individuals

 there’s no rest for the wicked        I should know         I get no rest         even in my sleep      I sing the watered down blues       old men’s songs       idiot verse for the hard of thinking        god has blessed the common people       they got nothing but pipe dreams and empties        but they shall inherit the earth       it’s a bovine compact        strictly for the herd       that’s an evolutionary advance over the individual           the individual don’t stand a chance        I should know       I got bread but no butter        I’m a rare commodity        like dragon’s teeth          no-one has ever seen any        but we’ve all seen the movies      where everyone’s an individual      hero of some dime store melodrama airing on daytime television       along with our life insurance options and burial plans    coz in the midst of life there is death       and in the midst of death there are tears          old men sing the watered down blues        and the herd fashion icons from their dust

 

something shines eternal

 is love a universal energy?    is it love that keeps us human?     some people know no love      they are human nonetheless      allegedly cast in the image of a long-dead god      a persistent schizophrenic       who pits us against ourselves     everybody’s been found wanting in his theatre of distraction    I know what I lack     and I don’t give a damn     

living on planet earth      in this 21^st century     has been a real kick in the teeth      I was all set up      for the socio-technical revolution       I was prepared to be blinded by science      but all I got was fake news     conspiracy theories     and the new fascist state    the world seems darker now    but something shines eternal      and it can’t be found in scriptures     folklore    or even those stars above     something shines eternal     and some have called it love

jailbird

I was hoping for a reprieve    it’s been a long time coming     but I since worked out     some new fundamentals     there is only one direction     and that direction is out     I’m a prisoner here        but do I work in a vacuum?     no, I’m just a thief with a library card      and if I didn’t do this     I’d do something reckless     I have a criminal heart      and  a liars disposition      so, there you have it      the story within the story     I’m an accomplice to deception      they might never let me go 

pudding

 heaven is now       you can’t get it no place else    safe in her welcoming arms          I could be reborn     or at least reformed     but I went a bit crazy      with my affectations    she thought it meant love      but it was just hunger    explicitly matured women      seduce your senses     with the promise of pudding    

I’ve been here before     rainy day lovers repent over the laundry       their amorous fiascos      with shell shocked soldiers      and other romantic heroes       are merely pornographic details     guilty recollections    of temporary diversions     inconsequential in dimension      free and for gratis    if given the choice

home

 home is where your head’s at     and my head’s at home    I ain’t stashing empty bottles      behind no shotgun shack     I’m organised for life    here in the digital world      I changed the lock on my door      and threw away the key    I’m walking that line      fingers crossed behind my back     

it’s fuel for life    totally automatic      sustenance by numbers        maybe it’s the environment       that best suits my clothing       or perhaps the process of osmosis       has slowly filtered out my ambition      but I’ve seen the world outside     and now I’m staying in

haunted

 lifeless old notions      and long dead ideas      dog my steps     I cannot shake them off     I drag out those sad old fossils      to salt my wounds on lonely nights      I believe in magic because I’m a child     but I believe in ghosts because I’m aged      ghosts are our unfinished business     we haunt ourselves        always and everywhere      with the spectres of things that happened      and the spectres of things that didn’t      even dreams are wraiths that pursue us in our sleep      in the night my ghosts have voices     they tell me I’m a ghost too       that I carry ghosts within me      I am empty of everything     save my ghosts       my head is a haunted house      and ghosts my hollow companions

dust

 my words are carried to you     through electrical transcription     I type them out downtown      you hear them in your mind      I think I lost my mojo       to another cinnamon girl      do elephants keep diaries?     coz I remember every sorry kiss       how quickly we fade out       how slowly we ride on        the threshold of my mind      is bitter sweet with memories         baby. comfort me     coz I’m sorry now      sorry for all my lies       I went wrong       but in my own right      I simply wouldn’t follow       it’s the story of my life

minefields

 are you up too early?    or down too late?    did someone steal your dreams?    or did you give them away?    maybe that’s a question    for some other time     coz I’m the bastard son     of a bastard son      just another lazy sod      with magic in his pants     and I’d love to stir your pot      in the horizontal dance     

there’s been a revolution     though no-one fired a shot     our brave new monsters     are conscientiously amoral     totally natural     adjusted to the vicissitudes of love      and the demands of iconoclast

does it burn?      does it itch?    don’t get your knickers in a twist     stop  your sobbing     dry your eyes     I didn’t break your heart     I only bent your mind    it’s not your first disappointment    and likely won’t be your last    modern romance is a minefield     and that just cracks me up    

screaming

I see my own private babylon      sinking with the sun    everything is fucked     I’ve got to let it go     I’m just not cost effective      so they put me out to pasture       now there’s nowhere left to hide     everywhere stinks of shit     it’s the tyranny of conformity      at least, that’s what I think       but who taught me how to think?       the devil makes work for idle minds     I ought to learn to sing        fill my throat with love     I could act like I never knew     but we both know       it’s not enough       unexpressed thoughts?      I’m having one now        can I be blunt?       I’m in mourning      all my dreams have died     I don’t know what else to say       it’s hard to think straight     when you’re screaming   

bed

 seen from bombers      we all look pretty small     they tell me liberty’s a bust       and this world is a dangerous place    so I think I’ll stay in bed      I’ve been hollowed out      and I’m an unholy mess      but now    more than ever     I want to survive     but not at any cost      I’m still a human being      my love is not a burden to me       it’s the reason I go on       my politics are principled       my  heart knows no regrets        but the people here are fucked        yes, I might just stay in bed

bovine ergonomics

are we shaped by our peers?    do I even care?     yes, I suppose I do!   is that really you?       is this really me?      no absolutes necessary       but I really prefer my shape      as freely expressed     beyond  the constraints of society     down in the motion of the ocean     so deep and far away      

I don’t fear the depths      no,  I fear the shallows     that slender existence       measured out to the bovine      coz habit carves the unreflective into  inchoate    ignorant    tyrannical   monsters      that’s why I swim somewhere far upstream from the defecating herd      and their bullshit conventions     you could call me heretic       black sheep      blasphemer     that’s just the ruminant tribe       trying to pin me down

golgotha

 outside the city walls     in the place of the skull    heavy handed men       carve idols of their fears     and project them on to others    sister, take it from me      don’t get involved with them       they’ll be the death of you       it’s not hard to spot the monsters     coz we are all fucking monsters     so don’t think about jesus     he’s not thinking about you     you’d best circle the wagons     coz no help is coming      the legions of chaos approach    the road to golgotha is slick with their tears