Archive for March, 2015

Something’s up
Troglodyte hedges of fungus
Thirst for mountain peaks and stalagmites
Contorted blood-rivers
Laconic lawn furniture
Forbidden trees with poison leaves
Imploding by infinitesimal ant-steps
Rattled by lightning
Slashing sky
Papier-mache dreams
Papier-mache guy
Sky cracked open
Exposing heavenly decay by twilight
Death is the wages of sin
Keep on imploding
Apart and within
Fissures appear in a fickle career
So what’s your pathology?
Reason disappears again
Days of unemployed diversion
Days of mutual masturbation
Days of stoned enchantment
Days of letters to no-one
Entropy expands across the cosmos
Pustules swell then burst pouring out
Dead density of heated wax

Bury me deep

Posted: March 26, 2015 in poetry
Tags: , , , , , , ,

Bury me deep where worms are feeding
Streetlights burn pale green
Bury me where virgins are bleeding
At my funeral play Ween

Bury me deep where the worms are feeding
Where the soil is moist and cold
Forgive my ghost and my memory’s ghosts
At least I was never old

Bury me deep where the worms are feeding
Maggots are my friends
Let me desiccate and rot to bones
Now pain is at an end

Bury me deep where the worms are feeding
Jesus is now my friend
Let me fester the ground till hell rains down
And the earth begins to bend.

Baby-doll white frock:
Pretty kiss woman with a badass voice.
Pink Fender Strat slung low,
Sixteen hole doc-martin boots with pink laces,
Smudged blood-red lipstick,
Platinum blonde mess of harridan hair,
Eye bruises of purple mascara,
Silver glitter eye-lids.
Howling against patriarchy like a siren
Smashing capitalism,
Convulsing rock and roll’s collective unconscious.
She shouts into the microphone:
‘You fuckers love me!’
Goddess of a grunge explosion:
In her lips, revolution!
Between her hips, revolution!
In her kiss, revolution!
When she sings, revolution!
Bringing down haters and creepers.
What have they done to her?
Broken her to pieces like an abused doll?
Made her bleed for corporations?
Objectified and commodified her?
Say she killed Kurt.

Hey Courtney!
Can you always hit those big veins,
When you get into the powders?
Is your body a source of pain?
Are you a victim of rape culture?
Holy woman churning with punk rock attitude-
Not sure if I want to fuck you or be your best friend,
Or both.
Just to be close,
Just to be in your scene,
Would be enough.

In the nineties
Kuta Beach, Bali
In town, a big red and white sign advertises magic mushrooms for all to see
The store is populated by Balinese stoners
They offer my brother and I mushroom milkshakes which taste like crap
Costs fuck all
Half an hour later we are in a club
Lights are strobing, speckles of disco-ball reflection flicker over pretty women and ugly men
They are mutating
Suddenly the club is filled with well-dressed reptiles
Forked tongues lick thin scaly lips
They look like human sized dinosaurs
Myriad species
Scales are glistening soap-bubble rainbows
Some of them are wearing boob-tubes
On stage Jimi Hendrix is playing and he’s wearing Joseph’s coat of many colours
When on mushrooms, if you see Jimi Hendrix in the road, treat him as a roundabout
For a while it all seems pretty cool
But then I am scared of the reptiles’ fangs
I am afraid they will eat me
‘I think I’ve got the fear.’
I say to my brother as his head swells up like a meat balloon and he grows vampire teeth
‘I’ll get you out of here,’ he says.
We stagger out of the club and he put me in a taxi after threatening the driver with terrible consequences if he didn’t take me to our hotel
When not on hallucinogens, driving in Bali is adventure
With them it was a journey through a wild starlit wonderland with no road rules and oscillating headlight illumination
We seemed to be on the Starship Enterprise travelling at warp speed
Then we made the hotel,
Outside were some trans-sexual prostitutes
One shouts out: ‘Hey boss, Jiggy jig, me love you long-time, me dangy your wangy’
I reply ‘Fuck off! You’re freaking me out!’

I take the elevator and enter my room, lie on a comfortable bed and bad trip demons are gone
I watch walls slide and shimmer downwards and visit a magical fairy land of coruscating colours and shapes
Kaleidoscope patterns of infinite variety form a miscellany of shapes on walls
Always moving, always changing
Eventually the transformation of patterns starts to slow down
My hallucinations are reduced to fading translucent double images
Then I fall asleep

Tell Mum and Dad this is not their fault
They always loved me
But it was not enough
They couldn’t protect me from jocks, surfs, and other dickheads
I can’t take it anymore
This life is an emotional cesspool
This life is a hailstorm of razors
This life is a cannibalistic dystopia
This life is a napalm bubble bath
This life is eating the flesh of a new born baby
This life is spider eggs in the brain
This life is a pus-filled cyst the size of a tennis ball
There is no hope of finding someone to love me
I will not live if I cannot be loved

To my fellow outsiders, freaks and weirdos
You who lurk on the fringes of humanity
And feel a poison chill of loneliness down your spine
Find some reason to live if you can
But if you can’t
Then suicide is the ultimate in existential self-actualization
A transcendent ‘fuck you’ to the Cosmos
It has a certain wounded glamour

To all those who persecuted me
You were right
I was a waste of breath
I was a waste of life
I was a waste of strength it took to beat me up
I was a waste of time it took to reject me

Now I will fling myself from the bell-tower
And stretch my arms out like birds’ wings as I enter the maw of eternity

Scrape me off pavement
Into jars of minced misshapen misfit
Catalogue by components
Calculate viscosity
Then bury deep in the earth
You won’t miss me when I’m gone
May I be a forgotten footnote in extensive life-scripts
Of more attractive human beings

Who wants to die?
Hands Up!
Pigs bleed from an assortment of orifices in the slaughterhouse:
Treacle blood snakes down the drain.
Like emotional napalm from the mouth of a black angel
Like a skull-shrill yelp of a dog beaten to death with a tire-iron
Like maniac moaning from a storm drain
Like horrendous howls from a perforated soul
Like crazy chattering of skeletons’ teeth
Like skinning a live cat

Who wants to die?
Hands up!
Bludgeon bean bags
Bash pillows
Blast feathers
Beat meat
Such inconsequential actions
Are nihilistic metaphors
For nothing at all
Who wants to die next?
Hands Up!
Formica feelings
Frigid grimace
Cancerous asshole
Bleeds suburban angst
Far from important
Not even newsworthy


Dark mystic loneliness only a woman can touch
Lurks down awe-inducing corridors where every door leads to rejection
By rivers of unrequited love
Find it buried beneath my heart’s core
Wreathed in soil of unconscious surrealist id-mind
Tattooed to human nature by evolution for eons
My Libido
A holographic image of a dying bird with patches of moth-eaten blue feathers
Fitting spasmodically
Tweeting pathetically then
Caressing death
Over and again infinitely
In a fractured you-tube loop
And Death’s bony fingers
Are clenched into a fist
As his teeth knit a grimace
And my genes scream in my inner ear
Breed or die!
Breed or die!
Breed or die!