31 January 2011

A No Man’s Land



I’m caught once more out in the wilderness. My forty days and forty nights of thirst and hunger and dirty storms that blot out the sun and stars have left me directionless far, far from home. I’ve been rejected by heaven and evicted from hell. I’m so far east of Eden that the sun never rises in a land where no man casts a shadow, or leaves a footprint in his wake. This is a country without name, with no flag, or anthem – where the only ruler is the tyranny of despair. I try to climb out of my morass, but my strength is drained and my bones are turned to jelly.

I want to write about it, but my thoughts are as crooked as my twisted mind. In the end - I just let it rip - imperfect and imprecise as it is. One word follows another like a caravan of mules, none of them aware of what they carry or where they are going. - conscious only of the mule drivers exhortations and the sting of his quirt, 'moverlo! adelante!' - slash - 'rapido!' There's a beast lumbering from my gut - he devours these words like a shark taking bloody bait - his filthy menacing maw lurks behind my grimacing smile. His bulldog jaws seize their fragile limbs to tear and render them meaningless in fractured, dismembered portions.

My thoughts force their way through a sea of molten lead, each mono syllabic packet a gravity well as deep as space. I ache in places that I'm sure do not exist. Some hidden portion of my insides are folded and beaten like dirty - dusty rags, tattered and torn, flagellum stripped - bloody for the cross. My head adorned with crown of thorns - my blood stings my eyes, I'm blinded to all but the dimming of my inner light., broken pierced and bloodied - pinioned hand and foot to stinking Mandrake root - I'm a voodoo doll - a pin cushion of uncounted miseries - my agonies rage through my body and soul like spectral clouds of poisoned gas - my reason abandoned - my thoughts inchoate - yet somehow I stand - I resist, endure. For even stripped bare in the ravening of my soul - I am still a man.



26 January 2011

Cats Like Mice

Mouse hole


Inched, winced and weaseled into little jack corners by stoat hearted lovers covetous of your pearly whites and locks of gold. Locked up in prison cells with cardboard walls you squeeze to please the last remnant of yesterdays last suppering. All of you here will betray me; take this here, my flesh, my daily news and wipe your arse with my stories true – all rewritten to be about you. Drink this, my blood whose name is mud, to sanctify your lying lips. This here is the last stone cold repast before I embark on iconoclast. I won’t be coming no more to visit your whore. She gave me the clap when she danced in my lap and poisoned my gourd with absurd and random complaints. My Mother Inferior has kicked the habit, no longer hooked – she just doesn’t give a shit. I won’t be handing out advice to no more cats who act like mice. I’m no pawnbroker - you can’t borrow jack shit against your second hand dreams – I’m fresh outta tickets.

If I ever come calling I use the front door. I don’t enter by no exit. I ain’t no thief – and all them things I stole are mine. You’ll always see me coming - there won’t be no procession or nothing – I just won’t be hiding that’s all. Some say I’m a marked man, but the marks are mine. I got no uniform, no subtle disguise. There’s no blade behind my back - there’s nothing hidden from your eyes.

When I first met you back in 62 I was a little afraid of you. You were so damn big you made me feel small, but look at me now I’m ten feet tall. I’m a giant in munchkin valley – your attack of the killer clowns. They got nothing to teach me - I’m so high they can no longer reach me. I no longer pay attention to assassins in painted frowns. I need no validation from the myopic idiot nation released on your probation. They’re so keen to serve that they get all they deserve. I’m so far beyond all that, beyond that tit- for – tat, you could draw a map and I still wouldn’t know where it’s at.

Baby, I'm a cat. Not some fat, one eyed alley cat, I'm a straight from the jungle, big, great stripy cat who knows who he is and where he is at. You can tell by the way that I move that I got the groove, that all that was rough - has been polished smooth. If I say it's so - then it's a natural fact - I am what I am - and don't need to act. I don't need to lie, ‘cause I ain't no spy - I do what I do - and I never ask why.

Yeah, I’m a cat, I’m no stinkin’ rat. Won’t eat your left over’s – I got my own. I’m king of my castle and I don’t need a throne. So when you see me coming you’d best leave me alone – that’s napalm in my hair and lightning in my comb. I figure I don’t need you - and you know - I never did. So long baby and thanks for the ride, but the only thing you taught me was how to run and hide. Last time we met you said, “hey baby, let’s bury the hatchet – I got an itch and you need to scratch it.” But I got my own problems now and I’ll lick your sore no more. Some cats are like mice - they run and don’t think twice – they run home and say, “I killed me a tiger today.” Some cats are like mice, you know it’s true. Some cats are like mice and they look just like you.



22 January 2011

Ship Of Fools

‘Ship of Fools’ – Joel Peter Witkin
There is no such thing as evil; there is nothing evil under the Sun. In this world it is not the wicked you have to look out for, it’s the stupid. It is the stupid who are capable of any atrocity. It was the stupid who herded defenceless men, women and children into gas chambers, who made lampshades and soap of people – for the sake of humanity. It’s the stupid who kill in the name of love, without the slightest hint of irony. It is the hard of thinking that lie, steal and cheat, who greedily gorge themselves at the trough of animal emotion until they are bloated on the corpses of their loved ones - until they eventually devour themselves in an orgy of self indulgence.

There is no such thing as evil, but there are billions of numb - nut, bovine brained artisans paving the road to hell with slabs of hubris, envy and anger – bedded in the bland mortar of good intentions. They chant the tired refrain “I did this – ‘cause you did that” and “I didn’t mean to” and most pathetically telling of all, “I didn’t think.” They did not think – a fine excuse – they did not think – they did not see. They are the bungling blind, adrift on an emotive ocean of transient motive and meaning. They navigate by touch and feeling the islands of “he says, she says” that make up the archipelago of instance and circumstance that constitute their courseless lives.

They are the hapless cargo, passengers on the ship of fools - each one a captain of his own density. Six billion oars pulling in different directions. Six billion sextants - measuring the transits of six billion polar stars. Six billion navigators - deciphering charts of insane dimensions. They can’t agree on where they are going, or how to get there if they could. They can’t agree on where they have been, or how they got there if they did. They spend their time arguing what the colour and design of flag they should fly - if they should fly a flag at all – or even if there is anyone out there on the infinite ocean to see it. Theirs is a ship of fools, a leaking vessel of undetermined design that never departed and shall never arrive.

17 January 2011

Every Dog That Bites You.


Everyone that fights you,

Every dog that bites you,

Simply invites you,

To confront yourself,


All that would betray you,

The bandits that waylay you,

Contradict  and gainsay you,

Are mirrors of yourself,


If you can rise above them,

Become tolerant of them,

Even learn to love them,

You shall free yourself,


When you can disregard them,

Or simply just discard them,

When your mind has barred them,

You’ll be free yourself,


If you can face their hate,

And not rise to the bait,

You’ll be in such a state,

That you can heal yourself,


If you confront their treason,

With the calculus of reason,

You can bandage any lesion,

With knowledge of the self.



10 January 2011



I'm going mad I tell you!!! Tiny shiny metal bats with wings as sharp as razor blades clang against the bars of my cage and spiral off - down into the gloomy infinite - what the fuck is down there anyway! Tang! shliiizz - there goes another one. They echo locate as they masturbate straight into my gilded dome. They'd slice me up if they could get in - but I won't let 'em. I got the only key you see. So here I coop on this little stoop - too chicken shit to venture out into the bat infested climes of the infinite what? 

I was lured in here by small game hunters who laid a trail of opiated millet - by the time I realised it was a fucking trap - I was too stoned to care. They must have shrunk me to get me into a cage this size - coz I felt pretty big on the outside, but now I feel small on the inside. The day I moved in they gave me a little golden key and said; "Here Joey, this is yours - this here's a zoo and the keeper is you." 

I was fucking furious let me tell you, "What the fuck does this mean?" I asked - as I hurriedly locked the door. "You mean I'm a fucking prisoner here?" One of them replies, "Not at all." Shit head - I said, "What does that mean?" He said, "What does what mean?" I was getting mighty pissed by now, "What does THAT mean." - "What does what does THAT mean?" he answers. "Are you pullin' my fucking chain?" I yelled. "No reply," was the answer. I don't mean 'no reply' was the answer, I mean "No reply" was the answer. He actually said "No reply" - what does THAT mean? I'm getting out of here one day - soon as I figure out where I am, or were out there is, ‘cause I know where I am - I'm in here, wherever that is. I guess I'm headed out there, wherever that is, as soon as I figure out where that is, that is.


3 January 2011

The Narcissist

The narcissist has clenched his fist,
To protect a self that doesn’t exist,
In his delusions he will persist,
On his own perfection he will insist,
He’ll combat any injuries,
To his childish fantasies,
He’ll war with anyone who sees,
Through his lies, to his disease.