fisher king's wasteland

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 ]

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 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...

"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...

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 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 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...

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

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

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

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 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

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  ...

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 ]

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

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 ]

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