To Anita

When I see you

my road swerves

and I try to steer sharply avoiding the distraction of your outline 

like dictating white lines between the fast lane and a hard shoulder

And if I'm ever blinded by illegal fog beams as they emerge I'll remember your eyes burning through mine when i lose my nerve forcing me to veer away from a collision that I might not survive

To somewhere I can stop.......

and re-fuel

and pull myself together

brent library closures

Tories are in town

Not a coalition in a fission of qualities slowing them down but the Tories are in town

Privatising the welfare state generating debate about ruthlessness

There is no humanity in the pure pursuit of profit

spiritually ded, lips turning ever vampire bluer sucking reds red in bed with who'd have guessed

mistress nicolas clegg sexed up testosteroned and smoking our pounds from moral high grounds

(fully aware of their corporate peers filtering billions through offshore accounts)
 

The implementaion of judicial enquiry implies a window to make them stop

but self regulation pulls wool over the rot

so where did democracy go

since brent council's consultation we repeatedly said 'No'

till our groundswell of factious reactionary movements is a battleship feature of dictatorships.

the only thing we're all in together is the fight for survival on the battle-ground of capitalism fought by minions whilst generals call the shots from the parliamentary hilltops

libraries are the ammunition base for home schoolers

intellects evolve in the non-profit sector learning centre building on facts to rival houses of cards enforced with seduction and subliminal intimidation coated and polished with lies

local libraries are where the studious exercise and organisers germinate

and you can observe politics without the fraudulant tips of stylists

or the prostitution of institutional collaboration

small firms clerks rely on printers

and residents have to liase with council boards through process of online forms

not their idea the council's; new labour ; go figure

Penalising hospitals, daycare and the lowest income households is a vice, and just the catalyst for twice the financial crisis since the hand of the bourgeois got snapped in the cookie jar

in expenses circus

bankers bonuses

Dinner with financiers

when it's opportunistic

Our patrons are all alone or altruistic

We don't gel with drug cartels

And if It costs 13.6 billion to immortalise boris, Coe and jowel in sports week we don't JUST afford it

and just NOT publicise the audit

cause it would probably reveal our debt as your debt

mistranslated through audacious vacuous jaw jaw

the political equivalent of smut.

The sound bite 'big society' is a cover for cuts

To privatise is to personalise the monetised

reads the small print of the dog eat dog blue print the blues print

the elderly are a redundant resource and the future of labour production is working class children

Brent's new town hall building will cost 100 million

and in light of them trying to keep us in the dark these little dogies will bark in the spanish, greek, lithuaniun, dutch, slovenian arab spring of austerity

I.D

I knew nish about the windrush and invite stroke ambush to prop up the NHS and utilise the surplus to clean the rubbish of the western virus 

The peacock of fascists was Enoch the racist in the epoch of prejudice that yanked my chain and was due to again and  again and again and again and again and again and again creating  thresholds between us and them 

I was being told to go back home by grown up men way before I was ten

The tactical onslaught began . Securing the groundwork clubs because rasta represented and reggae kept on hugging us like an anxious surrogate shielding us from the effects of an inevitable arrest

On the propaganda front was a fictitious alpha man

named Tarzan 

The flank; your Jim Davidsons

The formula of notorious becomes glorious created the legacy of alf garnet

and that's not the half of it

We were woven into a fabric

and racism was our carpeting

carefully tread 

cause in police custody some of us wound up ded

Flares and platforms were that norm 

a wave of consciousness embraced us as socialists, and , albeit mostly about the music , there was niche  within the collective

On the flipside the political riptide is Brits abide with which side their bread's buttered on , even if they know it's wrong so they go along with the subliminal indoctrination of white domination which favours beneficiaries of lighter shades of skin and it's a stronghold when a 1.6 percent population change exposes a sterile culture; imposing a new beginning 

It was the 80s. And you can say whatever you want; but when the  3rd biggest opposition is the national front, it has an impact on the feeling that you actually belong

Thatcher came along and it was on. Right right, left wrong

And the nf chanted threatening songs legalised and strong in lynch mobs of yobs who'd jump , not fight lone brothers who'd dare walk alone at night 

and scar him

We'd sing and pray but everything we had to say was shirked

We had riots like diets that don't work

and around that time Lennox Lewis won the world championship at wembley and one of them grabs my hand and gushes 'now you and me are brothers and they shifted their complaining to the Asian invasion

Much the same complaints , a bit less of the maiming 

Then a music genre dramatically put it on ya but the back lash was a re-hash  of consumer fodder

Thank heavens poetry is underground and the frequency is lower 

See hip hop came bounding like a prodigal son before it became a boring whore , foreboding imploding in self evolving folklore. 

Gladiatorially 

Originally the community spoke through an independent medium with the tenet of drums and the self-fathering academia of karnac lectures and briefly the second coming showed a  face that Sodom and Gomorrah defaced with crime and bass 

and as stateside was the birth place ,

talking loud and getting jiggy came to be a requiem of a baller called PAC and a G called biggy

Their legacy reigns in the self defeated phrase 'taking the nig out of the ghetto out of the nig '

Or something

Now social liberalism has a vision of equilibrium but its more practical for capitalism to colonise its rats into bunches of stats than to allow rugged individualism

That's why we had to be categorised as blacks 

and it's easier to stagnate than articulate the infinite bounty of the colour spectrum

During the heights of civil rights it was re-typed to feel right and our heroes used negroes and since then it's been coloureds , then blacks ,then niggas on crack in self fulfilling caricatures  but before that there was a season when somebody thought we were human beings and deserved the considered distinction of being Afro-Caribbean which was  la de da caviar to our community bourgeoisie 

But 

Now that metropolis has become a basin of homogenised lotion 

and Asians blend in and some eastern Europeans  act like homogenising's an unforseen task and they front rather than ask  what one's supposed to do in a melting pot

North Africans who already trust you to do business if you're that type,

some orientals who think you're to dark to respect and some English who agree but wind in their necks since there's no competitive representative elect and whose kids aint talking jafaican

Now we've all finished whinging about the job stealing house packing polish exodus and there are indentured poles saying the same about Romanians ; moaning about us is so 1970s and it's a minefield cussing Muslims 

In 2013 I can't help seeing eclecticism as a little suspect since we've all got radicals who are  septic 

So where do you fit against my legendary  constants

of the low expectation

drug dealing

penis wielding

handbag stealing

sucker punches that blight like red traffic lights on the road of my life

And there's a thing

Where wil that leave my children reared in a series of rotating interventions where everything we could possibly need is at our disposal yet something's missing

Like decisions

So who the heck am I now. Who are any one of us 

I.D I knew nish about the windrush and invite stroke ambush to prop up the NHS and utilise the surplus to clean the rubbish of the western virus  The peacock of fascists was Enoch the racist in the epoch of prejudice that yanked my chain and was due to again and  again and again and again and again and again and again creating  thresholds between us and them  I was being told to go back home by grown up men way before I was ten The tactical onslaught began . Securing the groundwork clubs because rasta represented and reggae kept on hugging us like an anxious surrogate shielding us from the effects of an inevitable arrest On the propaganda front was a fictitious alpha man named Tarzan  The flank; your Jim Davidsons The formula of notorious becomes glorious created the legacy of alf garnet and that's not the half of it We were woven into a fabric and racism was our carpeting carefully tread  cause in police custody some of us wound up ded Flares and platforms were that norm  a wave of consciousness embraced us as socialists, and , albeit mostly about the music , there was niche  within the collective On the flipside the political riptide is Brits abide with which side their bread's buttered on , even if they know it's wrong so they go along with the subliminal indoctrination of white domination which favours beneficiaries of lighter shades of skin and it's a stronghold when a 1.6 percent population change exposes a sterile culture; imposing a new beginning  It was the 80s. And you can say whatever you want; but when the  3rd biggest opposition is the national front, it has an impact on the feeling that you actually belong Thatcher came along and it was on. Right right, left wrong And the nf chanted threatening songs legalised and strong in lynch mobs of yobs who'd jump , not fight lone brothers who'd dare walk alone at night  and scar him We'd sing and pray but everything we had to say was shirked We had riots like diets that don't work and around that time Lennox Lewis won the world championship at wembley and one of them grabs my hand and gushes 'now you and me are brothers and they shifted their complaining to the Asian invasion Much the same complaints , a bit less of the maiming  Then a music genre dramatically put it on ya but the back lash was a re-hash  of consumer fodder Thank heavens poetry is underground and the frequency is lower  See hip hop came bounding like a prodigal son before it became a boring whore , foreboding imploding in self evolving folklore.  Gladiatorially  Originally the community spoke through an independent medium with the tenet of drums and the self-fathering academia of karnac lectures and briefly the second coming showed a  face that Sodom and Gomorrah defaced with crime and bass  and as stateside was the birth place , talking loud and getting jiggy came to be a requiem of a baller called PAC and a G called biggy Their legacy reigns in the self defeated phrase 'taking the nig out of the ghetto out of the nig ' Or something Now social liberalism has a vision of equilibrium and its more practical for capitalism to colonise its rats into bunches of stats than to allow rugged individualism That's why we had to be categorised as blacks  and it's easier to stagnate than articulate the infinite bounty of the colour spectrum During the heights of civil rights it was re-typed to feel right and our heroes used negroes and since then it's been coloureds , then blacks ,then niggas on crack in self fulfilling caricatures  but before that there was a season when somebody thought we were human beings and deserved the considered distinction of being Afro-Caribbean which was  la de da caviar to our community bourgeoisie  But  Now that metropolis has become a basin of homogenised lotion  and Asians blend in and some eastern Europeans  act like homogenising's an unforseen task and they front rather than ask  what one's supposed to do in a melting pot North Africans who already trust you to do business if you're that type, some orientals who think you're to dark to respect and some English who agree but wind in their necks since there's no competitive representative elect and whose kids aint talking jafaican Now we've all finished whinging about the job stealing house packing polish exodus and there are indentured poles saying the same about Romanians ; moaning about us is so 1970s and it's a minefield cussing Muslims  In 2013 I can't help seeing eclecticism as a little suspect since we've all got radicals who are  septic  So where do you fit against my legendary  constants of the low expectation drug dealing penis wielding handbag stealing sucker punches that blight like red traffic lights on the road of my life And there's a thing Where wil that leave my children reared in a series of rotating interventions where everything we could possibly need is at our disposal yet something's missing Like decisions So who the heck am I now. Who are any one of us 

I'n'I

Close up your two ear, absorb through your third eye
Tis I
Masai descendant rastafari uprooted from foundations

Alienated in the new world

marginalised by contemporaries
And facing extinction
True de I
true to de I
whatever the direction
of civilisation
seeking Zion
through the radial entrapment of Babylon

The flaying fibre of the family torn from our bosom
to roam in the swamp of woe
a nomad
without patronage 

and one would've thought that after all this time
my star would shine
in line with the nine
that orbit the sun
and Jah will be done
on earth
as it is in heaven
Because its been so long since there's been universal inity among bredren

My people extend rods
to trendy gods
in cliques grouping the strength of the weak
sapped through malaise
into songs of praise
but I've ceased
to indulge the beast
from the fat man
to the vat man
With some regret
I grant, I sweat
injustices
though status is what status quo is

The white eye got the green eye and wet red hands
Behold the gun, they stole the drum,

and yellow earth that mirrored the sun
now the aboriginal and the Navaho of Gad  are all gone
And they would do a biopsy in my soul in an effort to own it
But i'n I psychic is I 'n I sidekick
and you can no more penetrate 
divinity than you can separate wet from water

I was a million of us though now I am a hundred                                                                              walking in the unswerving  path of righteousness
ambushed and discredited by instigators of perpetrators bribed to take the road more commercial                                            than controversial
since the I a response with livity not hate
so they don't need to ship coke and murder folk like the FBI in 68 
 
All counter action done get kill out with guerrilla faction ,                                                        overruled by  inocuosnous of Jewish masons and screwface superclass to curb the itinuation of the internal I ;                                                                                                                                              the mineral of die-hard revolution                                                                                                                                     because our spirit is embedded in the groin of delayed justice
nourished on the black milk of aborted time                                                                                       until the colour of a man's skin is of no more significance

-250-1092362536-dreadful_rastafarian.jpg

The N word

When u refer to u and yours as nga, you are anouncing a personnal acceptence of an underclass status that legislated that you were officially sub-human and by virtue of sciences too deficient in emotional  and cognative intelligence  to  be acknowledged in European  society or warrant more merit than a dog. 
There has always been smoke without fire and shit sticks. It also spreads and leaves odours. So when all the minerals of life have left your mortal organism like white  faeces the  odour of your shit whafts then clings to ur closest dna until the bacterium of it's live cultures gets into the skin and they are infected with symptoms with no idea of the roots. The speculation of the evolution stimulates a hybrid of mechanisms that without knowledge of self give birth to a fatherless prototype; a self ordained modern day niga 

Doris

When she walked passed

vanilla and honest

little drops of melanin on her face like enriched soil placed by the hand of the artist

she wore the coolest breeze

As she went on my life followed

in its darkness and its lights

Air shot through me in pellets of exploding cyclones

and I was born again with the primal impuse

to go to her


The threshold was a black hole of alternative realities

and I stood in her aura, sedated in the dream they reserved for me

uniquely humble in a sublime desert of paralysis abandoned by myself

peering through a porthole of infinity to a memory of a future where we grew together, and raised a family

In reality she was physically close enough to absorb me in a Cassiopeian cluster

My disciplines dispersed haemorraging my spirt which spilled out of my mouth

and laying twelve million daisies at her feet it said

"I think you're fucking beautiful."

She smiled

and having kamakazied I scurried away embarrassed by the nakedness of honesty



I saw her the next day

an angelic illusion of a typical human tinged with desire, vulnerability,confusion

elavating rites of passage with undisclosed intimacies still in their infancies like blind children

and of sound mind I chanced a stroll through a sliding door

I dropped the key to being alone and free fell into the first spring of a virgin zone

Within seven days my universe was made beyond the clinical inadequacies of bar coding

and I floated on air making imprints on clouds



I saw us from astral projections wrestling in the park, raw sex in the car and growing closer and closer, not as the rght and left hand but the body

Nothing mattered more on this mortal coil than the euphoria of our inter-commuting atoms welcomed like prodigal sons

and the addiction to the cosmic endorphins of our liberty

Just looking at her
was exhilarating
She's indistinguishable from the origins of time and I always sensed that a god had just entered the room and started plucking at my plasma
scattering it into ten thousand lives

that stood at the entrance of Fjords bellowing ghosts

that climbed the shoulders of the sky and free fell to her centrifuge to drink melodies from her hands



She once asked to taste dying by my hand

She called it asphyxiating but I reckon it was a reckoning

and with all I am

loving deeper than conciousness
Declaring love three little word incantations

that would set black magic priestesses dancing a frenzy

as if they were

hypnotic hyroglyphics from the Temple walls of Ramses

I made her asleep

and as she faded into the abyss I trailed her every beat because I missed her

As her breath returned and her eyes coughed open. our celestial cells were ski-ing barefoot in yellowstone rivers crossing thresholds

Her tied to my bed

I gorged vulvic fruit of her in eunuch's obsession to nourish my grasslands

honoured that I could love her more than I could love myself


staring at her in Nirvana

with my bodiless particles

running barefoot beside morrocon horses as free as her

trekked valleys from Yosemite to Kashmir and showered under Iguazi falls

And just talking to her

my stellar anti-atoms hop skipped piers of water bungalows where the sun welcomes with a smile through the bosom of the sea


moved with her on the dunes of of Sossusvlei bathed in red light to to sleep under meteor showers with gawping heads of Nemrut dagi

knowing our initials are immortalised on a tree in a central reservation outside Hyde Park

and having done all of the things one should do before his 791st birthday short of shaking hands with Jesus Christ

 woke at sunrise in a Danube delta

She pulled a handbrake on the rotation of earth and time chilled hydrolically

and that's when my jaw dropped in headless oblivion because it's difficult to speak when happiness is actually within reach

The tears that I cried when she said goodbye

returned to re-cry when there were none left inside


It transpired

that my spacial awarness rewired


and though I don't know where her heart is now

she is there in the loops of my vowels and the infinite space between seconds
and I'm still dazed if a bit pleased that I'm subtly unreleased

from the untethered soul of a masterpiece

Lady on the train

She squashed the most accessible identities into her travel case hoping nobody will notice the chameleon she'd become

She sat on a carriage where her high frequency presence forced her hand to paint on her armour in instructed patterns then , intensity heightened, reinforce it over and over until she was sure nobody would find her
Then it didn't matter that time is boundless because we imagine we could shackle it and she has to look Marilyn-esque when the all dictating short hand strikes 6

 Fantasy is an aperitif from the battle ground and there are wars more subtle than the diabolical assertions of masculinity that spark more than gunpowder screaming in the pit of a phallic barrel and more mesmerising than its psychedelic spectrum

Smiling at other people's kids and dogs was all too fruitless but she could afford the mild engagement of the small muscles that cornered her mouth and who could lose, paying grace to somebody's child
The reciprocated acceptance is a taste of the comfort she lives for and she made that stolen moment home. She sensed the song of that puppy's heart playing through her stroking fingers and sang uncalculated words through the lips of a baby girl

A universal blurb and a flavouring sprinkle of mummy became the melody she eased into with the clunk of railway drowned under it's luxury bed. She snuggled for a gracious millennia until the train stopped at her nightspot, so she hastily scrambled the stories of the little girl and folded them under the camoflage on her cheeks
 The carriage doors opened setting her free on the stage to metropolis where she had people to be