| Author |
Message |
    
AP Wolf
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 1057
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Tuesday, April 20, 2004 - 1:39 pm: | 
|
I have instructed uncle Charles to load his service pistol and use it to good purpose if this thread is used to wash dirty linen anymore.
The pity is, that you are both such fine poets when you wannabe. |
AP Wolf
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 1062
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Wednesday, April 21, 2004 - 1:54 pm: |
|
The Curse of the ‘kuru’.
Cut bush, cut birth, cut back
That’s Jack
Saucy Jack
Fancies snack
But no big Mac
Jack like fat
Jack like skin
Hey no big sin
This little thing
That he pick with blade
And four pence saved
To get his kidney fried
Some old scallywag she died
Hard to live with nothing inside
Jack, him ate the cake then the bride
Washed ‘im down with little sliver
Of pan fried kidney and par-boiled liver
‘im want them big fat heart
To get ‘im he rip ‘em apart
‘im want them eyes that see ‘im in dark
‘im no like that light that spark
‘im want them ears
‘im want them tears
‘im want that baby machine
‘im want ‘em nice & clean
Of all them bit
Womb and tit
Just don’t fit
In devil’s stitch
Sealed with spit
‘im think this bit nice
So ’im eat it twice
‘im eat ’em all whore
Maybe five maybe four
But ’im get sick
On what ’im fed
Bad rabbit in ’im head
Bad rabbit ’im is dead
‘im catch that mighty itch
‘im sorry ’im ate ’em bitch
For it do ‘im down
In blood ’im drown
‘im get that bad deal
‘im his fate ’im seal
The ’kuru’ ’im come
And Jack ’im done.
|
Robert Charles Linford
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Robert
Post Number: 2383
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Wednesday, April 21, 2004 - 3:12 pm: |
|
Great hip-hop stuff, AP. I particularly liked the cake and the eyes that see in the dark.
Cutbirth Cutbath
Bloodbirth bloodbath
Cutting up cutting down
Cut and run through the town
He not cut in
He all cut out
He placid grin
And inner shout
Until he ill
Until he kill
And carve his guts
On slaughtered sluts
And flaunt his soul
In bloody hole
He sever cloth
He all cut off
Robert |
AP Wolf
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 1065
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Wednesday, April 21, 2004 - 4:35 pm: |
|
That's the dark spirit, Robert.
Enjoyed that.
Thought yours did more than mine to capture the frenetic nature of what we speak.
The boy had speed, which I must one day capture. |
Robert Charles Linford
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Robert
Post Number: 2385
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Wednesday, April 21, 2004 - 4:56 pm: |
|
Thanks AP. Well, I'll be interested to see whether he slows down now that he's been carted away by the men in white coats.
Robert |
Antonio Ruiz Vega
Unregistered guest
| | Posted on Wednesday, April 21, 2004 - 7:05 pm: |
|
For AP Wolf:
What a shame!. Must be some disfunction in my mail, but I never read your messages, AP Wolf. Tomorrow morning I did travel to London. Attached to this mail I send the novel "Últimas palabras de Catherine Eddowes". Cuando vuelva a España trataré de volver a escribirle. Un saludo.
Antonio Ruiz Vega |
AP Wolf
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 1066
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Thursday, April 22, 2004 - 1:40 pm: |
|
Sorry Antonio
but I did respond, and did spend time checking out your work on the various web sites.
I wonder what Eddowes' last words were?
Perhaps: 'Hello Charlie boy... have you got that fifty quid?'
If you are going to send me something from Espana please make it a fine Osborno.
Or some 'miel de palma'.
Or a 'madre de vino' that will start my BBQ no problem.
Anything alcoholic would be nice.
Keep up the good work. |
AP Wolf
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 1079
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Tuesday, April 27, 2004 - 2:18 pm: |
|
Lord Radka’s Ball
I went to take the waters at Lord Wimborne’s Ball
And there did over David Radka stumble and fall
He said you are not either too tall or too small
And I’m unsure if I should you a man or woman call
For with a caress you wear a dress
But I’m feeling rather weary
So if you have a theory
And not to confound
I’ll give you a pound
For such a story
Might give me that glory.
He said you sit in your boxcart
And out of harmonica playfully fart
And everyone play along to your song
You sing it right and I sing it wrong.
Well, have a gin old boy, I say
It’s all old bollocks anyway
And then I thought I heard old Jack say
You lot all float in the Milky Way
You boys gotta get your feet on the ground
For you chase the silence and not the sound
And that Radka him do the twist and shout
And then him do the sulk and pout
And twirl a bit
Don’t quite fit
His suit of clothes
His words, his prose
The King of Rumpled Suit
Whose seeds never see fruit
But hey he mustn’t get depressed
For he can always get his trousers pressed
So at conference the crowd is impressed
Well suit you sir I say
I’ll get drunk everyday
And raise my glass in cheer
And drown meself in good beer
For in the world of the razor fast
You gotta make the moment last
Not nick away with old cut-throat
Your own slit neck being the joke
As in theory you pick and poke
Bonfire of vanities that you stoke
Burnt fingers, burnt toes
Plastered in incendiary prose
Petrol poured on fire
Fuelling strange desire
I give you him back
Your complicated Jack.
|
Robert Charles Linford
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Robert
Post Number: 2403
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Tuesday, April 27, 2004 - 2:56 pm: |
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Wicked, AP! Very wicked!
I was at that gathering too
When Radka announced that Jack was a Jew
(Although he wasn't quite sure who,
But apparently old Hegel knew)
He said he'd proved it philosophically
Inbetween visits to the apothecary
But now poor Radka's sadly missed
He is no more, he has ceased to exist
For the saga took a tragic twist
When Radka became a solipsist
But got the whole thing wrong way round :
We're here, but Radka can't be found
He disappeared one night at supper
As I must now, in search of a cuppa.
Robert |
Robert Charles Linford
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Robert
Post Number: 2404
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Tuesday, April 27, 2004 - 3:27 pm: |
|
THE MISSING PAGE (with apologies to Galton and Simpson)
HANCOCK : Ah, this is great stuff, Sid.
SID : What's that rubbish you're reading?
HANCOCK : It's not rubbish, Sid. It's a David Radka murder mystery.
SID : Load of old cobblers.
HANCOCK : What do you know about philosophy, Sidney? You think Kant is a swear word....Ah, you can keep Sherlock Holmes and Hercule Poirot - give me David Radka any day...We're coming to the end. He's got them all in one room - Cutbush, Hutchinson, Druitt...." And so you see, I have proved with iron logic that the murderer is..." Where's the last page gone? Someone's torn it out!
SID : No they haven't. See? That IS the last page!
HANCOCK : Stone me! Oh, what's the use? If you can't trust Ripperologists, who can you trust?....
Robert |
AP Wolf
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 1080
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Tuesday, April 27, 2004 - 4:48 pm: |
|
Just as wicked, Robert... and twice,
I do believe the first requirement to be a 'Ripperologist' must be to set fire to your shirt whilst still wearing it.
Such fun! |
AP Wolf
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 1083
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Wednesday, April 28, 2004 - 4:57 pm: |
|
Scum of Earth
Scum at birth
Scum first
Scum in hearse
Beat the drum
Scum, scum, scum
Beat the drum
Scum will come
For slaughter
Son and daughter
Scum spunk
Scum drunk
Infestation of scum
Bang, bang, goes the drum
Scum, scum, scum
Desirable
Undesirable
Silly old hag
Gentlemen shag
Children come
Scum, scum, scum
Buck’s Row
Children go
Scum, scum, scum
Miller’s Court
Lesson taught
Bang the drum
For the scum
Mitre Square
Rip and tear
Rip the scum
Job well done
Good and hard
George Yard
Nice and neat
Berner Street
‘nother Fannie
Dear old Annie
Scum, scum, scum
Beat the drum
Kill the scum
Full of gin
Bloated skin
Scab and sore
Scabby whore
Scum of the Earth
Scum at birth
Cut the womb
Seal the tomb
No more scum
Beat the drum.
|
Robert Charles Linford
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Robert
Post Number: 2406
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Wednesday, April 28, 2004 - 5:28 pm: |
|
Great stuff, AP, with Jack's knife drumming out his one-man Damnation Army rhythm on the poor benighted whores. It's a fair bet that a man like this would have hated the reformers even more than he hated the whores, and would have felt that each murder was one in the eye for the bleeding hearts too.
Relentless, savage poem, AP.
Robert |
AP Wolf
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 1085
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Thursday, April 29, 2004 - 12:57 pm: |
|
Thanks Robert
the poem came from rereading 'When London Walked in Terror' and absorbing some of Mr. Woodhall's language used to describe the good folk of Whitechapel.
I'm planning another one -less frenetic - on his thoughts about how the killer must have used the warren of back alleys and yards to avoid detection. Leaping over fences and walls etc. it was found possible by several energetic constables to move at least a mile either way using the warrens, and that without detection by their patrolling brothers, and without using any street or road whatsoever.
Warrens?
Sounds like a bad rabbit to me |
AP Wolf
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 1099
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Tuesday, May 04, 2004 - 11:34 am: |
|
Broadmoor Welcomes Young Jack
On arrival at the young gentleman’s institute of Broadmoor, Jack was unwrapped out of his special jacket by the two attendants, un-gagged and left sitting on a chair in a secure waiting room. The chair was normal apart from the iron bar that locked across the arms of the chair imprisoning whoever was sat there.
Presently a large nurse sporting a fine handle-bar moustache and particularly hairy legs arrived to announce:
‘Guten evening, Jaque, mein name is Schwester Brunhilda Hammerhead and I am Herr Proffesor-Professor Doctor-Doctor Hagel’s Bagel’s assistant, now zen, the furst fing we must do is give you a bard…’
‘But I have a beard already, madam!’ Jack pointed out.
The large and formidable blonde woman shook her head with a rare smile as she unlocked the iron bar across Jack‘s chair.
‘No, no Jaque, you must take the bard, in the wasser, splish splash, you savvy?’
‘Oh, a bath!’ cried Jack. ‘But madam, I was in the bath only two weeks ago!’
‘Gut boy!’ shouted nurse Hammerhead. ‘But we must bard you now again, all new students must take the bard… come Jaque I show you the bard zimmer.’
Young Jack dutifully followed the large nurse into a nearby room which sported a spanking large and sparkling white porcelain bath the likes of which Jack had never seen before. Jack’s gasp of amazement became a positive scream of pleasure when he watched nurse Hammerhead engage the faucets allowing boiling hot water to burst out, for Jack had never seen running water before, especially hot.
‘There, Jaque,’ she announced. ‘You take the bard and I come back quick with new kleidung for you so you smart boy den.’
A few minutes later nurse Hammerhead returned carrying a bundle of clothes for Jack and was amazed to find the young fellow sat happily in a tub full of hot water, whistling merrily to himself but still fully dressed.
‘Vas ist das!’ she squawked. ‘You must remove the clothings before barding, Jaque!’
‘Oh, I never take my clothes off, madam,’ Jack informed her gaily.
‘Ve vill see bout dat!’ she roared, rolled up her sleeves and set about trying to remove Jack’s shirt and trousers. In the ensuing tussle she managed to lock Jack’s head under her powerful and hairy armpit and then began with one hand to tug away at the boy’s trousers.
It was thus that Professor-Professor Doctor-Doctor Hagel Bagel found the pair of them entwined in the splendid bath.
‘Brunhilda!’ he exclaimed in alarm. ‘What the devil do you do to that poor child in the bath?’
‘I remove the clothings, Herr Professor-Professor Doctor-Doctor Hagel Bagel, the clothings must be off for barding, Herr Professor-Professor Doctor-Doctor Hagel Bagel…’
‘Help me!’ came a muffled plea from nurse Hammerhead’s formidable armpit.
‘Las das doch!’ roared the good doctor. ‘The boy is of good family and probably does not have fleas or lice anyway. Do you have fleas or lice, boy?’
‘No, sir,’ came the muffled reply from nurse Hammerhead’s hairy armpit. ‘But I once had a cat, sir.’
‘Ah! A cat, Jack?’ enthused the doctor, and immediately wrote down by Jack’s name on his clipboard the word ‘Bestiality’, but after another moment’s thought placed a question mark behind the word. ‘And what happened to the cat, Jack?’
‘I slit its worthless throat, sir, skinned it and then cut it to pieces,’ came the matter-of-fact but still muffled reply from nurse Hammerhead’s hirsute armpit.
‘Damn!’ swore the good doctor and crossed out the word Bestiality.
‘Release the boy, Brunhilda!’ ordered the doctor. ‘And give him a towel to dry himself off with and then bring him through to my study.’
Jack and the doctor sat opposite each other in the comfortable study with a crackling log fire warming the room.
‘Now zen, Jaque,’ said the doctor. ‘To business, my boy… you love your mother do you not, Jaque?’
‘No sir…’
‘Jaque, my boy,’ the doctor interrupted. ‘You must call me by my proper and formal title while you are here, and that is Herr Professor-Professor Doctor-Doctor Hagel Bagel, do you understand, Jaque.’
‘Yes, sir… I mean yes, Herr Professor-Professor Doctor-Doctor Hagel Bagel, but surely that will prolong this little sketch out of all proportion to its real depth, sir, I mean Herr Professor-Professor Doctor-Doctor Hagel Bagel.’
‘It is a matter of form and protocol, Jaque,’ the doctor told him. ‘I did not spend the last fifty years of my life with my head up Freud’s arse just to have people call me ‘sir’. I am Herr Professor-Professor Doctor-Doctor Hagel Bagel and if I tell you that you love your mother, the answer you will give me is ‘yes! Herr Professor-Professor Doctor-Doctor Hagel Bagel! I love my mother.’ Do I make myself clear, Jaque?’
‘Yes, Herr Professor-Professor Doctor-Doctor Hagel Bagel,’ sighed Jack.
‘Good!’ cried the doctor and wrote on his clipboard: ‘This young man has an obvious sexual fixation and attraction to his mother.’
‘Now then, Jaque,’ the doctor continued. ‘When you slit the cat’s throat, skinned it and cut it up into incy-wincy tiny pieces, you were imagining it to be your mother, weren’t you? Because of the natural guilt you felt to be unnaturally attracted to your mother, nicht wahr?’
‘No, Herr Professor-Professor Doctor-Doctor Hagel Bagel,’ Jack informed him brightly. ‘I killed the cat because it scratched my hand.’
‘Nonsense!’ screamed the doctor, slinging his clipboard at Jack’s head, causing that worthy to duck suddenly. ‘If I, Herr Professor-Professor Doctor-Doctor Hagel Bagel Hanzel and Gretal say that you killed the cat because of a sexual fixation you have with your mother, then it is so, you have already admitted that you love your mother!’
‘But didn’t you love your mother, sir?… I mean Herr Professor-Professor Doctor-Doctor Hagel Bagel Hanzel and Gretal?’
‘Of course not, you fool!’ screamed the doctor. ‘Just like Freud I killed my mother at birth, it is the only reasonable thing to do, and then I was wet-nursed by my dearest Holga, ah my Holga, what breasts! What thighs! But you distract me young man, pass me my clipboard so that we may proceed… Ah my Holga, how she used to bring me my little potty and smack my little bottom when I was naughty, ‘you naughty, naughty boy‘, she used to say ‘I’m going to have to spank you now little Herr Professor-Professor Doctor-Doctor Hagel Bagel Hanzel and Gretal, meine kleiner ubermensch must be paddled now on his little bottom’…
Jack observed that the doctor was becoming quite florid in his complexion, but almost fell out of his seat when the doctor suddenly screamed:
‘Brunhilda!!!! Come at once! I have been a naughty, naughty boy and must be punished immediately!’
The door flew open and Schwester Brunhilda Hammerhead burst into the room and began raining blows down on Herr Professor-Professor Doctor Doctor Hagel Bagel Hanzel and Gretal with a riding crop.
‘Harder!’ screamed the good doctor as Jack looked on in open-mouthed amazement.
He could tell he was going to enjoy himself at this young gentleman’s institution.
|
Robert Charles Linford
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Robert
Post Number: 2419
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Tuesday, May 04, 2004 - 12:05 pm: |
|
Fantastic stuff, AP. An institution where the doctors are nuttier than the inmates. I see you're taking a good swipe at Freud!
Maybe it's just me, but when I read it I hear the voice of that man in the Laurel and Hardy film "The Piano". He played the husband of the woman who was buying the piano, as a surprise present for him. He was in a few of their films but I can't think of the actor's name. Anyway, I think he had the perfect voice for this.
This is hilarious, and I'm looking forward to the next instalment.
Robert |
AP Wolf
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 1101
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Tuesday, May 04, 2004 - 1:57 pm: |
|
Thanks Robert
and you have yet to meet Professor-Professor Doctor-Doctor Argle Bargle Radka!
One does wonder what Jack will make of all this?
And uncle Charles of course. |
Natalie Severn
Chief Inspector
Username: Severn
Post Number: 786
Registered: 11-2003
| | Posted on Wednesday, May 05, 2004 - 7:29 pm: |
|
Great fun AP.Love the originality of your take on young Cutbush.And the nurse Brunhilde must be everyone"s worst nightmare when they"re whisked off to hospital [or anywhere else].You write so
brilliantly
Natalie
|
AP Wolf
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 1104
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Thursday, May 06, 2004 - 1:29 pm: |
|
Thanks Natalie
glad you enjoyed the little foray into Broadmoor.
As soon as I find some precious time I'll do the next episode.
I aim to turn a few tables with the next bit. |
Robert Charles Linford
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Robert
Post Number: 2423
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Monday, May 10, 2004 - 10:43 am: |
|
THE END OF THE WORLD
'Twas in the autumn of eighty-eight
The year became deranged
The months and days they altered their date
When Jack had his server changed
So far and wide he ranged
He sallied forth to indulge his hobby
He went to Mitre Square
Glad was he that there was no bobby
But nor was a victim there
'Twas only the empty air
He tried to write a letter to Lusk
But it was as he'd feared
Somewhere between the morn and the dusk
His post had disappeared
Jigger me, isn't that weird
Finally there were no murders at all
And there were no suspect lists
No Kelly, Kate or bloody shawl
No Ripperologists
All were lost in the mists
Robert |
AP Wolf
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 1105
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Monday, May 10, 2004 - 1:37 pm: |
|
Robert, this went West…
False image in mirror
(apologies to John Boy)
Imagine… all the killers
Without any worms
Imagine… all the killers
When the tables turn
You may know that I’m a killer
But I’m not the only one
There are many here beside me
So I’m not the only one
Imagine all the people
Without any worms
But I guess I’m just a dreamer
And I’m not the only one
For nothing will redeem her
She’s not the only one
Imagine… all the killers
Without any pain
Imagine… all the victims
They kill again and again
Imagine… all the children
Without any choice
Imagine all them children
Speaking with a killer’s voice
But I guess I’m just bleeder
And I’m not the only one
I only kill when I need her
And she’s not the only one
So, just imagine… all them folk
Living life as one…
I’d cut their throat
At last my job done.
Imagine…
There’s no heaven
Or no hell
Nothing to buy
And nothing to sell.
Mary Jane called me up and
Told me she had a hot tin bath
Catherine said ‘what about
A drink and a laugh?’
Oh, I’m back in the East-End
Going right around the bend
Been away so long I almost lost my mind
So down Buck’s Row a whore I did find
Oh, I’m back in the East-End
To heaven this whore I’ll send
Took a knife and slit her throat
So much blood I almost choke
But I’m back in the East-End
All them whores me friend
Back in the East-End
Back in the East-End
Paper-back writer
Paper-bag fighter
There were bells on the hill
But I never heard them ringing
All the bells were still
For whore’s necks I was a’wringing.
Twist and Shout!
Shaking a’baby!
|
AP Wolf
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 1106
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Monday, May 10, 2004 - 2:02 pm: |
|
Robert,
The thing to do in such circumstance
Is open a beer and take a chance
And to not get bored
Just go out and kill a whore
Jack suffered from that
And to cure it wore silly hat
And knives in his bag
To rip and tip the hag
Then in moment of time
Planned his very next crime
Which was to kill all the post
For he knew that would vex the most
And bring them folk outta shell
Imagining they was all in hell
Robbed of choice, and
Robbed of voice
Choked and slit
When voice don’t fit
To grand master scheme
Of Ripposaur’s wet dream
So we press all them buttons
Just like Jack
Jump from fast forward
To fast back
And arrive in Ju-Ju limbo land
With our heads stuck in the sand
And although we don’t choke
There is still a rich joke
For instead we fade to grey
And eventually just fade away
For the cadre is sound
They earn them pound
And every word is Holy Bible
When not then it is libel
Ah them old whore
Their word is the law
Footprints in the mud
Of some old whore’s blood.
You see they live as the very Holy Ghost
And you?
In the world of the last lost post.
Brave fellow, adopt your hard hat
For the rich cat and rich rat
Will fight you with tooth and claw
All over some dead whore.
Radical not required
Post has recently expired.
|
Robert Charles Linford
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Robert
Post Number: 2425
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Monday, May 10, 2004 - 2:14 pm: |
|
Yes, I saw it, AP. Great medley, nice and clever.
I posted this reply about you-know-who :
Ground control to Major Tom
Ground control to Major Tom
Take your nice sharp knife and put your peaked cap on
Ground control to Major Tom
Check incision and may God's love be with you
This is ground control to Major Tom
You've really made the grade
And the papers want to know whose shirts you tear
Now it's time to make your way from Mitre Square
This is Major Tom to ground control
I really ripped the whore
And I'm floating in a most peculiar way
And the stars look very different today
For here am I sitting with a tin pan
Far above the world
Kidney tastes like poo
And there's nothing I can do
Though I've walked a hundred thousand miles
I'm feeling very still
And I think my razor knows which way to go
Tell my mum I loathe her very much =
She knows!
Ground control to Major Tom
Your circuit's dead, there's something wrong
Can you hear me Major Tom?
Can you -
Here am I dwindling to a thin man
Locked up as a loon
Killing days are through
And there's nothing I can do
Robert |
Robert Charles Linford
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Robert
Post Number: 2426
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Monday, May 10, 2004 - 2:26 pm: |
|
Very nice indeed, AP. I always wear a hard hat when pondering the Juwes message - it protects the head from falling Freemasonry.
Robert |
Robert Charles Linford
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Robert
Post Number: 2428
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Tuesday, May 11, 2004 - 6:51 am: |
|
I think I'm gonna be drowned
I think it's today
The boss gave me fifty pound
And sent me away
I've got a ticket to ride
And I don't care
He said that living with me
Was bringing him down
That I was out of my tree
With mind unsound
I've got a ticket to ride
And I don't care
Mr City policeman sitting pretty little policemen in Buck's Row
I read the news today, oh boy
Four thousand holes in Kate from Warwickshire
A lurking class weirdo is something to be
Robert |
AP Wolf
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 1107
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Tuesday, May 11, 2004 - 1:38 pm: |
|
Enjoyed both of those immensely, Robert.
Your lyrics are far superior to the originals.
For some reason I've picked up a virus that makes me want to tip my lance at them Ripposaurs, so that's all you might hear from me for a while. |
Michael Raney
Inspector
Username: Mikey559
Post Number: 359
Registered: 9-2003
| | Posted on Tuesday, May 11, 2004 - 2:01 pm: |
|
Robert,
Fabulous, I'm singing along with it now!
Mikey |
Robert Charles Linford
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Robert
Post Number: 2429
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Tuesday, May 11, 2004 - 2:41 pm: |
|
Thanks folks. I'd better get back to the serious stuff now!
Robert |
Natalie Severn
Chief Inspector
Username: Severn
Post Number: 813
Registered: 11-2003
| | Posted on Saturday, May 15, 2004 - 6:51 pm: |
|
Oh Yes Robert you wrote a good one here![and several others which I saw before but hadn"t got round to properly for one reason and another]Must read tomorrow!This last is a real treat!
Natalie |
Robert Charles Linford
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Robert
Post Number: 2437
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Sunday, May 16, 2004 - 5:10 am: |
|
Thanks Natalie. I did a couple that got lost in the transition, so I suppose I ought to sit down and try to remember them.
AP, when you said "that's all you might hear from me for a while" I thought you meant that all your poems would be attacking Ripposaurs! Anyway, hope you get shot of the virus soon.
Robert |
Natalie Severn
Chief Inspector
Username: Severn
Post Number: 815
Registered: 11-2003
| | Posted on Sunday, May 16, 2004 - 6:04 am: |
|
Hi again Robert,hope you find them soon!
Hi AP hope you feel better soon!
Natalie |
Robert Charles Linford
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Robert
Post Number: 2439
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Sunday, May 16, 2004 - 6:34 am: |
|
Hi Natalie. I think AP's virus is of the computer kind.
That's strange, I can't use an icon. Is it just me?
Robert |
AP Wolf
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 1108
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Monday, May 17, 2004 - 2:59 pm: |
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Robert, to be honest with you the virus I was suffering from was of the Radka persuasion. The whole thing was giving me such a pounding headache, even though I wasn’t involved. It was like watching the German and British troops running to their slaughter over the trenches in the First World War.
And I was put in mind of that Dire Straits song ‘Brothers in Arms’ - which I think is a version of a First World War poem by Brooke - where the constant irrationality of never-ending battle is beautifully discussed, where men can lay down their weapons and embrace in intellectual beauty… and I thought ‘whatever happened to the JtR book club where we were going to review and discuss past and present volumes?’
Dead.
The words die but the battles of ego and vanity bleed all over us.
So many good threads gone to waste to instead feed this incessant noisy machine that possesses and drives us into a big black hole in the ground.
Every time I come in I find myself in a black tunnel of vacuous vitriolic flatulence which shuts out the true and brilliant light of intellectual discussion.
I don’t want to spend my time picking nits off Radka’s leathery hide or watching others do so.
We do ourselves no favours in the hot pursuit of bloated ticks.
In fact, I feel some kind of personal shame attached to the whole affair… and I was also mightily peeved with folk crowing about the fact that a barmy half-witted mass-murderer had easily seduced some bearded Ripposaur into putting the half-witted prat into print.
The man is a vain-glorious ponce and killer who should never see the light of day, let alone have his scabby words in print in what is supposed to be a serious magazine.
No, I’m not happy… with many things, but hey I’m just an old fart meself.
Bless you, Robert, you are a gem.
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Natalie Severn
Chief Inspector
Username: Severn
Post Number: 816
Registered: 11-2003
| | Posted on Monday, May 17, 2004 - 4:42 pm: |
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Hey there AP!Who is a "vain-glorious ponce and killer" ? must have missed something here...
OK I see you are not addressing me here but heck
this is quite an outburst all of a sudden.
And I was just saying to Robert that I missed your elegant words.
Which magazine? What mass-murderer?
Today is beautiful.The sky is blue,the grass is green,the sun is shining...OK there is a whole lot of Sh*t going on out there where the real mass murderers play the tables...but us here trying to catch a glimpse of the ripper through a time warp...
Natalie |
Robert Charles Linford
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Robert
Post Number: 2443
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Monday, May 17, 2004 - 4:58 pm: |
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Hi AP
Nil desperandum! As the Goons sang :
"When you're drowning in the waters of a shark-infested bay
Just give a little (WHISTLE) and whistle your cares away"
Or, on a more optimistic note, write a poem!
TIME OUT
Walking too long 'neath the enemy fire
'Twill have you impaled on the barbed wire
'Twill have your guts
Like it did for those sluts
Or floundering up to your neck in hole
Another addition to the toll
Downed in the slaughter
Drowned in the water
So sometimes I keep the odd day free
Stay in the trench, have a nice cup of tea
There is no worry
And there is no hurry
Raw recruits arriving in eager batch
Expect a Christmas football match
But eyes of the colonel
Say war is eternal
So every time things start to get queasy
Sit right back and take it easy
And keep your ear-plugs in :
Next war will bring us Vera Lynn.
Robert
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AP Wolf
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 1109
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Monday, May 17, 2004 - 5:05 pm: |
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Drip Becomes Tap
I won’t even mention his name
For to do so is to play his game
But others fall in his pits and snares
And are so proud to display his wares
They take the emperor and adopt his glory
And sit at his knee to plea for a story
Poor fools who prolong that stink
Of mass-murderer finally in print
As the editor vainly sips
At vain tap that vainly drips
Until drip drip becomes tap
And world is awash in crap
And crud
And mud
And blood
Of victims with no voice
Of victims with no choice.
No bearded editor ask them for story
No bearded editor want that glory
Oh no, that bearded one want that gory
Piece of that vain killer’s brain
And victim’s blood down the drain
Scrub it down with clever wit
From twat in cell who there doth sit.
But good old nick give him that chance
And there doth the twat dance
And prance
With his new found glory
With fool to tell his story
And to dance the devil and crow
And this good place take another sad blow…
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Robert Charles Linford
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Robert
Post Number: 2444
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Monday, May 17, 2004 - 5:21 pm: |
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Marvellous poem, AP. Extremely hard-hitting. "Victim's blood down the drain" was a killer of a line.
I won't mention his name either. But I have a feeling that the memoirs will end up being published in the end - something to do with human rights, probably. One only hopes that the victims' relatives will successfully seize any profits - but again, I wouldn't bank on it.
Robert |
Natalie Severn
Chief Inspector
Username: Severn
Post Number: 819
Registered: 11-2003
| | Posted on Monday, May 17, 2004 - 5:28 pm: |
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can"t follow any of it....Is it RUMPLESTILSKIN!!!
bewildered
Natalie |
Robert Charles Linford
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Robert
Post Number: 2445
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Monday, May 17, 2004 - 5:41 pm: |
|
Natalie, go to
Books, Films and Other Media/Periodicals/Ripperana/Problem with Ripperana?
Robert |
AP Wolf
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 1110
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Monday, May 17, 2004 - 5:52 pm: |
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'killer of a line'.
Liked that, Robert.
Lovely poem as well.
Though I would personally change the line ending in 'cup of tea' to 'SSB'.
Thank you for the timely reminder that I must not throw away my sense of humour, otherwise I might just fall down those stairs.
'Poor AP, he has fallen down the stairs!'
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Natalie Severn
Chief Inspector
Username: Severn
Post Number: 820
Registered: 11-2003
| | Posted on Monday, May 17, 2004 - 6:00 pm: |
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Well I had gone there previously but hadnt gone far enough-I thought it might be him but then decided it couldnt because it wouldnt be allowed.But there you have it ...it beggars belief!
A brilliant poem AP.
Yours too Robert ..
and powerless we are it seems to do anything about anything much!
It certainly aint democracy with any kind of meaningful participation this wonderful "democracy" we keep being lectured about!
Natalie |
Robert Charles Linford
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Robert
Post Number: 2446
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Monday, May 17, 2004 - 6:50 pm: |
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One day I'll do a poem where Jack gets caught and subsequently while in prison becomes a born-again Christian, develops Alzheimer's, acquires a serious heart condition and several other illnesses before being released from prison to die. However, he makes a miraculous recovery and travels the globe as a celebrity, picking up enormous wealth in the process. His final victory is that he has his conviction overturned as being unsafe and manages to pin the whole thing on Lewis Carroll (Jack had sneakily given his memoirs the title "Alas in Wonderland").
Robert |
AP Wolf
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 1111
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Tuesday, May 18, 2004 - 3:26 pm: |
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The Endless Tour
of the Ripposaur
Ripposaurs come in various sizes
Vaguely fat but with thin disguises
Or vainly thin but enormously wise
Adept at spinning truth into vacant lies.
They like to use big word grammar
To hide the fact that they must stammer
When endless cant they do mutter
With tea, and bread and butter
Just to hide that little stutter
That doth fill the silence with clutter
Like radio noise
Them good old boys
Who raise the pitch
To kill the bitch
And then turn down the sound
Until we must put ear to ground
Just to hear that old Ripposaur pound
Along his Jack the Ripper tour
Ah, but then his old feet get sore
As he must once again bore
Tourists with sad death of whore.
To see cant turn to Canter would be fun
And to watch old Radka burn his bun
To see a Canter turn into a run
And watch as they all gallop into the sun
-set of unrequited desire
Just little points in some great fire
Of Mad Butcher’s funeral pyre
And finally expire with the desire
To beat that dog to the dry bone
And be rich, famous and well-known.
Where they can wipe down
That ultimate clown
Who says that all life and death is sex
And then over bank balance doth vex
That this itch vex me sorely
When me royalties are so poorly
So I better give speech to the many poor
Who come to conference for dead whore
And claim my place just because
I knew who Jack the Rip was
And theory is all mine
So just flick me that dime
And I’ll place it in this pin-ball machine
And Jack and me, we can dream
As we bounce the electric scheme
And disappear around the eternal bend
Where the Ripposaur tour really does end…
In nice coffin that does nicely fit
Or did someone just spit?
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Robert Charles Linford
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Robert
Post Number: 2452
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Tuesday, May 18, 2004 - 4:38 pm: |
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There you are, AP : I said "write a poem" and you've gone and written one of your very best ever. This was funny, clever, philosophical, and the fact that the mockery was on the gentle side actually added to its power and effect. This was a wonderful piece, AP, and I wish that I'd written it.
Robert |
Natalie Severn
Chief Inspector
Username: Severn
Post Number: 830
Registered: 11-2003
| | Posted on Wednesday, May 19, 2004 - 5:31 pm: |
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I went to Buck"s row last Sunday afternoon.It"s called something else now and people walk by with Sainsbury"s shopping bags unaware of any reputation it might have had.It was hot and dusty
but the building on the left was one I recognised from photos as that of the old Board school and as you went round it into Winthrop Street where the slaughterhouses were you could see how the layout lent itself to the crime.It would have been so easy to escape over the bridge onto Whitechapel High street or up towards Hanbury Street through the Alleys.
And I could see Polly at the end of her rope as she must have been by then,trying to get through the night. She is in the doorway of the school building.There is only the beam of light from the slaughterhouse on the road and some flickering lights from the The London Hospital in the distance.A pool of darkness surrounds her.She is swaying gently.only the sound of the animals being slain.He is walking fast.He approaches her.She senses something isnt right about this one
-the wild intense eyes,He is talking fast suggesting she begin to ready herself for him she falters but knows by his silence and deliberation
that there is no going back."What .is.it-...what do you want ..." and then too late she realises that she is unable to breathe and that he is utterly determined to carry out his mad ritual. |
Robert Charles Linford
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Robert
Post Number: 2459
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Wednesday, May 19, 2004 - 6:04 pm: |
|
Natalie, really enjoyed that imaginative reconstruction. I particularly liked the way it started off slow, then quickened as it became more urgent until finally exploding at the end. I think it was like this for the victims - they may have been given a little bit of warning, but not much.
Robert |
Natalie Severn
Chief Inspector
Username: Severn
Post Number: 831
Registered: 11-2003
| | Posted on Wednesday, May 19, 2004 - 6:18 pm: |
|
Thanks Robert.Had to get it off my chest!I have done a painting of the scene and a couple of others---will post them soon.The one of "Bucks Row" shows the London Hospital in the background.I Hadnt realised it was so very close---no wonder they thought it was a doctor or slaughterhouse man!
But the scene is quite beautiful in its own way with all the Victorian roofs of houses and pubs and the fine buildings of the hospital almost towering over everything.
Natalie |
AP Wolf
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 1112
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Thursday, May 20, 2004 - 2:50 pm: |
|
Yes, Natalie, I enjoyed that too.
As I think I've mentioned before, one side of my family are from that area of the East-End, but sad to say I ain't been back there since I was ten years old. Perhaps I should take a JtR tour?
Only joking.
Robert, thanks for your positive comments, much appreciated my dear chap. |
Natalie Severn
Chief Inspector
Username: Severn
Post Number: 835
Registered: 11-2003
| | Posted on Thursday, May 20, 2004 - 3:31 pm: |
|
Thanks AP.As far as tours go most dont go that far[to Durwood Street].Its a bit eerie too even now.
The same goes for Berner Street[Henriques Street now] though thats just a bit rough.I dont think it was by the sound of it in 1888 with all that activism going on.
But it will have changed since you were little AP.
Fascinating to think you were brought up there.Did either of your parents ever suggest who the Whitechapel murderer might have been?I remember you said on here once that your Dad
had considered Van Gogh quite seriously.
You really should go visit Whitechapel again.Its a very unusual part of London with its robust history of murder[JtR]anarchy[Sidney Street]
andprotest-even relatively recent such as Cable Street[Brilliant stuff this last!]
Natalie |
Suzi Hanney
Chief Inspector
Username: Suzi
Post Number: 753
Registered: 7-2003
| | Posted on Thursday, May 20, 2004 - 4:26 pm: |
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Nats
Just got back onto this thread....Loved you Pol/Bucks Row impression....strangely I had the same feelings,must be those Sainsbury bags everywhere!!!....Oddly as you walk towards the Board School I felt Pol to have been hanging around on the right hand side of the road ....sort of opposite where she was found.....certainly is a lot going on here but personally it's still Mitre Sq that does it for me
How're you anyway.....let me know via email or something....probably quicker than joining hands tho!!
Cheers
Suzi |
