Bella Basura Live in March

Two performances for Bella Basura coming up this month…

Scarecrow Corner Springtime Benefit Gig, Cambridge
At The Devonshire Arms, 19th MarchScarecrow Corner S[ringtime Benefit Gig

Poetic Springs Bury St Edmunds

Poetic Springs, Bury St Edmunds
Anselm Community Centre, 23rd March

Limited copies of The Short Answer chapbook will be on sale at both events.

“The Short Answer” print chapbook – coming soon

Turn The Page
By Bella Basura

Golden Vagueness - Bella Basura 2016

Golden Vagueness
Bella Basura 2016

Unspeakable beauty, like the floating harmonic deep in keening tinnitus. Words break free, and my sentence struggles away from me, my grasp slipping a grip, like a  hand slipping  a glove. She tears from my skin and flies. Ricocheting my awareness of “I” into a bounding and rebounding silence. A silent creeping vibration, like the tap-tap tapping of a solitary black widow on her dew-luminous web, alone at night. A fly has slipped it’s shackles and fled. A silent creeping vibration of voidness, null, empty and zero.
The one that got away.

Re-posted January 2017

More Flash Fiction – The Short Answer a collection of short stories in 100 words.

Soon to be available in chapbook print version.
email:witchysticler@gmail.com for more details.

Bella’s Gallery.
 About Bella Basura
chronological archive

Short Monologues and Plays

Do What Pirates Do 

A Gratuitous Cat Photo Bella Basura 2016

A Gratuitous Cat Photo
Bella Basura
2016

“Yohoho and a bottle of grog, me hearties” Enunciated Jonny Depp in pure mid-Atlantic Mockney, arguably the worst pirate accent in Hollywood. Amber rolled her eyes, inwardly.

He stood, elaborately piratical with black eye-liner, leather tricorn hat and sailor tattoos. His eyes gleamed intensely beneath his kiss-me-quick seaside rasta wig, he twirled his waxed moustache.

“Shiver me timbers, mi’lud, don’t send me down to the stripey hole. For I am a Pirate of the Cariby-anne and must do what Pirates do – robbery on the high seas, rape pillage cattle rustling and the smuggling of small domestic dogs into ecologically-sensitive Antipodean Continents.

Amber held up her hand. “You need to take this seriously, Jonny. Please just read the statement they wrote for us”

Jonny throws his cutlass to the floor in a fit of pique and reads the apology in a contemptuous sing-song voice “Australia is a wonderful blahblah Island with a blahblah treasure trove of unique plants, animals and blahblah…”

Bella Basura
July 2016

Written specially for the Cambridge Storytellers nautically themed Story Round.
Hosted by Marion Leeper – The First Bard of Cambridge.

The Short Answer, Again

Turn The Page
By Bella Basura

Golden Vagueness - Bella Basura 2016

Golden Vagueness
Bella Basura 2016

Unspeakable beauty, like the floating harmonic deep in keening tinnitus. Words break free, and my sentence struggles away from me, my grasp slipping a grip, like a  hand slipping  a glove. She tears from my skin and flies. Ricocheting my awareness of “I” into a bounding and rebounding silence. A silent creeping vibration, like the tap-tap tapping of a solitary black widow on her dew-luminous web, alone at night. A fly has slipped it’s shackles and fled. A silent creeping vibration of voidness, null, empty and zero.
The one that got away.

More Flash Fiction – The Short Answer a collection of short stories in 100 words.

Soon to be available in chapbook print version.
email:witchysticler@gmail.com for more details.

Bella’s Gallery.
 About Bella Basura
chronological archive

About: Bella Basura

You're Funny, Skull Girl Bella Basura 2015

You’re Funny, Skull Girl
Bella Basura 2015

An occasional blog on the subject of Me Me Me,
and the fabulous things I do,
an archive of most of my writing, some of it dating back to 1994,
links to the complete text of my first unpublished novel
The slow-burning Grandmother Punk short story anthology
bearer of Granny Takes a trip
short listed for the Soundwork 2015 Monologue Award,
some stalled psychogeography
and my gallery …

And other stuff

Granny gets Shortlisted!

Liminal Phases flyer.JPG

Back in February I took part in Liminal Phases, a Temporary Temple Productions spoken word performance event with Jonny Marvel, Shakeynavelbones and Faradina Affifi  at CB1 cyber café in Cambridge. One of my pieces, Granny Takes a Trip – billed as a psychedelic puppet show, was  entered for the Soundwork 2015 monologue competition in September  and although it didn’t come first Granny was shortlisted. See here. The winning entry was recorded by Soundwork  so I’m pretty sad that I didn’t win. I guess I’ll need to find another  way, maybe recording the piece myself. Any ideas?

Before the Millennium…

Year Zero

Year zero, like moment zero, output zero, countdown to nothing zero, arbitrary zero.

Horrendous in these moments, long hanging-on moments, sinking down inside, not thinking about nothing. There seems to be no output from imagination. I just can’t push out of this.

I switch the buttons
Adjust the eyepieces
Year double zero
Colours
Triangles
Colours that fall between colours.
I fade out to let the flickering take over.
This is what they call Lifetools.

I am in North Beach, praying to Burroughs and Ginsberg.
A sign on the park says No Unaccompanied Adults.
No Loitering.
On the internet I run a search on my own name. Nothing comes up.

RTS, Trafalgar Square. It felt like we were dancing in the ruins of their culture.

Some months ago I was constantly channelling Burroughs; I needed some sleep, so I visualised a shelf, with a pen and notebook and candle. And I said write it down, stop bothering me, I’ll read it in the morning. I’ve not written a word since.

I’ve got a wooden dish of silver coins to pay the ferryman.
I been across the river Styx.
I looked into the mirror at the end of Hades Hall,
I read the hieroglyphs imprinted on your brow.
I’m just shaking, shaking,
Spiningly
Ripped bare, naked spiritually.

Year zero
And what have I got to show for it?
A handful of myths and a bucketful of morals and a trail of persecution and betrayal.
And in the Exploratorium a live locust is wired into a monitoring machine that records its electrical impulses when a child frightens it, endlessly. When one locust dies it’s discarded and replaced by another. The only legal locusts in California said the scientist.
So No, No,  I don’t see nothing to celebrate. Nothing to gain.

I tried Hinduism in the pall-light of an almost forgotten memory of a bar in San Francisco.
Maybe I read it in a book.
Where to cut out, where to cut in
Frozen stiff from the aridity on The Golden Bough.
Fire worship – an eternal wish.

And please send some of the remembering away.
Something sickening,
Some sickening memory
Where I am being loud and hopeless again.
Red and blue flashing lights
Herald a crystal skull
Clouds of verbiage
Flaming orange at 24Hz.

The sound of a pneumatic drill in the street.
I think it’s in my head.
My eyelids snap open.
And the sound stops.

I gaze out of the window, winter night falling always too early. Neon turns the colour of cars sickly in their own light-beams. (1999)

Kali

The Wall of Girls
4. Kali

4. Kali

Visions of Kali

Kali Mati Murti Puja
Sacred Hindu image
Lurid with significance
Incomprehensible jumble
Of surreal symbols shuffles
To my Western eyes
Flitting randomly

Kali four blue arms
Third eye & bindi
Long poking tongue
Beads & necklaces strung
From the faces of dead men
Skirts of their limbs.
All her decapitated lovers.

Kali chthonic radiance.
The clammy ascetic air
Of the grave
Breathed out at sunrise.
At her feet flowers feed
On spilled blood & flesh
Flowing & clotting, both.

Sharp trident pierces the sky.
Glowing sunrise morning aura
And against the dark of
Her shimmering black hair,
The reborn and growing
Crescent moon is
Tucked behind her ear.

Kali Chandra crescent moon
Her foot hard down
On Shiva’s naked chest.
He be-cobra-ed ecstatic
Crescent moon waning
And Shri Kali moon waxing
Is premenstrual I think.

Jean Dark
2010