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Preface 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17

(Preface)

The cucumber (carrot, courgette) represents food and penis, that is Food and Sex therefore Man after the Fall.

A vision of Man’s existence as an absurdly huge knobbly skinned cucumber. An extravagance parading green (he’s ecologically friendly, swallow it) and pompous through a mundane life no longer God given. Competing on allotments across the country to be bigger, to devour more force fed fertilizer. For what purpose other than to be digested by something larger? Or to decay on a compost heap to feed the subsequent generation of human cucumbers who restart the cycle?

Consider Adam and Eve; content, a unity at peace. Without guilt, shameless. Created by God who, with knowledge of all things, knows the eventual outcome of this symbolic split.

The Apple the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge becomes a cucumber. If Man is not divine then nothing is of any significance. All things are interchangeable. The possibility that Man is no different to an insect or scrap of soil. Satan in the form of a gherkin (its shape and colour recalls the Snake) tempts Eve. A dance between the cucumber and Eve; tempting and teasing, flickering eyelashes, becomes the temptation of Adam. Adam becomes the cucumber. A huge green reproductive organ. The Fall a predestined leap, a birth, cast out into the emptiness filled with an abundance of meaningless differences. Man an extravagant fluke of physics; his consciousness pointless. A cucumber with a soul. An individual singing without God.

The cucumber both symbolically and actually an instrument of sensual pleasure, it is also food. Man becomes after the Fall an automata; craving food and sex. Hence himself being used for food and sex. His Art and technology of no consequence than to enhance his reproductive, survival abilities. Man now below himself, under-achieving. Another of the animals created originally to serve him. Suffering the elements, predators, needing food and shelterer; struggling in an endless cycle of life and death.

A cucumber recycled for the building blocks of a subsequent generation. Plucked or fallen exhausted, onto the compost heap from the Tree (Society) that supports him, and he in turn supports. To allow the seeds within him to sprout from the remnants of everyones bodies. The compost heap the creator of Life, Man grows out of and because of the filth and decay of existence. Human life an absurdity, a smutty joke. This degradation should be celebrated. Man was not created in God’s image but the compost heap’s, teeming with trivial and mundane life.

Here Christmas is introduced. An abundance of food, beautiful things, bright fires, hence happiness. The snow is clean, bright, cold but inviting. Holly strong and alive despite its clothing of freezing snow. Christ is born of an unexceptional woman, as everyman. Destined to be abandoned because, exactly as Man ate the Apple of knowledge of Gods, he is a God. Incarnated as Man. He is all Fallen men and all the consequent suffering in one place, at one time. His sacrifice (which is connected in some way with food: “The Lamb of God. The Body and Blood of Christ”) and resurrection up to God allows all cucumbers to return to God and meaning.

Man is not a cucumber. Man is in some way above, possibly Divine. Some things are of greater import than others. Life is not relative. The cucumber takes the mickey out of this view of existence, but is serious. If the Crucifixion saves Man something is wrong. Man grows old, decays. Does the cucumber find rest in the compost heap? “There is no more to life I want. I understand and accept the purpose of existence. I am fulfilled. I can now die.” Or does he say “No! I want more sex and food. More wealth and pleasure. I will grow richer, bigger, happier?”

And the young in their equal fear of death and decay help and force him to cling on, seeing ever more time for no purpose than to be wheeled up and down steps to hospital. Until despite medicine, gyms, health foods, slimming and cosmetics he decays. Then drops dead. A man like them with goals and fantasies, a family and friends. A man with a history.

Let's stumble through the mind of this man. The jumble of remembered and half forgotten, the mundane, the absurd, the hopes and loves. The disparagments, the pain and joy. Through mythological mists we tumble to the beginning. A land where archetypes are formed. When heroes walked the Earth. A time of pleasures and abundance. We land with a plop in a sin filled city street [splat! sounds of city].

Now draw closer. Peep into the orifice sign posted by Destiny's finger. There! Look! As if by Fate's torch; a scene brightly lit. Can it be that Man's predestination lays in their fickle hands? Must we accept that the chubby finger of Fate cannot lie but only point?

Ladies and Gentlemen pull up a seat and be thankful your blushes are hidden by the gloom of this pregnant night, as our tragic tale of Heroes and Villains unfolds.

1. (The Quest)

"What we need is a muse.
A curvy, long legged,
High heeled
Muse."

"Yes. It's true.
But women are individuals too.
We must respect the fight of women;
All male and female lesbians,
Council houses,
Multi-cultural communities of all ethnic origins
No matter their race or gender;
Celebrate yet give respect to
All cultures of the world in Africa and Asia."
"Africa and Asia?
Cor Blimey.
Stupid.
Bloody fool!
You'll land us up with a
Hairy vegetable eating dumpling on the
End of a barge pole.
What we want is a
Big chested,
Well shaven,
Luscious lipped doxy of a muse."

"Yeah let's rock."
"Man, let's see some greasy pumping."
Using his mechanical experience he was able to improvise from items strewn across the desk, objects of penetrative degradation for use in conjunction with his own built on model. A few turns of the torque wrench a little high viscosity oil and all holes were plugged and ready to sail.
"That's it!
I've found her.
The Muse."

"What's her name?"
"Justine."
"What are her lips like?"
"Nice and firm,
Big too.
Powerful lungs,
Stick a banana
down her throat and she'd sing around it for at least a minute before she passed out."
"What's her name?"
"Justine."

"Go on then, ask her."
“Don't rush me, don't rush me.
You ust treat a Muse
With respect.
Justine,
Darling,
You know if you're going to succeed in this business
You need to show more flesh,
To get the adolescent units.
You do do topless?"
"You mean like this?"
Zipper noise.
"Yes yes.
Like that."
"Wait. Wait
I didn't see."
“And you're not going to;
I'm not that kind of girl.
I'll succeed on my merits alone."
"But those are your merits."

"Leave this to me.
Justine baby,
I know, I know
Only women bleed.
I metaphorically cut my finger in sympathy with you."
He takes a bottle of tomato sauce and squirts it on his finger. Justine gulps.
He licks it off lewdly,
savouring the tip.
"They are powerful.
Are part of the earths natural cycle,
Can use their sexuality on their own terms.
Raise all genders to live in
Peace and powerful harmony with the planet and its natural hairsprays."

"Nice, nice. Get her to take her knickers off too."

Now conscious of her gender implications,
Her purpose in the higher sphere of whales and dolphins.
Yes yes
Conscious of her power
As a sexy, high heeled, short skirted boot girl
To say no to rape:
The rape of our multi-cultural heritage
By new roads and jobs,
Fox hunters and fishermen.
Yes yes. Oh no.
She got her cute little white knickers off.

But we will go down this road
Again and again,
Whenever temptation falls.
It makes no one happy,
Least of all me,
But that's the point.
To destroy and degrade.
To say "There,I told you so.
You see it's bad
All bad."

And, when you come to think of it,
Of all the things in life with which one can be bold and resolute
What's so important about this?
Are we bold, resolute, with things that don't matter
That are in the end just bodily pleasure?

"He he he."
We return.
Her once noble and innocent form
Now bowed under the ravishments of much larger vegetables.

But
"Ho ho ho"
What's this
That comes to tease and tempt;
Tempt and tease. Like rosebuds on heat?
Who is this cunning vixen with lips like strawberries
And eyes like cherries?
"Oh dear. Oh dear.
What's a fine looking girl
With child bearing hips
Doing with these scruffy old rock'n'roll degenerates?"

"I'm their Muse."
"Oh dear Oh dear.
Those boys need more than a Muse."
"Oi you. What-ch'ya doing with our Muse?"
"Yes. She's our Muse."
"My, my. They're a touchy couple of head-bangers.
No wonder you look so glum."
"I do feel a little sad."
"We'll get you
A Wonder Bra.
You'll have no need for that pair of old rockers.
Squeeze them right up neat and tight.
Burst out into our non-stop, trans-Atlantic, good-time,
All-girl band."
"Hey groovy.
Cool.
I'm thirty-four C
Let's party."
"But she's our Muse.
Ours."

Can our poor heroes survive?
Will this treacherous deed spur them on to ever greater delights,
Or fling them down,
To end their days
Squelching in bitterness and failure?

"This is all your fault."He said to Walter, "If you'd let me tie her up I'd have been inspired,
You've ruined my art."

"But I'm not beaten yet.
Oh no.
We just need a little re-packaging.
A bit of after-shave.
Haircut.
Lose a little weight.
She'll be back.
Yes
Gagging for it."

Determined.
Ever resourceful.
Mindful of what the Japs did to our boys in the war.
Sabrina heads for the bathroom
To effect this transformation
Which will re-launch their artistic careers.

2. (Invitation)

Who? 'What does she mean?"
Yes you. 'Don't ask me, I was ill for sex education.'
Cheer up, 'Me too, I had flu.'
You silly old sod.
Got your own home,
A wife with great tits
And a job.
On top of all that
An invite too.
That's right!
There's a CD, a video,
Paintings to see
Performance to hear.
See lovely ladies
Twisting and a reeling.
A party. Yes
Bring drink for that.
Cheers.
Cheer up. Cheer up.
Perfume that knob.
You'll head-butt yourself if you don't.
Come on down!
Yes! Yes!
Cheers! Cheers!
Bottoms up!
Perfume that knob!

Thus they began the inevitable sordid decline yes yes, now they were Traded Wives. The men panting for hot new thrills, the women gleefully arranging to be switched and swapped.
"Don't be silly dear it's a party, we're dancing."
"But he's got his hands in your knickers
"She's a right tasty bird your missus."
"And what's that he's inserting up your bottom?"
"Oh come on, you don't begrudge Mickey one of your cigars."
"Is that my Cognac he's drinking too?"
"Lovely tits."
"Darling, it's a party of course people are goingour cigars."
"Darling, it's a party of course people are goingoing to drink."
"But I bought all that cheap wine from the supermarket."

3. (Conception)

"My long slim stocking clad legs drive you wildly up to my taut rounded bottom. My eyes like deep pools you want to dive into."

Female.
A wondrous shape,
From another planet
Huge solid breasts
Long blond hair,
Began see her melting into a thick hot creamy sexpot.
"I'm getting so hot"
And she went all gooey.

Between her lovely legs
Her swollen flesh accepted the monster.
Zapped in and out,
In and out with quick solid strokes,
He pulled out with a plopping sound.

The golden haired slit
Spreading wide around a muscular hole.
A song of love: Dead.
It's blood steaming
Like my breath,
Reaching up a mist
In a still night
As I rage,
Screaming into the silent night.

"Oh yes squeeeze them.Play with the nipples.Here buy yourself some new Tanga briefs,they turn me on so much."

4. (Birth/Return)

As if in a never ending retch Whizz bang pop
Strained against the fixed points Out popped a baby with a
Of her head and buttocks. Cast iron cock
Here bodies generate their own shapes,
An idealisation of themselves.
An emblem, a badge,
Could it be more explicit
Your passion etched in to skin;
Love hearts and bulldogs
A pride and a place.
Like the frog asleep in the compost heap. Potato peelings, tea bags,
Egg shells moist and slightly damp
"I'll pop the kettle on and make a cup of tea."
(Because it's raining outside
And the washing can't go on)
We'll look through seed catalogues.
Now exhausted, she sighed;
so many things she wanted but couldn't
afford to buy.
I'll bake a cake.

Jars of jam and green tomato chutney,
Fresh bread, cold pork and turkey.
On boxing day.
With snow, a dust of frost and presents everywhere.
Into snow descending,
Covering with icing.
Wrap my arms around your sad white body.
Brittle, pale and thin.
A British bird in a winter garden
searching for red berries.
Carols on the radio.
I'll scoop them all up;
A collection, musty, used and faded,
of facts treasured
Jars of jam and chutney
Of apples, marrows, tomatoes
courgettes, cucumbers and carrots.

"You've got bloody phallic symbols on the brain.It's pickled walnuts I want to push in.Two, preferably."

5. (Childhood)

Pink
Trailing apples and cherries,
Pale blue birds,
Holly, lemonade
And sweets.

Christmas decorations.
Now that's all gone.
Days of football with Bobby Moore.

"Blow your nose young man."
The phlegm that clogs my throat.
A proud front garden,
A little delight
Reaches to step like
Neil Armstrong upon the moon.

Red wine with hot roast beef and carrots from the allotment.
A glass of port or two
By the crackling fire
Might make the cold and the rain,
Like showers after cricket,
Fresh and bracing.

But what was it? What in his past had created this creature now pedalling frantically in the stench like depths of decay rolling in the mud of sordidity? Spouting obscene poetry.Who also kept a floppy thing locked in a box, a damp cod smell emanating from its huge head that lolloped on saggy shoulders as it shuffled around with a dragging clunking sound, snuffling food in to its purple snout with a dog's willy tongue.

6.

Suddenly white pillow cases filled with toys.
And too, cold, dark from outside
Illuminated by my electric light.
Tippy-toe down
To nuts and fruit and lemonade,
Big fat turkey, dates and roast potatoes.

Father Christmas been
But not forgetting us
Among piles of shiny wrappers,
Twinkling as they fell
As the stars in the garden.
And frost crusted grass,
The icy spangles
Which greet your feet on the morning pavement,
Inside your woollen socks and welly boots.
As mother scrapes the iron grate
And puts the kettle on for tea.

Scrape the grate
And light the fire,
Among the embers from the day before,
To go back;
To close your eyes
And awake, a child.

Ladies breasts beneath their swimming wear
In mothersmagazines,
Or they smile and skip in tights and shoes
Like pretty aunties,
All made up,
Round for cup of tea.
Or stand in awe
At the clear night sky,
Men in rockets upon the moon.
Clink our heavy glasses
With fizzy drinks.
Cheers, we drink up through a straw.

7. (Adolescent)

Happy birthday
How you've grown,
Only yesterday,standing in your starter bra
Singing Ave Maria. My Gawd you should've seen her
Nice and clean and sweet and white,
You naughty girl.
Now up all hoours of the day and night
Singing rock and roll,
All lusty busty
In skin tight leather trousers.
Happy Birthday.
Grow up faster,
They don't know the half of it
Naughty girl.
In my day,
At your age,
In bed by six-thirty
Our nappies pulled up tight,
And glad of it.
Happy birthday.

8. (Young Man)

The tongue broke through lips,
Moistening as it passed;
Pulsating, quivering,
They tease and tempt like red buds.

Pink flesh swallowing,
Without pause the greased insertion;
Puckered increasingly mauve ring,
Like a bruise rising up.

Collapsing around
As into a close fitting neck
That feeds
Stretched apart by four hands.

Like lead.
Self lubricating, slipped between,
To spurt poison upon a face.
Etched outlines curling
And leave forever;
Dirty, stinking, sick unatural dying.

Yes his serenading worked only too well. Leading him ever closer to the depths of dismay.They were gagging for it as he would say. Women pulled at their clothes, tore away the uplift bras freeing their gorgeous breasts. Clawed at their stockings, ripped their black thong panties before gaping their cute peachy bottoms to him.

Soon he felt himself slipping deeper and deeper into the twilight world of illicit abnormal sex.The floppy thing he kept in the box moaned and whined, flung itself against the walls until its head resembled an enormous purple squashed tomato. Tottering on spindle crippled legs.

Knock-kneed. Like a stamped on snail it oozed snotty matter.Its gelatinous pop-eyes pleading to be released from its pain.Soon the oyster of love became the cockle of lust as female genitalia upon female genitalia pumped and sucked flexing their muscles keeping a firm hold.It was like being stuck up a whelk as they vacuumed his organ.

9.

Wriggling worms that feel all squirmy
Like her big breasts shaking
Mascara lashes surround
Her sparkling eyes.
Black seamed stockings lead down from belly buttons
To high black heeled shoes
That click clack
Over the smell of the sea.
Or a muddy eel pulled from the river
From a small boat.
And a black olive in my icey glass
With long mascara lashes
Hard nipples above their quarter cup bras.
Laughter and chinking glasses
Then red wine with hot beef
And a pudding for afters.

10. (Man)

Red berries,
A glass of wine, a piece of pork
And a kiss.

A squashed tomato
Recalls sperm flopped on to a waiting tongue;
Red and raw.

An eel
Gutted during dry Martinis,
Enjoyed with chilled white wine.
And twinkling eyes of women in erotic clothing.

To see what God sees;
Not explode nor metamorphosed;
A compost heap
With wriggling worms
That feel all squirmy.
Like long black lashes around moist blue eyes,
And rib cage heaves
Pink nipples against her dress.

11. (Memories)

Once,
In lust
I schemed.
My finger damp, around, behind, inside her knickers.
Why?
When despite ourselves we were loved,
Yet, drawn together in lust
Will find something missing
That fills our souls.

Together,alone,
I cup your breasts.
We fill our mouths
Pathetic, in hope, empty
As a child before our birthday party.

In a garden with plants for next summer,
Deep within my compost heap
Wriggling worms that feel all squirmy,
Like your breasts shaking.
She sweeps up the yellow leaves.

Treasures collected through a life;
Beneath an anonymously smiling portrait,
Dog eared clippings and trinkets.
Things need constant upkeep at least
But it's hopeless.
We move to death.

Now grandmother sits with hips dissolving,
While criminals and immigrants,
And mothers round for cups of tea.
A life to pass on.
The car, hat, fine tailored suit,

An emblem, like an enamelled badge
That represents him to the world.
You said "You mustn't. No, don't.
We really shouldn't.
No don't you mustn't"
But we do what we want and think we need persuading.

12.

Proud we were and built our house
And sat on our settee,
Where we have our tea
On a Sunday night
And friends come round to play.

America was better
If I was there
A little boy
Girls wore bikinis all the time.

What happened to our house built in eighteen sixty eighty eight
Patel comes, borrows cups of sugar;
"Oh Blimey Blimey pretty lady."
When Dad built crackers;
Burst open, presents galore.
Birthday parties,
Pass the parcel
And musical chairs;
"I've won, I've won,"
We danced all jiggidy-jig.

But now to reach through glum faces
Of dull mothers in Marks and Spencer clothing,
Brings me to
Bobby Moore and Martin Peters,
Geoff Hurst, when we got a telephone
In the cold and wet
Of an English day.
They worked for better for me
At Christmas,
Bright bold plastics,
A toast with lemonade.

But now slides over me a nasty smelly jelly,
They'll bash me over the head
to make me stoop and whine
Like them. Where all we have is not enough,
They'll take what's mine.
You make me sick with your new fancy certain rights and wrongs

Our duty is to look and record, root around in her bedroom drawers,not turn away in disgust at the skimpy underwear, dildoes, harnesses, clamps, carrots and contraceptives. But dig deeper into the past; discover the huge parsnip beneath the leafy top. As we tumble back through time and misery we land with a plop in a sin filled city street.

13.

Oily drips
The skin of each stretched around
Away from the nipples
Which sparkled
Two red hot metal bearings pushed into
A milky froth.

She looks up from
The eel
Gutted during dry Martinis,
Long lashes flicker around
Her eyes
In erotic black lingerie
Black seamed stockings
And high heeled shoes.
Like stamping on a beefsteak tomato;
Claret spattered all over the walls of her womb,
You ever been in a car crash?

Red and raw her sparkling eyes
A muddy eel pulled from the river
Gutted during dry Martinis.
I'll pop the oily black olive in my mouth.

She moaned with pleasure and he knew he was lost. "Mum, mum."Now his eyes stayed glued to that handsome milky white, body of hers as she climbed up out of the pit of what she called love, , went to dresser and got something out of the drawer She turned holding it out to him. He looked at it, revulsion growing in him like a big crop of potatoes

14.

A cough, a sneeze
In a never ending retch. Ah-tchoo!
Stamping our feet against the cold.
Claret splattered
Like a car crash,
Runs down her legs
Flops on to the bed. Whiz! bang! pop!
It's a boy!!!

Warm inside my coat and scarf
With a woolly hat, [My breath, a fog around my head]
Reminds me of my compost heap.
I'd better blow my nose.
With snow outside
I'll have another sausage roll,
And a mince pie,
Cheers.

Let us now return to the beginning of this relentless tale, a tale that will linger with you as does the carefree smell of your loved one after a romantic dinner, like the sweet, honeyed perfume of banana, or the fresh protruding zing of cucumber and yes, as a constant reminder of our fate should we succumb to lust's desire, the putrid essence of bad eggs.

15. (Now)

But no. Grow up, emerge
With bold plastics, batteries and neclear power
Not pampered,
Only bold
In cars like giant Tonka toys;
A child,
Smeared with lipstick
And mascarra.
Not pampered,
Only bold
In cars like giant Tonka toys;
A child,
Smeared with lipstick
And mascarra.
Lazy,
Cultured and informed
Before the telly
By endless repeats.
Oh I'm new. I'm fast.
I'm bloody unique.
I'm truly avant-garde.
But give you something different,
Something special,
Something elite,
And, No, No. That's not what I want at all.

I cant manage anymore darling, thats all three holes pluged. What more do you want from me? MORE! MORE!

16. (Death/Start Again)

A silly name Phoebe.
A small, silly, woman
Sewing her fingers together
With thread.
Intense,
She licked the thread,
Held the needle to the light,
Pushed it through,
One finger then another,
Pulling the previous tight.
Silly, not stupid;
A pretend needle and thread.
Nutty, potty, happy and fun.
Old, always old, but never older,

Me, bright faced in awe. Small.
I looked
At her daughter
Always young, blonde,
A little wild, or (so it seemed),
Happy and fun
My sexy auntie.

She's been ill
And now she's dead,
Phoebe, She looks up
I imagine her saying,
Smiling and winking,
"Flowers, a glass of wine and a kiss were meant for the living."

17. (Free Gift)

Yes you just have a handicap baby,
You just need re-packaging.
You're so skinny,
Great dancer too,
Like a stick of macaroni.
String bean.
You limp and writhe
A lewd surprise,
Shake those hips baby.
Hip hip
Hooray.
I certainly never expected
But you've still got a handicap baby.
You just need re-packaging.
Dress is cute,
Shoes are nice,
The stockings make him shoot,
But baby you're so thin.
Eat a sandwich.
Make-up would be fine too;
Red and blue.
You see,
You just need re-packaging,
Got a handicap baby,
But we'll make a woman of you.
Hip hip
Hooray
Go. Go.
Like a stick of macaroni.
Go. Go.
Like a string bean.
Go. Go.
Eat a sandwich
All the way down.
Down, down, down.

The mirrored ball, twirling from the ceiling, lights lots of jiggery pokery, flittering and twittering. Song moves into smooch part. Stage goes dark except for spotlight on the man who moves towards gorgeous woman. He is smitten. Man and woman dancing together but do not touch at first. We hear them talking, flirting, persuading. They embrace.

Flid kid just give him a chance,
Flid kid he loves to dance.
Look out he's got a crush on you,
He's a spazmo too.
Go flid go.
Spina-biff jerk,
Spina-biff spaz,
Spina-biff jump,
Spina-biff shake,
Do whatever a flid can;
We'll laugh at him.
Eat that sandwich down,
Gulp, gulp all the way down.
You just need re-packaging
And
We'll
Make
A woman of you
With great tits too.

"Oh don't be harsh with the little chap. He was little chap. He was only trying to pleasure us."