22 Jul 2011


Yellow circus left the stakes a broken ropes world's useless mug
The ties that bind, ha ha
I can be bad poet
Street poet
Shit poet
Kind poet too

Almost 4AM
Halloween night
Had enough to drink to make my own party
All my fellow writers in half costume, half asleep
Half silly, gone to seed

I don't mark my time with dates, holidays, faded wisdom, locked karma holders

I am made by my times
I am a creation of now
Shaken with the cracks and crevices
I'm not giving up easy
I will not fold
I don't have much
But what I have is gold

I saw your face...

I sing in platinum
I dress in brass
I eat in zinc
Let it pass

Compare a toast
I like that
I understand courage
I still roll with the shout of a character I was married to today
I try to see outside myself
I understand the eyes
Excuse all the highs
I am sorry
Ha ha

I like you, love you, every coast of you.
I've seen your eddies and tides and hurricanes and cyclones.
Low ebb tide and high, full moon.
Up close and distant.
I read you.
Look, the sky, the sea, the ocean, the sun, the moon.
Blue, blue, blue, blue, blue, blue, blue blue, blue, blue, blue, blue.
Naked and blue.

Breathing with you. Touch. Change. Shift. Allow air. Window open. Drift. Drift away. Into now.

I want Whitman proud. Patti Lee proud. My brothers proud. My sisters proud. I want me. I want it all. I want sensational. Irresistible.

This is my time and I am thrilled to be alive.
Living. Blessed. I understand.

REM. Blue.

19 Jul 2011

15 Jul 2011

Wow, guilt.

When you are attacked so frequently,
Softly and over time,
You remain hardened without any effort
At all.
Everything is practicality winning out.

For want of a better term.
Fear for
Defence and survivalism
And so on.

When your head is at 45 degrees
For most of the day,
Eyes open most of the
Your walls are at least chest high.
Jacket zipped -
Buttons fastened -
Laces tucked within your shoes to avoid any

Pretence will do where
Otherwise an air of alienation would envelope
And so an arms length becomes the
Normal unit of measure.
And so on.

When you live
Through these minor fluctuations of realism,
Never quite gaining a foothold on
Solid ground,
Always being the lost puzzle piece,
Everything is suspect.
Second guesses lead to a third and to the
Nth degree.

And so this leads me
To yesterday,
In the middle of a playground sandpit
Walking away from a young girl
Who was just trying to be friendly.
My auto response button stuck down.
Before even feeling the sand shift
Under my feet,
I am away.

Maybe she was normal,
Maybe she was a freak.
Though if she wasn’t she didn’t give me the
Secret handshake we freaks like to exchange
Under tables in small Parisian cafes.

And either way
She’d probably watched people walk away from her
All her short
Who knew?

Again and as usual
All of this had to be brought to my attention
After the fact.
(For someone so interested in human behaviour
I seem to be remarkably
Insensitive to other peoples feelings...)

I took it all away with me and forgot about it
Until this morning, when I kind of felt what she
Or must have.
And it was nothing.
Neither sadness nor rejection but
The normality of it all.

Oh look -
They’re leaving me alone
Sitting here in the playground with
My sandals off and little
Red painted toenails
Peeking up from beneath the sand.
No surprise at all.

And my stomach hurt for a moment
And all those other things
Inside and out
Cumulus rain clouds
Pins and needles
The survival
Pretence and
Minor tricks of the moronic
Trickling down the back of your neck
They all
Gained a little perspective.


Even if it did have musical numbers, I liked it...

A photograph

of Jake by Mark J. Which I liked - so posted up. Why not eh. Though what are those 3 lights in the sky about? Are they just street lights - or the Summer Triangle? Coincidence or some subtle Illuminati code? You decide, I don't care either way. From the Alley.

14 Jul 2011

Hail Mary Mallon

If you have to ask, you'll never know.


About a hundred years ago while Lu and I were in San Francisco, in one of the last bars where you could still smoke, we were sitting up on a dark balcony listening to the DJ play a really good set of classic hip hop while a projection played on one of the wall. The projection was a series of looped films by Charles and Ray Eames. Most people usually recognise their Eames 'Lounger' chair more than anything else they did - and they did a lot. These guys were polymaths - and pretty much borderline geniuses in my eyes.This is one such film - a deceptively simple idea elegantly executed. Take the time to YouTube some more and read up on them as the work is really inspiring.

7 Jul 2011

Imagine a plucked, white skinned turkey that won’t shut the fuck up, and you’ll be halfway there.

Suffering is a state of mind
If indeed you have a mind
The ability to speak does
Make you right minded
Or left in a field of daisies

And yet – HARK - this
Fills the air
Hanging there
Like a wet towel stinking and
A damp taste on your

And you are left
Craving ice and mountain air
And you are left wanting to
Hike the north face
Granite hard and clear as day
Left open mouthed
Eyes raised to the rolling flurries
That keep you upright on
Your spikes

But instead we hang beneath cars
Sucking giant tail pipes
Suck up the grey motherfucker
This is what we do
Accept it

And you are right
Craving acceptance and credibility
And you are left alone
With no one to face
Granite hard and black as night
Open mouthed
Eyes raised
Upright on your spikes

And by the way
Pig or warthog
They’re all the same
Gobble, snort, rut, fuck, die.

Quote of the day

“I have never grown out of the infantile belief that the universe was made for me to suck.” Crowley.

6 Jul 2011

The wrong time

The big man came in
Not slow but still looking as though formed of concrete
They were both champs and the smaller one
Started to duck and weave

The first was usually a measuring game
Feel the other out
Time it right
Then come out swinging from the 2nd onwards
Unless we’re talking about Hagler/Hearns
Those two fought the first like it was the fifteenth

Arms were up
A few jabs tapped
Side to side
On the back foot
This went on

Both neutral
The odd flurry
Frequent slips
Stoppages and

This went on
Until it became clear nothing was going to happen
And though frustrated at the lack of contact
Cheated almost
I felt good at least I hadn’t paid to watch the thing live

Our champ swung the overhead right
Time and again
Like the uppercut had never been invented
I kept thinking of Iron Mike and how he’d work his way inside
From the bell
To the end of the story

Their champ just stood
Grappled and raised his eyebrows
As though waiting for a bus that was never

I knew the feeling
It was the start of the week
I was sick with a cold
Sick with hatred for the world
Sick with self confidence

I practiced my breathing
Managed 45 sit-ups
Distracting at least my body for a time
If not my mind
I made vows I knew I’d break before sunset
Lies I tell myself

To help me fall asleep each night
I thought about writing and then thought
And realised I never – hardly
Write at home anymore
Alone or outside
In the old dark corners of coffeeshops
My refuge all those years ago

It’s always at the job now, I thought
Trying to hide it
Disguise the real work as theirs
Stopping and starting
It’s not the right time to do it – I thought

But there you go
Let’s go
Carry on
Come on
Arms are up
A few jabs tapped
Side to side
On the back foot
This goes on

Bar the odd flurry
Frequent slips
Stoppages and

This goes on
Until it becomes clear nothing is ever going to

Quote of the day

Society is no comfort to one not sociable. Shakespeare.

True Grit

Watched this last night. Bit of a strange ending if you ask me - but Jeff Bridges is still the man. And Corey Webster plays the bad guy.