here it is

THE NEW POUR

into The Bucket Of Unused Ideas

...

33 spanking new pieces

added to the 766

so its now 799

ideas poems stories jokes

fragments verses choruses ditties oneliners jingles

online

at pure random

...

performance poetry

...

artform

where

the

paint

always

wet

...

…

...

while me?

a performance poet?

for almost thirty years

i never went anywhere near the poetry publishing world

despite offers

i was wholly and utterly PERFORMANCE

lost into the fabulous new possibilities of a medium

where so much seemed undone

and where i saw many many great acts do amazing things

...

Embodied Poetics

text voice face

breath body space

...

yet i was always writing

generating lines and ideas

most of which could never be used on a stage

and this huge array built and built

and built

for decades

until...

i had to do something with it

...

yet a book was out

ordinary was out

and i’d always been fascinated by the random collision of ideas

chiefly to be found in rock’n’roll’n’rap

the concatenations

plotless, narrative-less, ideas

ideas stripped of everything but themself
pure

...

a huge number

of disconnected

digital pieces

coming at the reader

at total random

seemed a doable way

to achieve this

...

and here we are

and here it is

...

if artists are outsiders

and poets are the outsiders among artists

and performance poetry the outsider of poetry

then i’m not sure quite how I ended up

on the outside of the outside of the outside

of the outside

...

but i did

...

the nature of the bucket

a huge number of pieces

wholly randomised

means that, of course

no-one can be sure they’ve read them all

what was 766

and is now 799

...

so when we add more pieces

the Dear Reader cannot know if a piece is new

or if it has been a possible all along

and they simply have not encountered it

...

yet this, Dear Folks

is a the nature of the Beast

the Thing

the never-done-ever

the Bucket

...

and here it is

all my eggs in one bucket

a high high heap of powder my

anti-publishing dogma

has scrupulously

kept dry for decades

my one and only shot

a very loaded cannon

The Bucket

...

accessed

behind the paywall

here on Substack

at The Bucket Of Unused Ideas

...

from my window

...

…

IN OTHER NEWS

...

here i am, in Mulbekh

west of the Fotu La pass

on the Leh-Kargil highway

...

an extremely friendly place

...

famous for a Buddhist Monastery

on the hill above

...

and a thirty foot rock-cut relief of Buddha

the Maitreya Buddha

8th Century

carved into a huge rock

in the Gompa

just over the road from my simple room

[see photo]

...

the Maitreya Buddha is a Buddha to come

which is an unusual concept

...

a Buddha

a King of Love

who will arrive

when the teachings of the original Gautama Buddha are

forgotten

neglected

...

while

some of the Buddhist music

playing for hours and hours

sounds VERY like a low and gentle Christian choir

...

then twenty oldish women

in heavy ankle-length skirts

with head-scarves or woolly hats

and braided hair hanging down their back

all crowdedly circle the prayer-wheel

then enter the tiny temple space

as the music turns into a sermon reminiscent of

a very drunk drunk

getting hold of a microphone in a pub

and bravely but failingly

attempting to sing an old Irish or English folk song

...

in other news

...

a novel so full of cunning,

so brimming with sly sneaky,

that as i lay on the settee,

laughing and turning the pages,

my knives sharpened themselves in the draw

…

The Bucket of Unused Ideas

TO BE A POET CAN ONLY EVER BE AN ASPIRATION