Sinister: 10 Faggy But Nice Avenue

[Alasdair Cook MC1996]

So, poetry eh? It's a bugger. The other day I was going to not spend any
money, so why did I go into the book shop? And why to the poetry
section? These are questions which may never be answered, at least not
in this world, though perhaps in some kind of Star Trek future where we
can all ask Q anything we want, except he laughs at our quibbles in that
annoying omnipotent way of his. Where's old baldy when you need him eh?

Of course the end of this tale is rather dull, it all comes down to the
fact that I emerged from said shop with a copy of 'The Message' (4
pounds 95p, all good bookshops), and very nearly a copy of 'The Book Of
Love' by Roddy Lumsden, although I hit myself a lot so as not to spend
money I don't have, which is a bad thing. Especially as I'd already
purchased 'Saturday Afternoons and Wednesday Tea-Times' by Gil Stutters.
Heartily recommended, it's a wonderful addition to any bookshelf or
kitchen floor. So I'll steal the Poetry Parrot for a bit, and give you
the pleasure of some of the man's finest work. Most are quite short,
which for me only adds to their emotional potency. Prepare to be
enthralled...

Damn Sexy

I watched her for a while
And thought of writing her a letter
Proclaiming that her eyes were like points of light in heaven
But her arse was even better

Rambling

Leaning, I leant on a brown fence post
The fence post of my dreams
Wrapped up in all futures past time 
Presently
A woodland creature stirs, cacophonous
In it's fluffy silence
It's haven of tree, my perpetual nightmare
It's smallness echoes my own size, inversely.

On Being A Potato

Imagining the forcing earth
Ambitious stalks crawling ever sunward
Passing me, in my unchanging gloom
No, this would not do
The time would be the real finisher
Although the opposite end, it would still
Feel the same
What would Poe have said, I wonder?

Love nor Money

What is love? 
Said the farmer to the merchant banker.
Love is money, for both make the world go round
Said he, in his city wisdom
Ah, but did not Superman also make the world go round
And backwards?
Spake the farmer
No, love is a new tractor, a red one.
You're right, said the banker.

The tears are welling as I type. But I'll recover just enough to give
you the next in my occassional series (bet you never thought I'd
continue it, did you? Oh, ye of little faith...) of "What People Used To
Eat." And I don't care if no-one enjoyed the last one. This one's far
worse.

"What People Used To Eat: During The 1978 World Cup"

John Buchanan of Stirling says
"Oh aye, 1978. (Sings) We're on the march wi Ally's Army, we're gon to
the Argentine! Oh aye, that was a great laugh, great times. The first
match we played Peru, so we all ate marmalade. Truckloads of the fucking
stuff. Even now I can only have honey or jam on my toast. Mention jaffas
and half of me 'll be over your shoes less time than it takes for
Scotland to be eliminated. Iran were next, but we couldn't think of
anything to eat from there, so we just ate curries seeing as they look a
bit Indian. Well, some of them anyways...
The last game was against Holland, so naturally enough we all stuffed
ourselves full of tulip bacon. Well, we tried to, but couldn't find any
tulip bacon in Argentina, so we had to eat actual tulips out the local
flower shop. They're not bad if you dump loads of salt on them. Looking
back maybe we should have gone for cheese. We could have been eating
sausages and pasta as well if Jonny Rep had just miss-kicked that one
fae 35 yards, but we probably would have done ourselves serious damage.

Anthony Reid of Essex recalls
"The 1978 World Cup? I just ate what I usually ate, which was egg and
chips. I'ts lucky we never qualified otherwise I'd have been eating
Argentinian muck. We still laughed at the Jockos though."

Starry:
> Almost makes me want to get married meself. But white is SO not my colour.

And Stephin Merrit is still gay. Which reminds me, I want to buy 69 Love
Songs but I have no money. This REALLY annoys me. I've just realised I
have no Monet either, which is what I just wrote before changing it.
Actually I might have a book at home, which ruins a bad joke.

Why do people keep calling 'Winter Wooskie' 'Winter Wooksie'? Is it just
to annoy me? Shit, I've just worked out what it is! The first 3 notes
are 8 Miles High by The Byrds. Has someone already said this?

Oh, and since I nicked the Poetry Parrot I should send it to someone, so
my co-pilot Kevan Cooke is getting it, since he usually steals my ideas
anyway...

B&S on TOTP eh? I can barely contain myself. I hope they've got their
dance routine worked out. If Struan doesn't wear his silver trousers I
want my licence fee back. I'd better not get a life before Friday,
otherwise I might have to go out. 

Alasdair xx (Once a c*nt, always a c*nt)
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