Tuesday, 27 March 2012
An offensive horizontal squall
drives me inside the temple.
a fish and chip supper –
salt and vinegar?
wrapped or no?
smash my backdoors in?
she looked the sort:
greasy mucky vulgarian;
a first date engagement ring
a dirty piece offering;
wife material –
umbra pew hue hid;
a dim picnic
my hand-held brain,
rude vibrating disturbance ;
dumb phone: The Cougher
It’s the man from downstairs,
No – not Him!
The static tenant
until further notice,
in the room beneath my own;
I hear him constantly coughing up
thru Edwardian floorboard cracks.
a punitive, accusatory grating,
an irritation beyond the pure motion
of mucus and clot shifting.
putting me off my scoff;
I am unable to feed above him.
predictably he coughs in code, via satellite,
I terminate his orders
his brownness endures
hacking at my appetite –
a nicotinic aide-mémoire.
the notion of his cancerous animation
perished any thought of
I abandon the supper, concealed;
a blasphemous donation stinking
to high heaven.
Tuesday, 20 March 2012
Locked-in syndrome, braindome held-hand;
future carbon - patch work puzzle,
helix splice seam, wired muzzle.
Interlace graft, skulldrome meld-gland;
foil reflecting, seat ejecting,
prosthetic mind, data command.
Pig valve harddrive, clutch heart nuzzle;
locked-in syndrome, braindome held-hand.
Tuesday, 13 March 2012
"In the beginning was the Word"
The guttering light shocks
from the unhinging
of my egocentric
of a world.
butter fuel, bitter flies,
beautify the grizzle tides
neutralise the anxiety mill,
beatify and bless this thrill:
merman hells and shotgun shells
adjunct skids to the left hand lane
and electrifies my dribble drill
Scales and capsules
Crushing a sigh*
am I high?
Gravity gliding is the godhead riding,
Einstein thinking blazing sparks.
Gravity holding is the godhead grieving
the blackest ants swarm clustering quarks
thrive in larva amped Fukushima parks.
sentinel, red eyed Cyclops shifting Andromeda
pulsing, The Passion - all pains, quasar stretching
space, pitching and glimmer rifting, fission waves
exhilarating Eurasian plains.
blank dominion, chilling time,
splitting spasmodic, laser shine,
folding communion into the bone
line fracture of the ever crunching
missing me, always
Your sacred heart, broken, rising sun,
the vault, erratic chambers pumping tears,
and the tumult of toxic tilts and bleeds
and screaming spheres as cycles thieve
your greatest gift
the dimmer switch.
Projecting cones of
What is it, really?
2] In concreto.
With or without cancer,
the Red Crest is irritated
and humiliates the women
and the children first ;
for their own good,
they are tossed
Civilian casualty columns – babel ;
lined wall pillars of salty skin disbanding,
corroding motionless moats of motile tedium :
oxidised being, trickles cripples , ideologue crime,
rippling fury and dribbling fanatical slime.
a bucket full of silvered Slavic hair ;
rubber tubing, the wettest chair;
ginger perm ammonia cell
curled on unclean air.
Geiger counts an orange grove shoot,
singed gardens of gas and love bear fruit,
green and gold, spraying sex reactive,
fallout fucks features malformed but
this besieged city resembles Paris, Texas,
Troy, dehydrating, post-apocalyptic playtime,
evolving into an arid Arizonian test site ;
aerating; it smells like a place the authorities,
can’t control but want so much to destroy.
selling batteries and trading missiles
for bargain basement prices can be costly.
but cheaper than surgery or chemotherapy
in a Cuban brothel.
frustrated spinsters masturbate over David’s fate
power-hungry nuns and Oscar winning Mullahs
are rewarded with sex-toy gongs.
Holy Water springs forth froth,
mizzles rumble thunder gush.
actors and actresses depict
wide sectors of sin.
method thespian eradicators
swap cash for fair-trade candy ;
both real and fictional genocide
citizens frolic in provocative
fountains of liquidised
a biopic role of fat is tested ;
this whole picture is malignant.
Chicken or egg
hammer and sickle,
roasted or fried
harvest this riddle
If you, there,
messing up the middle,
was a blotch on my disfigured face,
I would squeeze you to pop
with my manicured nails
then splash your muck
over an outer space.
On my sphere you are the blight
oh retrograde brother,
unenlightened mother fucker
hear this ;
your Lord and Master may at first appear frightening
but it’s your obliviousness that’s flying a kite
into the illogical lightening
open the belly
of the king.
Enlighten men t’ scorch
the pestilence :.
“In the end was the mop”.
Tuesday, 6 March 2012
The producer has constructed a single tower:
A bad trip barbican with book depository allusions.
A massive three dimensional obelisk,
Gemini structure, identical repetition.
a monument of mirrors reflecting
the action – the happening,
the expiration of the whole enchilada;
reality as a grotesque event, Warhols
fantastical conceptual theatre:
an entertaining atrocity.
These proceedings are projected directly onto
a jumbotron monitor, fed into the head of
Madhattan and beyond the badlands of
segregation and cold war quarantine.
Take 1: (please)
On the horizontal flush peak of the spike,
an attractive amputated actor
nonchalantly nudges a glass snowdrome.
an ornament depicting a frenzied ritual;
darkest ebony troopers disco and exudate,
their naked musculature sheens
in the contained storm of speed:
out of shot a medicine man
orchestrates the hysterical
a cultural soothsayer
Andy was a visionary
the postmodern oracle
of 15 minutes of misery.
the villagers of the pod are ignorant of
their confinement and their fate:
(they play their part)
The Actor shunts this baby auditorium headlong,
using his corporate sponsored penis
(*think Goodyear blimp revised - P L A Y S T A T I O N*),
A Sony symbol tattooed on
each testicle bulging with gameplay.
(asian eye winks ;
inching it on, four and a half at a time,
(width ways shuffle method):
Syphoning the limits of a
breached seed case,
sniping the brink,
a cross clock sprung hair
clung unlicensed lice, dear life
inexorable free fall looming vista;
times square, the root of: all evil.
a slow procession,
stiff with starch.
[pausing] on the odd occasion
to flick ash toward the windy city
and roll a cherry around the rim
of the translucent repository.
His pathway is lined with pretty,
pregnant celebrities, (past and present)
fame fuckers, attention suckers,
on either side, a parallel guard of honour,
they cross must have items over
his obscenely wonderful head.
Actor drags his trunk along on a skateboard.
As he passes each exquisitely shaped, fat snatch
they submissively explode into vacuum packed bags,
an action akin to a smoothly violent melt,
a delicious spawning of hermetically
sealed sex and stinky, a special effect;
blades drizzle down the screen,
Actor wades thru, all the while
minding his bill board bollocks.
[Ball breaker heart acher]
I press pause, commercial interruption, I have begun to flag.
I catnap and dream of products, in this dream state city
I work a black and white, nine to five, Monday to Friday.
in the evenings I anesthetise my mind
with rich food, wine, superstar gossip
and a particular strain of pornography;
girls oiled by machines.
Fuckzilla, Intruder MK II, Sybian, The Satisfyher,
Titan, Tresspasser, Bunny Fucker, Scorpion,
The Snake, The Dragon, The Little Guy,
The Hatchet, The Fucksall, and The Octapussy,
(all available from FuckingMachines.com)
At the weekends I shop for garments and black coffee beans,
Inject alcohol into my mouth and look louche to access
mingling (alone) in groups of comrades and outsiders alike.
I am a soldier, hit man – wet man, gang bang slayer etc.
wasting persons or monstrosities Via my console selector
tin man/time waster
During this interval
I am distracted (slightly) by
organised media metanarratives,
arabian springs, Iranian nuclear heaviness,
recycling second hand bikes,
the war on terrible
backward brown people
Algebra architects springing
Zebedee rags heads
I hero worship old skool
rascist soccer stars and ignore
that picture on the news
of the brutally assaulted pensioner,
you know the one I mean?
her brutalised visage resembles
a blueberry and blood paintball catastrophe,
it’s the picture that allows my manhood to say
give me five minutes alone with the bastard (the assailant)
I ‘ll show him rape and pain
nonces and kiddie fiddlers
whack jobs and pervs
fucking evil invaders
irritate my threadbare nerves,
stuck with a shiv,
cut a cat. C
I am a wicked man
but these perverted immigrants
are worse than me.
His excessively exaggerated response
prompts me to leave in search of breath.
I take a drive in my plug-in
conscience easing carriage,
It costs a small fortune,
(I have to do my bit, even in my sleep)
and Chris and Gwyneth have five a’ piece.
I’ll take anything to distract me from the bomb whole science has left
where the churches used to be – always conscious of an absence,
never able to find the time to discover what I am missing while
the adverts play on my breakdown.
I wake in a cold sweat, Hudson breeze qualifying my chill.
A camera bird strafed and screeched:
Actor exterminates it, using his penis
as a promotional tool.
Madonna goes sppfff pop*)), Marilyn goes sppfff pop*)), Liz sppfff pop*)),
the other Madonna sppfff pop*)), Diana sppfff pop*)), Gwyneth goes…
Actor interrupts the succession to smash Gwyneth in the face with his bat before
she combusts into a bagged up, silky slush, of flesh for mass consumptives,
to gorge on, and chew over their tragedies, spread on raggedy ass couches,
Raquel, Winslet; all go boom, goes the last bust: home)))
and lo, behold, Gay Science (shes alive!)
My snail trail is literal
i left my legs in amongst
the mess and slime of
an Afghan vagabond beaming
freedom fighter light
into zarathustra's deaf and uncaring
Spake up: Have you seen him!?
I am incontinent, my guts
decorate destiny and Saharan
death scapes continued.
At the precipice point
I piss as the planetarium
glass drops into the abyss.
the final icon French kisses my long lost logo
and booms to bliss and beyond the fireworks,
fashionistas and body fascist sisters.
ticker tape tumbles
bay for blood as the
[Texas bookstore massacre 2]
I score some hash
from Grassyass Noel
the Mexican weed dealer
and sit on this greasy bank.
Actor, would be assassin,
cashing in a change is gonna come chips.
The president is dead
The president is dead
but why when
exploding Hitler’s bladder
did they have to call
that damned dog
we tried progression
we tried relaxed
we gave it all away
but in parrelax
the time is now
for the contrarian
the death of an Actor
the rise of the Dictator
the despot screw.
Made in china.