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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

the zen of no-enlightenment

the iraqi monologues

already backwards

a light in ruins

separate amputations

the sexy jihad

awaiting the barbarians

the smell of possibilities

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 rubáiyát of omar khayyám

genrikh sapgir:
an ironic mystic

the love of pierre de ronsard




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



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

are doctors autistic ?

single track in the snow

never a pygmy

against money

did franco die ?

'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

the dog from sinope


this sorry scheme of things

the bektashi dervishes

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





a prose-poem by

Terry Miles

There are places I have been.
Some were frightening places but most were OK.

Some were nice places full of nice people, some of the nice people were nice men, rugged and gentle and some of the nice men were nice to me and I was nice to some of the nice men and some of the nice men were not handsome. Some were more interesting than handsome, some were more interesting than nice, some of the nice men said nice things but didn't say anything interesting and some of the interesting men weren't very nice but I forgave them for not being very nice because they were interesting and they were only to be interesting for one night. Some of the interesting men were interested only in my arse and if they were interesting enough I would let them have it.

Some interesting men wanted my arse and didn't get it: I got theirs. And some interesting men telephoned me later in the week to ask if we could do something interesting and sometimes it wasn't as interesting as the first time. Times are like that, variable, like being fucked depends on how nice it is being worked up to it and not just how one's arse is being ploughed, like it's nice to turn over and change over and it's nice to kiss and hug before a parting and it's nice to want another call.

Some nice men like to be fucked, they stand in semi-private places, waiting, they wait standing semi-erect for a nice man, sometimes a nice man comes along, only he thinks the man next to him isn't very nice and walks out without a flash. Sometimes a not-so-nice man walks in and you nod and stretch a hand out to play with his cock, sometimes he has a nice, interesting cock which makes up for him being not so very nice, and sometimes he is rough and ready, and sometimes you worry and sometimes when you get back to his place he wants you to strap him and you oblige because you want to give him a nice time and afterwards, he wants you to fuck him, sometimes he wants to come over your cock and because he has a nice cock, you let him. Sometimes he smells of manhood sometimes a couple days of hard work has made his armpits interesting, sometimes it's balls, arse and toes and it's a turn-on.
And sometimes it's not and you make an excuse and leave.

Sometimes a nice man wears deodorant and the nice man underneath isn't there. Sometimes an interesting man who is also nice wants you to do things you haven't done before and sometimes you are interested and say Yes and sometimes you say It's not your thing. Sometimes a nice man is not so young. Sometimes you find out he's accident-prone and scarred and sometimes you don't have to feel sorry to give him a nice time because he turns you on, anyway, and anyway he wants it, you want it and
anyway we all (most of us) grow old.


detail of a self-portrait by Terry Miles



Where did you go for your holidays, Terry ?

- I went to the dentist:
A crown, a filling, a lot of money

and three more instalments.





a confession by

Blaidd MacIntyre


Yes, I am an alien.

But not an alien to the planet.
An alien - or an elf-child: it doesn't matter.

I have no idea who my father was, and I had and have no interest in finding out. My mother was so traumatised that she could not mention, much less discuss, it. He might have been her Canadian cousin.

I keep my distance from human-beings. They have a horrible tendency to get close to each other in order to suck out or oppress each other more successfully.

I do not understand the drivenness, meddlesomeness, hypocrisy, tunnel-vision, optimism, sentimentality and emotional stupidity of humans, nor their refusal to use reason except when it suits their cruelty and greed. I do not understand why they invented gods, religion, 'spirituality', 'progress', prostitution, 'normality', 'love' and so on - unless to compensate for the incomprehensible hate they have for 'nature'. And why do they sacrifice content to form ? And why is the only irrational and gratuitiously-nasty creature the one to invent Reason and altruism ?

I hate their indistinguishable groups and teams, tribes and nations; I have never joined any of these voluntarily - except Amnesty International from which I soon escaped.

Human life does nobody any good.

I never wanted to marry a human. I had myself sterilised. Sex with humans makes me feel even more remote and bereft. I understand why prostitutes have to take substances - cocaine, amphetamines, or glue - in order to perform. Everything human is horrible. It took me twenty years to understand that I was not attracted to women, then a further twenty years to realise that I was attracted to men only æsthetically, in the same way that I am attracted to most mammals, trees and smells.

Being too 'holy' for prostitution, I can't offer myself as the figurehead of a new mad American Church of the Holy Alien.

So I'm standing in the thicket-acre which I bought as a tiny place to keep free of humans who have alienated themselves from life and the planet: a sanctuary for badgers, brambles, foxes, birds - and an alien: I shall feed them all in this my burial-ground.

Here is the air-tight body-bag.


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