Archive for February, 2015

Pebble air-born
Signs of disturbance
Unsteady waters
Ripple emotions
Time as ocean
Butterfly effect
Iterate reiterate
By wave to now

Egyptian Mummy
Out of proportion
Chronic torsion
Of flesh, skin and bones
To dust by grinding stones

Tonal manifestation
In proximity
Not intrusive
Pulsing synthesized quavers
With Margaritas
And Marijuana
And Magic Mushrooms

Observed by saintly silhouettes
Catalogued by webcam weirdos
Consumed to accumulate pointless inebriation
Till revolution falls from the sky

Lara Bingle
Swimsuit princess
Reality show queen
Lara Bingle
Cricketer boyfriend
Perfect Tan
Cool scene
Lara Bingle
Topless photos
Walking on a beach
Lara Bingle
Juicy nipples
Porcelain ripples
Comfort breasts
Lara Bingle
Actor boyfriend
And nipple clamps
Lara Bingle
Talk to me
Of plastic porn
Lara Bingle
Are you single?
Cellophane celebrity.
Lara Bingle
Come, let’s mingle
Let’s go score some Ecstasy.

Your boyfriend thinks Matchbox Twenty are cool
Your boyfriend thinks Nickelback are cool
Your boyfriend doesn’t know who Iggy Pop is
Your boyfriend killed Kurt Cobain

Your boyfriend is excellent at sport
Your boyfriend thinks Bryce Courtenay is a good writer
Your boyfriend votes for Tony Abbot
Your boyfriend has very high testosterone levels

Your boyfriend likes to subjugate other people
Your boyfriend gets into fights when he’s pissed
Your boyfriend is a macho dominant asshole
Your boyfriend is the type of dickhead who beat me up at school

Your boyfriend is going to beat you if you marry him
If you didn’t give it up to him he would probably rape you
And is probably raping other women
Right now

Your boyfriend has a six pack
Your boyfriend has muscles on his muscles on his muscles
Your boyfriend is cheating on you with a stripper
Your boyfriend is a dominant alpha male

Your boyfriend is a dildo-brain
Your boyfriend is a dick-brain
Your boyfriend is a condom-brain
Your boyfriend is a butt-plug-brain

Your boyfriend is a racist, a sexist, and a homophobe
Your boyfriend is an embodiment of Patriarchy
But you’ll never know it because he hides it well
With his excellent social manipulation skills

Your boyfriend thinks drugs are for mugs
Your boyfriend drinks Bourbon and coke
Your boyfriend thinks that women belong in the kitchen
But he wouldn’t say that to you

Your boyfriend makes football players look like feminists
Your boyfriend can only feel aggression or lust and shuts out all other emotions
Your boyfriend beats his meat to pictures of horses fucking
Your boyfriend exudes toxic masculinity

Your boyfriend likes to fist cows
Your boyfriend sucks on sadism sauce
Your boyfriend has balls of brass and an iron plated ass
Your boyfriend has nostrils of plastic and ceramic eyebrows

Your boyfriend always has to be on top
Your boyfriend doesn’t believe in foreplay
Your boyfriend has a mundane cock
Your boyfriend lasts for two minutes

Your boyfriend is covered in soft green nylon fur
Your boyfriend has potassium kneecaps like rubber bands and an origami sphincter
Your boyfriend has helium cheek bones and a cucumber up his ass
Your boyfriend has plasticine gonads and porcelain ear lobes

Your boyfriend doesn’t act like an asshole in front of you because he wants to fuck you
And every time you fuck him you reinforce and validate his behaviour
And every time you fuck him his ego and bloated self-esteem get bigger
So that he can kick the shit out of anyone weaker than him
And oppress everyone who meets him

The Smack Poem

Posted: February 6, 2015 in poetry
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Let’s get on
We’re gonna do some downtown
Because we have money and rebellious tendencies
And we have the right contacts
First I give my money to the guy
Then there’s always the waiting
Time slows as if stuck in molasses
Then it’s here in a little paper package
We go thirds in a hundred bucks worth
My mate mixes up in a spoon
With water from a boiled kettle
We have swabs, clean fits, even a tourniquet
All the fits are made up
He can’t find a vein in my hand
I look over to my left inner arm and see one
Faint blue snaking down towards my hand
Embedded in my pale flesh
My mate inserts the 1 ml insulin syringe down to the plastic collar in my vein
He pulls back on the stopper and a bead of dark red blood appears at the top of the smack solution
A perfect hit, first time for that vein
He pushes the stopper in,
Halfway down, he asks if it hurts
I say no
He pushes it in all the way
Gnarly narcotics are hurtling through my blood and into my rapscallion brain
A gorgeous warm numbness permeates my consciousness and my body feels soft, profound and infinitely heavy all at the same time
It comes on slowly
In a couple of minutes, anxiety, pain and paranoia have left me
I am in a perfect physiological state far superior to normal
This is the ultimate hangover cure
Just like Iggy Pop
Just like Kurt Cobain
Just like William Burroughs
Just like Lou Reed
I’m a citizen of a sacred dope kingdom
I’m a poppy-powered Dionysius
I suck the sap of the sweet somnolent flower
I’m curled up and comforted in a chemical bubble
A beloved son of a hedonistic god and blessed with holy analgesia
Pupils pinned to points in an expansive smack space with a subversive geometry
A heroin Houdini as I again dodge the habit the pigs and the politicians say I’m supposed to have by now
Like many other people who know how to use and not abuse
‘You’ve got to watch your quantities,’ as Keith Richards said
Just for six hours I lurk in a heavenly hagiography of hopped-up heroes and soft mellow feelings
Valhalla for the chemically impaired
Enlightened and emerging from my introvert shell
So free of fear that I cross over into confidence and charm
Enjoying the companionship of my fellow wastoids
Kurt always said he felt more sociable after a shot
Social anxiety dissolves in opioids
The ultimate answer
To almost any problem
Is thirty three bucks worth of skag
Coming soon to a dealer near you


Posted: February 1, 2015 in poetry
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From when boys are very young
We’re told by our peers and our parents and the media soaked culture:
Don’t be a girl
Don’t be like them
And we don’t know how wonderful a girl is.
Who wouldn’t want to be like that?
And when we’re older the macho men ask us as they pin us to the wall:
Are you a fag?
Hey fag, is that your boyfriend?
You fucking loser!
Soft cock!
You’re letting the team down by not being a real man.
Well are you a man?
Are you?
Do you want to feel nothing but anger and hate for anyone different to you?
Do you want to use violence and the threat of violence to solve all your problems?
Do you want to learn to fight and play football?
Toxic masculinity
Stupid women dig it
Be a badass mother-fucker
People will respect you
Be one of the boys
And the pack of dominant males won’t beat you up so much
Perhaps they’ll even accept you
As an offering on the altar of suburban sentiment
Whatever you do, don’t cry
Don’t think too much and never reveal your emotions
You won’t have to be afraid
You won’t be like a girl
You won’t be like a woman
You won’t be like a blackfella
You won’t be like a gay person
People will take you seriously
Your bullshit matters
Because you’re a straight white man
And everyone else can go fuck themselves

Death Part 2

Posted: February 1, 2015 in poetry
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I wish I was dead
I’m going to get out of my head
One rejection doesn’t hurt, A thousand does
I wish I was dead
You meant every word that you said
Everyone my age and younger is married and breeding
I wish I was dead
I’d love to get out of my head
I’m going to die of alcohol poisoning in a cheap hotel room
I wish I was dead
I’ve got to get out of my head
Every night I dream of unobtainable women who mutate into divine feminine archetypes then vanish
I wish I was dead
I smoke till I’m out of my head
No true love across the river Lethe, but no love lost for a ghost
I wish I was dead
I hope I’ve not fucked with your head
I’m peering down the barrel of a twelve gage shotgun, feeling like I’m being sucked into a swirling metal vortex
I wish I was dead
I don’t need to get you in bed
By next week I’m going to be dead in a doorway with a mind full of magic potions
I wish I was dead
I so want to get you in bed
Forgotten forever like a lost marble from childhood
I wish I was dead
I don’t need to get you in bed
First I see a razor blade then I see a river of blood encircling my arm as I slash the meat
I wish I was dead
I believe all the lies that I’m fed
When I was twenty six I took an overdose of vodka and mogadon because women didn’t like me
I wish I was dead
I believe every word that was said
I know I’m not right in the head