Skip navigation

Monthly Archives: August 2009

we wish to creat worlds as real as, but other than the world that is

we wish to create worlds as real as, but other than the world that is

i saw the birds on the rocks this morning making me think of the time i was rather besotted by a green wooden birdcage in the Victorian fashion and how i wanted it, longed to have it by the window with a little love song sweetly whistled from its perch. But now i would find it cruel, cruel as talons around throat, cruel as the restless legs i suffer, cruel as being denied what i want right now but know that no good can come of it. Trapped in my own little cage of folly, i wonder what all the celebrating was about. Is that why we satyr like pranced upon the city, is that why we clamor together dancing, drinking and sharing pointless stories of even more pointless heroic misdemeanors. Is this the party, the celebration of life. I don’t celebrate it. I abhor it. I go out and want to get wrecked for fear of the fast word, the profiled glance, the boy at the pool table, the weary eye of the barman, the steps, the time, the dark driver the night. It must end fast and brutal, it must be severed decadence, me myself and i. So i sit here for breakfast 3 beers down, no more brown, no more subs, no more no more. But what the fuck am i getting myself into. This duplicity is killing me, the energetic amongst us see it as a new day, a few vitamin b shots, tata my chance, twinkle twinkle little star. I don’t. I can’t I wont I’ try remember how many hours are left in a day but the days are long and the nights longer, only visits at the back of the mind from past accomplices and the voice of my love mar the endless seconds. I hope i can remember who i am, i hope i can. 4 beers down, i confuse sleep with dreams with thoughts without seams the lines have gone dead, the plastic packets are burnt and reduced to trash, the powders don’t offer relief, the dead lie in the street and the fingers burn with desire. Trapped in the vaseline i believe that motivation comes from praise, without it there is no need to continue. So much beauty outside of this cage, so much money to spend, so many things to still mend. But i am proud, i have pride even if i lie in denial and the boards predict that it could take 8 weeks to 3years (burroughs) but i’m in it for a fast fix and if she don’t fix i’ll buy myself one. The end of the month looms and with it money and mania. So tell me once again what i should have changed, how i could have written a better song than this one. She asked me how i got this far. From giggling girl to hurling hell, i couldn’t answer her, i could only pretend that the end was the first step. They can shovel manure till they fall and I no i won’t care at all if you’d like to try a hand at my life you must be mentally ill. Fate is for those who find it hey, i spit in fates face. I’m a swallow, flapping furiously for a few seconds grace of flight, i spin through the heavens, a surrender to the lifeless cauterizing of infliction. Oh give me back my laudanum, my sweet sweet valley of the dolls. The light is out, it needs not the sun, it needs only the wasp, the sheep, the bye byes of yester friends and foreign objects to pacify their passions and give example to the priest. No deceipt only lies. My swollen joints that mirror the death of a sparrow on my grass. Yes these are my illusions of progress this 26th day of our lord, Lord a Numb. My brief digressions into this factory of the past may be written out of guilt, out of sorrow, out of shame, out of blame or out of fact and fiction. Whatever is necessary at this point is necessary, whatever kind word maybe on offer are always welcomed with judging eyes and ears.

Advertisements

LIVE THRU THIS

LIVE THRU THIS


I forget what i might have said, what i wanted to what i know must grow from The conversant self that sits and thinks in The evening abstracted away, pissed aside, bring another one, theyre hiding the vodka but I found the comfort. Rodney Rodney, make it snappy then..he who dares rodney, he who dares.. come on wet your whistle. The revolted rumblings that on The inside shake and rupture and feel so much beat that The walls on these three tumblers do stronger build. Sans links, diligence answer call, collapse attack. The sun is hot but The wind she is cool. I’ve reedited The scene i’ve delved into the very essense of das capitol but still The pill dissolves slow, still The feeling flushes fever and still i sit and wait and register The big dream The one i smoked and snorted away in abandon, fuck them all. The one i must have The one Cathy lost in The cold cold night with only a pane of glass separating her from her heart’s desire. I walk in coma, i breathe in routine, i fall asleep by The light of The lamp and wake with The sense that all is just a picture waiting for The canvas to burn. On certain afternoons The taut chest coughs up The residue of all this anger, i spit it on couches, carpets, glasses and faces without regret, i laugh at rationality during these dark days hoping and waiting impatiently that soon The ring and The whisper will extrapolate Themselves and find home in this irrational madness. No man nor woman can exist on bread alone and i have no bread and only The lonely to entertain The ring is on The wrong hand and The baby has died. Legs twitter and trainers discarded on floor will keep The untidy tidy, awaiting The great miracle that has been promised. She sits on my left telling me so, she sits on my right laughing, mocking this folly of hope. But i know better. I have read The greats i have watched The greats i have been entangled in them, i have fucked them and kicked them and dived into their genius. I am not alone, i lie, i lie waiting for The company, she is coming and I, I am merely early Besides tomorrow I’m interviewing placebo, today its just bok van blerk

i wanna score poppies

i wanna score poppies

Dear antonym, i cannot slumber, …………; again, 4 days of the infection and the hallucinations I am anxious to admit have started once all over again. The child in the corner, the schoolgirl screaming in my head, and she is loud, so loud that all the beauty of the silent night is superseded by her instructions

last night I edited until about 2am and then spent the next 3 hours appraising Great Expectations, which one does tend to do when the night air is cool, the brain ineffective and the breath short yeah I doze and slither open the eyes, roll a ciggie, turn the beam on and off, I have a crooks radiometer near my bed and its faint buzz and symphonic glow eases the sting the dawns light shreds my curtains, the theatre is now closed, the show is over, the dancers have all gone home to soak their toes in methylated spirits and the violinist counts backwards from 3,

they’re dark but never dark sufficiently so though I am beginning to enjoy the light, the fowls, the hangman on the wall, the rabbit in the shrub, the dew, the frost the early  mist, the dinosaur birds, the pigeon that flew into the gutter and left down and disease, i am alone and lonely in my space

There are many spiders here. But then there are many spiders all over the metropolis, yesterday I visited an old friend who informed me the cat was out the bag and working for the Christians, then Konnect from konnetikut told me he would offer gratis sallow sugar in exchange for information of this particular part of the ministry that had gone astray and a turf war is imminent, that I can assure you.

comical is how the city was maybe is today, blistering and clammy, black cardigans hanging out my window, then the battery died and a passing jeff gave me a shock that sent me on my means to the record label then to the high way then to the by ways then to the bottle store for quartz of quartz and then to the quarters and then to absolve work on the directors statement,

I astonish myself occasionally the way I formulate a word or three, something something about societal ethics and sweating the small stuff, and god do I not know what a motivational letter implies, I am at a loss of how to script it, but I tried thanks to the plazana the kwape the much needed powdery persuasion from the kind gentleman of Killarney who once stole my video camera and never gave it back but I guess that is what stealing means,

And then to the oven where food must be made and food must be eaten, but I have been unable to wolf for three days, just a few vinegar flings and a cashew nut. Then back to the script, then forward to the edit, but too tired and scared that hazy eyes create hazy metaphors so just a bout of blogging which is the most frivolous word too close to the toilet which Dickens and he must be writ in capitol, das kapitol,  mentions often that first kate and then mrs nickleby took turns to do ‘their toilet’ which I guess means their washing not merely just washing out, and i don’t know why a novelist would write such a thing, sure, the book is 900 pages on thin trees but surely the embellisment may pause over these vices…

and yes I know it is from Nicholas nickleby but I have great expectations none the less and the point remains the same,  I love a taste of the Victorian epoch but I love the 20’s and 40’s and 70’sin )that is so clever, equal measure, as good as adding ice to beer to increase the quench.

Do you know about the beat hotel in paris, there’s some fine-looking photos of the time lying around the net, black  and white as they should be and how depressed I am of films of late, what has happened to the cinematic countryside where did it go, did it just vanish in spite of itself, was it bulldozed over, did they build a shopping mall on top of it, or perhaps a housing estate, low cost, government owned, or maybe a parking lot for Toyota, or better yet a theme park, a kind of never ever again land or a soccer stadium for 2010 yes I am assured of it , that was what occurred, we needed a new stadium to fit the fighting germans and the underpriviledged who were not or will not be there for the beautiful game but merely to sit in the beautiful stands, purse allowance, shelter or soccer money, wr’e a free country you decide you lazy mutt…

or was it evolution, that it was just eaten up and how long has it been since I stumbled upon something that really enthused, and how I hate these lamentations, but when did a sound or a scene  got this bottom off the seat, the corpus collosum in a state..really now, I listened to enter shikari for the first time a month or so back and was quite impressed but no feelings still linger such as for instance finding artaud as a virgin enters the apple orchard or the volta or the secret history

Its all so so, so,

Alas, lass, there is a incomplete wooden statue at the back of the room of an elephant being eaten by a lion and it impels me to think aloud speaking of elephants I was with the elephant man yonder and received a right bashing, about being unable to got hold of, cell phones not being on, pixies turning into runts overnight (and I’ve never been one for the fantasiacal) and some slipped proposal of marriage, he looked old, and I looked bored, he looked despairing and I smoked another cigarette, I love him much but I know he lies to me they all eventually do and his earnestness comes at a price ….for him, not I, for I do not lie, I just dance on by

Not even a kiss, just like the other one, just like the last one, the older they are the harder the fall, the older they are the easier retreat, reclaim no thanks, do not collect on reprisal, do not bother for she’ll find another and you’re sure to survive her

I am in trouble with the law, I am in trouble with his claws, and the ladies at the side of the road would not sell me black beer for fear that he was a copper and I was just being as usually improper

Somebody mistook my words for someone else and I wonder If I should chancge sex again, possibly maybe we all think we are someone else and when compared to ourselves are shattered

I couldn’t face going back to my old office, my corner where I used to type away for a tuppence, no I couldn’t do it today, I just turned on the engine and then slipped away

unjust knife thrust

unjust knife thrust

Im battling with the promises of a new hope, they told me it would come sooner or late they said you’ve just got to hold out, you’ve got ta have patience, lass, the neighbor always calls me lass, alas lass, been fighting with the closest company over trivialities, such as music too loud, lights too bright, face too sullen, work not done, money not earned, answers not given, dealers still phoning, smile gone awol, life no purpose. And is it so, I would say it is, no purpose to be exact, the skill and source for the word which I endear to follow has been lost, I’m bitching too much it is there, it will always be there, but not when I’m without meds, not when I’m without my brew, not when I’m in withdrawal, not when I’m stressed about the next minute, not when I’m trapped, not a lot I got, smartie pants. I’ve built a fair corner for myself, I’ve left friends, deciphered enemies, and ignored the arrogant, I’ve slept alone, kept abreast, and hidden from the bailiffs and now now let us witness what I will do.

So penniless and seeing no potential in the prospects I have been prone to thinking of a way out. The obvious is through my- that piece of paradise that afflicts my background thoughts, the needle and the damage done, the sigh the solit/ solicit ude, the noise of none. Then there is the gun, but no, its too  violent and clumsy a vehicle, its too aggressive and just plain absurd. No I still think if my liver survives from early morning wine and late night concoctions that the smooth nectar of the evening flower shall do me in time for a last refreshing and resounding breath just fine. I feel disappointment on my part as most I assume do but you, my lass, my I, were unable to complete never mind begin the most simplest of tasks that could potentially lift your lazy ass out of their minky nightmare, say a proposal for a picture or a paragraph for rejection  say a deposal  for stricture or an astrograph for direction