Wednesday, 30 December 2009
christ shrouded in mystery, i drinking in misery
greet a bombardment of emails
all offering me unbeatable deals.
a lager cracks open on the tv screen,
and the recipient dowses his inner fire with 4% danish joy
and 96% denial. copenhagen! success!
another decade rears his face above it all,
another decade slides below,
warmed by the earth,
at peace, under the snow and
uploaded on youtube,
chronicled by the generation
vile and ignorant in its twitters and tweets,
fucking off in my hopeful mind.
it's bigger than us, so large it blinds us.
we don't deserve to see,
all we can do and all we can be
is organicizing and retreating under
the awe of the sun
the roar of the sea
the glory of the stars
and the mighty redwoods,
reclaiming our cut-price coffee tables too busy
nursing the crumbs of another yule.
to quote in summery,
a hum hum hummary!
a hard rain,
is gonna fall.
Friday, 18 December 2009
If the roof kept from touching my chin
Then again if tennis ball could talk
They’d ask for orange juice squeezed from the
Sex of an innocent young street vendor
After they passed their iron mongering test
Of pixie deadlights in my car headlights
A glass of wood and a jelly bucket
Gives me permission to burn an oversized truck
Filled with gob shite old wankers clad in meat
Of ox and poo nosed Arabs saw what I was doing
To their mothers being attacked by pink poofy ninjas
Slashing dildo swards toward my rear and blonde hair
Dyed by blind horses did lead my hands towards wrinkled
Breast and suckle upon tiny teats of fully grown termites
Munching my ol home around my sorry filled ears.
Damn, I thought.
Thursday, 17 December 2009
a bag in the window
that paints my dreams
its call crashing through the dark air
slapping the binds that hold it fast
everything will be ok.
steps follow the sonnet of the evening
time folding memory over the gaps in
looks and movements in an unidentifiable place
on the earth
living only in magnetic pulses
across the river of your mind
everyone together for a
frowns to the ground
wait and wait for a turn
the maid takes so long
i need hops and greased gears
and open ears
but eyes can’t help but gorge
on the opposite sex
a feast for my trouser beast!
my early days were built for this
if he saw it he’d cry
for the bosom of one
trees in a forest
bending to catch the light
steal it away
it is not there
what is this place they call fun?
a tight test of youth
a calling to the grave
in memory saved
your court and steal what is neccesery and then
i break home and listen to sigur ros.
ross maiN? Dunblane?
what the fuck happened?
andym urrmurray accepted both evfents in a hurry and struck the ball forth
and i stole it and hide beside my living room window
and screamed at passers by: "CUNTS!!!!!!" "BALL FUXCK CUNTSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS"
i hark unto them and spread exlixir of lotus oil on thy bosom.
i love thee,
Wednesday, 16 December 2009
Hammond approached from the suprisingly spacious passenger seat to lick a stray tear.
The two men smiled into each other's eyes as Clarkson gently ruffled the manicured hair of the doe-eyed runt.
The two laughed, once, then a second time as they drove off into the sunset achieving an above average 32 miles to the gallon.
Tuesday, 15 December 2009
The animal kingdom was his.
Deals had been struck with the gorillas and tigers, if the war went ahead then he would be well looked after.
His cheetah skin pants growled as he pounced upon the last of his whisky. Grunting and groaning his ancient skin contracted then expanded to expose a tattoo of the North Atlantic starfish residing between his bum cheeks.
Saturday, 12 December 2009
Wednesday, 9 December 2009
Saturday, 28 November 2009
Dreams and screams and ice creams
A playfully sweaty pit minus the shit
Upon the first, the wee man was cursed
to drown in pools of green slime
from nowhere in time apart from mine
Boys will be boys and love to play with
titty toys. The second is no exception to the
A funny fuck with a little timid creature
only in a mind forging a
lusty affair with not one care
under shut eyes have shown what a hunger
there is. Rewind and
What a scoundrel!
Wednesday, 25 November 2009
Present to me a match
of two halves and a wife
split down the middle!
Hey diddle diddle the cat fucked the fiddle
and the horse ran away
followed by projected images
from classic movies.
move thee. through tall breeze
and galore around a midnight car.
feast upon a round of cheese,
my my that's a fair pound of cheese!
carve it and starve it till the cupboard is bare,
then spank my bare bum! hair and snare!
Roll into bed and glance at the clock,
ignore time and instead
admire the craftsmanship
of the half-wit machine the pieced it together.
that's all time has become - just another element,
manufactured in china.
Tuesday, 24 November 2009
Good morning he said
Not too long this one I said
Not at all he said
20 minutes I said
30 minutes he said
This is really funny I said
Fucking right they said
Not for me I said
Why not they said
Hello I said
Hi she said
Dirty kness I said
Yes please she said
Did you? I said
I did she said
Good night I said
Good night she said
Friday, 20 November 2009
Tuesday, 17 November 2009
Thursday, 12 November 2009
my musky adornment,
mind of its own.
strings being pulled
by its proud head.
it is devoid of
"what the fuck is
the baked clams were not going down well.
still, these were the least of his worries. all
he really wanted was a decent blowjob and a
good nights sleep.
Not this fucking shit.
Monday, 9 November 2009
Loneliness is inside the hat of an old man who has just fallen in the street.
Loneliness is the scum surrounding your fish bowl.
Loneliness is a bird sitting on a beach, watching a log swim in the tide.
Loneliness resides under your wristwatch, just out of sight.
Loneliness is at the bottom of a bottle, lying in a landfill.
Loneliness lightly covers your testicles and your anus.
Loneliness is in your lungs, your bladder and in the cutlery drawer.
Loneliness is indexed in last year’s phone book
and it’s getting louder
and you’re getting older
and you’re both getting closer,
to meeting one another.
Sunday, 8 November 2009
night and cold
all our scenes
words have left
me, so i pass this
reality must have
a home run,
run home you fool,
i'm making pan
one hundred and eleven is as
as she'll go.
cheap thrills merely cover
what could you find
do this again.
who said that?
Thursday, 5 November 2009
you steal from me,
me with luck,
and a fuck ass
wooing and cooing and
sucking our pussies dry.
i know their game and yet
i fucked along with it.
extrapolate me and withdraw from me my money!
APR 6.5% and charge interest unto me.
interest? interest unto my wallet.
i fuck your CUNT and mistaken your identity.
Wednesday, 28 October 2009
physic ally! that homo sapien!
one in the eye for luck then six in the anus for fuck,
a glorious chain reaction! all daisy like and glad
the grass is not greener but steams like satans bowels,
then bubbles and bonged for all to see, breathe and reflect upon.
She knows not your power or trumpet vowels,
yet vow's, wow's and cows around in the orchard,
need not my penis for it is cruel,
reject, sanctify and moreover punish, my porridge fuelled being,
a pinch of triumphant salt and she lays to rest upon the helm of night,
milk her like a mammal! nature repeats herself and fucks into the microphone, HD!
Attenburgh spills his tea and sings a song of woe and crow,
and although excited, he fucks the shrew untill it is repitilisized.
Tame that shrew you white haired gently man, for now is your autumn.
Go forth! fuck the death of a salesman, and reference my breakfast cereal,
stroke the beard of eternity as it fondles your balls into acceptance of all that is negro,
yet dont hinder to exceed. recede and reread a classic! orgasmic and pure, henry moore!
The end is nigh and a trillion vermillion chromozones are high
so walk slowly as you retreat from age old lore, tread on eggshells and tempra so,
goodnight and goodluck my friendly foe.
Cast doubt upon yourself. I can assure you that i can assure you.
scooters, holidays, autumn.
Wednesday, 21 October 2009
Its’ all just so overwhelming!
This tally, tally ho and tally hoe.
See it rack up, unboxed and fucked on the floor.
A grand total that keeps expanding,
a fine selection of misery and joy.
Primed, prepared and underwhelmed.
This is the dark side, our U turn and ultimate sacrifice.
Once, twice, weekly thrice!
Viewing and spewing as we leave
You sexy beast! you’ve lost kontroll!
Take the heat off our child, our kid with parents several
We wild bunch with a sweet idea, birthed in Autumn
Charted throughout spring…summer…and autumn returned.
It’s made happiness prosper
and meeting people
Friday, 16 October 2009
week full of expected idleness
brand new duffel housing my
contemporised life :
a sketch book for a man who is in love with words
bob dylan protests
robert greene tells me how to win
and daniel plainview stares back at me
a large lady with even larger buttocks
keeps me pined and extracts my claret.
good veins, apparently
that thick sauce framing the narratives,
going way back to my dead past
the blue highways shall be purged
of their little whites and reds
the only thing the next ones are gonna get.
room filled with trinkets of old and
sorry time wasters, all of us.
life sized ticking bombs dropped with
a check under the tongue
crimson fallout upon my pallid coat -
that is what I want, yes indeed!
the thought of awaiting another prospector,
a dreaded horror fills an unproven heart
mining for results,
the oil they’re after is far to important
a silver snout hits its mark with
the most gentile of emphasized stings
patient vales await their purpose
lined up like soldiers, in disarray
to be filled is their joy
like to the clock that dose not tick
mother dollar will be my bitch, the
need to scratch the consumerist itch
this damn spigot drags me down
drawing the movement out
at least the sun can smile.
mute squares above me spread and separate, my body drifts upward,
the light fills my heart and I am free of this voluntary incarceration
Wednesday, 7 October 2009
i hate you
i wish you would,
Trumpets and strumpets upon my throbbing member,
as if i would eat cheese in the month of december,
fuck my internal organs
behold my foretold
Cameron sputtered into the rent boy,
as if a myth exsists without magical piss,
he crammed the crumpled fiver into his crusty mouth,
then saw him off with a wink.
and sealed the wish with a tink
tinkerbell, suckked like hell,
not a moment in a cell,
but a taste of the flavuorsome gell.
Hark thee mistress hung from my loins,
groins? loins? hark at troid!
troid parker, what a lark for, his whimsickle being.
Not only did i dig and scratch,
but i did find the genitalia that matched,
spaniards and spanners blocked my inserrection,
must ryhmme with erection.
post election? wham and wallop!
bring o the trollop!
tits and all
seeimg in fosight is a gem,
but indeed the momenton burst a flame.......insane,
poops and peeps line the streets,
and death maims the volume of the beautiful teets.!
Tuesday, 15 September 2009
Monday, 14 September 2009
Tuesday, 25 August 2009
yorke of yolk
and performed electro, folk!
A perfect one off!
to witness hence
on a boost across the fence
a so called 'foody freebie'
come hence, come see me,
a recording is present,
recieve it as a present,
for although the past
is played out
similarily is the future,
So the people crept
and the buildings continued to stare,
all a while between them
time played its eternal game of hide and seek
as the days passed like money from a drunkard's hand.
Starched and parched
like a dehydrated shirt collar,
they marched on in ever increasing silence.
Quite what the fled article was,
was not obvious.
All they knew was that those who fell
would forever mark the tidal path
of humanity's great retreat.
Friday, 21 August 2009
latitude (an extract)
“passing the boarder we neglected the piper. he, like us, is doing it for them and no,
I did not consider the Megan Fox however.
on our journey I was the jukebox.
the maestro of acceleration and gearbox, travelling to a land which be our neighbour and paradox. they consider us a volvox. small, yes but as hard as a pillbox and with passion and spirit like a firebox. this you cannot Xerox. yet still dumb as an Ox we travelled like Hawks. (bollocks!)
the giant metal man did not wave till we stopped at the trave.
it never did occur that a tent delivered from Tesco could have such an impact on ones libido!
where my head lay, the farm animals stay
it took us a while but finally we were there, naked in the night time rain.
no one was there to see me cry.
despite neglecting his duties, the rooster joined us for breakfast, yet still I did not consider the Megan Fox.
can it still be an adventure if you are not lost? The Volost would welcome me by the end of this yet I’d rather have the Bifrost.
hands the next day shaking. bright eyes and sideways glances, Susan Boyle and intermittent showers.
at long last Bruce did appear and disappear and again reappear to take us to the frontier.
oh my dear, oh my dear, oh my dear.
Sunday, 12 July 2009
it won't make you special
and ugly people drink it too?
what are those for?
a bit more and that'll do the job
i'll try and keep it like this
oh god if they find out...
hes never coming back
thoughts like that are counter productive
looking for something in particular?
just give me the whole fucking lot!
the shit i get away with
do they realize
the disgusting things i'd do to her
i just can't say anything
food stuck in your teeth?
why the fuck im i so nervous?
can you turn it up louder?
what the hell dose that mean?
Friday, 26 June 2009
The toilet completed its flush.
I stepped away to avoid the backlash
and chuckled: resultant of the fish shaped loo cube.
It had fins
and a general aura
that told me things would be alright for a while.
I mentored my limbs towards the kitchen.
A banana glanced at me
then ripened under the gaze of my crazy eyes.
Alternative rock played on the radio
and I retuned it, looking for an alternative.
The National. Nice!
I settled with a beer
and after five minutes, got up.
I was back in the toilet
howling like a madman at the eroded little fish.
Things were alright.
Wednesday, 24 June 2009
gentle to the touch
and satisfying to hit the right notes
to an orgy of thoughts,
the bear carries off his little prey
fun fun fun. it’s
presently big c and me
and others to carry the blunt
drowning inside a vice-like flame
eyes wide shut and head first
to the heart of
playing eye tricks in a city sky
filled with bright reds
partly to jump up and shout
time to nominate the jug
insides jumping out of their birdcage
people are the greatest
things to take up the time to
shake off the past
though somehow still the present takes us back.
hotel made up from the dead
yet any human heart
could see that the occupants – past and present
served in a lonely affair
work in progress of
a sordid sorry mess conducts to
ignorance of its sustenance, similarly
water from a dogs back tell tall tales
of painted bodies.
heavy is the head that wears the crown,
aggression seeps through the pours
like garlic that lingers on ones fingers
giving back exactly the right price
look who’s turning round and round
heads spin to see what has been found
a pair of breasts. bouncing. beautiful. and beyond
the mere weakness of sight.
questions that need an answer
like jesus needs judas or a knife in a fist fight.
flashing rage of the utmost cruelty and the glory of aftermath
some could call it jealousy or others… madness
the sight and smell of cunt pushes you further
towards that empty space where all logic is gone
the need to bring climax and slit the throat coincide one another.
there’s many layers to your head
correspondences taken home,
and with a sour - why should i?
fighting dogs for the sake of dogs fighting
a face is hidden in there somewhere
yet its not empty heads where words appear to echo
a stunt rider in a steel sphere
me. me. me.
Tuesday, 9 June 2009
and with gallant smiles those icicles fell, sirens in the night time, calls for the replacement of missing lights, unblock your ear holes and remember the Romans, cleft in the nose, blatant eroticism of the heavy handed
down by the blood that marks out where, screams from inside the earth, classical responses, given the time, the place & the folks involved i’d say we’ve all lost kontroll
Thursday, 4 June 2009
"What the fuck are you counting for!
Stop that fucking counting!"
For once, the eroded old winebox next to me
was well justified in his slurried accusation.
Christ knows how much morphine they had the poor guy on.
Without a doubt, he was completely devoid of sanity
not to mention fresh bed pans.
On this particular occasion his own private downward spiral
had synchronised with the real world.
A broken clock is always right twice a day
but at least it has the dignity to remain silent for the other 23 hours and 58 minutes.
This isn't health care, it's organised apathy, complete with time in lieu.
I hadn't seen one live person or one live person that actually wanted to be alive since i arrived.
A cleaner lackadaisically buffed the mirror in front of me.
Why the hell couldn't she stop hiccuping?
Sunday, 31 May 2009
Another bank letter raped his mailbox
5 weeks of deserved sweat provided the surface he was standing on.
The sun was shining, daring him to defy social convention for another day.
The jobcentre database proved fruitless,
just another rotten apple placed in an attractive polythene bag
and whored next to the jumbo bags of barbecue charcoal.
Sunday, 24 May 2009
A cone full of chocolate hash
A motherland with the utmost bounty
She blows back our hair
Recitals of verses from our young minds
A trio of dreamers, us three
‘hey hey, cripple creek ferry’
Imported delights with a hefty tag
A second visit yet a different world
Echoes of a past, akin to a morning bell
A blue wonder of workmanship
This one takes work
Happiness comes wrapped up in batter
The best part of the day?
Contact where it is not seen
By a mind from what is like a dream
So many smiles, from faces marking my youth
Orchestral moments dealing in existence
The nature of that beast we call time
I don’t have the answer but
Happiness comes wrapped up in banter
the walls stare like the patients
condemned and not even realising.
To my left, the hollow shell of a has-been
endlessly repeating hours, minutes
like some voluntary alarm clock.
I'd like to smash my fist in his face
but we all need time
and so he ticks by.
I ponder his life
and in my mind i take it,
rearrange certain elements of it
and before me i produce
someone exactly like the members of the other 7 beds
and the people outside
Friday, 22 May 2009
Tuesday, 19 May 2009
smiles devoid of teeth
laughing barrel bellies
hide whats beneath
glasses filled with fizzy pop
a hand under your blouse
eyes filled with melting stars
creeping up the house
giving the punters what they want
spectacles stained with blood
the familiar stench of piss &
feet slipping in the mud
Monday, 18 May 2009
He heard, computed and then issued a response to my well deserved insult,
culminating in a magnificent "SUCK DONKEY COCK!".
In the background, Dylan span at 33rpm
and in the secondary background
several, not improbably thousands of eyes were crying.
I considered and then realised
that i was at once completely in love with the world
and also opposed to its very existence.
But yet these matters paled in comparison
to the fact that Bubbles, king-sized grass snake,
was hungry and, of course, needed to be fed.
The frozen ones were never accepted,
Bubbles was only ever tempted by the living 'squeaks'.
However, no one seemed to see the joke.
I reclined, took stock of my situation, and then the situation of five others chosen at random using Lancelot and set of balls number fifteen,
and deduced that whilst i could be doing better,
i was still doing alright,
at least i still had my sanity
and probably always will.
with a chronic nonchalance,
i made my way to the platform.
A small rodent,
several ambiguous receptacles,
and a homeless gentleman
littered my immediate surrounding.
The screeching of the train gave silence a moment of rest
as it entered the station well announced.
Carriages yawned wide,
allowing the rift and raft to swap positions,
before being left behind.
Tuesday, 12 May 2009
a gentleman's chance, happened upon.
or did it happen upon me?
i can never tell.
fish and chips,
and a pewter mug.
a fine selection,
the fife connection,
is not one that i want to wear upon my breast.
i muse now, and conclude,
that whilst i may day trip to the toilet,
i leave as soon as my being there is no longer necessary.
Monday, 11 May 2009
What a strange thing to find written on the lavatory wall of the gentleman’s club he thought. Though, to give this establishment said title was a gross case of disillusionment.
All was quickly forgotten as he remembered why he had picked out this particular ‘flower-barer’. Dark skin, yes. Soft features, yes. But it was her famous jaw muscles which sealed the deal.
They were exquisite to say the least - she was quite a worker. As she brought him close to the desired state, he couldn’t help but have his mind move to dark places. He’d always find his head filled with brutality upon release. Of past instances where he let go - with horrific results.
Passion and violence go hand in hand, he’d always believed. He’d tell the judge this if they’d ever catch him.
This one on the other hand, Angelica as she was known to him, was too young to deserve such treatment.
Her time will come, he thought to himself with a chuckle.
He returned to the freshly exhaled smoke of the ‘club’.
Thursday, 7 May 2009
It corrected itself, moved on.
Panic crept over me.
Was everything pre-determined or was nothing?
I couldn't decide which was more terrifying.
A bus stop appeared pointlessly.
I could not be sure that it had always been there.
A cyclist emigrated round the frozen street corner,
what kind of crazy bastard was he!
i searched for my moustache in a bid for comfort,
only to realise i did not have one.
Tuesday, 5 May 2009
two hat boxes,
and a large luncheon basket.
What a pitiful sight, he thought
as he took a long drag from his cigarette, menthol.
His mind reclined in observation of it's own vastness.
Cornflakes encrusted his leather-bound diary,
those were the good days.
The days when he bothered to acknowledge the rising of the sun.
The rest of the pages sat dormant,
haunted by their wasted potential.
A train went by unnoticed.
It may as well have stopped to take everything he had:
a physical burden and reminder that everything wasn't alright.
The cigarette bounced once, twice
and came to rest beside some long-ago disposed piece of chewing gum.
His pocket watch agreed,
it was time to exit the scene.
The taste of hooker spit reminded him of a better place.
Settling amongst the dust,
he returned to the darkest place he knew.
Sunday, 3 May 2009
ain’t our business
out do the stops and never say
a friendly hello and it’s
off we go
a game of so much fun
to be had by anyone
a few more laps
round our heads
cards on the table
eyes in yours
speech of the mind
riding on a pulse
in the air, can you catch it?
this result marks us all
Friday, 1 May 2009
An army of kowtows with nostrils like shotguns. Blood on the glass making the most crooked of smiles. It’s the eyes that get you, windows to where the soul will be, too much time to clock in when the horses are running out
Talk is expensive and not contusive to putting down any more faces that once had power and now own lives. A couple of cold ones makes the evening go quicker, giving us grins like the backs of spoons
Dive into the sweatbox like a deer under your wheels. Old and young, stoned and straight, bright and black - a witches brew of stagnate pools, each on of us a small parcel of life
Staring out through eyes like bullet wounds with a look that cuts deeper than a guillotine. Cheap cigarettes held by dry lips in a dress like a super market meat chart
You let me know the most desirable cuts even if I didn’t want to. The same questions arise yet sly ignorance makes life much easier
It hits me straight as a laser beam. Do you trust this pageant we find ourselves in? Back to back we face each other. There must be bigger things than this, of which we cannot comprehend
Far too easy. You come to me now, like air to my lungs. I tell you barefaced lies to get you on my side. Memories pull at the back of our skulls but song keeps us warm
The feelings aren’t there but there is a touch from a phantom limb, lined up shoulders, tongues lulling from a far
Logic is thrown to the wind, another reason for them to squeeze. The eye is watching - it is everywhere. A golden age is upon us, just like the government - a currency of deceit.
Smoke screens to teach a language of unlearning, using the ‘new’ to hammer the nails and twist the blades. I don’t need this. It is not what was agreed, nevertheless I can tell you
God doesn’t run this place
And the devil doesn’t run it ether