Footnote to Howl — A Newcastle Chorus Reply

Holy the grey­ing pet­rol sea
Holy the relo­cated grave­yards and young his­tor­ies
Holy drink­ing and fri­day nights and broken win­dows and
unwel­comed gate crash­ers
Holy bottles and holy foot paths
holy key­boards and holy windows.


Every thought is holy, every moment is holy
all the dilat­ing eye­balls and cel­eb­ra­tions of this world,
and the dis­tor­ted clocks and children’s minds
who think faster and for­get their age and time.


Holy books and writ­ing, holy read­ing.
Holy milk car­tons and train lines
holy lon­ley ram­blings and fogged over ears.


Hedonism’s holy vis­ions of the extactic and irre­livant jour­neys of time.

Espe­cially all, is this holy.

Masochism’s holy in it’s raw of broken noise for all is pain of truth.

Every­where, is this holy.


Holy chim­neys and holy tooth­paste.
Every action and every moment of expres­sion,
an orgasm of existance.


Holy women and holy cinemas
holy chil­dren and holy sand and beaches
holy men and radios
holy people.


Holy broken dogs and broken chair legs
holy wood from trees and
holy books and speak­ers
holy sound and touch.


Holy win­ded moments and dead con­crete real­isa­tions,
holy quiet moments and holy rejec­tion.
Holy lies and fires, and posters and wank­ers
holy adults with no directions.


Holy be the aim­less
and the drunken.
Holy be the driven and
the delivered.
Holy be the middle­class,
the self approv­ing,
And the wounded.
Holy are all ages, and
holy are all perspectives.


Holy in their existance
and holy in their attitidues.
Holy is all in essence.


–New­castle 2010

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