Archive for December, 2015

peoplewithoutfaces

People without faces
Blank walls of skin interrogating my rickshaw brain
Photo-flash of blood-rivers
Pus oozes from under a scab
Madness tastes like chocolate
Howl against the moonlight sensuously senselessly
Blue-white bloated corpses floating in stagnant water
Open eyes, blank and dumb, stare into infinity

People without faces
Paranoia seeps under the door and over the floor
Skeletal hand on my shoulder squeezes
I’ve got the fear
Atmosphere poisoned and festering
No way to realign my brain-cells into some orderly pattern
Drowning in terror
Too many crazy moons
Watch out Amygdala!
Satan lurks with asylum eyes, horns of brass and teeth like scalpels
A shark waiting to devour souls

People without faces
Icicles of bone
Piles of skulls
Crackle of schizo-affectation
Crinkled miasma in an empty room
Inch deep dust in a crypt
Fester, fester further down the road to death

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river

The river crawls glacially
Glass reflections reiterating of surrounding bush
Eucalyptus trees lean over water
Glistening sunlight ripples
Cool depths calling out
A a barramundi flicks the surface and willow branches caress water
A Paperbark like an old man’s hand on the edge
Reflections of the burnt holes like evil empty eyes
A dragonfly buzzes an erratic line across the water, occasionally hovering
Occasionally a kookaburra celebrates the day with glorious cackles
Red dirt desert all around but here there is life
Life embracing life and surging through the pores of reality
Watch out for Crocs!

loneliness2

Understand the solitary man
Burnt out tree lost in a forest of loneliness
Pebble under an infinite mountain
He puts on a mellow album
Smokes a couple of cones
Lights mandarin flavoured incense
Stares at the dirty plates and empty drink bottles surrounding him and recoils at how dirty the coffee table is
Considers doing the washing
Considers moving the dirty plates to the kitchen
Doesn’t move

His mental soliloquy:
“Oh my filth, my precious filth
No-one can tell me to clean up
At least I know where things are
Oh God ,I’m getting fat
My back aches when I walk
I’m going to die alone in a rented room
From a heart attack or lung cancer
Or I’ll get diabetes and someone will chop off my leg”

Paranoia, paranoia most foul in lonely rooms all over the world where excess men who nobody wants live out their pathetic lives
His personal space is small
No-one wants to invade it
His dreams are always full of women
But his life is empty of them
Too depressed to jerk off but soaked in longing
Waiting for death
Understand the solitary man

chicken

 

Darkest meat
Corpuscles
Rending flesh from bone
Blood simple expression
Like branches of branches of a tree, intricate
A witness
A wonder
Glazed with self-satisfaction
Ready to burst
Bent into suburban shapes
Curlicues in curlicues enhance fractal Zen mind expansion
Spiralling tornadoes of angst and ecstasy
How long
Till strange fat men in Hawaiian shirts are attractive to women
Till starlight galaxies spin immaculate through my neurons
Till death will be greeted with relief
Moments
Waterfall of time rolls down
Water transformed to blood
Corpuscles
Silence

Swagman_(2715952698)

I was walking alone through red dirt in the vast Kimberley region of Western Australia
The sun beat down on me as if softening me up for death with a meat hammer
I was so thirsty that my tongue was beginning to stick to the top of my mouth
I was worried as I had not seen a road for ages, and was wandering in spirals
Suddenly he stepped out from behind a eucalyptus tree
He wore a long coat despite the heat, and various mugs and tools were tied to the coat
On his head a battered old hat
And his eyes were like burning blue coals
He smiled and said ‘Don’t be afraid- what are you doing out here?’
I told him I was lost and thirsty
He said- “I’ll show you how to find water’.
“You just look for a good tree then dig to the roots’
He dug down about 2 feet with a little spade he pulled out of a pocket in his coat
And there was water—we both drank
Then he grabbed a few rocks and set up a fireplace
He said- ‘Leave these rocks here for the next bloke, that’s the Swagman’s code’
He gathered together some twigs and rubbed two sticks together to start the fire
He tried to show me how to do it, but I couldn’t work out the trick
‘I didn’t like the city, so when I was eighteen I left for the bush, and I’ve been wandering around here for near fifty years’ he said
‘I’ll never regret it, the bush is in my blood’
‘The blackfellas taught me how to survive, amazing people- they’ve been doing this for fifty thousand years’
‘Some fellas come out here and have no idea because they don’t learn from the blackfellas. Those fellas die.’
He told me how to get back to the road then disappeared behind a tree.
Once again there was silence with an insect buzz
A real Swagman.

Macho_Man_Randy_Savage-276x251

To be a man you’re not supposed to say you’re sorry
Just try it one time with an audience of macho troglodytes and you’ll find out
They’ll look at you as weak, a wimp, a target for rage against their own stupidity
To deal with this situation, most people would advise to harden up- come on, be a man
Crush your feelings
Never cry
Dominate, dominate, dominate
In doing so do you become a monster
Just another testosterone crazed dildo-brain
Manning up ends up with beaten women and children
And men with no emotions save anger and hatred
Broken creatures trapped in a gender prison
Women are freeing themselves now from this kind of bullshit
When will men be free from protecting their fragile masculinity
When will little children cease to fear their father’s rage
When will there be no more abused women
When we can smash the man box

Oxycontin

Posted: December 8, 2015 in poetry
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Oxycontin 2 SH jpg_

These green 80 milligram OxyContin tablets sell for $80 each on the street. The pink 20 milligram tablets fetch $20 each. This pain reliever is becoming the recreational drug of choice in Maine, authorities say. (NEWS Photo by Scott Haskell)

‘You have to keep chewing them’ my mate says
‘They’ve changed the formulation to stop people shooting them up’,
Feels like chewing rubber but it eventually breaks up
About ten minutes later I begin to feel a warm, numbing sensation in my legs
Gradual warming of my moribund bones, warming my brain like an internal balaclava
Ah Opiates- poppy-powered self-indulgent cocooning into comfort
Adrift in psychedelic notes of Hendrix with my heavy eyelids leading me through various semiconscious states
A whole spectrum of dopey dreams to get lost in
My whole body is perfectly numb and at peace
In my mind I soar over poppy fields through a purple sky on a scented breeze
Then it feels like my brain is curling up into a ball, secure against the world- a perfect state of addled apathy
Total body bliss
And the feeling keeps going for hours
Perfectly wasted
Hill-billy heroin indeed

sunset_191746

You and me baby against the jet-plane gigallos
You and me baby against the pornographic priestesses
You and me baby against leprosy and fascist verse
You and me baby against dead soul celebration and poison pretension

You and me baby with pustules and pus
You and me baby with dinosaurs and sets of drawers
You and me baby with wonders of science and lies of creation
You and me baby with a golden thread of truth in our garments

You and me baby under the Christ-light and dripping with sexual magnetism
You and me baby under thunder and over lightning
You and me baby encased in sarcastic babbling
You and me baby entranced by knowledge of nothingness

You and me baby fighting in a Tim-tam war with Coles
You and me baby fighting the war on mediocrity with secret statistics
You and me baby fighting with our bloated bellies to overcome capitalism
You and me baby fighting for revolution with our pants down

You and me baby- together at last