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Below are 20 journal entries, after skipping by the 20 most recent ones recorded in Roz Kaveney's LiveJournal:

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Friday, June 12th, 2015
11:14 pm
Didn't get a chance to post this yesterday

The Prince of Darkness was a gentleman.
Well-read and suave and handsome as a lord
Who kills with charm shapes poems with a sword
Never did harm but played. Best actors can

People the worlds that haunt collective mind
As dreams and nightmares authors leave as cloud
Of wisps and hints. We see clear. Shriek aloud
What's now embodied. Also, he was kind

By all accounts. He worked hard at his craft.
In pain made no concession to old age
His last best home blue screen set sounding stage
Getting applause. He'd think our weeping daft.

Though weakness age and death all took their toll
He only leaves us as the credits roll.
Friday, May 29th, 2015
3:01 pm
My poem for Neil and Amanda's issue of the New Statesman

I knew when I was four. Girls were my team.
Boys were the other side. Not as distress.
Something I knew. Not yearning for the dress
my best friend wore at parties. In a dream

we danced and flew. Flesh silk in every twirl
Feet stars. And no one followed, no one led.
For many years they told me she was dead.
She found me when she looked for me as girl.

Mourning was lead. But these things were all true.
Things I knew not to say. Silence my friend
I feared that they would catch me in the end
Nailed to unchanging skin. Be just like you.

Which I was not. Nor am. I represent
this chosen model of embodiment.
Mingle my elements alchemic gold
Quicksilver flows even when sick or old.

Some things I choose. And some things are my fate.
Stories a web of both. Spun spider time.
Sparkle by chance, by choice smear waste dust grime.
Early I knew, transitioned slightly late.

And paid the ferrygirl my toll in full
the blessing of pus blood months weak in pain
if free would chose it over all again.
We all have weight to shoulder or to pull.

Perhaps you'll hear me if I say it clear.
You live a body set and formed and grown
I change my flesh and mind and not alone.
We come among you dancing, year by year.
Tuesday, May 26th, 2015
11:12 pm
World Fantasy Award
31st May is the closing date for nominations for the World Fantasy Award, If you are attending Saratoga Springs or were at Washington or Brighton, you are entitled to nominate.

The more people nominate, the less chance there is of shenanigans. Just saying.

Also, if you feel like giving one of those nominations to RESURRECTIONS Book Three of Rhapsody of Blood, well, I won't win, but if people notice the book they are more likely to read it.
2:40 pm
Sad news

Eyes blue as lapis, bright as chrysophase.
Its flame-red feathers flicker as if flame
bird keens high-flying, straining to proclaim.
Mourning of course, but also passion praise.

Black satin pillows for the Lord of Night
that do not show the bloodstain of his tears.
Who brooks no rule. This news a whiplash sears.
if pain submission brought her back he might.

And now his tale is done. And hers as well.
So many books, dark, wry and with a twist
Start to reread, go organize a list
The titles blur. Her words like petals fell

or snow. Made new and strange what lies below
transforming every story that we know
Friday, May 15th, 2015
11:18 pm
This is the big poem I didn't feel like posting until after the election
for CB

Dead buggered boy breath even if not true
a rumour's potent threat, gossip goes round
ties wrists. There is no air beneath the ground
where buried bodies lie. To me and you
word comes as fear. What might they do to us?
Restraint unknown. Broken ungiven word
story of death that may not have occurred.
Tale forged forgotten without noise or fuss,
each sin a chain of air that slowly binds
like wicked brothers tied by deed and blood.
They did the bad thing that they might do good
scent of sweet rot infuses changes minds.
Whispered betrayal poisons with a hiss
constricts our acts in numb paralysis

Libation blood soaks ground. Rare precious dirt
its clot crumbs speak to wrap the world in noise.
Red drip spoil mark stain rich neck's diamond poise.
Mock her – your speaking shares you in the hurt
done to the woman with the severed hand.
Talk to your friend with crystals that you stole
out of her earth. And back then she was whole.
Man came with knife. It was just as he planned.
Deplore their wars. And think your pale skin white
Not innocence, but ash or leprosy
Do it to Julia and not to me.
Death tick we hear in watches of the night
that stump drip. And we lie to get some sleep.
We did not do it. Blood earth mud we weep.

From the sky, falling, screaming. Dying. Fire
that day. And ever since, blood-soaked excuse
almost illegible. No win, all lose
stakes of revenge chips piling ever higher.
Eyes watching, everywhere is on a screen
real turned to game. And he checks in each day
presses a button when he's told to play
no talk or dream of fire that he's seen
He aimed. Fire fell. And so that one man dies
name on a list, it flies small vicious bird
bears fire. Might not be there, we only heard.
A wedding or a village or a child fries.
Fire is our fear and guilt, our fate, our shame.
We live from fire. Fire kills in our shared name.

We walked on cod shoals, but we ate them all.
The rains don't come and then the rice crop fails.
One voice another stilled, the song of whales.
Embankments crumble, profit towers fall
Gold church where money's Holiest of Writ
And dying with no toys the only sin
Tantalus thirst, it rises to our chin.
Undrinkable from oil, gas, soot and shit.
Lungs full we drown although our throat is dry
Black water's dead; it has nor leaves no air
Even the styx is dry. We need no fare
Bright burning bluer than your eye last sky
At dessicating lies we choose to wink
Crucible chars our throats melts gold to drink

What look like dunes are piled white dust of bones
what glints is buttons, fillings from our teeth,
the bullets used to kill us, and beneath
the rotting plastic of our mobile phones.
Elsewhere of course, just white. It looks like snow
for they had nothing. And now lost their lives.
One coughs, eight billion die, noone survives
for long. And through our roads wild flowers grow.
Silence at last. Before, a rushing crowd
running and dying. Trample and fall down
and trampled. Come to rivers, run in, drown,
last song, last poem. Is our screams. Are loud.
Deafen through steel walls the last rich man,
scraping last caviar from his last can.
Monday, May 11th, 2015
12:28 am
Sort of VE Day, sort of post election...

Stone brass that lasts, not blood or ash or bone
The rain corrodes but not for many years.
It's not the thing for which we shed our tears.
The shot, the burned. It stands there on its own
holding a place, reminder of the dead
and what they fought for. But it's not their grave.
They are elsewhere. Died old; died young; died brave
storming a hill, a trench; or died in bed
did not outlive their wounds. Grew old. Reward
little enough. Rebuked for wanting more -
Only from fear will rich men thank the poor-
They die alone, in pain, in filth, ignored.
Neglect, not paint on stone, will desecrate
them, what they built. Fight now, soon is too late.
Friday, May 8th, 2015
3:24 pm
Tuesday, May 5th, 2015
11:00 pm
Just one tonight

Loving as brothers, as is only meet.

one loves a boy twin, other loves the girl.

Verona's small-town smart set in a whirl!

Caelius and Quintus – they are both quite sweet.

But if I had to choose, I won't be coy.

Love scorched me, turned the marrow in each bone

to wildfire. He was there. Caelius alone.

I hope he's lucky. Hope he gets his boy.

12:40 am
No, one more and that's the 90s out of the way

You snitch and stink. Your pompous lying tongue

rots in your mouth. Find better use for it

There's many arseholes you could cleanse of shit

or lick a peasant's sandal free from dung.

Is hate the one idea left in your head?

Just yawn – the stench will leave us all for dead.

12:02 am
The last for tonight

Perhaps salt tears taste sweet among the dead,

grief sounds soft music in their silent land -

So long since we were friends – I'll hold your hand.

Share mourning, yearning. Loves the years have shed

like leaves. She died so young, from Fate's harsh blow

Weep, and you bring her joy. Mourn her – she'll know.

Monday, May 4th, 2015
11:26 pm
Is this Cinna the poet that gets killed in Shakespeare?

Nine years, dear Cinna, and it's worth the wait.

Your tenants brought rich harvests in nine times.

Nine winters froze. Yet 'Smyrna' isn't late...

Hortensius wrote fifty thousand rhymes

in those nine years. In far off years and climes

they'll read you. While his work will dissipate

forgotten; all those pages used to wrap

cat litter, fish and chips. It's all such crap.

10:51 pm
On a roll with these

Big Dick fucks. Fucks a lot. It's not a shock.

His name has made him into one vast cock.

Each spice you cook gives flavour to your wok.

10:35 pm
Oh, and one for election week

You're no one up to whom I care to suck.

Caesar – good man or bad? Don't give a fuck.

10:29 pm
I've let this go for a week or so

Lesbia can't shut up. I am so vile,

she says. I guess that means she loves me still.

And so I go on living. All this while

I love her and aloud I wish her ill.

That's how it works, will work until our death.

We love, but curse each other with each breath.

Friday, April 24th, 2015
9:34 pm
And this one is sort of the punchline for these incest poems

I really was an idiot to trust

someone I know to be obsessed with sin

around my love. I thought, she's not his kin

and so she's not a target for his lust.

I'm mad for love of her, that's my excuse.

So mad I somehow thought that she'd be safe

forgot he's one whom all restrictions chafe

thought he was bound by friendship who's so loose

Normal considerations don't apply.

I burn for her with such intense desire

my common sense consumed in raging fire

He reassured me, did not even lie.

'I love her like a sister'. Should have known

that meant she's on his list of girls to bone.

5:35 pm
Even more incest

They're always at it, Gellius and his mum.

So let some magus from their fucking come,

redeem their sin. It's awful if it's true

but that is what they say the Persians do

to make the priests who hymn the sacred flame.

And get away with incest with no shame.

Their child will sacrifice to Jove each day

gut fat that like their guilt just melts away.

Thursday, April 23rd, 2015
11:08 pm
This seems to be an incest cycle

He's so much slighter than you'd ever guess.

Why not? His mum's the apple of his eye

Such healthy lives – she never bakes a pie

Too fattening. His sister's more or less

a health freak too. The uncle's really fit.

Works out a lot, though never at the gym,

and mostly it's the weight that presses him.

So nice to see a family closely knit.

Third cousins, nieces, the adopted brat

grandma acquired while on a trip to France

Half-naked nephews wrestling half-dressed aunts

This fitness kick is rather more than that.

Incest's the vice that really keeps them thin.

They've lost the taste for anything but sin.

10:32 pm
Oh Gaius, Gaius

He thrusts astride them, dinner through to dawn

mother and sisters, and he makes them lick

his large excessively incestuous dick,

their clothes ripped off and all the bedsheets torn.

Of course it's not just after them he pants.

He pulled his uncle from a bridal bed

He slapped him silly and then gave him head,

fucked second cousins and three maiden aunts.

There's no forgiveness he could ever get.

Not Oceanus the ruler of seas all

nor Tethys with her world-edge water fall

could wash him clean or even make him wet.

He's practising a swivel of the hips

to get a blow job from his own sweet lips.

Wednesday, April 22nd, 2015
11:27 pm
I've been trying to get this one for days

Aufillena, the best thing for a wife

is - love her husband truly all her life.

Or maybe simply put herself about

for some have morals, some make do without.

To fuck your uncle – low as you can go!

Your son's the only cousin that you know.

11:07 pm
Tonight's instalment

How can I curse my love, the one I prize

above all else, dearer than my own eyes?

One harsh vile word ? one syllable thereof?

I can't; I am so deeply lost in love.

But you'll say what you want to put her down

snarl like a monster, giggle like a clown.

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