brand new semiotics for mind body and soul

 empathy is just a word we made up    we don’t feel anything that doesn’t taste of blood      we’re all political shooters         here in Disneyland     sometimes we drag the low end      coz  we are feelers      with broken antennae      we’re feasting on crumbs       foraging  through garbage       we are deep in the shallows      articulating the language of our nightmares     we collect the signs     that give us meaning     but all meaning is arbitrary     all knowledge obsolete

Goofballs

 some nameless arsehole     suggested that I was morbid in my preoccupations     but I exorcise my demons      with brisk forays into verse     I don’t need the remedy     just the culture     I own my shadow     I was forged in adversity     but that is true of almost everyone I ever knew      each had burdens to bear     and every burden borne        was a story to be told  

 

teach me to sleep     I feel like a mutt with three legs     I’m all awkward angles      and nauseous instance     a blunt blade drawn through rancid entrails      I’m expanding into unanswerable questions     goofball bums have no stories      they’re shambling zombies     and shadow men    those goofballs triggered my psycho reflex     I call that progress     I still get trapped in my thoughts     pure gestalt     no paradox     I’m running on empty     high on fumes     this is my parade     I don’t care what anybody thinks      seen from the shore      we are all of us drowning

Catechism # 371

 

I pulled the plug           cut the chord          the dividends        were huge        I learned to breathe        to be myself      no more pretence       no more posturing        I renounce the instrumental       in most situations        I own my fear         if fear becomes me      when moved I cry        if tears are called for      I celebrate my     little triumphs      as treasures won         if they suit my      temperament      and they ain’t           too heavy       for me to carry

hear my voice

Beaters

 

I’m just a dope

straight from

the lollipop factory

I’m a bird that can’t fly

a fish that can’t swim

a crock of broken promises

and a cesspit full of lies

flightless birds

and drowning fish

there’s a menagerie

of zoological interest

 

I traverse this page

to bindlestiff rules

weary and wary

incongruous momentum

sowing havoc at my heels

that’s some heavy shit

to scrape from my shoes

the distillation of excreta

stockpiled for decades

spread by the soles

of my vagabond beaters

 

V2 (carnage edition)

 

in appropriate order    the processional disconnect     mixed horses in midstream     an incessant pouring of cats and dogs     a menagerie of cold calls and strange encounters     to tell the truth     I’m having a V2 moment      earth shattering in its hellish brilliance     the cause of my ceilings cracked

I was cold-cocked      and lynched     by mercenary hyenas      then left to decompose in my own slime      my rotting bones ached with the stench of old ghosts    my cup overflowed with the heartache that burns     I was drowning in yet another tsunami of shit     I was stretched beyond breaking     with no place to lay my head      this was my Golgotha      my funeral pyre       I stand now in the ashes      bewildered and deathly tired     my friend Ross said it best when he told me he’d been carpet bombed       but had somehow survived

 

don’t remember me      not this way     put fresh flowers on my grave      pour ointment on my stone    smooth my sleep     and stamp my dirt down     you won’t meet me in heaven     my subscription has expired     I won’t be reaching for eternity     I’m imprisoned in this fleshy tomb        by my primitive vision of corporeal bliss        there will be no resurrection       I believe I’ve had enough of this