torquemada

 I confess my faith in idiot reason     because I’ve never known the truth     no-one ever knows for sure    questions circle like vultures      I’m not afraid of questions      but some questions can’t be answered       and some answers can’t be questioned     is love always the answer?       or is love sometimes the question?       I suppose it makes no difference to me          because I keep my own counsel      

I’m not running away      I just changed my face to fit the frame        you could say I’m in disguise      I don’t forget the things I’ve done        man, I nearly choked on them       but I got over it       and now I’m riding the gravy train         but I had to give it up     you know what I mean?     I had to give it up        pack it in and snuff it out      no embers left to fan       but there are questions       there are always questions…

peace

 

I believe peace will be my final evolutionary adaption       I have no secret ambitions      I left no stone unturned      but I still feel like a chump     it’s a question of personal power     demons assault my imagination      ghosts with billy clubs and poisoned blades    I ought to defend myself     but where do I begin?      you cannot slay a memory       you can’t murder a dream    no, violence won’t see me through      I’m just howling at the moon      the only distraction left to me    they say there’s no peace for the wicked       I’m hoping that’s not true

incurious

 

I wanted the truth       the way only fools want the truth        but, after extensive enquiries     I reached the inescapable conclusion       that there are questions          but there are no answers        meaning is arbitrary      and truth is a whore      all the remaining questions      are six feet deep     too deep for the living   

 me,  I’m in no position   to be answering questions       my bipolarchromosomes      have me hung drawn and quartered      strung out on electric wire        

I believe what I feel     and I’m as changeable as the weather       I got a telegram from Jesus     that says I’m doing fine      but I’ve been let down before      I’ve led a blessed life       biblical disappointments aside     still, I’m no wiser now       than when I started out

revolver

 

there are wrongs that cannot be buried      and there are wounds that never heal      but don’t talk to me about justice    I can’t afford justice        justice is for the rich and powerful     not for the likes of you and me      our world is an abattoir     where we fight for survival    but you can give yourself an edge     your mind is a weapon      you must use it as such     or have it used against you     

notions of justice are arbitrary        they say god is our final judge     well, god must be turning in his grave      after serial abominations       and depraved criminal conspiracies      someone murdered innocence      but they can’t pin that on me

the faithful count their burdens    and pray for forbearance       and that’s alright      I too have burdens     but I’m just a thief     so I’ll take my chances outside the law      where a man can carve his own justice     I can fend for myself     I’ve often had to      this weapon is loaded      it’s got to be loaded         or it’s no damn use to me

 

demonic

 

coming out of hospital      I suffered a century of frenzied depression      where every failure  and humiliation was played back to me on an endless loop of shame        what caused this horror show?     -  my shrink has been barking up the wrong tree here -  because it was parasitic beings    demonic possession       that’s what was wrong with me      I needed an exorcism     holy magic to wash my blood clean      a ritual sacrifice      something symbolic       a virgin whore     a calf of gold     or something of similar dimensions     instead they beat me with psychiatric clubs

with certain forms of demonic infestation     there is a crazy person who despises the human race and it’s illusions     he longs to trample them into the blood stained earth      when you hear of human atrocity     think of demonic beings      sick, depraved beings      with eyes filled with blood      and mouths full of cancer      in a world of anger and hatred    demons are the masters       they play with idle hands      and make war within tortured minds

suckers

I was reading my tea leaves when my arse hit the fan        maybe I’m not who I seem to be     outwardly I’m sanguine     but inside I’m nourishing ancient grudges     my past is a poisoned river     but what’s done is done     my tears will not erase my exploits    I stopped crying a long time ago     when I realized that all lives are built on lies    some are harmless      others brutal     I have told lies that were fucking biblical      and frankly preposterous    but people believed them       Christ, I believed them too      the world is full of suckers    who never catch a break      I’m the biggest sucker of them all    I contrived to fool myself

obituary

 

I wonder what they will say about me when I am dead and gone      I imagine my obituary will be heavy     I’ve taken on mythological significance in certain quarters     because  I corrupted god’s will and made an abomination of my heart    the searing light of reality brings old lies and fractured truths into sharp relief    pitiless disclosure leaves no place to hide      I’m that terrible man     who feasted on people’s dreams      and then sold them down the Swanee      I’ve done some terrible things      but never by intention      things went wrong       things went horribly wrong     it’ll say so on my headstone

soul sickness

 

christ, I hate the daily grind     the bravest thing I do is live every day      I tried to evade it    I even tried suicide   but in my attempts to escape pain I was only creating more pain     and not just for me     I shared my pain    it’s communicable that way    I think too much     it’s a disease    thinking too much      I’m coming down hard again     I have a bad case of the bends      I’m trapped again  in limbo    snared by the pain in my mind   

I’ve been trifling with psychiatrists    they’re a bit like lovers     first they fuck with your head       then they break your heart    because there is no fucking cure     mental illness is an immense organism dedicated to fucking up the entire human project      I’d rather have anything wrong with my body     if I could just be right in my head      how can an illness be mental?     I got soul sickness      that’s what I’ve got      I got soul sickness    and I’m fading away fast

immortality

 

I don’t know why I write     or who I’m writing for   but I’m hoping for a breakthrough     before the vicissitudes of age grind me into dust      I regard old age with a shudder        I won’t be an old man     too weak to hold myself together      drooling down my chin    and   shitting in my pants      I’ll check myself out     before it ever comes to that

I never rejected the possibility of an afterlife       I intend to fight my way to immortality      but there are three major obstacles     fear     power      and time    and I’m running out of time      every man carries his own death with him       a natural man confronts that fact at all times      but he fights to be immortal       even as the universe conspires against him    

news

 

I’m high again for no specific reason     I needed space and I found it    the space between intention and action    the boundary between hope and despair      eternal vacillation pins you into yesterday      it’s the same old, same old doldrums    but I no longer care      I’ve had news about tomorrow     and tomorrow’s almost here

psycho ward

 I’m a seasoned performer   I’ve played this gig before    the mind jarring   hallucinations      the confusion of signs and significance    all new oblique angles and novel geometries      vast oceans of awkward instance    it’s a total mindfuck acid burn   but I’ll keep my head down     go by the numbers      ‘til I’m discharged and I can go home

going home?    I thought I was      they won’t let me leave     they say my blood is toxic and I’m in the danger zone     coz someone mixed my meds up and dealt me a lethal dose     now I’m scared like never before      it all seems real     of course it does     I suspect it is    but I won’t let on    I’ll just dummy up tight     least said, soonest mended    

they tubed me up   and leeched my blood    pending the obligatory psychiatric interrogation      when they issued me with papers    and stuck me here in the psycho ward    where they can better observe my exploits    my prognosis still looks scary    the devil is at the door    the main event this moment    is the battle for my soul     

the killing floor

I’ve been straight and sober now     for nearly a thousand years     coz the game that started out as fun      ended in bloody tears      some drink to remember      some drink to forget      others drink as penance for the crimes that they commit      me, I drank in self defence     I was fighting in a war     though I never knew who the enemy was      or what I was fighting for    people at war with themselves     will find no peace in a bottle      no matter how much they drink      they can never win that battle   it brought me piece of mind     to leave that life behind      it was a fucking nightmare    that somehow I survived