We’re back

A happy sexualised weekend.

My writing is terrible.
I must grow scathing with my tired eyes.
Curt cut throat spilling it all.
Tasting and tasking blood.
Rectified attempts and blushing rotten things.

Quiet bliss
Sleep engulfed them.
Peace erupted and overflowed.
Silence was upended by hallucination.
New lands and lives in harmony were dreamt,
songs rattled and startled emotions they hadn’t had.
They could see now. In their tiny skulls,
resting behind their closed eyes,
a regrowth, somewhere new.
Feathers, flowers,
and finally.

How can I help myself?
Appeal to the greater nature of things.
Must we try and find someone to work this new job?
Do you want my direction or what?


Just befire

Who fired the Canon? Vs What the fuck was that?!

Origin of the word dodgy: second rate, shoddy. Hit major usage in the 1950’s.

People take 20,000 breaths per day.

Come back just before ten past nine.

I didn’t sleep well last night. I tried. My routine is wrecked. Run. Study. Work. Tension all over.


Brimming with defiance,
the silence of dragging wrath,
wrap warped wrath.
Writing wants on a page,
just to meet the daily deadline.
deals a broken. Bespoken, and my robot heart wreaks choices chosen chortling chucking up guts in the street, of stress I know nothing because its just being plugged in an visiting friends and my body language.
Magical birds, the cloud, suicide broaching realities with no significant stylistic parable.
The third year awash with the ease of it all.
“I wanna come over and fuck you to bits”
“Let me cum on your tits”
What the fuck are these feelings all about?
Why am I always choosing the psycho? Cracked.
Smiles in the shopping mall.
Small worlds indeed. Closing and criss-crossing.
Men with so much in common “He’s seeing his ex-wife”
Ohhhh – no good.
And unfinished unfunny.
Only halfway good is what I said or something like that and i’m not really hearing all of these things.
Or am I. The thundering downloading pillaging plowing feeling of animal sounds and a rolling flooded gorge.
Too much sun and not enough situps. “Maybe i’ll starve”
Searget, Jon my brother. No singer.
Except under my bed. and these middling lost feelings like the teenage years of lostness. Nothing solid or helpful.
Just the 9pm gentle waking sound of violins violently sounding unceremoniously into the night, into other people’s lovely non lonely lives.
Do you know knots? Nots?
NOT NOTS. JUNG or some other guy.
I haven’t got time. the book in a day routine? I wish.
I read others. Simple things and he was hung, by the swings.
Her shivvering passing grandma smile as the darkness consumed her and the devil came knocking for her sole. Soul of her feel wafting and waving in the air as he picked her up and… contempt,showing on his skeletal face, bowing down and stuffing her into a plasting bag. Innumerable strength. nOT ot not of this world.
Just like something you’ve never seen.
The old body mass vs weight of strength. un-in-a-de-calculable.
A broken figure is all the reaper gives. The devil and him rarely join.
No poker or gambling. The loss of hope and love of others, just maniacle women.
Mandibles of my lostness closing around my neck- on the swings on the swings on the swings. I am between chains. A tangent most bold.
Cordially I come knocking. Knowing I haven’t worked hard enough.
No exams really. But my stresses bloom in my eyes. Ideas foil around me.
Self monitoring sickness. Beans and sugar brown my ears and eyes.
Flooding willingness surrender.
Laughing and choking. Choking and laughing.
Spittle, blood, purple, fluttering eyelids, slits… then globes.
Wide eyed. Crystalline whiteness. Brilliance encompassed.
My right and leg, competition of an uninspired, deflated left leg.
Talk work, talk work talk work.
fuck you fuck everything
this is all bullshit.
this typing this route.
The horrible lost and recklless fuckless reckoning of giving a shit about any single thing and why cant this just be continiups and not caring. throw it all out the window and become better at the things I want to become better at like being free. Honest brave happey healthy and inspired.
Smoking car. Bad shoes. Undeliable hair and so much sitting.
no winning no drinking/ Where is my boss, my manager. Hopeful destressed alaxck vomiting on my hands and rubbbingirubbing it all in until these rears are infected with my insides or funning running oils of want and persecution runs like a hot rash down my jaw and the car crashes off the bridge.
My exhuasted knees give out and the pen writes on my wrist a writ of life dispelled/ Red pen blue pen green pen black pen.
Ben gone wrong Bill eat me. Fuck you fuck you fyck you.
South of it all. Shouting at the night, the daylight. Strangling animals, children like foil. Seeing myself and asking what the difference is. Pulling over because and ambulance needs to rush by. I’m a vbad driver roll with it for god sake fuckkkkkK! !!IOjzosdkhfs WHat is this just be free no comofjweofgkqa[p no como4utgfopg
No compter skills literacty clotts of language behind the veil I just want it all to end and the psp pree spree. Before it all goes gund and gonzo.
Fun fun fun of the fin gone wrong.
rags and why can’t I just let the person die.
Now I wonder if I can just bubble along like normal- scaring every single person. A flake and jandice poxy pointed stranger. With nothign to share but a vast strange uncontrolled energy. A capacity for nothing sustained. I am the human condition . with bent back and callus feet. Trodden for too many moons over glass and broken things. A cement of the ground not meant of this world. By animalian suffering. A sex slave of the fucked geeration. Broad pools of physical failing. And all you want to do is get high? What is that about? When can we get real, hold each-other and get real? Too soon>?! SAOOWHAT
How can you be this way. How can you break so many hearts without one that functions. LOVE ME? LOVE ME. HOW how could you, or anyone or me? I am sick.
SIck of you of life of anyone and anything. and the running tension of my temple. This body of mine, fumes and toxic. Foiled rolling apple of sultana and sugar. Fats and loathsome situations fold in on themselves.

I make my bed. Rest and hope for a better day.
Rest in peace.

a thin man

He was a thin man, with sad eyes.

I am shifting vices. 

I change 

I vomit at prices

I am something strange.
They secretly don’t know which twin I am. 

Dinner tables for class. 

Everybody sharing. 

Running and analysis-

A phone buzzed. 

” don’t even know what I am”

Man is born free, and everywhere he is in chains.

Two day

You quoted, you lost me.
I smiled and thought of Japanese.
Or was it Chinese? A subtle wave.

The person under a street light needing to pee.
The mountain with an antenna on it. The road up.
The same road, but an academic holding a book.

Read left, two right.

Tell me what you see!

a a… fish hitting the ground tail swishing to the left
b The foot of a stickman kicking a ball. Or a minature submarine.
c pac man. A mouth. An unlucky horseshoe
D Bow without arrows.
E a hangman setup with an emergency button. A sprinkler at ground level side on.
f A strange dollar sign. A water fountain.
G The seat that Will Smith sits in, in Men in Black
h A seat. A magnet with an antenna
i I. A watch tower. Sauron. An dumbbell.
j J . The closest snick. playing table tennis. A lip piercing
kk KK Dance steps. Legs and hands on hips. The brown of the frowning, side on.
L l Sitting at a right angle. A periscope.
mM A sofa and pouf. A crawling headless baby. A fish mouth
Nn a sharp yin & yang. An condom
oO Eyes. A pest. Sugar. with the red line, a face. eggs. A hoop
pP A nipple. a button. a tongue out. a pimple.
qq QQ A crying face. Earrings. Paddles. Light posts. Coits. bubbles. Rings
Rrr Forceps. A razor blade. A car jack. A pistol.
SssS A snake. Bent springs. A double headed confused worm family.
TtT An umbrella. a bat. a toilet cartoon. Dynamite TnT trigger.
uUu A cup. Vase. Beaker. Vessel. Udders. Lucky Horseshoe
vvv Upside down pyramids. A fence. An icicle. tacks. Scissors.
Ww wings. Arms up. Celebration. a framed picture.
xXx fallen cross. handstands in the distance. multiply.
yY a flower. A martini glass. Candle stick.
Zzzzzzz lightning. a lifted bent backed snake.

-the end-

You now concur. Grouped mystery below of repetition.
u n c
y h
i l
t j r
o Q

yew know.

Tactical thinking
honours-wise, apply the rose
ask difficult questions

even if you start,
mid-year we are usually-
dancing with the stars

That’s a cool idea
Grounding, reality blurred.
Well exectuted.

Mistaken monster,
clarity and consciousness
firm image in our heads.

Nothing seemed contrived.
Spirited away: no face.
Passage that drags on.

Need explanation?
Coping with explanations
The layered reading

Read on face value,
chronicle allegory.
Wampire and varewolf

Hinting at a wamp
I have a drawing – not good!
Wendigo – native!

Vague cannibal thing.
Transformation, pass it on.
I don’t need to know

Monster guessing games.
“Kelly Link”, Supernatural
I don’t write funny…

Readers are ducklings!
The Patrick coincidence.
Conventions imprint

“lake Eyre- area”
puns in puns in puns in puns-
my god damn head.

Dreamt of you

I dreamt (deampt is my spelling always).
I drempt.
I dreamt of you last night. I fell asleep on a pillow. Arms hanging down.
I kissed you out of fear. I

I told her that we can’t be together.
I told the same girl I loved her.
I said one thing to one.
And another to another.

It doesn’t look right [what i’m TRYING to say].

I said we can’t be, to her.
And said to another that I love her.

I know I love.
I know, I love.

I meant both.
But I didn’t mean the former.
I mean that my lack of love, our not being together is how it must be – but I didn’t mean it. I just meant for now. I must suffer. A little, always.
Taint and poison myself just a touch, else i’ll erupt in happy-error.
God help me.

I told her I don’t love her.
Even though I have.
I have in the past.
Even though I do.
Even though I hate her.
As I have hated in the past.

I told another I love her,
Even though I did not love her in the past.
And might not love her in the future.
I could, I may, I might get close enough for her-
for her to put a dagger in my eye.
In my mouth. Splitting my tongue; like feelings of timeliness.

I told her I loved her.
I told another I loved her.
Both are untrue.
Both are false.
My love will change as theirs will.

Pills are both hard and easy to swallow.
The vomit may be cause or effect.

My love for both of them is poetic-
the truth the lies in my loss.
Both are the same in my understanding of language.
In so far as definitions: I propose, I am in love
but at its heart is a small-town sickness.
Where the sun counts hours,
and revolution is only half the answer.
Light and dark and love and hate I thought could only be experienced with the absence of one but instead i’m here loving and hating it all. Daily. Nightly.
Face down, arms hanging from a pillow.

Spiel? “Yiddish you say”…

The Jealousy

A sickness lays inside me-
Who is he. Why do I listen?
recommending, pointing saying. Yellow shirt.
red red red. What do you think of the colour red?
What do you think of red? Can you patent red?
Red is within me. I draw on it. With it.
It pulses and hides my feelings.
Like a defeated and angry mop.
Pointing, patient. Sickness.
Pouting? Queer. Really.
And all it takes is enough rope and a lot of perseverance.
Stalker-esque I am. I feel humbled. I wish it wasn’t so.
No power, not good for me. My own green hands, the bottle that leaks.
The furtive glances.
The corner of my darkst understanding.
Mating rituals. Trust and all the diabolic.
Tables wilt and smiles fade and my emotional state washes.
Exams of dandy lane.
Indian wisdom. Feeling and fucking felt like lost lists of want.
And the weird stranger piling books on the evening table.
White worming skin and the pointless-ness of the rearing process.
Hurting like blood relations, foiled in the destructive stance.
How ever did we last this long? “those steps have claimed lives”.
And it is, it is; you have plenty of time.
The building blocks that cripple us are the ones we stand firmest upon.
I wish it could be more simple and my love for you was closer to something with shape.
Stopping my heart. Beating through my chest- no touching.
No love lost. Just a want that cannot be dispelled.
Conflicted passions lie to me in the evening and wrestle my candid peace.
Stuck hopes. Sucking face and violent run-away vehicles purchase a lenience in my opportune veins. Stuck – stopped. Rotting peace.
Dry lips and lacking words.
“hierarchy, story. Representation, dismissal, showing feeling association, the words you speak are an otherworldly death”
A fevered reserve of dispassionate uncaring clinches and ticks at my phone reading life stealing amicable steely seething sickness.
I am feroucious. Stealing, and steeling myself unto others. Afraid of groups. Miserable in what I do. Concerned, job starting, inconsiderate foil ripples in the breeze. I can’t concerntrate. I am lost. Without hope.
Just needing to read, my writing all scattered and poignant for none.
Shifting shithead. Shift-faced, toilet going. Untrustworthy body of sitting and sulking and fucking everything and everyone up.
Squid of the abyss. Drawing on everyone. Skulking, hating, unfortunate.
Why can’t we just be won. Your stupid hair. My turgid stare, obviously nothingness in all that I wish I had spoken. The cold chill that sets in my flesh. Feathering my hairs. Blonde and forgetful. Naive. Nave. Knave. naff.
Older and older, the chances limiting, the flexibility fusing.
Its all this fussing over fucking bullshit.
As productive and jizzing into the wind. Laughing and throwing oneself overboard.
Into the ocean without a mark for memory. High seas. “Write that down”.
My poor keyboard, isn’t mine anymore. The touchpad belongs to the dirty hands of every other person. Infections in actual fact. The type of person I am, spilling it all to the wind, throwing it among all the other waves. The ripple of recognition as I am you and everyone else is above you. The rains coming down now; so I could be crying like the creator. Heavens above has not a care as such- yet we come from the earth and the pitfall of deep blue welcomes you as any grave, though you’ll float a while longer after you’re inhaled and taken it all in. Falling to my knees, the bruised ego and boiling mind will, like un-plowed ground bubble and overflow. Grow callus and lumped, steeped in implicit agony bared by broken unconsciousness. How can any more sleep possibly put me in good stead? The honesty of opinion of others. The pregnant questions of sharing seeds and spilling hard truths about all that we are on an ordinary raining day.

Diving into it all, looking up at the dappled sheets. The whitewash, the sound of the engine beating off in the distance. You are washed, unclean, glasses off. Nude stinging vision of the unwanted child. A deep-set depression of somebody else wanting you dead. Plans having been made, I shuffle off the planet. Skulking and asking for more. No time, no perspective or scope.
The scales change when you’re under water, the poisoned bruise of somebody else. No ownership. No hardship. Just drown yourself in it all.