It's all connected, the paranoid know a little of what is going on
Hair do Kim snuffs it while the throngs weep invalid
Europe gets fucked off by the dead empire
I dreamt of Richard Nixon, mate of Mao, enemy of cancer
Vinyl makes another comeback as the record stores close
The spacemen land and demand to see the manager
Mails go unanswered, I've done something wrong
ex-wives find love and despair, measures equal
Wives of the now laugh and a bell rings, perfumed mornings
Crisp packet like bed sheets betray the wanker who slept before
Talent shows on magic lanterns make me violent
Drugs keep the calm anger ripe and ready to fall from the brain tree
Whisky still burns my throat, single malt indigestion
The nerves of the new year and the spatter of hopeless hope
The waking tendril arms of deja vu slap listlessly upon cheeks red
New watches, family entertainment system for the single man
The dead christmas tree turns all lord of the ringy in my nightmare
bauble covered skeletal despair filling the post christmas night
And still Kim Jong's hair looks like one bong too many
Family traits, follicle, insane.
I wonder why,why I am writing
to whom I am writing and then it dawns
the crack in the sky the opening mind eye
to you obviously, it's the why defeats me
alongside the meaning.

The pseuds are out, in every bar, never brawling
From over educated slimy lips clever words are falling
Ears search for plugs, the sensible among us for drugs
To block out the drivel dribbled out by the pseud mugs
"Have you read the..by the...", "my view is...cleverly"
Ignorance is the politeness in this hated reverie
A memory clouded by the pub clever men, studenty dour
Long coats, berets float on to top of heads dull and sour
Smelling of eastern oils, the philosophy of hypocrisy
The "we know best" sewage pours all over me
And I start to boil, I start to foam, I am working
And 38 year old students are still blurting
About the fact that they are still learning
As if my life has no educational meaning
The pseuds annoy, the pseuds destroy
With words spitting faster than the babies toys
flying from a million prams, as you say "hey pseud"
"I do mean to be incredibly rude"
When I say "fuck off"

The faces stare back, grim and unfocused
Looking for inspiration, frogs buried in the desert
Dry and waiting for the deluge
Ideas bereft, no imagination, nothing left
And the clouds contain nothing but old sand
This boredom, this living death sentence
Arrived at on trains and buses world over
Offices, factories, sweat shops and cafes
Broken hearts cling to each other
For the goodness of paper fiat dreams
The currency of our lives no longer emotional
No longer communal
There is no dog eat dog, who cares?
Hunting and gathering coins and notes
Hearts and minds just dust motes
In this incomprehensible mish mash
Love? It lies where? Or is it a lie, lying deathly pale
Under moneyed eyelids
And the children cry for another game
And the tinsel glints like bloodied entrails
A new toy, a new this and that
And the parents drink another school uniform
In the pub of our darkest day
And the milkman has gone
And the postman wants his Christmas tip
And I am tired of all of it
Whoever invented Christmas should be fucking nailed up.
Oh…bugger.

The winter excites me, chilled and wrapped in melancholy blankets old
Waiting for the morning frosts and fog swirls ankle deep
The girl, cold in the corner shop, eyes of malachite glinting
I always wanted to take her by the hand, go somewhere better
There was nowhere to go, we were both just winter specters
Looking for warmth, but loving the bite of winter’s ruinous mouth
The acrocephalic boy building a pin head snowman laughing
The dead girl in the lake, shimmering like an ancient ice queen
The ridiculous aged flamfoo, winter clothed as if it’s still 1975
Flares and snow do not a good match make
I remember screaming that we were mainly in the 90s now
Angels on sidewalks, soft snow shadows of children
The cold always brings us closer together, you curl across my back.
I am always upset by those lonely single gloves, lost on pavements cracked
I wonder how many people are cursed with the same separation?
Winter brings us together, unless you’re completely alone
Winter brings us together, unless you’re self hate makes you invisible
I love your hands in winter, cold on my thigh and the small of my back
I love your cheek, chilled and pressed hard against mine, sipping the warmth
The cold skeletal trees grasping for one another across parks and old roads
Like the dead stretching out for that final warm touch of the living
The 3 bars on the electric fire on, 30 minutes in the morning and 30 before bed
Electricity seemed more valuable then.
Memories and present time always get lost in my winters
I’m glad you are a part of so many of them
Naked in a frozen wilderness, your eyes in my mind would keep me warm
A squirrel dances, snow showering, up a tree as your smile opens the door.

He hits her daily, sometimes with love in his fist and sometimes with ugly fear
But never with hate, he loves her, she believes him with every bruised tear

I see them every day, holding hands, walking secretly in their anti biblical love
Their wives cook dinner, a daughter wants to be thinner, the lies fall breathless from above

The starving man howls as he creeps and he cowers at the rubbish from the burger joint
The pimpled teenage boy smiling thin, padlocks the dead grey rubbish bin, he blindly misses the point

The business prick prowls and into his mobile phone he scowls as he cuts another huge deal
His secretary laughs at yet another Hermes scarf that he hopes her heart will steal

The four horsemen appear, through dark clouds of fear and stare around with scabrous eyes cruel
Death looks at famine and war and asked "what are we here for?" and pestilence says it feels like a "fool"

Something from Calling All Shadows, go buy it up on the left there! U skinny rats!

Brought to mind by Stupid Boy by the inimitable JZ and republished nere by kind permission of the author, me.

The old faces of the comfortable shopping places are all closed down
Gone are all the old stalls, replaced by torpid, faceless malls, in this town
The worn velvet sofa in the old Mom and Pop’s coffee shops are rotten and gone
The corporate greens of business mens dreams are where we get coffee from
The burger stands are outmanned by the signs in red and gold
The grocer’s farm fresh veg has lost its edge and falls into a freezer cold
We kill community with impunity.
When all we need is some unity.
To get back what we’ve lost.

Twenty five kinds of lager they had
Only two were in stock, beautiful disaster
The Chinese British pub, ducks feet in onion gravy
Side of lumpy mashed potatoes and mao tai
Oh the cultural implications, beautiful disaster
Bar staff grinning, Ripper like, ready to steel extra yuan
from the implausibly quiet western man, beautiful disaster
My iphone, company bought, described as "stupid"
The next stool sat salesman could have got me 12 local ones
you guessed it, beautiful disaster
And a beautifully disaterous girl staggers through darkened doors
Made up and doll like, a massage for all, a message to me
Yeah yeah, a beautiful disaster
The round european blimp, more lumpy than the mash
His eyes searing "suck me" pellets as his snidely checks his cash
A fat fuck of a beautiful disaster
Odd couple, they leave, the space between the doors mirror the moment
Empty, yawning, their closure as obvious as the european leaving
with his beautifully cheap disaster
An Indian Chelsea fan, drunken turban askew asks where he can get a curry
More ducks feet appear, curry sauce and more mao tai
Cullinary culturally a real beautiful disaster
And the taxi ride home, head swimming at olympic pace
I feel sicker than a penniless slot machine
And as the taxi spins faster through this beautiful disaster
I realise what a pretty, calamitous evening I have seen.
And disaster is relative, beautiful or not, it's only a word...right?

Disconnected from the birthplace
Wandering, grin intact, but like curtains
hiding the dark on the window's other side
A shelf filled with a wealth of books
I'd need to live all over again to read them
A sad thought, obstructed by my disconnect
Skulls stand gaily on sideboards
Luckily no wax dribbled wine bottles remain
A night time of youth, disappears, waxing moon
There are no longer any bicycles in my house
and the space hopper burst on it's way to the graveyard
Rizla packs and old mugs, a sex pistols rare single
It's rarity no longer pleases, obstructed by my disconnect
I'll never buy another wedding album
That should make me happy, I have two already
A gored child's face stares blank from the CD rack
I used to love those songs, obstructed by my disconnect
The rise and fall of Reginald, or was it Ziggy?
The memory held back by a broken path
My old brain, swiss cheese or scratched record
I can't recall my first love's face, obstructed by my disconnect
I remember the first time I heard the word "nigger"
It upset my Mother more than "cunt", I felt proud
Paki bashing skinheads beaten up by gay pride gang
I used to dream such beautiful things
Now it's all sex and zombies, obstructed by my disconnect
My partner smiles and for a second things fit into place
I take a book from the shelf, one already read
I will start again, maybe there's time
The glorious friend with a salty custard Grandma
His laugh sometimes rings out when the silence bites
I try so hard to obstruct my disconnections
LET NOT anyone tear us apart, my sons gleam in the distance
"'til the sun burns out!" I told her a thousand times
I hope she's happy, smiling at some new car
Mind open, riverlike memories clash, no order
my Father laughs, like glorious thunder, a great man
A shadow of such length, it spans my life thus far
Beans on toast, a feast of unemployment, obstructed by my disconnect
Still there is no order, nor ever should there be
Ordered chaos? Oxymoronic theories abound
And still Joe Strummer is dead
Elvis is working in Clapham
and 2011 nears the time to close it's eyes
And put another book on my overflowing shelf of dreams.

Woken up by Iggy Pop
He's got a cock in his pocket
i remember open up and bleed painfully
Aurally, physically, one time sexually, Gita was her name
Went to sleep with David Bowie, in a quicksand of dreams
Boogie with Hooker, John Lee and Mai Ling
Different folks, penis strokes
Music fills everything for me
Alongside the inevitable words
Crazied on by Burroughs, drawling saxophone syringe
Out clevered by Cocteau
Upset by Celine, no fascists please, of his time, out of line
Stephen Hawking failed his physical
But destroyed another God and found his own universe
Paper, plastic, vinyl, celluloid visions
Not interfering internet
Touchable
Tear jerking happiness
with a side of reality
Lou Reed laughing at my velvet underpants
The tunes ring out
And the words live on
I need electric friends like a bicycle needs an ashtray

A world filled with friends, how beautifully quaint
A thought shortlived before the inevitable taint
Of bulbous truth bursts through, the minds creaking door
Since school days died, friends don't exist anymore
People yes, they are there smiling in their vaccuum
Hip Hoppity dancing to their new cell phones dead tune
Or typing and skyping to their internet set
Believing there's truth in every text message they get
Those unseen socially networked faces, are honest and real
That androids and iphones are the most efficient way to deal
With emotions once crafted over years of physical contact
Smiley faces, crying avatars now friendships shoddy contracts
And of course honesty is best served without a physical presence
And who needs phyiscal contact? It has lost any relevance
In a world where decisions need not even a shake of the hand
This plastic book of false, friendly faces is another nod to the bland
Bullshit existence, accepted, loved and treasured
The number of mails in your inbox are how friendships are measured
Well I'm happy, delirious, a moon drunken great moth
Buzzing in my lonely universe over all the friends I've not lost
My inbox is empty, my iPhone silent gunmetal grey
And me and my ever friendly cyber-pet hope they stay that way

When the wind gets tired of sifting through a thousand sighs
You know you're in trouble
When the sunlight always falls on something else
When shadows whisper old gods' names
and you start to believe they exist
start to believe they are worth a conversation
while incense and candle smoke beg a favour
don't bend your knees and mock yourself
ghosts and gods, ghosts of gods, many have died
or maybe they were reborn, reborn, that's sensible
reborn into the eyes and fear filled mind of mankind
I don't want to die, so I shall believe
I don't want to die, unhappiness crushes
It's all about the blood, wine to some
flesh and bread and a long life for the dead
I prefer to feel sadness, it's more social
There is elegance in a sigh filled with despair
A human elegance that I'll let no new god steal

Breasts carved from beetroot shredded chests
Entrails snake across a sweet lime zest
I'm not mad

A toothbrush knife splits an eye
The sweet music of a skinned cat's sigh
I'm not mad

The masturbatory back bus seat thrill
The magnifying glass sunrise on an insect kill
I'm not mad

The screaming murder of fresh plucked crows
The glorious stream of thick blood flows
I'm not mad

The death of love, all guns ablaze
The smell of burnt flesh through the morning haze
I'm not mad

The repetition of the same act, outcomes don't change, that's a fact
"You're mad" I say, "You're mad".

I threw a bottle in the sea, I wanted to find someone
I took time choosing the right bottle, no cracks, a green one
I found a spot where the sand was filled with my memories
So that my feet would feel comfortable caressing my history
The wind was coarse, beating like cockroach cruel wings
The sea howling mad as if it had seen the end of all things
A girl on a dune, crouching, sad like a mouse waiting on the cat
Her midnight red cardigan flapping flayed fleshlike at her back
I skipped a flat pebble to make sure the sea was ready
For my bottle, my message containing the very essence of me
It bounced crazy, seven times, then drowned without waving
A gull stopped and stared cold, then escaped it's cries raving
At the sky, a thousand wash grey, like my old clash tshirt
A skeletal chill at my neck reminds me how much it does hurt
When you try and write down everything you've learned in this world
And as you try and force the memories to make sense as they unfurl
I throw an empty bottle into a blood black sea.

Words are broken and the smallest token
From minds half broken and mouths wide open
Show the game we play on this absurd liars plane
And ignore the shame usurping our selfish domain
when we fight our own and ignore all we are shown
while others wank and moan and the dying groan
into ears deaf to the sounds of those left
who appear to be adept at hiding among the rest
baa baa black sheep have you any wool
I do, but it's mine, so get fucked you greedy tool

Ok, let’s get that filthy scent…

The silver sparks burst down the spine, blackout, pleasure blackout
Mercury rising behind eyelids closed, afraid to see who she is
Like a huge, throbbing over ripe fruit, greased and on a buttered lilo
Lightening spurt, love hurts, scratching nails on your back feeling like a hero
A grunt and a groan, a quick peek and a moan, the man is embarrassed
Does having my cock sucked demean her? The thought is a micro flash
Keep licking girl, play that filthy skin flute, make it sing, you love me
The great lie is about to be exposed, the big one, the one they all say
Kaboom, I won’t come in your mouth, it’s probably protein, the Chinese do it
Remedial remedies for those who believe in tantric sex and sperm based medicines
Calm down Mr. Kama Sutra, that back bending one really doesn’t suit you
Just like snooker, potting pinks and browns, billiards making sure the white goes down
Hugs all tender, in the mind of the drowned, what time is the bus for the one with the empty bag
Ah but we love each other, it’s so nice and clean.
Well I love it filthy, raucous and mean.
Love is for talkers, poets and fucking stalkers
Sex is for driving the demons out, crashing the train, cursing the stains on the bed once again
Sex is a battle, sweat, blood, laughter and madness, biting down hard, passion is the fashion
Flames and hot coals, not flowers and crystal bowls from tuppeny stores, fuck that I want whores
I’m foaming as I write, biting tongue blood red gaping, laughing knowing that there’s no escaping the fact I’m a man, with a dick and desire
And I want to fuck the whole world…
At least someone should
Stop writing, get it on
Stop the adjectives! Get it on!
Stop the metaphors! Get it on!
Stop the world...and just GET IT ON.

"Happy anniversary love", a body smeared across a broken road
Bow to the cow, holier than thou it is, while hunger is the heaviest load
Gods and demons clash against stray dogs and car horns, "don't drink the milk!"
"Don't touch the water, don't talk to the beggar, barter over the price of silk!"
I mean a saving of 20 rupees means everything to me, a wallet stuffed with a lifetime of local cash
The bargain hunting tourist, scowling and undefeated as he bargains a childs lunch to trash
"They walk and hold hands, how queer, it's all so strange here isn't it dear?"
Khaki shorts, white socks, two packet of crisps and a bottle of pop, "we're here for the culture that's clear"
"Don't give cash to beggars!", "I didn't, it was food"
"you could have asked us first and not been so rude"
"they'll all want some now, do you think that's really fair?"
"what? people wanting food? fair? wanting only a paltry share?"
"Get fucked, you horrible, shitty, bulbous headed, evil pig. The world would be better if rid of you"
"This man is rude, Jude, abusive and attracting filthy beggars with food, we'll go to Florida next year is what we'll do."
I saw the Taj Mahal, shining dead forts of red
My wonder wife and the graceful tune of her tread
Temples and peoples, good, bad rich and poor
Spices and dresses, conmen, dead men and much more
Yet my holidayed mind, is left staggering and confined
To the idiocy of tourists like me, who are so dumb and blind.

"I hate my job", bleats the international banker
The cow shit collecting beggar thinks "wanker"
And my wife looks at me as though I'm mad
As I say the lazy fuckers should get a job.
Bankers.

The crown palace dome
Hangs ominous over the poor
Pepsi signs flash cold

The last poem I'll ever write
The words just aren't there anymore
The point is lost, on another moonless night
And the doors are closed on this mind for sure
Tired and wasting words on a world deaf
Bored of bored faces and closed old eyes
Sick of banging a drum with no strength left
Being the only one asking all the "whys"
So, this flaccid work will end 30 years
of swirling, crazy and homeless words
These few cockneyed lines, devoid of tears
Will be my last testament of the absurd
It's quite refreshing.
Tata...for now.

All the best books have been written
At least the new ones won't sell
Triangle, square, circle, cross, no gods
Just games, stations of play
rotting young imaginations away
while the books mould and fade
on shelves old and wooden grey
and minds rot and display
nothing other than game over eyes
some folks try, scream, scrawl and splash
words on pages and paint on canvas
bubbling intelligences, burning softly
waiting for someone to throw petrol
on the fires of the global mind
WAKE UP
Below are keys to a change
maybe a door we could open
grab hands, walk through cold
yet smiling as it's an intelligent breeze blowing

http://www.bigbridge.org/100thousandpoetsforchange/?p=5757

Can't shake this awful feeling of grey
Keeping the horrid bright of day at bay
I want to keep the curtains closed
Avoiding the questions my inner voices pose
But still hearing them, incessant, insane
A self defeating mantra, over and over again
"did you see their faces, their beautiful eyes?"
"see the unspoken question, why dad why?"
The airport more like a hospital, sterile and sad
The lights go out on another worst day you ever had
My sadness is an offering to the nothing in the sky
In the hope that I can see a happy spark in their eyes
Weak, I am weak, failure I am, all is fear
My defense pointless against a solitary tear

Did not want to wake up today
Today is yet another day of goodbye
Did not want to wake up, but I didn't sleep
A thousand cold winters freezing my heart awake
Did not want to leave my room
I did, to look at faces pure, unsullied
Hair ruffled, messy and beautiful
My hands shake
I clench eyelids to remain manly
Choking love in my throat as it swells
I am lost from today again
Kisses by mail
Love through some electronic ether
Tears are the only real thing
From a punishing heart
That just keeps beating
A lonely song, heard by few
I won't smile today, can't smile
Won't, as there is no will, can't, speaks for itself
I want the clocks to die
the sky to freeze
holding the sun in it's place
trapping the moon
keeping today here, never ending
But I see clouds pass in a cerulean dead sky
and know nothing has changed
my punishing heart shatters
Into packed suitcases.

To feel cheated, that awful grasping despair
Turning us into fools, dim witted, unaware
To feel loved, such a great painkiller to have
Soothing blue waves across that loneliest of gaps
To feel needed, a certain pride, but a fear underneath
A dark mistrust that stops your complete self belief
To feel hated, refreshing and who really cares?
It's what they can do about it, which you need to be aware
To feel fear of death, what a complete waste of time
It's the only thing shared equally and that suits me just fine
To feel lust or lusted after, a ball shaking fear
One error, a cock led choice can cost all you hold dear
To feel religious, how funny, the invisible know it all
I've been happy ignoring the great architects calls
To feel crazy, not mad, nor mentally disturbed
A fly buzzing in your mind, making thoughts all bent and curved
To feel control, what a cruel horror, a life like a map
Wending its rapid way and there's no turning back
To feel, to feel, TO FEEL, TO FEEL, TO FEEL, TO FEEL.
How lucky is that?

As the devils laugh and the angels cry
Teardrops laden with guilt from a sky
Empty and tired, no birdsong to calm
The incendiary anger desiring harm
Malice and hatred on the nitrogen wind
Chills the souls of those who have sinned
Panic breaks out as shop fronts burn
The great duped pass by and will never learn
That a smile and an "ok" are not always what they seem
That when pushed, a surface calm, quiet and clean
Can suddenly whip into a bone crushing whirlpool
Of violence and mayhem and woe betide the fool
Who pushes that final button and madness escapes
And their future is no longer in the hands of the fates
But in the hands of crushing, violent resolve
Around which red mists and hurricanes revolve
And as the lights go out and another scream goes unheard
The reasons for the terror become distant and blurred
And all that is left is regret.

Measuring holidays, family time, potential fun time
Is simple, the shorter they feel, the happier
And when smiles are tight and all is "just fine"
The hours turn to days and the weeks forever
The memory burned by that first kiss
Sears hell hot as the breathing quickens
And the "she's not right for you" sour as piss
Brings knives to cut an atmosphere that thickens
The teenage sleep, while bullies await
Flashes by in leg shaking fast seconds
A christmas eve vigil makes morning late
But Dad doesn't sober up as quick as he reckoned
So the clock plays its part, I'm certain it laughs
At how we bipedal insects are so reliant
Upon a man made measure making all of our pasts
A sad battle against happy memories defiance.

Kept waiting, beyond my control
Annoying, the laziness of the bus
Excuses, it was tired, engine emotional
Mean shit to me, I bought a ticket
What do I get? A wait, long and wet
I've plans, the bus tries to kill them
The bus that believes it's god
Controlling me and my plans
Cracking my dream wide open
I believed I was opening a door
So all the darkness could play
Yet I find myself in shade
Cold, damp, unfulfilled
Waiting for this bloody bus
If it had a rectum
I am more than certain
It would crawl right up it
It's diesel laughter echoing
Life is filled with buses
Thousands of them
Ignoring us all, killing our time
Hands up passengers of the world!
I can see you all!
I can see the buses too
Don't become a bus
Be a taxi, called when needed
Ready to deliver the destination
The wait will make us angry
The buses will get burned
And the lesson the bus will learn?
Nothing, they have no ears to listen
They just feel their own grumbling ride
And grunt foul fumes believing they're words

And the stars dumbly shine, imperious
While I walk, warm, drunk and delirious
The sea massaging the sand as the moon wanes
I'm aware of every step that old time gains
In its relentless chase of each and every thing
With every drawn breath, some heart stops beating
Walking hand in hand with morning dew happiness
Death creeps closer with its tired, cold caress
Tapping on my shoulder, a dark and fearsome reminder
That this glorious feeling gets crueler not kinder
When bliss is within reach of jealous mortal arms
That awful specter and its incurable charms
Laughs at the sky, with a grin hard and serious
And the stars dumbly shine, imperious.

That creeping unease across the room
Her face is that upset angry kind of strange
Any butterfly winged comment made to kill the doom
Will explode like a verbal mortar on a firing range
So you sit, the silence a crowd of oppressive ghosts
Swirling forlornly in the space between two hearts
And anxiety spills orderly as on anger's waves it coasts
And the argument ends before it even starts
But there is no making up, no "i was wrong"
A mausoleum of an atmosphere coldly grasps
At the music slowly fading on this sad, sad song
A relationship already halfway lost in pasts
Being made with every word that is not spoken
Every gaze avoided like a plague of dead lovers
You now feel what once was warm is now a token
To be laughed at by non-important others

Aliens do it, well so "they" tell me
Governments love it, a real riot of a game
FBIs, CIDs, MI5s, an acronym festival of probers
Surgeons have them, any hole will do
Sounds like a guy I knew in Peckham
Fingers are good at it
Flies have tongue like things that sound close enough
Morrissey should have one shoved in his never never
Dead people and burgers, what a total rectal one
Done probes, tomorrow the toilet plunger heart massager
And the kids in the riots thieve and burn
and the politicians cringe and look stern
they can't believe that they hurt their own
"can you sign my expense claim Theresa?"

I hate things, lots of them, but maybe not too many
Stones hidden in the grass, waiting to bite my feet
Sugar in my tea, or a kitchen that does not have any
So I cannot refuse it and then bleat that I’m too sweet
Buses, I curse them, always in twos especially in the rain
Brand new shiny training shoes, I want to stamp on them
People who stare in the vicinity of my bollocks and I feel a stain
Coughs on trains next to me, the rattling sliminess of phlegm
Bastards who always ask taxi drivers “What time did you start?”
Taxi drivers who look at me like I am insane as I state my destination
Hotel porters who hang around like bad smells needing a tip to depart
“Get of my room or I’ll bite you” is a tip of some considerable persuasion
Restaurant staff who hover, pissing false politeness into my ears
Dogs, I just hate the things, a bit unfair, but fuck them all
People who get all emotional after only half a bath full of beers
That old scumbag neighbor who burst my world cup 82 ball
The way the Japanese will wrap the living fuck out of any cheap gift
Fruit flavoured sauces on meat, fruit is for pudding for fuck’s sake
Those little shits who press every button in the piss stinking lift
The way people shove and kick to get on trains as if their lives are at stake
The smell of my own balls on those filthy hot sweaty afternoons
People who say “I’m sorry” when they really mean “Go fuck a donut”
Evil looking pervert clowns pretending they enjoy giving away free balloons
The traffic jam that deliberately gets me to the post office after it’s shut
Air stewardesses who always smile as if they really think I’m cool
The staff in any computer shop who expects me to know about the shit they sell
Then when I ask a question gaze heavenwards as if to say “god help this fool”
God and his angels who expect me to accept countless souls burning in hell
The tool called a bastard file that got me six of the best while in school
People who scratch their nether regions and then sniff their fingers “secretly”
People who believe every new song is nothing more than a bloody ringtone
Any individual who says “do you get me?” at the end of each sentence repeatedly
The memory of Rolf Harris pissing around with that nasty sounding stylaphone
The fact that I’m typing this as I am devoid of inspiration of any flavour
Waking up hungover and realizing I’ve used my PC as a urinal
When you taste something awful the bastard who says “you’ll learn savour”
The list is not exhaustive and most definately not final.