Saturday, 19 April 2014

SUPERTIRED !



strange how exhausted a man can be
with 
mind-fog a north wall of dense smudged graffiti 
and
still 

all at once

can
plan evenings of seaside-dinner and cafe-words 
he might miss 
and
still
can
suddenly plot crime novels bent on the work toilet
he may never write
and
still
can
work his heavy limbs for folding money
thru the murky muddy troughs of awful 10 AM
and
still
can
jot and scribble nascent poems quickly down
between
dark bitter coffees and spacious abyss moments 
that 
reduce All Things from rocky mass to mere paper concept
with
still
the 
big world-drama banging like jungle telegraph
out the radio headlines and dim-opinion gossip mouths
that
fill
full
every
long
slow
blink
of tiny interrupted peace




from delightmakers.com

Friday, 18 April 2014

GLASS HALF FULL SCENARIO



the glass is half full
when
youre
half
way
thru
filling it

with deep red wolfblass
or
golden gin

like i used to do

(tho now its all filtered water
and
dark bitter teas)

and
the
glass is half empty
when
youre
half
way
thru
drinking it

like on a monday night draining warm cider and cheap scotch
like
i
used
to
do

(tho now its all filtered water
and
dark bitter teas)

or
am
i
taking
it
too
literally

again

?



from foodriot.com

Wednesday, 16 April 2014

THERES TWO



kinds of cbt

one
helped
me
when 
i
thought
nothing
could

the other - 
i'm
not
keen
to
try



cbttherapist.co.uk



Tuesday, 15 April 2014

IT IS SAID



that no sparrow
compares
itself
to
an
eagle

this is accepted therapeutic wisdom
to
enable
us
to
find
peace

but might not that sparrow
compare
itself
to
another sparrow
whos younger healthier plumper
and
sings
louder
from a higher branch ?

or
do
i
miss
the
point

again

?



nationalgeographic.com

Monday, 14 April 2014

PEOPLE



are like rain

or
rats

which ?

people are wet 
and
falling

refreshing too

also

hairy
fat
rutting

and
germy bad-rep parasites

and
eat
rubbish

but

make rainbows too


dilemma !





scientistatwork.blogs




Sunday, 13 April 2014

OBSERVATION FROM FUCKTOWN NANDOS



buzz sided petrified hair
with 
piled tops of sculpted ice cream 
or 
yellow cartoon surf waves
over
baby young white faces somehow startled
at
what
theyve
done

and all their trousers - pale stretch denim
or
thin grey jogging fleece
are
all snug carrot shapes
with
loose hanging heavy nappy crotches
make
their torsos long and weak
and
their
legs dwarf stumpy

and their feet wear flat fabric things
their
grandfathers would stroll in brand-new on UK beach holidays
or
stand in self consciously on Norfolk boat decks
lost
now they already got a paper in some strange lollipop shop

and in bold pattern t shirts with tight crew necks 
and
primary colour baby pockets
and
rolled cap sleeves showing weak childs arms
and
pastel feminine cardigans or knitted hoodies
washed out 
and 
flimsy
under englands lame grey

and slung awkward and empty-light
are
small bags of Burberry or Nike
that
hold iphones in rubber coats
and
Super-dry velcro wallets 

no 
knowledge of the decade they emulate
no 
high concepts or cocaine breakfasts
no
brown and beige seventies OD
for
context
of the colour explosion and juxtaposition 
and 
primary 
jazz 
shapes



no one needs to know where this pic is from


Friday, 11 April 2014

MOVIE SCENES




its like a movie

scene - restaurant/chilled water/us together
   (a waiter barely table height
   drops profiteroles-to-share)

   she walks to the toilet/disappearing
   THEN
   my mauled soul yells me a wide fib

it says; you made her up/you here alone

scene - fussy mother waitress looking at me
   all care and cow eyes
   the
   jet-world rattle of restaurant
   rises
   to
   a hitchcock crescendo 

again it says; PROVE youre not alone

suspense movie now - the mad final reel
cold sweat pricks its tickle fingers round my hairline

scene - i’m staring at her coat on the chair back
        wondering/asking/pleading
   did i put it there?

scene - she walks back to me
   i say PINCH ME!
   she pinches me
        laughing
   at
   my
   suspicious

   eyes



theculturaldish.blogspot

Wednesday, 9 April 2014

THE BACKPACK OF DARREN GREY



A new-starter clutches beige copybooks, bounces up the top-deck heading to home cooking, week one under his new George belt.
Sixth-former falls into seat behind like loose lumber, tie short with wide slack knot and strokes his soul patch, bops a plastic bottle on a silver rail.  Backwash swims around in the neck like low tide.
Outside autumn falls to the floor in amber flakes.  A Knife Awareness sticker peels away on the window. 
‘Listen up!’  He bottle-bops kid's bonce.
The surprised kid fumbles his fringe back into sleek shapes, lamps innocent.
‘See that sticker?  Knives?  You heard about Darren Grey?’  Sixth-former says.
‘Finking on a lunchbag?’ 
‘Darren was a unit; got a cautionary tale.  About knives.’
Bus shakes and starts out into slow traffic.
‘Be careful what you wish for; message straight off!  Darren Grey had epic bad skin, didn’t look anyone in the eye, hunched inside his fleece collar ALL the time.  Even summer.  No catalogue-shopper though.  More spot than skin!  Clique of wannabe Barbie’s, mumblers, planned their boyfriends to jump him, bunch of Johnny No-Stars would have done it; burst the lot but I got Heather, right swamp-donkey, to Skype’n me on me ma’s ipad, told her it was a bad idea.  Stepped up for him.’
New-starter’s turned round, kneeling up, facing backwards.  Bus babble a background blur to him.
‘No one hardly took the piss neither.  Never seen the blue goldfish even.  Untouchable!  Skin DESTROYING him.  Always alone.  Collar up eyes down.’  Sixth-former continues.
Bus is rumbling between redbrick towns and farmer’s fallow fields.
‘Acne in geometric shapes!  Like alien language!  Tried to hide behind his fringe.  Hair was TOO fly-away.  MESSIER somehow.  Frozen in class KNOWING everyone stares - no EMPATHY; FASCINATED!  Nose ALWAYS shiny taut red.  Getting it, Youngblood?’
‘Spotty kid.  Suffering.’  New-starter squeaks.
‘Yes!  SUFFERING!’
The bus shakes into a high street.  Nail bars and takeaways.  Second floors feature faded ads.  New flats got sale signs stood inside.
‘Used to sit where you are.  At the front where no one could see his face.’  Sixth-former points.
Kid glances at the garish burnt orange bench.    
‘Found him in the bogs dodging woodwork gurning in the mirror. I was touching cloth!  He’s doing some catalogue pose, fingers covering up the worst of it.  Seeing how he COULD look.  Saw me and said I’M DOING SOMETHING ABOUT THIS.’ 
‘What’d he do?’
‘Next Monday not in.  Tuesday, his skin was clear!’
The bus stops opposite the station.  Coats and scarves scramble thru dragging double doors.  Then it dips into traffic, heavy with the day.
‘New Nike backpack.  All zips and pockets.  NEVER took it off!   NEVER OPENED IT!  NEVER TOOK ANYTHING OUT!  Got arrogant too, bogging everyone in the corridor.  Rumours of a knife.’  Sixth-former draws a cock in window condensation.
‘How’d he do it?’
The bus crunches over loose gravel and grit lost by lorries lumbering off the small quarry’s weigh-bridge.
‘Hid in the chemistry teacher’s class at breaks.  She’s all kinder surprise but keg-legs, you know.  Saw them drive off after school on the Friday.’
     Backwash sloshes in the bottle.  Bus opens up into the outside lane. 
     ‘Wednesday wet break, pissing down sheets, flattening bushes.  I was down by science.  Darren’s in the demountable with her.  I creep up.  Investigating.  It’s weird - no one’s saying much.  She opens his bag with it still on his back.  She’s dabbing ointment inside the bag.  I got to see INSIDE that bag.  She gives him pills he takes.’
     Kid is an open mouth.  Bus slides up a slip road.
     ‘Next - lunchtime in the library.  Still raining.  Darren’s whispering to this girl never looked at him before.  I trigger the fire alarm.
     ‘The girl ran.  I blocked him.  He weren’t happy, moomyang you know?  I spin him round; unzip the backpack.’
     The bus stops by small semis surrounded by soggy wasteland, hungry horse’s dobby behind barbed wire. 
‘His blazer moved with the bag right?  Was stitched to his jacket!  Tug the zip back and there’s his bare back!  Fire alarm hid his squeals.’
     Bus turns into traffic steel ticking.
     ‘Come on!  I get off soon.’  News-starters rocking back and forward.
     ‘Me too!  So, fire alarm’s wailing, windows rattling, Darren’s struggling.  I get the bag open – inside of the bag is cut out!’
     ‘What you find?’ Kid all ears and eyes.
     ‘Giant-fucking-super-spot!  His whole back!  Many heavy-headed beast.  Red and white.  Bulbous and blind.  Scabbed and weeping.  Dry and wet-fresh.  All keggy.  He runs off.  I throw up, technicolor yawn.  Nearly boffed up me ring.  Anyway – his face all cleared up right?  By consolidating his acne in one monster bitch on his back!  Thru chemistry!’
     ‘Chemistry teacher did that!?’  Kid quickly looks thru the windows at where they are.
     ‘So, ended up in the bogs, dunny by science lockers.  Wind still fierce, rain sheeting down loud as fire alarm is.  I say sorry and he SEETHES!
     ‘Then she comes in.  Chemistry Miss.  Zips him up.  And he’s well angry, shaking, pulls a knife!  Stanley knife out of woodwork looks like.’
     She shove’s him backwards quick like she was waiting for it – his bag goes hard into a hand-dryer.  He screamed.  It burst . . . noise like wet leather.  Shotgun blast on a camel hump.’  He strokes his soul patch.  Eyes far away.
     Bus stops at traffic lights showing red.
     ‘Blood floods the tiles.  So dark.  Scream cuts off sudden.  Falls down on his face bag all wet flaps.’  Sixth-former shudders.
     ‘She goes, I CANT HELP HIM ANYMORE, YOU BEST GET OUT, her eyes all wide.  I left.’
     Kid stands.  ‘Got to get off.  Quick!’
     ‘Never heard anymore about it.  Rumours of him moving away but he had to be dead.  Enormous wound.  Had to be.’
     ’That’s all?’
     ‘Yep.  Beware what you wish for.  Don’t carry knives.’
     He shot downstairs, out the doors and looked up.

     The bus pulls away.  The sixth-former slowly makes his way down bopping his bottle of backwash.

LONG STORY SHORT



you
are
what
i
thought
could would never happen

so i drank

and
when
i did stop drinking
you happened

so no one dare to wake me from my tangerine dream now
or
remind me of the bottle shop way







Tuesday, 8 April 2014

BEHIND GODS BALLS



dawn's sun is Gods Yellow Anus
he
shows
like
a
cat
would

and
tho
now

all the Tired Torn Trees
glow like Delicate Naked Gold
and
all the Crushed Tins and Ripped Foil
shine like Left Treasure
we
need
not
hunt
for
anymore

when

he tugs back up his Dusk Sky Strides 
and 
extinguishes his Rectal Laser
the
trees
once more appear Harsh Woven Nightmares
and
the Free Glittering Treasure
just
a
trail
of
tramps
or
drunks







lifesucksandthenyoudie blogspot 


Monday, 7 April 2014

PEOPLE -



rescue your exiled wonder
from
the
glass prism of opinion faces 
and diode creations
and
look
with
it
on
the crazy reaching trees
and
the mad half parts of worms
and
see
the black belts we buckled Mother with
and
the
folding window walls we raised 
to tease Her with us and us with Her
and
to
keep
Her warm soil hands off our ignored origins
so
we
might
pretend
to
be
more




outdoorscreens.com

Saturday, 5 April 2014

BREAKDOWNS REALLY


saturday night london basement
escaped mothers dance like strippers with staring fakesters
and me
i’m moody drunk and high
staring down at the kickers and box fresh converse
some nobody saying
IT AINT ALL BAD YOU KNOW
to my dead face of whisky misery-thunder
and
then
cab rolls us south in silence
and it is like magnets – our hands
i can’t not – tho i shouldnt
and its ok - i think i am helping you
and anyway we’re all having breakdowns really
and then we’re drinking more
under the heathrow flight paths
and you fall asleep on me
i got one arm to drink with – reach for the valium with
and i wake you at dawn
for drunkards breakfast
of
coffee
unfinished toast
cigarettes
and
i leave with no job and half the bus fare
and really i wasn’t helping at all
cos
we’re
all

having breakdowns really




http://browngirlnextdoor.com/tag/converse/