farewell long pigs!

the two kabbalists kitty wheen and cranky butler threw a farewell party. they invited all their friends from different religions (although they don’t have any atheist friends). many creeds were represented: sex-obsessed catholics school girls, an amish dickhead, pop-capitalist christians (hillsong), keffiyeh-wrapped muslims, a palestinian in an unholy relationship with an indonesian, an edifying text, warrick cappa dressed as gary abblet, aforementioned kabbalists, plonk-sculling buddhists, a blond white jesus, two-wise men, a goodly anglican, a jedi, a lone wise man, a priest (creed-undefined) and (best dressed by far) the dahl-carrying hare krishna’s.

the pop-capitlaist christian, whose deepest desire is to be a palimpsest upon which others write, wore a t-shirt with re-arrangable velcro letters on it. friends wrote messages of love and farewell to their hosts:

a lapsed christian (drunk and narcissistic) reasoned that they were god

he was stoned to death for his blasphemy

the mountain cannibals of papua new guinea, upon first seeing kabbalists, called them long pigs

later on in the night a spoonerist arrived

goblok: indonesian for stupid

sheik al hilaly’s butcher was also at the party

cranky got in the act, in case you couldn’t tell

george, again

and then the unholy indonesian (widely known to be dangerous on the clutch) got hold of the letters. my titit cacad(t)?: translated directly reads my small dick retarded?

areas splice

exult yoghurt

apollinaire’s strathfield

tomorrow i am going to strathfield to present a website to a group of principals from esl (english as a second language) schools. one of the things i would like to say to them is that english is a second language to itself. but first, that is to say, not first but second, i will have to find them. and i will have to find them in apollinaire’s strathfield:

this is what appeared when i viewed the map they sent me as html in gmail. and here is apollinaire’s la petite auto:

and tomorrow i will be in my petite auto driving around strathfield, thinking of psychogeography, but to present myself, to present a self present to itself, on time, speaking as though it were inside a first language, proper to it, it’s own language, then i may have to resort to this:

old rind patriarch (or, the R’s game for bill henson)

i, corn filth (or, nina’s crush)

flying machine v2.3.1

flying machine v.2.2.1

flying machine v2.1.2

tyre husk (ruth turns 60)