The Fine Line EBOOK

8/6/2019 The Fine Line EBOOK

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2/28

That beggar downtherestanding like a

street lampunder every kind

of whether thatGod has ever seen

bothers you.

Past the tunnel

- above there's a train

running-

he's reading. Life isa sleeping bag

followed by suddenexplosions and he's

a lightening conductorunder the woe-sky.

Your pound coin is lostin the hat of his

unruffled wisdom.

black

shrill city

gritty citya

hopeless city

with no vent inthe leaden canopy of its sky


3/28

a way

while a wayfind away

just for a dayget me out of what

Im in

sing me the songthat all ways let me home

ssssshhhhh while I sleepwalk

the nutters tightropethe jitters slippery slope

back homea w a

y

Let me sleep on this bed of thoughts and leaves Let me sleep on this bed of thoughts and

leaves Let me sleep on this bed of thoughts and leaves Let me sleep on this bed of thoughtsand leaves Let me sleep on this bed of thoughts and leaves Let me sleep on this bed of

thoughts and leaves Let me sleep on this bed of thoughts and leaves Let me sleep on this bedof thoughts and leaves Let me sleep on this bed of thoughts and leaves Let me sleep on this

bed of thoughts and leaves Let me sleep on this bed of thoughts and leaves Let me sleep on

this bed of thoughts and leaves Let me sleep on this bed of thoughts and leaves Let me sleep

on this bed of thoughts and leaves Let me sleep on this bed of thoughts and leaves Let me

sleep on this bed of thoughts and leaves Let me sleep on this bed of thoughts and leaves Letme sleep on this bed of thoughts and leaves Let me sleep on this bed of thoughts and leaves

Let me sleep on this bed of thoughts and leaves Let me sleep on this bed of thoughts and

leaves Let me sleep on this bed of thoughts and leaves Let me sleep on this bed of thoughts

and leaves Let me sleep on this bed of thoughts and leaves Let me sleep on this bed of

thoughts and leaves Let me sleep on this bed of thoughts and leaves

still life

screamstraffic

hard heel soundsscreeching

wind of white collars leaving the City

water loo

bridges the gap

loud dusk

lautnights on time

double-decker bass

rattlinghonking lightslightning horns

barking pub doorssqueaking fe

growling male

down dry throats

inner city blues gulps

down

dry

throatyafter all

this noise


4/28

Tra la perduta gente (Dante)

Whats beauty?

Eating space and tarFollowing the road scar

Wounding the city

The burning rail tracks

Sparkling into another

Dimension where things

Matter

That bleached poster

Stuck at the petrol pumpVISIT JAMAICA

Dwindling morning dream

Visit visit Jamaica.

!!lump of mud

small flower blossom

on the dunghill of flesh and blood!


5/28


6/28

wet animal

serpentine naturea whale of flowing

hauling outinto mothers

big wet bellyflotsam

the later spitted memoryon random coastlines

- what a beast! -

filled to the brim of its bed

- what a beauty! -

with the rims of lifes wheels

the source of the Thames

is London

dark creature

illuminated dwellingto so many worlds

the streets spell outthe bricks know

place mutters

life

rises and ebbs

rises and ebbs

flows and ebbs

pub shoressee the jetsam in

white

layers of depth

pristine

unwoundedattacked by

inklings of heart

miens of soulintimations ofbrain drain

a wafer diginto the p

ages


7/28

2

beggar down there

cul-de-sac your thoughts

life waves its empty hata barren mind

a tunnel night

a moistened finger holing the sky

thunders and lights

try pitytry

whytry down there

insert another coin.

Whats nothing

no-thing

no-tree

no-animalno-man

no-oneit stays still

through the metamorphosisof time

and againcreeping nothing

seeping nothingthrough the blossom

of life

this other thingwhich does not withdraw

you know

nothing

you hear

nothingyou feel

nothingcarefully skillfully

positioning wordslike stones

to make a pathof sense

(your sense)but it lays still


8/28

London Stoneages of City

safetyeven though Excaliburd by

Arthur

and now jailhoused

in Cannon Street

yet

a piece of LudgateLud town

London

stonecannon ball for flying magicianspiece of lime

nowfor the Sumitomo Banking

tower

fleeting impressions

Ive already been here before

Then,

In a corner of a cafThe crevices

Of fate

Or luck

Casual encounters

Shaking of hands people adjusting theirTies or bras


9/28

no tune blues

my hopes goneno nobody holding on

far cry from home

aint no body no one

got my got in

wonder where i amwander where i belong

knot my not in

hold me like never

do me what ever

hold me while everdoes gut me clever

got no tune in my hands

and blues under my pillowthis is the way words die

not with a bang but with a whimper

our presencecreates a perfectly

circular black hole in

the fabric of life from

where we appear andinto which we dis-

appear again

the reality of his

own experience

he admits

is somewhat

di erent


10/28

A story does not begin

a story does not end

laylocks spread on

the surface of the sea

Lazy sails flapping

on the surface

la Monet patches and blots

Eyedrops of light

And

blood

Aldgate, Bishopsgate, Moorgate, Aldersgate,

Cripplegate, Newgate, Ludgate, Billingsgate,

with the Tower, The Barbican and Castle

Bynard: eleven wounds in an electrical circuit.

Iain Sinclair

The names that built this wallAre more than the grains

of a handful of sandmore than the reign of Genghis Khan

more than the hair on my head

a thousand men provided the bricksanother thousand the lime

a thousand slaves the laboura thousand bankers the gold

a thousand kings the army

Around the wall


11/28

just before dawnanother dusk

a glas sustained in a

toasta nipple pushes throughthe wall of me

mory

some darkness precipitates

in word

world

lifeself

lessness ness ness ness

me

wondershould i dust the thaw

the sweat of leavingtoo early

ever to early

probably atripping

just

Reading Rumi 6 a.m.

Whos speaking?

Is it me speaking through the branches

Of that tree or me speaking to thee

Why am I speaking then

With the wind whistling and

The bird singing

And the river flowing and the

Time passing and the monk prayingWhy am I speaking then?


12/28

Victoria Square 06/05/04

piazza

small victorianwhitewashed houses

almost too normal

for the immediate vicinity of

The Palace

instead of old Spaniards

smoking palavering walking10.17 traffic wardens

10.18 and 10.21 cabs rat-running10.34 rubbish collection

vinegar whiffs(chipper round the corner?)

4-lane trafficon at least 3 sides

helicopters

(flying in executives?)

from above

an islandunder roaring weather

constantly repelled from

Bucking ham

Ich liebe meines Wesens Dunkelstunden.

R.M. Rilke

darkness of my soulclocking

love of my lifeticking

world coming homeas a time limit

to gocrazy

in this enclosure

calledbe

coming

words trying to bridgethe hour glass

of feigning existenceeyes willing to spurt

into jet lags of self...swhile our inner alarm clock

is grinding to holda


13/28

II

I

I

I

I

II

therethere


14/28

Londo

nskull

heading

aEurope

skeleton

ohwhatas

wishreaper

(probablywithBowlerhat)

asortofroy

aldawdlerin

Hide&Park

Empireturnedkreserb

anISLAND

sland

atrifletoosmall

forlostgrandeur

Too

many

suitorssuits

tobepleased

theire-gos

tobestuffed

assetsa

ssetsassetsassetsassetsassets

assetsassetsassetsassetsasse

tsassets

worthsom

ewarsand

fleshtoberu

bbishedaway

beautytobesoldout

needsstreamlinedintoone-waysystems

cul-de-s

achopes

materially

nourished

spiritua

llyvain

reelingthemantraofthecivilised

-soundsliketamed-

warld:

MoneyHealthnHappiness




Hey

eat

I-ness

Atfac

evalue

theskinoverLo

ndonistootight

thefaceliftofsuc

cesstoosuccessful

(probablyrep-carreplacesBowler)

toodeepyetthelinesinthefacesofthepoor

theThames

Voiceofdusk

Andemptyshells

Gatheredby

theriver

Washingour

Sinsofsoot

Ecco

B

abylondonthe

great

Abomi

Nation

Ofthe

Earth


15/28

LIKE A SPONGE HE SITS

AND WAITS FOR THE WORDS

TO COMEinspiration


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17/28

my oh my

labouring throughyear-

ring after ring

coming into its ownas only full grown treescan

fall like wings

Je dans au mileu des miracles (Aragon)

IVow

elOr

Pillar

Or

Wound

I

Be

foreThe

WorldDescen

ding onA

slopeOf

Dis/hope

IDis/

mal


18/28

free me from sophistication

free me from ambition

free me from the holy see

of knowledge

pass me wine and bread

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

so fistam bi

holey seano edge

bring the pizza

Ill do the water

305

be (atthe

utmost

what

you wantedto be)

ar it


19/28

Detritus please come and Seahow well I up and down

Your very stuff is hardly sheencutting capers in the muck

Spate-wash the trap, OlMan

off squalor swell up to the brim

of Mothers skully orbs

haul into long forgotten tributaries

never mind

Your own wells nor your colours

I Father away

whatever is given

offer out into eternityrelicts, remains

bodies

Detritus

my son

is Shipping out the shadows

There is stilllife which screams

through the bloated veins of traffichardened by heel sounds

screeching like a barren wind

through the course

of white collars leaving the City

Here stands WaterlooQueen of the harlots

bridging the gap of loud dusk thoughts.

But life seeps

through the night bus rattlingand the pub doors closing

And life seeps

down with sawdust of gold

and city blues gulps

down our dry throat

after all this noise


20/28

fear

such a long way from homewhere do I turn to

in my

be

wilderness

wheres my backpack

courageI wrapped into my skin

where is homewhere ? oh me

rubsody

rubbish

blue notes of dis-pair

songlines post

modern

trash

lines the willto outlive the human

for goods

a darkening haloaround life


21/28

87

meditation on

the light

comein

I

lluminat

ing the faintscenery of the

day with turbines

slashing the grey duvetinto halves every 40 seconds

and carbon dioxide clouds foam

ing from the runway of wet tarmac w

here rubber wheeled engines growl and

hiss clock-ruled beings you man while thebirds duty away on chirping and whistling as

The true identity of London is its absence.

the

black

dark

ness

be

comesth

e

white

black

ness ofi ll u

sion

CARVED

IN

AN ABSENT CITY,

FRAIL CHART OF AN

ESSENTIAL ACROPOLIS

PER SEMPRE ANDATA

LIKE A THORN IN A SIDE

A REMINDEROR AN AFTERTHOUGHT

STANDS

THE LAST STONE


22/28

Life

makes sense:

Transient

Footprint

soon

annulled

by perennial

sandsof time against

the

Wall of Timedespite the

scorching hour;

Guards

assigned tothe custody

Of

a

.

London

Forever subsists

past the unbending sky

and jitters of swift leptons

charging Westminsternew heaven new earth

mixed towards futile vainglory

yet to comethe zeitgeist


23/28

person : expectations

1 + 1 are 3

angst x angstbears soul

life - death still needs an end

words2

= !worlds

love " fear

(soul)

London: misty morning, 10 a.m.

I,

Among the roadrunes

Unnamed desolation

Here in the mouth of a Metro

A Languid suspicion

bourgeois intention to mesh

Forget oneself and act

scatter like ashes and go with the flux


24/28

13

waywarden

whatnots

wantallwidemouthed

while the world slowly whithers

And always, beyond the pain - the river.

Ian Sinclair

flowing Is it this: bottles coinsyour stones revelations of

existence so carelessly splinters and bright red

passing away without bricks or levigated glass

afterthoughts of any sort in all shapes and colours

you give and take the debris-memoryin the quietness of a river

of your constant flowGod?

you pass and stay

all the sameall the way

now the stream like a branch

stretches its limbs to the lineof the sea past the dam

up to the opening of

the freewaters


25/28

113

a sackfull

of joyemptied in youth

fullbliss

nowhangs un

filled from thebone matter

of

life

Hercules 12x ad infinitum

b. a big boy now

b. strongb. rich

never b. wrong

b. a man

b. smart

always b. can

never b. done

b. logicalb. sensible

never b. weak

and b. whatever they say under b.


26/28


27/28

as the city runes my skin

a rat of the skies

a foxan aircraft

a cry

wind and grey sky

a dogs yap

shoutingsirens

muffled musicmy neighbour

a thoughtlight

hungera scent of her

my self

are carcassed together for an instant

HERE IS THE FINE LINE

HERE IS THE GRAVE LINEPASSING THE LINE

THREADING THE LINE

WORDS ON THE LINE

STRETCHING FROM SEA TO SKY_


28/28

ELECTRIC AVENUE

incurable cloud, therejection of novelty

out of our depth, re-drowning in one sea

A brick forlucapacijuergenghebrezgiabiher.

To launch a slender craft.

With my thanks for these fresh steps in an old dance.Words to relish. A city to survive.

Beaks & claws.Iain Sinclair, 11/2004

The Fine Line EBOOK

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