houdini

 

here I am again        titanic in proportion       sinking like stone      sweet jesus show some mercy     and bring me back down          I've been on a death trip for a week       a week of bloody tears stinging my eyes     a week of hound dogs on my heels      and that’s a rough ride      for a man in my condition        I have criminal juice boiling black inside of me        I've been rendered meat       hung up on butcher's hooks       and pounded into pulp       slaughtered by my memories        I  can’t escape my memories       I’m shackled by the past      no longer cast as human       I'm just a fraction of a man        staring into dark infinity      my cup is filled with ghosts       I sup it's bitter poison        a fermented  blend of treason      concocted from regret and recrimination         dear lord    I need a fix     to blow away my shrouds        to lift my psyche out of this    I never meant any harm  to anyone       but I'm a prisoner just the same         I'm the last man standing         there’s no-one else to blame

hear my voice on the album ‘Dagger’

je suis un zombie

 

I can cruise       six miles over        but you gotta come down      sometime          I got the pulse      electric in my veins         I’m throbbing with static       drowned  in the darkness       and drenched in black rain      this could be a dream        for all I know      I can’t tell the difference      in my somnambulist phase       je suis un zombie        welcome to my nightmare       my up is down       I’m drowning in mirrors       I cut my edge     from the shattered reflections         of the bipolar ripples       that run through my creation       I was moulded in the image of my maker       semi divine        in my mucky enclosure        talk to me now       I’m lost and alone       I’m fighting with shadows      so far from home

Hear my voice on the album 'Dagger'

loup garou

 

I’m an old dog now            and just getting older           all the violence and insanity       has been bleached from my bones           time turns lions into lambs         and melts swords into plowshares           but I won't be corralled       into some holding pen behind the abattoir                 I have the moon in my throat          and blood in my eyes               I could still squeeze out           one more explosion         one more bout of mania              to see me down the road

hear my voice 'Dagger'

NSFW

 

they tried to straighten me out        the captains of industry         they wanted to scrape me clean       and strip me of autonomy       they said I was maladjusted        they had to save me from myself          they took down my particulars         and stowed me on the shelf        but I contracted  negativity        from the bullshit that they fed to me       there is no trace of dignity      in their cruel economy        I'm just another victim of industrial disease      I'm a pile of lazy bones        redundant and ill at ease

 

real poets fire blank verse

 

dead horses saddled and flogged         the symbol of futility       ideographs of broken people      damaged and confused              forty years in the harness      dragging for the man      at the end of my bloody tether       I pulled a smash and grab        I stole an ounce of freedom           if only in my head       I took to scrawling words        to score some gravy with my bread         

those first were words ugly       but beautiful just the same        so I rearranged their order          and gave them different names       some they say there's madness in my method       that I have a turn of phrase       but from where I stir the pot        all words look the same        there is no magic incantation       no happy ever after          I may as well tear up those words       and post them down the crapper

hear my voice: "Dagger".

gently turn the tides

 

I ebb and flow         a creature born of circumstance        I apply strictly crooked reasoning         to this strictly crooked world                  I chart the geometry of being          deploying instruments         of my own design           it's an esoteric task       but mine is a ministry          a ministry of one         I'd love to touch the sun              with my banner fully unfurled      but for the moment     I'm consigned to ebb and flow       on the gently turning tide  

I ebb and flow         a captive of coincidence             I speak when I'm spoken to         this is no time for clever  rhetoric               they can lock you up        for speaking too loud       so I mind my own business        and mark my own time        worldly concerns are best left for those          who will carve a new paradigm       from the flotsam of the old        but in the meantime          I simply ebb and flow      while the tide gently turns

hear my voice: 'DAGGER'

The Crow Road

 

with the fullness of time      it will always come to this     that we shall walk the crow road       with the darkness in our eyes        and splinters in our feet      but we meanwhile shield our eyes        from the awful truth       we live an allotted time      and are one day rendered meat

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heroes

 

they say a hero is partially courageous   but mostly foolish     that maybe a hero is just a regular guy   who made an honest mistake   a guy who wants to run like everybody else     but doesn’t    what’s he afraid of do you think?

maybe there are no heroes    maybe we are all driven by fear    maybe we’re just a pack of dogs     marking our territories with piss   perhaps the real heroes know this    because they’ve been paying attention   and they know that this life just a childish game

just who is and who isn’t a hero?    that would depend who’s side you are on   one man’s hero is another man’s villain    we are all heroes in our own minds     few ever see themselves as villainous    until it’s too late    and the villainy is done

for some a hero is someone willing to die for a cause    maybe heroism isn’t about dying for something   but living for something    in truth the common notion of heroism is a fiction    an entertainment      our prisons are full of heroes     but nobody cares  about them

I’m told there is a hero within each of us     but there are more tyrants than heroes within us    I pity anyone who needs a hero    because heroes are thin on the ground   villainy is much more common     you can always count on villains to show up on time

*Image: ‘The Death Of Achilles’  Corfu, Greece

society

 

they tell us man was made   in the image of his creator    but society was forged    in the image of the beast    I’ll have no truck with society     society is a killer driven by hatred and greed    we gave power to our demons     and we’ll never get it back    from inside the prison of society

nothing ever changes   within existent reality   it will take a brand new paradigm     to really shake things loose    to keep your hands clean   you must live outside society   you cannot claim your freedom   while on your bended knees   

we’ve ignored the potential of love     to raise us above savagery    we’ve  embraced a machine        that celebrates conformity    and crushes individuality   in this bloody system    there’s little room for sentiment   we define our cultural history    as a record of atrocities

I once believed that to be human    was our highest attainment    now I see that to claim our humanity    is to admit that we are monsters    I reject the callous mechanism we call society    I never belonged to society    and it never belonged to me

Janus

 

stem your tears and dry your eyes      they are trying to steal your name   they want to modify your temperament      to make you feel ashamed    you ain’t been cutting the mustard     at the image factory     and they can delete your profile     any time they choose

get a hold of your sunshine    learn how to play the game     the benefits are obvious     there is no other way    don’t be yesterday’s hero    when you could eat this whole world raw      don’t tell them you’re a nobody     they pegged you for a star     just make your ego porous    and try to enjoy the ride

you’ll need two faces now     one for them and one for you    be careful who you trust with yours    because some would sell you out     they’ll imitate your action   even your mistakes      they’ve got no imagination     and no creative juice     they have to feed off you    you’re the only show in town

try not to worry too much     no-one sees your pain     they want you to be glamorous      and  maybe just a little flawed   that way you make good copy    when they nail you to the cross     they say the greater the exposure   the deeper runs the doubt    don’t bend yourself all out of shape    trying to work it out

Odysseus rides again

I went down to the jungle    on a sacramental mission   those misbegotten angels     were selling counterfeit mushrooms   laced with dark confusion   and suicidal ideation    I swallowed me a bundle    and set off on a voyage   of odyssean dimensions

 the devil took my clothes   and stripped me of my name    I became the shotgun messenger    the prophet of a new gospel    that was totally insane    and mine were broken commandments    before they were ever carved in bone   hallucinogenic manna    that was less than halfway baked

I saw patterns emerging   that were hidden from science    they only blossomed in the darkness    of the gardens in my mind    on a vicious island    in a secret archipelago     on the ocean of despair

I was eaten by moths   who feasted on my organs    and left me wafer thin   solitary and moonstruck   in urgent need of repair    I was a one man holocaust    in a dystopian nightmare that I myself devised    there was an armageddon there    and no-one else survived

if I was taught a lesson    it was difficult to decipher   my bones have rejected meaning   and my mind denies the consequences  of feasting with my demons   I’ve been hung out to dry   in the sodding rain   a man who prayed for a fair wind  and reaped a hurricane