here's to a clean slate, a new beginning
although it's not really
for time doesn't exist
the concept of days, months, years.. is imagined
therefore this is just one moment
but I'll go with it...
so here I am in this New Year
trying to kick cigarettes
but I just can't help thinking
that there's plenty of time to not smoke.. when I'm dead
and this is the year of the Dragon
it's been 24 years since the Dragon graced my birth
this seems significant, everything is even numbers, I'm a little concerned
either this year I dry up, or I finally realise my worth
in April, my favourite name for a month, I am heading West
for weird scenes inside the goldmines
for gospel under evergreens
my time has come, to be a dharma bum
I'm going to find myself, you know, it's all spiritual stuff
I am not living to be owned
I'm gonna have my kicks for 6 months or so
I'm looking for something but I'm not sure what
I figured it'd come to me but my patience is wearing thin
even though I got plenty of it
let's hope that from the South East to the North West I find something
and get this rock a'rollin!
Friday, January 27, 2012
Sunday, January 22, 2012
to the furnace toil, tender faceless
Ah inferno, I must confess
your purpose is simple
yet your peon obsess!
whilst through your roof
to jaunt upon thou midnight horse
the doctors of earthern nightmares!
O maggot brain insane
O marrow worm refrain
lusting for your bone
lusting for your pain!
gallop silent with elbows unfurled
pointing North a scorcerer sceptre
petrified snake from Africa
mountains groan and rivers converge
only slightly disturbed is the universe
releasing quaking steaming
secret sovereign silver battery
in the blood orange glow of the armory
all the slaves of abortion anvils
slaving steel for shields and swords
the scalpels of evil sugeons!
who do not sleep, who do not rest
like machine or gear or morlock
now comes the crimson fog
cursed snakes in eyes of midnight dogs
claws as sharp as persian swords
reborn rabid damned and
large as lords roaming sore
old as dust and kingdom come
where earth gets hot they sleep no more!
Head on over to my FB Page brothers and sisters! Click the 'Like' button and I will love you long time
Sunday, January 8, 2012
I'm howlin at my memory ordinary in its ability but painful in its variety
I'm howlin at the blue door, the rusted iron above the back porch
Bellua Hill dreaming waking mice under the creaky floorboards
walking to the kitchen where canaries hatched everyday on the windowsill
I miss cicadas singing for their unborn babies
the instinctual rituals before the hollow carcass crunches under my bare foot
my all day telepathy with Sophie and her third story spiral perch
like some sort of birdcage of the coast
I think my first love was you and our white tile shadows
when windy in the bamboo, the sounds devoured monsters wanting my body
I miss the fernery, shrubbery, my summery secret forestry, where the shade kept my milk cold
how often a Craven A was craved in the bedroom by my day seat of surveillance
but the monks never came outside, the cypress helped them hide
attentions drawn to clawfoot dresser of pre-war thoughts
all my summers melted into one photo of my father in the sun
the ocean whispering through his hair shirtless
like the bust of a stone statue pulled from the ocean depths of Crete
ascending to some alter over my forehead
or to lecture from his lectern through a portal with special headphones
buried in the shed where daddy long legs lived, the cobwebs scared me
I only ever scraped the surface through pennies and flathead screws
next to the burgandy Merc with the cow I was used to
a cracked dartboard held together only by dust ready to explode after a thousand punctures
the tackle the rusty hooks the fishing books
which rod was Franks, which one was Daves? I wanted the uncle I never met
I never knew him back then, the phantom of Cape Otway chasing rain and waves
my East Coast Buddha of the sea!
my stoic kin wise in medley who doesn't wear a watch
since that night, since it stopped
my emeralds lived in this house
my welsh my dane my british blood passed through the halls
the breath of my reason absorbed by the walls
I still remember the blue door
entrance to the throat of my universe concentrated to human scale
Thursday, January 5, 2012
Thursday, December 29, 2011
Following, following, following.. just, following.
Are there no soul explorers left in this world?
You lowly wandering nobodies make your own decisions!
Your ignorance is unattractive, and your interests do not interest me, for they are just the interests of those that fake interests, because it seems interesting.. until something new comes along.
You fucking soulslaves of fashion. Get outta 'ere!