Criptic Critic Conscience and Known for it

Wednesday, June 30, 2010

Josef Koudelka

Leaving the Academy, I suppose I went.

I need some strong spells,
so completely distracted from duty
some tin foil wrapped around a corsage found winters later
Why wouldn't you try not working?
Whose brave enough?
We have enough cream
seeing everything the same.

This days weed tastes of cinnamon
and a forest after the rain,
I've taken to the out doors, cover
discarded for the thrill of the open sun.
the surf is juicy and the surfers are dumb.
My knee is still sore
and it may never heal
Child hood hero's go out , proud
As they always were

The Architecture of her bra lifts
thick folds of fat from her belly
to enclose fields like poppies
puppies sitting up begging to
be plucked like a marshmellow
into thy mouth as if it were
a stomach. the body snaps
has at half
a whole mouth.
Takes it in
a pellet at a time and yet my
scorn tells me that I'm in need of
feeding of feeling fed from it.
To love a breast is to crave
the softness from the sail, the billow
under a frozen sea where
homelessness could be lost for a second
and the heart beats out of control.

This is a scene from Big
Wednesday, it is wednesday - I
sit at the newly installed park
benches over the break, where
a lone surfer a waits in suit
a skater older than me chats
with a dork, He's legit a good skater,
but runs a skate shop. Other heroes
turn up in real suits and sun glasses,
Must be in real estate advertising
must be cause of the accent (wanker)
He's come with a slacker busy body,
a stunt doubles stand in and man
I'm pissed. But i remember I'm the
Bear from the beach house, i'm the
spirit of '62', I'm the notion of freedom,
freedom from being untrue, I look
like a dork but i'm the least dorky
speaking to me will reveal this
to be tru. But you surfer are
a wanabe and you're scared of
me, cause i see you, getting it
wrong, and enjoy it.

The youth have hardly changed, in
case they look exactly like as i did
in Youth I was a cad.  My Anti-
fashion was fashion, minimalism pop - threads
black, grey brown I don't wear blue
jeans, them's for slaves, where as I
see they do well that's not changed.
I feel so radical now
in the sun, Aperture open
Eye my little camera i have
note pad to a threat
Public witness statistician.
The odds of anyone remotely thinking
bout the data status of the life
before me, renders relevance through
the rafters before God that is a
mouse that leaks...

Surfers are still the ones who dare
A public body Acting strangely,
a stretch, a lie down,
a scan of the seas horizon,
lining up the seas shore
fat thrills and folly. Oh I'm sure
of that.
Only who'd want to look at
that body nearly naked now
either sports man or crew,
either he man or no man,
While wild man he got away.
wild mans body was his own, he
rate more that any woman. he'd
stand in silence buzz love a song so
heard by creation, god knelt. to
The tune maker, a life

Mobiles are clouds
do fractals, anti-kaleidoscopes 

A surfer learns a lot by watching others,
and deconstructing pictures, we think we are
our heros the gods of athletes

People grow more beautiful the more their
lives have been under threat.
A beautiful baby quick to pale, not so nice
life twice,
Writing this poem I'm astonished at how
powerful I am, crush and virtue go
hand with hand. I keep the poor
for they are like me.

I approve of what I like
I make a point of littering anywhere I go,
why deprive myself of a living
I didn't pay for this, how could I
I'm a bum,

I looked at her
for a moment  she you could see was happy,
a cracked sunshine refracted intensely around
a bunch of mirror shards, against a wall
of warm laughter, I was stunned,
her noticing me face says 'remember
your not sexy' and she is, On a hill
I sit and my beacon Red hat has her lost
to my affection, support famous love.

Which means give me anything or nothing
to distract me from this life
so I can
On the library steps, I record
thought already had on the boardwalk
where across from Icons the cities pub
past the real living invisibles getting smashed
under the bridge, I take note, of
the given harmony. the war perhaps has
given slip. Slipped over under
Until online can you hear it
the war has gone under
into the online underground, My cultured
response to day light is art my night time
culture in gang banging, I'm the key and
her hole, king and her horde,
Play self at the center market
On life duality
A wee wand waved pertuity
by subject youth in full blown costume.

But here comes the fashionable ones, who pull through
the shards of time to patch quilt a sketch
of rebellion the thinking crew of skepticism
It's here It's there it's everywhere
for a moment with the young at heart.

The word I'm looking for is "Pertuitity"
I ask of all people a security guard who directs
me to the desk to just my luck the Head
Matriarch sits perfectly helpful "where would
I find the Dictionaries, - 400's I think,
Section D, Yes that's it under languages - Yes of
course! How silly of me, the Oxford first
then the Collins street slate tombs,
Remember searching for a word,
you go by smell in a forest
For the river, sounds like, feels like,
looks like, there are other words,
that interest, the word the way I think
it is not there,
I just hear it call to me
like a person despite everything wouldn't mind a little
She pulls down the cleavage of her t shirt
a little apparently to adjust her bra,
she's 16 - maybe, I look I have to,
I look up at the word pipe, as she
waits for me to interject, computer put away,
I notice a hidden streak of pink behind
her ear as she gazes over my left
shoulder. Facing me the next desk over
I go to check my phone. anything to help
bring a conclusion to this scene.
I pull out my camera, and try to hide
it she notices - I put it down behind the tombs
and pick up my phone,
flustered it may be a camera, she
leaves walking towards me. I'm on the
toilet aisle, perhaps a connection.

I don't want to sell to arsholes,
but perhaps once I've sold to loved ones,
Arseholes would be a lot of fun.
Arts always reveled in the Baseness of
Market values I don't see why I am
any different, I seek to sell this, this
depravity, or rather its been bought, By
you dear public - the thought of it must
shudder - you too could be unemployed,
a vacant space upon the grid accumulating credit
till time says lets drop - and the purse of
bowls tingaling, our sound

Turning of pages its new surface
regenerated to an indifferent smoothness
polished by hate by an unhappy machine too
richly run. Maybe its petuitity

I Asked, not knowing how to smell it
I could not know where to look
and she looked into me, like a peek
that goes on for a lot longer
I wallow in her grey eyes searching out
the whites and find none but there
lies a marble of fertile ground layers
of no turning back and for a moment
her alcoholism touches swords in honor with
my stonedness, Per petuity we both have
trouble saying it, but that's it that's the
word. A thing that lasts forever or
for an indefinite period, in particular
a bond or other security with no fixed maturity date.

The rites of All present All season,
We've never topped the bicycle, as
we drown now in car bonnet done up
against a tide too impossibly big not to
drown, what cast a glance against Anything
in your vicinity, is better than
the bicycle for its scale and effect
for and both to the body, environment
and you know, I travel.
on a thin wheel my speed is

Sunday, June 20, 2010

Take that Gavin Hipkins

The World never
stops being beautiful
The Sublime,
by time,

Dual twin brothers,
lost to a wolfs Mother,
'Time gentlmen
It's time,
Last Drinks,'
First smoke, All the aboard
the train to civilization,
Where everyone takes
their time.

Kids in playground
has perpetual motion machine,
Using his weight he can
swing it in Gravity
Worlds longest swing
whose done the world longest swing.

you pushed against two particles
to stand between,
a heart pushing at the weight of the solar system
travels to light the bonfire
of death
warming life
like hot water
in winters spring

Wednesday, June 16, 2010

The Disertation, By cambell Walker

The man who split the back of nature had a sense of humour. from Tao  Wells on Vimeo.

Notes on a film by Cambell.
First off let me note that i drew adown a bit from my little bong, my litte mambia the cobra of singing nettles, lightbulb, other wise here, forth know as, little monster. Takig pipe in
hand my macbook, (given to me by my rich, glamourous, beautiful cousin who lives on the corner of West 21sit ad 82nd st.) I notice full screen, that the quality of the medium he is shooting on is pureposefully dense, bright and rich, colours are pure intense and focused, This is post super realism people this is high definition, stop to think subtle sinificance of that shift, - (I can't Right no think, cause I am speeding, to get to my fanale) here with Cambell you are visiting the frame, you are the camera, you breathe, but you are a camera, you watch.. past the point of humanity... and that is cambells point, the visitor steps through the frame with contemplation, and extended gaze, a delay, in glass... illuminated illumination,  high definition.. is another point  )...  perhaps implying information age.. i dunno. I'm out of clasps) - The opening shot is masterful, the Narrsissit, Icarus, whose bailed from his assignment, the one given to him By the GOds,, -(Always his parents, you?) And then the most extroordinary thing happened, he actually proposes and then does the Big Shave by martin Scorese, the epic undergroud piece of kudos in the underworld of the art A-G (Avant-garde). - where he shaves - like Cambell - But scorese cuts up his face - Cuts it up. The ultimate edit. And i sit there realing the Genius - he's going to make me get up and leave because of the homosexual intimacy of privacy that by medium be is invading - erasing this fronteer by creating it in his own image - the boudary maker, Cambell Walker, And here is the Best part - I get up and leave  - knowing perfectly
That he would keep going, would become the warhol of film ad Empire my arse for nine hours - I would leave But the film would be left still Running - I would want to be in his presence while I visited the kitchen to watch the birds, which have infested this particular garden with an abandonment of uch wild animal status that my constant source of distraction is their meriment and its display in the trees, - I come back from visiting Bird land to find Cambel cutting himself up - wrist cheek, neck, I am Repulsed

By his war paint - where is his blues?
Red Reds not the colour, Red's
not a colour, Blood is Black,
is what Reality looks like... oh.
Boy I took the Wefare train
of Reality to out hereness and
oh - you know what you get a
pretty lear view of the
fuckers who are the minority who
are pulling all the strings....

He washes his face again,
more moved on than whole
circle - maby it's the sho of the
platone window light, with
curtain thrown asunder,  Fading
Jingle theory of a perfect guitar
sendiment grinding off the emptyness
left by the intent intensity
of the ending......

Hey Cambell what do you think of that Review...

Saturday, June 12, 2010

I have to go to the supermarket instead of KFC (I want their coleslaw) to get something real has to be sustainable, cafes are too expesive and there's no culture..

I have found
that by asking the same or similar
questions on the nature of existence,
that are asked by the Record of humanities illuminated select,
and by sourcing my authority in the same or similar
substance of a privileged experience; (and this experience being
comprised of nothing less than the existence of the question appearing simulateously with the linear quality of my response) -
I have by default made myself at odds with the way the world predominantly works.

Day light War

In Count down, Whanganui, some artist has put yellow lights in, rains down on the store like somethings wrong. As I enter to that familiar tune and the swivel of the head particular to my prostration, like everyone in the store knows each other and for a moment it's like "Hey, I know you well". Happily down an aisle I ask Laura not to dance, Why, she asks, Be cause it will kill me, I say.. The pressure is intense and then I'm spat out the end, check out.   

 A sunset is a recall, a declaration
I wonder if I'll ever see you again

The girls hair thick like a broom looks padded with glue her pasty white flesh a dimple as her shy german accent flattens her fragrant kiwi bolstering and I have to run away -  when I recognize in this sound the trapped human inside the crabs shell, serving me.

The sunset, a hole in which to 
see through to the center pole 

Outside I witness the broken command grind through a previous civilization kudos for age - the elder watches me with uncomfort, the way trapped prey looking down at you with a shot gun against your temple looks. Facing a customer that doesn't question her customs delivers endless joy - the kind an artist, artisan, technicrat, fascist dictator has for order. Everything agreeing - I photograph her and I see the daylight war, before me.

Tuesday, June 8, 2010

My neighbours I know myst be freaks casue thet are playing a real hard ball game at appearing inconsequental. The insanity to maintain such an appearance is suffocating to say the least.

Advertising meats like any other week

(Advertising is a lot like conversation.
Selling a point of view
 In a way we all know it
IT sells itself
We call this..

Along come a jingle
A lyric with a rant
Of hypnotality

Youd have to sell it.

Time for a safety,
In the burrough

A story safely of
 Journey taken
 Amongst wrecks of open sea
Friends like these
Leave for Africa
To fight in the liberation army
They are idealists in Virrelos concept
Of concepst destroy flows.. all flows
All perception.

Art Aristocracy is
A battery
 The cells of black and white carbon
Dating the charred romains of thoguth
 Processes 2000 years  old
 The super cosmic deoartment store
 Ot the illusion of options.

The maufacture of surplus desings
In a area of before was relativ and nessessary
Almost exclusively even if some of those objects were generously tokens of magic or logis. Operating systems upon this world….

“She just through me a perfect look where she made the point of raising her eyebrow in a sardonic mater, authoraive but with graet humour and hi jinx, this accomplishment requires an audience finely attuned tot this type of performance, There is a opposite attracts aspect to each others attraction, One it happens, and it’s more thean flaesh post flesh beyond, behind, with out, inside, in love, lovi. “
“he’s like OH MY GOD”
“are you tying everything I say”
He is, he sitting right across from me typing…

“That sound great, “
you know that
that’s what…
that’s what bob Dylan did
when he was living in grench village, (MEAN TIME)
that sounds like a great idea
 Oh yea we don’t even have tha option which im  jealous
Tao really likes analying all kinds of stuff


“you discribe the story perfectly , about Jan and the television…

I think it’s 70 return
70 return , nah
that was way cheepr the Auckland
 and we paid more like 80

oh cool, leaving in Aril

oh yeah
 I haven’t relaxed yet I’ve been tense for a long time,
I’m starting to sound lliek a robot, oh it’s the line, I was dreaming  ok mybe I have to go cause the reception is cutttin gme out…
Aos good we’ve got a system, so he doesn’t have tot have to get fulltime emlymets
 Whera as in Taiwan it was like
Get a job now
 It was so stressful
We are so hapy to be back
 It was so stressful
 We took to long
 We should have come back earleies
R we werere too dedicated,  or something
Ay way thanks for calleing we should go
 Oh did you get my message that I left on your machine,
 Oh maybe ive been calling the wrong phone, oh yeah there was an answer maching
 Oh you don’t check your messages,
 Yeh it doesn’ tmater case you called,
It was  afunny message any way, I said hi I’lll call you tomorrow , but I didin’t I sent a email a month later, to my brother, who I also treated such, said e waited by te pone fr lef a day..

Ha ah
 I hope you werne not like that

 Ha aha

I don’t kow il’ve got to go to bed soon early
I’ve got to bake bread tomoorw
 We’ve been at this great plave where tao is making a documentary about it..

I see it as an issue around ownershp of land,


He incredible effort of not doing anything, well…
I’m gonn use  big part of my life reading
I want to take 3 or 4 months reading doystovsky,
Or read for years the shock doctine, and burroughs dreams…

Wednesday, June 2, 2010

I'm in love with my fan and my fan loves me.

I'm Insane, medley; Dinosaur Jnr, followed by Dinosaur Jnr followed by Sonic Youth, followed by notes on Virileo's "Art and Fear"

I know Yer Insane

Everyone see to came
I use such restraint
Whats left around me
is there to me
Cant waalk with you

THis is overdue
and it spills from you
COme on out
Feel the pictures

As they warn you
Bottom out, it's good for you
it can be real
Nothing like a picture of you

Canot follow you along
So you have a ways to grow
Cannot follow you alone
Dreams are not themselves
Dreamt with out living it

Its har do tell
when the day begins
Its the evil twin
let it out.

Wrap te beat
around you endlessly
all doubt
has been good to me

you can't be this
nothing like i picture it
giving me a chill
nothing like i ppictures this...

I'm insane

If I ran away today
Will youpull me back tomorrow?
Took some time to arrange
With trust, space will follow
OUt to find the things you need
Your connections hard to swallow
Still things you tell me when
Your eyes track me down, keepin you hollow

Throat starts to drain
Ive done it way too may times to go away
Gone in a state, by my water
Can you bring it back to me
Will you follow?

And how'd you get away
If Iran away tomorrow?
Took some time to arrage
Your connections hard to swalow
I know youre somewhere, I'm insae
It's your needs onmy brain
Smack me out, our eyes exchage
TO have the strenth to stake my claim

Have you placed it?
I cant taste it
Will I waste it?
Cant trace it
Time to face it

NOw gonna go away

I know you're somewhere, I'm insane
Its your needs on my brain
Smack me out, move on with chage
TO have the strength to stake my claim
I know you're somewhere, I'm insane
Its your needs on my brain
Smack me out, move on with chage
TO have the strength to stake my claim

Im insave Sonic youth

Love starved backwood teaser farm girl hot eyed bride
stone cold blonde a quivering menace atomic wallop wholesale
we wat out
we fish at night
tough towna cruel touch
sailors leave
Sirens screaming
lap of luxury
a show of violence
take off your mask
lay off my brother kiss my fist
sop t nothing
a steam swamp
ad a troubled heart
the sky is red
and i can't stop running
her baby stares
the secret's there
So help us god
i'll swing at your funeral
the stubborn air
the killer mob
A red bone woman
A double cross
Big fake bitter love underbelly freezing jungle
One step more he;ll stir your senses scratch your surface and nail your head
Murded angels
bodies in bedlam
a woman scorned
you cant hang me
tied to my job a blast scene alibi tied to a tree in a blind alley
nothing before
a big fear
Don't get caught
by her fathers friends
swamp girl faded
the tiger's wife
a frenzied love
hot climate
twisted passions
flesh parade
dead ahead
a world so wide
Big river love camp
The house boy and hill girl
the agony column
dont crowd me
it's time for crime
strange breed river girl's misery index
inside my head my dog's a bear
she was significant
i'm insane

Consequently, Virilio questions a political correct­
ness that presupposes a terroristic, suicidal and self­
mutilating theory of art. Making links between
contemporary art and genetically modified seeds
bearing the label 'terminator', he is trying to find
an image of pitiful art that exists outside of the
conditions of bio- or 'necro-technology'. Refusing
technoscientific 'success' at any price, Virilio insists
on a cultural critique of scientific experiment,
technological inhumanity and deformity.

In our
day, however, the question according to Virilio is
whether the work of art is to be considered an object
that must be looked at or listened to. Or,
alternatively, given the reduction of the position of
the art lover to that of a component in the
multimedia academy's tybernetic machine, whether
the aesthetic and ethical silenc. e of art can continue
to be upheld.

Virilio is from time to time in
danger of staging a debate with only himself in

What is absolutely vital for
Virilio is the technological means by which con-
temporary art has abandoned its passion and sexual
force. Conversely, it is important to stress that he is
undoubtedly concerned not to characterize con­
temporary art in opposition to theory or aesthetic
fervour, but to distinguish it as a pitiless and
emotionless reaction to the disastrous circumstances
of hypermodernity. As a result of such heartfelt
aesthetic declarations, Virilio is quick to single out
the hypersexuality of contemporary pornography as
the most recent source of pitiless representations and
sadistic ideas.

Virilio wants to recognize that in video
and film, TV and on the Internet, Auschwitz
inhabits us all as a fundamental if often repressed
component of contemporary processes of cultural
globalization. Today, as a result, art, according to
Virilio, confronts the predicament first identified by
Walter Benjamin, that is, of imagining that barbar­
ism and warfare will 'supply the artistic gratification
of a sense perception that has been changed by
technology'. In jeopardy of preoccupying itself with
virtualized self-absorption, contemporary art, Virilio
argues, as well as humanity, has attained such a
level of'self:'alienation' that it can now 'experience
its own destruction as an aesthetic pleasure of the
first order,.9

This evening we are not going to talk about piety or
impiety but about pity, the pitiful or pitiless nature
of 'contemporary art'. So we will not be talking
about profane art versus sacred art but we may well
tackle the profanation of forms and bodies over the
course of the twentieth century. For these days when
people get down to debate the relevance or
awfulness of contemporary art, they generally forget
to ask one vital question: Contemporary art, sure, but
contempormy with what?

When I visited the Museum at AUSCHWITZ, I
stood in front of the display cases. What I saw
there were images from contemporary art and I
found that absolutely terrifying. Looking at the
exhibits of suitcases, prosthetics, children's toys, I
didn't feel frightened. I didn't collapse. I wasn't
completely overcome the way I had been walking
around the camp. No. In the Museum, I suddenly had
the impression I was in a museum if contemporary art. I
took the train back, telling myself that they had
won! They had won since they'd produced forms
of perception that are all ofa piece with the mode
of destruction they made their own. 1
What we will be asking this evening will thus take
up where Jacqueline Lichtenstein left off: did the
Nazi terror lose the ar but, in the end, win the

Whether Adorno likes it or not, the spectacle of
abjection remains the same, after as before Ausch­
witz. But it has become politically incorrect to say
so. All in the name of freedom of expression, a
freedom contemporary with the terrorist politics
Joseph Goebbels described as 'the art of making
possible what seemed impossible,.24

'When will the
Nuremburg Code be applied to medically assisted
procreation . . . to the attempts at creating a human

Ethics or aesthetics? That is indeed the question at
the dawn of the millennium. If freedom of
SCIENTIFIC expression now actually has no more
limits than freedom of ARTISTIC expression,
where will inhumanity end in future?

Sportspeople are managed by an entourage who
are under more and more pressure from the media
and their financial backers. If the current debate
isn't settled pretty .. swiftly, a person will only have
to ask in order to be programmed to win.
' The assembly-line champion is already Oil the drawing

Ethical boundary, aesthetic boundary of sport as
of art. Without limits, there is no value; without
value, there is no esteem, no respect and especially
no pity: death to the riferee! You know how it goes . . .

in the United States. From that moment, WHO­
CONSENT. No silence can express disapproval
or resistance but only consent. The silence of the
image is not only ANIMATED by the motoriza­
tion of film segments; it is also ENLISTED in the
general acquiescence in a TOTAL ART the
seventh art which, they would then claim, con­
tained all the rest.

During the great economic crisis which, in
Europe, would end in Nazi TOTALITARIAN­
ISM, silence was already no more than a form of
abstention. The trend everywhere was towards the
simultaneous synchronization of image and sound.
Whence the major political role played at the time
by cinematic NEWSREELS, notably those pro­
duced by Fox-Movietone in the l)nited States and
by UF A in Germany, which perfectly prefigured
televisual prime time.

The speed of the
movements and the rapid change of images force
you to look continuously from one to the next.
Your sight does not master the pictures, it is the pictures
that master your sight. They flood your conscious­
ness. The cinema involves puttingyour eyes into uniform,
when bifore they were naked. '
'That is a terrible thing to say', Janouch said.
' The eye is the window of the soul, a Czech proverb
Kafka nodded. 'FILMS ARE IRON SHUT­TERS. ,8

Valeska Gert, the actress who starred in German filmmaker
G. W. Pabst's 1925 'street' film, Joyless Street:
1 looked like a poster that was novel. I would screw
my face up into a grimace of indignation one
minute, then quietly dance the next. By juxtapos­
ing insolence and sweetness, hardness and charm,
without any transition, I represented for the first
time something characteristic of our times:
instability. This was in 1917, towards the end of
the war. The Dadaists did the show as a matinee
in Berlin and the high point of the programme
was a race between a typewriter and a sewing
machine. George Grosz was the sewing machine.
1 danced to the sound of the two machines.,g

Tuesday, June 1, 2010

Daniel Malone

Billy was
Right to lift
the lights in
the room,
made it better.
Billy Apple.
Daniel Malone.
Notes from Daniel Malone Dies

David Clegg
Art School
Another Beginning
New Plymouth
Malone Undressed
The Director in the play
plays the Director in
front of the audience, 
audience would sometimes 
be replaced with
maniquins. Strange Polish
words said to
a mirror with ..
Another Beginning…
Conversation with John Hurrel,
About a show “fetishism” No,
Was it, what was it,
The work of Billy Apples in
Relation to Billy Apples, fetishism,
Daniel Changed his name
To Billy Apple to be
Included in Hurrels show,
1996, New Plymouth,
“strange to use real names
or other shows, or


What had change.
I know I had more
things before I left,
As Daniel Malone,
What was missing now in this
Room, where Billy's work still
Hung -(magnificent Phallus)
Magnificent Story Dead Malone, 
The Teacher of English,
I had to prove I
was an Artist of some considerable
standing to get a visa in Poland.
So I had to show them my...

Then my passport that
Says Billy Apple…
It was good,
It was naked,
It was Daniel in
The paper
on the table
covered like leaves
to rot in the park
under a head stone, a mirror
Klip-see-dra- Death certificate
Death Announcement.
His Hair in a Head stocking...

Didn’t do that many
People, shows,
I don’t have an aptitude
For Languages  - Polish,
Or even English,
I’m an English Teacher,
I’ve spent two years
Learning a little little
Teach speaking English
Used all the same parts
Of my Brain as Art.
Dead MAN
Getting Back
His Clothes
‘Some Have you
Have outlived
The Maniquin
“Play yourself but never
be yourself’
“The future is unwritten”

The Window
Gifted to the Victorian
Gallery collection,
“I had an idea if
 I threw a Brick through
This window that it would
Become a new idea’
CNZ wouldn’t fund my
Trip from Poland to
do it.
‘I Proposed to give them
the smashed glass cast
back into a Brick
under the name Billy Apple,
‘This was the problem of course.”
I had to be, you can’t
Travel on one name, passport
And another on the tickets, 

(Billy Apple – it’s a silly
funny name, it’s
not a name I’m going to keep)
2-3 hrs Teaching English,
the rest Art practice,
will have to disappear,
‘Billy Apple Art & Text work”
is the name of my
The Ghost of
Daniel Malone is
Billy Apple teaching
Art ad text to
Class room.
you can see
yourselves in it 
I’m changing
My name Back,
I’m In love,
I’m getting MARRIED,
And I’ve got the
Paper work today.
I’m moving Back
(In the Book Malone
Doesn’t Actually Die,
It’s a..)