July 2010
1 post
rest.
I am a bitter man
I am a bitter man
you relax me
though
you rub my shoulders
wipe my brow
simmer
me
down
May 2010
1 post
me and my kin
when do we go away
we do we drift away
people get ready
people get ready
we drift away
i’ve switched off
i do i switch off
babe lets go back
babe lets go back
i wasn’t listening
i’ll keep you out of harms way
you’ll keep me out of harms way
me and my kin
think the best of you
December 2009
3 posts
dice.
stir.
protaganist yelps. shoots up from his chair and into the ceiling.
his cage sends him in a fleeting rage from time to time.
he flits this way and that. bashing walls with his entire body.
slamming the ceiling with his stomach.
pounding the floor with his back.
they never last long. 5 or 10 minutes at the most.
the ritual seems to calm him and help him accept his prison.
its as though...
dissssssapointment
now protaganist does not allow us to share in his disapointment.
there is no cute tale or clever metaphore to allow us to share his experience.
all that needs to be known is contained within the word itself.
it is long
complicated
and apprehension of the latter half leaves us lingering gingerly on the only comfortable part.
the begining.
before disapointment is disapointment.
i am
October 2009
1 post
I want a girl to go around with.
Nothing serious - really unserious.
Just to go around with
September 2009
4 posts
Dissapointment
Protaganist comes to. Entirely aware of his lot he picks up the camera roll with an angry sweep. Rattle. Surprise surprise. Dice has found his way back into the film cannister.
Already welling up protaganist opens the lid - pours dice into his hand and swallows him.
“please work, he thinks, please w-”
Protaganist is slammed back into the manswallwer and once again he Is transported....
I am a gargoyle
A Stoney monster
Looming over you and your parish
I’m so sorry for everything
I’m so sorry for everything
I’m so sorry for everything
I’m so sorry for everything
Your eyes are bigger than your heart
August 2009
12 posts
I believe in the healing nature of Jesus Christ in our relationships.
Madam, your sons are dead
Western wistle.
Tumble weed.
The pair eyed each other. Twittering trigger fingers flutter over triggery triggers.
The carriage is empty. They stand on the bottom level of a dusty tangara. Clad in skinny jeans, singlets and holsters these two are the worlds most dangerous indie mother fuckers.
More tumble weed.
More whistling.
“yer too yella to pull that triga… Ain’t...
The saviour has arrived
I’ve found him. He’s sitting opposite me on the 11:14 train past winyard station. Who’d have thought? I can hardly believe it myself.
It is definately him though. Large and oafish. Dreadlocks. Neanderthalish mug. Big big skull. And stupid.
Here is proof of evolution. How has he made it through the filter?
He is the saviour. I can put my full trust in Darwin now. I’m done...
If you try and be all things to all men. You can only end up meaning nothing to everyone.
Choose your ground. Plant your roots. Do something meaningful for once in your fucking lives
slave.
coming round he groans, reaches for the now smoking filter and takes a last drag.
the cigarette disappears and protagonist sleeps.
another day. unsuccesful in his attempt for freedom.
“perhaps tomorrow 6 will come.”
memory 2.
the light pours in his eyes straight on to memory number 2. the projector in his head has kindly loaded it, and starts to roll. click click click. the light - projector combination throws a horribly crisp image onto a screen.
its a girl. of course. she swings in a white summer dress. a gorgeous smile on her dial. big brown eyes that are full of happiness and love. her love isnt just for our...
slave.
he reaches under the folds of the man-swallower and pulls out an old black camera roll. puts it next to his ear and rattles it. the dice rattles. its says hello.
“where will we go today?” - thinks protaganist. he doesnt look but hes aware of the chart next to him. it reads DESTINATIONS: 1. dissapointment, 2. true love 3. dissapointment 4. true joy 5. dissapointment 6. freedom
he...
dice.
protagonist dropped heavily into the leather armchair/ leather manswallower that sat square in the middle of the drab room. The grey leather armchair/ leather manswallower its only furnishing. It sits. It waits. It swallows, under a cream roof, on a rusted red floor next to rusted red walls.
And I’ll evolve but not with out a certain scar
I can’t shake it, or think to feel now
All is dead, beside your voice in my ear
An over whelming sense of dread now
That your voice is filling up my head
Let you swim into my chest now
Little hands, grab my heart
Gentle arrest
Gentle arrest
Welcome
Firstly,
Hello.
Secondly,
you have beautiful red lips