Fell over Again

Fell over again. (Hypochondriac dream cont.)

I fell over again the other day,
Doc said that it was another taste,
Of what was to come,
I shouldn’t look glum,
It’s not in your tum.
‘I don’t understand?’ I told her,
where is it then?
‘It’s in your head.’
That’s what she said
And stared at me incredulously.
‘But why is that?’ I cried!
I thought that she had lied,
Bout the bug in my lug,
Grey matter that I’d fried.

‘Let me put it this way…’
‘Every time I see you,
I see you every day. 
You never have anything wrong,
Its just a roll in the hay,
You need, a roll in the hay.’
‘Then cure me doctor, cure me.’
Alright she said ‘Ok!’
So I fell over and over again, 
Fell down in the hay.

Another Hyperchondriac Dream

Another Hypochondriac Dream I think my ears are full of wax, Cant hear the talk, telly phone and fax, Miss all the best new rocking tracks, Lose my balance, I’m on my back. Probably need to use a cotton bud, Probably need my ears syringed, oh golly gawd, go to the doctors, think I should? I will, I’ll have to make an appointment, Only if I wanted to I spose, but I never do, Just moan all about my illness to All my friends, yes, even you. What do you think I should do? See the quack, the medic dude, He’s really clever and very shrewd, ‘Now change you habits!’, ‘change your food,’ I’ll say ‘I will…’ I won’t be rude, just As long as I’m better, ‘when I’m cured!’. There's plenty of time, I’m well insured But I fell down again and its such a drag Well that’s just me on the floor and that’s my bag.

Soup for Brains

Soup for Brains

What are you a glue, 
A true sticky flu,
That sticks and binds
Then twists and winds.
What can I do,
I’ll say to you can it be time
And further too,
You tricks of your kind,
That’s what’s the bind.
It’s in your mind.
You give me the doom
A slippery flume,
That is a vice,
A hard, a harsh
And sharp steel machine, 
That does not clean, 
But festinates around 
My head,
All around my bed
Till I twitch and switch
Like a nervous bitch
Until light is near, 
But never clear.

Again another fall into a wall
And climb and scrabble and scrape.
Words and meanings 
they have no meanings 
but to trace the case
my own private house,
in my head and In my house,
my shed, my shack,
Until the rafters fall in around me,
dead.
I scrape and drape 
And with strength
I crawl from the shopping mall
Of words and meanings,
Tall furry screenings
Of nothing that makes any sense.
There is no challenge any more.
I don’t know I can’t think,
The room it stinks,
I cannot breathe,
Only seethe around and jump
Child tantrum thump,
My mind it pumps
But does not find a reason
For any internal treason.
Bastards they are for my torture
Afar with ridiculous
reason and choking
diesel.

Choke on the coke,
Bind my belly with wine and barb
And the blasted telly,
Make me sick then soothe my tick,
Unbelieving in your powerful decision.
To steel all my vision
And drop in fission
With stars and their cars fucking prison.
Force the time until one doesn’t know you cunts
You lumps of stinking shite
That invade my soup in the winking night.
It discontinues my discontent
Awake no longer falling in my
Insiders tent.
Alleviation.
Should be plane to say 
that a case struck
and then left with marvellous zest.
Oh my chest how it howls and 
Coughs the black phlegm to 
Troughs.

Hazy Summer Morning

Hazy summer Mornings and dog walkers.

Well the world woke me up 
With a start this morning. Stop.
Woke me up to one lung. Stopping. 
Started away from the smoke
And the dust up the hill to my
Own bed, stop, and this is where I 
Stopped, with my strong heart racing
I realised I was faint, oh how I
Hate that feeling, ‘Morning!’
couldn’t have been
Very healthy, my heart was holding
Out well, thought the rest of me
was dead, stop, an empty rotten shed, it’s 
rafters beginning to deteriorate, start,
despite ‘Morning!?’,
the redecorating, superficial
cowboy job, needs a structural
restoration, lots of sleep 
and examinations, Not a bloody nother, 
‘Morning… Yes a beautiful one,..!’
creepy crawly, nightmares, 
dreaming of being arrested
for drinking lots of fizzy pop…stop.

For You

For You

Cannot regress
Its not bleeding

Saw your excess
Got no feelings 

For you

Shot up your life 
and your still healing

for you
for you
For You

Shot up your life 
and your still healing

for you
for you

Marlon Brando

Marlon Brando

My mom said I look like Marlon Brando
My mum says that I am just the best
My mom says I could have been a film star
My mom says I’m not like all the rest

My mum says I am good looking and handsome
My mom says I’m big strong and brave
My mum said go out and get a girlfriend
My mum gave me money for a rave

I’m singing, sweating, drinking, poppin, dancin
Cannot see more than two yards away
I can just about see my mum there on the dance floor
Dancing with my very best friend Ray

But I’m the one who looks like Marlon
I’m the only one in the god damn film
I’m the only one who’s god damn starring
In my own life story, getting killed.

Give us a swirl

Give us a swirl

Who’s the boy
Who’s the girl
C’mon darling give us a swirl
Heat the stones
And walk on them
There she is
Theres the fem

Colour in the Club

Colourin the club

It’s blues it’s blue’s,
It’s darker than blue’s,
It’s grey’s and white’s and yellows
Square as they come with lines that are numb
It’s around me and on the telly,
Jump 1…
Square, spin and red the din
To my sight yeah, hang it on the wall
There again hold it on the wall
Hold on at the ball yeah!
Jump…
Green, green, green your boat,
Gently round the floor, silver strobe,
Silver strobe, life is such a bore,
When I’m a moth,
Around the clicker, flicker tramping
To the sound of colour then…
…released by a sea of spinning
red, orange and yellow to warm me
and help the groove along
the waves in the dance floor.

Dear Friend

Dear Friend The last email that you sent me contained a lot of dialogue. Although I appreciate the frank delivery of some home truths I also believe that most of what was said held a lot of, questions unanswered. Two many words describe nothing. In fact I believe the amount of wool, feathers from a bird and other metaphors, are pulled in front of too many believing eyes. People forming uneducated responses to the book. To realise any meaning one must make up ones own ideas of reality and then take on board an experience far beyond ones own. Believe in experience of everybody and disregard all other brain washing ideologies. To listen to rhetoric is to listen to a drunken man explain the obvious, if one may speak from the righteous corner when’st drunk. I’m sure the average idiot can work most things out, so why do we try and convince ourselves of a higher plane when it may or may not exist. Can you explain that to me. Can you explain the appearance of a higher being when we ourselves are the only higher beings asking the question itself. Why do we have to ask ourselves questions that we cannot answer. Because there is nothing else left for us to ask. Life is’nt complicated, the real difficulty is that it is too simple. What a shame for all you thinkers out there, can you not see the truth, can you not see why there is no point to the challenge. It’s a shame to waste your time, because we cannot spend all precious time shortening our lives trying to imagine a perfect answer. Our poor little hearts cannot bear up to the challenge. The answer is… Stop asking so many bloody pointless stupid fucking questions, and definitely never mind the fucking rhetorical and frankly, pointless answers.

I saw the news

I Saw the News Today, Oh Boy!'

I watched the news and I saw nothing, 
I watched our tiny World explode.
I wasn’t sure if Id seen something,
I wasn’t sure I could hold on.

I saw a murder and the earth quake,
I saw the killers weapons too. 
I looked at all the hotels shaking,
I saw a running camera crew.

I heard about some starving children,
I saw the ones being wrung right through.
I watched them hold out empty hands then,
I saw them beaten black and blue.

I watched the news and I saw nothing,
I saw the world I gave in to. 
I saw the news and I have nothing,
Nothing to scream and shout at you.

A Morning Concern

A Morning Concern

Southern skies lit up slowly by the eastern morning 
Slowly dawning and dragging through, drawing true
Wakefulness and yawning head splitting boring
What am I to do now, what am I to when I rise.
Now I awoke through the heaps of trash and human
Jetsam, drowned the night before with me all without
My freedom, but all dying every night in the hazy shade
Of the cold winter Christmas, Xmas with a difference
Now older and not a child, swimming along with the tide,
Sometimes near the shore and sometimes clear of all
Its safety, but always within reach and always within
Its teachings mayhem, never feeling guiltless, 
Always over nothing and always over chaos.