# 132 two from the heart - Marie Kondo and vale Alan Jones

13.5.20

132

two from the heart today

you can’t have too much stuff

or

an answer to Marie Kondo

Marie Kondo

I was born to hoard

mainly just words

think of all that goes with them!

I am papering myself in

I need more ink, more paint

I know it’s not original

but

I love to live in a kingdom of dust

the garden struggles through

that’s wilderness as I’ve imagined

it won’t let me go

I’m hanging on here

wardrobe chocker with thread

nor would we have it any other way –

me, my wilderness and I

can’t have too much?

I scoff

and scoff that down

times tough?

with mirrors we make more

don’t take away my clock

I grow them

how else have I the time to

enlarge upon this place

engorge

think of me, Marie, as boa constrictor

yes- I am all consuming

it’s only my nature

so life around me –

bud and flower

the world is a disorder

why argue?

you’d compost the lot

but I let bloom

be pumpkin from a pile and vine it

indoors all as well

then what about pyramids?

hecatombs too

lovely before lit

like a table spread

sit up from suttee

and scream through the flames

‘how lovely all must end’

you’re anorexic Kali

you think you’re spreading liberation

…not for demons like me

ah Marie

you had this from a child

licked the school clean

and fainted with the pleasure

Marie Kondo

you want to be my mother

I tell you it’s too late

it’s my crystals, the model aeroplanes

they’re gone

what’s gone’s forever

that smile of yours – the fatal spell

‘spark joy?’

I’ve seen the official trailer

I recognize these tricks of benignity

it’s all for our own good

a kind arbeit macht frei

for our times

how much landfill is on this head?

organise by size!

that’s how your head will fit in the shoebox

long since tossed

sit straight

no lounging

I love to be lost in the woods of the book

but you’ve thrown the book away

did it burn?

we need not know

I shrink from your fell goddess hand

with still some secrets to the heart and lightly

you haven’t chucked the kids?

Marie Kondo

your portrait in a little shrine I keep

electric candles bright

and decorate with flowers, books

(the dusty kind)

the oranges of afterlife

(left till a nice grey mould)

it’s everything you’ll need here

and I wish you long long life

yes I know I could dance with the pinhead angels
have all by hologram again

all neatly filed for when I call

but it wouldn’t be the same

every night I dream up new villages

the trick’s to bring to light

somehow I will fit them in

I think of Canetti’s Auto-da-fé

clean ash

and blow it all off

huh!

don’t know about you

but I’m taking it with me

taking the lot

don’t care what they say

life’s too short to toss

clouds go round

and I collect them

I plan to make a world of it

when this far speck is gone

.

coda

here comes a familiar ghost, the one liner –

he only says these things because he knows you’re right

vale Alan Jones

(for a series of Australian portraits)

you can’t imagine the pleasure it brings

just to write these words

vale

and be heard no more

how often in barber’s or in a taxi

I’ve yearned to turn you off

and now at last we’re near the end

let me just accuse you a little

pin the donkey on…

Alan Jones

you are the appeal to baser instincts

a chaff bag drowning’s too good

out of the ruck

you are an arsehole

(no, that is unkind to necessity)

maker of miseries

world fucker

(but why demean procreants?)

stirrer of hatreds

right wing conspiracist

you are bigoted scum

with every breath of yours

we’re worse – your kind

make nations stink

and yes, I generalise, because you have been followed

throat full of sock

for that burn the witch

I saw you standing there  

everyone has a good grovel to you

all for fear of whim

tends one way

you don’t like women in charge, do you, Alan?

your mind

(if I can call it that)

cesspit of unthinking self-interest

(still, we need sewers too)

how many times have you been bought

paid off

?

to say you are a shit

would be a slur

on all the good

that comes from you

you are a stolid pillar of violence

victim of ignorance

own and spread it

gone to Murdoch

here’s your heaven

lovely match

why don’t you have some of your own venom?

drink it drink it down!

don’t worry about a virus beatup

no one will sneeze on me

in my vast estates of early morning

all tremble and obey

atavist avatar

there you are

now you have a lovely vanish

thank you for fucking off