electrical therapy

I need a bigger brain     none of this shit makes sense      I want a long lie down     in the cool room    on virgin sheets       over by the window      where I can see the street       because something is going wrong somewhere      and I’m afraid it’s local      there’s more misery in this neighbourhood than can be quantified      we’re alive and that’s the problem     and it’s quite a problem      but it’s nobody’s fault      

the living have troubles     that span all dimensions      electrical therapy might see them sorted     a zap to the brainpan      could do some good     it’s said to work wonders      for all mental maladies     god knows it changed my motivations      they taught me to think straight     with little blasts of lightning    they lit the path      to some near nirvana       and saw me whole    but not quite holy     am I the bad guy now?      how does that work?

I cut a solitary figure in this situation      but I don’t need a rainy day woman     to come and make my bed      clean my clothes      or serve my daily bread       don’t get me wrong      I don’t want to be alone     I just need a friend      to talk to when I’m stoned      I’m loaded with electrical potential     some find that strange     they might think I’m mental      but I know who I am    and that’s pivotal to my way of thinking

 

mercy

I can’t complain     though I’ve seen better days     today was stillborn      dead on arrival     dismal as an infant’s funeral     bleak as a winter in hell     I don’t seem to mind    there’s no evil portioned to me    I haven’t witnessed before     I have always believed      that whatever comes my way      for good or ill      I must have earned it    so I will own it   quietly   en sotto voce      I don’t believe in drama     or the daily toil and trouble   I believe in something spiritual      manna spilled from heaven    where I trust I’m not forgotten     because I still hope for mercy      in the kingdom yet to come          

bed

 I will not take to my bed       no, I will not take to my bed       I’m sick and tired      and I need to sleep    but I will not take to my bed            the day is dark and sorrowful       and my heart has turned to lead          I could lie in for a day or two     but I will not take to my bed             the world has me by the throat      I wish that I was dead     I’m ready to jack it all in     but I will not take to my bed      

 

bittersweet

in the place where you are     rooted as you are    habitually static   do you feel incomplete?     is there hunger still in you?      have you come very far, in the course of a lifetime?      was the journey worthwhile, the way you remember?     could you do with a bit more emotional warfare?    are you finally done with me, now I’ve surrendered?

to tell you the truth     I saw it coming      felt trouble gnawing   deep in my entrails      maybe that feeling tainted my actions     and I drew trouble to me      with dread apprehension     battling shadows    like a child in the dark       was I sowing the seeds of intent?      did I walk a crooked path?       all prophesy is self fulfilling      it’s a law of nature     even I realise that

least said, soonest mended       I’ll reserve my judgements     for the early hours        to reflect in a vacuum     the role that I played in this latest debacle     I hold a fascination for the patterns of disgrace      and we were both disgraced in this episode     so I’ll bury you now      but I’ll mark the grave for later      I’m bound to return to the scene of the crime

we all have needs     some more than others    we do what we have to     in order to survive with egos intact     people get hurt     and get hurt in the hurting     some wounds heal       some wounds fester      some wounds are licked     because we like the flavour      there are bittersweet confections     that linger in the heart

baby buddha

I’m being ground down by the tyrant within     my mind is an elegant trap     a fractal of coloured lenses painting my emotions  various shades of sodom      I can’t go on living like this       but  what else do I know?        I have to move   and make my way by moving      somehow arriving and departing     constantly shifting       until I find some direction     that feels like I’m heading somewhere      I ought get into this      right into the heart of this      you kindled a flame in me       now watch me burn       art colours life     so paint me red     paint me gold       paint me anything at all     I’m losing my distinctions        it all blurs into nothing        and nothing becomes me like nothing at all 

alligator tears

when I was young       in my summer season     I tarried with junkies, thieves, and other lepers       I took the drugs they brought me       and used the words they taught me       those words are old now       teach me some new ones     or leave now in silence       don’t stain my solitude       with worthless gestures         there’s not much time left      and I’m busy writing eulogies

my best years are past     but I wouldn’t buy them back       the past is a curse     that still beats inside me      I’m not complaining       merely observing      if you catch me weeping        don’t be concerned      now and again     I’m struck with nostalgia     it’s a vicarious vice     for people my age     my erstwhile companions have all crossed over     their ghosts tell stories that play on my mind

entombed

habit is a killer     a slow insidious killer   they say the only constant is change       and that a change is as good as a rest       but I don’t want to change       and I don’t need to rest         there is no pillow for my head       I’ll take my ease in death        

I’m told I must move on      but I don’t want to move on       I’m settled here      through entropy      through denial      through fait accompli       I’m consigned to my fate         and I’m set too fast to change       

I believe     I don’t believe     beliefs are for suckers     beautiful and courageous suckers      if I had a little faith       I’d spend it in a tavern      I have little use for faith      I’ll stick with dismal reason     and the bitter draught of cynicism      I heard this joke before      and I no longer laugh

I’m told I must find myself       but I don’t want to find myself        I want to lose myself      in uncharted seasons    let me be forgotten over time    lost and never brought to mind       let me return to nothing         deaf and mute and blind      

silver surfer

modern life is mostly gossip     I remember the good things      at least I think I do     all I can explain with words      I drown beneath the significance of all these words      I liked life well enough        but I never understood it        are there words for that?       never thought I’d find the appropriate mask        because believe me     all accounts are fictional       you can’t be too emotional about it       emotions are all we have     when you get down to it     and we get down to it often enough

I have no designated function      I‘m the ghost of failed endeavours     but I feel safer now      with emotional parking       and appropriate buffer zones      my colours and tones inverted        I cast a slender shadow      across the now and then      I’ve earned my seclusion        but a happy isolation       would be just another cage      so just  look at me now        not a stitch to wear      but I go dancing just the same     the world is still young        it’s me who has changed        I would decline the invitation        but I expect that I’m expected        and I’ll show up just the same        

flagrante delicto

 a poor man is the image of want        and we don’t have a bolt to our names      but we have music       driven by demons        danced to by angels     the rhythm of saints and sinners       in eternal friction      as it is in heaven       so shall it be in hell    we got the tools      we can loose the lightning        it won’t stop     because we don’t stop        it was the language of our limbs        the lexicon of lust       that first betrayed our innocence       then exposed our love

we were caught with our pants down     and made ashamed of our bodies      but I’ve seen you with him       your faux lover     there’s no heat there      no magic     he will not feed your passion         nor spare you the force of his affections      so forsake his god of blood        come back to our tangled bed         we’ll dance the horizontal tango        and forget about tomorrow’s woes       at least until the morning       when we’ll be judged as monsters         by a jury of our peers

Bethlehem

 there’s a poem lodged in my throat     I don’t remember the words       or where it all began     they say  god speaks through signs       that only prophets understand      where  the sky blankets the earth      in misty  morning dew       a child in golden chains      the sacrificial lamb      lost in winter storms      hostage to conflict       and there’s no star now over Bethlehem       just a testament to unending war

 

mister natural (again)

never worked a day in my life        won’t sweat blood for the machine       blood is heavier than gold      but what do I know?      I’m just a bum balancing the scales       my advice to would be scholars      is to do what you like      but don’t let your imagination run away with you       don’t lose yourself in the herd       or let modest claims of individuality     camouflage your bovine curiosity    just plant a flag in the anecdotal and call it history       

but don’t listen to me        I’m a certified fool      I renounce history         all histories are phony       I have no history      I just tell convenient stories       this life was spent dreaming        yesterday’s cause is lost        let tomorrow care for tomorrow’s woes          I won’t cry today     I feel I’m halfway high    just from thinking about it      I’m pitching naturals from now on      these dice are loaded and the table is mine

beatified

 I don’t read the papers       I just follow the signs    I get all the information I need in stereo        messages from heaven      transmitted in high definition     directly into my cranium      my senses may be addled       but my heart is instrumental     in sorting out those waves      I needn’t be sober to garner their substance      the lyrics are set in time    to a long familiar refrain

they tell me god loves a drunk       because all drunks are poets      and all poets are killers      when it comes down to it     and it often does    we are all of us killers       but I don’t seem to mind      I’ll gladly take the blame      if there’s any going     my hereditary fault lines      my bipolar distemper       mete out eyeball for eyeball      and subtle truth for gain   

it ain’t rocket science      just simple dharmic law     the children of men are routinely tested       to live and love and lose again    that’s the sum of our existence        those are the rules of engagement      the nature of the game       that’s how the courageous love       as lions among lambs     in the pastures of eternity       in a story without end