THE FACE OF DEATHGLO FEAR

well 

youre a person
just a person
like an everyday person
of meat & appetites & deathglo fear 

well
youre just collateral damage

everyday collateral damage
in the culture wars

bullshit timewaste

of impetus & ignorance & fear

& i am happy to see you 

lighting the grey retrograde streets

of the plumb citys boar

with your optimist flags
of freedom & future & fandango 

in the face of everyones deathglo fear

IN AN EARFLAP HAT

in an interview
in a covered
sink estate walk thru

they asked him
if he had any
hopes for the future

we can only hope to keep
the robots at bay

he said
sat on the concrete
puffing a zoot
in an earflap hat

HANDS BLUFFING ON THE LAMB

yes

the past has already had you

& some settling of contents
may have happened in transit

but the future is hungry too

& may contain nuts

yes


~


play the long game
in the long dusk
with rainbow lego
& poundshop knives

prophets in your back pocket
hands bluffing on the lamb
until dinner time
& you wash your hands . . .

faux famine panic
in the cats green eyes

MIGHT BE A WORD IN GERMAN

 

i gone again

gone all absent 

in the Right Now 

reality orgy

its a veil-up

shutters-down

kind of thing

& theres probably 

a german word for this

but i dont know it

its like i am 

remote viewing my future
from way back when

you know ?

HE SENT A POSTCARD 1994

i keep on keeping on

sam andrew told me to

he sent a postcard
1994

then i had little on to keep

then i just rode the clock

& sams gone now

but still i say it all the time now

~

i keep on keeping on

storm drain child
now a real boy  

bursting with yesterdays

too late

& 

swollen with the future burn

too soon

but i have on to keep now

on to keep on keeping on

TEN YEARS A BLOGGER 3/5

 

ten years ago i started this blog

i wonder how to escalate this practice

i see no simple avenue of expansion

i have not yet become a painter

i find hashtags an optional side salad

i dream of a dedicated website

i dream of uploading to wordpress

i dream of a novel . . .

a genre novel but subversive 

literature by the back door

yes

i dream of reading into camera

to stripped down trip hop jazz

i might manage another short story

i need a new energy efficient technique

i do draw cats in ink

i have not become a painter

you may not be aware 

but repetition is likely 

everyday i wake up in the future

the past a fever dream

2011 still sounds futuristic to me

2011 hot sauce committee part two & bad as me

     lora hirschberg & pamela martin

     leywah gbowee

thank you for your continued support

h a t c h b a c k s o n f i r e .

b l o g s p o t .

c o m

DAWN STATION REDUX

this morning

i 
woke 
up
in the future again

all fuckity & drool-gagging 

& again

i am bone-marrow sick

from the 
street-cast
hallucinatory 
journey
but

grateful

grateful

grateful

she met me there

&

that i am not reset alone

in the rapid fire horticulture

of

the

dawn station terminus kitchens

~

i was a man-camera

in the past

yesterday

i exclaim to her

& now we are here

she exclaims to me

heading

for

tomorrows

carbon departure gate

disguised in noble apathy

going slow as that gets us

together

from theatlantic.com

2 POPS

DEPARTMENT OF HEALTH

maybe just maybe
i am more normal
than i know

i say out loud
to the snoring cat

poking my shit
with a pencil

catty catty
come see the consistency

&
call the department of health



REAL TIME UPDATES

the
watch
is
an
arrogant
little
machine

it will mock your efforts
if you let it

strap it to your body

&
its victorian wheels
tell you
exactly
how
far

into the 
        future 
you are 

       travelling

from watchuseek.com

SUGAR MOUNTAIN

    that
fiery blowhole spume 
unkowable & barbed
wired in denim tubes

beak-hole 
slug-trail
bottled milk
on the 
get home
dawn doorstep

    that
intradimensional
mad
light

    that 
    was
my sugar mountain

i can see it from here


~


    here-
jelly on a marrowbone stick
bully beef belly
under a check shirt tent

teenage residue
&
the 20s tidemark 
call for validation
call for recognition
grip slipping 
on the
middle age
bitter valley 
hillside

my sugar mountain-

    can
   see it
  from here


~


    here-
hyper reality slips in
on a backbrain shoehorn

echoes
round
the
normal
chambers

painting mundane hours
a different colour weird

    its 
stoned-eye overhang
of 3 AM underside 
drunk & glowing
in the face
of warning alarms

    well 
i woke up in the future

& my sugar mountain . . .

    i can 
    see it
   from here

from sylviabrowder.com

2 MORE HOME POPS

SPRINGWINTER

bare foot
on the
back lawn
the energy
feels
weird
in this springwinter

outdoors
is
like
under 
the thunder carpet

all waiting
for a boom




RIND IN A KITCHEN SINK

poem came
last night

a puffer fish ether mumble

inflatable castle
back brain inaccessible 

too milky weak
for
this
pragmatic & robust
grey 
wall
dawn

from thelife-animal.blogspot.com

ITS NEVER HERE WHEN I WAKE

eyes shut
i tumble some

and something happens
and i dance inside

kind of - its blurred

like its the past in there

or
a
riddle
of days to come

and theres a book there i read from
thats never here when i wake

POP #1010

your wet motor 
approaches byproduct obsolescence 
in 
the 
loam of mechanical dawn

hail the fickle union
of fantastic wahey

bleak oils weak future 
must but forgive us now

and pull up another chair

for another soft meat side order
naked
in
the
complicit cafes continuum spiral
of 
neon nostalgia happy days 

gimp limp disguised
in revival shoes

from timesunion.com

OVERTHOUGHT

and its hard
isnt it ?

ruling this avatar all day

we walk into the nothing
that used to be a future

and there we build
or we break
one pointless way or another

until the planet
it comes round again
and
we
stretch out

finished 

and fall into a mad sleep
with no say on the matter

and there we give away control
protected
by

old brick and metal tricks
habit and mutual agreement

overrated
on the 
cheap sheets

underused and overcharged

from onlinescamwebsites.com

FILED UNDER F FOR . . ?

'the more things change
the more they stay the same ?'

discus . . .

as i age and wrinkle and fail
elegant 
like the blues
or good leather

or a ratmonkey in a radiation bath

anyway 
either way
the more some cliches ring true

~

is
this
wisdom 

i wonder

or the soft drugs
melting reason ?

or . . . oh no !

is it Conditioned Mind Jism ?

have They got me now
when i thought
They would never get me 
at all ?

~

assimilated !

i been assimilated

and
labelled
'sick; at home'

and
filed
under
F 

~

F for -
free
fighting
finished
feculent ?

or - future . . .

future and - fame ?

or failure

maybe even fiddlesticks

fajita . . ?

no its for fart
im sure of it

filed under F for 
'fart; disambiguation (brainal & relentless)'

from newscientist.com

THE FUTURE DREAMING

this 
temporary land
under 
temporary sky
of
adaptable truth
and
old gods new anger
is
a dream the future had
after
mescaline
and
cheese

 from gizmodo.com

TOO MUCH 2

too much inner dialogue of ill hot thoughts

to get my

burnt hiding mind round tomorrows real future

too much

so 

i

ran

from

the spot light of accidental university

to the retail rut of shift work mall 

killing me every dawn over greasy spoon breakfast

where time crushed its top hat 

standing on its subjective head

too much

too much - i poured neat cheap rum in bitter black coffee

and smoked a smokeless hash pipe

on the two trains home 

after found whisky and babbling high existentialism 

in 

that 

mad 

guys 

van

1988 ford escort by scott barrett

LISTEN UP

you hear something?

sure did mister . . .

the bang of future-now!

and
two
no
three
muggers in the car park
high-tops
crunching on the gravel

but you dont know that mister

you cant see them your lobes are tight with dioxide

thats stereotypes that is

have a look turn round see them in the streetlight?

yes mister 
three
pasty faces
and
suits
and
good shoes
their eyes weak with thin justification

and thats not gravel mister

no?

no thats the finger bones of the state
and
the
skulls
of
the
schools . . .

hand on your wallet mister 
and
keep moving
stay in the shadows

bide your time . . .