Thank god for Hugh Manatee,
because I was falling furrowed onto nebula following me
like a cast of characters borrowed
from bukowski's journals
Like summits blowing along the dusty wind
crowning the hearts and minds of twins
that know nothing about the sin lying between
the two eyes of their bedeviled birth.
I was falling onto friends deceived devilishly
Trying feverishly to keep their train keeping
the same path that has been creaking
a weeping journey through the old battlefields
where many men lay dying
Now my amigos practice the art of
escaping the fight
and
becoming the common denominator
whilst,
I
(like a clock turning inwards)
am
the
un-identified
victor...
The switch blades of history slice savagely between vice and vitriol
ending the established trade between organism and alcohol.
Victory was always known
because the pendulum swings between each throne
above and below
high and low
heaven and heavens' fallen dough
that seeks to rise and to scorch
the souls of my own humanity
We've nowhere to stand and nowhere to hide
this is our century and we should fight for our pride
to uphold the memories of our mothers leashed
to the whip that holds the memories of our histories creased
betwixt painful tears bent brutally by the arm of the biters of the dust,
rising like turning maggots in a bed of frenzied fiends.
The switch blades of history slice savagely between vice and vitriol
ending the established trade between organism and alcohol.
And victory was always known
yet still lies out of reach.
And providence found me within light
Yet kept me bright at night,
and the hours of the devils most painful bringing called the land to uproot the roots of truthfull belonging
Yet I found myself falling into arms outreached
and friends bereaved allowed me to breathe in the truth of their soul.
And I found myself flying back to heavenly land
like a swallow supported upon luscious zephyrs
floating on oceans of virtue
waving like lands coming together
a reversal of our mundane history
flying up into the vocal chords of an angel
dancing between the strumming rythms of sons united
emerging in brilliant brio
as glorious smiles delighted
in the start of my sanguine embyro.
flying above the grovelling satan
pawning empty shells and soliciting his now forsaken
and digging graves for his taken souls
still swearing to uphold his searing downbringing
of all that is congenital of this creation.
From here Hugh Manatee gained fortitude,
like a letter delivered with sweet paradise
and Hugh was sent back to pulverise upon Satan's back
and to spread mettle amongst against his salaciously depricating smith of fear and fucking evil.
Monday, 8 March 2010
Monday, 1 March 2010
Letter to a freak
_...each heartbeat pulsates through this cigarette in my lips.
I am the council._
_And isn't it weird when you lay your head down
and you can hear things.
Maybe it's a cockroach in your eye._
_Or maybe..._
_It's a fourteen year old girl carving sexually depraved words into the wooden floor panels..._
_Painstakingly breaking fingernails to release her tension._
_Maybe she is so lonely she hopes that people are looking straight at her
in the window reflections
of the awkward train
(if it weren't for the reflections, she would be totally alone.)_
_And as the whistles blow
in the porcelain bowls,
she tries to gather the fine dredges of humanity,
but they escape her clammy shiver-fingers._
_She's feeling:_
_Deep entrapment._
_Hollow meaning._
_Bitter reality._
_The sucking twilight._
_The disemboweling doubt._
_She can't see when she writes
as the train dips into the funneling tunnel._
_I knew this because I have been there before,
but before I could explain this too her,
she dropped quietly to the floor and vibrated like a stolen phone
that nobody wants to answer._
_As the train bellowed up from the underbelly I began to read what she wrote; we both flinched into the stark sunshine:_
_"Girls fuck for security -
they offer their bodies for hope.
Guys offer girls 'security' for sex.
Usually this security lasts for no longer than three months.
That's still longer than He ever cared for me..."_
_I flipped the page..._
_"There are so many fucking beautiful women here.
In my mind I am suggesting to myself that they are whores,
sluts and skanks. Just like... me."_
_"If I don't downgrade them I end up in deep depression. All I want is the truth 0 Oh woe is fucking me in the ass. I am a moral-sex-crime-victim."_
_I flipped the page..._
_"Why the fuck isn't my love life happening like normal?
What is the fucking lesson to be learnt?
I'm fucking cringing, I'm burnt...
I just want to be myself in a world accepting...
A world normal..."_
_I flipped the page as she shuddered intensely, but my eyes wouldn't move and my body was in rigor-mortis - she was close._
_"Life makes me want to punch things.
What the fuck is the fucking lesson!?"_
_"Lurking lumps in the carpet are Satan's fallen angels.
Tripping me up inside my own abode.
And I fall, I fall. I fall."_
_"I stumble and I tumble and I crack and break like the stained glass windows of an abandoned Church."_
_"I'm in my home alone,
on my twisted back,
reaching for the phone
that broke against my cheek like a cold slap.
I see my Mother staring straight at me,
watching like a bat in the night,
uncaring to myself and my plight.
Screaming just so she can bounce the sound-waves and find herself."
She skirts across the horizon,
wobbling across the room
like my narcissistic nightmare.
She's undying as I wait for the son.
My sun."_
_"But dreaming is interrupted as I am shocked forth into screaming matches.
I'm not a goal-keeper, I'm not an umpire.
I can't even find myself let alone understand who you are and what you want.
Little fucking cut-off-cars break and weave and throb like bastard bombs that drop like tombs full of my breaking womb."_
_My sweaty fingers flipped the pages... dripping hope like blood..._
_"My speakers can't go any louder.
And I'm too tired to speak in metaphors.
I'm too tired to even yell or scream."_
_"Peering through my uncared for and unclean window I can see
the evening star peering down at me.
Gazing from the heavens,
tearing righteously through my crumbling, burning sanctum.
Bass tones bubble below as random veterans come and go -
fucking my mother like a fucking hoe."_
_"And at my age I shouldn't feel this low.
The only friends I see are the ones who come to see me go.
And I have passed away, oh, old Row...
And what day is it?
Nobody even fucking knows."_
_I flipped the page like a novel in my own mind..._
_"Everywhere I law down heat grows
but it's a combustion that comes from things that decompose.
I just want to release and to let go and to blow up in bright fury.
But my life is out,
and so is my jury."_
_"And they still speak in tongues
hovering over their porcelain bowls
watching their fine dredges of humanity
get sucked down into their bowels."_
_"Looking back I realise that the oh-so-strong walls have become cracked.
And I realise that I may fall into a dream,
or a nightmare,
and never come back."_
_"These are the days of nothingness.
Banality and boredom has nullified pleasure and amplified pain.
I can't even walk outside without seeing terrible beauty.
Tonight is his birthday.
I may or may not go..."_
_"...Despair..."_
_"I got a feeling I know some things
about people
who might just want me
to never wake up."_
_I didn't need to flip the next page. Her writing slipped into a scribble - the picture painted only moments before her pen fell from her hand and she dropped to the floor._
_From that moment on I wanted to know what she knew,
and so I shook her, and held her, and cried tears down upon her poor body
but she never woke up._
_She never woke up._
_And from that day onwards,
I have never been able to sleep._
I am the council._
_And isn't it weird when you lay your head down
and you can hear things.
Maybe it's a cockroach in your eye._
_Or maybe..._
_It's a fourteen year old girl carving sexually depraved words into the wooden floor panels..._
_Painstakingly breaking fingernails to release her tension._
_Maybe she is so lonely she hopes that people are looking straight at her
in the window reflections
of the awkward train
(if it weren't for the reflections, she would be totally alone.)_
_And as the whistles blow
in the porcelain bowls,
she tries to gather the fine dredges of humanity,
but they escape her clammy shiver-fingers._
_She's feeling:_
_Deep entrapment._
_Hollow meaning._
_Bitter reality._
_The sucking twilight._
_The disemboweling doubt._
_She can't see when she writes
as the train dips into the funneling tunnel._
_I knew this because I have been there before,
but before I could explain this too her,
she dropped quietly to the floor and vibrated like a stolen phone
that nobody wants to answer._
_As the train bellowed up from the underbelly I began to read what she wrote; we both flinched into the stark sunshine:_
_"Girls fuck for security -
they offer their bodies for hope.
Guys offer girls 'security' for sex.
Usually this security lasts for no longer than three months.
That's still longer than He ever cared for me..."_
_I flipped the page..._
_"There are so many fucking beautiful women here.
In my mind I am suggesting to myself that they are whores,
sluts and skanks. Just like... me."_
_"If I don't downgrade them I end up in deep depression. All I want is the truth 0 Oh woe is fucking me in the ass. I am a moral-sex-crime-victim."_
_I flipped the page..._
_"Why the fuck isn't my love life happening like normal?
What is the fucking lesson to be learnt?
I'm fucking cringing, I'm burnt...
I just want to be myself in a world accepting...
A world normal..."_
_I flipped the page as she shuddered intensely, but my eyes wouldn't move and my body was in rigor-mortis - she was close._
_"Life makes me want to punch things.
What the fuck is the fucking lesson!?"_
_"Lurking lumps in the carpet are Satan's fallen angels.
Tripping me up inside my own abode.
And I fall, I fall. I fall."_
_"I stumble and I tumble and I crack and break like the stained glass windows of an abandoned Church."_
_"I'm in my home alone,
on my twisted back,
reaching for the phone
that broke against my cheek like a cold slap.
I see my Mother staring straight at me,
watching like a bat in the night,
uncaring to myself and my plight.
Screaming just so she can bounce the sound-waves and find herself."
She skirts across the horizon,
wobbling across the room
like my narcissistic nightmare.
She's undying as I wait for the son.
My sun."_
_"But dreaming is interrupted as I am shocked forth into screaming matches.
I'm not a goal-keeper, I'm not an umpire.
I can't even find myself let alone understand who you are and what you want.
Little fucking cut-off-cars break and weave and throb like bastard bombs that drop like tombs full of my breaking womb."_
_My sweaty fingers flipped the pages... dripping hope like blood..._
_"My speakers can't go any louder.
And I'm too tired to speak in metaphors.
I'm too tired to even yell or scream."_
_"Peering through my uncared for and unclean window I can see
the evening star peering down at me.
Gazing from the heavens,
tearing righteously through my crumbling, burning sanctum.
Bass tones bubble below as random veterans come and go -
fucking my mother like a fucking hoe."_
_"And at my age I shouldn't feel this low.
The only friends I see are the ones who come to see me go.
And I have passed away, oh, old Row...
And what day is it?
Nobody even fucking knows."_
_I flipped the page like a novel in my own mind..._
_"Everywhere I law down heat grows
but it's a combustion that comes from things that decompose.
I just want to release and to let go and to blow up in bright fury.
But my life is out,
and so is my jury."_
_"And they still speak in tongues
hovering over their porcelain bowls
watching their fine dredges of humanity
get sucked down into their bowels."_
_"Looking back I realise that the oh-so-strong walls have become cracked.
And I realise that I may fall into a dream,
or a nightmare,
and never come back."_
_"These are the days of nothingness.
Banality and boredom has nullified pleasure and amplified pain.
I can't even walk outside without seeing terrible beauty.
Tonight is his birthday.
I may or may not go..."_
_"...Despair..."_
_"I got a feeling I know some things
about people
who might just want me
to never wake up."_
_I didn't need to flip the next page. Her writing slipped into a scribble - the picture painted only moments before her pen fell from her hand and she dropped to the floor._
_From that moment on I wanted to know what she knew,
and so I shook her, and held her, and cried tears down upon her poor body
but she never woke up._
_She never woke up._
_And from that day onwards,
I have never been able to sleep._
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