Yeah?

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.

School

The best days of your life?

Really?

Desire

Fire,

burning desire.

Lighting my soul.

Burning remnants

of hope.

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.

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.

To Be Truly Free

                                                          Death

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.

Dreams

This casket, fits all
my hopes and dreams.
They will, all
be buried at dawn

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.

Americanization of the World.

Friends

Itsu Jitsu

I have some projects coming out on the mighty Itsu Jitsu. Pretty stoked.

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.

Untitled

Grey
life
Death.

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.

New Demo

New demo up on Soundcloud.

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.

The Spider

The spider runs,

here and there.

The glass burns

here and there.

Still it runs,

here and there.

The Word

He was the truth, he was the word. A vibrating ball of energy.

Apologies

Writing apologies,

plotting demises,

missing desires.

Wanting approval.

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

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