Posts Tagged ‘ganja’

 

 

zuckerberg

Facebook what bullshit bat-shaped insanity have you got for me today?

Facebook how many of these  random people do I really know?

Facebook why do all these women in their underwear want to be my friend?

Facebook I love your pictures of piggelies and politics

Facebook I love your pictures of ganja

Facebook I love your churning bubbles of news and opinion

Facebook you’re losing the younger generation because their parents are spying on them

Facebook I’m sick of your ads and fake news

But I can’t give you up

How can I stay mad at you?

When you seem to know me so well

With your algorithms you structure my news feed to keep me amazed and astonished

You give me a thousand imaginary friends

You give me a place to show off my poems

You give me the illusion of sociability

Oh Facebook feed you feed me crap but some of it is cool

Oh Facebook feed you fondle me with likes

Oh Facebook feed you massage my ego with comments

Facebook you may be fading away

But you’re still amusing

Port Wine

Posted: June 13, 2015 in poetry
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iga

Sitting in the IGA shopping center car-park drinking ten-dollar port wine
Wondering how many hours I’ve spent waiting for drugs
How many minutes of fervid expectation, my senses hollowed out with longing
It always has to be this way
Will it be there or will they rip us off
Where the fuck are they
Fuck me it’s been hours
I wonder what they’re doing
Probably done the deal and chatting about meaningless crap
Forever and ever amen eloi eloi sabachtani hallelujah om
I pray to fallen gods who govern drug deals to bring the drugs to us
Then it’s here
A whole ounce of ganja
The guy who’s buying weighs it up and says it’s okay
We roll a massive doobie for the walk back
I get a chunky bud as my share
And we head for home

pigs

Blue-uniformed blowfly stealing my stash
Moloch embodied with pseudo-military uniforms and bank-manager minds
Evil hollow fascist stealers of the sunshine in my heart
Crucifiers of Christ with their violence and their racism
Suburban nazi nice-hair getting in my face
Why don’t they go and bust some meth dealers
He says ‘Do you have anything on you?’
Fuck off pig buy your own damn drugs
These are mine
They cost me sixty bucks
And now you’re going to send me a fine
Which I won’t pay just to stick it to the man
Give me back my drugs you fucked up Nazi cunts
They would have soothed my brain to happiness in the late night anal darkness where spectral armies march across the war-field of my consciousness
They would have taken me to golden meadows of delectable satisfaction and calm green sunrise hallucinatory mull-fields
They would have inspired me to write cabalistic poems and howl at the midnight moon like a Wookie
They would have taken me through a tea-head trip of intricate pastel colours and conjured up an anxiety-free life
They would have enabled me to hear the song of Ginsberg renewed naked, innocent and genitally holy
They would have bathed my brain in THC and ripped out my inner demons
Give me back my drugs you fucked-up Nazi cunts

Good Friday Ganja

Posted: April 10, 2015 in poetry
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orange_bud
It’s Thursday night
Got to get some weed before Good Friday
But it’s past six thirty and Bill won’t be on
So I call Tiressa and ask her if she’s got any
It’ll be an hour she replies by text message
So I stuff around by the shops aimlessly
And generally try to waste time
Buy a paper, read it
Have at least five cigarettes
Walk up and down the road
Think to myself:
‘How many hours have I spent waiting for drugs-
A fucking shit-load I bet’
Time seems to wander in maple syrup
The sun slows down and burns a hole in the ground
Then I try to ring her again as the hour is up
I can’t get through to her so I walk down to her place
When I get there she says it will be another hour
Now my bullshit detector is going off
I’ve been in enough drug deals to know that her suppliers are screwing her around
I should try somewhere else
So I ask her if she knows anywhere
She says ‘why don’t you try the Maoris down the street next to the shops’
So I ask her how to find them
She says walk down the road for about three hundred metres and look for a red commodore wagon
So I head off and soon get back to the road next to the shops
Walk about three hundred metres and I see the red commodore wagon
Knock on the door, and I tell them Tiressa sent me and I’m looking for some sticks
The cuddly Maori woman at the door says ‘No worries, I know what it’s like to be without a smoke-
I’ll just go and ask my husband. How many do you want?’
I say, ‘I’d like four,’ and give her a hundred bucks.
She takes the money and closes the door.
I’m thinking ‘Fuck! I hope they don’t rip me off.’
But she’s back soon, with foils
Haven’t seen foils for fifteen years.
These days dope usually comes in little plastic bags
But they look an OK size-wise
I thank her and head back up the road
I see a factory surrounded by bushes as I’m walking
So I stop off behind the bushes and have a couple of cones with my pipe
‘Fuck me,’ I think to myself, ‘this is the best shit I’ve had for years!’
My brain feels like it’s been encased in a warm pulsating psychedelic blanket
A succulent green haze descends on my consciousness and I feel incredibly free of anxiety and relaxed.
Heavenly visions of translucent summer days dance through my skull
Those Maoris know their weed
So by this stage it’s about 9:30,
I get on the train and head home.

Busted

Posted: January 24, 2015 in poetry
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Transit_Officer_header
When you take the train in Perth
Watch out for the Train Nazis
With their blue uniforms and batmanesque utility belts
With moronic bloody caps and badges
With their casual racism and brutality
With their batons and pepper spray
With their mein kampf minds and tiny dicks
With their macho domination and oppression
With their Hitler aggression and plutonium stare
One time
In the nineties
Riding back from Fremantle to Armadale
A Train Nazi with a Constable Care moustache asks me for my ticket and pensioner concession
So I open my wallet to get the ticket out
And there’s a stick in my wallet
A fifty of stinky buds in aluminium foil
And he says
I can see your ganja! I can see your ganja!
So they arrest me
And take me back to Nazi Pig Central
Grand High Pig Reichstag of Perth
And I’m locked up in a cell with some scary looking dudes for a while
Then when they take me out they ask me if I have any more drugs on me
And me, being a sarcastic idiot, I say
‘Yeah, I’ve got a kilo of smack stuck up my ass’
So that was pretty bloody stupid
They strip searched me
And two pigs peered up my asshole in a desperate and somewhat homoerotic search for a mythical kilo of smack
Then they let me put my clothes on
And after two more hours in a cell with the scary dudes
They let me out
Then I had to call my parents to pick me up
They were not amused