Archive for ‘Magical Cynicism’

March 3, 2021

World on a String


Beneath the unforgiving staleness
of the lucky old sun,
on the sunny side
of the empty street,
what’s left of the past dries up
in the heat.
Not far from the wedding chapels
and the sea of fun,
the action drains
into a slum.

It is quieter here,
the people are thinner,
the world’s un-stringed,
and everyone’s a sore winner.
That’s life, frankly sinful: entertaining
the possibility that life might be more
than a series of missed opportunities.

Riding a lukewarm streak
into a lonely road and a memory.
Sensing the disinterest, feeling
my insignificance, made keenly aware,
in a world of burgers and fear,
of my newly minted irrelevance.

Out here, you are nothing
and the past is paste,
as the world’s indifference shifts
into fragmented waste.
From sedentary restlessness
to flaneurial nausea, pursued by
but eluding grace.

Days of futile transit
redefine my sense of wonder.
Manifesting without the emptiness
within, between lesser known ruins,
in a promised wasteland
of lost opportunities.
When I catch myself unawares,
in the November of my years,
I’m hardly even there,
and I have never been so tired
of talking to myself.

November 15, 2019

Chronic Chroniclings

Sink into a chronological netherworld.
Flashes from the Artillery Archives:

https://artillerymag.com/byline/john-tottenham/



 

August 31, 2019

Seeking Answers and Gaining an Understanding

THE LYDIAN PODCAST
A ‘chat’ in the desert with Lydia Lunch and Tim Dahl.
It may be worth mentioning that this conversation took place over breakfast…
http://lydianspin.libsyn.com/episode-7

November 6, 2018

Roasting Sparks

I will be throwing barbs at the Mael boys at this fun-filled event.

 

April 9, 2018

Soar Into a Rosy Zone of Contemplation

Now unavailable on Instaflam:
https://www.instagram.com/johntottenham/

… Put it out there and watch nothing happen.

March 12, 2015

Imperfect Day

Unseizable

Outside, a sparrow sits on the telegraph wire,
a stray dog limps across the sidewalk.
And that is the extent of nature in these parts.
Silence drills through me, birdsong flickers in the air,
overlaid by the constant drone of traffic and tinnitus.
Urgency fades into futility, and once again I find myself
on the verge of giving up before I have even begun.
If I could see myself sitting here –
a lazy perfectionist sinking into the unseizable day –
barely engaged in the pretense of activity,
I don’t know whether I’d laugh or cry…
or remain numb.

January 31, 2013

Antiepithalamia Valentine’s Offensive

If you feel like dragging your ass across town on a Monday evening to listen to a splenetic misogamist repeat himself, this might just be the place. Come one, come all…

tottenham