HOW WILL I AFFORD TO BUY A PLACE OF MY OWN?

19/03/2015

for IC

Mainly minor: in your hands
Pentacles: Earth, money

Delay all plans,
because
there are hidden obs-
tacles
or enemies. Be
discrete.

A sensible, matron-
ly woman
who has a good
head
for business. Kind-
hearted
and charitable, she also
has a taste
for luxury. Sometimes
moody
her general person-
ality
is very caring.

This is the worst card in the pack.
Betrayed,
lost, cold and love-
less this card
shows the lowest
point in fortune.
However, since this is
the worst it can
get,
improvements must surely follow.
The only
way
from here is
up!

A conscientious
person, thrifty
and capable.
Someone who has little
money
but splendid
prospects.
A student with a sense of duty.
A patient
person. Also
there may be good
news
about money.

Miserly attitudes, a grasping
mentality. Avarice, dis-
content
and envy of
others.

Difficult circums-
tances, yet you
will gain more than you have
lost. An unhappy
time will
soon
end.

HOW WILL THE RESULT OF THE GENERAL ELECTION AFFECT ME?

19/03/2015

for GH
Mainly minor: in your hands

Miserly attitudes, a grasping

mentality.

Avarice,  discontent

and envy of others.

Quarrels,

competing interests,

unfortunate combinations

of events

and people. Corruption

and domestic strife.

You may be taken advantage

of: subversion,

hidden enemies. Attempts

will be made

to disrupt your plans.

Bankruptcy

or other great loss

which could

have been avoided. A rapid

change of attitude

to money is now

needed.

Don’t be afraid to leave

the past

behind. Travel.

There is plenty more in the world

to see and experience. If

you are disillusioned with your life

now, take heart

because the future promises

to be brighter. Follow

your heart and do

what you truly desire.

Frustration,

which you take out on

others. Being

your own worst enemy,

placing restrictions

upon yourself.

WILLIAM CHARLES EVERLOVE BY PHILIP-LORCA DICORCIA

William Charles Everlove, 28 years old
STOCKHOLM, SWEDEN VIA ARIZONA, $40

He was never here
He never came
He was a ghost

I was never intimate
I never inhaled
I was alone

Somebody was never in the room next door
Somebody never heard
Somebody was in Texas

He was never anyone
He never lied
He was nothing

I was never told where he went
I never cared
I was important

CHRIS BY PHILIP-LORCA DICORCIA

Chris, 28 years old
LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA, $30

As I learned early
to draw the dollar -
an 's', 
some numbers
and two vertical lines,
with Chris it was simple

It was like he had rehearsed.
His small hands
unfastening my button fly,
reciting a four times table
by rote.

We met no more than seven times
according to my diary
when he 'disappeared.'

Afterwards, my journeys west
grew short. I felt
his breath behind my neck the one time
in the car and saw his shadow
in the parking lot

lengthening towards me.

SWEET CHARITY

Dear Mr. Bates, please may I
apply to your foundation
for funds to build a hospital
in our country. You could visit
with a television crew
once the building was completed.
We might even name a ward
for you so you can come
in a helicopter and be photographed
speaking to mothers
nursing skeletal infants,
awaiting AIDS medication
and food. This one was raped
by militia after they had butchered
her son and husband
in the village square. Mr. Bates,
if you could not build a hospital,
perhaps a factory will do.
Our government is offering good rates
to foreign investors with a mind
to make our country great. Our people
are desperate for work
and money and food. Electronics
is the future, Mr. Bates, and our country
has the skills but not the means.
A six-figure sum could build a workshop
and a school. We would not ask
for much by way of wages.
I'm sure you'll find our terms
competitive. Think of all we could earn.

The ladies fan their sweat with jeweled hands
and sip Tom Collins. The gentleman kick back
with gin and slims, smoking finest Havanas.
They tip the waiters handsomely,
easing the pain of their savagery.

IN NOVEMBER 13

for AG, RB, DP, AN, SM

Pope Francis says, "tie
the corrupt to a rock and throw
them in the sea." A man
living in social housing
instead of having a well-lit
second home may
count himself a failure.

In our society is a mass
sense of entitlement, induced
subliminally, but without much
subtlety. I tried that once.

Home office send a letter
to 7 year old boy
telling him to leave
the country voluntarily or
his departure may be enforced.

Jeez... Amidst death,
debris and desperation
a newborn human
learns to latch on.

The Yorkshire Post won't let me
run anymore adverts.
Gardinski replies;

"What if there is not enough ocean?"

HEREDITARY PREDISPOSITION

genome twists the 

follicle makes the 

melatonin whitens the 

balance falters the 

heart quickens the 

life shrivels the 

penis squirms the 

scrotum tightens the 

diaphragm hiccups the 

hand grasps the

SOME THINGS I HAD, NEVER KNEW, NEVER HAD

for J M-G

I gave him the best ten years I'd ever have
in me. Thought he'd be gone in five,
but he kept at it like a metronome.
The headboard knocking on the guest room wall
told no lie. Every night he'd slither in
beside me. A butterknife of cold skin
and a papery skeleton that still hungered.
He never stopped with that, right up
to the last like a lovesick teen.
Mostly I'd lie patient as a corpse. I never
told him I loved him. I never loved him
more than money. I lived a decade
just to feel it. So, if you think my story's crass,
imagine yourself, ten year worth of nights
counting the colours in the ceiling pattern
on your back, imagining things you never knew
you'd had. Tell me, could you imagine that?

THE FREE MARKET

Here everything has a price. See the snaking lines of men

queuing around the echoing hall of barking butchers

to cut out their eyes. £10 for your sight!

To cut off their hands in the slicing machines.

£10 for a touch! This is the desk in the entrance foyer

where you can humiliate yourself for strips of bacon fat.

£10 for your dignity! Kiss goodbye to that dress madame,

those plastic pearls about your throat. Here you are no-one.

Sit over there and answer that telephone.

These are the children with cough candy for teeth

and liquorice fingers, biting each other in piles 

like starved pups eating their mother. £10 for your bubs 

if full for my starving daughter. Smoked sausage, kippers, finny haddock! 

The ladies and gents leer from the stalls in the fish parlour.

They lick their teeth with oil slick tongues. £10 for a leg!

£10 for a touch of the flesh. Nothing is free, but money

is not the only currency here. £10 for your boy for the night!

£10 for your kidney! Here is small beer for your refreshment.

Vicks for the smell. Opiates for pain for as little as a finger.

Everything for sale. Come buy. Everyone has a price.

BAD POTATO WEATHER

The nightjars are blacking the sun out
with rainclouds of feather. Poor scratching
in the waterlogged soil for lungworm
and beetle. The potassium's peaking
round mid-afternoon, making sailors afraid
of lithium in spinach barrels. Flood warning
by dawn. This is bad potato weather. The kind
to sink dormice and make millionaires 
of stoats. In ferns, toads burp at frogs spawning
in rivers that burst, coursing new valleys
of acid erosion. Stone turns to leek in the riptides.

UNTITLED

NHS staff have been warned to expect

storm weather and floods. Tsunamis

of alcohol related hepatitis will burst

through the automatic doors in A&E.

They have been told to be underprepared

like the police for the fallout of Friday night

violence in city centres. Blood will come

like a flood. A riot of scalpels and syringes

held to the throat — Give us your money,

you bastards, or we'll burn you. The Fire Brigade

are on strike. 999 is a disconnected number

and nobody gives a shit if you die.

In Westminster MPs stand on the roof

catching fivers in nets. The bonfire of services

turns ash into cash and the unscorched snatch it.