Thomas Greenwood

Toilets from around the world. After much travelling I can safely say Asian toilets win the poo prize for most amount of bacteria, smell and vomit. Since I can remember as a child, my mother against my will forced me into female public toilets with her and my sister instead of letting me go into an all male toilet alone. I don’t know why I complained, now I recognise that privilege long since gone has totally been wasted on youth, a phrase older people sometimes bestow on me thinking they are a pillar of authority like some priest in a pulpit, who likes a congregation to believe he has some secret knowledge, he and he alone is privy to. Contrary to what they and I think my youth is wasted on, growing too old to frequent female toilets does not come on their list. It usually entails wasted opportunity to ask a girl out or to start a conversation with one. However judging by the looks of their wives I don’t think that our standards are the same. A women that looks li

I love ants. In some way they are like Philipinos, I don’t understand their language but a lot of the seem to get a tiny job done. Apparently it is done on hormones or pheromones. I believe this is done through sweat and cant imagine what it feels like as an ant to have to smell someone else’s sweat to convey a message. I can see an ant in a pub holding his little ant arm up for his mate to smell it to ask what time it is. In return the other ant lifts his little ant pit and says, Why did you make me smell your dirty little fucking pit when you could have just pointed. I suppose to be an ant is not the best thing to be if you are a social being because forever you will have to smell ant pit. The ants of course in a job interview would surely express his ability to smell ant pit very well to get along with co workers as a team player.. And when a female ant says her boy friend is a good listener what she means is he has no sense of smell because, otherwise how c

Ants are very inconsiderate animals. Anytime you leave anything of taste open they claim it as theirs. Where in the world is it possible to enter someone’s house without invite and help yourself to what ever is on offer. Not only this I remember being smacked very hard for putting my feet on anything but the floor, while these cretins walk not only everywhere my mother declared as sacrosanct and sponged heavily day and night till not only the grease was gone but your reflection shone better than a mirror, they do it with their friends. Sometime they even decide to bite me for not reason. The stupidity of it is, if you wake a sleeping lion be expected to absorb the consequences. If Jainism is correct, I am fucked, because the amount of ants I kill in a day will send me into Samsara for an infinite possible time, and being indoctrinated by religion when ever I do carry out my genocide, I am plagued by guilt at the same time. Perhaps not all religions, but definitely being

Buddha above the sink In water below I drink I laugh you laugh, together In and out the horrible weather. My witness my pain my gain Through the world we did stay sane Hung up rinsed to dry underwear Strewn about the symbols in my layer Dying on a string cut and torn From Kurden-La to Srinigar Cotton thinned and worn Three pairs in a sack carried Slept on floors never married I picked you up in Darjeeling When the women came to sing Followed by the AK74’s There and then closed the doors The armies out the  pinkies shout Trapped and hostage bound Hit the ground if you hear the sound of the AK74’s Pants you hardly keep me in Take you down past the chin In the shower no need for a bucket We here alone, fuck it Shall we go travel In our minds dabble With the strange ways earth sheds Sleeping in all those beds I see you there dyeing But like Buddha do keep smiling Pallid room, a view to a kill All this stuffs making me i

JESUS Dirty is the symbol the Christians imbued On the great man Jesus. Stuck a cross on his back, Called him Christ, Made him a leader, To take us lands We could not pass. VIRTUE It was you who decided Not he who he was, Teasing a dog with your food You made him half god. Never as a human Could we be what he was. Sinner, saint nor god was he Just a human seer. But for some reason You did not make it clear Then when we cant be The mighty man Jesus, You remind us of our faults Make us no good and useless However If as humans we can make a human, And in our son there is our self, So when god made man He made himself And we are all half god.

King I was king Not in my land Lonely as the angels creep Sat, talked, did weep I was king. Never did I see the bottom of a glass, Never did a glass dare bare her nudity. I crowned myself amber, Bubbles to my head, the crown. Tyrant, dictator, slayer, Still there was a frown

Christian I say I am not a Christian But more Christian than a priest And by this mean, Not that a priest is not Christian But What Christianity is, is within me 070909 Malta

This poem is about a prostitute sleeping rough with here legs open, unable to afford Tampax. Philippines Before the sunrise You showed me yours Where the money box hid, Advertised before the paint’s dry. Sleep dear, It the only heaven you’ve got. Noble blood might be blue And the laws of heaven differ from those on earth And since the mind cannot be attributed to man but god Whom he made all equal Then it is by decree that all men must be given the same potential To fulfil their masters wish, Without the hindrance of earthly rule. 2009

Conceptual art a load of dogs wallop Conceptual poo, I mean art is not art. It is a metaphorical mirror to show us what a stupid world we have not come to create but allowed ourselves to believe in. Just like banking, where  fiscal currency holds absolutely no weight or worth unless the individual and those around him can fool themselves into thinking that what paper is held is the equivalent of or backed up by gold, or something of worth, the media savvy have managed to create an illusion in art. In other words paper money is an idea, it is a promise for something in return, like gold. This is exactly the same thing as conceptual art. When you buy conceptual art, you buy an idea. When you buy a piece of blue tack on a wall, or a shark in an oversized fish bowl, anyone can re create that piece. But you are not buying the piece you are buying the idea. Of course you can recreate a masterpiece painting, but you need to be a master to do that. When you buy a goo

The seed has been planted........ It is not the uneducated, moronic yob rioters you need to be scared of. It is the middle class, whom, when or if there is an Armageddon of economic collapse, you need to run. The morons, the scroungers of Britain and the inane mislead youngsters have rioted. This only sets an illuminated precedent that when you riot, you get listened to. The seed has been planted. The aspiring values the morons hold, are nothing but want of a label tagged to their clothes like a farmer does to a pig for ownership. The powers that be, the multinational corporations that have targeted everyone with the need of futile consumer appendages, has caused only anxiety when the moron sees yours is bigger than his. And he feels devalued, because somehow somewhere in his dinosaur brain, he is owed something by society. The other brain, since dinosaurs had two, is firmly rooted in the morons penis, to which he has impregnated and left the moronic women and c

Who is it that thinks sex is for babies. The same people that think university is for careers. University is an academic widget on the blogspot of Great Britain. It is not for everyone, except those that want a little more tertiary play in the internet of life. Peter Mandelson and Cardinal Newman are both on the same side of the bed here and agree on many things like not to have sex with women, which is why I have joined them in prose matrimony. Pete said ......in a speech to Birkbeck College “I do not believe that the function of a university is limited to, or even primarily about, economic outcomes. They are not factories for producing workers… Knowledge is an end in itself.” and Newman says many many years ago before my granny was born "any kind of knowledge, if it be really such, is its own reward." I love it because he goes on to say without a university education, people "simply do not know what they are talking about...suc

The rich and the poor and more clever than the middle class, because either they have stolen from the past or they are stealing now, while the middle class works very hard to make money so that both can aquire it and spend it while doing fuck all.

Buddha above the sink In water below I drink I laugh you laugh, together In and out the horrible weather. My witness my pain my gain Through the world we did stay sane Hung up rinsed to dry underwear Strewn about the symbols in my layer Dying on a string cut and torn From Kurden-La to Srinigar Cotton thinned and worn Three pairs in a sack carried Slept on floors never married I picked you up in Darjeeling When the women came to sing Followed by the AK74’s There and then closed the doors The armies out the  pinkies shout Trapped and hostage bound Hit the ground if you hear the sound of the AK74’s Pants you hardly keep me in Take you down past the chin In the shower no need for a bucket We here alone, fuck it Shall we go travel In our minds dabble With the strange ways earth sheds Sleeping in all those beds I see you there dyeing But like Buddha do keep smiling Pallid room, a view to a kill All this stuffs making me i

Meaning in Modern Art (1917) In art, progress does not consist in extension, but in the knowledge of limits. Limitation of means determines style, engenders new form, and gives impulse to creation. Limited means often constitute the charm and force of primitive painting. Extension, on the contray, leads the arts to decadence. New means, new subjects. The subject is not the object, it is a new unity, a lyricism which grows completely from the means. The painter thinks in terms of form and color. The goal is not to be concerned with reconstituting an anecdotal fact, but with constituting a pictorial fact. Painting is a method of representation. One must not imitate what one wants to create. One does not imitate appearances; the appearance is the result. To be pure imitation, painting must forget appearance. To work from nature is to improvise. One must beware of an all-purpose formula that will serve to interpret the other arts a