The Mood Embosser, Louis Cabri: Alan Davies Project


	Alan Davies Project Water proof How about that, voice. How about that voice. How about that choice. How about that bit. How about that, hoarse. How about that drink forgets it. How about that quartz awhile replaced it. How about that quart. How about that habit dressed to spill now. For instance how about that backyard time. And that body too eh. How about that comma rhyme. So long as it was way off, we could imagine it to be anything we liked. The mannerist mock wound the clock too fast for its mechanism. Time tried, then died. No one was left to escape. ‘I’m just having a timed time’ I had bread; I lost bread. I made bread. Bread was my way. Bread was too successful for me even. Bread corrupted ‘us cooks’. We ate batter raw, wore it on our heads. Were we too cookie? ‘Bread’ wasn’t an expression yet, it was a way – now gone, alas, the way of the salt wave. To ‘be in the bread’ was to have nice crust and a fresh way with soft things inside. Moist loaves, those days, slept fast, rose slow. Nothing could threaten us – not the cliché of onions, whose smell we’d need to soak up like it was our real job … That’s all threats I’ll mention for now – don’t get me going; I’ll cry! There was never a show stopper moment, each moment the showstopper. Yeast never let us down – nor up without a laugh (when, if we wanted yeast!). I am less than the unwanted, without bread now – a cadaverous abracadabra of diminishing expectations. I’m already diminished – no more plot than ‘slice in corner, wasted’. I’m so wasted. ‘ – Here’s me in a phonetic spike!’ Deep and continual even in the circuitry – and all I got was this lousy time lapse. No relation to any time I’d recognize. No means to relate it to any time I wouldn’t recognize. That’s me. Routine lap on motherboard with naturally electric finesse, no shocks, shorts, breakers, crashes. Just a little atmospheric static effect – ‘synthesis’ caused by devices like you, material like me. It was the disappointment of products, it was the efficiency of the times. Sapswirls There’s no far like so far. So far, no good. No hair care nor hood and no groaning home. · There’s a time then boom – fainting on the tomb. Too much mach for one to tack; or make that lack. · Status: action. Sad as a ration. Satis factional. · I was a botched Big Mac! They delivered me raw, my felt pen tipped with cold saws. · The ‘no’ that I’m not I’d rather – to dinner, thinner O, to be finer. ‘This is your timer.’ · And this, your egg. Go forth. Screw you. More brew. · Let dear ears be near ears be choosy. Chew on Lucy if she’s juicy. – ’Scuse me? Let heads be heads (if they love in bed). · If there wasn’t, there should be. If there couldn’t – then, have mercy. I’m moody, lead liners must take me. · The dead lift the dead into their heads. Careful, another mood swings a head. Mellow rumoured to be left well fed. · The mind argues lotions. What about beer? It’s soft. Body’s wearing mind. Call it weather, wearing body. · How come I never feel relaxed? What luxury that here, you think what am I doing? is this relaxing? · Qua train car – you Empty! I’m hitching through on you. These aren’t hobo days, nor this Mexico City Blues. · I respect you formally attention’s span ‘here and now’ suffices, reminder old habits out-sync’d with lip. Coin Opera Seek slim chance’s margin to write toward the don’t-know still repeal logic of punning difference will coincide on words still shame to leap no more and only speak in the renaissance market still going ‘home’ to the I am conserving this body as good as a coffin still driven from such givens minces with them still drafted to laughter a generation’s ills formed in a shell – with shells to pay still one elephant down the tubes at Hoover U is the big to-do still can’t Harvard carpet how come no hat for the Cat translates favourite rhyme still translated unwritten memories brings oblique references this side of the lyric still I’d have hoped differently if there was something else to ask for still time to read about appalling hurt finds, alert, this, still. The ethical distributor was plugged in or kicked in.