fucking displays to explode a blot in his lobe

I am some thing in itself, an object of tissue on the surface of the earth. A little machine ticks. That is how the last three hundred years had been writing itself, with a little ticker. There's a smell of old factories in the sky.

"They hung the flag at half mast in front of the ink and paint plant. It's all gone, all Sikh shops now. Went out last week, round the corner for chips and brown ale and got mugged of all the weekend shopping. Terrible about that bunker full of petrol. Went to hell and back."

The Korean neighbours' children moo in the summer garden twilight. The world goes on telling its story of willies and worms: a beginning and an end, in blurts. I was a tiny creeping thing in the holy places, the white fortresses of Old Europe.

Overlooking the suburban privets and sycamores, the despoiled Groves, I carefully fantasise about more neighbours, the drunk office workers, high on pain and repetitive stress, hunched over work-stations/war-stations killing each other with high-velocity steel pellets and complex petroleum distillates. They have been on special courses and will have to take work home.

Droplets of water fall into the garden. The tree advances on the brain of the house. This brain joke has fired back at us. I would be far more comfortable with a context/without a cortex. That's full strength sick humour, see.

I don't know. I just don't know. So many activities with bottles and pills and trolleys. Moving houses. Always moving houses. And we constantly try to re-draw the mental map. The sheep won't wander. Corridors of the pre-war consensus. "It was a safe time". Stiff but safe. I collect these soundsnaps as I go. "As long as we know." The phrases that repeat themselves are the only flags of convenience left.

A human dying at the end of the century, fin de siecle, dying amid home comforts, all mod. cons, and the imagery of Nostradamus. The century is slowly folding in on itself. So her neurochemicals are duplicating out of symmetry, a tiny, tiny change. "cell by tiny cell," the Gioconda of Pater's Renaissance , all out of sequence. I'm tired. Watch that anagram shiver with exhaustion. We tried, we really tried.

• Smaragdine : The Emerald Tablet of Hermes Tristemegistus: "As above, so below..." Cf. W.B. Yeats's Supernatural Songs.
• International cubists: Broadway Boogie Woogie , painting by Piet Mondrian, 1940
• Collaged from teaching materials used in the Science, Technology, and Society (STAS) course at North Westminster Community School circa 1985
• Black Box trauma : "The exact mechanism for transfer of HIV in intercourse is still really a black-box problem..." Dr. Anthony Pinching, of St. Mary's Hospital, London, in conversation with PAG, 1986, after a lecture to students on a STAS course..
• "Take it to the bridge!" : James Brown, Sex Machine , (Brown/Byrd/Lenhoff) King Records, 1970.
• Entropy : Bolztman's law: S = entropy; k is Bolztman's constant: W = the number of ways in which the system can be re-arranged. The entropy S reaches a maximum when all parts of the system are so thoroughly mixed up and random that there is no reason to to expect it to favour one particular arrangement over any other arrangement.
• Collaged from Greater London Radio, LBC Radio, BBC Radio 4.
• Schroedinger's Cat : notorious paradox posited by the quantum physicist Erwin Schroedinger. Cf. Looking Glass Universe , J. Briggs & D.Peat, 1984.
• roundabout establishment near wired Cheltenham : GCHQ is situated near a roundabout on the outskirts of the town.
• Customer Service 600 : coded message used by Safeway checkout staff over store intercom to obtain the price on an unmarked item.
• wilding : New York teen jargon c. 1991 for random attacks on passers-by.
• Maureen: code-name of a North Sea oilfield leased to Philips Petroleum. A Philips promotional video was used as part of the STAS course - see above. Other examples are hypothetical.
• Elsewhere : from the first Manifesto of Surrealism (1924)
• Hindenburg : exploded while landing, New York, 1939.
• Afri-Kar : wooden jeep, powered by Citroen 850cc engine, designed by UK company for African countries. An Afri-Kar promotional video was also used as part of the STAS course. The Afri-Kar never entered commercial production.
• Lyn Hejinian, poet residing in California.
• Ford Sterling : prominent member of Mack Sennett's Keystone Kops.
• Woomera : Australian desert used by UK for missile tests in 1950s.
• Cf. BBC/ITV/CNN Gulf War coverage (also in 28, 35).
• go with throttle up : last words transmitted from cockpit of US Space Shuttle "Challenger", Florida 1986. Thiokol : The Morton Thiokol Corporation manufactured the solid-fuel boosters that malfunctioned.
• Horus : according to Aleister Crowley's Book of the Law (1904) the world is entering the Aeon of Horus, the age of the Child, perverse and polymorphous.
• I heard it through the grapevine : - Holland/Dozier/Holland, Jobete Music, Motown Records, 1967.
• Your computer is alive but it's dying :a well-known virus message
• Pater : cf. Walter Pater's description of Leonardo's Mona Lisa in The Renaissance (1887).

The Slow Learning was originally conceived as a "video poem for television", written and performed by Paul A. Green, directed and edited by Jeremy Welsh. Evolving versions of the videotape have been presented in Glasgow at the National Review of Live Art 1989; in Clermont-Ferrand, France, at Video Formes 1990; and in London at The Cafe Gallery, The Institute of Contemporary Arts, and the Voice Box at the National Poetry Library, South Bank, as well as Richmond College , the Split Screen Conference and the Royal National College for the Blind, Hereford.

Some of the texts have appeared in Negative Entropy , Poetics Journal , First Offence , Mar and the Re/Verb audio tape Live at the Poetry Lounge.

This full text version with graphics from the original video, published in association with The Institute of Random Studies (IRS Products) by Re/Verb 1991