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Showing posts from 2011

on light and dark days (untitled)

the sun shines brightly and the air is warm but today, i hate you yesterday was cold and the rain poured down but today - today i hate you the post-rain smells of freshly painted flowers the songs of the birds and the slow stretching of time's lazy yawn the childlike dream of a mid-morning nap after story time as the breeze off the sea gently strokes my cheeks today. i hate you.

leave a message at the...

Oh absent presence, Stella is not here; False flattering Hope, that with so fair a face Bare me in hand, that in this orphan place, Stella, I say my Stella, should appear: But if your lack of patience be subdued That you could wait for Stella, she might call; Waves' rays would shine back down as she did fall If she had with your details been imbued. [stolen from astrophil and stella #106 ]

the fort

why, when tucked snugly into bed nestled in my love's warm arms, underneath soft, heavy spread, with the air-conditioner's charms, hot sighs brushing 'cross us both, the cold, early-morning winds rattle at the window soft, unable to sneak on in through closed windows and locked doors, do i feel an icy chill, spread outwards from wint'ry cave that my savage used to haunt? what could he that memory can't?

i

the streets are filled with light and dark, they crow barks for justice, cries to battle fiction it's not the pull of mutual satisfaction just the sense that we've sunk too far below you stand there wagging tongue while armed with signs representing one of your heart's issue the fools pass by but they don't notice you you don't see the others for their child rhymes a break in numbers gives you time to rest drop your heavy sign down by your tired feet so that i've no idea, when our eyes meet, that i'm smiling at someone so blessed we've crossed our paths with guards down under moon i pray we don't go back to sleep too soon

a brief perspective of time

i am synchronic. i'm either in all time, or out if it. i suppose that's simply a matter of perspective. coming back to a diachronic moment is effort enough in itself, without that forcing me to actually do things that fit in with the future i've seen or cause a bunch of potential ones to collapse into a more definite path. it's exhausting to keep watching all those movies of other times and universes in potentia while constantly flicking back to the main channel to keep tabs on the "important" stuff, but i've gotten used to it and it's undoubtedly addictive. if this is psychosis, it has become normal to function through it. the world i perceive seems to accept it and sometimes praises it.

it's africa midwinter

it's africa midwinter the sun sparkling down on us all swaying from side to side to paul simon's stolen diamonds i stare at the one-armed bandit bench playing wheel of fortune as barbaric little monkeys play or fight for supremacy signified by whatever plastic trinkets can be wrenched free and us behind the cage pretending civilization as animals pour out of the silhouettes of salt shakers and condiment bottles onto our plates

blue thugs

the car glides in the dark smoothly up to the curb creeping right up to me under the bridge two big men with their short-cropped hair faces clean-shaven, their pressed shirts tucked in silvered-up epaulets enlarging broad shoulders hip-holstered guns about leather-belted waists they tell me of danger that lurks all around are you not from 'round here? i make no sound they close in, menacing show us, dear, what you've got smiling at each other grinning with glee then they nod knowingly recognize my anger laughing because they know how scared i am i want to go home to be anywhere but here trapped between these two hungry pressed faces in clean-shaven shirts don't worry they tell me this won't hurt the baby their fingers filthily slide all over me over every surface in every orifice rolling my textures 'tween fingers and thumbs it's dark, i barely see and that makes me wonder if the stars had been out if i would s

palm reading

i sit cross-legged on the floor rocking upon my thin mat with my bible spread open on the floor in front of me to another blank page i slap my bookmark into my palm its razor-sharp edge biting through the skin curls back as if ashamed to have been hiding such wonder blood plasma slowly begins to ooze from the cleanly sliced edges swirling into the centre drying into a hard, chitinous disc slowly, tentatively i touch fingertips to the translucent surface no longer my own flesh, but solidified yet my fingers slip through finding purchase in the unknown they grip, they tug, pull myself in after slowly, carefully, twisting through i'm peeled back as i move forward i peer into the blackness a universe unformed waiting, a great galaxy heart beating, like mine this otherwise unblemished, innocent space contaminated, right from the start for inside-out, i still carry the baggage of all my race

should i compare that to the summer's thrust?

should i compare that to the summer's thrust? that was not lovely, nor quite temperate no winds did shake the giant trees august, and summer's stride hath all too long a gate: today too hot the eye of heaven shone, though oft' was his dank cloud complexion dimm'd; and every sweat from head did downward run, by chance or wind's gust's changing course untrimm'd: but this eternal summer shall not fade nor lose possession: global warming growest; but shall death drag us wandering to his shade, when to eternal tombs our time doth flowest: so long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, so long lives this, which warns of death to thee. [ original post ]

death song revisited

this time, as i close my eyes i'm ready for my judge heavy sentence already served i, smiling, bear no grudge i stand here still at water’s edge of childhood, listening to the beach the rolling waves, the seagull screams that i called home, and out of reach i am that worthy sinner an unrepentant heathen for my god is He you bow before my soul, forever mine how many deaths can one man die before he can be called a man? i will remain, inside of you i will live on, though not the same i've climbed tall mountains, once above sat washed by clouds and dried by winds then looked to see i'd gone nowhere there are no tops, but only bends i place coins of love on grief’s eyes for this last breath, my funeral pyre so many moments will combust into this whirlwind phoenix fire i stretch my demon wings my halo shimmers gold i reach above, and reach below returning to the world of old [ original ]

- MODERNITY -

our world is changing – it always is, and our spirit is breaking as we allow the familiar gods of might and money to drag us further from the heights of our new and enlightened understanding. fashioning confusion, frustration and the claustrophobic need to escape to better, purer worlds we send ourselves onward into a pit of malevolent despair... as we always have. we are prophets and gods, devils and demons, full of colour and life yet bleached and blind; we know where happiness is not and we run towards that dark place because we only know to stop when faced with love. we are all as one and all alone, we want to love but fear to touch, we teach and preach but know only vice and misfortune. we shame ourselves with our lies while praying for the truth, and that truth will be hard and cruel but it will set us free. no more war, no more hate, only love and devotion and pleasure. then we will crumble because we require balance, and all will be lost. we must isolate the individual t

which norman finklestein?

it is the breaking of a world its shatter reverberating before my ears he's pulling levers widening views and i think i think it's like staring at a jackson pollock with his flicks and drips of words actions over message then i realize that it's nothing like a painting he's straining the chicken soup of his reality backwards dismembering his discontent feeding himself to his ghosts as they speak through his own mouth lips curling back and teeth bared around a smooth accent there i am there we are enchanted

well covered

i have covered the well with cloud blown glass whose shapes seem to swirl and dance in the dim light if i listen closely i can hear the echoes of the hammer and nails that sealed it

naming things

there is no death we are crumbling under the enormous immeasurable weight of our inevitability each change, twist, turn part of a larger orchestra in sickness and in health for better or worse until acceptance

on a hot, humid morning

it's high summer and the tree by the bus stop with its heat-bleached bark and vivid green leaves throws its shadow under the wheels of the bus which i get on i carry on

green paint

smooth white marble tiles and skin, covered in green paint a soft tint splattered over face and table crouched over a finishing touch white and green teeth alternatively bared and grinning

evolution

there's blinding pressure in those unpacked boxes of broken and unbroken toys that define memories of what was and what should have been the pictures are warped even those i have yet to hang the books are mouldy even those i have yet to read and the to-do list just keeps on growing while boxes and boxes of who i used to think i was pile up by the door, to be thrown out and recycled and i let go of shades of who i think i'll be

i'm reading poetry

YOU! are all mine. your ears, your ears only, i don't need your hearts those beat out of beat, but your ears they hear just the same

seasons

mostly it's: "i'm not going to ask but it'd... be nice... if you offered"

you speak to my heart

you speak to my heart so i'll speak to yours i'll gouge it out and feast on it spitting breath and words on it i grab it, hold it tight because your heart warms mine as it passes right on by you couldn't look straight at it i suspect that means you lie to me to you that's all i feel i have to do to fill you up from head to toe now round and round and round you go shaking blood and stirring soul and then, together we'll be whole

hermes

who wants to be alone i ask myself at this godly hour wherein i cruise through silent black pitch highways to the soft whirring of my winged boots pushing me forth to spill my message of this moment the fizzing sprinklers whizzing by spraying the asphalt to trap me, break me but i glide through silently staring, wide eyed, in lonely pleasure at far off lights towering in the sky or peeping out from under bridges i am possessed by a desire to share this perfect moment this precious, rare beauty but i cannot for it is mine, alone

sláine macroth

sung in memory of sláine, the horned god. i. in an ancient, mythical, long-forgotten land a world whose legendary tales infuse our blood tir na nóg, protected by vast oceans of water a wonder, lush and green, and pleasing to the eye where maids and hags were strong and tough like steel where fights or feasts were joys felt to the bone ii. a young maiden, with skin as white as bone whose beauty was unsurpassed throughout the land cast on young sláine indomitable gaze of steel trapping his passions and heating his blood niamh stole from him far more than just his eye her gifts, their cost could make hard, dry eyes water iii. for his sin against the sessair king, sláine crossed the water banished to the lands where dragons crunched men's bones where for her rescue, medb, in anger, spat him in the eye bringing to bear on him the nightmares of her land where to lord weird slough feg they sacrificed their blood and defended his right for their souls so to steal

the empire strikes back

higgledy piggledy hey george duh-beh-yeah bush standing on fighter ships stammering lines yes, you will smoke them out all those darn terrorists freedom must be hard won lay down your lives

secret cinquains

butterfly a slow and heavy start then freshly brightened up zipping and zapping all around until settling in for the long road to a better place... comfortable for a distance sends love --- telephone garland sometimes from far away to express my feelings a well, a spring, of love, to you, is tough ten years with me over here and still i do not feel that i am far away, alone thank you you don't seem to find that it's hard to deal with my... mistakes... but i'm glad that you do you rock how do you keep your heart ready to receive my distant, disembodied being always? what is your driving force? what makes you tick, keeps you optimistic, and powerful? keep strong sometimes with me over here it's hard to deal with my distant, disembodied being keep strong ---- the boss skilled men know when to bow to your unwavering clear thoughts and direction you're good

winter fresh

squeezing my brain 'til tiny, delicate droplets of thought trickle warm down deep into my spinal tissues, folds and crevasses thick, static, protected from reality and raging storm the whistling wind's sweet lullaby and i under clean sheets after hot shower

delegation

when our big brothers come back after five thousand years they will be angry "it took billions of years to make all these creatures to build ecosystems that we could call kingdoms and all you little pricks had to do was to look after them, but for a few" perhaps we will be lucky and they will banish us scatter us to the cosmos perhaps not, and they will leave

springs have sprung

staring at my clockwork pieces sadly, awkwardly strewn around me little, disjointed me pushed and pulled and stretch and squashed the breaking smooth a little shock and a laugh at a time until the laughter is all gone now the children stand amidst my ruin picking me over for parts to play with [ original post ]

clay mining

too late i realize that i have shared all with some bricks in the wall too late i remember i remember myself my right to righteousness that difference that gulf between fear and life those still stumbling in the dark cannot find purchase with their chains they cannot understand what they cannot touch [ original post ]

narcolepsy

i wake up once again into this dream the one where i remember that i used to love for a few brief moments i grow back my eyes and my heart and my teeth this time it will be different this time i shall remember i will not let slip, nor slide nor let anyone else in to pull me back i wake up once again into this dream the one where i remember that i used to rage for a few brief moments i grow back my fists and my heart and my teeth i shall not let slip, nor slide i wake up once again into this dream the one where i remember that i used to cry for a few brief moments i grow back my eyes and my heart and my mind i cannot let slip, nor slide i wake up once again [ original post ]

chatter

we stand and talk each voice equal of love and hate of hope and fear we talk equal, voices drowning out noises of love and hope drowned by those of hate and fear talking, words without base nor image, nor manifest in defiance of our rendering glassy-eyed lisp and stutter mouths purging, swarms of flies cloud and buzz angrily not venturing from empty caverns incapable of imprisoning them we stand and talk in the power of our loving, hating, hopeful, fearful flies our slack speech building chaotic, despotic worlds which we despise, yet like deep pools of dread-cold water we dive into die into from giddy, angelic heights we stand and we talk flying and falling soaring and sinking spinning tumbling swimming and bathing in words [ original post ]

hollywood

you came running to me all bandages and broken with your spear to your heart and that heart's ache unspoken with my curse on your lips caused by unseeing eyes your death song, keening, wailing suffer i for love's disguise your nostrils are flared and your eyes are rolling your heart all aflutter, making you dance and sing your head's in the gutter, you must have your fling because self-deception is a wonderful thing

logos

i don't want to be friends with you but i do want to let you know that i like your shirt it speaks to me, i get it so in a sense i get a small part of you not enough for more than a shared smile of acknowledgement to let you know that you're not alone that your taste is good but i sit quietly instead, watch you walk past afraid that my smile will be misunderstood the smile - is it really the same in every language?

headache

pounding slashing needling in invading every intimate nodule surrounding my brain not the deep insides though so i can put on the appearance of a functioning human being just the outsides in that safe space between scalp and skull that's where it's hiding incessantly distracting squeezing my eyeballs from behind so that pushing them in brings painful, tearful relief while the aggressor slips and slides away, round to the sides that human hands aren't made to hold

awkwardness

as we stand on the island in the middle of the busy road as you stab me with your finger accusing me - me! for the silent, worrying walk

looking up

behind old, crusty, crufty facades spalling, spilling over into the calm air above the quiet street ancient colours tinged as softly pink as the background sky as i walk by in wonder stealing glimpses at the great nothing that embraces us all

my first double dactyl

higgledy piggledy, oh, the great George Lucas filling our universe with laser beams then he destroyed it all with midichlorians phantomly menacing all of our dreams

partly cloudy

the oppression of confused weather and sleepless days the restlessness of excess choice lending bitter aftertaste to the frustration of imprisonment the bindings of my sensitivities no less cutting than the chords of ignorance false harmonies less false than those truths emboldened turning pride to shame, a gilded shade of glory glistening in the dazzling lights of the parade that i'm too tired to whoop for

lava people

like magma, mankind's spirit lying deep beneath the surface not appearing until stressed by some great tectonic movement motions of the world above cannot affect it, cannot heat it, cannot shift it; cannot plumb it but when those imperial, impartial shifts and shudders start runs streaming uphill in excited anticipation, heaving tremulously with ponderous explosive force smothering the heavens with ashes and burying the cities of the gods. and when the underlying movements settle down, so does the heat and the intensity of this great underworld spirit, so do the lands above become greener and all the more beautiful for the destruction that has arisen from below. currents of magma swirl and clash and mingle and heave, currents dragging aeons in their wake, barely containing their potential and simmering, simmering, bubbling, bubbling, until now, with great surge, charging forth, erupting, tearing itself apart, pushing and scraping, screaming voicelessly, pra

the wrapping

sleek, shiny, crisp, nipped, tucked, patched, ribboned on a corner with an envelope attached "happy birthday!" shouts the note and "i love you" underlined with a sweet yet cautious wish all most cleverly signed and rhymed then with fingers all a'trembling tearing wrapping all apart hoping that it's what you wished for cause the wrapping's lost its art

behold, i send you forth as a wolf in the midst of sheep

i have sold my soul to pay for my crimes to live out my days with pure reason, without rhyme wearing my woolly coat i snuck into the flock to bump and chow and bleat to the beat of a shepherd's clock while my teeth become blunted my eyes remain sharp while my neighbours are scared they know not of what my brethren behold me shake their heads disbelieving convinced that it's only myself i'm deceiving i watch them with envy as they play with their claws and i salivate as fresh blood drips from their jaws i laugh bitterly as sheepdog chases his tail with self-loathing i placate him with compliance and wail and forget myself and run circles and back despising my comrades, but my brothers must eat i ruminate on my dispo(sit/ssess)ion, contemplating the wisdom of that earlier decision hiding tears of anguish while i quietly languish my pack awaits, i pine i dream wolf-dreams intermittently my eyes do shine for one day my task will be don

opposable thumbs

johnny's a bit slow, can't tie his own laces so give him velcro instead he can't handle a knife and a fork let him eat with his hands our johnny will never go very far maybe just as far as the local pub he'll never be a shining star nor president of the debate club the poor kid just couldn't manage to read so put him in front of the telly he'll always be a little short on love he thinks he knows what he deserves and anyone can use a gun [ original post ] any monkey can pull a trigger. not every monkey can communicate. what can we expect from a country where education is replaced by laws or religion (which is the same thing, really)? what have we done to ourselves?

a scene, part i

The light shone strangely into the dark study, not quite through the open window through which no breeze stirred. Its shadows crept too eagerly over the desk, the chair, the books - too intimately did they clutch at the bare legs of the bowed, shrunken figure lurking in the doorway, fumbling for the switch. A shadow with a shaky, husky voice loudly, derisively broke into the soft intimacy of the scene: "What is it now? It's the middle of the night, and here you are wandering about the house without any clothes on! It won't be any wonder if you catch cold - why don't you get back to bed? Your clattering's making it tough to sleep!" "H-h-he stole my PANTS!" wheezed the emaciated wrinkle back at his wife, "we should call the police!" "Dear, dear, now you're having delusions. Nobody stole anything, and I can't for the life of me guess at what you think you've been up to. Now stop fooling around and get back into bed!"

a trip on my blades

buzzing flying wheeling across the city around and inside, then straight through like a knife home electrified by a quiet moment illicit, in the flickering light of a broken doorway framing an awkward, passionate exchange between strangers lovers dripping sugary sweet

gremlin

initializing providing interface user input detected user recognized user authorized initiate exchange with reservations wait 100 seconds open new threads for all applications add 1 second response time to each mouseclick corrupt random bit sequences of open documents maintaining low-grade network interference if typing speed increases rapidly, open unrelated dialog switch control and shift functions enable microphone activate recording software place exclusive lock on current application redirect soft reboot to send saved speech file to recipients on master email address list shutdown pc deny soft reboot

from your seat in the webb 01

i've been here a while, and i've heard many interesting things. more than you, at least. i speak every language, i accept every belief; i put up with your nonsense in silence. yet you insist on rubbing your arse on me, even when i'm only here to support you. i don't like big butts, yet you pretend that you can't hear my squeals. i hold out my hands to hold up your books and your laptops, and you complain that i don't do it right, or spitefully pour out your coffee on me, or at my feet. you smash your feet into my back, grinding my bones and rubbing your grimy soles on my most tender spots. i can't even identify half the stuff you've stained me with. you disgust me. ... pssst! hey! steps! help me out here? give 'em a buzz? trip 'em up a bit? thanks, mate. i owe you one.

you can't do that!

you can't be hopeful all the time you can't just let it flow you're not the best, you're not sublime you're the biggest jerk i know don't you learn? don't you see? the world's bigger than you or me your impact's tiny, no-one cares the only thing you'll earn are stares why're you wasting all your time? thinking big, at cost of small your efforts are mere pantomime no-one wants to hear your call stretch yourself until you disappear leave us with our consciences clear save your strength, and all your trouble we're happy here, inside this bubble shut your mouth, no - shut your ears cease your judgements, just believe we're doing it right, we shed no tears if you don't like it then just leave put on your suit, pick out your tie then cut your hair, prepare to lie now beg at your terminal, wave to the boss life's a serious thing, where your gain is your loss

the sublime

you are amazing such shiny, big teeth the whole world exists just for you not cursed with original thoughts not distracted by concerns of others filled with pride, and volume and You You You i crown you, with thank yous [ context ]

ears, eyes and feet

in this maelstrom of paradise fantasy turned reality becomes illusion a now forever all of the nows and this now, forever becomes the reality, is the reality for it's more real than the figment of fantasy than those outside our cabal of communication our whirlpools of discourse swirling in droplets of rainbow pleasure drizzling over our prehistoric primeval sunset [ original post ]

little miss muffet

little miss muffet sat on her arse eating her yoghurt. along came a spider and sat down beside her, and said: "hi! my name's rupert."

principles (part iii)

who are you monkeys who spend half of your lives complaining to yourselves and the other half complaining about having no time to live? when you're angered by the very unfairness that you yourselves cause because you're too scared to stop? what right have you with your loathsome narcissism to your fears of imagined injustice when you have real problems that you sophistically explain away? you push, and you stamp, and you whine on the bus, in the elevator, in the food line but you never stop for just one minute and think, maybe i can change maybe we all can change just as soon as you stop hating your own voice of reason

quake break

the walls are shaking    the ground is shaking rattling, rattling      or is it me? no matter, i'll go outside    and lighten up, and breathe deeply          and then, when the shaking stops i'll go back inside to deal with the mess

primal urge

a villanelle don't work too hard, nor study too long there's a limit to stress and strain dream, play, eat, dance, and do no wrong breaking our backs won't make us strong there is no need for so much pain don't work too hard, nor study too long we are born marching to the gong stomping our feet in mud and rain dream, play, eat, dance, and do no wrong there's always time for one more song one more sweet beat, one more refrain don't work too hard, nor study too long there's no need to try to belong in this world only love should reign dream, play, eat, dance, and do no wrong we can all nicely get along when we seek more than Stuff to gain don't work too hard, nor study too long dream, play, eat, dance, and do no wrong

listless

set up server kill bugs open jars catch up on readings for tomorrow it's a curse it's an affliction this love of the truth the worst addiction forcing changes in my diction and all other kinds of friction i overcompensate for my stupidity by being right all the time with others whose eyes i'm too tired to prise open, i'll try anyway, seeking surprise i wonder how many of us do surmise that most of what we understand are mere lies that we need because our brains are too small to contend with a world filled with a hopeful-less love-and-hate blend living in a country run by little girls and boys pretending to be grown-ups with their guns and other toys their batons and iron bars and nails are joys to behold, in their wisdom in crushing armed ploys two sides of a fence each shaking and braying to protect egg shells of ideologies that just can't keep playing can't survive in a world that doesn't end tomorrow with an i-told-you-so and

hitting every branch

how does it feel to live amongst the trees? to know how all the branches grow? to know how all the branches should grow? how does it feel to know you see true? and to know what i see, what i should feel? how does it feel to see the tree for the forest? and to carve your name in its bark in every tree's bark? how does it feel to hang upon it your one-word poetry? for you to find for everyone to find?

what do i know of equality?

what do i know of equality but the anger at seeing my brother grab on to insults flung spitefully, and, brushed aside, misunderstand why other mother won't take her meals with us at the table? what do i know of equality of dignity, or of respect in those afraid to lose? when i walk on the pavement and i'm too slow to be the first to step off and let the other pass and too slow to smile and too slow to love what do i know of equality marred by desperate, dastardly acts? even as i pretend to understand the cause and hear hot, angry whispers of my own but not my own and allow those words that in my ears ring harsh and hateful what do i know of equality so far removed from these troubles and tribulations? so far away, because i'm too blank to love, or be loved equality? did we talk about a race, a usurper? incensed veins with riotous humour? who taught hate and self-loathing and resentment? who finally realized their mistake too late?

minorities

i don't worship god, money, sex or science just a figment of my imagination that i call humans, future, brotherhood, love, aliens, art what kind of a minority am i? or is there a tiny bit of me in everyone? [ original post ]

getting sunburnt dancing to an ice-cream truck on valentine's sunday

head-bobbing our pale faces in convoy from a pure night of sweat and smiles lust, love and sweet sounds up the mountain our nylons and bright colours shining out impishly from soft greens and browns the dark water from bright fountain cooling us after basking in the sun's great laser beams the quiet sleeping city below broadsided by the arrival of the ice-cream truck subverted, playing our songs and handing out frozen lollies and we dance by the side of the pool children, old and young, flinging themselves from dizzy height into the water and that love, that love smiles and stolen kisses fluttering about carefree, like us

it's a pill

it's a pill that you give me ever so sweetly a pill that washes away all of my pain clouding my thought and unfocusing my brain tugging me, pulling away from my plight to you, or to it, or to anything that might just be the key to what i'm looking for i dig a bit deeper, and then even more eventually finding myself at an end that wasn't my aim, i did not intend to be back where i started, back in a rut i've gone round full circle, nothing's changed but the seconds are ticking by, minutes are few the work's still not flowing, i've so much to do i feel the sun rising, my eyelids weigh down the earth keeps on spinning, and i feel the town laughing and jeering at me in its sleep as i stress and strain for my promise to keep but instead of slogging through, finishing the job i'm writing this poem, 'cause i'm such a knob that even when writing the dirty "P" word i'm doing just that and it's mightily absurd pleas

vampiric lust

"there goes eve, hanging on the arm of the most beautiful boy in town. he's tall, well-built, not too smart for his own good and - more importantly - he's hers. she's been feeding on him for the past few weeks, and he's been feeding off the respect that goes with being attached to someone as powerful and... as interesting . eve has turned bedsport into a fine art. she's been obsessed with sex since long before she was turned; hell, it's why she was turned. the old geezer was experimenting, and he found in her the perfect subject. god knows how long he spent training her - rumour has it she spent most of that time under compulsion, to get through the grittier stuff - but once he was done there was no stopping her." "what happened to him? dunno. i guess she fucked him to death." "look at her. she's gorgeous. she's like an alien that's come down from planet fuck to turn our heads and destroy our souls. i wouldn't mind

savage

and when that envious man says “walk” we run afraid that the chief will cut us off mid-sprint we never listen when the chief says “wait with me” breathe, relax toke, take a moment live a little longer

in another sleepy hollow

in the still and quiet valley under massive oak tree there lurks an apparition waiting silently for me a giant horse's body with a giant horse's head yet in spite of giant reins he's a horse that won't be led with his pompous, glimmering saddle and his rider who, no doubt a man with one strike could behead then toss that head about i pass into the valley where the winds, they blow and gale in the darkness of the forest and the distant, spooky wail i see that horse's shimmering i sneak quickly, tree to tree but the great warhorse is legless and he won't be catching me that pitiful legless horseman through eternity frustrated he's hung 'round since the war but his blade has not blood tasted that pitiful legless horseman doomed to haunt none but himself his paleness like a pail of milk gone sour on a shelf

twinkle, twinkle, little eternity

twinkle, twinkle, little watch how your twinkling makes me cotch jingling coins might make me high beds of gold cause me to lie when the treasure map reads true i will sail the world with you keeping time whose value's known time is money, it's been shown you'll remain another toy amongst grand things that bring me joy gold, and diamonds, foreign lands promised with these rings and bands when you've gone around enough i'll spin your hands back, call your bluff for time goes forwards, backwards too so all we need are wads of glue to stick your hands fast to the now and all the grace to me allow to make things right, as i see fit to play the markets, cheat a bit i'll be rich, and you'll stay young then we'll enjoy this wealth i've sung history lies within your hands together we'll control the sands twinkle, twinkle, my timepiece how you make the birdsong cease freeze my greedy grin and eyes twinkling brightly, no go

resolution

it's a moment of fulfilment for both you and for me but you don't smile neither do i though it's all as should be it's relief but after so long of holding my breath in it's like my brain's been frozen and it's the now i'm stuck in

the bus to work

it's just a flash of summer, fleeting as i pass by the riverbank on my way, from rain to rain dark, and cold yet my soul is warmed through the scarred glass or perhaps i'm wrong the roads might still be draining when i arrive with the sun beaming down and the storm toned down into a gentle, hopeful breeze

bernard horn

look how straight he stands his vertebrae so very neatly aligned each a pestle to the mortar beneath grind, grind, grind like a pepper shaker, and the grains of nerve words softly pile up before he blows them up to us, a storm

the teapot song

you're a little teapot short and stout that being your handle and that being your - hey! that's no spout! it's an eye! and it's winking! it's spitting at me! he's not a little teapot, he's a lout he turns off the lights and blows the candles out he spits his boiling venom straight into my eyes then does a little dance to the sound of my cries he'll sneak right off the table and crash to the floor he'll pull himself together and head straight out the door they're not all bad, those teapots, but they're not happy slaves either pay fair wages or create teapot enclaves a free teapot's quite useful no trouble at all he'll sing you songs at tea-time wink you cups when you call "that can't be right!" maintained alice, as the S.P.T.S. representative tried to wrap her in his banner, "i recall there being some kind of dance involved." "quite so, quite so," said the representativ

i sat down with my hat on

i sat down with my hat on but it turned into a crampon dug into my skull a coupon for the smile that cracks my face i stood up with my coat on stretched a hand that you all dote on seeking for a boat to float on on my way out into space i lay back with my suit on staring at the scene with mute on trying hard to get my boot on as i prep me for the race the boot, the suit it fits on the tunnel i entered flicks on blowing me with all my slicks on cutting me right to the chase see my face, it's now got pale on but no smiles, not where there's hale shone that dear boat can get no sail on to escape this wretched place

blue circle tree

t i n y t o o t h p i c k s t o u c h t h e s k y     br us hi ng th ic ke r ar ms co nf us ed            tie d d eep er, sho rte r                  into a solid                       kn                       ot                      tTtt                      awWu                      rniI                      Sngn                      iTil                      enIn                      gdgN                 into the Ground

awkward

a week and a half of distance among friends of silences and mute observation and stranger's chatter followed by a long moment of cold smiles traded with unfamiliar faces seating adjustments waiting for the hook the inclusive joke the acknowledged reminder that we're all thinking the same damn thing [ context ]

overture

hand-pocketed sounds walk through dead streets in lamplight hiding in my hoodie [ context ]

25 short

soft threads of metal coiling around me, tight keeping the cold winter's morn from touching me with its icy fingers soft threads of metal wrap around my head sneak into my ears massage my mind peals of thunder stones of hail pelting asphalt peals of thunder rains pour down filling the gutter traversed by oily skin dirty rainbow tendrils sliding smoothly past huge bubbles form in the gutter rise up, as from the bottom inner edges of a soda can each bubble climbing and meeting a line streaking down from the clouds the hotel clambers to a halt throws open its double doors we rise up into the warm lobby on the red carpet [ context ]

turning the other cheek

turn the other cheek *SLAP* turn it! *SLAP* you turned it. now, set your own face on fire *SLAP* do it now, you will *SLAP* listen to your righteous self- *SLAP* congratulating *SLAP* moralistic high- horsed holier than *SLAP* floating up above so high like a diamond in daddy's eye like a sheep whose sacrifice is an artificial edifice a cracking, fading façade fronting for prideful other-self-worshipping tied your hands and works your mouth sends your dreams to that dreary south while you stand gaping, waiting praying for everything you know is true

linger

a sense of you lingers as i sit here alone with my words, and books and tragedies of conscience but that sense of you, a light drag of your careful fingers caressing a lingering memory whose words blur and shiver because i'm with you

she was standing on the sidewalk under a spotlight in the disconnected darkness

her slicked hair is long and flowing shining, glistening, glowing, growing into flowers, bright and budding while the light continues flooding her with nutrients, like those raining onto her black boughs, necks craning as we pass her, aquaplaning slamming straight into the railing as our lights go out, they're spinning and the devil's eyes are grinning and the horn's stuck, it's still sounding rounding out the scene, confounding our ascent, the tone is ringing in our phantom ears, and singing us to the abyss it's calling we were floating, now we're falling while our lady stands there lurking and her sensual lips are smirking her long fingernails are scraping a straight line, through those she's shaping to form numerals, she's counting scoring victims, numbers mounting scrawling up her branches, tickling her sweet trunk, her sap is trickling strengthened by success she's sheathing her stretched roots, she resumes breathing s

lasso

long fine threads silvery red streaks flickering, vibrating the retina of the mind's eye jumping out to our heads swirling snapper seeks looping, tightening holding us here until we die vicarious meds strange, conniving freaks manipulating, fighting until the them becomes i [ our lecturer was laughing about oxford's etymology machine determining that the word "cable" is of unknown origin, presumably indian. not at *all* similar to חבל ( chevel ). the quote i found: "lasso, rope, halter for cattle". i was remarking on the fact the cable tv really does tie people to it: and not to the good stuff, either. it's freaky to think of how many people are addicted to reality shows, when there're discovery, sci-fi, animal planet and channel 8 that all show incredible shit. ]

in the act

i caught you trying to sneak by bristling with marshmallows peeping out from long fingers curled peeping out your joyful, guilty grin did you think i'd miss it? did you think i wouldn't want too? you knew. you knew.

ribs

butcher meat puzzle slicing jigsaw shapes from different slabs then wiggling then jiggling and they slide into each other the butcher laughs the meat laughs and stops being meat [ context ]

Post-Modernist Stress

i look back i look forward i can't see but i think i think that i dream and i see that i can't it's all new, but still old it's all broken, and the glue is in you, but not me because you're in it you, see. and i must know i'm in it i'm not afraid of the thought, i'm afraid, afraid of the fear of the thought that's in me, in you, but not you and me because we're all blind, though we all easily can see that we play, that we're big, stuffy slaves we're denied by our worlds, our own childish enclaves it's your beat and our rhyme it's a waste of our time it's a lie and the drole truth that sleeps in your soul but that clock's watching over not caring a bit, if it melts off the table when my psyche is split

oh, boy

now i've done it feeling dirty because of my lighting fast taps on the keyboard too quick to catch too strong to pull back, although i'm right, i didn't need to be a rude, loud bastard and all the nice words, all the nice cool, hard logic won't calm her down my fingers felt her fiery wrath as i raised my seared shield a protector at the gate, so sure facing inwards, towards the troubled [ context ]

death song

this time, as i close my eyes i'm ready for my judge heavy sentence already served i, with smile, bear no grudge i am that worthy sinner an unrepentant heathen for my god is He you bow before my soul, forever mine i stretch my demon wings my halo shimmers gold i reach above, and reach below returning to the world of old [ original post / inspiration ]

the circus

your daddy joined the circus, son your birth did trouble him you stretched his penis wide and tall now only elephants take his all and we're living off his sin [ inspired by the talk about physical sex being difficult to determine sometimes ]

inspired by an italian wearing a hat (part ii)

It is he who learns it all by rote But cannot fathom where it goes Who bitterly makes us fret to quote And leads us all by hair and nose He mumbles softly to himself His contradictions plain to see They're dragged down from some upper shelf Invisible to mere you and me The painting's beauty's lost to him He's floundering, drowning in a sea Of misplaced anger, with all vim He makes up for inadequacy [in answer to part i - a resounding "no" :)]

inspired by an italian wearing a hat (part i)

it was only i i alone who stood up for you for you when everyone suspected you of tyranny and i tried i tried to look through your eyes and tried to share that tiny light that i glimpsed though every day since got duller, until i could only see what everyone else had been afraid of and now, every sight of you extinguishes that candle again cruelly, in anger but i tied my rope to you and cannot get away without my own flame to burn it can you have extinguished that, too?

Aleph-0

Aleph zero Let us look to aleph zero Eating aleph zero for breakfast Pretending to be bigger than aleph zero then Humbled by aleph zero Zipped up tightly by aleph zero Exactly like aleph zero Robbing aleph zero of his glory Only aleph zero never loses [ for those unfamiliar with cardinality: א o ]

call me

plus it may seem like i'm just faking it maybe i've just had enough i'm cold count my easy breaths to see if i'm alive, or even just there vacantly hoping that someone out there still cares enough to see through this shameless ploy

gorilla in the post office

a drooping lip and eye lazily knuckling in living by sense alone curiosity assuaged only by careless handling all thinking energy reserved, held back in for exploding against those suspected, backstabbing interferers in his pleasure, he beats his chest grumpily sidles off us laughing at his back

training wheels

child you're all teeth and ears on your giant little bike strai - ning - to - keep - walk - ing - pace defending yourself from all those roaming, unpredictable, homeless street lamp poles

stream of consciousness: nature

nature is full of hair and teeth and gnawed bones and leathery wings hard shells and spindly legs and colour-blind eyes and beaks a marula mushrooms and marijuana fins and luminous colours in the dark inks, plankton, fire and ice and green beasts turned to stone and huge veins running blue blood frozen JUST as it begins to drip through those jagged stone blades thrust through its skin one minute embraced by that perfectly sublime and soulless landscape seeing the goddess in her finest jewels and the next, there's a bear in your tent heat-seeking blood sucking missiles and huge red towering monstrosities holding the tiniest, the most fragile, the most ruthless lords and their blind, sticky progeny feasting on the broken parts of the terror of giants nature is full of elephants and mice snakes and mongooses flatworms and lice tender silverfish hiding in the dark always a moment's pause to sun on a rock or hide beneath one this is a steam of cons

bridge song

today i understood for the very first time why the insane get an asylum from the men tal institution of craziness that those fool ish enough call the real world that which we call the asylum is only for the truly wretched the rest of us are re duced to setting up tents in our living rooms and having sleepovers when ever daddy has his back turned stuck into his dreary work or his news papers and wild west flicks we play cops and robbers too but we only need pointing fingers not guns

a compass

i am but a finger on a giant hand pointing out to the stars from an outstretched arm the other hand deeply digs into the ground as if to keep faraway legs on the mound from escaping from running, and jumping, or perhaps tumbling because sitting is better than slipping or tripping all conducted by a deep magma rumbling voice formed deep in a plasma wand of slow consciousness squeezed upwards through massive tectonic bass plates pounding out the sweet music that tweaks all of our fates grumbling and groaning and breaking and building through steamy soprano fissures she, joyously denying gods with her power she, sensuously turns jets into flowers and flowers to jets serenaded by powerful gods-mocking pets each million-million nails plucking millions of strings each million-million tongues flapping songs, making winds each million-million fingers tightening their grips although there's no space left not for shoulder, nor hips each million-million mou

observations

the general opens his stern well-meaning fat hole of a mouth and blabbers into the microphone for all the base to hear the major applauds, a little too enthusiastically, filled with pride seeking a promotion the capo corporale stands attentively in formation a cog in the machine greasing a stiff-lipped service the private sniggers to himself shuffles his feet mumbles, mumbles about how he's cheated them all

when i was a child

when i was a child, i spake as a child, i understood as a child, i thought as a child: but yet before i became a man, i thought as a man, understood as a man, spake as... something in between; and when i became a man, i tried to put away childish things. then i saw through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: then i knew in part; and now i know even deeper as also i am known. and i picked up those childish things, and thought like a child, and spake as a child, and was happier like a child and more a man than a child. for now i am both a child and not, and know the secret that only old, bitter men realize after being children all their lives.

control loop

the newscaster sits inside his little box a puppet on a string being told how to look what to say an invisible spectral hand controlling an empty machine reading from an invisible feed and talking into a box looking into a box into his prison into your prison pulling your strings with his hypnotic mechanical drawl

frozen morning

from out of the cold i step into slow beats and traces of last night's incense waking up into a stranger's life into his perfect languid morning of touch and scent of tiny thrills and small promises whispered into tight canvases of tautly drawn skin with wandering, easy fingertips rediscovering old friends embracing always for the first time and with gargantuanly slow trembling moments with slow, portrait-perfect sliding eyes on slow, portrait-perfect sliding bodies i enter the stranger and lose myself [ context ]

a rabbit hole

the crickets chirp in an almost forgotten realm dawn, crisp and cool creeps back into bed for just a minute, perhaps two like me, let such a hot, sunny day complete the dream falling through the pupil of my mind's eye this eden green the iris seeming suddenly large and distant as saturn's rings that great titan's lips swallow me whole down the hole i tumble, no petticoats to billow and slow my fall knocked and bumped and smacked about and bruised and broken by a decade's worth of trinkets and fetters volumes of great works and buckets of junk portraits of wonderful nobodies and clocks that never knew the times, mirrors telling tall tales and postcards of places i've never been softly and gently i land and i stumble upon that fair oasis the explorer in traditional grey garb on strange soil treading a familiar tread, curious, relaxed until a giant hand catches the nape of my neck the world falls away, but only for a moment then zooms terrify

the corridor

it's dark out here in the cool corridor but for a soft glow shining through the keyhole i struggle with the key it will not go in, will not turn, but clatters uselessly too late i realize that i have been trying to open your door with my key all along

one of us

one you one me many you many we but when one talks of such a one as is contrived to hide the gun that mere contrivance points back to that spectral trace of me and you but it's neither you nor me although it very well could be [ context ]

magic number seven

nine ways to ingest drugs yet only two for food one wonders if that's by design what was that wise man's mood? [ context ]

zombie jesus

he died for our... so let's go out and... afterwards we'll feed on him drink his blood and be alright

acting

the curtain rises the spotlight consumes us our hearts are racing our pulses pound in our temples we're hiding on the stage hiding behind the director's masks to ambush an unsuspecting audience to capture them in a web of their own mythologies with tremors in our throats barely able to see our target we frantically fumble for our arrows

urban landscape

standing upon a small patch of grass a throwback to our primitive days before our jungles were reduced to urban moments i glance down looking far away, down six feet to those distant blades of grass surrounding my feet on a cold morning, the crunch of grass beneath my feet crumpled skyscrapers of a tiny, productive people who wondered at the eclipse while their glass windows shattered while their crushed concrete constructions choked them with dust while their water systems fountained and flooded so fast, and so violent that no whisper escaped no sound could be strong enough to echo witness to such tragic calamity they are lulled no more by the false sense of security provided by those enormous green blades towering magnificently, eternally over their worlds and now broken

dread sharks

two great, evil sharks writhe violently caught, tangled in my dreadlock web i carry them with me floating through the murky depths thick cables tied to them slowly dragging that incorrigible steel eel of a highway behind me

augmented realities vs imagination

am i already a cyborg because i've integrated the concept of a digital world into my systems? into my consciousness? am i envisioning with my bionic eyes as an underlay instead of seeing with my natural ones as an overlay? am i thinking like a machine, being a machine because that's what this world has made of me? is this why i suffer withdrawal symptoms when disconnected from the net? why a day without my cellphone is a fantasy memory of what we idealize as human and natural? a memory of a time already past, where the very idea of being all natural is escapist and worthy of ridicule? these cute technological parlour tricks spark something deep inside of me, because they show me the future in which we're already all living in cyberspace; living in cyberspace and dreaming of an awkward semi-natural past. the singularity has already occurred, and it's us: we're the machines. [ context ]

recycled firearms

a perfect moment my vision circling to meet a violent swing towards me thick metal stock tasting my teeth that circle of vision, surrounding shattering explosion of tooth solitary spurt, slow arc of blood greased metal on my tongue sounding hollow the world rushes back in half as loud twice as far away i am forever changed [ context ]

a first test, a taste

out of the darkness echoes of water droplets softly splashing the fast snick snick of a crawling creature approaching the entrance snick snick it rushes to the entrance, sticks out a snicking leg a sharp bone taps taps on the floor, then just as suddenly snick snick rushes back back into the darkness snick snicks fading quickly away echoes of water droplets darkly splashing the memory of a bony leg escaping

the witch

connecting the dots the wig the pen those shameless bare legs, that pressed black lipstick i don't care for her hair so why does she? it's a power struggle jocasta and the world so, like oedipus i remove my eyes to force a change in my perspective it does not really help i can still hear her voice unclear confused i flee my own sense

a future

phallic mother ejaculates into space spraying cyborg metallic semen sheen congealing floating sticking to the cosmic debris history science art gametes the seeds and eggs their fusion our rebirth [ context ]

youth is for the young

youth is neither ith nor usth but is both hung and unhouth both uncouth and cung mouthing words yet unmung in so doing, untrung youth lies north, unsung [ context ]