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.
The lake was dry, way past it’s plump, voluminous prime
The hills barren, rocks fallen, shriveled horrible by time
The moon yellowing in its whiteness, glaring down at the past
The clouds around that old face are thinning hard and fast
As the great clock ticks on and the bark cracks and wrinkles dry
It’s been a lifetime since she saw a mirror and now she begs to cry
The operations like stations of the cross on that dusty road
Of a face that couldn't carry time’s cruel and heavy load
Without distorting and creaking with crows feet steps
Teeth like a Bolivian graveyard are all that are left
Of a mouth once so inviting, now repellent and drawn
The second cycle has ended brittle, crusted and forlorn
And every memory lost and blown like a diary page torn
That selfish, self serving catchphrase “I wish I’d never been born”
Comes gushing into the mind now so tired, cracked and worn
By waves made of years of tears now this final dark dawn
Knocks ever harder at the cold wooden soul terrified of the morn
And the rich trappings of life are ripped and finally shorn.
Bang Bang, you’re dead.
A person who "perceives" said the Greeks
of the person who sees the finery
who feels the beauty of pure form
who slices softly through the heart
of the point of the very clever thing
that is always invisible to one as myself
us dim fungal luddite unbelievers
seeing only pictures and still odd figures
without the supposed beauty inherent
art is caged, heavily walled and imprisoned
locked up is it's meaning to my mind
never should such a truth be admitted
just smile sweetly and look piercingly
at that which raises not a bead
of sweat, a single neck hair
a blink, no feeling, nothing beyond itself
and what it is to me, absolutely nothing
a framed pastel void, chemicals mixed
stone cut, clay baked, metal worked
aesthetic athletics are just not my game
He finally left us, no clouds of smoky magic
Nothing special at all, just a mess of blood
Carpet, brittle, dried dog food like
Happy Christmas indeed, self exsanguinated
Lovely word for an ugly act that
Although he always saw beauty in it
The hero, bled out on the battlefield.
Cheap woolly rug, crusted and worn
Like Achilles, only less expensive, cheaper
With monthly payments!
"Get your death carpet here!"
"Sixteen pounds fifty per month!"
Paid in in full on the day of the razor pull
Carrier bags stale and left unpacked.
They will wait here forever
Should I unpack them?
What about the laundry bags not taken?
No point washing them now
Blindly, slow thinking tortoise man I am
Suddenly turn hare, I am here alone!
Skates on, piss off before the coppers come
I am not to blame here
For once it was not me
I don't want to hear curdle cream screams
From his Mother, hated since birth
"Have a fiver, now piss off your uncle's coming"
Must clean tidy the shitpile flat
Horrible cow she was, not dead though
An epitaph, epithet filled, still leaves a gap
written it in blood twice now
still the spelling mistakes were there
Just harder to erase was all
Blood ain't that easy to get off carpet
Not like a fucking film this
Wave the wand and all is gone, I wish
Business trip, to Mumbai, no seriously
I heard steel and thunder rip right next to me
The hotel lobby filled with screaming things
My bowels opened, my ears filled with vicious bell rings
The police, dogs, soldiers, running, machine guns scream
Fear for the first time bites stomach, a feeling obscene
10 dead so far, 10 dead, read it again, 10 dead, gone
lights cruelly blasted from view, a light that once shone
is a mother, a dad, son, daughter, somebody of worth
I hate every dirty fucker who tries to fuck up this earth
I cringe, gin in hand and the empire strikes back
The gateway to india bleeds, as the moon goes out bang black
It's hard writing, wondering what's the bloody value?
How the fuck can i think rhymes when I'm in terror fucking avenue?
I've done a thousand stupid things, my arms ashtrays for hire
What an idiot, a joker, a fool as i sit here breathing terror's fire.
I am in mumbai.
I am in Mumbai.
I heard people scream.
Heard metal tear.
Shit, this is horrible.
I want to talk to my wife.
It is really sad
When realization hits
And all is nothing
The book was written
At least a lifetime ago
My arm is cut red
The blood laughs so easily
I love bright colours
Lager on Sunday
Forgetting the day before
A beautiful goal
Such a beautiful friendship
My youth dies daily
It was my birthday, I wanted to get drunk and scream
Not sit and drink chinese fucking tea
Not eat cheap shitty Vietnamese minced shit
Not visit that fat fuck Buddha in his overweight pit
Not be in bed by 8.30pm
Not stare at my one and only card, should've sent myself another.
Not fucking wanting to cut off my fingers
Not wanting to razor my gums, cut out my tongue
Not wanting to hold my breath until I turn blue and grey
Not lying on the edge of the bed, hating human touch
Not biting my lips to see if I could spot the pillow with blood
I wanted cake, chocolate, alcohol, insane conversation
I wanted to see people dance, eat fillet steak and laugh
Piss in the flower beds, write on beer mats, spit on pavements
Scrawl on wooden shutters things that should never be said
Anything but what I had, a fucking torpid, dull, stodgy fucking shit fest.
Happy birthday fucker, I should've had a cancer party, would've been grand.
Bangkok today, a veritable festival of the beautifully obscene. Too long in Asia, everything seems normal.
A Haiku/Senryu triptych, no paintings or hinges mind, paint them in your head and stick them together. Or as Lou Reed said on Metal Machine Music "brrzzzzpaaapt!"
Bangkok shadows dance
Air conditioned bikinis
the loneliness ours
where is the back door
overweight dumb question time
she's really my wife
ordered a salad
got meat and vegetables
the lady boy smiled
Just ranted a few lines in Joe, hope you don't mind!
I want the bottom line,
To help me define
without all the fine print
Without false golden tint
no hidden agendas
No pretentious pretenders
Just pure life juices
I don't have time for plastic hearts
Dandy jokers or queens of hearts
that melt and burn—
And fail to learn
those that can turn south on a dime
And act as if all’s fine
I'm looking for the real beat
Hot drums, jungle feet
so that my heart pounds
Ears breathing sounds
like a Miles or a Coltrain.
A love sharp as pain
or a Patti Smith—
Every word a gift
to rattle my brain
Leaving passion insane
I want some real action
A true intimate satisfaction
causing my senses to come alive—
Cutting heart strings like a knife
my skin to tingle
My raw emotions to mingle
my groin to throb
My boredom to rob
I'm looking for the real thing
That mind blown guitar string
to challenge my mind and
lift me up while this world is falling down
and belching bores surround
I'm not looking for hot air,
nor looking to be fair
but a hurricane--
To fan the flames
no cheap thrills
like crumpled dollar bills
no half measures
but a plethora of treasures
no phony baloney
to be thrown before me
no false promises
or fake tittied qualities
no fake hopes
no binding ropes
no half loves
I hear wings of the dove
and I dream
Watching the flies, annoying the shades of people under the highway bridge
The great unnoticed, almost invisible, opaque, my south Indian image
A guilt wells up, like heartburn, soon soothed by cold cheap beer
That is when I notice the very heart of the conundrum is right here
The simple fact that emotion gets swallowed by self deceit
And so we do nothing except gargle luxurious bubbled defeat
It’s just too easy to let the helpless remain shadowy and ignored
While we sit in air conditioned rooms and complain of being bored
Yet return home with comments in the guise of caring lies
About how we so wanted to help but "no matter how hard one tries"
There is always a cultural difference that we all must observe
Our self justifying excuse for in-action...is so fucking absurd
We are talking to ourselves and believing every idiotic blind word
Until the realms of caring and passive abuse turn horribly blurred
And so we continue to believe we are good.
Caring folks who are never too late
To raise a self congratulatory, masturbatory hand to ourselves
And shriek another meaningless “Cheers!”
There is a creeping wrong, a feeling worsened by the headache
brought about by yet another tawdry, lonely night, drunk, awake
room reeking of stale piss, from the toilet cum bin, sweet wrappers float
a guilt, with no solid base, days skipping stones at sodden paper boats
in a park, the countryside, in a town grey, seem a distant memory away
phone checked, calls made, what was said, the broken thumb nail
a violent interlude? "How are you Mom? I'm fucked again", face pale
The jitters come, there's empty cans on the floor, in the damp bed
you want to take back all the evil words you've said
but memory hides them cleverly behind dark guinness curtains
and you're left with a horror of things all too uncertain
tomorrow has come, yesterday whispers dark secrets wickedly
dry heave, bloody chinned shave, kidney golf balls ache steadily
the nest of the mouth, a thousand camels lunches belch forth
"Never again!" silently screamed, the lie forming like the flame on a torch
stains on clothes from food not recalled, blood spotted tshirt, hey pollock.
i want to check out, hotel and life, this is all such bollocks
everyone has lied to me, cried for me, bled on me, shit on on me daily
I wish autumn was here, i like the red and orange hues, maybe
whisky soiled blood, crawling across my veiny mapped eye
best keep my eyelids closed, I'll bleed to death and I cry
pitifully, like a beaten dog, eating it's own shit, as it's master grins
as does mine, be she wines, whiskies, cruel vodkas or dead gins
I am in the woeful hotel amnesia
How I got here i cannot remember
I want to go home.
The cold hotel room
reeks of empty nothingness
My life is not here
linguistic barriers scream
louder than babies
dead fingers typing
through that lonliest of walls
a clean empty room
a gift from my wife
on a table cold mirrors
the ashtray is full
where is the light switch?
yellowed carpet, just like home
yet emptiness screams
What if she's dead when I get back?
I should never go out
A tear crawls, unwanted insect like
down a cheek unshaven grey
I should never have gone away
Eyes closed I see her beauty in a coffin ebony
Flowers dropped, no words for anyone
My throat crumbling into convulsions
How can I sleep with a mind filled with a funeral?
Legs tapping, smoking nervous cigarrettes
To many pillows on this lonely bed
No scent, what a horrible smell
A gap my nose jerks away from
Modernity aggravates, text me text me
Now I've got cancer and the plane will crash
I'll never see her again
Crying, knowing she'll cry into the ashtray of my demise
Love is a prison
Elevator doors closing too quickly
Love is a prison
No dreams as sleep is lost
Love is a prison
I'll lock us both in and die quietly
starving, burning agony, happily hand in hand.
I got my copy, just the words, no voices
I truly believed the words without mouth
would get lost in the white of the page
that the personality drove the words
that the words would drown when written sadly down
with no insane fucking beard spitting crumbs
through whiskied gums to accompany them on their way
I was that wrong I got a hard on
Wade Boggs, the horniest literary leg I'd encountered
A madness of intelligence and fun, yes, fun and poetry!
A big no in the hallowed poetic caverns of tokyo.
I laughed and cried and chafed my dick all on a singapore train
94 pages spinning mad clouds and drool imagined without a sound
a sound I stupidly believed was the beat, the point
the reason I listened, idiot boy, idiot boy!
There's love, lies, cock and god in them there pages folks!
There's ninety Baht back packing dreadlocks sister fucking jokes
red wine and bourbon, offended Brits in bars
but it was the love, yeah self love too, but the love
ejaculated from pages cleaned by mad words
that put my hands on the keyboard today
tapping embarrassed at the lack of justice my wanky word horde
But screw it, it's a compliment, I meant well and that's rarer than Hens teeth.
Well, we sat, cheese sandwiches and vimto
outside the pub while my Dad drank to the end of the world
the cheese sweated like the barmaid, but tasted better I imagine
The drunken tyke would disagree as he appeared to eat her crisps from inside of her mouth
But the world never ended
That backwards canine like ancient lie snapped another set of thin lines
of belief, let's have an "end of the world day" each week, by christmas nobody will believe, then there'd be no Christmas, I'd miss that.
God said he'd create a perfect slave for Adam, he needed to give an arm and a leg, Adam asked what he'd get for a rib. My Dad's stories.
Bet the campsites are bursting across the USA today, prayers unanswered, as ever. No doubt a mathematical error, to add on to the others. It's Sunday, day of rest, day after the end, I'm off with Dad to drink vimto again, he could be Jesus and God and Zeus and Apollo and Baal and catty Bastet, all of them, easily, he's my Dad.
From an intelligent friend, not medically qualified to my knowledge
you will wake up soon
realize you need to change
or you will be fucked
From an honest friend, although the timescale was wrong
You are much nicer
Free of the chemical fire
A real smile is seen
From a real geezer, English modern geezer meaning, not American
What a nice shirt son
Clothes make not the man you know?
No tailors for brains
He is not the pope.
Safe sex, careful love
population growing fast
up bum, no babies
Blubbery wigged Chavs, screeching house, line and mine
throwing snotty kids' uniform money away a pound at a time
the win the best part, even though the balance is all wrong
for every 7 pounds won, 25 pounds are gone
if only these monetary pound losses could be turned into weight
Shove a pound in their mouths and lose 25, fucking great.
Waited for 11 days
Not a drop
Never quit, just waited for
A painful memory, happy excuse, joyless party
Then drank until my balls shrunk
Spinning wildly, abusive
Piss stained in glory
Stained glass eyes, everyone is a saint
A couple of drinks on the house
everyone's a fortune teller
Go get another tattoo
Fill in another gap
We can be "heroes"?
Yeah, course we can Dave
Caught pissing on the Berlin wall
That's when you know you're drunk
Whisky is swifter
Wine is cheaper
Frank said something like that once
I was pissed, can't remember
But it had an impact, probably.
Memories all in a blender
Daiquiris swimming through historical minutes
A callithump parade of a life
Dressed up to play, alone and gaudy
Just agog, aghast, afraid
Two ice cubes only please
two fucking cubes!
are you deaf?
Bloody noses and glass
The last bus home
Vomit in the gaps between teeth
You were right mate
I'm gonna be fucked.
I write letters to the shadows, calling them out
Let's make the daylight wane and darkness sprout
For in the dark lies the heart of a laugh
that the sad eyed winners crow and bark
about without knowing the other side
of an obtuse triangle of contemptible lives
lived in the glare of acceptance and rules
where inside the glum shadows lie the tools
to pry a way out of this pissy normalcy
And break down the barriers of idiocy
That keep the "bad" words in a cage
with bars bent from silent rage
and the shadowy fuckers break out.
More apocalyptic visions, coded as poetic endeavour
Tiring pseudo political commentary, shorn forever
of any positivity that may shine through this misty cloud
of life and love, yet some see only a rotting shroud
filled with politicians, technicians of a world dying hard
the joker showing up with every new plastic playing card
turned over in an attempt to show the clever clever point
that any moron can find on any tv in any beer sodden joint
yet paste it up! waste it up! as useful as an ashtray on bike
When the show starts make sure the doomsayers don't get the mike
The suns out here and yes people are dying everywhere
excuse me while I grin, with my gin, I really don't fucking care.
Subjects! Subjects! Come the wedding bells ring
The cost, the stupidity, they should ban the fucking thing.
Ever since the blue bicycle broke
Forearm sliced by an angry spoke
He felt a pressure released
As he saw the blood seep
Now if he could control that feeling
He could smash the dread ceiling
Above his soul gifting a flight
Into the obsidian night
So he took nail, razor and knife
and took control of his life
when the pain was too great
he'd cut away an escape
always covered by long sleeves
in privacy he'd bleed
out all his terrors
his heart jerking tremors
as he made maps on arms
and he ignored the alarms
in the ears of his mind
a new found control he may find
of self obsession
he hoped his scars would never fade
he slashed himself away from the pain.
Why focus on the politics sir?
When it's people, old and young who hurt?
Give me an issue
I will hand you a tissue
wipe my fucking arse
Korea, dog meat and garlic
Japan, raw fish and racists
Singapore, cultural mish mash
Getting hung for hash
Football, Fighting, the queen and oasis
The seat next to the lardy
english football fanatic
who needs a business class seat
when it's next to an economy of intellect
Proud to be English?
No, just English, less English than he.
God save the queen
They deserve each other.
CHEESE, FUCKING LOVELY
CUCUMBER SUNDAYS POSH TEA
RITUALS SO DULL