21 March 2012


Squeeze me a Brompton’s and blow my joint while I eat this bird. I have a hard on for the kind of orgasm only a world class hooker, or a hard shot of junk provides. My old man got tarred for drinking this bug juice, but I don’t care about tar – it’s the feathers I object too. I’ll blow my own brains out before I let anyone turn me into a chicken.

Those cold blooded bastards down at the lizard house have it in for dissenters who sup God’s own from the crystal cup. They incarcerate anyone who jacks up or spreads a little green on his lungs. Their war on drugs is a futile exercise in enforced conformity. The pressures of the market lead to standardisation and the ubiquity of mediocrity.

Prohibitions cause criminality which keeps the law enforcers in business. Everyone is a would be snitch. Everybody is an enforcer trying to gun us down in a hail of psychic bullets. Pour me another baby; I’ve come over all terminal. I need to cradle my consciousness in velvet gloves.

20 March 2012

Leave Me Be


My spring is way too tight

I’m on the fight or flight

The roaches beneath my skin

Are threatening to do me in

I’ve reached a certain velocity

It’s an animal ferocity


I can’t sit still

I think I’m ill

I pace the floor

Make for the door

But out or in

I’m stuck on a pin

I can’t get free

Just let me be


I’m rotating left then right

There is no peace in sight

I’m spinning like a top

I don’t think I can stop

I’m struggling for breath

I might catch my death


I can’t sit still

I think I’m ill

I pace the floor

Make for the door

But out or in

I’m stuck on a pin

I just can’t get free

So please let me be


19 March 2012


Travel me
Unravel me
Baffle me
Turn me out
Fix me with a fungal crown
Pump it in
Pour it out
Rub it on
Inhale – exhale
Spark it up
Snuff it out
Skin it back
Tear it down
Anoint my head
With manna from heaven
Spike me upward
Drag me down
Ball my lightning
Take me under
Turn me on
Turn me around
With my confusion
Make me whole
If not holy
Bake me outside
In the sun



Gimme a dig of that juice, mix it with my medicine so it bites like a bitch and turns my flesh to stoned. I like my dragons green and full of sap so I dangle by a silver thread vibrating on the frequency of ecstatic union. Spread those creamy thighs baby and let me glimpse heavens gate. We’re gonna fuse into the night and roll along the back roads of eternity. Take me to the moment when the stars within flicker and pour me out like honey and liquid gold. This flesh, yours and mine, is food for the gods. The feast we lay before them is succulent in its orgasmic intention. We are everything and everything is equal in the moment of our coming.


Image: ‘Woman with Homunculus’ by Egon Schiele


18 March 2012

My Old Man

Meat and two veg
On a formica table
Jim Reeves and distant drums
Twenty Kensitas Club
An ashtray full of dog ends
India Pale Ale and glass of rum
Plastic teeth in a grimace
The smell of Brylcream
A splash of Old Spice
And a clout round the lug
Tailored suits immaculate
And cuban heeled boots
Off to see a man about a dog
He was hard as nails
My old man

16 March 2012

Immortal for a day


Easy the casual encounter

In the blanket of circumstance

Nothing is forbidden or forgiven

The stolen hour

Of fleeting acquaintance

Eyes filled with dust

Blind to all fault or frailty

The ebb and flow of time

Leaves ripples

Like the pattern lovers make

In the moment of discovery

Naked in innocence

Idle in the afternoon sun

Indolent from amorous cause

Destined to live in the memory

As a friend that never faltered

Immortal for a day


11 March 2012

Paint Me Yellow

Sodium yellow
The colour of caffeine
Paints the street
And invades my room
My nights are long
Measured in solitude
The world is sleeping
But there’s no peace
For the wicked
And I am wicked
So turn me over
And paint me yellow
I have hours to wait
Before the dawn

10 March 2012



Noah built an ark

He was thinking of the future

I built myself a raft

I was thinking of myself



Left to the mercy of the weather god
Drenched in the rhythmic rain
A man – a foreigner perhaps
Dark and curly – straight and bent
Is lost in the open fields and dales
He carries the casts of his funeral face
And the relics of fallen saints
Always a stranger – stranger than life
He quarries great stones of remembrance
Once he was this – once he was that
Now a stranger in these parts

9 March 2012

The Electric Messiah


There have been many messiahs, but none ever touched the majesty or lunacy of The Electric Messiah. The Electric Messiah kicked in the doors of the temple and set fire to the money changers. He did that a lot; he was bi polar you see. On the positive side he was very generous, but on the negative side he was quick to anger. The people had not asked for an Electric Messiah, but you get the messiah you deserve.

In a world of conflict he was the supreme arbiter; smashing the unjust and delivering the pious with a beatific smile. His days in the wilderness had taught him that temptation was a blessing and to succumb was to conquer. His right hand held a flaming sword and his left the book of mercies. He could draw thunder bolts from the heavens and calm the seas with a whisper. His road to Damascus was filled with doubtful blind men – The Electric Messiah offered judgment, but not redemption.

I met him in rehab, which was compulsory for him after the great pharmacology scandal of 76 when he was convicted of turning communion wafers into methamphetamine and baptizing new converts with LSD. The papers compared him with Charles Manson, but Charley was never so gifted as The Electric Messiah. We got on like a ward on fire – he was good at starting fires. He told me of his early life as the son of an electrician from Glasgow and how his great potential as a conductor of electricity was first discovered.

At the age of six he was caught in a massive electrical storm and struck by lightning several times leaving great charred craters behind him. His mother said it was a miracle, his father said it was a question of conductivity. All through his formative years he was known as Lightning Rod, but it was only in his teens while experimenting with magical mushrooms did he realize his manifest destiny as The Electric Messiah.

Things were to go disastrously wrong for The Electric Messiah when his doctors doped him with omnopon, strapped him to a table and crucified him with electrical oscillations. The electroconvulsive therapy was meant to cure him of his addiction enabling delusions. Instead it triggered a massive explosion which destroyed the hospital and sent out an electromagnetic pulse that destroyed London’s communications apparatus causing a major catastrophe.

That was the end of The Electric Messiah, or so they said. However, many have reported seeing him whenever there is a great electrical storm and his words have lived on, though his body is apparently gone. His intolerance and his anger are evoked whenever the powerful seek to justify the use of force. His generosity and kindness are evoked whenever they seek to preach restraint. Yes, The Electric Messiah left his mark on the world – you can’t be a true messiah unless you do.