Office At Night by Edward Hopper

Two figures male and female in the stillness of night alone. A ghoulish quality pervades this painting. The faces are bleached out and as with much of Hopper's work, eye contact is evasive.

Poem for Mila

Below and Above 1

That day the clouds haltly like motor-traffic

And into the stretching light of summer night june,

Their seedlet rain sowing

Did what they do in an England London way-

That is in their own interplay

The day, they spoiled, for some, for some I’m sure,

But for others, most likely, can I assure you?

They secured:

Strolling together enbelled beneath skyscraper umbrellas

In certain quarters of Hampstead

Pimlico and Bayswater and less famous places too

They matriculated some romance

And the blades of sunlight that cut through

Symbolised something to them and for them

Of what so rarely staples, fuses, fissions, pins the here to now

Detatches the gowhere? Nowhere

From the somewhere righthere to the right now non-

Finite

And sometimes when it’s true that’s called like wow,

A kiss.

As for me I’m in the aforementioned Pimlico

In a café Nero

Waiting for the 10,9,8,7,6,5,4,3,2,1, zero moment

When ashtrays can never sit atop menus

In the interior venues…

Restaurants and bars

In winter you will exhale beneath the stars

But now here

I inhale the moment

The 7:50 segment of

The Pinball machine day

Everyone in London, dodge, dodge. Dodge

An object – they’re humans I know like me –

I’m an object to them too – dodge, sometimes collide

Here each is a pinball to a ride

The rain and the wind drove us inside.

Happy at the inertia

Of reveries about my ancient Persia

And because associations work mysteriously

Mila the Muscovite’s accent

And wildly beautiful eyes in my mind like the colour of the rising moon in summer

And ruminations about the ancientness of the domestic cat

And the situation of the Pre-Raphaelite,

Aesthetically preferred by Mila

Who yet is found here in a 21^st century poem

Gowhere righthere now where, as a symbol

Not a soul, floating more graciously than the clouds of the 29^th of June 2007

Into the stratas

That have been recorded

And will sometimes be reopened

To let meanings

Enact all synonyms and similes of motion

In their attempt to collide or cooperate with each other

Yet above the clouds are stars

And above them more metaphors

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Autobiographic

some autoblogggraphy: I am a Pelham Puppet.


ps Elvistein is coming soon.

pps Do you want more on the YouTube Murders?

Shakespeare Tavern Meeting

In the Shakespeare Tavern
I met two women of beauty;
Tall and lithe
And it must be noted,
They made my weekend shine

Beings are sometimes evil
And out of line
Sending shivers down my wooden spine

These women were out of my league
I was a hopscotch to their gigue
But if they had had puppets
As lovely as themselves
We may have had some quality time together
To spend together
On some wooden shelves

A Kept Promise and It is This:Warger

thanks to the two photographers here who let me take this photo back in the early summer before the Noahesque floods.

The YouTube Murders

THE YouTube MURDERS

It is late and Jane is surfing. She suddenly finds a video on YouTube of someone blonde who looks like her being hacked to death with an axe. She phones a few friends. Only one is in: Nerdy Norris, the tech guy. He says he'll be over to hers in an hour. When he gets there she is dead-hacked to death as in the YouTube video. Nerdy Norris did see it before he left his house. It is no longer on the site....

Some OLd Friends partied into semi-surrealism

These guys have decided they want to be cakes. Well...what's marzipan for the almond is tamazipam for the analysand or something....Elvistein coming sooooooon.

Where is Elvistein???

Alot of you have complained that the story of Elvistein has failed to appear and many of you are losing faith that it will. Please do not get too upset. It will be here shortly. Squorch747.

PS Please ignore Manuel Person, he is trying to live on my blog and I just can't have him around as sorry as I am for him.

Manuel Person

Hi. I'm Manuel Person and I was killed by my landlady who lived in Walthamstow, London. Her son was a real boffin who'd studied at MIT. He put my brain in a blender and then somehow transferred me into a shitty old 486 computer. I stayed in a garage untouched for I think five years until some thieves broke into the garage and sold me-in-the-computer at a car boot sale. Another boffin wired up the computer with other computers and I slipped the highways of the web unable to be present on the second boffin's computer. I'm trying to get back there to thank him and I'm trying to find my murderer but a lot of my brain power has diminished and I'm not often "all there", but here I am burning with a desire for revenge. Are you the boffin who helped me escape?

Feelings Are Human and Puppet

TodayFeeling

The Blackhole News Edition

Hunger is universal. Can we help our hungry brothers and sisters given that ASPECTS of our prosperity are perhaps enjoyed as a result of their deprivation?

The first shall be last........

It is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than a rich person to enter the Kingdom of Heaven.........

When did we see you naked or hungry?.............

salaam and peace

"salaam and peace to humanity"

Tomorrow's God

I now know what I meant by LOVE IS A BROKEN HEARTED TRIANGLE. It means that A breaks B's heart because he doesn't love her and B breaks C's heart because of the love B DOES NOT HAVE for C. And it goes on.

For you closet catholics out there today is the feast of The Sacred Heart of Jesu Cristu who basically died of a broken heart-not that he wasn't tortured to death as well...

Any way here is a poem to mark this special day when we can say sorry for our lack of love towards fellow bretheren and sisteren and sadly I speak to Palestine right now as well as all of the rest of us. Riches are great but without Love there is no real meaning to society.

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Tomorrow's God

God of laughter

And God of tears

God who made us hopers with rays of love heavier than the Universe,

As we who stir the hopelessness we create by hating with limbs of fears

Please shed your graces

On we, who, from you, perpetually

Hide our faces

On we, who balance so proudlarge

upon this speck of dust

This planet miniscule teeming with unjust

We who say and pray I trust

And yet can scarce faith

That Adam's atoms came at last to reach past dust

God of laughter

And God of tears

Creator of joy

And sensible to fear and sorrow;

Yet God for whom there is no yesterday nor today,

And no millenium and indeed no to

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love is a broken hearted triangle

Whatever could I mean? I don't know. But it sounds good. I think.

I think using wooden neurons and not the goo you humans use. It's different.

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The House with a Blackhole

It was hard not to be concerned when a Blackhole decided to take up residence at our house which we designed with Sketchup. What is the computer equivalent of a Blackhole?

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Duty Calls

It is an absolute duty to speak of the human as a being who will use elements of the system to block up the system. Why the human feels compelled to block up the system especially when s/he can use elements of the system can be explained with recourse in part to the sense of humour component-but it is deeper-and sicker: the human can not help but chuckle to itself and among others about how clever it is and this is at its worst in the exacting of revenge or in the executing of malicious behaviour. The child is cruel; in teenage years that cruelty callouses and ushers 'humour' to its nasty service.

The browsers out there really do not leave enough comments for ye olde Squorche and it is leading him to puppet depression. Has anybody got puppet Prozac? On second thoughts tranqs are not a good idea.

Say: no thanks to tranqs.

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The Ghost of William Terriss Brings Hauntings

The actor William Terriss was stabbed at the stage door of the Adelphi Theatre in 1907. It is not far from where this picture was taken, which is the Royal Opera arcade. Terriss is thought to frequent Convent Garden tube station in particular and is described as "a man wearing a grey suit, old fashioned collar and white gloves".

There is some stuff about him on the BBC and also at

http://www.mystical-www.co.uk/ghost/zsee.htm


K1's mum told me about it and I had a nightmare:

I suddenly died and my body remained in bed as my soul lifted out of it. I hovered above my body for hours it seemed. Then, to my horror my body's eyes opened and my body walked around like a zombie heading towards Covent Garden. Then when it was on the tube somehow it "spotted" me and came running after me. I was being chased by my own body. I ran to the Royal Opera House where a beautiful lady suddenly came out. She had large brown eyes and a beautifully shaped nose.

I asked her to marry me but she could not hear. My body then asked her to marry it and she said no. Then my body "caught sight" of me and captured me. Suddenly I was back in the bedroom still out of body but below me there were two bodies that were identical and exactly like "my" body. I woke up sweating and tangled in my strings.

I want an operation. I want to be a wire-puppet like the ones at Blind Summit.

Untitled Poem

Thinking thoughts of thunking
Here comes my day a clunking
Plunking into plonkerty
So much rubbish needs must a junking

Thoughts a-thunking plink
When I’m lonely
I want be-withs
Bet rare are the am-withs
Where not think some thoughtly thinks want I
What think is a thunk
I’ve seen some blinks that make a bunk
Every human has to accept that they’ve blunk
And often with a blink

Today is a thinking day
They say I think too much
Some kind of thinking is just a hiding away crutch
Throw it away and talk and say
Oh Thank you,
Thanks very much

If my mind’s a rabbit
It’s a rabbit without a hutch
To find
is a lifelong thing
It’s a thung to think
It’s mind

Meditations On Blackholes:Invisible yet heavier than a Galaxy

Gosh! BANG! Phizz! Whahahollop! Blog! Gloop:)

The Blog is nearly 6 months old!!!

If K1 my "owner" allows me I am going to do a performance of a puppet who thinks he has turned into a blog. At intervals he gets new information and relays it to those around him. Some say he is being zapped by aliens, others that he is seeking publicity by pretending to be mad and others yet tell him to shut up. So he mimes his experiences....

Bergman and the Galaxies

Saraband is Master Ingmar Bergman's last film so far and is a must see for any of you shit directors out there who don't know what you're doing when it comes to your actors. Here is acting at its finest in a tightly woven chamberpiece where the depths of human selfishness, especially that of artists, is given the kind of air that lets truths multiply in action and emotion - the miniscule vibration of facial muscles that convey the macroscopic turmoils of the heart and the dying of the soul.

The story is about a weak son and a tyrannically domineering father. The father was an operatic celebrity. His son is a cellist of competence who has never enjoyced the limelight. But his daughter, his dad's grand-daughter with whom he is disgustingly committing incest has the potential to be noted by the snobby and hyper-critical classical music world. But she has to break free of her dad, and grandad whose daughter she possibly could be. In two scenes the music, Bach, in the church and Bruckner, Symphony no. 9, in the grand dad's study are used with masterly psychological accuracy.

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It is one week since my last post and in that time a super-nova has exploded. It is the brightest thing anyone has ever seen. But I didn't see it. Did you? Please contact bbc.co.uk if you did see it. Apparently one is going to happen in our galaxy, the Milky Way very soon. Lock up your Mars bars.

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Starry Night Little Red Spot Vangogh Jupiter

The confluence of nature and art in VanGogh's Starry Night and The Little Red Spot:

In a picture beamed to NASA on Earth from the New Horizons spacecraft orbiting Jupiter we see the similarity between VanGogh's masterpiece Starry Night and the Little Red Spot ( a storm the size of planet Earth, situated below the famous Great Red Spot, an even greater storm requiring a celestial teacup) .

• A link to pictures from Jupiter and its moons:

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/in_pictures/6614557.stm

• A link to the Van Gogh web gallery:

http://www.vangoghgallery.com/

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a petal fell. it was night.

a petal fell:
is gravity a law or a commandment?

all things fall:
why?

have you hit the ground of late?
petals of spring rise sometimes even to the clouds

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Something That Makes Me Cry: Hiroshima by John Desey

On his way back with the water, he got lost on a detour around a fallen tree, and as he looked for his way through the woods, he heard a voice ask from the underbrush, 'Have you anything to drink?' He saw a uniform. Thinking there was just one soldier, he approached with the water. When he had penetrated the bushes, he saw there were about twenty men, and they were all in exactly the same nightmarish state: their faces were wholly burned, their melted eyesockets were hollow, the fluid from their melted eyes had run down their cheeks. (They must have had their faces upturned when the bomb went off; perhaps they were anti-aircraft personnel.) Their mouths were mere swollen, pus-covered wounds, which they could not bear to stretch enough to admit the spout of the teapot. So Father Kleinsorge got a large piece of grass and drew out the stem so as to make a straw, and gave them all water to drink that way. One of them said, 'I can't see anything.' Father Kleinsorge answered as cheerfully as he could. 'There's a doctor at the entrance to the park. He's busy now, but he'll come soon and fix your eyes, I hope.'

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Our Earth as Art

http://maps.google.co.uk/maps?svnum=10&um=1&hl=en&cr=countryUK%7CcountryGB&ie=UTF-8&oe=UTF-8&q=khanyeni.org.uk&sa=N&tab=wl


a big and adventitious haylo hayhi to all the personpuppetbodies out there in this week of carnage and tragedy for the humanus familia. What are we saying to each other when so many have been blown up in Iraq and a young South Korean man with a speech impediment who had been bullied at school had to go so far as to execute 32 fellow students? Are you humans saying you hate each other so much? Is life no longer worth living?



The link above takes you to a new google thing mymaps where you can use googlemaps to make your own map-world. In this case it is Our Earth as Art. The world is beautiful but as now with too much riches and selfishness if it is unshared it is not really enjoyed. Deep down all beings have a profound ontological requirement-not just a need or want-requirement to share: information, emotions, being, sensations. so please stop the selfishness out there. Ask yourself next time Am I being selfish, do I need that extra $1million or could it go to something that can further the well-being of the 1BILLION people the world over who are deprived.

Little To Be Said In A Sad Week

go here to find where this came from

ElvisStein

ELVISSTEIN is coming
to this site soon....

Please keep an eye on this site for this creepy tale of 21st Century
Mayhem.

ELVISSTEIN is coming to this site soon. Please creep an eye on this site for this keepy tale of 21st Century Mayhem and Disillusionment. Please be advised that ELVISSTEIN and ELVISTEIN is now heavily copyrighted and that any infringements will lead to consequences!

ELVISTEIN

The Amazing and Tragic Tale Will Be Here Exclusively Soon...

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The Triduum Begins on Spy Thursday

Not much is of much importance without the understanding that there are things in existence that are worthwhile. The hope of eternal life beyond the manipulation of strings that articulate wood is worthwhile. Hope. Richard Dawkins asserts that belief in a meta-substance: meta-matter is a belief that is not worthwhile. I have news: chance is a fine thing but matter does not operate in one direction of linear time.

Today Christuians remember the last supper of Jesu Christu. Today is also known as Spy Thursday because of Judas Iscariot aka Judas Bond who spied and reported and betrayed. It's amazing that in a secular world the betrayal that Judas perpetrated is not meditated on more completely. Or rather perhaps that is why as a substitute -a double agent- for that contemPlateful there is Oscar Wilde's Ballad of Reading Gaol. Each man betrays the thing he loves...Some do it with a kiss.

Don't know about you but all this talk of supper is making me hungry.....Beware of who you share your table with....

Klee, Clay, Creation!?:-)

Paul Klee is a hero of mine. This book details the hand-puppets he created for his son. I'm not overly fond of hand- puppets. In my experience they tend to be aggressive. I dated one once and she was far too tactile for my liking. But hail to Paul Klee the depictor of the electronic world before it really came into existence. Check out this book at amazon. Just click on the pic to take you there.

Disquieting

The Woman of Weird Depicted by DeChirico Even Before I Sawed Her. IN DREAMS SHALT THOU SWEAT...

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Beauty and Tell Me Its Reverse

A big hi and a thank you to all of you who sent in comments!

I'm not going to say that much today but I am going to let these two pictures speak for beauty. One is a tiny Bubble-feeder from the oceans and the other is an altocumulus lenticularis cloud of the sky.

Noruz-e-Hamatoon Mobarak

That is a happy New Year to all Iranians. I myself am British but I lived in Iran in the 1970's. I display two pictures. One is a pastry shop which will have been much visited over this festive period and the other is of goldfish-left!- which are essential to the layout of the ceremonial items for this day, the first of spring which Iranians and Afghanis celebrate.
The earth breathes again, life begins its cycle here.


However, my mind is on sadder things and that is Iraq. I have here an excerpt from John Simpson's article about intelligence (read STUPIDITY) gathered in Iraq before the invasion.


Remember 1,000,000 people have now lost their lives there.

This blog should link directly to the full article. Or just click> HERE

Here is the excerpt:

Saddam's secret


I've gathered from government sources over a period of time that British intelligence had two or three agents on the fringes of Saddam Hussein's inner circle here.
They would have sent their reports to London by radio, and must have been remarkably brave men.
But they weren't close enough to Saddam to know the best-kept secret of his rule: that at some stage in the 1990s, he got rid of most of his weapons of mass destruction.
But why should he want to keep that a secret? British officials believe it's because he was afraid his neighbour, Iran, would take advantage of his weakness, and invade.
It has emerged that MI6, the Secret Intelligence Service, was up-front about its lack of first-class intelligence about Iraq.
It told Tony Blair it hadn't known much about Iraq's work on chemical and biological weapons since 1988.
But that wasn't the impression Mr Blair gave to Parliament. As we've seen, he called the intelligence "extensive, detailed and authoritative".

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The Snail Carries A "Cross"

I observe that The Snail by Matisse and The Carrying of the Cross by Bosch share a structural resemblance. Both compositions send the eye to the centre and outwards in a spiral. A snail is a being who carries a cross of sorts all its life. Snails fascinate me. If human dwellings were always on the verge of being stamped on by giants how would they have evolved?

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Henri_Matisse:

In 1941 he was diagnosed with cancer and, following surgery, he started using a wheelchair. Matisse did not allow this setback to halt his work, and with the aid of assistants he set about creating cut paper collages, often on a large scale, called gouaches découpés.(The Snail, above, is an example).

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Matisse:

Slowly I discovered the secret of my art. It consists of a meditation on nature, on the expression of a dream which is always inspired by reality. With more involvement and regularity, I learned to push each study in a certain direction. Little by little the notion that painting is a means of expression asserted itself, and that one can express the same thing in several ways. Exactitude is not truth, Delacroix liked to say.

The Post-Modern City Generates Approx 5% Failure to Maintain Its Machinery

Babel? Babylon? London? New York? Moscow? Mexico City? Here? There? Everywhere?

The modern and post-modern city was begat in the competition between merchant-titans. It is a shit machine that beshits itself. To live in the city of the modern life is to compete and be forced to behave like a rat. The top "athletes" are rewarded massively with gold palaces. In the middle you humans have puppets like me to keep you entertained. Your lives are punctuated by sex and adrenaline and alcohol. So that you don't feel too angry with the winners, many of whom (but not all) are cheats, these drugs and other distractions are provided for you. At the bottom of the pile are the homeless and the poor; and farther down are those in the 3rd World who cry from hunger. The machine of Capital has become crueller. Mad Meg by Breughel the Elder, the painting below on the is a good graphic analogy of this schizophrenic people-eating machine.

The machine of Capital teeters (titters; tits?) on the verge of serious failure. The machine has over-heated. It may conk out. Loonies masquerading as sane from every colour of the political spectrum will promise you solutions and paradises. But the reality of their policies may be more akin to those of a Stalin or a Hitler. The other version of events may be a fragmented society of rapacious vigilantes or small armies. If the crops start to fail because of global warming it could be a nightmare scenario...

On public transport I hear people drunkenly joking about whether or not their jobs will be secure next year. I say elect me Squorch747. It will be as if you are flying first class on your favourite airline to your favourite destination with the person of your dreams sitting beside you... Course I jest, but in jest I warn you of serious times ahead if the machine keeps trampling on people and ruining humans. Every single human being has the potential to be of value to his/her community. The painting below is The Carrying of the Cross by Hieronymus Bosch who influenced some of Breughel works. The first painting above is also by Pieter Breughel and I think it is the Tower of Babel. I will be showing a few more of Breughels paintings soon. Stay tuned and entertained. Don't get mad. Despite my own anger on behalf of the unloved and unwanted I must promote forgiveness because that can heal the society of you humans; a society on the verge of collapsing into a I don't know whether to laugh or cry. Have you heard the one about the Capitalist, the Communist and the Cobbler? Nor have I but I'm waiting for the podcast: I predict a write-off.

The Prayer of Jabez

Jabez cried out to the God of Israel,

- "Oh, that you would bless me
- and enlarge my territory!
- Let your hand be with me,
- and keep me from harm so that I will be free from pain!"

This prayer is one of the shortest in the Bible and has become a favourite in certain quarters. The painting is by Rembrandt. It is titled St James the Great.

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Crisis In The Global Economy?

CRISIS? Some commentators are saying that the financial markets (that is the stockmarkets etc) will not register the crisis as in previous times of economic upheaval. They will not provide an adequate warning sign. Computers and globalisation have allowed new forms of making money. Some brilliant economists have found mathematical ways of passing debts along the global finance chain using sophisticated equations.

PANDORA'S BOX. But a Pandora's box has been opened. It's consequences have not yet been felt. It is like a set of billiard balls going in one direction. This is the action. The reaction has not yet happened. The billiard balls have not returned.

funky ronald macdonald does the king tut

UNCERTAINTY. No one is sure of the direction and nature of the return of these billiard-balls ie these debts. Some analysts are panicky, because, as the famous saying of Woody Allen goes: It is easier to get into something than to get out of it. It was great to create these money making equations but it's not so great to work out all their results, how to get out of their consequences. The result of some of these equations may be chaos.

ingenious ways of throwing away rubbish

my "masters" shadow

the 12th station of the cross (in st osmand's, hammersmith)

it is lent

Peace to the global family.