A W Kindness
THE HENDRIX TOMB
i.m. Jimi Hendrix 27/11/1942- 18/9/1970
the ultimate essential smash 180 grams
read all about it's sickening a scandal
« Wild man of Pop chokes to death in dope stupor »
who open their mouths to speak
invisible hand's plastic bones pointing
but end up consuming
(freak flags phrased in mirroring mimes
fed back half mast in pastiche postures
some vacuum to devour)
fashioned for match made three-minute formula
boy meets girl meets ready made rhymes
salivating buzz at the corner of the ear
gold rush for entrepreneurs
assets defoliated
cash flows diverted
indigenous nations relocated
between misplaced stars
a severed product
strictly for collectors of catalogue numbers
coded in bars to trap the cells
stratocaster shareholders wag their tails
drink up and go home
Woodstock world the finale
burnt the anthem but not the flag
Isle of Wight still ringing in their ear
what remix for future incarnations
who can smell the world burning
want to experience everything
a world tour is not a walk round the block
if wind could cry
strings can signify with extended panoply
of the electric territory
pick-up machine heads pedals stacks
and their attitude an element in itself
guitar attacks speaker
distortion language releases spontaneous rules
soundtrack for a full feature
of alternative consciousness
to ripen vibrations on the snare of the eardrum
along the semi-circular canal
soar over synapses
bodies ripple in unison synergy
in each head a different screenplay
his axe held as a weapon of peace
suborned to cathartic machine gun tuning
out to destroy the mass destroyers
stand up chop it down
his true voice was so strung and wired
he could hardly leave it alone long enough
to pin down voodoo dolls
made in his own image
the sacrifice the making holy
« what you love is what you sacrifice »
by terminating its cohesive wholeness
a medium of mass entrancement
petrol echo jagged funeral rape light
smell of burning guitar
not so much the creatures of time
he brought to a standstill
as time itself
for me to die
own flag to live thru
be right back one of these
thru dazzling darkness of broken glass
evil eye narcissistic
in a world full of mirrors right-handed guitarist silent
who would want to be a feature in a face
of every home aspiring
to have a Jimi of its own
cast off from Little Richard's outfit
suspected of attempts at upstaging
with sparkling shirt big hair
the Stones' Mr.Jimi couldn't always get what he wanted
to Panthers an Uncle Tom on white-ass drugs
the headband the kaftan the afro-halo
trappings of a state of soul that could not be trapped
the Fender the wah-wah the fuzz box the univibe
the fake book so many gestures of air
entertaining cloned fancies of guitar godliness
as two-dimensionsal as surviving images
the « Jimi-in-the-box » of managerial monitors
the kind who believe that « time means music »
is a Sunday sensation for weekend hippies
the minute and a half of « Easy rider »
when If six was nine becomes the soundtrack
for shopping suburbs seething with flags
thru to rural ghettoes of shack life
a chopper ride to nowhere and beyond
if there's an icon of him nailed to his guitar
headband sprouting armoured vegetation
I haven't seen it
how much experience can
or have you ever been
show must go on and on
his curiosity without end
energized in all directions
driven to the final throwaway burn-out
by the hope that any vision he uttered
would not be found lying idle as a spectacle
another TV dinner to digest
and flush away the day after
another lethal zoo exhibit
consigned to the contagion of instant oblivion
meet you on the next one
come back to find
unrecognizable climates of fried earth
a generation
(in parenthesis
(between drab
(a rainbow-coloured lightning flash)
and drab))
and don't be late
is this the end of time
or just tomorrow
i.m. Jimi Hendrix 27/11/1942- 18/9/1970
the ultimate essential smash 180 grams
read all about it's sickening a scandal
« Wild man of Pop chokes to death in dope stupor »
who open their mouths to speak
invisible hand's plastic bones pointing
but end up consuming
(freak flags phrased in mirroring mimes
fed back half mast in pastiche postures
some vacuum to devour)
fashioned for match made three-minute formula
boy meets girl meets ready made rhymes
salivating buzz at the corner of the ear
gold rush for entrepreneurs
assets defoliated
cash flows diverted
indigenous nations relocated
between misplaced stars
a severed product
strictly for collectors of catalogue numbers
coded in bars to trap the cells
stratocaster shareholders wag their tails
drink up and go home
Woodstock world the finale
burnt the anthem but not the flag
Isle of Wight still ringing in their ear
what remix for future incarnations
who can smell the world burning
want to experience everything
a world tour is not a walk round the block
if wind could cry
strings can signify with extended panoply
of the electric territory
pick-up machine heads pedals stacks
and their attitude an element in itself
guitar attacks speaker
distortion language releases spontaneous rules
soundtrack for a full feature
of alternative consciousness
to ripen vibrations on the snare of the eardrum
along the semi-circular canal
soar over synapses
bodies ripple in unison synergy
in each head a different screenplay
his axe held as a weapon of peace
suborned to cathartic machine gun tuning
out to destroy the mass destroyers
stand up chop it down
his true voice was so strung and wired
he could hardly leave it alone long enough
to pin down voodoo dolls
made in his own image
the sacrifice the making holy
« what you love is what you sacrifice »
by terminating its cohesive wholeness
a medium of mass entrancement
petrol echo jagged funeral rape light
smell of burning guitar
not so much the creatures of time
he brought to a standstill
as time itself
for me to die
own flag to live thru
be right back one of these
thru dazzling darkness of broken glass
evil eye narcissistic
in a world full of mirrors right-handed guitarist silent
who would want to be a feature in a face
of every home aspiring
to have a Jimi of its own
cast off from Little Richard's outfit
suspected of attempts at upstaging
with sparkling shirt big hair
the Stones' Mr.Jimi couldn't always get what he wanted
to Panthers an Uncle Tom on white-ass drugs
the headband the kaftan the afro-halo
trappings of a state of soul that could not be trapped
the Fender the wah-wah the fuzz box the univibe
the fake book so many gestures of air
entertaining cloned fancies of guitar godliness
as two-dimensionsal as surviving images
the « Jimi-in-the-box » of managerial monitors
the kind who believe that « time means music »
is a Sunday sensation for weekend hippies
the minute and a half of « Easy rider »
when If six was nine becomes the soundtrack
for shopping suburbs seething with flags
thru to rural ghettoes of shack life
a chopper ride to nowhere and beyond
if there's an icon of him nailed to his guitar
headband sprouting armoured vegetation
I haven't seen it
how much experience can
or have you ever been
show must go on and on
his curiosity without end
energized in all directions
driven to the final throwaway burn-out
by the hope that any vision he uttered
would not be found lying idle as a spectacle
another TV dinner to digest
and flush away the day after
another lethal zoo exhibit
consigned to the contagion of instant oblivion
meet you on the next one
come back to find
unrecognizable climates of fried earth
a generation
(in parenthesis
(between drab
(a rainbow-coloured lightning flash)
and drab))
and don't be late
is this the end of time
or just tomorrow
© Copyright AW Kindness 2020
Born in Aberdeenshire, now based in London, Alex Kindness has made a career of not having a career. He has taught English to French adults, Russian in London evening classes, worked with asylum seekers, played “jazz” saxophone, was a pen-pusher with the NHS, and finally managed to retire. He published towards the end of last of last century in a number of mags, including And, Angel Exhaust, Fire, Memes, Object permanence, and Ramraid Extraordinaire and a few low-budget pamphlets. He helped run the Vertical images/VI series of readings/workshops