BRAIN REPORTING IN

thinking about hubris
& 

the things leather makes

dire straits in my ears & land

& i wonder if californias 

gone earthquake shopping yet 

for rubber japanese foundations

~

& an image flickers 

like a super 8 reel

of a cut-up speed freak

scrubbing his doorstep 

with vinegar from a dog bowl

& the same raggedy toothbrush

all day every methedrine day

his lover hides his despair

in the outline of sun-up surf

 

his hopes stashed on a chisel edge 

photo - Outline from the Dagenham Archive

FUCKTOWN CORE REDUX

there 
was 
a

fucktown CORE

booze rebellion

sneezing speed 
over 
dry 
hash cracks

deranged delusion demigods

high on IQ isolation

playing

ancient

music

in Englands quaint leftovers

~

&

the CORE went OUT

into nights dark answers

&

broke things
climbed things
redefined things

ridiculous

hilarious 
terrifying . . . 
. . . & true

~

&

we bled real blood
&
we bled metaphorical blood

in

the

face of the Nowhere & the Nothing

on

the

flat-bottle streets of video shops 
& wind-blown panic-chased rizla

waiting

always

waiting

~

on

the Bread Slipper Lane kerb stones

where the alleys of yesterday meet

&

on

the empty rec ground cricket crease

coughing blunts at the moon

we were
waiting

always

waiting

for

SOMETHING . . .

. . . more & else

from the42.ie

CORE

there was a CORE
a
fucktown CORE
of
booze rebellion / sneezing speed over the dry hash cracks
derranged and delusion demigods high on IQ isolation
playing
ancient
music
in Englands quaint 20C leftovers
and
out - the CORE went OUT
into 
the 
nights dark answers / asking brand new questions
and
broke things / climbed things / redifined things
as
ridiculous / hilarious / terrifying . . . never true
and 
bled real blood / bled metaphorical blood
in
the
face of the Nowhere and the Nothing
on
the 
flat-bottle streets of video shops and wind blown rizla
waiting
always
waiting
on 
the Bread Slipper Lane kerb stones
where the alleys of yesterday met
and
on
the empty rec ground cricket crease 
coughing blunts at the moon 
waiting
always
waiting
for
SOMETHING 
to 
happen

early jefferson airplane from mstrychowska.deviantart.com

EMPTY WEEKDAY AFTERNOON PUBS 199?

i'd
been hanging out with Dave
since he got 
a
license
and
an old green Cavalier 

it was knee deep 
in brown paper
take-away bags 
and
the
driving seat was broken and jammed in recline

i think he thought the mess made him cool
and
we
all
grew
our
hair

he
moved
to
Brighton for college

i
went
to visit


to do something
drunk
and easy
in
sea
air

i slept in the old uni halls
on
his
rough and dirty carpet 
with
jeans
folded up for a pillow 

light and noise coming in under the door

cold - itchy

turning cleaners away
in
the
disgusting early AM


people were reinventing themselves

making
up
new drug pasts

EVERYONE had spent the summer 
dealing speed and E's
to
bands
with impossible names

everyone
got uptight about j etiquette
and
hot-knife technique

arguing
with
the straight jocks and science bods
in shared kitchens
about noise
and
stolen food
and
fundamental political and lifestyle choices 


but Dave was still Dave
for a while longer

his room was ground floor
small bushes going autumn brown under the window
and
by
11 AM we'd had some weed
and
climb over the sill and laugh the five steps
to 
the 
back door of the union bar
and
we'd pour cider and cheap scotch
into our morning breath
and
rattle the Star Trek pin ball
till 
the cook turned up to fry lunch burgers
and limp onion 
with supermarket ketchup
and
ok
oven 
chips
in a fake basket
lined with fake newspaper


then
we'd dodge the train fare into town
and
shop
for
psychedelic vinyl
and
drink in empty weekday afternoon pubs

and i remember wishing then
that
i
could
spend my life in empty weekday afternoon pubs
drinking
and
looking at all the carved wood and dreaming


feeding 
pound nuggets
into the jukebox for Stones songs
and
racking
up
the
pool

from drinkingbrighton.co.uk