King Baby Fairy

Hey little Tommy,
Can you come here and sit down?
Your mother and I need to talk to you.

No,
Don't worry,
You've haven't done anything wrong,
It's just that your mother and I,
Believe that it's about time,
You knew about,
The Real Facts of Life,
You know:
About where babies really come from.

Tomorrow Tommy you are twelve,
And we have to admit,
That everything we told you so far,
Up to now,
About babies,
And where babies come from,
Was not strictly true Tommy,
We're sorry..

Mums and dads make these stories up,
To protect little children,
So they can enjoy their childhood in innocence,
Believing that little babies,
Are conceived,
In fairy tales:
You know: drunken but loving one-night-stand relationships,
That kind of thing..

Maybe you believe Tommy,
That you were conceived one winter's night,
When Father Christmas,
And a Premiership footballer,
Had a spit-roasting session with your mother,
In a cordoned-off v.i.p area,
Of an exclusive nightclub.
Is that what you think Tommy?
Is that how you think you were made?
Oh, you do.
Well no Tommy, that's not strictly true,
That didn't actually happen I'm afraid..

So here are the real Facts of life Tommy:
Adults do not conceive children,
By having ecstatic, rampant, meaningless and sordid sex.
Ha! Ha! No.
The truth is Tommy,
In the real world,
Sex doesn't really exist,
It's a totally made up thing:

It's never happened.
In fact you Tommy,
Like all children,
Were actually delivered to us by the King Baby Fairy,
Yes that's right:
The King Baby Fairy.
The King Baby Fairy.
The King Baby Fairy.
And one of his little helpers,
Will visit you tomorrow,
To explain,
As you will be twelve.
You see the King Baby Fairy's helpers,
Always visit children when they are twelve,
To explain everything to them,
About The Real Facts of Life..

Now Tommy you look a little stunned:
No, that's right Tommy,
Sex doesn't exist,
Not at all.
Premiership footballers and celebrities,
Don't exist either,
Are you disappointed?

Now obviously,
Your mother and I realise this is a lot to take in,
So don't be shy Tommy,
Ask us anything you like..

Xanadu

Why aren't you networking?
Why don't you have any profiles?
Where are all your pictures,
Your legends?
You're not proving anything you know.

Ah, maybe you're in love?
Are you,
In love?
Oh,
But how long will that last,
Realistically?

Come on now,
Join the communities:
Almost billions of them.
You never need make new friends,
Messily,
In the old-fashioned, in-your-face way, ever again:
Time-wasting!
Recruit via inner space,
Gracefully,
Situationally:
The beginning and the end.

Once sited,
You will never be deleted,

So,
Inoculate yourself against mortality,
Personalise your existence.
Widget your apps,
Snoop on yourself with our maps,
Select up to ten thousand friends:
Reply,
Reject,
Ban,
Resend,
Report,
Pretend,
Ineluctable friend,

Click,
Open:
Xanadu.

Daffodils (post-modern slight return)

I wandered lonely,
As a mixed metaphor,
Blowing candles sentimental,
Breezily in the wind,
Waiting for Diana,
To roll the cake in,
Faster than a cannon ball.
Then,
Hostess,
I came upon some daffodils,
And tore them from their roots.

Then,
I foisted them into the wax-works I made,
Of Morrissey's anus,
Carefully strewn on the gallery floor,
And I stood around my art installation scene,
Fluttering for the Turner.
Excuse me? What does it all mean?
Well, what do you mean?
That's,
So beyond,
So beneath,
I say: Float your own meaning,
For me? There is no frame.
Strange questions!
Anyway..

The Dynamic-Anti-Perspirant Paradox

Dynamic men,
Lead,
truly dynamic lives,
DEMAND,
Dynamic t.v ads,
Advertising,
Dynamic-anti-perspirants..

Look at that man,
There on the screen,
As you stuff your face with crisps,
And processed cheese..

Look at him:
He's a truly dynamic man,
Running,
Just running,
Because he feels like running,
Because he's dynamic..

And,
Now,
He's in a very dynamic meeting,
Dynamically pointing,
At dynamic flowcharts.
God he's dynamic, isn't he?
I bet you wish you were that dynamic, don't you?
But you're not are you?

And now look at him,
In his dynamic power-shower,
Sponging himself dynamically,
With that dynamic shower-gel soap foam,
With its dynamic moisturisers,
Bathing his uxurious skin,
Dynamically.

look at him!

Now in slo-mo:
He's spraying himself moodily,
With his dynamic anti-perspirant,
Because he means it!

And now,
He's playing dynamic squash,
Because,
He's a work-hard, play-hard kind of guy.
Because,
He's,
Dynamic!

And now he's dynamically eating pasta,
With his dynamic-looking girlfriend,
Because,
He's a work-hard, play-hard,
And,
Eat-hard kind of guy.

Wow!
This dynamic anti-perspirant,
For dynamic men really works.
I'm more than impressed!

Question:
When will they sell an undynamic-anti-perspirant,
For undynamic men,
Leading,
Truly,
Undynamic lives?
Pointing at undynamic flowcharts,
In truly undynamic meetings,
Undynamically eating undynamic sloppy pasta,
With truly undynamic girlfriends?

I mean,
I've never even seen a dynamic flowchart,
Let alone point at one!
Dynamic meeting?
Do they really exist?
So where are our undynamic-anti-perspirant consumer rights?
Well,
The truth is,
If we demanded undynamic anti-perspirant,
For undynamic men,
We would then - by definition - be acting dynamically,
So,
In that case,
We would have to spray ourselves with,
Dynamic-anti-perspirant anyway!

Who'd have thought,
Choosing the correct anti-perspirant,
Would be so complicated,
And present such a paradox?
Only someone with a dynamic imagination,
Is capable of that,
And he's probably,
Right now,
Pointing at a dynamic looking flowchart,
In his dynamic meeting,
Etcetra.

Romance?

A mattress,
A pair of sheer satin tights,
One large rubber duck,
And a crimson stiletto shoe,
Lie dumped on the pavement outside my flat,
Glistening moonlight asphalt dew.
A note sellotaped on top of the mattress,
In black felt-tip:
THANK YOU!!

Show-offs!