Memories of Hiroshima

Memories of Hiroshima by John Foxx is a piece of cut-up writing from the late 1970s. He used collages and cut-ups from magazines and newspapers to generate ideas and images for songs, artwork and also short stories in his ongoing book, The Quiet Man.

the network
in my dark cell of… flesh, sex is in the landscapes
shelter architecture warm silvery
dogs trying to eat frozen fruit on a market stall.
pearls swirling and glistening the first glow of dawn on the horizon
the vague anonymous camera panned the mutilated
undeniably fascinating creatures
skilfully presented and filmed
the exposed pulse unleashed
a torrential energy. All in
a blissful evening
of mechanised self-destruction as
the victims simply faded in
the harsh light of the camera

a gigantic supermarket
old photographs of a naked husband and wife their bodies images from machines interlocked with golden flowers
in a billiard room untouched by time
young man walked in silence through the factory assembly lines, his old
bodies slung across his back
were pocked with burns,
he showed a landscape a faked mirror reflection of a poignant goodbye.
he had a
book in his possession which
contained a photograph of Hitler.
has been whispered onto the paper, a ghostly film of Death in the green gardens of masturbations
a beautiful woman
who has grown old
a female figure at an upper
merges with
gouts of orange flame
and greasy, ebony smoke

the whole building smells of Red Orchestra torture
“Hiroshima Mon Amour”.
The Red Orchestra inflamed and eager unzipped the body of the inhabitant
He knew nothing
–how could he,
when he was totally self-absorbed
and regarded them as fragile human cliches

He usually
wears a dark suit, often with
waistcoat, a white shirt and dark
tie. Unfailingly courteous, he
retains the old-world style of
pre-war Poland

The anguish of the TV

operating theatre

A lot of men in green over-
alls and masks were shaking
fists and scalpels at him.
in the metal box]
he was roped to soft chairs, the electricity
was increasingly shot through his eyes
with shows of stars and sparks
of drugs.

unendurable torment
he was eating now, but
was very slow to walk away,
he was terribly thin devoted to
lost teeth

his arm with its
waxen puckered skin where
the hair didn’t grow

her deodorised lover
with the company car
is dead

The future is past

Sunday, May 22nd, 2011 THE QUIET MAN