Archive for April, 2015

Men of blood

Posted: April 30, 2015 in poetry
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Men of blood with poison in their groins
Will bloat blue corpses down the Ganges River
And slake their vapid thirst with liquid sewage
Their skin will dry till it becomes like leather

Men of bone with caterpillars for eyes
Will leak a slime transmogrifying pain
In pearls of pus which stultify the sane
They loom with mouths of razors in my brain

Men of marrow with candles in their thighs
Will watch when archetypal maidens die
And pretend that they know all the other guys
Who helped to kill her with their hate and lies.

Men of veins with cracked and vulgar minds
Draw skulls in blood all over whitened walls
Then scratch their never washed and festering balls
Not knowing they’re a paradigm of these times

Love this band

this is that song

Speedy Ortiz If you only listen to one song today, make it “The Graduates” by Speedy Ortiz (2015, from the album Foil Deer)

Speedy Ortiz is an indie rock/power pop/grunge revival quartet from Northampton, Massachusetts. Frontwoman Sadie Dupuis is one of the smartest people in all of indie rock, and by all accounts very much down-to-earth. She studied maths at MIT before going on to pursue a masters in poetry at UMass. It’s educational. It’s educational. It’s educational.

Because of her credentials, she’s often hailed as one of the best lyricists in the business. But it’s not just about flexing literary muscle. Anyone can write a book of poetry. She’s also a very qualified singer, and someone who realizes that being in a rock band is a lot of fun. People (myself included) have compared Speedy Ortiz’ previous work to some blend of Pavement and PJ Harvey. As a…

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A gaping wound in the earth descending into infinite darkness
I peer down within and see
Worlds within worlds within worlds
Each slightly warped and unsightly
Spinning in different directions
Gradually corrupting to infinity
Lights, patterns, colours
Tessellations sliding into fractal dinosaur implosions¸
Birthing recurring shapes and patterns within patterns
Gyrating and whirling hypnotically
Repeating, recurring, repeating

I jump down into the pit
Warp speed stretches everything towards a point of infinite light below me
I’m falling
I’m falling
Worlds and galaxies fly passed and are stretched to segments of light
I’m accelerating
I’m transcending
I’m transforming
I’ve not noticed until now that I don’t seem to be breathing
I have left my body but I don’t care
Galaxies and nebulae fly past spinning like coins in air
I’m accelerating faster still
More galaxies and nebula, pulsating around me as I fly past at unfathomable speed

Then everything is dark
I have stopped moving
No sound, no light
Utter blackness
‘Out on the perimeter where there are no stars’
Man of shadows
Solitary now


Posted: April 18, 2015 in poetry
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Full belly of curry
Bloated in my comfy chair
Swollen like a tic full of blood
My internal monologue is death by myriad wounds
I eat too much
I don’t exercise enough
Women don’t like fat men
I suck dead dogs’ dicks
I killed Kurt Cobain
Will I die alone in this rented room like a cockroach
Will I fester and freak till I’m bat-shit crazy and end up back in hospital
Will I wander through life like a lost stranger down endless suburban bitumen
Carving away my personality with psychic razors
Never knowing connection to the rest of humanity
Forever burnt out and busted like a dead lightbulb
Staring up the asshole of death
Hello world I’m here
I’d like to get to know you
I’m not sure if you’ll like me
But I’m here
Stoned and impeccable
Close to beyond hope
Growing my toenails
Sharpening my fangs
And inhaling paint


Oh Lord, I know things are better where you are
In your heaven where there are streams of whisky
And rivers of beer
Where there are mountains of the best Columbian cocaine
And vast fields of Mull plants swaying in a gentle mint-flavoured breeze
Where magic mushrooms grow all over the ground with every new rain
And the sap of the opium poppy is always flowing
But down here on earth it’s hard
Evil men try to rip me off at every opportunity
Crazy fuckers attempt to infest me with their craziness
Homeswest send me endless forms to fill out so that they may map out my depravity
Schizoaffective malcontents knock on my door
Offering a couple of cones that will cost my soul
Dead eyed dealers with barracuda-minds cavort through my imagination in purple paisley suits
Weird lost souls with bloated pupils suck up my oxygen and leave me feeling confused and alienated
Hock-shop harridans sexually manipulate me into being their slave and emotional vomit bucket
Drug-fucked tattooed criminals plot meth labs over the road then blow themselves up
Standover men shave my head then they put alcohol all over my bald scalp so that I may suffer
Bullies pack cones of chilli powder for me and tell me its dope and I break into a tubercular coughing fit
Psychotic meth-heads plot my downfall from a distance as I have become entwined in their madness
Please stop them oh Lord, don’t hurt them, but stop their wickedness from corrupting my masculine grid
From castrating me into a submissive bitch boy
See their hearts full of Godless hatred and spite
See their minds full of money making schemes and murderous intent
Guide them to experiences which will foster compassion and repentance in their hearts
May their change of heart manifest in acts of generosity and love to all their friends and neighbours
Let us become friends and forget all about dominance and submission
And lead us all to meet you at the end of time when the sky falls down
And we join the cosmic banquet
And drink the wine of the new Kingdom.

Good Friday Ganja

Posted: April 10, 2015 in poetry
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It’s Thursday night
Got to get some weed before Good Friday
But it’s past six thirty and Bill won’t be on
So I call Tiressa and ask her if she’s got any
It’ll be an hour she replies by text message
So I stuff around by the shops aimlessly
And generally try to waste time
Buy a paper, read it
Have at least five cigarettes
Walk up and down the road
Think to myself:
‘How many hours have I spent waiting for drugs-
A fucking shit-load I bet’
Time seems to wander in maple syrup
The sun slows down and burns a hole in the ground
Then I try to ring her again as the hour is up
I can’t get through to her so I walk down to her place
When I get there she says it will be another hour
Now my bullshit detector is going off
I’ve been in enough drug deals to know that her suppliers are screwing her around
I should try somewhere else
So I ask her if she knows anywhere
She says ‘why don’t you try the Maoris down the street next to the shops’
So I ask her how to find them
She says walk down the road for about three hundred metres and look for a red commodore wagon
So I head off and soon get back to the road next to the shops
Walk about three hundred metres and I see the red commodore wagon
Knock on the door, and I tell them Tiressa sent me and I’m looking for some sticks
The cuddly Maori woman at the door says ‘No worries, I know what it’s like to be without a smoke-
I’ll just go and ask my husband. How many do you want?’
I say, ‘I’d like four,’ and give her a hundred bucks.
She takes the money and closes the door.
I’m thinking ‘Fuck! I hope they don’t rip me off.’
But she’s back soon, with foils
Haven’t seen foils for fifteen years.
These days dope usually comes in little plastic bags
But they look an OK size-wise
I thank her and head back up the road
I see a factory surrounded by bushes as I’m walking
So I stop off behind the bushes and have a couple of cones with my pipe
‘Fuck me,’ I think to myself, ‘this is the best shit I’ve had for years!’
My brain feels like it’s been encased in a warm pulsating psychedelic blanket
A succulent green haze descends on my consciousness and I feel incredibly free of anxiety and relaxed.
Heavenly visions of translucent summer days dance through my skull
Those Maoris know their weed
So by this stage it’s about 9:30,
I get on the train and head home.

Because you’re gorgeous
And I’m old and fat
Because you’re a wonderful woman
And I’m a corrupt middle-aged man
Because you’re an indelible arrow in my heart
And I’m a drug-ravaged cliché
Because you know all the cool new bands
And I’m stuck in the nineties
Because you’re nubile and radiant
And I’m corpulent and a bit of downer
Because you’re a heavenly angel
And I’m a horrible toad
And I’m not sure if I’ll turn into a prince
Even if you kiss me
Because you’re rapidly transmogrifying into a goddess in my mind
Sacred projection of my anima
So high above and so lovely
But this is not healthy
You want a man, not a worshipper
So I postpone and procrastinate
About telling you
How much you mean to me
And just try to be friends
But not in a passive-aggressive ‘Nice-Guy’ way
Because I know the answer to the song of my heart
Will be no