Posts Tagged ‘crap’

amplitude

Such depth of amplitude

Pelican frequencies modulating

Width of surprise wide in your eyes when you’re fried

Take it backwards through the moonlight within eddies of your mind

Take it roughly, take it slowly,

Crap it out of your behind

Then disappear into indolence

Or wish to be enveloped

By suicide succubus love

Drag me down

Aching with sorrow

Aiming to crystallize

Imaginary fear

Into attention

And compassion

But failing

Flagrantly

 

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weirdo

 

Here’s to the wild ones, the weird ones
Who take a crap on the desk at Centrelink with a shit-eating grimace on their faces and demand to be addressed as Jesus Christ
Who go wild on whiskey or whatever and run amuck through the back-alleys and cheap boarding houses of Perth
Who polish their guts with bourbon and stoke their tobacco fires constantly
Who cry out against that military industrial mind-fuck- the consumerist gobbledegook of advertising
Who always know where to get good drugs and how to avoid getting ripped off by other, meaner freaks
Who want to bring down capitalism and Nickleback with a single gesture of flagrant love
Who when captured by the pigs paint a Sistine Chapel of shit all over their cells and gibber like gibbons
Who keep detailed records of the worldwide conspiracy of Masons to achieve world domination by writing on the insides of gum wrappers
Who write their lives all over the public walls of the city in murals that would scare a representative member of society- whatever that is
Who ricochet through late-night hipster bars clad in tattoos and tobacco and get kicked out for questioning the purpose of the universe
Who participate in threesomes with persons of indeterminate gender in the late-night anal darkness
Who plunder the night for kicks and hi-jinks and scare the crap out of the forces of conformity
Who preen and style for fashion darlings in op-shop rags with multiple piercings
As they bless the world, may God bless them all

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.

dirtyroom

Sometimes I feel like I’m living in a squat
A homes-westy kind of festering junkie den of dankness
When there’s crap all over the floor and dirty plates creating no stepping zones
The coffee table hasn’t been cleaned in months has black impasto layers of dirt
Just missing a couple of skanky junkie prostitutes nodding off in the corner
Now that would be cool

My sheets have a substantial amount of sand, dirt and guinea pig poo on them
Fortunately they’re black
I can never keep the doona cover on, so the doona is a dirty white slug on my bed
There are empty cigarette butts on the floor as I have been raiding my butt collection
It’s a miracle I get out of the place looking clean and moderately respectable sometimes
The wonders of showers and deodorant I guess

I wonder if I’d clean up my act for a good woman
Perhaps- anything is possible though not probable
I do kind of love my filth
I revel in many forms of corruption and depravity
So do the guinea pigs
They are piggies like me