Wednesday, 23 October 2019

Letters from the Wilderness to Simon Wajcenberg by Joe Pollitt


Dear Puppanickle,

It's been a hard days night but um feeling quite all write. Had another tough two weeks, facing kite-surfing Wendy at the office..."Windy-Wendy"..Thatz what we 'Kool Kids' call-her. Let me share with you an'ickle Jackanory 'bout my hard-working weak......

And back to the writing, back to the rhythm. The sounds of the Underground, the blasts from the past, slowly waking up to join me in my-writing.  Adjust can't sleep, too excitedO. Me be me, wear me is free, look, finally let-it-be, as-eye-is clearly accepted. I can dance O, Lieca camel whithers humps, lumps and teddy-bear paws. This feels good. This feels right, like I've been herO....Wwater bumbum.  Just slide on in to the other-side, cultural butterfly spreading her beautiful wings. Neither this nor that can touch me now. I have found my tapping feet, my neck-nodding up and down and side to side hitting every I slide on in to the other-side. Where rigid conformity and gentile formality are calmly swept under the rug. Lucy goosey is on her way going. It's been awhile since I have opened up like this two-YOOOOHOOOO! Busy pushing into third, then fourth, fifth and looking for my sixth gear. Riding in my mind, smoked filled razor-blades scratching at the sides of my eyes, opening the lids to see what others see when they read me...WRITE....

Nothing but confusion as I givea shout-out with some catchy little soundbites and slogans from the past; a grey haired porcupine with sharp-spike-spikes, waving all her weapons proudly in the air, letting off the bullets that shower without sponge, without soap, without Wwater bumbum. So you too can feel me thumping, banging out her beats, roaring out for loners, for losers, for rejects, for misfits, wherebe the ne're-do-wells...coz we wanna NO! There rizza seat with your name in-it, park your rump down and Abba rest in peace.. A creep-ona-seat, sitting sniffing at my feet.....YOU ARE WELL-COME!

Wotz the sense of making sense when incense is taking up the room. Nothing said, nothing spoken, all is quiet....ALL IS BRIGHT.... All clear on the Western front, back-off, theres nothing to see here people, absolutely no message meant. Make your way to the doors, find your closet exit and make like-a dove with three wings and leave. These golden years are priceless, the aches and pains of age are quickly fading as I type. Wot write have you to be here? No right at all, that's why it feels so dangerously WRITE .

Meet four a-pint or five depending on the outcome of the second part of the third Act. Put your best frock-on and let's boogy-baby, want-some? Till then stay as you are. What, no Wedding--ring? Don't change a thing. Stay just as you are, I'm off-too guitar-car.

All my warm fuzzy winky-wanky-wooes,

Uncool Joey XX

P.s. Howz Foam-at-the-mouth-Bob and Sightseeing-Simple-Dimple-Seaman-Simon, be sure, be absolutely certain this time, to send them my LOVE! Tata

1 comment:


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