Scribbles 24

Journals by Tom Dawson, Jan 14, 2024.

  1. Tom Dawson

    Tom Dawson Member

    This is a test:
    Now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of the party.
    The many in choosing a life fit for cattle exhibit themselves as totally slavish.
    The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog.
  2. Tom Dawson

    Tom Dawson Member

    This is a Care Home with a difference
    —no one turns up. Seems I have been here before

    everything appears confused, and, with the best intentions at heart
    ordinary and orderliness makes us civil and feel compelled
    and yet we struggle to survive and slave to escape
    both the commonplace and crew, with nothing to see and even less to do
    —everyone is a winner.

    This is my starting place. I am not the first, however
    —Dickens, Orwell, Camus, Kafka I am not


  3. Tom Dawson

    Tom Dawson Member


    And it came to pass



    — it’s been a while. I seldom seek favorites, an inspector might call round any minute, day or night. There is not much left to share and a notice in the hall reminds us we may be all shot for being something we’re not—she told me years ago, how right too, about words like exclusion. You can smell it in the air and imagine its stench crawling up and down your spine while a voiceless cheer softly tiptoes in your ear with a black feather thieved from a swan.

    We get a diplomatic pass and stand in corners out of sight during daylight—
    with a well-pressed binbag at the ready in case of a crisis—it rains a lot here.


    Sunday, January 07, 2024
    0305 GMT

    Now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of the party.
    Which seldom, if ever, bodes well. The good ran for more ammo—God fled.
    The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog. The wash hung out to dry.

    The many in choosing a life fit for cattle exhibit themselves as totally slavish.
    When a drunk takes a piss in the flakes, never fault a cow for the compliment.
    Aristotle was an oaf, yelled the fyr of Macedonia. The East lies another way.
    The fox meanwhile, lay sweetly. The sun appeared. An outline swung refreshed.


    keep in want, hundreds and thousands of hurried steps
    desires, dreams, and wishes
    blistering beneath this shameful mountain of soft snow
    manners are well acquainted with being our perfect waiter
    conquer Thee at any cost, school goodness to be no good
    —reconcile a fractured morality, experiment, finger the fold
    allow the placid to sleep sweetly, and recharge.
    I am the dark, all is safe. All accepted ‘love’ is deceased


    Seldom do I even try to understand, how can this be. The futility of sense.
    Seems to be a rag-doll affair at best, I mean. We might surround ourselves with statues so that we may see properly, save our blindness saves the day and the big bang applause always wins the day on our behalf, and the quest for more and more means less and less. This is why romance for want of a better word right now, wanders a desert, and forever thirsts.

    — Me Minor, for D


    I can appreciate the spread, eye candy, cookie-cutter illustration
    Sentiment, I dig—any bad faith can get stuffed. We come and go
    We want no passports here, no papers, no sly winks or noddy dogs,
    fallen cattle momentos, robust stickers of protest, half-cut

    Chicken-liver folktales—

    Experience and meaning trump all— something, according to wot-the-Dickens, always turns up. We should, therefore, fear no worse and expect to share the fare over a jolly fair lunch to be sure. Yes, such a needle and thread notion pleases the heart most—so is not, for the specialist.

    Viva El Snodgrass


    Then slept well and awoke with Hedgehog on my mind. Their plight or at least what happens to them during the winter months here in the Northern Hemisphere. What would it be like for us humans to hibernate by choice, say to offset aging, illness, famine, or war, or help us negotiate long, long distances into the future? The humble Hedgehog and I set sail and went to sea in a boat . . .

    I am not inclined to venture outside today.

    Of course, I want to do well, live right, eat, and sleep the way one should. Yet collectively such things come to conspire and condemn. Whether this be with shame, guilt, or regret. Such are the advocates of my persecution, which equals failure in the eyes of the Court, a dark and dismal labyrinth of my peers. Where the final judgment of the Court is absolute. Therefore I must be found guilty, and then taken to another place, a place of execution, where the living are subsequently buried, alive. To work out the remainder of their vast fortune on life support until dead.

    I woke a mushroom, today.
  4. Tom Dawson

    Tom Dawson Member



    We’re alone

    Here for tea
    having a ball

    From now on
    simply, cry


    * This was inspired by the 20th Century Fox movie, Cast Away, released in 2000.

    Last edited: Jan 24, 2024
  5. Tom Dawson

    Tom Dawson Member


    it’s been a while, ladies got meaner
    lads got lower, kids a lot bigger, dogs more hungry
    we shut the din and daylight down to a chink by the sink
    — power to the people. Yeah, bro, save your ammo
    so I done birthed again, sick of abortion
    — ceiling drips like cheap oil paint. Elk looks pretty good, still

    Tall Tree


    It costs about $70 to travel by train from Barcelona like a tribal churl among the mustbeseen fashionistas. I bet myself a cot with a curtain in a corner that Paris would no longer wall a river with lefty billboards and the distant smell of rainy-day java was best served just like any other fast-food enterprise.
    And I wasn’t all that wrong either—
    So, the key question is always: Where to next?
    The valid and legitimate, notwithstanding. We’re either in or out. Around here, nobody has time to get unravelled or spare a dime. This is how it is:
    We appear unwashed and so the wardrobe with us must come from Madrid! They say Munich would be a safer bet, yet shall prove to be just more of the same, who cares? Later. then—

    Say Wot:
    Passport - Papers - or Else



    It’s flappy-rag-day in the rainy north of the 49th parallel today, I rest my case.
    Vancouver is a place one or two kith jug up and down the shallows, an inlaw was near sunk on a bend, underestimation seems to be a right of passage for most sunken treasure—

    Combat was a jungle mile west of Singapore, a few fathoms deeper for submariners and Aussie rangers from their discreet aparthotel, maps got bigger, clueless codes more cockamamie, everywhere was a place that never was—
    de Gaulle woke Napolean of NATO, I showed lots of promise to a sweetheart

    Run Over, Over Run
    — Planet Earth

    Most will covet the location on arrival and so start to dissemble
    else destroy sacks of left luggage and reminders of errant devotees, falsehoods and desires. Aspects we’re bound to share, facets that mystify us nevertheless

    So we stimulate and stab with our swords until swept off our feet in the storm,
    that unmoored gathering of stone and hidden secrets before us—
    And so it goes, least for Dorothea, and likes of Uncle Henry & Auntie Em

    We endure confusion for the sake of clarity,
    risk failure in the name of fluency, and we endeavour
    above all, to temper our everyday experiences.
    Which by all accounts, is one mother-of-a-rollercoaster ride
    — poetry ain’t posh and polite, but it is heartfelt and special


    A snapshot of our coping stone as it happens.
    And the affinity of such shite keeps the rest of us on our toes—

    The Royal Society of Literature

    “It’s only the latest fusillade in what seems to be something barely short of civil war in this longstanding institution. Many longstanding Fellows of the Society are deeply unhappy with the current management – principally its director, Molly Rosenberg and its chair, the poet Daljit Nagra. Everybody is briefing everybody, furious letters are circulating about leaks, and the whole thing is adding to the gaiety of nations and the public stock of harmless pleasures for popcorn-chewing onlookers, while causing considerable distress to those directly involved.
    ‘It’s such a clusterfuck! It’s such a clusterfuck! Everyone is falling out with everyone else,’ said one RSL Fellow I spoke to this week, with the characteristic mixture of grief and glee that attends any feud between writers.”

    Sam Leith, The Spectator: The feuding tearing apart the Royal Society of Literature, 17 February 2024

    It’s Literacy Week or lack thereof
    if sheltered at the bottom of a dark and dismal path without a lantern
    —is a big deal. Amen
    School is a big word, as is instruction, and so perception
    We suffer fools gladly and choose to die fasting like sheep
    — such a State is specified as Peace, sold for whatever the market may bear


    The Greatest Photo-shoot on Earth
    —rules on a US nude

    There is no forensic examination yet, but the West’s already made conclusions,” spokeswoman Maria Zakharova said, adding that “carbon-copy accusations” that came within minutes after Navalny’s death show that they must have been “prepared in advance.”

    This is what goes on today, said one celeb. Spread your legs a little and a million-mile-wide expose happens in the media
    —not all widows wear black because pornstars do, right?

    Done right, Done often
    You may figure it out one day
    Laugh and cry
    Seldom understanding, Never knowing why
    Stupid is as stupid does
    So do everybody a favour, stop digging


    Sacred Emily

    Speaking about pavements, not the place used by vehicles to drive over, but the patchwork of broken slabs and asphalt used as makeshift parking positions by delivery trucks and areas for an array of garden recycling and trash bins to line the streets these days with chaos and mindnumbing nasties—
    despite moms and kids on their way to school and the elderly on a trip to the shop, I sometimes see nothing but fields and hear a mother sing softly.


    — my pleasure
    I'd worry if you understood it all
    —transparency and clarity are a lot like religion and faith to me
    which is a good reason to don a pair of sensible nickers and guard the watch and wallet with your life. It turns out a primrose is not the rose one had in mind or that a rather limp one-word welcome has much ado with the comatose drunk on a doormat. So creativity is a new day in the sun for me, not everything under its domain belongs, and lots of paper-type gaiety to get wrong or else make strong. We grow weary of explanation, cliques and cliches
    At least I do—fukit, fukit, fukit. Such a face is a happy face—I kid you not

    — And you’re a one-off kinda buddy

    (flower power)

    Nearby handouts to most all civic concerns have been severed now like the Orchestra, meal vouchers, coupons, clothes, and so on—
    Junior doctors are forced to flee and cite mental health worries and abuse issues —overworked nurses wait for Godot to show— that ignorance is strength.
    And that a trillion-dollar war is cheap and cheerful, slavery sets you free.


    I wonder too, oftentimes
    Cheers to progress
    whoever speaks will be blessed
    — unbound, so it is said, so it is writ. Welcome


  6. Tom Dawson

    Tom Dawson Member


    I've gone internal for the time being
    being is not as fruitful as one might assume
    Granny Smith, THE hellraiser from heaven
    Me, simpleton no more; I sat on a nice round seat
    I got the Coastal train to Glory, empty shoreline clatter
    Everyone had bellied up to the bar, nothing to see there
    I wanted something unexpected to turn up. Yet still
    We saw the unremarkable do nothing

    (scribble is good, better than being dead)

  7. Tom Dawson

    Tom Dawson Member


    This is a great place to be on a rainy day such as this
    all heavy stones about the town are placed just so
    nothing neat to show here, grass left to grasp what it may
    weeds mostly, one or two low curbs, a different grave all
    I can't see any sign of kith and kin, friend or foe, neither
    —still, I received an invitation, RSVP, cheese and suds to follow

    Best look the part and come willing with a brolly, nevertheless

    0900 BST

    Last edited: May 22, 2024
    Jay Dougherty likes this.