26 November 2010

Deaf as a Bat


It’s cold – cold enough for your breath to paint the air - cold enough to give the ground a sugar frosting. The trees in the park cast peninsulas and archipelagos of shadow on the crisp moonshine grass. The world is revealed in misty layers like a child’s faded popup book - like the cardboard stage settings for the chapters of our lives. This landscape is an unfolding mystery of vague possibility wrapped in foggy obscurity; like the pages of a book  being hastily written before you read them, like a stage being hurriedly assembled before your feet. What will it be? A causeway for your triumphant procession, or the gallows and an ignominious demise? A crown for your noble brow, or a gibbet from your scrawny neck? You can choose your course, but you can never predict your destination. We fly head first into the future like flocks of deaf bats, we collide and we crash – but if we’re lucky we get to fly in the fog another day. It’s scary, true, but it’s better this way. I mean, a journey where nothing happens is no kind of journey at all.



19 November 2010



I got million dollar words,

Floating around my head,

They flock to me like birds,

When I am in my bed,

Some of them are buzzards,

They’re as heavy grey as lead,

Some of them are bluebirds,

And frightfully well read,

They whisper secret passwords,

That reveal the way ahead,

To move me ever onwards,

Beneath their wings outspread.



16 November 2010

Into Tomorrow


The echoes in my mind are casting shadows which point in strange new directions. The nights are getting longer now and I let some of that opulent velvety darkness slip inside, just for the hell of it. I feel it ooze through my veins – viscous like black mercury – easy like an opium haze – languid as a dream – stronger than an ocean current pumping through my purple heart. I’m stained by her infusion and lay my head against her cold breast – to beg for more. In the first quarter of the Wolf’s Moon I am howling inchoate with the demon in my hollow throat. Give me everything, give me anything – I must taste it all. His silver crescent is a halo for my tortured brow – no more crown of thorns, no more nails to hold me down, I’m done with building crosses. I taste the clean salt air on the glittering horizon; I sense the infinite potential in the dawn’s open arms. She sings with her golden rays a promise of joyful days and lustrous nights to come. I am driven, relentless as the tides, to meet her - on into tomorrow and into tomorrow.



11 November 2010

Talking Monkeys


Jehovah H. Frankenstein! - What have you done now? I went along with the duckbill platypus, the giraffe, the elephant and the giant fish – yes I’m aware that they’re mammals thank you – this time you have gone too far! Talking monkeys – are you insane? What earthly use are talking monkeys? Apes – shapes they look like monkeys to me. Say, are those monkeys wearing clothes? Why are your monkeys wearing clothes? Have you been talking to them? To your talking monkeys - have you? Have you been talking to your talking monkeys? Not really? How often is not really? A couple of times? That’s all! What did you say to them? You can’t remember! That’s no good! Nothing important! – I’ll be the judge of that! You know, you could have compromised the entire project. Talking monkeys indeed – it just won’t do!



9 November 2010

Do it again



All that went before,

Just leaves me wanting more,

And wondering if and when,

I can do it all again.


It’s all been so much fun,

And I feel I’ve just begun,

To understand the game,

So can I go again?


Because if can,

It would be my plan,

To act without delay,

And start again today.



1 November 2010


What’s like in the perfect box - where you experience reality only on TV and all your dreams are serialised, then repeated? 

Who would I be – if my identity was mortgaged and my personality a question of consumption patterns? I buy therefore I am? Do I have to play the hand that’s dealt me, or can I buy new cards, deal from a new deck? ‘Your building and loan matures, You a have been elected chairman of the board, Go to jail, Get out of jail free, This is your identity.’ 

Can I buy vampire chic, or occult mystique, add a gothic tint to my blueprint, play the romantic dandy – dispensing candy, or the lovelorn muse who’s words confuse? Are they handing out badges to every chump with a library card? ‘I’m an existentialist – just leave me alone,’ ‘I’m an idealist EVERYTHING is wrong,’ ‘Jesus loves me – how about you?’ ‘Free love – buy it here!’ Are we all just boy scouts collecting badges? I got no need for badges. I don’t have to show you no stinking badges. I know who I am, it’s written on the inside.