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poems of the month

orpheus in soho

a seriously sexy man


measuring my face

old clothes

modern iranian poems

my hero

face at the bottom of the world

perhaps (maybe)

the diogenes sequence

where to store furs

i am and am not:
      fragments of rumi

destiny and destination

awaiting the barbarians

the smell of possibilities

iraqi monologues

the zen of

the sexy jihad

ultimate leaves

rejoice in the dog

post-millennium maggot

the book of nothing

dispatches from the war against the world

albanian poems

french poems in honour of jean genet

the hells going on

the joy of suicide

book disease

foreground trouble

the transcendental hotel

cinema of the blind

lament of the earth mother

uranian poems

haikai by okami

haikai on the edge

black hole of your heart

jung's motel

wine and roses

confession from belgrade

gloss on rilke's ninth duino elegy

jewels and shit: poems by rimbaud

villon's dialogue with his heart

vasko popa:
a shepherd of wolves ?

the rubaiyát of omar khayyám


the love of pierre de ronsard


good riddance to mankind

the maxims of michel de montaigne

400 revolutionary maxims

nice men and
  suicide of an alien

anti-fairy tales

the most terrible event in history

the rich man and the leper


art, truth and bafflement




the three bears

three albanian tales

a little creation story


lazarus the leper



one not one

an occitanian baby-hatch

ancient violence
in the amazon

home, sweet home no longer

the ivory palace

helen's tower

extortion through e-bay

schopenhauer for muthafuckas

never a pygmy

against money

'original sin' followed by
crippled consciousness

a gay man's guide to soft-willy sex

the holosensual alternative

tiger wine

the death of poetry

the absinthe drinker

with mrs dalloway in ukraine

love  and  hell

running on emptiness

a holocaust near you

a note on the cathars


londons of the mind
& dealing death to the caspian


a muezzin from the tower of darkness

kegan and kagan

being or television

satan in the groin

womb of half-fogged mirrors

tourism and terrorism

diogenes: the dog from sinope


this sorry scheme of things

a holy dog and a dog-headed saint

fools for nothingness

death of a bestseller

vacuum of desire: a homo-erotic correspondence

a note on beards

towards the zen of sex

field guide to megalithic ireland

houses for the dead

french megaliths


a small town in france

satan in the groin




"I am anti-American and damned proud of it - but of I can't say it!" H.R.H. the Prince Philip of Greece, Duke of Edinburgh (overheard)

The Great Dissident ->

this website is my testament

e cane illuminatio










This evening I heard Gary Baur of the Farm Sanctuary speak. He had pictures as part of the presentation projected onto the screen of the auditorium. It was pretty much the terrible stuff I've heard before. But here was one story which tore me apart.

He showed a picture of a large brown cow, lying twisted on a muddy, puddled patch of ground.. Her neck was crooked and looking back at him as he took the picture. She was on her way to the slaughterhouse. The workers were trying to separate her from her calf. She fought with everything she had for the safety of her baby. They ended up breaking her neck. They got her baby and took him away. The kindest thing would have been for the veterinarian to euthanize her. They wouldn't do that. She was worth money. She lay waiting, perhaps for days, to be dragged to slaughter. As long as she was alive she was legal to be slaughtered for meat.

In the lecture hall I held my ex-military reserve.

In the privacy of my home I am unable to rest, racked with sorrow. This story has overwhelmed me. The tears are pouring down my face. How is it that there is such cruel hatred on this earth? For all of them, pigs, apes, rats, rabbits, dogs, bears, baboons, turkeys, chickens, my heart is overwhelmed with sorrow. I refuse to be a monster. I may be ordinary, but this meanness, this cruelty is beyond my ordinariness. I can never be a part of this.

How do these humans, these monsters, live with themselves?

I will never indulge in the sorrow of an innocent. I will dedicate my life to their safety. I cannot do otherwise.

Samsur Rahaman, University of Michigan, September 2008.


Reader - you have read enough.
If you desire still more,
then be a poem yourself :
not visitor - but door.

Angelus Silesius (1624-77)
translated by Anthony Weir







Nothing but this is worth saying.











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Nothing we are told is true