Posts Tagged ‘guinea pigs’

 

 

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

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marthamary

Piggelies chasing piggelies all over the floor
Piggelies in the hay and piggelies in the straw
First Melanie then Maggie pop corning
Following each other
The eternal chasey game
Lovely piggelies with gentle hearts
Cuddly piggelies that make me happy
Loyal piggelies after the prime
Furry piggelies purring as I stroke their backs
Little fat piggelies playing their piggely games
Dancing across the floor in search of fresh prime

 

piggie

Winter trees without leaves
Bare Branches interact and spread
Clouds spun out in white woollen puffs
Blue patches of bare sky
TV aerials perforate the sky-line
Stainless steel roofs ripple
Lungs full of fresh air
Piggies pick out stems of grass in the back yard
Burrowing through tall grass and weeds
Playing their endless chasing game
Silence watching over piggies
Peace Man Yeah

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

wildturkey

Spare me the Wild Turkey, brother
I just can’t handle that shit
I go dingo’s gonad crazy and start fucking shit up
And so do a lot of other people

Wild Turkey 101 is 50.5 % alcohol
It’s fucked up man
And it fucks me up like being hit in the head with a two by four or a rubber sledge hammer
Never drink Wild Turkey with an unmedicated schizophrenic who calls himself a ‘voice hearer’
Who goes hurricane loco and smashes your guitar while shouting out- ‘Your rich dad can buy you another guitar!’
He smoked all my weed as well
A real friend was there to save the television before he broke it and stopped him from drawing all over the walls
I was too pissed to know what the fuck was going on
I think I might have popped some pills too
Then next day I woke up with the house smashed up and a pulsing, mutating headache like I had a cane-toad bouncing around inside my skull and eating my brains,
My mouth was a sandy prickly desert
I wondered what the fuck I’d done the night before
Had I even remembered to feed the guinea-pigs?
My wallet was empty but I’m sure I had a hundred and fifty bucks in it the night before
My only memories were broken images of drunkenness and depravity
And moronic drunken arguments sprinkled with paranoia
Everything else was a blank
I know I’m getting too old for this kind of ridiculous bullshit
I am not Charles Bukowski and I am not Shane MacGowan
From now on I’m sticking to beers and bongs

Bloody_rose_by_HakunaMattata

There’s so much beauty in the world
Broken glass is a vision of glistening dew
There’s so much beauty in the world
Shading green leaves scattered on the branches of an oak tree
There’s so much beauty in the world
Blood drops on a white rose in a secret garden
There’s so much beauty in the world
Little blue wrens zoom over bushes making letters in the air
There’s so much beauty in the world
Wedge-tailed eagle soaring over the desert looking for prey
There’s so much beauty in the world
Guinea-pigs purr when you stroke their backs
There’s so much beauty in the world
Fresh grass steams for cattle in early morning
There’s so much beauty in the world
Forget about structure and discipline
Forget about suburbia and suburban dreams
Forget about income and outgoings
Forget about your body’s pilgrimage to death
There’s so much beauty in the world
Throw away your preconceptions
Throw away you paranoia
Throw away your motivation
Throw away your clothes
Refuse to be a victim
Don’t be ordinary
Whatever you do
Don’t be ordinary
Forget about structure and discipline
There’s so much beauty in the world

uluru

If you could comprehend:
The beat of the wings of a hummingbird
Weird lizards changing gender as naturally as skins
Summer insect-buzzed hours of indolence
The chirping midnight song of a guinea-pig as sweet as a bird’s
Or the old dead weight of time
I might not be so frustrated with your inner emptiness
And your shit-eating grimace

If you could comprehend:
Unselfish love
The ballet of pelicans in courtship across water
Songs of Humpback whales
The eye of a wedge-tailed eagle in flight
Or the price of eggs
I might not discard your living but not participating carcass
In a roadhouse
On the way to Alice Springs
Just to get some peace from your brain-buggering ignorance
In the outback

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

lonely-person-thumb-300x240-27530

Solitary Man
Dead inside
Aching all over
Fading away for want of a good woman
When will you come, insatiable one?
Woman with eyes of fire and sensuous curves
Woman of wisdom with gorgeous hips and pouting lips
Woman with ripe breasts and marvellous hips
Woman from my deep unconscious, loving and healing with abandon
Woman- a heavenly angel who burns down my personal hell

Solitary man
Bent and rendered kinky by loneliness
In a room with precious cuddly guinea pigs
Unhygienic trash and garbage all over the place
Miscellaneous crap on the floor
Dirty coffee cups and plates
Full ashtrays and empty energy drink cans
Underpants drying on top of the TV

Solitary Man
Trying not to listen to the song of solitude in his heart
Blocking it all out with beers, bongs and fags
Anxious and depressed beyond rational thought
Skirting psychosis in paranoia
Getting weirder and weirder inside his mental psych ward
Longing for love in mastarbatory moonlight
Pacing the room with his balls blue as the sky
Scratching and scraping the bones of reality

Solitary Man
Imploding

orange_bud

I’m running out of cones
The guinea-pigs are squeaking with hunger
They also need new newspaper and attention
The bedroom is a war-zone, festering and corrupt
The sheets are dirty and full of holes
The floor drowns in empty cigarette butts
Dirty coffee cups everywhere
I’m running out of cones
My imaginary girlfriend has a boyfriend
I’m going to die alone

I’ve lost my mobile phone
I’m running out of cones
There are plates all over the floor
There are lunatics at the door
I am tired and I am sore
I can’t take it any more
I think you know the score
I’m running out of cones
I have itchy balls
Desperation crawls up walls
Madness lurks within the halls
My brain feels full of eels
You don’t care how I feel
I’m running out of cones