Monday, December 26, 2011

Falmouth: Naval Fleet Air-Arm Exhibitions

Summertime diplomacy sees adolescents in pumps, tripping the cantaloupe-calliope in fleshpot gourmand pants
Matter-of-fact pulchritude in umbilical exposition—no matter the degree of rotundity subsisting—flouts all fear
Shimmers self-flagrant on barstools—devouring Cornish pasties at full-throttle—whilst taking in the empty news
Of who’s to choose which views amuse? D’y’wanna hear some Blues - or d’you eschew my slow—slide Yazoos?
They laugh—causing a tremor to run the entire esplanade-girth of cup-cake waistbands—and I commence to play.

Surprisingly they tap their flip-flops—shake beachwear money-makers—enjoying British Blues Boom pensioner.
Slow slide—in Open A—and I ain’t rattling no frets—the thing is booming fit to bust—and no one’s heard the like
And I’m singing ‘If you see Kay, tell her t’hurry home – Well y’know ain’t seen Kay—lawd—not since she been gone.’
Think maybe I’ll play the Cadgwith pub one day. Or maybe I’ll just sit and stare at the sea in cheerful perplexity
Of what coulda-been-and-never-was – and what-came-into-being-that-never-was-planned: never thought about.

Basking-shark loiter in the far reaches of the out-going-tide as fishermen eye the horizon for signs-of-tomorrow.
The beach is peppered with imposing truncated-jeans bulging belt-loops all venally-vying for ultraviolet violation
In order that belly-button theatricals pronounce each-vowel-in-turn, circulating rhythms of trembling adipose poses
Navel display is the height of fashion this year – and who am I to object? It’s a great improvement of the last thing.
I stand astonished at vivacious audacity that’d usually shroud itself in yards of anxiety-ridden-corporeal-camouflage.

Falmouth High Street—in spite of jovial flow—boasts bellicose-billboard-evangelist railing against sins-of-the-flesh
Stone-feature-preacher shouts dictaphone-pepperoni chaperone-calling-cards – but no one knows he’s curt and vile,
On the sidewalk Sunday mornin’ lies a body oozing life, someone sneakin’ round the corner – is that preacher Mack the Knife?
Suky Tawdry, Jenny Diver, Polly Peachum, Lucy Brown, Oh the line forms on the right – now that Mack is back in town.
Falmouth High Street—in spite of Mack the preacher—rolls on into fiery-zenith of calamine-lotion-legs-and-arms.

In the Navy—man and boy—sling-back-foghorns, flick of an eyelid, catches rhinestone crypto-kleptomaniac stays
Maritime hippies in Naval bell-bottom uniform—from way back-in-the-day—whistle at the girls and make-the-grin
As if nothing in Jane Austen’s England had ever changed – apart from the sense of discretion required in sailors.
The pedestrianised High Street burgeons with: automotive manœuvres; weekend groovers; distressed pine louvers;
Everyone smiles but Mack the Preacher—secretly cursing his Crabalocker fishwife—boy she’d been naughty girl.

Cosmetic simian symmetry—callipygous glass of gin—Mozart’s mongrel weather-chart and Pearly Spencer’s pin.
The days of Pearly Spencer—Ah ha—his race is almost run; with the side-winder jesters along the long colonnade.
Baritone Beelzebub barometer—parking-zone cyclone—holy-roller circus-tent circumvents any need of repentance
For Zanzibar backgammon hazard-bombardiers—shooting star-fire basement galaxies—riding shotgun in the sky.
The amusement arcade goes on forever in mad-dog English weather—vain—just ready for sun-burn once again.

10th of August 2006

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About Doc Togden (Ngakpa Chögyam)

As the caption on the author-designed cover of Doc Togden's (Ngakpa Chögyam) upcoming collection of poetry ravings of a mild mannered maniac reads:

Tantra is Art - and a tantrika explores the sense-fields through the Arts. This work paints with the cadences of language - because the poet is both a painter and musician. He marvels at existence whilst lampooning the prevalent sociopathy of spirituality. As semantic Jazz - linguistic density jives with space, taking readers into realms where linear logic is only one possible vector amongst many. Comedy and tragedy dance, provoking a cascade of surreal impressions that change with each reading. Rock & Roll lyrics sung by dakinis erupt in counterpoint to the paradoxical hymns of a 'vicar or vajrayana' - a trans-Atlantic Englishman who raves, tongue-in-cheek, on the nature of reality. This is the first volume to be published in the contemporary genre of 'Critical Mass Poetics' as defined by the author and his students.

On the phenomenon of having two names, he writes:

"I appeared on FaceBook as Doc Togden because I wanted a fresh start in terms of the Arts. I have often found a dual prejudice to exist. If one presents as a musician / artist one is not taken seriously by Buddhists. If one presents as a Buddhist one is not taken seriously by musicians / artists. This is obviously a generalisation – and as such, probably meaningless for anyone apart from myself. It is true however, that Captain Beefheart had to give up his Rock musician persona to be taken seriously as a painter. A few Tibetan Lamas—such a Chögyam Trungpa Rinpoche—have managed to evade the censorious radar of common opinion – but the same largesse of view would not seem available to the inconsequential eccentric yogi and yogini. Doc Togden is as much my name as Ngakpa Chögyam because the name on my passport—and other legal documents—is Dr Chögyam Togden. The Tibetan designation ‘ngakpa’ is hard to pronounce for most people and so, as I have a doctorate in Vajrayana Psychology I use that in everyday association outside my rôle as Lama. The title doctor releases me from having to designate myself by gender and appeals to my sense of humour vis-à-vis my fondness for Doc Holliday and a variety of musicians who have ‘Doc’ as their first name. I have five FaceBook friends called Doc and they are all musicians.

The time has now arrived to merge Doc Togden and Ngakpa Chögyam – and to allow them to be as they have always been. Hopefully those who may have looked askance at either will feel reconciled to the fact that they can talk with me as an artist and Buddhist teacher without feeling wary on the one hand or fearful of potential religious polemic on the other. I have no desire to convert anyone to Buddhism – but I do have a desire to offer aspects of Buddhism to the world of Art and Art to those who practise Buddhism. I believe there to be a common language – an essential language that speaks of the timeless efflorescence of the elements. The Arts arise from vision—from the empty space of primal creativity—and that space is the space everyone can access. Buddhists say that everyone is essentially a Buddha. I take from that that everyone is essentially an Artist. Now . . . did Ngakpa Chögyam say that, or did Doc Togden say that? Who ever said it, he’d also like to say that there is essentially no difference."

On Facebook, Doc Togden (Ngakpa Chögyam) describes himself as a "Teacher / Artist: painter; poet; author; life-style choreographer, and musician (vocalist, harp, rhythm bass, and 12 string / resophonic guitars)."

In reference to the roles of "Teacher" and "life-style choreographer", the informed reader will notice the uncanny resemblance of Doc Togden (Ngakpa Chögyam) to Ngak'chang Rinpoche, whom together with Khandro Déchen are the lineage holders of the Aro gTér. The Aro gTér is a stream of Vajrayana Buddhism in which ordination is congruous with romance, marriage, and family life that focuses on the teaching and practice of the Inner Tantras from the point of view of Dzogchen, an essential non-dual teaching.

As a writer, Doc Togden's (Ngakpa Chögyam) most recent books include an odd boy and wisdom eccentrics.