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10 January 2011

Birdcage

birdcage

I'm going mad I tell you!!! Tiny shiny metal bats with wings as sharp as razor blades clang against the bars of my cage and spiral off - down into the gloomy infinite - what the fuck is down there anyway! Tang! shliiizz - there goes another one. They echo locate as they crash straight into my gilded dome. They'd slice me up if they could get in - but I won't let 'em. I got the only key you see. So here I coop on this little stoop - too chicken shit to venture out into the bat infested climes of the infinite what? 

I was lured in here by small game hunters who laid a trail of opiated millet - by the time I realised it was a fucking trap - I was too stoned to care. They must have shrunk me to get me into a cage this size - coz I felt pretty big on the outside, but now I feel small on the inside. The day I moved in they gave me a little golden key and said; "Here Joey, this is yours - this here's a zoo and the keeper is you." 

I was fucking furious let me tell you, "What the fuck does this mean?" I asked - as I hurriedly locked the door. "You mean I'm a fucking prisoner here?" One of them replied, "Not at all." Shit head - I said, "What does that mean?" He said, "What does what mean?" I was getting mighty pissed by now, "What does THAT mean." - "What does what does THAT mean?" he answers. "Are you pullin' my fucking chain?" I yelled. "No reply," was the answer. I don't mean 'no reply' was the answer, I mean "No reply" was the answer. He actually said "No reply" - what does THAT mean? I'm getting out of here one day - soon as I figure out where I am, or were out there is, ‘cause I know where I am - I'm in here, wherever that is. I guess I'm headed out there, wherever that is, as soon as I figure out where that is, that is.


11 November 2010

Talking Monkeys




Jehovah H. Frankenstein! - What have you done now? I went along with the duckbill platypus, the giraffe, the elephant and the giant fish – yes I’m aware that they’re mammals thank you – this time you have gone too far! Talking monkeys – are you insane? What earthly use are talking monkeys? Apes – shapes they look like monkeys to me. Say, are those monkeys wearing clothes? Why are your monkeys wearing clothes? Have you been talking to them? To your talking monkeys - have you? Have you been talking to your talking monkeys? Not really? How often is not really? A couple of times? That’s all! What did you say to them? You can’t remember! That’s no good! Nothing important! – I’ll be the judge of that! You know, you could have compromised the entire project. Talking monkeys indeed – it just won’t do!
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19 October 2010

Dirty Harry


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I don’t think too much about it    I just write from whatever direction the wind’s blowing     I have no flags to wave    I don’t believe in ‘things’      so I got no use for flags     I have no cause to affect      and no mission to accomplish    I already set myself free    as befits a man of my temperament

I have no beef with anyone     in the normal flow of events     but when some numb nutted   bovine brained   worm tongued  would-be  Wordsworth wanders lonely as a fucking cloud across MY horizon      I figure  why shoot the breeze    when you can shoot the messenger?   I bark bullets   I don’t take prisoners     I don’t have the facilities

I dish out summary execration     to anyone waxing lyrical on the virtues of agape    or how their soul is stirred by nature’s beauty     I read them their rights     before I ram my muzzle home     and loose my words    BLAM!     d’ya feel that?  BLAM! BLAM!    do you understand?    BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!      any questions?     then we’re done here     one less polygluttonous book maggot wasting good paper

 

*This work is entirely fictitious and any resemblance to person or persons actual or fictional is purely co-incidental. The views expressed here are not necessarily not the views of the author.

3 October 2010

The Mark Of Cain


1
I come from East of Eden,
And bear the mark of Cain,
That may be the reason,
They say that I’m insane,
My boots are caked in mud,
From walking in the rain,
My hands are stained with blood,
From the brothers I have slain.
The End

*Image by Robert Crumb

2 October 2010

Hollow















there’s the tenderest vibration 
of laughter’s unheard echo 
the emptied out sensation 
of rooms now left hollow
and something fragile vacillates 
between happiness and sorrow 
something now is missing 
some subtle nuance fled
it's something nearly tangible 
that burns inside my head 
as half remembered passages 
in a book that I once read 

The End
Finis