Tuesday, 7 December 2010


At the fifth thrift store I found her,

The serendipitous whore.

Sifting pissed through unwanted gifts,

We kissed, and fucked amongst the dust.

Monday, 29 November 2010

The Conscious Unconscious Without a Conscience

You sit down at a stool in an empty whiskey bar downtown only to find that across the room someone is unequivocally watching you. He looks wired, unshaven but impeccably clothed and undeniably his attention is on you and you alone. He rises, carefully and slowly, never once averting his gaze. As he steps across the room towards you, you notice a small article concealed in his right hand, held tightly. But you cannot tell what it is and he slides closer and closer until he is within arms reach and then he stops in front of you, he offers his left hand and lowers his right. His face is a blank canvas, you can’t see or read or know anything about him and he just stares at you with opaque eyes, into you, even past you. And its only now that you realise that it is just the two of you in the whole place, no barman, no-one but you and him and an eternity of thought. 

Do you:

a)   Stand sharp, receive his left with yours and exchange a few quick pleasantries before stating that you've desperately got to catch a meeting with that “fuck up” boss of yours. Nod courteously, and without turning your back to the man, edge out as fast as you can, stabbing at some small talk as not to look suspicious, something like – “You catch the papers today? Another cop got away with kicking the life out some peace protester. This city…” – Then split out the front entrance and run as fast you can without looking back.

      b)     Slide back and swipe at his face with a left boot, throw yourself out the stool and reach for the closest thing you can a glass maybe, or an ashtray, move militantly and unmercifully in for a blow to the head before he’s caught onto the deal. If he doesn’t go down the first time hit a second time in the temple or forehead. If he moves, stomp him for good measure and interrogate, take his wallet if necessary and get the fuck out of there before anyone arrives.         

c)   Stagger backwards and fall, call out for help, scream, shout and blackout with fear. Come round and plead with him, break down and cry and beg him for your life and love and family and everything that you’ve never seen or experienced. Kiss his shoes and give yourself up, your body and soul, the whole of you completely and ask for the right to survive, attempt and assert human nature, instill it within him, help him release the anxieties that brought him to this spot in time and space before the whole world falls from beneath you.    

Kerynia and The Lizard

One day there was a little green Lizard called Lady Rizzo. She was queen of all the lizards and envy of the scaly world. She lived in the magical Forest of Lonodon, where many magical creatures lived in perfect harmony. However, on one fateful night, a human set foot in the magical forest of Lonodon for the first time since its creation in the age of the Falapinos. She was no ordinary human either, she possessed the ability to grow weed out of her ears and some would say this is how she managed to cross the magical barrier into Lonodon. Kerynia was her name and as she was walking very, very stoned through the forest she came across Lady Rizzo drinking from the mysterious pool of mysteries. “And who are you to walk through my kingdom!?” Rizzo called. “Woah. A lizard that talks, that’s pretty weird.” Kerynia said extremely slowly. “I am not just a Lizard!” Rizzo shouted, quite disgusted at her new companion. They spoke for a while though and soon they became the best of friends. Some days Kerynia would dance a stupid dance for Rizzo who would laugh at her and not with her. Other days Rizzo would throw up for no reason whatsoever and this confused Kerynia, even more so when Rizzo spoke about it everyday, all day, all the time. One day Kerynia felt sad that she wasn’t with her other friends in the real world so they decided to go back to Kerynia’s home town of Stoney Mcstonerson. When they got there the Lizard Queen turned magically into a human! For the rest of the time they never left each other’s side. They moved to a small cottage together and scissored every night until they both got lesbian aids and died. THE END  

Friday, 26 November 2010

We Have No Vacant Seas.

I’m sitting right here, just beyond your screen. I can’t think to type or write or even start a story. I can't for Joe’s multiplicity of distractions, tale after tale, written on postit notes all around the flat (he can produce a story for every one that I can’t create), then the phone rings- Spliff? Nah Aaron, I got bigger fish to try like the Cod Wars and Joe’s dissertation. In fact, fuck it, yeah head on over. 15 minutes? Don’t bullshit me, your worse than Lee, won’t see you for a week will we… Come on think. Grab something creative out of this deep fucking chasm you call a mind. Anything, a word, even a letter will do. An anecdote; I must have one of them amongst these two and twenty years of mindspit. Man, now all I can think of is Liz and her anecdotal stories about sick. Argh! When will this ringing-speak device ever cease to exist? Kerynia. Yes. Mmm Hmm. Well that’s all good and well but I gotta make my masterpiece. I’ll be finished just in time to see the state you choose to choose tonight. Who shall be the hero? Davlar, Danni, Desmond, Dearie, Declusdeclusini. Fuck off out of my head Falmouth before I bitchslap your bubble. I used to be able to see the water, man. But now its just Watermans, every Friday night, listening to some sort of monkey/music hybrid: Hong Kong Ping Pong - It’s gotta be the Rudest Durty Disco Box I’ve ever seen. Am I insane? Or am I actually discussing Woolf with Wolf alongside her huskie, Louie that looks just like a... Oh Sophie, my little trophy, is this reality, or just a fallacy-euphoria? Extreme overuse but never an overdose, FLMT: It’s down with the kids and it doesn’t smell like cats piss. In a town that sleeps, and creeps by when your not there, it's that highstreet that will walk past my window forever. And the people’s heads and faces from different places stand with their eyes wide shut. Looking at nothing. Pretending that they were the ones who found that rare pebble Creativity, on the beach at Gylly. Yeah Gylly, you know, Gylly. Charlotte Gylly, Gylly Gylly. We have schemes man, Grand Schemes. It’s not even for poontang, this is just for the Goon Tang. Maybe Cheddar will be the one to save us all? Form, character, creation, imagination and exaggeration. Inspiration, wherever it lies, I hope that I’ll soon find it so I can stop boring you with all of this pretentious bull shittt…    

Thursday, 18 November 2010


You're looking for It, just like everybody is.

You’ll look even though you know you’ll never find it.

That immeasurable distance,

In-between memory and moment where everything lies.

You will not stop and you will never think to sit,

Until you find Time and until you find It.

But you will walk and walk and try life

And every one of your senses will be embellished in the incandescent light.

Monday, 15 November 2010

I have always told the truth.

The distracted paint was fighting amongst its selves whilst I was walking in, oblivious to my presence. The old grey clerk spilt his words all over the floor before I had a chance to catch the conversation and, in doing so, lost my footing and drifted out the window. 

I wont be returning to this store anytime soon, I thought. 

I hit the grass outside with some force (it felt strangely like concrete) though my new-fangled appendages did well to keep me balanced. 

‘Whats that? No of course I’m not joking!’ 

The blue and black hat disappeared long before the voice did. I shrugged and the picture-show progressed, it was spinning so fast however i couldn't see a thing, I had to yank out the film and stop to catch a breath. Once restored, I could see again. Ah, the young and boisterous clouds were being careful not to criticize the sun. I reached out and tried to pat the clock tower leaning towards me though, quite distressed, it jumped back quickly to its natural spot on the other side of town. 

Never mind, I said to myself, when the postbox winked at me encouragingly. 

‘What a gentleman!’ Something chipped in. 

‘Indeed.’ I muttered, irritated that they’d been listening in. 

The pavements were turning and twisting so often I had to put my shades on. The bastard! He must have sold me prescription sunglasses. It was the small man with a swollen head, it had to be. Where were the last of my Euros I thought as I frantically tried to search my pockets. 

'Damn! That swindle must have swapped them for all these guitar picks and pebbles.'

Better keep this a secret, I whispered, wouldn’t want Will to think I was completely insane. 


Sunday, 7 November 2010

What Is Time To The World Without A Watch

Time has lost its meaning. Some days go by at the blink of an eye, others last an eternity. I cannot recall the date, or an age, or a time that I would say is relative. The isolation of this room in which I live has become a plateau devoid of reality. I sift through an aging hard drive in a systematic deconstruction of moments and memories in an attempt to create a touchable meaning. Books, music, images, videos, newspaper articles, photographs, paintings. Everything and nothing that could give me an understanding of how or why. What happened to them? I am an alien in a foreign world trapped in-between pastoral dreams and metropolitan nightmares. The night sky is filled with the smoke of souls no longer allowed to leave, consumed by the dead clouds that smother the city. What hope is left when even the heavens have deserted us? My exhaustion is fuelled by rationed supplements that are delivered through a tube three times a day, lacking in nutrition, substance, taste. The dangers outside outweigh the dangers in my mind; I have not left this room in all my life. I have forgotten the faces of friends I never had and old enemies taunt me from the sun’s surface. The world which I knew is deceased yet wealth, even at the brink of extinction, lives on like an invulnerable organism, the rich congregate content to prolong their existence while the life of the world around them is being extinguished. They are slaves to the Pound, to the Dollar, to the Euro. Currency flows through their veins instead of blood and greed fills their hearts in place of love. If this is humanity then I am not human. I have tried to make sense of religion and the search for a God, they call this his judgement? Maybe Earth tired of her people looking up, for imaginary men in the sky. We have ripped her to the seams and burnt all her youngest children only to fatten ourselves to a point of explosion. I’m younger than I feel, but age means nothing anymore and my life has been a constant blur. I know not how long I can last here but society has no place left for me, I will continue to sprawl the depths of this computerised entity in a lasting attempt to make sense of why the Human Race stopped running.  

Democratic Hypocracy

The hypocrisy of this democracy
Is simply astounding to me.
We charge into enemy territory
To impose democratic civility,
Whilst our own society
Is built upon lies and hostility.

Are we really free?
Free to be whoever we want to be?
Or are we indeed duped into hypnotic lethargy,
Through a series of therapeutic ideologies.
We’re subliminally told to get degrees, forge families,
And why?  So we can be happy?
Or is it so we spend more money and vote in the corrupt MP’s.
 Who Ignore the kids getting D’s and taking E’s
In order to make more hard currency.

We seem to have the ability to ignore the self indulgency
Of those that succeed, smile and pretend to be happy
Even though others bleed to death in the alley
Of some fucked up city.
And this is what it is to be free?
Easy like A B C, 1 2 3
Or deporting the wrong nationality.
Who even voted the Tories?
I’d sooner see the tooth fairy in power,
Than Cameron and Cleggy.

Surely we must have sensed something was wrong?
When the kids started skipping school
To play with each other’s Wii,
Killing each other obsessively overseas
On Call of Duty, with M16’s on their PS3’s.

It’s fucking crazy.

How can we pretend to show
 Empathy and hospitality,
To those of foreign creeds
When we bomb the shit out of their homes
Because of men with beards, who fundamentally believe that democracy is a disease?

Or is it really about that most precious oil?
Which BP can afford to spill relentlessly,
For months at sea, and then the presidency
Of the ‘Land of the Free’ has the indecency
To plea that he’s angry at a company
Which represents exactly what is wrong with his own country.

But then again this is all forgettable.
Over a nice cup of tea, in front of the telly.
Watching celebrities ridicule those
With special needs, who can’t sing properly.

Isn’t that un-P.C?

Or is it easily covered up like police brutality,
Shown in our streets to millions on the BBC.
It frightens me to see such nationwide stupidity
Lapped up in 60 inch HD, 3D-TV
Every one of these, three hundred
And sixty,
Five days a year.
Teach me how to escape the reality of this fallacy
Before we tear down and burn the last tree.
I want to see the sea just one last time
Before it dries up completely.

I can’t even tell if this is poetry anymore
Or just therapy. 

Saturday, 6 November 2010

An Identity Collected

A project on self identity...


When Did You Become Our Saviour?

When did you become our saviour?
What give you the right, to write my wrongs,
Into your web of lies and songs.
Help me, help you to be just as fucking pretentious as me.
Judge before you act and speak before you save.
Face, up to the truth,
You're just as lost and broken as the rest of us.

Act upon your words,
Don't make them into an act.
I had to cut out your tongue, you were talking so much shit.
An expensive education and a bump of ketamine
Don't make you a Darwin or even a Stalin.
It just makes you preach about carbon
And how much better at livin' you are than i am.

The path to enlightenment is clouded,
And though you can smell your own righteousness,
You must walk bare foot across the bridge of broken mirrors
before the world will see your soul for what it truly is:

Shakespeare's greatest satire,
The serious man's joke,
Enough to make him laugh
And to make him cry,
Enough to force the man a match
To set your mind on fire.


Today you woke up slowly. 

The false reality of your room deceived you; 

Though you were awake, your mind was elsewhere.

You fell out of bed and into orbit,

You saw all the majesty of the universe

But then forgot it.


Man: Hey! What the fuck!?

Woman: What… oh… what of it?

Man: You can’t do stuff like that in here!

Woman: Come on man, it’s not like anyone in here even gives a shit.

Man: I… I… you’re…

Woman: Spit it out…

Man: …Unbelievable!

Woman: This place is full of smack heads and wasters. This… this is Art.

Man: It’s a café not a canvas! 

Woman: Mate! It’s close to being… and it’s not even paint, chill out…

Man: I’m gonna call the fucking police right fucking now if you don’t…

Woman: Voila. 

Man: What the hell is it? It’s just… a… wow… that’s… actually pretty good.

Woman: And in an instant a table comes to life.

Man: Who are you…?

Woman: I’m just… trying to get there… you know? Nah… fuck it, I’m Banksy.