Was going to write something all profound for this space. Instead I've put the Cardiacs on and I'm just going to see where this post takes, trying to imitate Kerouac I suppose.
He woke up, looked around, trying to hold onto the bed hoping the bed would stop spinning. The sun was casting a sickly yellow glow around the room. He could see where the damp was rising up the wall, a race against the peeling wallpaper making its way down the wall. The carpet was rising in the corners, the TV blaring in the corner, must have left it on last night.
Standing up, legs shaking. Looking for a gown, pulling on its tattered remains, longing to be anywhere but here. Fighting everyday and never winning, always fighting. Life was a battleground, your too lose or forever spend in the trenches. A bloody battle in which all sides lose, no victories can ever be permanent. Walking to the door, never mind leaving was always a challenge. Outside was better left outside. People everywhere, scuttling about. Talking, chattering nonsense. Was it of any importance?
Fighting and jostling for position. Always in despair that they are not richer. Losing everyday. Death surrounding all. Always racing, yet never finishing. Rushing, battling for position. Still it was nearing time to leave the room. Join them in a sickly dance. The sun was nauseas.
Finding cords and putting them on, he opened the door. Bathed in light. Fighting with the key to lock the door, wondering why to lock the door as there was no possessions of any value to be secured. Keeping the world out of his sanctuary, was the most important practice. His religious sanctity had to be preserved.
Walking down the street, avoiding the cracks. Roots of trees pushing up areas of the tarmac, searching for nourishment, seeking life. Needing the energy to survive. It was all a fight. Tripping over, he swore at the ground, then feeling embarrassed he continued. Avoiding the people, eyes downcast so as to avoid everyone. The solitary walk, fighting the urge to run and be done. Walking on and on, the sun baking his skin, turning it to leather. Finally he was done.
Wednesday 6 July 2011
Tuesday 28 June 2011
Saturday 4 June 2011
Sunday 29 May 2011
Love Story 2
She was still lying beside me in the morning. I wondered how much more she would put up with? I got up and went to brush my teeth, I was sure I could feel even the bacteria in my mouth dying. I got back into bed.
No need to get up yet. She rolled over and asked 'Do you love me', I wanted to reply 'Of course not', instead I replied 'Of course'. She smiled, that sickly sweet smile of death she had. I marvelled at the way the light shined off her pale blue eyes, eyes you could drown in, big puppy eyes. She straddled me. I gave it my best shot, I could tell she was disappointed.
I don't know what she wanted or expected though. I hoped she would go out, all I wanted to do was sit in the bath and read. I knew if I started to run a bath she would want to get in beside me. I needed to be alone but she followed me everywhere, I was slowly suffocating in her web. I wanted to go to a bar and meet more interesting
women, that would just lead to a fight. I told her I was going for a walk, 'I'll come too it'll be nice and romantic'. 'It’s only to the shop'. 'That's ok'. This was going to be a long day.
Wednesday 25 May 2011
Ted
Ted turns his computer off. Gets up from behind his desk. Walks to the door and leaves into the bright September sunshine. Goes to his car, a bashed and beaten silver Ford. He opens the boot. Rummaging about in the boot, he pulls out a jerry can and pours the contents over himself. Sitting down with a satisfied smile he lights a cigarette.
Saturday 14 May 2011
Friday 6 May 2011
Love Story
She rolled over on the bed, pulling me closer. 'I love you' she said, 'Do you fuck, you just love the cock'. She laughed and started to pull me into her. I could feel her breath on my neck and it was everything I could do to stop myself being sick on her. 'I'm just your dirty little whore'. How could I disagree with that, it was probably the truest thing she had ever said. I started to pound her like I was trying to smash her head into the wall, to be true I probably was. I also just wanted this over as quickly as possible. She ran off to the toilet to clean herself and I used her white panties to clean myself up.
I knew she would want more so I had to go and find a drink so I wouldn't have to think or deal with her. 'You’re just a bastard, using me for sex'. 'And?', I couldn't be bothered with an argument but at the same time I couldn't help myself. I went over and grabbed her, pulling her to me with all my force, she struggled at first. I kissed her deeply and with as much passion as I could muster, I felt her go soft in my arms. We rolled around and were back on the bed, the springs protesting and trying to stab into my spine. This time she was on top and it was more slow and gentle, except for her calling me a bastard repeatedly. She went down and sucked off our co-mingled juices and then just wiped herself on the yellowed sheets. I think I was falling in
love with her.
The next morning I was woken by the smell of frying food. She brought some food to her bizarre idea of an Adonis. I sat there trying to eat but I couldn't bring myself to, I really needed a drink. I went to the window and threw the food out for my little friendly birds to eat. If the birds eat fried eggs does that make them cannibals? I had inadvertently turned my beautiful chorus birds into ravaging savages. I have created a tribe of killer song birds. Poetic and deadly.
We went for a walk. She was telling me how beautiful and great everything was. All I wanted to do was to throw her into the bushes and show her how wild animals did it. Never did it, I think I was too scared of people coming past and seeing two lowly degenerates fucking in the summer sun. Maybe they would have joined in or just sat there and masturbated. That could have been a fun story there, but I fucked up by
not going for it.
The minute we got back in the door she was pulling my fly down and started to blow me. Again I felt disgust at this dirty little whore but when she looked up at me I fell back in love with her deep and meaningful eyes. Was she my Juliet? Who knows because by the next day she was shacked up with another man saying how much she loved him and they were going to get married.
I knew she would want more so I had to go and find a drink so I wouldn't have to think or deal with her. 'You’re just a bastard, using me for sex'. 'And?', I couldn't be bothered with an argument but at the same time I couldn't help myself. I went over and grabbed her, pulling her to me with all my force, she struggled at first. I kissed her deeply and with as much passion as I could muster, I felt her go soft in my arms. We rolled around and were back on the bed, the springs protesting and trying to stab into my spine. This time she was on top and it was more slow and gentle, except for her calling me a bastard repeatedly. She went down and sucked off our co-mingled juices and then just wiped herself on the yellowed sheets. I think I was falling in
love with her.
The next morning I was woken by the smell of frying food. She brought some food to her bizarre idea of an Adonis. I sat there trying to eat but I couldn't bring myself to, I really needed a drink. I went to the window and threw the food out for my little friendly birds to eat. If the birds eat fried eggs does that make them cannibals? I had inadvertently turned my beautiful chorus birds into ravaging savages. I have created a tribe of killer song birds. Poetic and deadly.
We went for a walk. She was telling me how beautiful and great everything was. All I wanted to do was to throw her into the bushes and show her how wild animals did it. Never did it, I think I was too scared of people coming past and seeing two lowly degenerates fucking in the summer sun. Maybe they would have joined in or just sat there and masturbated. That could have been a fun story there, but I fucked up by
not going for it.
The minute we got back in the door she was pulling my fly down and started to blow me. Again I felt disgust at this dirty little whore but when she looked up at me I fell back in love with her deep and meaningful eyes. Was she my Juliet? Who knows because by the next day she was shacked up with another man saying how much she loved him and they were going to get married.
Tuesday 26 April 2011
Thursday 14 April 2011
75
The pretty colours
danced around.
They needed, me
to be seduced.
You need this,
buy me,
life will be better,
“complete in 75 issues”.
Feel satisfied.
danced around.
They needed, me
to be seduced.
You need this,
buy me,
life will be better,
“complete in 75 issues”.
Feel satisfied.
Wednesday 13 April 2011
Tuesday 12 April 2011
Thursday 7 April 2011
Heroes
Ok I'm going to start to write and post things by my hereos. First up is Mr Charles Bukowski. The first time I picked up a Bukowski book and started to read it, I knew I had found a writer that I would love forever.
I would like to say I emulate Bukowski but I've never been an alcholic so basically I've failed by not being an alcholic. That sounded way more ironic in my head.
Ham on Rye is the quintessential Bukowski book in my eyes. The evolving use of the english language as he grows up is such a simple and beautiful idea. You feel that you are just there the whole time, from when he first spys the sun lighting the kitchen to where he fails college. The way he effortlessy plays off of Salinger's Catcher in the Rye. The book is genius but its consumption of alchol and sexual pervesions will keep it off many peoples' shelves. Their loss then.
His poetry is sublime, he makes look so easy. He described his poetry as
"like taking a shit, you smell it and then flush it away ... writing is all about leaving behind as much a stink as possible". Beautiful.
My only problem with Bukowski is that U2 dedicated a song to him. Absolutley despse Bono and co.
Gotta love Hank Chinaski. A wee Bukowski poem below.
The Tragedy of the Leaves
I awakened to dryness and the ferns were dead,
the potted plants yellow as corn;
my woman was gone
and the empty bottles like bled corpses
surrounded me with their uselessness;
the sun was still good, though,
and my landlady's note cracked in fine and
undemanding yellowness; what was needed now
was a good comedian, ancient style, a jester
with jokes upon absurd pain; pain is absurd
because it exists, nothing more;
I shaved carefully with an old razor
the man who had once been young and
said to have genius; but
that's the tragedy of the leaves,
the dead ferns, the dead plants;
and I walked into a dark hall
where the landlady stood
execrating and final,
sending me to hell,
waving her fat, sweaty arms
and screaming
screaming for rent
because the world had failed us
both.
I would like to say I emulate Bukowski but I've never been an alcholic so basically I've failed by not being an alcholic. That sounded way more ironic in my head.
Ham on Rye is the quintessential Bukowski book in my eyes. The evolving use of the english language as he grows up is such a simple and beautiful idea. You feel that you are just there the whole time, from when he first spys the sun lighting the kitchen to where he fails college. The way he effortlessy plays off of Salinger's Catcher in the Rye. The book is genius but its consumption of alchol and sexual pervesions will keep it off many peoples' shelves. Their loss then.
His poetry is sublime, he makes look so easy. He described his poetry as
"like taking a shit, you smell it and then flush it away ... writing is all about leaving behind as much a stink as possible". Beautiful.
My only problem with Bukowski is that U2 dedicated a song to him. Absolutley despse Bono and co.
Gotta love Hank Chinaski. A wee Bukowski poem below.
The Tragedy of the Leaves
I awakened to dryness and the ferns were dead,
the potted plants yellow as corn;
my woman was gone
and the empty bottles like bled corpses
surrounded me with their uselessness;
the sun was still good, though,
and my landlady's note cracked in fine and
undemanding yellowness; what was needed now
was a good comedian, ancient style, a jester
with jokes upon absurd pain; pain is absurd
because it exists, nothing more;
I shaved carefully with an old razor
the man who had once been young and
said to have genius; but
that's the tragedy of the leaves,
the dead ferns, the dead plants;
and I walked into a dark hall
where the landlady stood
execrating and final,
sending me to hell,
waving her fat, sweaty arms
and screaming
screaming for rent
because the world had failed us
both.
Tuesday 5 April 2011
Sunday 3 April 2011
Dreams of a Life Unfulfilled
I let the distance grow,
now it has, I miss you so
growing more, beautiful
with each passing day.
Eyes shining, the radiance of stars,
hair cascading, like autumnal leaves.
Looking at, the blackhole
of empty desire.
Always dreaming, of us together
hoping that, I won’t wake up
keep the illusion going.
Please DON’T WAKE ME UP.
now it has, I miss you so
growing more, beautiful
with each passing day.
Eyes shining, the radiance of stars,
hair cascading, like autumnal leaves.
Looking at, the blackhole
of empty desire.
Always dreaming, of us together
hoping that, I won’t wake up
keep the illusion going.
Please DON’T WAKE ME UP.
Thursday 31 March 2011
TV
It sits there
vacant and empty.
The methadone
no longer, flowing.
Staring wanting,
trying to, suck me in.
Losing my will,
it wants,
me to drown.
Friday 25 March 2011
The Spider
The spider runs,
here and there.
The glass burns
here and there.
Still it runs,
here and there.
Thursday 10 March 2011
Wednesday 23 February 2011
Sunday 20 February 2011
Anarchy
1 Black Police
1 flags, Witho state v y cond
1 liber- ut free iolenc emn us
1 ateus. dom li e. The all. No
1 fe dies power.
1
1
1
1
1
1
1
1
1
1
Saturday 19 February 2011
Friday 18 February 2011
Tuesday 15 February 2011
Decor
The hall
paint is fading,
chipped and scratched.
Perhaps
it should be fixed?
Would I feel better, if
the paint is not fading,
chipped and scratched?
paint is fading,
chipped and scratched.
Perhaps
it should be fixed?
Would I feel better, if
the paint is not fading,
chipped and scratched?
Monday 14 February 2011
Act VI
The starving are neglected.
We have no sincerity.
Just keep the TV on.
Ethics is a dirty word,
it makes no money.
The jar was burning him now. He had to make the drums, they seemed to be growing fainter now. The bombing was lighting the sky up. The air was getting heavier. The world was being eaten alive. The humanity was lost. He knew he could no longer hold the jar, he kept on. She rose in front of him. This was another trial. He knew he could no longer escape. She lay him down.
Letting you down,
is the best I could do.
We should never leave
but we did.
Death was stalking.
Life was evading.
It would all end.
The explosions were coming.
No one will ever move.
The fights can't go on.
He was resisting. Trying to fight her off. She clawed at his face, with long feline claws. Biting and chewing his neck. He picked the jar up, smashed it off her head. Too late he realised what he had done. There was an explosion in the sky. The word exploded across his mind. He stood up and shouted. The world stopped, the word was free. The fighting came back fiercer than ever. The world
died.
Good intentions
are not enough.
We have no sincerity.
Just keep the TV on.
Ethics is a dirty word,
it makes no money.
The jar was burning him now. He had to make the drums, they seemed to be growing fainter now. The bombing was lighting the sky up. The air was getting heavier. The world was being eaten alive. The humanity was lost. He knew he could no longer hold the jar, he kept on. She rose in front of him. This was another trial. He knew he could no longer escape. She lay him down.
Letting you down,
is the best I could do.
We should never leave
but we did.
Death was stalking.
Life was evading.
It would all end.
The explosions were coming.
No one will ever move.
The fights can't go on.
He was resisting. Trying to fight her off. She clawed at his face, with long feline claws. Biting and chewing his neck. He picked the jar up, smashed it off her head. Too late he realised what he had done. There was an explosion in the sky. The word exploded across his mind. He stood up and shouted. The world stopped, the word was free. The fighting came back fiercer than ever. The world
died.
Good intentions
are not enough.
Sunday 13 February 2011
Act V
We travelled bringing death.
We thought it was salvation.
Saving your soul,
by destroying your life.
The door shut. He was in a room, nothing but a fluorescent glare. His head crumbling, a thousand thoughts dying. ' We know you have it, give us it'. Who was making the demand, it was printed on his brain, nothing else around him. He struggled to his feet. She was there, coming out of a desk. He watched her, she came over. 'I need it'. 'Not here... '. 'Where them?' 'Follow'. He opened the door, stepped into the marsh.
The commodities
are what we all need.
Control the workers.
Life is yours for the taking.
Consideration is always missing.
She turned him around, pulled his zip down. 'I need it now'. She pushed him into the mud, the smell of death washed over him. Standing over him she lowered herself. Squealing, her body contorted. Changing shape, containing all his past memories. She was raping his thoughts. Too late he realised. He ejaculated. It was gone, the word had gone. Standing up she exploded, turning into shards of iridescent jade. He picked up the pieces, cleaning the dirt off them. Placing them in his tub.
You are free.
You can do anything.
Lies perpetrated at school.
No one is ever free.
Life is over at the start.
He picked up the tub, it was vibrating and glowing. The word was trying to escape. Escape and reveal the truth. Walking gingerly he headed back to town. The marsh turned into cobbled streets. The street lights no longer working, he could hear the sounds of life coming to an end all around him. He walked into a small dark store. Showing the shopkeeper the tub, he was guided into a back room. Opening the tub, the beetles had eaten the jade. The shopkeeper picked them up with forceps and dropped them into a jar filled with formaldehyde. They squealed and imploded. The jar was foaming, putting a lid on it he walked out the door. The bombs were exploding in the distance, the night sky tinged with regret.
Existence
the struggle of life.
Always battling,
never winning.
Society is addicted.
Can't live without it.
The regret and sorrow weighing him down, he trudged on. The jar was getting warmer. The suffering was making it heavier. Society was struggling to find the answer, if they stopped the struggles and wars they would see the word. He could see their shapes moving through the trees. The mist lying on the ground now as if it was hiding. The sulphates in the air were burning his nose. The jar was moving so hard now he could hardly hold it.
The politicians, of the world
united by greed.
We need - a compromise.
We thought it was salvation.
Saving your soul,
by destroying your life.
The door shut. He was in a room, nothing but a fluorescent glare. His head crumbling, a thousand thoughts dying. ' We know you have it, give us it'. Who was making the demand, it was printed on his brain, nothing else around him. He struggled to his feet. She was there, coming out of a desk. He watched her, she came over. 'I need it'. 'Not here... '. 'Where them?' 'Follow'. He opened the door, stepped into the marsh.
The commodities
are what we all need.
Control the workers.
Life is yours for the taking.
Consideration is always missing.
She turned him around, pulled his zip down. 'I need it now'. She pushed him into the mud, the smell of death washed over him. Standing over him she lowered herself. Squealing, her body contorted. Changing shape, containing all his past memories. She was raping his thoughts. Too late he realised. He ejaculated. It was gone, the word had gone. Standing up she exploded, turning into shards of iridescent jade. He picked up the pieces, cleaning the dirt off them. Placing them in his tub.
You are free.
You can do anything.
Lies perpetrated at school.
No one is ever free.
Life is over at the start.
He picked up the tub, it was vibrating and glowing. The word was trying to escape. Escape and reveal the truth. Walking gingerly he headed back to town. The marsh turned into cobbled streets. The street lights no longer working, he could hear the sounds of life coming to an end all around him. He walked into a small dark store. Showing the shopkeeper the tub, he was guided into a back room. Opening the tub, the beetles had eaten the jade. The shopkeeper picked them up with forceps and dropped them into a jar filled with formaldehyde. They squealed and imploded. The jar was foaming, putting a lid on it he walked out the door. The bombs were exploding in the distance, the night sky tinged with regret.
Existence
the struggle of life.
Always battling,
never winning.
Society is addicted.
Can't live without it.
The regret and sorrow weighing him down, he trudged on. The jar was getting warmer. The suffering was making it heavier. Society was struggling to find the answer, if they stopped the struggles and wars they would see the word. He could see their shapes moving through the trees. The mist lying on the ground now as if it was hiding. The sulphates in the air were burning his nose. The jar was moving so hard now he could hardly hold it.
The politicians, of the world
united by greed.
We need - a compromise.
Saturday 12 February 2011
Act IV
The response
was never, forthcoming.
Playing, a game.
There was, always going
to be one loser.
Death was coming.
The mud was enveloping him. He was sliding helplessly through the mud. It felt so good against his skin. Sliding towards the centre of the earth. He felt something grip the back of his neck. He was getting pulled back up. She was beautiful, her skin glowing in the light. She was completely naked. She wrapped herself around him, knowing it would be the end. She wanted the truth though. She could feel him enter her. The world was glowing, she could hear him groaning. The world exploded. She felt her body contract, she became a beetle. He put her in the tub. The drums were getting louder.
Fidelity was nothing
to you.
The great deceiver.
Death was all, you brought.
Lies - were your tools.
Let us become one.
The world will explode.
Death and glory await.
The mud was becoming harder. The air smelled of sulphur and slavery. The story was unravelling. His feet were growing heavy, the pressure of the word bearing down. The trees growing in clumps, with strange flies the size of birds flying through them. Killing all they touched, dogs barking in the distance. His feet wearing him down, falling to his knees he begs for forgiveness. The word will destroy them. The word is the truth, a flaming hot weapon. The most deadly of all weapons, it knows no compassion. Society will be devastated, the devastators will rejoice.
We will dream of future generations.
They will look back and despise.
Killing the world.
Leave nothing.
Rent
always owing
never fully paid.
Living in the now
the future - empty and dead.
The source of humanity,
hidden and buried.
Never to be found.
Death will come.
He pulled himself up from his knees, he had to carry on. The word needs to be unleashed. His head falling apart, strange growths spurting out. Radiant in the darkness, glowing and moving slowly in the breeze. The word trying to escape. The pain driving him mad. Shooting pains, making his eyes go black with pain. The door opened.
was never, forthcoming.
Playing, a game.
There was, always going
to be one loser.
Death was coming.
The mud was enveloping him. He was sliding helplessly through the mud. It felt so good against his skin. Sliding towards the centre of the earth. He felt something grip the back of his neck. He was getting pulled back up. She was beautiful, her skin glowing in the light. She was completely naked. She wrapped herself around him, knowing it would be the end. She wanted the truth though. She could feel him enter her. The world was glowing, she could hear him groaning. The world exploded. She felt her body contract, she became a beetle. He put her in the tub. The drums were getting louder.
Fidelity was nothing
to you.
The great deceiver.
Death was all, you brought.
Lies - were your tools.
Let us become one.
The world will explode.
Death and glory await.
The mud was becoming harder. The air smelled of sulphur and slavery. The story was unravelling. His feet were growing heavy, the pressure of the word bearing down. The trees growing in clumps, with strange flies the size of birds flying through them. Killing all they touched, dogs barking in the distance. His feet wearing him down, falling to his knees he begs for forgiveness. The word will destroy them. The word is the truth, a flaming hot weapon. The most deadly of all weapons, it knows no compassion. Society will be devastated, the devastators will rejoice.
We will dream of future generations.
They will look back and despise.
Killing the world.
Leave nothing.
Rent
always owing
never fully paid.
Living in the now
the future - empty and dead.
The source of humanity,
hidden and buried.
Never to be found.
Death will come.
He pulled himself up from his knees, he had to carry on. The word needs to be unleashed. His head falling apart, strange growths spurting out. Radiant in the darkness, glowing and moving slowly in the breeze. The word trying to escape. The pain driving him mad. Shooting pains, making his eyes go black with pain. The door opened.
Friday 11 February 2011
Act III
Whispered nothings.
Violent endings.
The foetus drifted up. Floating along the sea of sand. The winds blowing it towards the end of time. The sun burning up. Society crumbling. The word wrapped up deep within. The scorching air burning its skin as it started to grow.
The end is coming.
Live for now.
Forget the future
there is none.
Society is dying.
Life is failing.
Always searching.
The sky lighting up as the foetus grows. The sky constantly evolving, flashes of colour. Mountains exploding, volcanoes erupting, the sky falling. The word walks into a bar. The air musty and moist. Smoke hanging in the air. The old oak booths showing their age, the floor sticky with years of use. He walks over and picks her up. Takes her out into the dark alley. Presses her against the wall. Lifting her up gently, he pulls her pants to one side. Her eyes flash blue and green as he ejaculates in her. Her skin quivering with the force of her orgasm. She sees the word and realises the truth but too late.
Death is the beginning.
Lying and deceiving
was all you did.
Killing my soul.
Leaving me hollow.
Now your gone.
He turned around and walked away. Towards the marshland to the east. Walking past beggars and muggers, turning to watch as he past. He was the truth he was the word. A vibrating ball of energy. Then he was dragged into a doorway, a tub was placed in his hand. He opened it. There was a clenched hand inside, he opened the hand, there was a beetle there. Smiling he walked on. He could hear the distant banging on drums, the sky was phosphorescent.
Your silence was deafening
you can't defend your actions.
Lying and deceiving
is all you know.
The end was coming
you knew but never said.
Playing with my heart
you left me for dead.
Struggling to breathe.
Massacred for love.
He could smell the marsh. Balls of gas exploding around him. The ground sinking below him. He carried on. The drumming was closer, he could feel it beating his chest. The pressure was making him delirious. He saw shapes dance in front of him, mixing and entwining with each other. The shapes making love to each other, all in harmony showing how the world could be. His face hit the ground and sunk into a glorious blanket of mud.
Violent endings.
The foetus drifted up. Floating along the sea of sand. The winds blowing it towards the end of time. The sun burning up. Society crumbling. The word wrapped up deep within. The scorching air burning its skin as it started to grow.
The end is coming.
Live for now.
Forget the future
there is none.
Society is dying.
Life is failing.
Always searching.
The sky lighting up as the foetus grows. The sky constantly evolving, flashes of colour. Mountains exploding, volcanoes erupting, the sky falling. The word walks into a bar. The air musty and moist. Smoke hanging in the air. The old oak booths showing their age, the floor sticky with years of use. He walks over and picks her up. Takes her out into the dark alley. Presses her against the wall. Lifting her up gently, he pulls her pants to one side. Her eyes flash blue and green as he ejaculates in her. Her skin quivering with the force of her orgasm. She sees the word and realises the truth but too late.
Death is the beginning.
Lying and deceiving
was all you did.
Killing my soul.
Leaving me hollow.
Now your gone.
He turned around and walked away. Towards the marshland to the east. Walking past beggars and muggers, turning to watch as he past. He was the truth he was the word. A vibrating ball of energy. Then he was dragged into a doorway, a tub was placed in his hand. He opened it. There was a clenched hand inside, he opened the hand, there was a beetle there. Smiling he walked on. He could hear the distant banging on drums, the sky was phosphorescent.
Your silence was deafening
you can't defend your actions.
Lying and deceiving
is all you know.
The end was coming
you knew but never said.
Playing with my heart
you left me for dead.
Struggling to breathe.
Massacred for love.
He could smell the marsh. Balls of gas exploding around him. The ground sinking below him. He carried on. The drumming was closer, he could feel it beating his chest. The pressure was making him delirious. He saw shapes dance in front of him, mixing and entwining with each other. The shapes making love to each other, all in harmony showing how the world could be. His face hit the ground and sunk into a glorious blanket of mud.
Thursday 10 February 2011
Act II
They rolled together
entwined consciousness.
Her skin soft to touch.
She was a peach.
He wanted salvation.
The lies were moving closer together now. As they got close, they seemed to merge and become an undeniable truth. The flame of truth grew brighter. The truth would bring salvation, or a teenage riot. He could hear the music down the street, it would soon be cut off, personal enjoyment no longer allowed.
The desire was growing.
He longed for her.
Atrocities committed daily.
Guarantees made by rockets and grenades.
All communications down.
Bow down or die.
Go out and clear the streets now.
The truth was getting louder now. It was causing the lights to burn brighter. The radiators were humming and vibrating. The floor was shaking. The desk exploded. He felt a relief wash over him. He picked her up. Bending her over he entered. He was going to try and make her explode. His head exploded all over her. She laughed, looking at the green shell that remained. He had been too weak, she needed someone stronger.
The whistling
comes in deep and low.
Out of nowhere.
Just keep moving.
This is how we live.
She picked up the green shell. Walking down the street, people moving out the way. She was pulsating with light, her skin shiny and taught. With each step she became lighter. She came to the non-existent sea and dove in. Pulling her shell behind. On the beach men strained to see her, this Aphrodite. Her sexual magnetism driving them mad. All the time the word was coming.
God the great deceiver.
Scourge of nations.
Killer of the innocent.
Burning to death,
the flames reinventing.
Living to believe.
Believing to live.
She reached into the shell; glowing in purple magnificence. Pulling out a foetus. Her body started to drain into it. Losing itself, the power of the word spilling into the new body. The foetus starts to purr and vibrate, the power of the word. The word was growing stronger. Her body orgasmed once more and vanished into the ether world.
entwined consciousness.
Her skin soft to touch.
She was a peach.
He wanted salvation.
The lies were moving closer together now. As they got close, they seemed to merge and become an undeniable truth. The flame of truth grew brighter. The truth would bring salvation, or a teenage riot. He could hear the music down the street, it would soon be cut off, personal enjoyment no longer allowed.
The desire was growing.
He longed for her.
Atrocities committed daily.
Guarantees made by rockets and grenades.
All communications down.
Bow down or die.
Go out and clear the streets now.
The truth was getting louder now. It was causing the lights to burn brighter. The radiators were humming and vibrating. The floor was shaking. The desk exploded. He felt a relief wash over him. He picked her up. Bending her over he entered. He was going to try and make her explode. His head exploded all over her. She laughed, looking at the green shell that remained. He had been too weak, she needed someone stronger.
The whistling
comes in deep and low.
Out of nowhere.
Just keep moving.
This is how we live.
She picked up the green shell. Walking down the street, people moving out the way. She was pulsating with light, her skin shiny and taught. With each step she became lighter. She came to the non-existent sea and dove in. Pulling her shell behind. On the beach men strained to see her, this Aphrodite. Her sexual magnetism driving them mad. All the time the word was coming.
God the great deceiver.
Scourge of nations.
Killer of the innocent.
Burning to death,
the flames reinventing.
Living to believe.
Believing to live.
She reached into the shell; glowing in purple magnificence. Pulling out a foetus. Her body started to drain into it. Losing itself, the power of the word spilling into the new body. The foetus starts to purr and vibrate, the power of the word. The word was growing stronger. Her body orgasmed once more and vanished into the ether world.
Wednesday 9 February 2011
Act I
Her legs bent up at her ears.
There is evil and hurt in those eyes.
Her claws stung as they sunk in.
Deep penetrating pain.
Their exacting standards; make you pay, with your soul. Once your soul has gone there will be nothing left but your greening shell. No one will come, they all know your a criminal. Spliced and put out for show. The woman using you to achieve orgasm. At last finally useful.
The world is ending.
Devastators are everywhere.
The seas have dried up, all living on substitute fish eggs.
All we need is a heart of gold.
All the fighting will be over.
He walked into the bar. She was bent over, welcoming him in. He entered. The waves washed over him, fighting to pull him away. He wasn't going to lose his soul. He fought on. His skin going green, pulsating at the effort, he ejaculated. The world shook, he had found it.
The feelings were growing.
How could they, they had been outlawed.
They would be coming for him.
He saw the traces in the snow.
It was too late.
All she could was offer lies. He beat his hands on the desk. He needed to know the truth. If she could stop being parasitic long enough, maybe they could save society. Bring back the water. 'Tell me about'. 'All the women were great and the men athletic'. He knew what she meant, society was never utopian though. He had heard of the Karma Plan, surely it was just a dream. A whole world in united sexual orgasm with only sexual violence and no wars. This was the plan. Could this woman bring it to fruition, he needed to connect her to the grid. The world could become one.
God has forsaken them.
The world was just a car park.
Empty and lonely.
Nothing left.
Desolation, no hope.
Humanity was gone.
Burning all the truth and science.
A world of suspicion
and superstition.
The word of God.
Is the only, true word.
The word will save
all.
The case was unravelling all around him. He now realised that she was the definitive answer. She could be the word. The one true word. How would he connect her to the grid. Her lies were the truth.
The sun was burning up.
Life was drying up.
Yet his tears never dried up.
The time of racial hatred was over.
Bring in the saviours.
There is evil and hurt in those eyes.
Her claws stung as they sunk in.
Deep penetrating pain.
Their exacting standards; make you pay, with your soul. Once your soul has gone there will be nothing left but your greening shell. No one will come, they all know your a criminal. Spliced and put out for show. The woman using you to achieve orgasm. At last finally useful.
The world is ending.
Devastators are everywhere.
The seas have dried up, all living on substitute fish eggs.
All we need is a heart of gold.
All the fighting will be over.
He walked into the bar. She was bent over, welcoming him in. He entered. The waves washed over him, fighting to pull him away. He wasn't going to lose his soul. He fought on. His skin going green, pulsating at the effort, he ejaculated. The world shook, he had found it.
The feelings were growing.
How could they, they had been outlawed.
They would be coming for him.
He saw the traces in the snow.
It was too late.
All she could was offer lies. He beat his hands on the desk. He needed to know the truth. If she could stop being parasitic long enough, maybe they could save society. Bring back the water. 'Tell me about'. 'All the women were great and the men athletic'. He knew what she meant, society was never utopian though. He had heard of the Karma Plan, surely it was just a dream. A whole world in united sexual orgasm with only sexual violence and no wars. This was the plan. Could this woman bring it to fruition, he needed to connect her to the grid. The world could become one.
God has forsaken them.
The world was just a car park.
Empty and lonely.
Nothing left.
Desolation, no hope.
Humanity was gone.
Burning all the truth and science.
A world of suspicion
and superstition.
The word of God.
Is the only, true word.
The word will save
all.
The case was unravelling all around him. He now realised that she was the definitive answer. She could be the word. The one true word. How would he connect her to the grid. Her lies were the truth.
The sun was burning up.
Life was drying up.
Yet his tears never dried up.
The time of racial hatred was over.
Bring in the saviours.
Neil Young
The bottle touched my lips. The liquid, finally being released from its brown glass tomb. The coolness of the liquid soothing my parched mouth. I fell back on the bed, dust billowing up in the air. The particles dancing in the sun light, toing and froing across the room. Dancing their waltz, entrancing me, surrounding me in their dance. I looked out of the window, down and along the street. I looked back around the room. Wallpaper pulling itself off the wall, the out-dated floral pattern fading and yellowing. The window sill cracked and covered in a layer of dust. The radio singing to itself in the corner, the TV sitting blank and vacant in the opposite corner. Still I had a bottle of wine left and the remains of the beer.
I picked myself up. Using string pulled the cords tight around my waist. Picking up my tattered satchel, I made my way out. Squinting against the light I made my way down the street. The glare off the pavement was making me feel sick. I tried to shade my eyes with my hand. Looking at the cracks, the weeds reaching up and heading for the heavens. The weeds trying to make the best of a hard world. I sat on the bench at the bus-stop.
Then coming off the bus came the finest pair of legs I ever saw. So smooth and perfectly proportioned, the sun shining on this little bit of heaven. She looked down and directly towards me, disappointment crossed her face. Goodbye to my cinnamon girl.
I picked myself up. Using string pulled the cords tight around my waist. Picking up my tattered satchel, I made my way out. Squinting against the light I made my way down the street. The glare off the pavement was making me feel sick. I tried to shade my eyes with my hand. Looking at the cracks, the weeds reaching up and heading for the heavens. The weeds trying to make the best of a hard world. I sat on the bench at the bus-stop.
Then coming off the bus came the finest pair of legs I ever saw. So smooth and perfectly proportioned, the sun shining on this little bit of heaven. She looked down and directly towards me, disappointment crossed her face. Goodbye to my cinnamon girl.
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