Posts Tagged ‘children’

oak

What does it mean to be free?
Free to smoke too much weed without getting hassled by the pigs
Free to meet ladies of easy leisure in funky pubs
Free to shoot smack and smoke ice till my brain falls out
Free to drink sixteen pints of beer and stumble down fractal streetscapes
Free to stay in and vegetate watching crap on TV
Free to scheme esoteric schemes
Free to dream esoteric dreams
Freedom not to bullied or hassled out by anyone
Everyone should have this kind of freedom
Man Free Woman Free Gender Queer Free
All God’s children dancing naked in an oak tree forest in sensuous spring
Bounded by a crackling stream rolling over rounded rocks
Sky a hallucinatory blue with a gorgeous rainbow

Hallelujah, Praise God from whom all blessings flow

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christ
Twist a string of beads
Around a witch’s waist
Build a crappy tent of bulbous bones
Against the rabid rain

Which pelts poison in your brain
And soon drives you electrically insane
Nerve toxins in the neurons
Birthing paralytic rictus
And quasi simian spasticity

Beat a rubber eel upon a warlock’s wobbly bits
Signify a morbid mountain of madness
Spit upon the surfaces of suppurating melancholy
Dance into the crack within the nothing
Like a stoned fool on smack
They’ll never want you back
Until all is black as boots and empty

Taste a poxy potion of hallucinatory mushrooms
See Christ crucified with the head of a Beast
See the many horns and eyes of the beast
See the real Christ crucified in pulsating pain
See the wood of the cross multiplying across Europe
See the Shroud of Tourin photocopying a saviour
See Christ crucified on every tree
And every tree a Bible
See towering cathedrals of light hidden from mortal retinas
Fractal kaleidoscopic sun structures of infinite intricacy
Bedazzling and befuddling desperately then
Faces without eyes emerge from the void
Like fungus growing from a corpse

Flashes of spark-light phosphorescence against the windows of the skull
Mad carousing reptiles wrap their bodies around a totem pole
Wood hacked to grinning skulls piled to heaven vertical
Fire flickers and the children of light dance their circle
Drums beat a rumbling rhythm that hypnotizes
Summoning old Spirits to bring in a new age

urizen

Urizen rages against his cage
Beats meat in the corridors of the house of God
Stares down from a cross impaled on nails and laughs
He who Plotted creation in intricate detail
Builds an angry fortress with his pain

Urizen measures his universe
Like an eagle eyeing his prey
Malevolent eyes-balls pierce each molecule
Desperate grimace over mountains
Megalomania strains against iron fetters

Urizen deluded and insane beyond reason
Thinks he is God and God above God
Doesn’t realize he’s messed up creation
By failing to infuse the right amount of love

Urizen rages against his own children
Who locked him in prison to save the world
Plots suffering like swatting flies
Murder’s moments with a swish of his tail
Bludgeons the butterfly hope and drinks blood-rivers

Granite pathology
Rock grinding rock into dust
Under the mountains Urizen is enclosed
Thrashing and beating against what binds him
Birthing earth-quakes and volcanic eruptions

Despair for him is the making of heaven

shaman-1

Always madness knocking at the door
Unmedicated schizophrenics sucking up my time
Rambling to themselves while staring in the mirror
Muttering inflammatory rhetoric and racism
Denying that they have any mental illness
Telling me that the CIA and the NBN are reading their brainwaves
Telling me that there are messages for them in the ads in X-presss
Telling me that the whole planet is being monitored and controlled by the Masons
Convinced that their medication is poison

But these are God’s children
And we must love them no matter how annoying they may be
In tribal societies they would be shaman
With one foot in the spirit world and one foot in reality
Hearing spirit voices and interpreting them for the tribe
Going on mystic journeys accompanied by spirit animals
Speaking in poetry
Mystifying and incandescent

We used to fill them full of anti-psychotics and sit them in corner
Increasingly now they roam free
Sometimes mystifying and inspiring, sometimes annoying and repetitive
Sometimes even dangerous to themselves or others
But they definitely make the world a more interesting place

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

piggies 21_11_2012 152

Little warm balls of fur
With cute pink piggy feet
Nuzzly noses, gentle spirits
My piggies
My friends
My children
It feels so good to watch them playing out the back on the grass
Or crawling all over my feet under the doona
Or sitting on my shoulder while I watch TV
Sometimes late at night
When all is silent and the earth breathes slowly
You can hear them singing
An unearthly bird-sound
To call the mother-ship

burrendah

Burrendah Primary School in the outer suburb of Willetton in Perth
New plants- short stubby bushes and asbestos clad buildings still in primary colours
Kids in maroon uniforms- swarms of little boys and girls

The little blonde boy stands alone in the withering wind in the undercover area
The Fremantle doctor has come in again
Pole straight he stares into the cold steel pylon, hiding behind it from the other children
Willing the school day to end

Oh infinite aching solitude
Oh twisted random mind
Churning full of white noise
No other children talk to him
Except the bully who pushes him over so he scrapes his knee on the bitumen

When he gets home he is happy
Immersed in the rich private world of his toys
His parents never know how he suffers
Like John of the Cross in a box

loneliness
An undercover area in a primary school on a sumptuous day
It has a floor of bitumen and steel girders hold up an orange roof of steel
The Fremantle doctor is whistling through from the south-west,
Cooling the children at play
Behind one of the steel columns holding up the roof is a little boy of no more than seven: blond and wan and pale
He can’t kick a football
He always comes last in running races
He isn’t playing with the other children
He is a lone sentinel in the midst of the unalloyed joy of his peers
The mechanics of friendship are mystery to him
The mechanics of conversation are a mystery to him
His head is full of murky poison thought
Chills of freezing isolation run up and down his spine
He fears that if the others saw the darkness lurking in his heart they would be revolted
He imagines being popular and having friends sometimes but it seems an unattainable dream
His life is a solitary nightmare at school
And his nightmares are the stuff of meta-nightmares