Unfurled

Soft-filtered light burns;
the world burns Red. Red
is our desire, crafted yet
wholly spontaneous - singular
strands flow loosely over you.
And so it is, an upward glance
looking at those behind the
lens, but we are behind the
lens. We took this photo for
you, for us; for everyone to
see that you could mean the
world - we, we believe that
you could mean the world, and
be the world, and everything
about the world will whirl
whilst being hurled into
your Cosmic Love
unfurled.

The Folly of Man (Chapter Three: Nostra Nihilum)

Accessible features conceal what is otherwise a blackened canvas, your eyebrows
arch into elongated V's, your nose blushes with its L-curve and your mouth is the
perfect O. All in all you're just a delicious set of letters I'll never be able to hear
or feel, because you're not mine, you're his, His, and I can't resent that because
it was your choice; and I'm a big believer that we all make our own choices
even if it's a grand illusion to cover up the fact that we're living under jungle-law;
dog-eat-cat-eat-mouse. Fucking Causality. Nothing you do matters because you
couldn't have done it any differently, so how can I blame you? I can't. And that hurts.

Slow dulcimer, Pinski's skull slowly erodes into nothing
but the pounding thud of stone against steel - 'How
does it feel?' I'd like to ask you, just once, and maybe
get an answer. Janine wandered into the sunlight, it
stung her eyes. 'This is why man moves slowly,' she
muttered to herself. 'A direct attempt to reach infinity
results in pain and nothing less.'

The pine trees swung gently in the autumn breeze,
I thought of you in your tanktop and folded-down
dungarees. The world was a simpler place back when
you could watch the sun slowly set over the banks
of the river without reverberations of bad hip-hop
from the nearest piece of iCrap. Modernity is bringing
us all closer together just to pound us into nothing;
Humanity's Final Solution.

Happy Birthday

Wouldn't you know it - dropped to earth by
a six-tonne blood-sucking Buddah, clasping the Tao
written in Shakespearian-full-blooded-English-prose
but turned back to front and signed by Nietzsche.

Carl Jung promised to take me camping
to Nurenburg to watch Hitler dance the
waltz with Churchill's mother. What in the
name of gOD where they thinking when they
let him take our temperatures?

I'm hot. Too hot.

Somebody stick a cork in me, I can't stop the cognitive-bile from spewing out of my neck.

This could get messy.

The Folly of Man (Chapter Two: My Generation)

I watched as the
best poets of
My Generation were
drowned by a wave
of pseudo-Ginsbergian
literary charlatans.

I watched as the
best minds of
My Generation
destroyed themselves
on the mouldy remains
of last years grain.

I watched as the
best bodies of
My Generation were
barred from sight
by rails; the ribcage
is not an erogenous zone.

I watched as the
best soldiers of
My Generation
wandered through
Iraqi streets at dawn,
looking for an angry fix.

I watched as the
best jesters of
My Generation were
lost in a hazy
mist of flatulence
and broken bones.

I watched as the
best ideas of
My Generation were
dismissed so as not
to offend those who'd
follow all laws anyway.

I wept as the
best part of
My Generation
never even got
started because of
a poisonous sense
of fashionable apathy.

The Folly of Man (Chapter One: Our Inanities)

I

Envelopes crusted
from misuse, containing
the past, containing
all that could be
based on what has
been. What have
you seen?

II

Smoke fills the air,
contracting around
the trachea, how
does it compare?
Smoke fills the air.

III

Belief structures;
Earth ruptures from
the sound around -
I refuse to accept
that you refuse to
accept my truth;
genocide abound.

Because I have nothing else to offer

I watched the slowly setting
sun; lights heartbeat slows
to one. Night has begun
before the day is out, turn
about is fair-play, I watched
you play today: joyous in
the water; heartbreak as I
gazed upon you. This is no
romance novel, there is an
end to this, this pseudo-bliss,
love's remiss, heart's amiss.
Miss miss miss miss - and
because I have nothing else
to offer, I wrote you this.

Nadine #3

Sweetest thing I ever did see;
cute chipmunk cheeks and
lips stung by a bee.
The low picture-quality cannot screen
the motherfucking hotness that is Nadine.

The Anti-Kate

Anti-Kate is her name;
pseudo-lookalike full
of hair-extensions and
kung-fu smiles. Fall
into the GAP and
drown. Someone toss
her a rope. Seminal hope.

Deaf and blind, stumbling
down a twisted alleyway
half-sober, fully-sombre,
yet thoroughly excited by
the prospect of going to
dover. Bend over Rover.
She's awesome all-over.

The Anti-Kate rises
from a throne of year-
-old Coors-Light cans
with a slithering sliver
of a silver sword-cane
in her hand.

Lady Zatoichi, if you will.

Fake bullet time led to
many cuts and bruises
but all was ignored in
favour of lusty advances
towards John Cusak,
and rabid Critic-Sex
with yours truly when
John Cusak was
unavailable.

Shabba
Shabba
Shabba

l0v3

You are the chipped
coffee cup on the table;
You are the photo album
of the stable - gilded
memories from when
our passion did not lack -
You are the crimson
scratch marks on my back.
You are all this and more,
less, more or less the best
and I'm more or less a mess,
because I would kill the
children of a thousand worlds
just to see you smile.