Posts Tagged ‘heart’

high-dog-440x440

Hidden heart erupts pulse flowers like dust-motes through air

Inner brain imagines mandalas

Plastic fractal rainbow images crystallize my mental skate-park

Unicorn day-dream deadly fantasias, hooligan holograms

Central hallucinations pulsating in infinite variety

Mad ravings by voices which echo incongruously

Suicidal strivings against concrete conformity

Schizoid simperings in the marrow of suburbia

Cracked actions in a bubble of sedition

Mutating madrigals which burble in tune

To the beat of the cosmos, galaxies and stars

Dreaming of vast swaying fields of marijuana

Drunk on delusions and midnight madness

Dying while hermit crabs crackle against rocks

Dying overcome by poisonous paranoia

Dying within while the world rages without

 

Advertisements

Not what they do

Posted: January 31, 2017 in poetry
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

my_jackson_pollock_painting_by_amau41200-d4vjeut

Watch what people say

Not what they do

Don’t listen when they say you’re wonderful

Blowing smoke up your ass

Don’t get ripped off

Don’t get conned

When a guy with tattoos on his face says he can get a stick around the corner

Don’t give him money

Don’t be a chicken dinner

Don’t be a victim

Hold your head high to encourage respect

Don’t be a mark

Don’t be a chump

Pick yourself out of the gutter and stare at the stars

So that you may know in your heart you are here for a reason

psychotic-disorder-945

Last time I stopped taking my antipsychotics

I felt a bit weird and anxious

And started getting obsessed with the rantings of pick-up artists on the internet

I was convinced by their bullshit that I could emulate an Alpha male

I tried picking up every woman I met

And got progressively crazier every day

Antipsychotics make me fat but they also keep me sane

Toxic masculinity belted through my veins

My pores oozed fuck juice

Not a good situation

So I went back on my medication

And started to mellow out a bit

Now I think about beautiful women all the time

But I can control my impulses

brain

dead beat delivery
from the radio station
overflowing rivers of sound
music suffusing
brains effusing
all about that radio song

Like a renegade saint
With my mouth full of plaster
Dancing in the hereafter
Dead beats weighing my heart
Transfixing my emotions
Ripping out my preconceptions
Rearranging my desire
Setting my soul on fire

Like a renegade saint
Listening to notes fluttering on a psychedelic breeze
And imagining the spirit of a tree
An ancient Jarrah
Immaculate, grounded, bound to mother earth, immense of girth
With the chords spiralling in the leafy canopy and whirligigging to infect my dark green mind-matrices
Great gouts of glorious melody mutating from dissonant noise to nurture neurons
Fizzle fizzle electro-chemical frying across networks and networks within networks
Dopamine surging releasing super-charged head rushes
Musical vibration for my salvation
Better than medication
Tastes like honey

loneliness2

Understand the solitary man
Burnt out tree lost in a forest of loneliness
Pebble under an infinite mountain
He puts on a mellow album
Smokes a couple of cones
Lights mandarin flavoured incense
Stares at the dirty plates and empty drink bottles surrounding him and recoils at how dirty the coffee table is
Considers doing the washing
Considers moving the dirty plates to the kitchen
Doesn’t move

His mental soliloquy:
“Oh my filth, my precious filth
No-one can tell me to clean up
At least I know where things are
Oh God ,I’m getting fat
My back aches when I walk
I’m going to die alone in a rented room
From a heart attack or lung cancer
Or I’ll get diabetes and someone will chop off my leg”

Paranoia, paranoia most foul in lonely rooms all over the world where excess men who nobody wants live out their pathetic lives
His personal space is small
No-one wants to invade it
His dreams are always full of women
But his life is empty of them
Too depressed to jerk off but soaked in longing
Waiting for death
Understand the solitary man

Young

Posted: August 31, 2015 in poetry
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

most-beatiful-women-08

When I was young and green- swollen with sap
A bursting boy, primed to dance among the girls
My nerves conspired to queer me in their eyes
My fumbling frowned their hearts and spurred their mocking

Oh suffering, oh tragedy like death
Their brilliant breasts were hidden from my eyes
Their lips denied me by this knot of fate
My heart burned like a violent Vindaloo

And so I followed like a puppy dog
Behind she who had captured all my soul
Nice guy behaviour- just trying to be a friend
Except when I’d had too much alcohol

sculpture

I’d love to make you a sculpture
With a blunt knife of love and a chisel of compassion
I’d love to make you a sculpture
With harridan hammer and mandrake mind
To speak into the inner room of your soul
Resembling a yawn from a hippo
Reimaging a flower with concrete petals
Resembling the lyre of Orpheus to symbolize triumph of love over death
Form, figure, fish-finger monolith from 2001

Or resembling nothing but alluding to everything
Abstract but oozing pathos
A 3-D polaroid of my heart’s longing
What do you think?
Would you like it to be edible?
Would we stand beside it?
Would you stare sensuously into my eyes and say:
‘I don’t get it’

winona3

I don’t want a woman I keep in a box
To be bought out for fun-times and night-time pneumatic clinches
With electro-mechanical naughty bits and inflatable boobies
Plastic and rubber and no brains at all
The blank emotions of a thing, a doll, an illusion
I don’t want an identikit air-brushed Amazon who only cares about how she looks
Or a narcissistic emotional vampire sucking out my life force like a succubus
I don’t want someone cruel or cold or emotionally unavailable or upwardly mobile or high maintenance
I want a woman with a warm, open heart, with luscious kissable lips and heavenly curvy hips
A gorgeous woman with wonderful boobies and the soul of an artist
Bursting with love and affection for me, and compassionate with everyone
I am not a fussy man or a player
Six beers and I’m anyone’s
I don’t think I’m asking too much
Perhaps I am
Deep down in the cell of my hurricane heart I worry that I’ve already met my ideal woman many times
But she was never interested in me

Angel
Because you’re gorgeous
And I’m old and fat
Because you’re a wonderful woman
And I’m a corrupt middle-aged man
Because you’re an indelible arrow in my heart
And I’m a drug-ravaged cliché
Because you know all the cool new bands
And I’m stuck in the nineties
Because you’re nubile and radiant
And I’m corpulent and a bit of downer
Because you’re a heavenly angel
And I’m a horrible toad
And I’m not sure if I’ll turn into a prince
Even if you kiss me
Because you’re rapidly transmogrifying into a goddess in my mind
Sacred projection of my anima
So high above and so lovely
But this is not healthy
You want a man, not a worshipper
So I postpone and procrastinate
About telling you
How much you mean to me
And just try to be friends
But not in a passive-aggressive ‘Nice-Guy’ way
Because I know the answer to the song of my heart
Will be no

Solitude

Posted: September 17, 2014 in poetry
Tags: , , , , , , , ,

alone-heart-solitude-lonely
My self-esteem is wizened by the withering winds of change.
My heart is now corrupted and will never be the same.
The ache of solitude bites my limbs and kicks me in the balls.
Mediocrity is lurking in the corners and the halls.

The town is full of women who will never sleep with me,
The town is full of whispers of corruption and decay,
And in my secret heart’s dreams there is death and treachery.
A conspiracy of loneliness crushes love and blights the day.

The meaning of the meaning is that life is a mountain of pain:
Troubles multiply and poison everything again and again,
Pestilent people try to break into my life through the doors of perception,
Paranoia peaks through the blinds in my arcane brain.

And there is nothing to be done about it, nothing to be said about it.
Life continues in an almost infinite erratic line radiating from the centre of the now,
And every day is littered with the corpses of the past:
Until we are liberated from our festering flesh at last.