verbal ballet theory

Plaça de Catalunya

2009-11-08T01:57:00.000Z

Nocturnal poetry in Barcelona,

dreaming an impossible

lucidity on stone steps

bathed in the neon Gods and

their phosphorous footsoldiers,

lined up to illuminate the word;

so the word can be heard

Above the gentle hum of

steel steeds and the intermittent

rumble of the winds.

Perspectives are changed as

things are put under new sight,

not too bright but dripping

with insight. A gilded night.

A city eternally bathed in Light.

Bass Masters

2009-11-07T14:52:00.000Z

"Dude they'd be soooo easy to catch from here!"

Surrounded by life, above

and below - dozens of

fish swim freely in the

pier; here life teems

where in other cities

it flounders. They

swim peacefully

amongst themselves,

and all the American

can think is how easy

it would be to kill them.

La Rambla

2009-11-07T13:47:00.000Z

La Rambla the jugular,

La Rambla the heart,

La Rambla you breath

and tear me apart;

Then put me together,

you're dumb and you're clever;

You hold sway over everything,

except maybe the weather.

You scream Catalunya,

then sell Madrid caps;

You hold the weight of us all,

under strain of collapse;

La Rambla La Rambla,

whatever you do;

Please keep on holding,

and carry us through.

Three Sunsets

2009-07-05T00:16:00.004Z

I saw the day's dying moments meander over the land leaving

its last remnants of red, amber and gold to the foliage falling about my feet

Behold;

A knife is turned

Inward Glances morph stone to ash,

ash to air, engufled in the warm scent

of hopeful despair. Six steps into the slipstream

standing sedentary, sun fading on the horizon, pleasently

mirroring the rising, rallying, revolution against the dark of night.

A half-turn brings all into view; stunned, speechless, surrounded by Light.

Twist in the blood, an angry turn of phrase

brewing for years around feet too busy to notice.

Tramped by the slow-moving search for meaning,

hidden in gutters and on walls of plain colour; plain sight

might have obscured life's veracity, drowned it in light,

but Now the search begins in earnest.

Would that I possessed anger, not be possessed by it.

Choking on bile rising with the forgotten force of

hundreds of years of oppression, repression, possession.

An obsession with a righteous cause, stood Fist Raised in

the death of daylight, a hesitant pause breaks the forgotten

beat of the revolutionary drum.

In the darkness, playing dumb has become chic. Not quite

unique but varied enough to appeal to the Culture Vulture

and all its claws, from the hipster school of haughty haircuts

to the barmy army and back again - the problem keeps coming

back again, and so the wheel of woe will turn unabated, turn

unrestricted, turn everything but a corner.

As summer gets warmer, hearts grow colder. Words of

wisdom will wane while a casual response becomes a

full-blown retort. Kid gloves thrown to the ground in this

ideological throw-down. Victory far from guaranteed but

the battle must go down. Raised Fist turned outwards,

relentless rage unleashed on the doubters. Dystopian

fantasy is now a harsh reality. This is it, now is the

time to speak your mind. Let blood run from broken lips

cracked by the harsh air, let eyes swell from tears cooled

by the night fair;

The Night where it was all said and done

and yet nothing was won.

The Night where the same three words

are repeated over and over.

The Night where anger gave birth to an

Idea with the setting of the sun.

The Night where the Idea died - passing

on softly, leaving no mark, nothing to recover.

Nothing to see.

Continued

2007-04-14T01:52:00.001Z

Submerged my face and opened my eyes,
oxygen bubbles were fast on the rise,
I saw in each one a reflection of you,
then all was black, all was through.

To Be Continued

2007-04-08T17:41:00.000Z

I feel something inside
you ebb away, some
delicate fragility. Worn
by years of neglect the
fabric frays at the edges,
faded texture,
withered lustre.
But the Magic is not gone,
it remains,
refrains
again and again.
Focused perception unveils
the light. I see it. So bright.
I see it.
Why can't you?

Block

2007-02-27T01:07:00.000Z

The bell chimed its last,
broken down and fast
removed. A space stood
there, an empty stare
ran down her where
once was a smile.

Here was meant to stand, a stanza linking these two strands. It should have been poetic beauty, but try as I might it won't come to me. I sit mentally writing down half-phrases and shouting out in frustrated rages. My mind's a cage, my mind's a cage - and the key is lost. Search the page, it would help. Hurry! Find it! Lest I beat my fists bloody against the wall in a desperate search for enough emotional intensity to return to me my creative propensity.

I was asked to behold
a tower circled by the
radiant heat of marigold,
but I stand in a panopticon
of the soul, and I am so cold.

I

2007-02-09T00:57:00.000Z

(6/11/05 – 30/9/06 – 1/10/06 – 29/1/07 – 8/2/07)

For Everyone

I

I tried to write some poetry, but London

got in my way with her flashing lights

and happening scenes. Someone teach

me how to network with the white man.

I fucked a virgin in the ass and

she creamed - I was unsure

but she burned beef incense

and slowly trimmed my pubic hairs.

I read Eliot, Ginsberg, Shakespeare

Dylan, Poe, Plato, Nietzsche

and Wittgenstein - yet still

knew nothing at all about Love.

I sang really badly in my bedroom;

earphones crackling Melodic

Death Metal made in Sweden

by the New Aeterna Deus.

I listened to Zeppelin and The Beatles - a

bunch of white guys ripping off

the Negroes. Monsterous Guitar

Solos then blew my mind, thanks Jimi.

II

Ironic idolator gleaming knee-deep in philosophy and poetry,

smoking the crack-pipe of Consumer Capitalism,

coughing relentless, blissfully drowning in rivers

of free thought and Thinking About It.

A left-lean debate-machine. Capitalism's unruly tenant,

fuck rent. Ironyball in your society's side pocket,

poetic prophet, watching philosophy's sun set.

When will it rise again? Unknown. Your mind's

blown, I'm Christ's clone, and a Social hard-sell

and morality's motherfucking death knell.

III

I sat with Edinburgh, I talked with Edinburgh

and it was like I'd been there all my

life. Then Edinburgh went to be

with the Angels in California.

I called to Glasgow, I went to Glasgow, died in

Glasgow, ressurrected in Glasgow,

got fucked in Glasgow, Glasgow

was kind to me, I <3 Glasgow.

I fell platonically for Kings Sutton, I went

to Kings Sutton - Kings Sutton

spoke to me in three different

dialects, each were exactly the same.

I used to be with Oxford where the red

shone brightly, now all is a faded

burgundy and relocated to Birmingham

for impossible musical inventories.

I listened to Croydon with a bass-slap-pop and

furious political alignments and the

souls of British Ska and Grindcore

kicking down the doors of a Dutch girl.

I spoke to Eindhoven, exchanging thoughts and

emotions and ideas about Ruud Van

Nistelrooy. Soaked in literature, the

tide carried her - an authorial glacier.

I read Cole Harbour on the internet, and

wept, because it looked much like

San Francisco, California, and

spoke so very gently about life.

I conversed with Toronto about everything

something and nothing. And we

misspelt words for fun, slightly

homophobic but never really angry.

I punched Whitby in the face repeatedly

until it became Leicester. Bitter

green clouds of absynthe, laced

with the cunt juices of Rotherham.

I watched Kings Sutton slip into vapidity

and trickery, egoism running rampant

around the attention span of an ADD-

-afflicted gerbil. What A Waster.

I lost time with Reading, which then became

Tokyo. This could have been something

special, but time stands still for no man

and for me it ran twice as fast.

I had conversations with Leicester rocket past;

and realising that Whitby was Hoyland

made me laugh. Do circus mirrors make

me thin and white? The Debate Continues

I saw Chester replace Rotheram with joy, and little

argument. Smooth transitions lubricated

with plenty of sarcasm, alcohol and

strange men asking "where's the party?"

I partied in Leicester and chilled in Hoyland and

we drew up plans of World Domination

via Cinematic Conquest - Untouchable,

we discussed things repeatedly.

I talked to Saint Petersburg; and fangirl moments

for imaginary Jewish playwrights

aside, this was heavy discourse in

orange, swimming in fact and fiction.

I wrote to Malaysia, Malaysia wrote me back

with dirty fragments of genius sparkling

like stolen diamonds in hookah-smoke

from the mouth of an iconoclastic dreamer.

I dreamed about Umina Beach; flickers of depthless

black engulfed my field of vision and my eyes

started bleeding. Untold ecstasies await

in a haze of cigarette smoke and sex.

I masturbated furiously over Kentucky and never

stopped once to think of its impossibility:

Vibrant sapphires. Green popsicles.

Towels. Opeth! Sex! Cum!

IV

My fire rose, fiercly at first, burning faster, then fearfully

pushing for the fences, rebellion! Freedom!

We fight! The fortress will fall! I forsee a

feral and fleeting intertwining. Fixation.

Heartbreak. Fatal. Ash.

V

I finished writing some poetry, London in the

end only enhancing my lucid crack-

-house stoner breed hallucinatory

fantasies in which I and my three

cocks impregnate Monica Bellucci,

Adriana Lima and Angelina Jolie

all at the same time. I then come

around some fifteen hours after

bleeding from my balls, with the

final traces of orgasmic residue

dribbling down Your Chin.

Julie

2007-01-30T03:24:00.001Z

A tiptoe on the ice beneath the snow,
believe me when I say there's a way
to go, yet. But still don't fret 'coz don't
forget that I have set this up so let your
fears and tears disappear and smile
a bit and try to enjoy it.

And by it I mean this scene serene
of standing on a frozen lake, so
wide awake, watching the mist rise
from our breath. So don't delay, the
time to play, is here today, so won't
you say that you love me?

Spiral

2007-01-25T02:32:00.000Z

Sunlight glints on frosted branches;
frigid fields hindering life's chances,
callous glances of possible romances,
no more dances, no more watching.
No one's watching, no one's watching.
Dance, dance. Spiral
into chaos, into moonlight,
into harmony.
Life's dramatic irony
stands tall as we all take
comfort in its shadow.
All but those who dare to
burn, dare to learn for what
they yearn, then a return. Spin to
the centre, reach out to the tips,
slender, inviting, return to the hips.
Return, return. Burn.
You're so warm.

Bullray

2006-10-27T14:18:00.000Z

Infer what you will:
deliberation of
interpolation. The
jury's out; shout,
shout it out. Time
passes and will
be passing in time.
Speak no evil,
certainly not in rhyme.

I don't know, maybe you do.
Science was made up by folks
like me and you.

Childhood amnesia,
no one wants to
believe ya'. About
what I don't know,
I wasn't there, saw
things through a
different lens, this
is the mental bends,
and I can't comprehend
the cataclysmic
kaleidoscope that
smashed and
shattered all
Swiftian Tropes
and left you
feeling like
a joke.

A Song For Kyoko

2006-10-01T04:39:00.001Z

Twilight creeps across the sky,
a slow-dance intertwining with
you and I. We sit and speak,
flashes illuminate the eye and
show us things we cannot deny.

I can't show you where it hurts,
because I look at you through
emotional blinds, so I see you
only in spurts. Complete pain is
horrid, but are fragments worse?

Though I owe you an attempt
to ease your pain, cathartic
dialogue, dramatise your
condition, all the classics
rethought and written again.

So this is the story, don't
you know, of a lovely
young girl named Kyoko.

She loves like she lives,
with plenty to give
and plenty still stored;
her feeling's ignored.
Stockpiles of emotions, sat
in a barrel, slowly rotting.
Even the sweetest apple
turns black if uneaten.

Her Neccessities: air, food, water
and some contact, just a sliver
of skin brushing against hers.
Something to let her know she's
alive. Something for which she
can strive. Someone to sit
by her side, and talk
and laugh
and cry
and watch as cliche's rain
down from the sky. She can't
remember being so happy
that she felt afraid to die.

It's all I think about as she sits
in a chair, screaming out to
walls of mirrors, getting endless
echoes in return for her thoughts.

Nadine #4

2006-09-17T01:33:00.001Z

Nadine, Nadine, the Jelly Bean Queen.
The Jelly Bean Queen that needs to
be seen, full pouting lips and dressed
all in green whilst artistically posing
on the big silver screen.

The screen is a metaphor, I wanna
get some more of what the boys
all adore and the girls just ignore.
Their loss. Lip gloss. Dressed to
the nines and blowing away
designs of indifferent minds.

She stands on the cusp, angels
fall to the dust before her mighty
emerald-rod-bookstore-please-
sir-just-one-more mindset. An
international security threat to
the herd of the new scene. All hail
Nadine, Nadine, the Jelly Bean Queen.

Self

2006-07-19T17:46:00.000Z

Left-lean debate-machine. Capitalism's unruly tenant,
fuck rent. Ironyball in your society's side pocket,
poetic prophet, watching philosophy's sun set.
When will it rise again? Unknown.
Mind's blown, Christ's clone, a Social hard-sell
and morality's motherfucking death knell.

Tatiana #2

2006-07-18T20:20:00.000Z

russian blues, stylish shoes, poetic verve in social grooves.

girl, unfurl.

regrettable... unforgettable.

Tatiana

2006-06-06T23:21:00.000Z

I sat on a frozen bench. The winters
were colder in Moscow. The sun
could not warm the dead land;
the snow as brittle as desert sand,
the clouds crept over to lend a hand,
and all heliocentric affairs were banned.

She sits on a frozen bench. The winter
becomes warm in Moscow. Her eyes
radiate heat through luminosity, her
hair flows in winds of change, her
touch spreads further than her range,
the fragrance she wears is springtime
flowers drenched in soft mountain rain,
and I fear that I will never be the same again.

Fluctuating

2006-06-02T02:05:00.000Z

I

Trains, the symbol of modernity, are stationed in and surrounded by urban degradation and quasi-wilderness. There is something to this.

Sacred Israel Holy Mountain Zion Flattened Islam

II

The clouds were white,
The sky was blue,
and she's a great friend, it's true.

The sky was blue,
The trees were green,
and the two of us were quite a scene.

The trees were green
Her hair was red,
and I remember all the words she said.

III

Emma, Emma, you pose quite
a dilemma,
For you're in the 'gow and I'm
up in Aber.
But I'm quite sure that we will
work it out,
Because that's what being friends
is all about!

Oh dear me, that's a bit cliche,
I do apologise, it's not my way.
But I hope you felt the sentiment,
I mean it's really quite self-evident.
But you know
I go with the flow,
tell it as it is; so
Emma's quite ace
don'tcha know!

Hafsa

2006-05-04T02:26:00.000Z

If I could speak for a minute
or two; I couldn't cover half
the beauty. An hour seems
longer, true, but it too is
insufficient for me.
No, I would need a thousand
days and nights: weekday,
weekend, consumed on sight.
Writing in darkness by
candlelight, never stopping
for pain, serious or slight,
so that one day I might
tell all of the world "Yes,
this poem is about a girl!"

Her lips curl with a knowing
smirk, hair flows gold
and brown over caramel
skin softer than silk -
there are simply none of
her ilk. Her eyes gleam
depthless
promise
eternal
hope
and milk chocolate.
That delightful Lima-strut
is so elegant, so intelligent.

Refined, refine, she is
Meta-Divine.

Words could fail me,
I could stutter, but
there's not a syllable
I need to utter.
Just take one look
and you will mutter
"what a smile, and lips,
such big brown eyes!"
Yes, you my friends will
too realise, that she is
simply beauty personified.

Nihil #3

2006-04-26T05:12:00.000Z

It's five-fifty-eight and
I'm, not feelin' great I'm,
feelin' faint I hope you're,
worth the wait I hope you're,
worth the pain but I think
I'm, the one to blame and,
things just ain't the same,
no they ain't the same I'm,
so sick of this game,
sick of this game,
sick of your name
it's all I hear,
let's be crystal-clear I,
don't wanna be here don't,
wanna be here just, wanna
be near your, angel face, your
sunshine eyes, those, depthless
eyes, that, crescent smile, please
stay a while, please, make me smile
like I, see you smile, I, see you smile I
see you there with your, flowing hair and that,
satin dress I'm, such a mess I, must confess I,
love you I, love you I, love you.

Nihil #2

2006-04-07T01:09:00.000Z

Ophelia the Ice Queen threw a glance to the distant window, morning's light crept across the floor towards the bed. Her lover lay breathless at her side. Her frozen figure drew his heat yet his flame was forever reignited by this perpetual frost; never experiencing the chilling existence outside his love. She Was His World.

Nihil #1

2006-03-23T16:29:00.000Z

I want to open up my veins
and let it all pour out: I love
you I love you I love you I
love you I love you, beyond
all reasonable doubt. And now
without rhyme or reason this
Infernal Season never ceases
to cease or provide me with
peace or release or release
or release I Am Trapped.

Hang 'er up!

2006-03-15T23:06:00.000Z

She looks through the cubes;
the world beyond distorted.
The blue satin is soft
on her legs, she feels the
smoothness against the tops
of her toes. The palms of
her hands are enveloped
in pillows. She pouts bare-
-breasted into the cubs. The
gentle light shines softly on
her skin, the beautiful arch,
hairless, glistened by a
microfilm of sweat. Her ruby
red lips pursed together,
occasionally penetrated by
her tongue and then glossed
over. Her auburn hair shines,
framing her mouth as central.
Her breasts heave as they hang
softly, desiring the touch of your
hand. She rocks back and forth
slowly. Eyes closed as she
imagines the sensation. Her
cheeks flush as her breathing
becomes deeper. Firm exhalations.
Her ears burn, her arms feel the
strain and give way. She collapses
into the cool satin. It soon absorbs
her heat - and her discomfort. Her
behind is held up, on display. The
juices trickle down her legs. She
wants you. She Wants You.

Ad then she sits up, and
without a word she leaves.
Her shift is over.

Tomorrow's Dialogue

2006-03-15T22:59:00.000Z

There we sit, unfolding
on the cusp of greatness.
Sat as though lilacs,
glistening with the dew
of yesterday's showers.

Your eyes gleam under
the sunlight, gentle
reflections dance.
Iris and her pupil make
a lovely couple.

Your hair is like strands
of Gold, here devoid of
colour but still retaining
their lustre, soft and gentle
in the winds of change.

In the distance a truck pulls
away. You take a sip of
coffee; exhaling the ghosts
of yesterday's thoughts and
tomorrow's dialogue.

For this conversation merely
skirts around the issues;
that familiar tet-a-tet, the
prelude before the deluge,
a neccessary introduction.

For now we cannot say
what we desire, "saving it
for next time" we retire - A
painful adieu, if only I could
spend more time with you!

A Daffodil

2006-03-15T22:49:00.000Z

I have an image in my mind;
A Daffodil blowing gently
in the afternoon breeze.

The Daffodil is embedded
in rocks, grey and black,
a formidable base.

The base stands at the
foot of a garden, luscious
green grass; watered.

The grass is fresh and the
garden sits itself on the
precipice of a great valley.

The valley was forged by
the mighty river, which
came from the mountains.

And there, lining the pathways,
are endless Daffodils, each
blowing gently in the breeze.

Girl

2006-01-14T22:44:00.000Z

She's gaudy,
so bawdy, and
she always fucking ignores me.

It's agonising,
so paralysing, but
her silence is almost tantalising.

I'd leave,
to grieve, but
it's too painful to be a reprieve.

So I stay,
to decay, and
irony strikes as I waste away.

Renata de Deus

2006-01-08T22:44:00.000Z

Renata de Deus; beauty
queen drenched in sepia
stained purple haze
watching time fly by
intermittently falling
into conversations
with mother and the
twenty strange folks
that know her through
the new-age wireless,
tapped and wrapped
into tinfoil and towels
reading Salinger and
slowly twirling her
real pearl necklance
around her real finger
contemplating what, if
anything, is Real down
below.

The mind stutters
like shutters six feet
underground with London's
underground rattling past,
the next stop is: Hope & Despair
and I thank you for being there
as I alighted onto a desolate
platform, save your solitary
figure head tucked into collar
as the cold wind blew fantastic
newspapers in and out of the jet
streams of mother nature
wrought glorious revenge
on the destructive indolence
of the masses - brake light flashes
on a cold winter night bringing you
closer to me, exhaling warmth
and inventing our own Rhyme
Scheme, you are a Living Dream.

O 2005!

2006-01-01T00:00:00.000Z

O 2005! Truly a magnificent year, one
which had highs and lows that
were fluctuating rapidly.

Which involved varying degrees of joy
ecstasy and poignancy. Each in
amounts larger than a handful.

Which blew its brains more times
than it cares to recall but
not once did it climax.

Which looked down at all those people
dressed in tracksuits, but then
worked with them for 2 months.

Which suffered total technological breakdown
only moments from perfection,
and was forced to wait for help.

Which finally acquired an eye to look-through
and see the world as it truly is,
or could be with a little bit o' work.

Which let Ukraine into their flat by way of
Switzerland, they brought a child
so we baby-proofed our thoughts.

Which went to Birmingham and Glasgow to
bear witness to the Apollonian
Aeterna Motherfuckin' Deus.

Which travelled sporadically to the cities
that held the faces in the windows
in Windows; and revelled in them.

Which believed in friendship so much that
all the falls only spurred them
on to find that One True Friend.

Which met Some Such Friends for the first
time and engaged in illicit intellectual
intercourse with several others too.

Which had its faith in humanity restored by
a beautifully warm-hearted redhead
from the corner of Atkin & Kessler.

Which wrote poetry in varying verse with
ranging rhymes but always themes
of despair and human suffering.

Which was exactly one-hundred years on from
impossibly mutiny on the Potempkin;
These Are Not Maggots!

Which saw evil inaugurated again, and the
world sighed because there seemed
no hope then, and there's none now.

Which watched Internazionale remind the world
what passion is; burn yourself away
in a futile and stupid display. Love.

Which saw Iraq continue to fight for her
Freedom against the Scholars of
Money and War - a hopeless task.

Which had idiots attempt to assassinate
its favourite City, only to fail
due to underestimating Her.

Which got harrassed endless by men with
small cocks and big guns whilst the
Chinese transgressed 10-foot away.

Which saw the return of The Icon, stepping
out of mind and onto an unreal
space outside of time; Unlimited.

Which looked into a mirror and saw the Self
and the Shadow and the Mask
and all the rest of that crap.

Which had many realisations thrust
upon it like so much bad
food at family gatherings.

Which ended with thunderously underwhelming
normality, sat in a quiet room hoping
for more adventure in The New Year.

Aphorising

2005-12-18T22:43:00.000Z

It was a hollow room with
just a few pieces. Interactive
pieces. I suppose the idea was
that we create our own art.
I liked that. Turning the mirror
outward; a collective self-reference.

I plot the satanist revolution
whilst hurling copies of
the Tao off the roof of
King's College. Elphistone
Hall seems a million
miles away now - clattering
along England's uneventful
buttocks in the western
night, in a long tube -
This is practically sodomy;
fitting, then, that I'm
coming from Brighton.

Chino XL distracts the mind
and makes poetry not good.

Dry white whine. In quadruplicate.
Seduction is practically a business.
Gotta make a profit; although
I was only in business
by accident; a case of
misrepresentation.

What is art? Is it a bunch
of lines on a page because
the hand cannot keep pace
with the moving image? Or
is art something metaphysical?
A notion, perhaps.

There's a girl on this carriage
who's gonna be gorgeous when
she gets older. If I was a
modelling agent I could
'discover' her. But what
the hell IS that anyway?

You twat.

When the sapphire lion
crushes the golden cannon
the rest of us lose hope.
Nature defeating weaponry
is nice, though. And those
fucking peacocks got a
taste of their own medicine
in the Orient.

Machine Gun, tearin' my,
body all apart.
The way shoulda been
over two years ago;
but this is just the start.

Sundraped clouds slither
over the heavens and
we'd like to call it
afternoon.
All our flowers are in bloom,
too soon.

We want eternity, cry out
for its neon claws - wait -
we got confused somewhere
down the line; someone turned
the arrow around.

Pakipakipakipaki

I am a great lover of words;
I shall write more on this
later.

Two Faces

2005-12-12T22:43:00.000Z

Broken shafts of sunlight
penetrate eternal clouds;
God fucks the Earth.
Cosmic Love.

Crippling decay as bricks
crumble in our homes;
Man fucks the Earth.
Confined Rape.

How Depressing

2005-12-10T22:42:00.000Z

Have you ever considered the rule
of the masses? - It's usually
'every man for himself' which is
odd. At crisis point, most of mankind
reverts to a Hobbesian State of
Nature; there's none of the altruism
present when everything's fine
and dandy. It's dog-eat-dog.

I think that says so much about
our false pretence of love for
others. It could well be that it
does in fact come down to
fear of one's neighbour.

How depressing.

Names

2005-11-28T22:42:00.000Z

I rarely name my pieces
during creation, waiting
instead for the final
word to set.

Why is that? Names
always afterthought.
I suppose it's the
piece that matters,
names are, after all,
incidental. You know;
"What's in a name?"

I'm tired of being
two-steps ahead:
full-on is a word,
or even a name,
it doesn't mean a
thing. So won't
someone explain
why it keeps
holding me back?

Someone teach
me how to slow
down. Backsteps
aren't possible.

It's so cold.

Southbound Musings

2005-11-28T22:41:00.000Z

I

Have you ever glanced into
a puddle of water?
The excellence of your face
amongst the sediment.
You, too, have but one life to
live. Mortality isn't mine alone.

I drift through the
sea of drifters. Aimless,
formless, yet wholly
dependant on the forms.

A beleaguered response
then, from our broken
apathetic generation.
Sailing endless seas of
dreams looking for a
place to land.

We plot existensialist
revolutions and punch
young men in the face.
Utter esmasculation
countered by female
emaciation.

II

I dream of Steven Carter,
I want to be Steven Carter
but I can't - I wonder
if there's a blonde
caucasian athlete God
who wishes he was a
hairy Muslim intellectual
poet.

Sometimes the blood runs
over my hands and down
my arms, it's a matter of
gravity. What direction to
lean-to.

What a waster, what a
fuckin' waster. What the
fuck will you do? Father
shouts angrily down the
phone.

III

"I am not beautiful" is the
battle cry of all the beautiful
girls I know. They should try
living a day in my shoes, they'll
soon see their inaccuracy.

Fuck Tom G.
You damn right I'm bitter.

I am not in Love
I am not in Love
I am not in Love
I'm lying.

I am not in Love (with Her)
I am not in Love (with Her)
I am not in Love (with Her)
I'm dying.

Wavelength

2005-10-30T22:41:00.000Z

We are Janus:
one whole divided. Riding
the cosmic double-helix
of flame and ash borne
of our hair. 'Friendship'
is a thing which fails
to compare.

Anna

2005-10-21T22:40:00.000Z

Anna;
your eyes flicker 'neath
flowing waves of flame;
Again and again distance
leaves me crestfallen.
Odes to thin-air, nothing
to compare or prepare
me for this headstrong
rush to the precipice,
thrust by a gust of
venerated whispers;
Making The First Step.

Unfurled

2005-09-28T22:39:00.001Z

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)

2005-09-28T22:39:00.000Z

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

2005-09-27T22:38:00.000Z

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)

2005-09-19T22:38:00.000Z

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)

2005-09-14T22:37:00.000Z

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

2005-09-14T22:35:00.000Z

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

2005-09-14T22:34:00.000Z

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

2005-09-11T22:33:00.000Z

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

2005-09-08T22:32:00.000Z

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.

Kids

2005-08-29T22:24:00.001Z

Orangey brown to pasty white,
some of these kids just ain't right.
Browny black to muddy brown,
Some of these kids look like clowns.
Various browns and varying greens,
Nature owns us all it seems.

Park

2005-08-29T22:24:00.000Z

I

Pen poised to write something,
but you never will. A cognitive
roadblock with your hand
inches from the frozen quill.

Strangers in the park, writing
us writing them; writing everything
dipped into the well, emerge
soaked in possibility and promises.

Hollow steel creates ambience,
makes you really want to dance,
Fuck this fake atmosphere,
Kiss me and take me out of here.

II

Head cupped in my laps, reverse
fellatio - pure romance. You
brush my hair; a simple stroke
of genius that you know.

This feels like Austen's latest
work, or, like reading Keats
and Steele in Iambic Pentameter
during the First World War.

Even the dirty, mud, is so
beautiful. Vomiting cliches
so fast I may have to lie down
on the grass, can this last?

III

I struggle to wish to remember
before you. Erasing it all
bar some sticky nights in
the back of clubs, for fun.

Between the Cutty Sark
and Deptford Bridge lies
the source of all my
happiness; dl-right to my heart.

Johannesburg at 2 O'Clock;
Pakistan at 3 - Worldwide
tours wrapped in your arms:
the Globe for you and me to see.

IV

You're so beautiful it defies
my mind, in time, with you
I hope to find a sense of
direction to where I can shine.

You are so completely everything
I need to complete me; you
are the people and the scenery
in the portrait of my life.

'Love' cannot describe our
infinite bond that will last,
and last, it will never pass,
now let me lie down on the grass.

The Amazing World of Seth and Sadie

2005-08-28T22:23:00.000Z

Thundering pawsteps
crash along the floor,
watch out, they're
coming around for more!
Fatal war with a
jovial core, it's like
a sadistic game of 'it'.

Morning's light bursts
through clouds and
Seth and Sadiw scour
the land for suitable
combat arenas.

Streaks of ginger in
my peripheral vision,
wham! Too slow,
they strike with
lightning precision.

Back and forth,
we've been over
this, but repitition
allows perfection.

Sadie! Sadie! What a
lady! Quite the stoic
and sexy, maybe. Seth,
oh Seth, he won't
settle for less, tactile
Prince of miaowing
gingerness.

Obsessions with black
bags aside, Seth and
Sadie won't be denied -
What they seek, they
see, and usually, they
leave little over for
you and for me.

Harriet the Rat would
like a look-in, but she's
stuck in a transparent
prison.

Seth and Sadie begin
again, Seth and Sadie
try to eat my pen,
the word tastes
so good to them.

Inspired

2005-08-18T22:23:00.000Z

Soft black
rims are all
I see whilst
circling the
marble sea;
she speaks
to me with
mirth and
glee she
bleeds and
exudes
empathy,
as well
as sincere
pleasantry.

She makes
me smile, oh
she makes me
smile. Sometimes
she makes me wait
a while. The wait, the
wait, it's worth the wait;
worth the weight, she's a
full-plate; a clean slate; She's
that great, there's just no debate.

Shutting down every
night, her presence
signified by a blinking
light, her flame-red hair
shining so bright - it's an
allegory for her soul, man.

Nadine #2

2005-07-31T22:23:00.000Z

Full lips, grabbing hips,
good tips, rubbing tits.
Ice eyes, man's demise,
cock rise, sexy surprise.
Pucker up, bitch.

'Ode' to Sister Salvation

2005-07-27T22:22:00.000Z

Dancing through you
with a view to start
anew; call her Dru
or Magdalene,
she will always
remain the same:
vivacious vixen with
claws in mittens and
a healthy love for
poodles and kittens.

Odyssey

2005-07-23T22:22:00.000Z

Test, test, testing,
April is the cruellest month,
cruellest month.
Lilacs in the warm rain
blossom on Yorick's skull,
summer days are all the same.

And here we sit, we of
sullen posture and eternal
night sky; always wondering
why, yet never having the
courage to ask the Right People.
We, the next generation!

We're a stone's throw from
the answer, clutching a map
with no names; thus no
beginning and no end.
Without words there was
never anything there at all.

The fall, the fall is steep, the
hole is deep; and down we
creep. Down where there's
nothing but perpetual black
and post-modern pseudo-
-Ginsbergian literary charlatans.

You! You, with your insufferable
pessimism and ridiculous
adjectives! You, with your split
of disorganised free-verse
and trite abab rhymes;
No harmonised blend for you.

Deceivers!
Contraveners!
Blasphemers!

The silence of a thousand
sons was broken in a vast
cataclysmic blast of energy;
Supernova Jehovah. But, what
is this demon? This sphinx?
The beast known as language?!

Communication is the new black,
that is a fact. Attack. React.
Imagine as though nothing is
lacked. Attack! React! Society
demands that you react! Seek
the word to discover the fact!

And this is our indeterminable
existence; dawn or dusk,
positive or negative, beginning
or end; all is one under the
warm summer rain in the lilac
eyes of the demon; language.

Synergism

2005-07-14T22:12:00.000Z

My soul was strewn across the page,
yet nothing had been said,

The silence turned my gaze inward,
my fragmented mind there to be read.

The wrath was warm, and damp,
and still - a tiger tethered fast,

Striped emotions: dead and alive -
life's duality - first and last.

Still comes the languid curtain call,
our make-up smudged and garish.

Mascara streams down our faces; I've never
seen such beauty, but I wish, oh how I wish

the veil would disintegrate,
skeletal clarity etched on your retinae;

Sight and sound meld as one;
solar-flared sonic booms concuss our lungs;
fire for hire.

Modesty forced and synergy coaxed;
binds start to chafe,

Struggling to break this beautiful bondage,
100% cotton bites into our skin - the
mind's eye inverted, time to die...

...And death is release and the heat makes us shrink.
Inversion, coersion, dispersion,
goodbye.

author of inline stanzas: jen bolton

Yuriy Toyolanov's Demise

2005-07-13T22:11:00.000Z

Emendation of the intellect,
Yuriy sat down to introspect.
He planned and plotted an intricate design
for a flying machine that follows The Line.

The Line emerged from Baker Street
beneath all of the bustling feet,
and it reaches up right into the sky
beyond all the clouds - even the most high.

His aim was to chase this Line to the End
or the top, where none could pretend
or lie, or act, there all was fact,
and the search for this purity left his mind wracked.

For the End was myth, and urban legend,
but no one had actually reached the end,
so in fact, it could well be real,
this turned Yuriy's resolve into solid steel.

He was determined it would seem,
to reach the end and fulfill his dream;
of which he wasn't entirely sure,
but knew was there as he always wanted more.

So he sat and though, he thought and thought,
then he passed out because his mind was so wrought!
He later woke up after ten hours of sleep
and drove straight to the lab in his cherokee jeep.

Now in his deep sleep, Yuriy had found
the missing link; it wasn't a sight or a sound,
nor was it a smell, or something to taste,
and you couldn't touch it as it had no place!

It was something else, some kind of aether,
he then met a woman with a tortoise benath her.
"I am the end" she scornfully said,
she then sat on Yuriy until he was dead.

Betsy

2005-07-12T22:11:00.001Z

Lauren's a Canadian poet,
and I s'pose she is quite sexy.
But since I know two other Lauren's,
I think I'll call her Betsy.

T

2005-07-12T22:11:00.000Z

Literary sparse; but
densely packed when
active - thought
provoking microcosms
and a wit that's thoroughly
reactive.

Eliot, Borges, Banks,
and even Will Shakespeare;
This odd gent is quite
well-read, coarsely nice,
and not queer.

Cake

2005-07-12T22:10:00.000Z

Take impeccable style and
captivating eyes; mix
with two teaspoons of
superb hair. Stir for
twenty minutes until
creamy - toss in about
a dozen sarcastic quips
and a tablespoon of
classic 50's charm. Pour
into stencilled 'beatiful
smile' tray and place in
oven. Cook on a low
heat for the duration
of Chopin's 1834
fantaisie improptu
on the piano. Serve
as part of a traditional
supper meal (but ensure
food is hot before serving).

Enjoy.

Mirrored

2005-07-12T22:09:00.001Z

I looked into the mirror
and saw myself, a
distorted self. This
was no Id, no shadow
or mask - this was me,
but caucasian, and thin.
I was shocked at first,
but engaged it in
conversation.
I'm glad I did.

Inaccurate

2005-07-12T22:09:00.000Z

Phoenix; believe this,
if I had the ability to
tell you of your
brilliance then I would
not hesitate - yet, you
rise above words, so
you'll have to wait, for
an accurate description
at any rate.

<3

That was the best
that I could do, that
I could think of to
describe you.

I'm sorry.

The Ballad of Kaka and Cristiano Ronaldo

2005-07-12T22:08:00.000Z

Ronaldo and Kaka
sitting in a tree,
doing things girls
like to see.

Ron and Harry
were looking on,
with Hermione's
thumb up their bums.

Techtastic

2005-07-12T22:07:00.000Z

sexsexsex
techtechtech

It's a shame more
women don't think
like this chick.
She likes to suck
dick, she's not a
hick, and she's
all about wit.

techtechtech
sexsexsex

Freefall

2005-07-12T22:06:00.001Z

Blinding paragon
of perpetual
discombobulation.

FREEFALL! ALERT
THE TITANS! MOLOCH
HAS RETURNED!

Golden-haired
nymph with sunken
amber eyes.

FREEFALL! RUN!
RUN AS MOLOCH
STOMPS THE GROUND!

Facially exceptional
and yet anally
steadfast.

FREEFALL! MOLOCH
UNLEASHES DEATH!
LASER BEAM ROCKETS!

Mother and Lolita
in one unified
whole. Actualised?

FREEFALL! THE END
IS HERE! FREEFALL!
MOLOCH TRIUMPHS!

FREEFALL!
FREEFALL!
FREEFALL!

Rose

2005-07-12T22:06:00.000Z

Rose; gliding with
gentle grace toward
the horizon; craving
the light. The light.

The folly of man,
melancholy of man,
towards her he ran,
and to him she sang -

O! Glory glory!
Gentle man before me,
O! Glory glory!
Regail me your story.

Sunkissed lips of bleeding
scarlet and a raging halo
of fire ordaned her
fragile mask. Her
voice, it echoed
through eternity long
after her mortal coil
unwound; her sound.

Nadine

2005-06-28T22:05:00.000Z

Cheeks flushed,
head's rushed.
Lips hot,
forget me not.
Eyes hidden,
orgasm's a given.

Twenty-Fourth

2005-06-24T22:04:00.000Z

Art feedback,
creatively stuck,
a Scrubs episode that didn't suck.

Not much sleep,
channay nuts,
girls that like to be called sluts.

A stunning storm,
a power cut,
quite a day for Mr. Butt!

Fun with Philosophy!

2005-06-14T22:03:00.001Z

Descartes and Spinoza fucked your mum,
they took her cunt and took her bum.
Descartes loved the difference, or so he proclaimed,
but Spinoza said they felt pretty much the same.

Nietzsche thinks we're selfish pricks,
Derrida thinks we're brainwashed hicks.
Foucault believed a bit of both,
Russell pondered linguistic growth.

Wittgenstein, Wittgenstein,
a man with an incredible mind.
He spoke on everything he could,
but hated himself and thought we should...

The Brave Little Idealist

2005-06-14T22:03:00.000Z

what is mind? doesn't matter
what is matter? never mind

Walking cheerfully down Park Lane
on a Monday morning with no sight of rain,
is a brave little Idealist on his way
to the fair in Hyde Park where his band is to play.
'Today is truly marvellous, this I do declare!'
said the brave little Idealist on his way to the fair.

He passed The Dorchester Hotel
at seven o' clock and all was well,
he crosses the road until he saw
an Indian Elephant asking for more.
'Why the devil is there an Elephant sitting over there?'
asked the brave little Idealist on his way to the fair.

Arriving at the park gates he got a shock
caused by the emo girls that did not rock,
but the biggest surprise was yet to come
because these girls were boys with makeup done.
'I doubt you are real, but is it rude for me to stare?'
asked the brave little Idealist on his way to the fair.

As he stepped on the grassy ground
he heard quite a frightening sound,
turning around he saw a vicious stampede
of Indian Elephants, but he did not concede!
'Not one of you exists, this I do declare!'
said the brave little Idealist on his way to the fair.

This is for all the women I ever knew (except perhaps those one or two)

2005-06-14T22:02:00.000Z

This is for all the women I ever knew,
except perhaps those one or two,
who I think of as sisters, and cousins too,
but the rest? I'd really like to screw,
because you're all so god damn pretty.

I won't mention the girls I don't mean,
because that could cause an ugly scene,
with the ones left out, who'll kick and scream,
but if you're a 'sister' then you'll know it anyway.

Of course I'm not including family,
they're immediately left right next to me,
with judging faces they stare you see,
and expect me to be a chaste Muslim boy.

But I just wanna rock and roll,
with fast women who got lots of soul,
and awesome eyes with hips to hold,
'coz I'm gettin' tired of all this freakin' solitude.

I wish I could write you a rhyme so fine,
that somewhere way on down the line,
would make you wanna blow my mind,
with hot sex followed by coffee and cigarettes.

Please don't think I want a relationship,
I just want you to suck my dick,
and let me penetrate those hips,
coz that looks like it could be a good time.

I'm not sayin' you're not a great friend,
the fact is I wanna know you 'til the end,
but I'd like it if you could stretch and bend,
your moral code and fuck me just the once.

I hope you don't take this too seriously,
because you see, it's six twenty three,
and I woke up a fucking hour ago,
with morning glory and a lonely soul...
well that explains it all, don't it?

16 year old girls on myspace!

2005-06-13T22:01:00.000Z

Who is this strange
maiden? Who is she?
Fake flaming hair and
eyes like faded marble;
the cracks are part
of the perfection.

Exhale, watch the cancer dance,
watch it bob and weave before
your eyes. Death is beautiful, or
you're stuck in an addicted trance.

But persevere, brave soldier!
Fight on! She is worth the
effort, worth the stress and
unsightly blisters. She'll give
you all that you desire; good
company, unlimited wishes,
second-hand cancer and
butterfly kisses.

M

2005-06-13T22:00:00.000Z

I wish I knew just what to say;
with the literary skills
to make pain go away.

I had a list, a
little list of big
words; big big
words saying
small small
things - like
summer dew
and the joy it
brings.
A starling
sits, it sits and
sings: advice
and ideas roll
off its wings.

But you've heard it all before.

Pain and Love are
the same mistress;
one is dressed for
evening supper at
the manor, the other
for a night of filthy
debauchery at a
remote hotel.

It's all how you look at it.

What to do? What to do?
Won't someone tell me what to do?

I wish I could
I wish I could
I wish

<3

You say you need
to be fixed, but I like
you broken - I think
you do too, think about that...

Porcelain

2005-06-12T22:09:00.000Z

Passion engulfs me in her presence;
Porcelain Goddess; perfect china
doll - won't let me play with you?
Won't you let me play?

You capture the genius of men
beyond my scope - but would you
descend and attempt to immortalise
my fragmented mastery?

Idealisation puts us on a beach
with a kiss and wanting more -
Reality puts us fucking like dogs
on a seedy motel floor.

To dance, perchance, I'm in a
trace. A lingering kiss, a
warm embrace, your silken
lips, that angelic face.

Beautiful.

I am

2005-06-03T21:59:00.000Z

I am everybody

I am all the men who can't get a girl,
and yet the only one around. I am
all the women who loathe their
self-image, and are fixated with
the ground, the sound, the pound
of searing flesh that drips slowly
from my body and is cooked to
a state of cremation in the pan:
I am a man

I am somebody

I am the twisted reflection of
Narcissus. I am the lost spirit
of Odysseus, trapped and
bound to Ithaca - I am dancing
beneath the light of dawn
still shrouded in perpetual
darkness.

I am nobody

I am a series of neverending
questions. I am a dreamer
with limitless power, and
yet I am conscious for
every hour.

I am
I am
I am

Their shadows ablaze

2005-04-22T21:55:00.000Z

I

Broken sword,
broken dreams.
Life seeks to
vent, it seems.

Life seeks the
simple notion.
Life seeks the
word unspoken.

Life seeks the will
but! - Life is the will.

The will, is desire
The will, is simplicity
The will, is the colony
The will, is

II

Behind the will
and the act;
Falls the shadow.

Between the will
and the act;
Falls the shadow.

Beyond the will
and the act;
Falls the mind.

Control.

Drowning, in mind
Drowning, in thought
Drowning, in intellect
Drowning

III

I am the ants,

ablaze.

I am the dust,

ablaze.

I am the will,

ablaze.

I am the shadow
I am the shadow
I am the shadow
I am, ablaze

Til human voices wake us

2005-03-30T21:50:00.000Z

I

It's all coming apart isn't it?

Falling, breaking,
crumbling into bone dust.
The ash on our sleeves is all
the ash the burnt roses leave.

Burnt rose stood proud in the rock,
the dead rock gives birth to the burnt rose.
The burnt rose in the middle of the Rockland.
This dead Rockland.

I'm with you in Rockland.

Let's dance on the rocks,
my love! - bare feet burning
on scorching sediment.
Dance with me,
dance,
dance.

II

Do you remember the day we met?
That dawning day.
The sun shone that day, bright and
beautiful, illuminating the grassland
outside the houses frequented by
old men in long coats.

That day, I will never forget,
that day when you held my
hand and left me hyacinths
in my room, my flowery
room was all in bloom!
I will never forget.
Never.

Forget

You held my hand and kissed me,
kissed me so gently in my room,
my room where people come and go,
talking of Michelangelo.

Talk talk talk, but we kissed. We kissed.
Your lips were soft like buttermilk.
Kiss.

Kiss. Kiss me on the lips I said. Kiss me.

You didn't care for the flowers!

I did I did, I cared, I care, I want life
to live - I want it to blossom, I wanted
it to blossom in my room, I wanted it...
but it didn't blossom, there was no
radiant bud, no beautiful blossom -
it wilted and died, there was no life,
and when it died I cried, I cried
because it died. Wilted and died.
Dead.

I loved it, I wanted to love it,
but you can't love death.
You cannot embrace him,
I have tried, no, death is
a cruel joke, a cruel joke.

We all die someday,
we all die tomorrow
if today is the day
of our lives.

Today is the day!
Carpe Diem Avalo!
Fly fly little starling, fly fly.

III

It's all coming apart

I don't want it to. I'll hold it together.

You can't hold on forever.

I can try.

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea

I can do it. I can hold on forever!

By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown

Till human voices wake us

and we drown.

Rosy

2005-03-22T21:49:00.000Z

Rosy fingered Dawn,
on a dew-filled summer morn'.

Wind blows in
the long grass,
photoshopped
for stunning
saturation,
looking to the
heights of
imagination -
now when to
step beyond
contemplation?

Nature's cruel, Staros.

Discussion Forum

2005-03-22T21:48:00.000Z

I think about many a
thing as Prof Hewitt
talks about the
justification for not
writing as a solely
Scottish writer.
A fighter, he engages
the ears but the mind
wanders and debates
whether the girl replying
has an annoyingly nasal
American accent; a
curious point to ponder
as her words do linger
for longer.
I think iPods would be
beautiful if they'd just
remove the buttons,
keep it simple, stupid.
Cupid, he's a funny 'ol
chap; sat seven rows
ahead is a girl who
gave me head, then
discarded me like a
used condom, or a
moudly loaf of bread.
Ribbet ribbet, what an
odd ringtone, schools
should be shown a
selection of languages
to teach: Latin, English,
French or even Scots;
ae didnae amour cogito, cunts.

Scottish Miserablism

2005-03-22T21:47:00.000Z

Balmy room, balmy room
filled with gloom, gloom
and doom fills this room.

"Welcome! Welcome!
Sit and talk, sit and give
us your views, there's
nine things to choose!"

chirp chirp

Not that there were
birds in the room, the
balmy room filled with
gloom, but the feeling
was rigid as a loom.

chirp chirp

People sitting, quiet like
a riot, a riot of hot breath
on cold air, the aether
locked in a great battle.

chirp chirp

Balmy room, balmy room
filled with gloom, gloom
and doom fills this room.

Broken Heart

2005-03-08T21:47:00.000Z

You wore a white dress
lined with black - your
lingering sense of death
was quite subtle tonight.

We sat by the fountain
next to the Jazz band,
I wanted to dance, but -
you refused, then broke
the silence with those
dreaded words;
'We need to talk'

I sat and listened while
you spoke; staccato
sentences spilling out
haphazardly. 'Sorry,
I don't know exactly
how to say this.'

I could sense it coming,
with each syllable that
slithered from your lips,
every little utterance,
and on the rare occasion
you managed it; every
single sentence

I looked at my watch,
it was quarter-past
nine before you finally
ended the torture;
'I've met someone else'

You Fucking Cunt!

I wanted to hit you,
but I couldn't bring
myself to do it, you
did your best to
provoke me though;
Telling me about
your new man, and
how much you loved
him.

An Argentinean doctor?
Good for you, now
fuck off you spiteful bitch.

The words remained
grey matter, I should
have said them, but
no - I sat and listened
to more. More staccato
shit that you tried
so desperately to dress
up; 'It's not you, it's me.
Can we still be friends?'

Can we still be friends?
Can we still be-?!

I should have left then,
but my heart wouldn't
let me. So I sat, I sat
and reminisced about
the time you and I
went down to Islington
and made love in your
dad's old van;
But that didn't change
the fact that you had
broken my heart in Milan.

No Subject

2005-03-03T22:25:00.000Z

This is the beginning
of the end, of all things
worthy to be defend-
-ed. Frozen bread is
our staple - A hefty
promise cashed in too
early to be worth
more than a slap in
the face. Lifetimes
gone to waste.

Ay bee, ay bee.
See dee, see dee.

Constructs of the
vaguely poetic
spoken in dialects
never used before.
'I find your innovations
quite pathetic, and your
rhyme schemes should
be used no more!'

Analyse the incomprehensible
if you can, if you can;
If you can't then arrange
for a series of cunning
distractions with str-
-uctur-

-al

chan-----ges

deceiv-

-e

the

read-

-er

I wish I had the talent
to make words never
sound the same.
I wish I had the talent
to write poetry again.

No Taxi

2005-03-03T21:46:00.000Z

The thin layer of snow crunches
beneath our feet, as we walk with
great care down this old cobbled street.

Hair and shoes, tits and waists;
tonight for a time we were above
our place - Dancing through
postmodern maisons d'opium,
sporting saddles with belts and
drinking overpriced apple juice.

'What's that? Speak up babe,
I can't hear you.'

Conversations began and
ended in confusion, with
the in-between filled by
shouted pleasantries.

The hustle and bustle
of the brown man's shop
was a comforting change -
incandescent tubes of light
bathed us gently as
complete strangers and
old friends blurred into
one.

The thick layer of snow crunches
beneath our feet, as we walk with
silent trepidation on the long high street.

Steam clouds fill the air - dancing ghosts
of our burning desire clashing against the
frigid atmosphere. Yet we're still trapped
within our own Trinity-Saint Sergius, the
damned living by His rule;
Swiftian tropes-r-us.

Found

2005-01-29T21:45:00.000Z

I find it in encoded sounds,
etched data resembling stratocasters;
I find it in the voices of dead men,
and subtle visions of forgotten masters.

I find it lurking in the shadows,
a dark tunnel that splits the sun;
I find it blossoming in all these things,
and yet I find it in no one.

We're all alone.

Unsent

2005-01-14T21:45:00.000Z

All those words,
lost and floating in the air.
All those words,
tell me that you don't care.

Penguins

2004-12-04T21:45:00.000Z

My words are a flock of penguins;
Peaceful and nice to be around,
Each letter's a feather
And they huddle together
But they still cannot leave the ground.

The Race

2004-11-15T21:44:00.000Z

You're running fast, I'm running faster,
Running through air to become the master.

I duck and weave, you split a cloud,
The race leader wears a golden shroud.

You spiral left, I dive to the right,
Fighting the wind with all our might.

I see a dragon, you see it too,
It rises above us, eclipsing the view.

You rise to meet it, I stay below,
The monitor cries out 'not long to go!'

I see the flame, you feel the heat,
The dragon's fire burns your feet.

You return down, I strive to advance,
The race leader does a circle dance.

I pass the line, you come soon after,
We finished 2nd and 3rd to the sound of laughter.

You look upset, I feel let-down,
The race winner is ordaned with his crown.

In The Dark

2004-11-13T21:43:00.000Z

Sittin' in the dark, I'm so alone,
Nobody calls on the telephone,
It's so useless to me now.

Sittin' in the dark, can't take these lonely nights,
Won't someone please turn on the lights,
They're so far out of my reach.

Sittin' in the dark, I dreamt I died,
Kinda strange that I dreamt I died,
Cos don't you know I'm dead inside.

Red

2004-11-06T21:43:00.000Z

Suspended on a gossamer wire,
I held on tight and looked up at the fire,
The clouds were rising higher and higher,
And as I descended into the mire,
I watched the sun burn the sky into a blanket of ash.

Archon

2004-11-03T21:42:00.000Z

The Behemoth stirs;

His steps laboured, the time worn limbs
Creak with the rust of a thousand showers,
Left out in the rain for a thousand hours.

Power surges through him,
Stealing kindness before my eyes,
He enters the battle with designs to my demise.

Tooth and nail, the fight is hard,
Blows traded, pain and fatigue run through
Us as we fade- dance to victory but it breaks in two.

Running free and built to last,
Sleek and strong, I move fast, faster
Than he can fathom, my motion only seen after.

I leap upward, the end is nigh,
Stretch the carcass, Crucify.

The Behemoth falls;

Defeated.

Today

2004-10-12T21:42:00.000Z

Sky is greyish,
Sky is greyish and kinda blue,
Sky is greyish,
We don't talk like we used to do.

Leaves are falling,
Leaves are falling from a tree,
Leaves are falling,
You are falling away from me.

Wind is blowing,
Wind is blowing through the air,
Wind is blowing,
And I don't think you really care.

Clouds are rolling,
Clouds are rolling in the sky,
Clouds are rolling,
You make me want to fucking die.

#000000

2004-10-05T21:41:00.000Z

I just can't or
Just couldn't
But I don't
Maybe some
One doesn't
Believe in
Anything.

Please help me

Stuttering, I am struggling
To make myself heard
Between my depressing
Thoughts and attempts to
Draw breath.

Please help

It feels like I'm waiting
For something that
May never arrive but
Could have already
Passed me by.

Please

Pretty Girl

2004-09-30T21:40:00.001Z

Time is still when
Looking at a pretty
Girl. You'll have a
Dream; a fantasy
As fleeting as the
Wind, but just as
Real.

Then of course
She approaches
Her boyfriend.
Sod's law, that.

Crowded Foyer

2004-09-30T21:40:00.000Z

All alone in a crowded foyer.

Bustling to and fro,
Or simply lounging and
Reading the paper;
All the troubles of today.

Girl sits opposite me,
Drinks coffee and eats
Crisps. There's a pack of
Baccy too, have a smoke.

She says "hi" to some
Friends, and a man
Walks through in a
Bright yellow jacket.

There's a woman who
Looks like Ann, but
It's not her; Ann was
Much prettier than that.

Girl rolls a fag whilst
Talking on mobile. Now
She's talking to someone.
Now she's left with him.

All alone in a crowded foyer.

Three-Month Window

2004-09-29T21:39:00.000Z

I

I kissed you the other day,
By the river that bends at
The tall pear tree. I kissed you
And felt alive for the first time.

I watched you live and
Love whoever you want-
-ed. And I watched as this
Slowly killed you from inside.

II

Months pass like years as
The leaves turn a mouldy brown
And fall from trees. Gathering
At our feet where they
Engage in disinformation.

You died on a cold Thursday
In November; In the park but
Frail and weak, the biting wind
Took you. I'll never forget that kiss;
It's my only memory of you.

III

Suffocating myself on the
Ashes of yesterday's baptism.
Fire consumes my lungs and I'm
Trying to remember how it feels to breathe without pain.

Night Sky

2004-09-25T21:39:00.000Z

Laying;
Head against my pillow,
I watch as dark clouds of the blackest ink
Roll across the moonlit sky.

Intertwining;
The ink clouds stretch and twist,
Forming grotesque abstractions that
Will terrorise my mind later.

Shining;
From behind the clouds, the moon
Tears through the ink and assaults the
Cornea with pinpoint precision.

Squinting;
I turn away and suffocate myself
Until I have suffered enough, then I decide
I should probably take a walk.

Walking;
Down cobbled streets where
Old men cooked pies during the waking
Hours, time was seemingly standing still.

Breathing;
Softly as the sand I stepped on,
Forever leaving my mark on the earth but
Only for a short while.

Coughing;
Sea air fills my lungs and I'm
Not used to anything like it, however I
pull my collar up and breath slower.

Watching;
Ink rolls over water and I feel
Like I'm in school again, the innocence
Of youth is recaptured for an instant.

Dreaming;
That you were here. Sublime as
I feel alone, your hand in mine would
Warm my heart, and hand.

Train To Nowhere

2004-09-18T21:38:00.000Z

On a train to nowhere,
Been goin' for twenty-one years,
Some say that I'll get there
When the dark clouds clear.

I've had my problems,
I've had more than my share,
So I tried to get past them,
But my friends weren't there.

So it wasn't that simple,
And It's not so easy,
Because I'm not that great,
Why don't they believe me?

The downward spiral,
Takes the train to hell,
Where I toss my last penny,
Into a wishing well.

Now what I wished for,
I can't say out loud,
But here's a hint for you,
It's written in the clouds.

But as we emerge,
Onto the surface again,
I see the clouds still there,
I just won't reach the end.

On a train to nowhere,
My skin starts to peel.
I'm killing myself,
Just to see how it feels.

Death of Innocence

2004-08-29T21:37:00.001Z

Witness the death of Jesus
In Churches and on Cable,
The only solution is
To let Mary rape Abel.

Rampant as sex and
Death in everyday life, the
End of the world is
Closer than it seems. So
The wiseman predicts that
Judgement shall befall
Us, but he's so full of shit 'coz
There's no God at all.

'Trust in me my child
And you I shall deliver,
I'll break your face open
And drown you in the river.'

The stench of decay is
Rising like dead dust
In the tombs of the children,
I'll drown you with my bust-
-ing spots til I bleed,
I'll tear at my face and
Scratch out both my eyes,
So I don't have to face you.

But madness persists
While I watch you through moonlight,
I killed all your family
Just to be with you for this night,
But your porcelain skin
Has cracked at the wrists,
They're as dry as a bone,
Drained by the crimson kiss.

'Trust in me my child
And you I shall deliver,
I'll break your face open
And drown you in the river.'

Choking on yesterday,
I'll spit out tomorrow,
Our lives are a gift but
All we do is borrow, 'coz
The life of the dead is
More alive than the living,
We're raping the mother
And she still keeps on giving.

We're killing the bitch and
We don't stop to think why,
Rape her and beat her and
Fuck her 'til she dies,
We're above her and
We're above her son,
Why should I apologise?
I make life when I come.

'Trust in me my child
And you I shall deliver,
I'll break your face open
And drown you in the river.'

There's a blind sheep devouring
A girl that is growing,
She screams out real loud
To let us know where she's going,
But we're too obsessed with
The mountain of young boys,
Drowning in the cesspit
Created by their toys.

Witness the death of innocence
In backlots and trailers,
The only solution is
To kill all the failures.

Dream Number Fifteen

2004-08-25T21:36:00.000Z

I was livin' in a town called Silence,
On Thursday there was an act of violence,
Mister Robinson butchered his dear 'ol wife,
After killin' over half the province.

Now naturally people were curious
As to what went down that day,
So they broke into the mortuary
To see her body so they'd say.

But I knew they were up to no good
So I decided to foil their plan,
I stood in their way with a baseball bat,
And I watched 'em as they ran.

On Sunday they held the funeral,
And everyone was dressed in black,
Except for Katherine Hepburn, well
She was wearin' a burlap sack.

After the church service,
With everybody weepin' as they should,
They drove the coffin to the helicopter
To fly her off for good.

But I wanted to say my last goodbye
So I went on up the hill,
When I got the top I couldn't believe what I saw:
Jimmy Stewart lookin' ready to kill.

Now I said 'hold on a second'
But Jimmy lunged at me anyway,
He was swingin' that axe like a maniac,
So naturally I turned and ran away.

But Jimmy didn't give up the chase,
He ran right on after me,
Straight down the hill onto a grassy knoll,
The man was crazy as can be.

We ran across the street and
I was dodgin' cars like a game of frogger,
But I bumped into my mom, and she said with alarm
'how come you don't have a job, huh?"

Well I didn't have time to answer,
Coz Jimmy's axe smashed into the hood,
So I smiled and ran, while he cursed and sang
That crazy song, Clint Eastwood.

But I got no sunshine in my bag,
Not feelin' too happy right now at all,
Nevertheless, even though I look a mess,
I ran into the parking lot of the mall.

Bobbin' and weavin' through the parked cars,
Tryin' not to look at the girls in skirts,
I bumped into a pimp and he showed me a Nurse,
She said 'show me where it hurts...'

Now as you can imagine this was mighty tempting,
But once again I was forced to flee,
By Jimmy “the madman” Stewart
And the axe that he carries.

So I ran outta the side of the mall,
Across the street, and over a dam,
I was in a spillway and for no real reason
I shouted 'Hasta La Vista, Man!'

In hindsight that was stupid,
Coz down into the spillway Jimmy came,
So I started runnin’ again, while the whole while,
Holdin' my hands and prayin' for rain.

Sure enough "the man" delivered,
But it wasn't rain no, it was hail,
My ears were bitin' and my nose went red,
And my legs were hurtin' like hell.

Now I knew that I'd soon fall,
So I took a chance and jumped under a bridge,
Pullin' myself up I hid a crevice,
I hoped it'd work, and I tell ya it did.

Jimmy just ran right on by,
Rantin' and ravin' like the loon he is,
So I jumped on down, then went back into town
To meet that Nurse, and get me a kiss.

2004-06-02T21:33:00.000Z

I

Sometimes you have to sit
And wonder,
And then be forced to admit
Your blunder.

Standing on the edge of it
I looked across its endlessness
And thought to myself, shit,
That's deep.

II

I have a friend.
He once saw a rainbow-winged dragonfly.
I am envious.

III

I am not the foreign man
Lost in the foreign lands,
My face being scorched by burning sand.

This is neither existensial
Nor is it self-referencial,
Well it may be, but that's coincidental.

Of course, I'm probably lying.

But times are getting hard
Times are getting
Times

Saturday Morning Blues

2004-05-25T21:32:00.000Z

I don't know what I've been told,
But 21 ain't really that old,
Yet people act like I'm some great wise
man.

I remember back in '95,
It felt so damn good to be alive,
I'd spend my days hangin' out in the
park.

I wish I had some real talent,
Like Cat Stevens or Jimi Hendrix,
Or one of them other guys who can sing or play
guitar.

Hell that last line don't even rhyme,
I think I'm just doin' this to pass the time,
Or maybe there's a deeper purpose to it all
really.

After a bit of introspection,
It's clear I'm headin' in the wrong direction,
Or maybe I'm going the right way and my head's just screwed on
backwards.

Coherence

2004-03-14T21:32:00.000Z

"Perfection of truth and of reality has in the end the same character"

I gazed into the night sky
With childlike innocence
And a twinkle in my eye.

How many stars,
There's oh so many stars.
But which is which?
I asked cousin Lars.

He shrugged.
Idiot. This boy was 2 years
My senior and knew nothing
About anything.

Regardless. I returned
My gaze to the sparkling
Show in the sky
But my attention
Was taken by my
David Beckham Trading Cards.

It was there that
I saw the stars.
Then over on
My bike's handlebars.
And on Mum's
Old flower vase.
Even on the face
Of cousin Lars!

This may not make sense.
But that is not my fault.

The Truth

2003-11-09T21:26:00.000Z

The blind stares of six billion pairs of eyes,
Fill my thoughts with fear that’ll lead to my demise,
I could be deaf and I’d still hear the cries,
The image of a weeping child is louder than all the lies,
Integrity constantly fails no matter how hard it tries,
Whenever honesty is sought the seekers are chastised,
They cover up the facts like a blanket of ash from the skies
So the people can’t see from the ground, and when they try to rise
The corrupt leaders prevent the ascension of the wise,
Through all this fear only hate will arise,
There are so many lows we don’t recognise the highs,
Full stories are unheard of as they simply summarise
Because they fear what’s buried deepest beneath all of the lies…

…The Truth.

My Window

2003-11-08T21:25:00.000Z

Well I’m just sittin’ up here in my room,
Just my window, my chair and me,
I’m just sittin’ here lookin’ out my window,
To see what I can see.
I see a well-dressed man
Sayin’ he's got plans,
While he's driving his Ferrari.
I see a young man playin' his guitar,
Looking cool and stone free.
I see a couple of girls playin’ hopscotch,
While some boys climb up a tree,
An elderly man looks at his watch,
He hollers out ‘its a quarter past three!’
I see an Israeli and an Arab,
Arm in arm walking down the street,
Just chattin’ and jokin’ between themselves,
Being nice to everyone they meet.

All of a sudden a rock crashes through my window,
Pieces of glass all over the floor,
I look back up to my window frame,
But I cant see those things no more,
All I see is fire and darkness,
Hatred and animosity,
Now I’m confused as to what’s goin’ on,
But its as simple as can be,
See my window, it wasn’t real now,
All it was, was my hopes and dreams,
But this rock came along and broke it,
Ripped it apart right at the seams.
So I picked up this rock and wiped it down,
Cleaned it up so I could see,
And what I saw was pretty sad now,
The word I saw was reality.

Insomnolence

2003-09-30T21:22:00.000Z

...Darkness and Light...

My darling, I apologise.
No harm was meant.
I fear your rage
And shall retreat to repent.

Entering my chamber
I extinguished the flame,
Resting on my bed
My head fills with your name.

I looked at your photo
And I began to weep,
So to stunt my sorrow
I lay my head down to sleep.

Ah, sleep!
The nocturnal ballet.
A means to drift away,
But my slumber faces delay
From the haunting chatter of the silent night.

I lay awake.

Oh to dance the dance of the entranced
While ghostly vapours haunt my view,
This darkened chamber lined with Demons
And visions of evil twisted askew.

I am still awake.

The Demons they draw closer,
The night it moves on,
The ghostly lantern shines,
As if t'were the sun.

Again, awake.

Yet this light is different,
A sense of mistrust between us,
It refuses to illuminate the evil
And banish the Demons into dust.

I tire, but do not fall.

Then you enter.
Your hair flowing o'er your nightdress
Like a phantom sent to haunt
My soul, which instead is removed of the duress.
You glide across the floor,
Expelling the Demons with
Your presence, which brings light
To me, evermore.

You lay your head next to mine,
The Demons retreat into the dark blue.
And now my mind is ready for respite,
Adieu my friends, adieu.