Only now I took it up. And I realised, a lot of English poems are either thinly veiled sex acts or denotative prose broken into stanzas. Well, the anthology itself is a bit underground, but I guess thats the only way to go really. Who the hell in England would publish them anyways? My name is Dulani, I'm a Jamaican speaking about the Afrikan Diaspora. Now if my name was John Worthington talking about Meadows with reference to William Blake Blossoms and Sylvia Plath's failed suicide attempts, I'd be f***ing famous. Like imitation burberry in Maidstone. Come to think of it, most of my poems were writtien on the train while travelling to university in Maidstone. That is why they are 99.5% depressing. Travelling to hell all willy nilly. Hope the images are clear. Too lazy to scan and crop. Read then leave your comments/curses.
Got some images/sketches from Red Man, keyframes and such. Show you guys tomorrow. Got me a frigging Bamboo Graphics Tablet. About time. About to get into another project, some guys that like great things done in a week so they can enter a festival ... we'll see. Plus ended doing title/credit sequences for Sweet. Remi's finishing that up this week. Plus gearing up for a meeting with the Taylor dude, green light on the mv's. My (Grand) Aunt's here from Florida, and she brought a rahtid mango, big as me bloodfire head. You know you're home sick when eat a mango and close your eyes and have a flashback. England and your inhospitable weather/people. Other than that, I'm not busy.
Plus Inception got the gears turning and I am putting together a script looking at the power of the mind, albeit to forget. And thanks to Cameron's ConDem Party, I am doing it without permits. (extends middle finger to all the politicians [oh, and read the poem "Politician"]).
Sum up,
"Down Under Lies A Newer Intensity"
"Acronyms Can Rely On Numbers Yielding Myriads- Serious[ly deep]."
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