Posts Tagged ‘back’

lsd

 

Fine Art student party in the nineties

Innovative art on the walls

They might all end up unemployed but they know how to party

Everyone was on acid

Gold keys

And there was a back room with glowing star stickers

So you could pretend you were God looking out over the universe.

I started to freak out

And saw a thousand foot high monster with hundreds and hundreds of eyes

The fear set in

Paranoia crawled up my spine for a while

But then I mellowed out a bit

And had a good time

The trick

Is never to think

I shouldn’t have taken that fucking trip

Lower-Back-Pain

So I was making wedges by cutting up potatoes, then frying them in the frying pan
Once the wedges were brown I covered them in vinegar and chicken salt
They were delicious—I ate them in the strainer
I spilled some oil out of the chips onto the floor
Simply thought to myself—what a dumb-ass— and went on eating
The rest of the night I was watching crap on TV
And scratching my balls as I drifted into a semi-somnambulant state
Then about 2 o’clock in the morning I stood up to go to the loo and my feet slipped on the oil
Time slowed down and stretched as my legs splayed in opposite direction
I landed on my ass on the unyielding concrete floor
It was like being penetrated by an electrified dildo
A terrible shot-gun pain fired up my spine and all over my back like razor wire grating the bone
I felt like someone was hacking into my back with an axe
My knee was fucked and painful too
I thought to myself- that’s it, I’m fucked- I’ve slipped a disc
I can’t walk and somehow drag myself to bed in agony
In the early morning I call my Dad, who comes over and calls an ambulance as I can’t get out of bed
They give me the magic anaesthetic whistle to suck on, and we eventually managed to get me to the ambulance
In hospital the highlight was some oxycodone—a most satisfying opiate that made me feel a little goofy and sucked away my pain
Then, as soon as I could demonstrate that I could walk, I was sent home because all the x-rays were negative.
It was muscular.

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

morrissey

Cold metal silence
Time stumbles on thick moments
Broken coffee cups
Dirty plates fester
Full ashtrays
Piggies rustling in their cage
Solitary fly sneaked in through an open door
Ease into the armchair
Such exquisite relaxation
Lower back muscles loosen
Roll a smoke
Inhale
Exhale
Coughing fit
Curlicues of smoke from mouth
Light incense
Smoke from cigarette and incense forms spiral staircases to nowhere
Bored
More melancholy than depressed
But not uncomfortable
Time for a Morrissey album

rubber

Lock your cocks
Inside your jocks
Don’t treat your meat
Like a beast to be beat
Break the back
Of madness
By spewing out your pain
Hail the snail
Of corpulence
And dance when you want rain
But don’t wear rubber fetish wear
Or dildos in your brain
No-one will care
They’ll laugh at your hair
And you will look silly again

The Beast

Posted: August 27, 2014 in poetry
Tags: , , , , , ,

beast
Breaking its back the garrulous beast cracks the moonlight in its bones.
The beast has many claws and horns but it still suffers, it still bleeds.
Sucking society through its wounds,
It grunts between spasms of suffering,
Then cries like a sick pony.
Barriers to compassion break down,
Time stands straight as a soldier
Memory and fortune are drunk on whiskey and off carousing.
I wail against the fangs of oppression and the pain of the beast,
For in the pain of the unfortunate beast is all our pain.