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two little words that mean so much to me

even this morning

staring at illusions on the beach

rocks sinking into mirrors

sinking down down into that

ice cold abyss that surely

awaits our tepid blood and

unreliable bodies

we don’t

we don’t believe your supposed

descent

we don’t believe your self

inflicted detachment

we dont

we don’t believe that you will never write a good line again

but that was before the 10111 call

there’s this girl turning blue on our balcony

they apparently said

flashing lights

naloxone then red

all my heroes are changing clothes

who they are now

none of us knows

they’re taking photos of me

they’re taking photos of you

whatever -we write

no matter

we do

its strange that all i will leave behind

is these words

funny little words

funny little squiggles on a page

no house, no kids, no legacy, no business, no car, no riches, no regrets

just these funny little words

will be left

standing on the balcony last night

i let that warm sane narcissism wash over me

surrendered to its charms

if change is better than a holiday

then proverbs are better than psalms

the grass the sand this bed is cold

just like my skin

though all four have small beads of perspiration to remind what

warmth will feel like again

pretend for as long as it takes

thats what i tell myself this morning

after a good five hours of knocked out sleep

nay i am deluded

i can pretend as much as i can abstain

my drinking is way  off the charts

i’m embarrassed to tell the nurse

half a bottle of brandy, a bottle of vodca

a Spier savignon blanc, jagermeister shots and two spins

a few hits of the pipe, two shots to the arm

at least i finally passed out, i tell her with a grin

i never actively engage with any work that i do

work is like a foreign city

barely visible through the clouds

through the fumes of burnt bodies

there lies work

and i must remain detached and celestial

or face those very real consequences

and there is no honour in being burnt

weed makes me write

smack makes me right

i spent hours telling my stories to their blank faces

and they wonder why i’m scarred from the outside in

one more shot in the right arm is all thats left

i surmise

scary hands resting in front of me

the veins have gone underground

into hiding

tired i’m sure of the relentless hammering

of blunt needles

i try and trace those lines

up my arms under the ink

through the inside of the elbow

yellow and blue

punished and bruised

all for a ride to the insane plateau

bless

and boo!

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Escoffier would have scoffed

It felt like they were screaming it inside cages, horse legs in my room

Again tonight

Stoners on harbour fires, fires being lit just behind us

Grenades I have seen as big as rats

5000 calls, and it turned out to be the carguard with no toes

Who had the good stuff down here in hout bay

i must get back to

The sms I received from vusi read:

…………………………….nice to be see ugin

They’re constantly taking photos of nothing but coloured swirls in the life of an innocent lens

If I am alive this time next year

Those girls on welfare’s babies will be 5 years old and they’re not even worth that much

I remember how confused you were when I told you I loved 7 swans

And my 7 swans were you

Crowley had got to me to me,  his army of sluts

shaven head  messages

l I still need those cuts

upon my hand

drugs for drunks and a harbour that never fades

or has lost the ability not to shine

do as thou wilt

waterproof

 

become a witch

I scare myself

My insurance plan a planned assured apocalypse

Damaged image in the mirror

A promise of two for free

Impipi alert paranoid need

I love you I saved me burn marked effigy

Beach washed memory blood stained anatomy bruised loser no one listens refugee

 

I’m Gelhorned

 

Swept aside side of the road across from the convenient bank

Hanging off tracks

Asking to show him how to shoot one day

Ja bro that’s goiong to happen

Where do you stay

Is all you CAN say to break the silence

I am silent

Mumbling aobut past indiscretions

Yes mam you were very drunk yesterday

I didn’t realise they’d notice

I smell of ammonia and vinegar

Some toxic moonlight mess holes in the lace curtain

Ashes on the glass

The pillowcase was stained when you rang and offered me a gram for free

again

i’m Gelhorned

virgo

 

Delirium in softest chiffon clouds these kitchen walls

At the mention of you

You’ve moved away just like you always wanted too

 

We nodded our heads respectable respectively I’m sure you’ll be just fine

If love be a dove I’m shoved in a stole every time

 

Weighted and wined we dined yeah we danced

Like we’re old something new your patience in tethers

building little pieces of puzzle together

 

who was the  first to pass out?

I was never one to give out

sweating stars shooting up in my heart may have sinned

so you move on don’t look back

it’s a another lie that you trapped me in

don’t forget

that night on the couch on the street by the bay

I bled

You read

Like we were

Like we said

We’d obey

 

I’m just a kitchen dreaming of you

And the light that flickers under you

And I wish like we said

I’d get over you

But I do then I don’t

I’m too inside of you

 

A sigh defined by the last hit to last

Was a scared bird flying into panes

Of reinforced glass

 

Next time you’re around why don’t you stay for a bit

We’re living in the last days

Hear it I can feel it too too much anger into stagger

I flew over the states and you slit your wrists over it

 

I’m just a kitchen dreaming of you

And the light that flickers under you

And I wish like we said

I’d get over you

But I do then I don’t

I’m too inside of you

Cant you feel that I’m dying my heart

Is diseased fucked as fucked as they thought

No more vein left in crying

The fact that I’m dying

Is

I’m dead

 

Cant you feel that I’m dying my heart

Is diseased fucked as fucked as they thought

No more vein left in crying

The fact that I’m dying

Is

I’m dead

 

 

 

 

eloquence at its best from mr hoare and so pertinent to the historical spew of nonsense we have to crawl through on the current s.a scene…give me the present or future – the past is a cultural crutch for affirmative artistic invalids dying on development take aways eaten in 5 star restaurants whilst watching another episode of generations and staging the equivalent of winning a lost lotto ticket

 

lost notes

Whilst working in East Africa as a volunteer for VSO, I had occasion to visit the Hollywood club one Sunday night. At that time, 25 years ago, you didn’t see many dreadlocks on the streets as there were stigmas associated with the Mao Mao. Rastas were stereotyped as “Banghi Smoking Wahuni” throughout East Africa (Hooligans who smoked weed).

 

from the original 1925 manuscript version of his completed General Theory of Relativity to a postcard sent by Einstein to his ailing mother Pauline on 27 September 1919.

Written just after he had heard that astronomers observing the previous May’s solar eclipse in West Africa had seen “star displacements at the sun’s edge” thus reinforcing a key prediction in his developing theory, it says “Dear Mother, Good news today… N A Lorenz has telegraphed me that the British expeditions have definitely confirmed the deflection of light by the Sun. Unfortunately Maja has written me that you’re not only in a lot of pain but that you also have gloomy thoughts. How I would like to keep you company again so you’re not left to ugly brooding.”

“history is a nightmare from which I am trying to awake”

‘ God is a shout in the street.” ulysses

Piero Manzoni went towards the negation of colour altogether. Art he argued emphatically “should be totally white – or rather totally colourless – removed from all pictorial phenomena… a white which is in no sense a polar landscape, an evocative or even merely beautiful pictorial, a sensation or a symbol, or anything else of the kind; a white surface which is a white surface and nothing else… indeed, better still, a surface which is and nothing else: being.

 

American constitution Benjam Franklin was asked about how to provide best security for the nation. His reply was   “Any person who desires security above liberty deserves neither.”

But is this how it has to be? Does the artist really face a choice between losing their talent to drugs, or their edge to sobriety? in this country neither, you either bend over or kill yourself bending over backwards

 

 

de Crack house

It’s strange how sickness feels so right,
as the only true reaction to any action.
when dreams and release are paid for in producing self-loathing amounts of crap.
because norms are heavily taxed forms to avoid.

response

oh contraire, no attack at all, and as much as i can surmise from what i feel no negativity…. only sadness from both my own and ….and our ilk s’ debacles. if art and the magic true artists spin are not meant to be infused, enjoyed and shared then i would keep my opinions to myself. if from your implication to my life and comments i deduce is a suggestion of the kind of world you would like to live in where we don’t care and celebrate or even weep and mourn and encourage each other, an emotive apartheid of real feelings then i guess its your choice…and the good ship  has finally hit that icy burg… but as another human being and feeling very close to those very same dichotomous alienating/pleasing/subservient/insecure and reclusive reruns of this tirade then no i won’t keep them to myself. yes i do think he enjoys his addictions as i do, we all do, how can you not. you’re entwined in a world that is able to knit together experiences and trances like no other…….its fuckin sexy, its the height of self everything,,,,its the perfect Fitcaralldo moment….but but… but… larger the unravelling of every precious thing you hold dear is the price. thus my ‘the greatest love affairs always end reflection’….reflection, better to have loved and lost, but better yet to lose the whole sense of being loved and in love with these kinds of obsessions than the indifference you have to sacrifice in order to attain them. personally i don’t thnk its worth it. not to anyone with anything to give and those of us, as … i believe, who hold such strange enchantment its a seductive and elusive and fleeting idea that can never materialise unless you jump back into the branches of that faraway tree to ground yourself and put experience into prose. it suiting him is metaphorical meant in no other way. but yes the suit is a size too small anyway if you would want to get into semantics….i’m a big boy now. and yes i have a lot to learn but not about the present at hand, it’s detonated and all that will be left is a once loved vision as residue

i’ll buy from you too

black dog bitter

in assuming you know who i am

i’m addicted to routine is it worse now on or off the game

it might just be except the same

things that used to happen

hurt so much more and handwriting mixed is as confusing as before

if i hold my pen into the night maybe i’ll sleep allright or just die tonight

still not the same it depends on flow, thoughts that won’t stand up in any court of law

fight the good fight don’t need no help

keep your hands up defend yourself

when flowers drown

 

a desirable case

desist – silent my love hanging

hangers..hangers on

resinging songs about singing

songs listening to songs

oh song

i’m always so very wrong

as the influence is stacked the case the case

a so sorry face from a distant place

we just ran

then to sit and listen again

they insist

i resist

 

i glimpsed into their liver

today i have seen

two dead lizzards

and cigarette effigies

sense of smell important but bad

i’m sicking up my sick

 

‘It’s strange how sickness feels so right,
as the only true reaction to any action.
when dreams and release are paid for in producing self-loathing amounts of crap.
because norms are heavily taxed forms to avoid.

I wish the world could just let go, and let me flow for a while.
I wish my armS were strong and could lift me up for a while;
to give my feet a rest from the ground.
to rather hang on to something touching it, than being near it myself.
Because the ground smells like iron
and iron smells like pain.
And my head hurts when I refuse to notice.

Hope you’re fine and hope you’re well
dvcxxewwqssvwhope you find a place where better grows taller than worse.’ some not or email from someone i cant remember

cars with a view

too many forged scripts  count on one hand not enough I guess I’m losing my favourite crying game but sunday night was an armed breeze filled with hills the astute sky the dip and dives the ants under the keyboards, laughter surrender says  a mighty truth for the warrior who wishes some finality over the sheets in the early evening..drunken tears spilt on stupid words we all prayed for a sunny day and we found it in glasses like summer us cope with our lives

Pity the fast word they warned not even the anorexic dog is denied the tension of these human wounds stomach aches with us all unite, I spill rebuttals I then have to clean  the bruises vacant up we never shift or forget we just indulge digest and regret…how fair the shift and how fair the fair?

I keep a mind journey that falls from control and those insults mean well  little well when I’ve given the here a better thought I thought too much and then betrayed the cds trying to be dvds we spun them on something that was meant here to stay and like those 8 tracks they still all go away

This fight on fight off fight the fight you figure it out you have to finally see that  I’ve made up my mind like the glass the windows see much more than me..i wrote my last note ive cashed in my last phone I spent 12 years smoking and digging that bone away a special piece of  how does the Cure sound?…oh yeah I made myself so sick.. I wish Id stayed asleep today

Wrapped wondering aloof in this special space –  a blue casio tone to approve

And sheer pleasure dances in circles as if by telepathy whilst rampant grumbles echo a sullen bed because  a head is trashed with lack of empathy

Beauty drips out the electrical morning for those lost loves

She kept asking for an opinion one she knew could never be found

And I  slipped down below her panty line Id like to approve your surrender as you bopped your head bowed in the most incorrect time….how?…fuck two fuck three fuck four lying on the floor

You were never mine