Posts Tagged ‘alcohol’

AOC-John-Berryman

A subtle shift of bone beneath reddened skin:
Pock-marked in places, Henry oscillates a mood-wave
Between a grimace of enthusiasm and reactive misery.
Alone in a crowd and dissolving into misty dream states,
As his consciousness thickens to a paste of confusion,
He meditates on a morbid wish for numbness.

Henry cultivates a rambunctious beard.
‘This is most unseemly’ says Mr Bones.
‘I think you have misplaced your ethics,
And your proclivities are as problematic
Starting with the alcoholism and then the drugs
Which ripple out from your unwholesome impulsivity’

Henry drinks from the event horizon of literary glory,
Then vomits a kaleidoscope abstract onto his shirt.
He is luminous in the pantheon of beautiful screw-ups
But spasms of salience and mystery are seldom rewarded with happiness.
Sooner than is fair he will suffer like a dog-turd underfoot again,
And long for the blessed suction of the infinite void of nonexistence.

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515d2d0d96eced1f305e854bdf102a64

You were the one with your brain of bone
You lie and you lie like a corpse in the grave
You steal and you cheat
Drugged-up delinquent
Haphazard hooligan
ADHD criminal
Don’t crunch my gonads
Don’t pollute my peace with your perversion
Don’t steal my shit, fuckwit
Look at yourself
Peak out of your poison mind like a craven turtle
Look at all the bad karma you generate
Do these words penetrate your alcoholic confusion
Enough to perforate your sump pump soul?
Don’t steal my piggies
Don’t beat me
Don’t pick on me
You in your dirty shot world with your perverted entitled personality
And victim mentality
With your tedious anecdotes of violence and oppression
Fuck you and your collection of dirty fits
Fuck you and your drug induced bionic paranoia
Fuck you and your painful polka-dot hallucinations
Fuck you and your endless addictive attitudes
Fuck you and your Jim Beam T-shirt and boganesque enthusiasms
You and your facebook friends can fuck off
Fuck you very much

party

Will you be there?
I will be there with my many friends
I will get drunk and stoned and run a humungous muck
I will hit on all the single women and attempt to be interesting
And some woman may find me interesting
Come on, it has happened before
Occasionally
There will be some cool bands there churning out distorted indie goodness
It will rock like a hit of cocaine
In an intimate vein

Will you be there?
It is likely that someone will choke on their own vomit
Which is a nasty way to go but better than choking on someone else’s
There will be rivers of alcohol and forests of weed
Tobacco and pot smoke will be thick as the conversation
People will exhibit joy and fascination
With each other and with the moments of togetherness
Which grow into an ecstatic peak through group synergy
Then subside into nothingness as everyone goes home to their hangovers

wildturkey

Spare me the Wild Turkey, brother
I just can’t handle that shit
I go dingo’s gonad crazy and start fucking shit up
And so do a lot of other people

Wild Turkey 101 is 50.5 % alcohol
It’s fucked up man
And it fucks me up like being hit in the head with a two by four or a rubber sledge hammer
Never drink Wild Turkey with an unmedicated schizophrenic who calls himself a ‘voice hearer’
Who goes hurricane loco and smashes your guitar while shouting out- ‘Your rich dad can buy you another guitar!’
He smoked all my weed as well
A real friend was there to save the television before he broke it and stopped him from drawing all over the walls
I was too pissed to know what the fuck was going on
I think I might have popped some pills too
Then next day I woke up with the house smashed up and a pulsing, mutating headache like I had a cane-toad bouncing around inside my skull and eating my brains,
My mouth was a sandy prickly desert
I wondered what the fuck I’d done the night before
Had I even remembered to feed the guinea-pigs?
My wallet was empty but I’m sure I had a hundred and fifty bucks in it the night before
My only memories were broken images of drunkenness and depravity
And moronic drunken arguments sprinkled with paranoia
Everything else was a blank
I know I’m getting too old for this kind of ridiculous bullshit
I am not Charles Bukowski and I am not Shane MacGowan
From now on I’m sticking to beers and bongs

most-beatiful-women-08

Stardust on her eye-lids
Cellophane kisses
Messy lipstick
Blurred mascara
Trash
Ripped fish-net stockings
Pours another drink
How does it taste?
Warmth of alcohol
Abandoned but unbroken
Trash
Glitter-ball perfume
Lust for doom
My darling
Trash
Lounging in the gutter
Vomit in her hair
Eyes on the stars
Which rotate alarmingly
Vomits again
Screams, kicks off her high-heels
Trash
But still beautiful

Young

Posted: August 31, 2015 in poetry
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

most-beatiful-women-08

When I was young and green- swollen with sap
A bursting boy, primed to dance among the girls
My nerves conspired to queer me in their eyes
My fumbling frowned their hearts and spurred their mocking

Oh suffering, oh tragedy like death
Their brilliant breasts were hidden from my eyes
Their lips denied me by this knot of fate
My heart burned like a violent Vindaloo

And so I followed like a puppy dog
Behind she who had captured all my soul
Nice guy behaviour- just trying to be a friend
Except when I’d had too much alcohol

womanpic

Just to impress you I rolled a whole stick into a doobie and lit it up
Just to impress you I drank ten pints of Guinness
Just to impress you I sculled a bottle of Wild Turkey
Just to impress you I vomited and fell off my chair

Just to impress you I smoked a gram of crystal meth
Just to impress you I stayed up for five days
Just to impress you I shot up fifty bucks worth of smack
Just to impress you I nodded off in the corner in a house full of junkies

Just to impress you I penetrated the clouds with my breath and enervated the stars with my glare
Just to impress you I transmogrified into a Wookie and howled at the moon
Just to impress you I drank the Nile river and shat out a solid gold ingot
Just to impress you I lost 40 kilos by chopping off my legs

Just to impress you I broke wind in the moonlight and set it on fire
Just to impress you I consecrated a toad as pope while wearing a tutu
Just to impress you I swam to the bottom of the ocean and found you a giant pearl
Just to impress you I declared war on New Zealand and dropped my trousers to the Queen

Just to impress you I fought a tiger to the death and feasted on it’s flesh
Just to impress you I beat my meat to Blake’s quatrains and gibbered like a gibbon
Just to impress you I journeyed to the land of the monkey king and brought back seven gnostic scriptures
But you said ‘I’m not impressed and I’m never going to have sex with you’

Kurt_Cobain_drawing_by_HerEvilGothM

To me the nineties were a wild ride through an anamorphic mountain range with mystic-ecstatic highs and dark suicidal lows
Living on the sharp edge of reality enjoying the futile effervescent joy of mindless adolescent kicks
Everything is more real and intense when you’re twenties
And some crazy shit goes down
Some of my friends didn’t make it out alive
I focus on the mountain peaks now when I dream:
Kurt Cobain saving rock and roll from hair metal with a serious punk rock injection
Cool music being in the charts thanks to Kurt
One crime- breaking into a Deli and stealing cigarettes only to find when I got them home they were all Menthol
That moment when a serious hangover was steamrollered to nothing by a shot of smack- the ultimate hangover cure
Hundreds of cones, bongs, pipes and joints to a soundtrack of the great distorted guitar music
Singing along to the Pixies ‘Some Marijuana- if you’ve got some’
Kissing the gorgeous lead singer of the Dumb Angels full on the mouth with a dash of tongue on New Year’s Eve- they were like the Ramones if they were women
Playing a New Years’ gig at the Orient off my head on speed and picking up a groupie
Having an actual beautiful girlfriend who was not made of rubber and enjoyed fucking me
Going to the second Big Day Out with Sonic Youth, Nick Cave and Iggy Pop accompanied by shit-load of quality pharmaceuticals
Iggy started tearing down the stage and shouting ‘Let’s fuck this shit up’
Playing a gig with my band at a punk-rock-party and getting paid in morphine.
Playing my songs to great applause from the other psychiatric patients at Fremantle Hospital and realizing that crazy people are the best people- my tribe
Playing a gig where we sang a song about killing the pigs and smashing the state to an audience that included policemen-who were way pissed off
Getting kicked out of my own gig at the Loft for being too punk rock as I was channelling Iggy Pop while pissed as Shane MacGowan
Dropping acid five times in five days when lining up for the Cure then ending up with an engrossing drug induced psychosis which lead me to believe I was Nick Cave
Playing a gig in a tutu to get in touch with my feminine side and annoy the homophobes
Great friends, great beers, great music, great drugs
Only briefly interrupted by
Occasional classes at University
Occasional weeks of work at crappy jobs

But not enough to spoil the fun

Of sacred rebellion

hunter

‘I hate to advocate drugs, alcohol, violence, or insanity to anyone, but they’ve always worked for me.’ Hunter S Thompson

When Hunter S Thompson ran for sheriff of Aspen, Colorado
He was going to make all the business men wear clown suits
And only bust drug dealers if they gave shit deals
He was going to gather together all the freaks, geeks and weirdos
And take over the whole damn town
Hunter used to breakfast on cocaine, wild turkey and a big fat joint
And generate more drug-fuelled crazy mayhem
Than any ten average freaks
Every mother-fucking day
Hunter wrote scintillating shot-gun-demented prose
About drug-fuelled crazy mayhem
Politics, culture and how to bring down Capitalism
He always used to drop acid before he started writing at midnight and wrote till six
He befriended Allen Ginsberg because they had the same pot dealer
He let his freak flag fly
A life as incandescent as magnesium flame- burning and burning and burning
After he blew out his brains with a shot-gun his friends fired his ashes into the air with a canon
He sure was one badass
Motherfucker
I’m not sure if I have the constitution
To keep up with him

kerouac1
I have had better relationships with substances than people
It’s not that I didn’t want the relationships with people,
They were just few and isolated like fly spots in a clean house
While pot and alcohol were always there, as long as I had money
‘The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom’ says Blake
It’s all about the loosening of semantic associations
Getting lost in a web of words and forbidden texts,
Zapping from word to word on wings of fancy
With Rimbaud and Dylan Thomas on my shoulders
The vomit of self-disclosure can taste sweet
When blended through the madness of my mind
‘When the going gets weird, the weird turn pro.’ says Hunter S Thompson
But when I look at my panoply of drunk, drug addled and crazy heroes
Bukowski, Burroughs, Kerouac, Thomas, Rimbaud, Cave, Plath
I dream of getting wasted with them and swapping poet tricks
Shooting smack with William Burroughs and Nick Cave
Sharing a pint with Dylan Thomas and Charles Bukowski
Trying to cheer up Sylvia Plath
One thing I know for sure
I don’t want to die puking up blood like Kerouac
I wonder if creation really has to take such a toll on the constitution
Self-destruction for art’s sake is a myth, a trope, an illusion, maya
But it’s fun