Poetry for Angry Fans of Sylvian

[missouriman]

Snowman fell flat last night.

[Simonp]

In the words of our great man, "Pure Genius"

[billster]

snow came
snow
white
snow

my heart

is snow

she calls

'snow'

I fall

into snow

the snow banks drift
buffet my weather

say it
'snow'

Bored

Now

here

I rack up a massive line or two

Of

Blow

[neonico]

im just waiting

thats my managment

does everything for me



im having fun

riding in parks

swimming with dolphins

thats how it should be


you dont know

what im doing

no mundane thing

no mundane thing



you are all just wating

that i pack out

it will never be

[inkinthewell]

Come on you poets, own up. Which one of you was David talking about when he wrote this:

Your poetry describing me
It doesn't come close
You work the handle
You smear and turn
But you come no closer to meaning

It's your vanity
That's obvious
It embarasses
Those that adore you
But who's gonna talk
Oh how it'll hurt
You were always unstable
But you've gotten worse

[missouriman]

It was Neonico. I see her when we attend the mandatory basket weaving class here in the hospital. She is very messed up, but that is not for me to say. (she is very messed up)

[neonico]

It was Neonico. I see her when we attend the mandatory basket weaving class here in the hospital. She is very messed up, but that is not for me to say. (she is very messed up)

yes i am a messed thing

in this new strange world

without reasons to belive

what is true



i dont know were im coming from

i not sure its the best for you



but im not given up

thats for sure

oh my metal friends

help me out

what should i say missouriman

im not given up for sure

im not given up for sure...

[Astronaut]

Pah! You lot call those feeble efforts poetry? Where's the angst, where's the suffering, the pain? I'm just not getting it folks - you really need to try harder.

Here, in the David Sylvian Sanitorium for the Seriously Mentally Anguished we have a weekly schedule which includes a strict seminar workshop wherein we have to take it in turns to stand on a chair with a basket on our heads reciting our latest offering to the great muse himself.

Unfortunately this weeks session had to be cancelled due to an unfortunate incident with the Tutor, I don't know who locked him in the toilets with an iPod gaffer taped to his head with Polytown on repeat play (no - it wasn't me ...) but he was carried out screaming and shouting and foaming at the mouth (that Mick Karn has a LOT to answer for you know ...) and so I didn't get to recite my lovely little poem:

A-hem (takes a deep breath) ...
Oh stuff it I have to go now it's time for me to take the medication again ... I'll be back!

[neonico]

Pah! You lot call those feeble efforts poetry? Where's the angst, where's the suffering, the pain? I'm just not getting it folks - you really need to try harder.

Here, in the David Sylvian Sanitorium for the Seriously Mentally Anguished we have a weekly schedule which includes a strict seminar workshop wherein we have to take it in turns to stand on a chair with a basket on our heads reciting our latest offering to the great muse himself.

Unfortunately this weeks session had to be cancelled due to an unfortunate incident with the Tutor, I don't know who locked him in the toilets with an iPod gaffer taped to his head with Polytown on repeat play (no - it wasn't me ...) but he was carried out screaming and shouting and foaming at the mouth (that Mick Karn has a LOT to answer for you know ...) and so I didn't get to recite my lovely little poem:

A-hem (takes a deep breath) ...
Oh stuff it I have to go now it's time for me to take the medication again ... I'll be back!

i need this medication help.........

im suffering-----

[Astronaut]

You're suffering? What? You should try being locked up here in the David Sylvian Sanitorium for the Seriously Mentally Anguished, life isn't easy in here you know. Having to listen to Sylvian morning noon and night, it's a wonder I'm sane at all (erm ... I'll get back to you on that one).

Well, I've had my medication, so now it's time for my lovely little poem:

I.
There once was a musician called David
Who married a young girl called Ingrid
Ingrid was poetic and thin
She soon discovered a passion for Italians
David wasn't impressed
The marriage turned into a mess
She told him "it's finished"
And he gave us Blemish
God save us from women like Ingrid. (Astronaut runs for cover as the abuse starts ....)

[anortherncod]

Astronaut, I've really, REALLY missed you here...

[Astronaut]

Astronaut, I've really, REALLY missed you here...

Ahhh! Thank You my little Codlet! It's nice to be back! On day release only of course since I'm usually tucked up in my padded Sylvian Cell after dark ... x

[Astronaut]

PS: Can someone tell me why are we "Angry" fans of Sylvian??? What's he done/not done now????

[neonico]

I really missed you also Astronaut

[Astronaut]

THANK YOU Neonico!

Y'know, I think I really will need sedating soon - I'm suffering here with a really bad case of computer rage. For reasons I wont go into now, I am not using my own computer facilities or printer etc etc and this heap of old junk I'm painfully typing away on (It's a nightmare) is driving me INSANE. I can't do anything with it. All the basic programmes I have taken for granted are not available. I feel like someone's just cut off my arms and legs ... and did I mention the word S.L.O.W???

BTW: Are we still angry at Mr S???