White Chalk Scream

Slow and sensuous, here we go,
P J Harvey for the stereo;
And it's a white chalk scream:
Playing with Polly Jean.
A white chalk bitch:
Grow, grow, grow with the wicked witch.

Slow and sensuous, up we rise,
P J Harvey for tonight's star prize;
And it's a white chalk scream:
Screwing with Polly Jean.
A white chalk bitch:
When under ether with the wicked witch.

Slow and sensuous, there we fall,
P J Harvey for that last clear call;
And it's a white chalk scream:
Going down on Polly Jean.
A white chalk bitch:
A dose of magic from the wicked witch.

Russell J Turner – February 2010

Actions and Consequences

Nothing is forbidden.
Actions have consequences.
Convention may be overridden
But actions still have consequences.

I saw you crying in the summer rain
For the lies and the liquid that kept me sane,
And the pain and the pain and the pain and the pain:
Actions have consequences.

I saw you lying in a clean white bed
With those bloody memories in your head,
Screaming for our unborn dead:
Actions have consequences.

I saw you sighing in the cemetery,
Though you no longer speak to me,
But that’s OK coz our minds are free.
If not our hearts.

Russell J Turner – February 2010

The Fatuous Counsel Shines

A series of random musings.

Every Married Fuller Relays a Trace

I had to look the word 'fuller' up in the dictionary.
It means one who fulls cloth.
Now cloth I understand, but how does one full it?
I know how how to fill it, to twill it, to drill it.
To even Bang and Cillit.
But to full it is to scour and beat it.
And the vision of a married fuller bringing his work home,
Relaying a trace of unfulfilled satisfaction
On his scoured and beaten wife,
Was too much to contemplate.
So I turned it off
And powered it down.

A Victim Amazes a Finished Tourist

She was a finished tourist.
Not a Finnish tourist.
But a finished tourist,
Like Moe Tucker in those Velvet Underground photos,
A naughty schoolgirl amongst Nordic ice blondes
And impossible men with shades.
Perhaps a victim once, but now amazed
To find herself, at last, in the town of her dreams.

The Collective Challenges the Suffix

"We, the undersigned,
Wish to express our disagreement, our disappointment,
Nay, even our disgust,
At the unilateral decision
By the permanent steering committee
To label our endeavours, our struggles,
Nay, even our sacrifices,
With an 'ism'.
'Ism' is a bourgeois concept,
A weapon the petty minded use
To oppress their enemies with language.
For we are freeborn men and women,
Ready to fight, to bleed,
Nay, even to die,
For Universal Socialism."
"Bollocks."

Protein Opens the Sexist Grave

The screams of centuries beat their drum:
Protein opens the sexist grave!
The baby-killers have their fun:
Protein opens the sexist grave!
Mitochondrial DNA:
Protein opens the sexist grave!
The Mother Goddess shows the way:
Protein opens the sexist grave!
Protein opens the sexist grave,
Protein opens the sexist grave.
Like the Worm Ouroboros, I creep in the grass;
Protein opens the sexist grave!
Like the Worm Ouroboros, I'm up my own arse.

Why Does an Impaired Galaxy Sweep Across the Recipient?

"This examination lasts two hours.
You may use as much rough paper as you wish,
But all working must be handed in with the answer sheets.
Attempt no more than three of the five questions."

"Question One:
Why does an impaired galaxy sweep across the recipient?"

Fuck.
I knew I should have revised that.

Russell J Turner - February 2010

Rothko on Your Thighs

Dedicated to everyone in the audience who has ever performed cunnilingus on a menstruating woman.

Last night you were so graceful,
Last night I got a faceful;
Some might call it distasteful,
But certainly not wasteful.

And as the air grew thicker,
That sharp metallic liquor,
The light began to flicker,
My heart beat ever quicker.

Last night was a reunion,
Last night was a communion,
The bride invites her groom in,
The first time I felt human.

The first time I knew no fear,
The first time that I saw clear
The acts that bring us so near;
Last night I fell in love dear.

Some might call it insightful,
Or maybe just delightful,
Whilst others think it fateful,
Last night I was just grateful.

Russell J Turner - February 2010