Posts Tagged ‘Cross’

mystifying vibrations rapture brainwaves
20 mill shot then roam the night
beating Urizen to self destruction
eyes realize what brains synthesize

psychedelic messages from the heart of a demon-god
syringe of ice immaculate into vein
pharmacological music broadcasts bloodlike awareness

monitored conscious reading on
inflammatory creative afternoons
suffer plaster mountains of cancer
another shot into the saint vein

leafy spirit slithers to a realm beyond anti-psychotics
listen to my mind blur images
through opaque windows
under the Boab tree

intricate salvation
green succulent voices
a mind-bath most pleasing

cocktail-effect transient stare
incandescent self destruction
muttering measures of death

increasingly nothing rocks my world
a naked child with wings angelic
says blood-rivers flow like death-stench

ancient god Urizen has balls of brass and an iron-plated ass
blood infected abcesses of pain
locked in the overflow post-medication nightmare

Urizen strains in the dissonant mirror
electro-chemical squatting
angry schizophrenic God fire

candy surging consciousness
tastes sweet like boiled lollies
tingling beats across brainwaves
mind-matrices intricate and replicated

Urizen sucks Dopamine
these preconceptions challenge our walk through existence
speed like rush to nowhere
conniving a shot from a mystifying syringe
earth-quake inspiration forms a new kind of radio

failing spirits lurk ethereally
free medication vibration
reality for my molecules

the soul unmedicated
knows a meat madness of spirit
dead lord of bentness

tribal veins pump my brain
impaled on a cross
pierced for kicks

 

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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