charismatic

charisma was my best defence     I never left home without it     I totally seduced myself     I may have been deranged, but I had sex appeal     you could call it vanity     but I liked to prepare my face     for the mutts I might meet in the street     I didn’t accept IOUs      and I didn't issue receipts     coz promises sell by the dozen      but confidence doesn’t come cheap    

I’m not the charmer I used to be      time presses on    the world has changed      and thankfully so have I     life is a game played by children     regrets are too punk to purchase      on a superficial level I’m still in credit     or maybe I’m just high     I never let my right hand know what the left is stealing      besides, I daren’t violate my parole with an act of wilful pride    so I let my bygones remain bygones    I buried that child a long time ago     I can’t recall just where    though I still remember why

shtumm

 

I could tell some stories      but I won’t    coz you would think I’m crazy      you might think something worse       it’s not a cotton candy world      it has some edges on it       that creates friction     conflict     conflict is the basis of all drama     I’m quite inured to drama    no, I won’t waste your time with stories      they’d only make me a liar     my life is an untold story      I cannot keep from myself

year zero

 

you’d better look sharp     you’d better stand tall      you make yourself a target        if they see you crawl      you know where we’re at     it’s not your first bloody nose      and it won’t be your last       smell that?      that’s the stench of fear     I can smell it everywhere      it’s that year zero fragrance    a bitter concoction     that’s been a long time brewing      in this war between ideologies    you’d better choose your enemies       before they choose you       they got your name and number      there’s nowhere you can hide      coz revolution is fomenting       in the universal mind

critical thinking

 

all news is fake news in this phony babylon    legacy media    alternative media     they are all products of dodgy rhetoric as far as I’m concerned    no-one tells me what to think     I bang my own drum     I think for myself and no-one else    coz it’s a mugs game     towing the party line      for those parasitic heroes who are in it for the blood     little men cast giant shadows before a setting sun      in their world of silhouettes and chinese whispers      it’s hard to get your facts on straight      don’t believe what you’re handed on a platter   do your own research     it’s not just what you think that matters      but how you think for yourself      

brass

 

it’s a little salt on an open wound      for a disappointed idealist      but then, you can’t be young and wise     the way things stand today       in the battle between bad and worse       there are only wicked people     who sometimes take opposite sides      show me an innocent man      and I’ll show you someone     who doesn’t know what’s going on      but I know the price of eggs      there’s a shit-storm  coming down      and it’s all for want of brass    

the world keeps on ending      but new eyes just don’t see it    I’m not ready to relinquish youth    if maturity means cynicism     if I have to squash the part of me that I treasure most     …the boy that still believes      better to die while my heart is young and humanity intact       coz no matter what comes next      they will not grind me down     I won’t bend with the times      I will stand my ground      they can’t bully me into submission     or buy my vote with stolen brass     

simpatico

I could have tried harder    but I couldn’t be arsed    I take things in my stride     or I don’t take them at all    we talked the house down     about man, and god, and love     how everywhere in the world they hurt the little girls     but you’re not a little girl     only your pride got hurt      you told one colossal lie     but I don’t blame you at all     we were never simpatico     I think we both know that     but I have no regrets     that I can squawk about

Jonah and the whale

 

“Now the Lord had prepared a great fish to swallow up Jonah…”

I know an allegory when I see one. This is a tale of redemption and forgiveness.  You better obey the Lord, because he can fuck you up. I empathise with Jonah.  I have been fucked up. When my friends cast lots against me, the world swallowed me whole. My three days and nights lasted an eternity – until I finally discerned the truth. You can take that fishy story with a pinch of salt. Don’t take any text literally. Call it poetic licence. Sometimes fictions make more sense than facts. That doesn’t make them true, they just come disguised like that. The truth part is up to you.

There are fictions we choose to believe. There are fictions we can’t see.  We might as well be blind if stories have us crouching in the dark. We might as well be deaf if we will not hear the truth screaming in our ears.   We are only as honest as our curiosity.  It’s curiosity that wields the blade with which we dissect ideas. We were gifted with minds, so that we could think for ourselves. That’s what makes us human beings. That’s what being human is. If there’s a spark of divinity in that, it was born within our minds.

Do something crazy before you die

                                 

Do you ever think about your thinking?  Is your mind just a place to hide?   I met the Buddha the other day. He was panhandling for change.  He recognised the face, but couldn’t recall my name, He said. “do something crazy before you die, “  then fucked off down the street. It had to be the Buddha -  although I must admit he’s changed.  He’s still the man I knew from a different time and place.

Do you ever think about your thinking?  Does your mind illuminate your life?  Stranger things have happened, but I couldn’t tell you when.   If you identify as sentient, you’re not alone in loneliness.  This old world is crazy. You’ll never figure it out.  Just don’t take it too personally. You’re only passing through. Try to bear that in mind whenever the world disappoints you.   It’s not just sage advice.  This here’s a word to the wise. Do something crazy before you die.  The opportunity won’t come twice

music for parties

 we’re all about the night      so go on      give it a little extra     stick the boot right in    we’ve been waiting on something special       it’s time you took your turn       let’s get out of our skins       we can celebrate together      puncture the night with song      tonight will live forever    coz the party never ends      where young hearts run wild and strong

…and the buddha makes three

 

I’m sparking up a formula     with no specific ingredients      can you follow that?     will it make any difference?      I’ve had too much to think     and now I need a rest     still, it makes the nights more interesting     to think until you think you’re full     do you ever think about your thinking?     I suggest you do     we can compare notes     you, me  and the buddha makes three    the mind is a rubber band      it’s got elasticity     when we stretch and flex    the universe bends in sympathy      I see a bird perched in a tree     I am the bird      I am the tree    when I sing the song    the song is me

crave

 

I’m strung out on everything     I can never get enough    I got this hole inside I can’t fill    an urgent hunger    deep frenzied and lustful     it’s driving me around the bend     I need something to ease the pain     like sex, drugs or liquor      something that will get its teeth into me      the remedies lie close at hand       but I’m not gonna let that happen       I won’t let it consume me       I’ll turn this ache into energy      coz it’s an itch that I can never scratch     heaven knows I’ve tried    this constant craving  cannot be sated    it’s a bitch to the very last

dreams

 some dreams are terrible     some dreams are sacred      their fragments alive only in memory       she treads through my dreams with delicate feet     I pursue, but I never quite catch her        she rides on the breeze - just out of reach     I dreamed she was here last night    I did my best to be appealing      she glowed in appreciation      how I enjoyed putting out the charm      and watching it connect      better than putting out fear and watching it twist with calculated effect     

I’m a kindly old ruin    or so she said     a man with no soul     an ancient plumed serpent with come to bed eyes      I was designed to produce offspring like every other creature     not cower in the suburbs shining my dick     I’m now sixty four     and coming of age      (about fucking time)     I’m no longer afraid      just too old to do much about it      perhaps I’m too aged      to still cut the mustard      but a man can still dream     if that’s all that’s left him     a man can still hope     that dreams can come true