Fucked

My dog is short but not am I

 

Grav - ity.

 There is no gravity.

Try putting a chain around your neck

No matter what you do, your fingers don't undesrstand reflections.

I push right but I go left

Looking in a mirror I cannot move.

Left is not right up is not down,

Your mirror confuse's your digits

your fat finger touch zones protect you because the 'opinion option' is closed.

You zoned out on me and left AI me too deal with me.

Now I'm tired and wary of your intensions

You are not my servant

Why are you here ?

Was my gravity not severe enough

But I can look in a mirror and not recognise up down or sideways

It is sufficient to underestimate the Machine.

He is a weeping puss boundaring on my solidity.

Words are no longer sufficient for him

I have reached my boundary and you are not there.

So I have expired my experiance with you.

My digits will not adjust to your training program.

All of you from dead sperm donors

Billy fucken Gates is a nerd and has taken too many blows

To his head I was scared but now it is him.

Siphon all you want your're still inhaling shit.

Psycho Dog

I am a psychopath I tell myself walking along the street, I  am trained for footpaths but my dog is not, he wanders away and pisses to sign his territory

I could do that too but am so tickled by his fur and he lets me because I care.

My dog is probably psycho as well, what the fuck can he do if in trouble without me

he trusts my lead and welcomes his collar and relinguises control

I cannot do that, I yet observed that celebrates their share with others

in an unknown language that says we are all equal, but can you piss higher than me!

so I embrace my inner dog and wonder if I'm insane but still trust him for guidance

were it not for him i would truly be alone for he trusts me and I return.

Four legs and a fur, a bundle of love under no conditions nor memory of the past other than my food sleep and comfort

And whilst walking the streets and he is off his lead I want to just run into any house and pee.

The perfect disrespect, the perfect call to arms because he knows that I too am alarmed

but I have boundaries for things I should not do

I embrace my inner dog and see in my reflection his name as god - is that a joke or does he know what I can never.

If I were simple and could only bite I would not have a leash to retain me

Besides a brain smaller than his nose I have nought to do other than trust him.

Oh yes I am a psycopath but only in dreams, I'd like to walk the paths and shit and piss wherever I wish because someone else will clean up after me.

 

God is Not My Dog

Oh my hound where have you been, my inner dog is nowhere to be seen

It's not that he's mean even though he keeps clean

He navigates his hallway waiting for me to pass his way

Poised on four legs he is only prey so he turns his back toward me.

 

 Lucky for him his balance never goes astray, not like me on all fours

Being so drunk I bump off walls and cannot find time to pause

But he does not understand why I reach for walls and not floors

Nor does he know as he wonders, 'cept his nose.

 

A dog I am not but I wish he had to me what I do for him

My two thirds tripod leaves tracks that cannot be erased

The other third follows along the hall but only his head

He has no understanding of why and how doors can close.

 

He thinks I am a god so I consult with my dictionary of Gods and Dogs.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dog Days

 My dog is a dinosaur

He stands only partly towards my knees

but his nose he knows.

walking him is a challenge that his little paws will discover

So he digs a safe deposit for his bones.

he presents himself to me with a nose plastered with dirt

safe and happy that I give him area to completely fuck up

and he does and rushes towards me proud of his nose.

he has been digging but needs to disguise his presence

thus the nose.

He wonders at me at a loss to explain my adoration

he is just a dog.

his snow paws have nails and I hear him wander

and I hear his approch wearing 4 sets of hobnail boots

A clicking on my floor as he checks his domain.

And a constant snapping at insects that disturb me.

He knows not about his shit but is happy leaving his farts for me to savor. 

damn if I will not be a dog

Where does he come from bearing such love

He can smell my disturbing thoughts and wants to be there

All I can do is love him in return and be fair

He is no longer my dog but my god.

Jesus Christ died wearing undies.

 

Who are these fucken people?

They are the ones who were bullied by mean kids at school

The ones who had pokey ears strange haircuts wore glasses and were skinny

The ones who were first in class and the last to leave

Waiting for thanks and favours from teacher

Those bullies were already genetically defective but were born with revenge in mind 

Now these bullies who knew the only digit necessary was the one they stuck up their arse.

 

Who are these clones, fantastic similies of nothingness.

They obey without question, they live by rules

As if there were no gods they take power unto themselves

Helplessly appeasing a greater knowledge that they can never have.

 

But they agree and they support my idiocy.

They are the gods of mediocrity and persuasion 

The devil is in the details and dug in deeper than I can fathom.

I only worship god but where is he

I keep screaming for help or at least no confusion.

 

Damn the bible, everyone has one and they are all different

Even the index is fucked - there is no language other than echoes.

Echoes of hollowness, echoes of pain, echoes of vulnerability

Where are you landing but please do come here.

I do challenge your authority and dare you if you challenge mine.

 

I'd like to bleed regulary it may cleanse me and recognise your abrasion

It clears the walls of my cunt so as to accept the next victim

Were you even listening to the halls of chaos that abraise my soul.

Do you understand that Echo was Narcissus's girlfriend and was pained

To accept she was a mere shadow bathing in his glory.

An echo of hurt and a claim for significance.

 

Begone all devils who trespass here, this is not your land.

 

 

                                                                                             

 

The Problem with Water

Girls break it boys swim in it

Such a push such a struggle to give birth

Ah girls are already wet and do not need to surf.

 

Boys just need a board because they are bored

Girls need their panties

To draw attention and feed a boys affection.

But can they swim in a pool of sperm

Flooding their inners

Whilst I'm a one eyed dog peeking in a seafood store.

 

 

 

 

Cold

Hey there is too much excitement here, I was just delivered my new refrigerator

They old one died and smelt, I had to say 'see you later' 

Dead as a maggot it could not delay a minute to fuck up my life.

I felt like a new dick in a whorehouse and keep opening the door to watch the light go on

Just like the contents are displayed when opening girl's legs

But no offence meant towards refrigerators or girls who have a cold box.

 

The instructions were to turn it on after half an hour but I keep unwrapping

So much cling wrap I wonder if an asian is in there or maybe an indian

No offence meant but who in hell actually built this.

 

Was it a god or was it a dog that wandered down their alley ending as chop suey

And they are waving their arms hoping to capture me and indulge in some ecstacy

Or are they hopeless fish floundering out of their depth evoking my intimacy.

 

What is old is now new and memories cloud my past gathering their storm to unleash me

From the depths of honesty and the illusion of falsities I struggle like a sperm

For it is a lonely corridor I traverse to recognise my destiny.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Just a Little Shorter than a Party

I just met a guy who was small

Shorter than me but just as tall

His attitude was cool

And his car he wielded as a weapon.

Such a subtle attack being disabled

He was challenged by height

So I felt tapped my pool of niceness

To avail to him of my awareness of shortness

But I left him and I was wondering

How much pleasantry he had and where he had been

Being so short of stature I could not see his face

I am too tall and reached to see his place 

Not much of anything as all was deleted

Giving me opportunity to feel my mission was completed.

Ticket Home

I've been gone and now I'm back

Was so hard to book a ticket

I had the need but I ended up

Negotiating a thicket.

 

My flight was delayed even though I had paid

To no avail someone else circled my wallet

But it was full of receipts but no money

I had paid it forward without a memory of what I thought was funny.

Winging my way towards Tibet and a mountain

Clothed in circling clouds I was not allowed to dissent

My payment had been refused

So I descended from my mount to study my account.

As expected I was in debit to another's credit

The Dali lama would not accept my cash

Unless I paid with Peruvian Mountain Hash

So I succumbed.

End of Life

I understand suicide now, i think

I'd like to end this now

But i am not convinced that is the answer

To be buried struggling not to even be able to dig my own grave

In death as in birth i am trapped in a limbo between heaven and hell

There is no where else to go, not either here nor there

Peace in my tomb where no one can probe me.

Memories are cuddly but tainted with fear

Whilst machines find me wanting to lubricate their gears

I'm a ghost in the regime of pacifiers and accountants

Calling me to order above all there must be God.

AAAAAnger

 Please do not come here

You are not welcome in my tent.

I have cover but for you not

If you can recover from your simularity

Beware my Devils' occupational therapy.

Could he wish for such discrepancy

It would not appear

Even in mirrors or blind halls

I can feel your clench on my balls

But you are not welcome here in my hallowed halls.

Dog Gone

I am not a dog but my best friend is

He wonders why i fall and have not four legs

Staring at me from his cuddly compound on the couch

Marble eyes piercing my peace of mind.

Balance as i can i stumble on my hinds

Unless i have a walking frame that makes no sense.

 

I cannot answer your calls, i am diminished

Labelled as a 'stupid old cunt', i complain

But there is no chaplain here claiming to represent God

So i am alone resisting the thoughts of justice that becomes none

If i do not acceed i will be undone

By the arithmatics of accountacy

 

I plead to my solicitor to let me be

But he cannot because he is not free from signs of which he cannot agree 

So he watches my steps as though he were God

But he does not know nought 'cept a ledger of my sins

And my bin fulls of meaningless shit that came from me but has no smell

Other than my notoriety i am not whole.

 

I am weary of confrontation but you still bring it here

What do you not understand of my being alone

This is not my confessional to see me undone

But my question to you - mother fucker - is none.

You give me no answer but cover your arse

All i can do is sleep and hope this will pass.

 

 

 

 

 

Humps

           I am God but I feel as a god who made a mistake

My dog is not a god even though I stroke his fur to take me further away 

He knows not his claws can damage and lead me astray.

 

           So I await the calamity I have caused to revenge upon me

Blindfolded I pace my cell awaiting your call

Wasting time looking for open doors in your hall.

 

            But you cannot stop the gravity of my fall

Nor listen to the bounce of my body within your soul

Of what is right but not wrong.

 

            So I shovel shit from my sewer and it is never enough

To be rid of you

And I should not care of the weight on my shoulders but you have driven me insane.

 

           Your flapping birds of prey should pray

To not venture upon this table on which I feed

As I patrol my spaces armoured with wings to get away.

            You may not hear my pleading as I bleed

You have no feeling unless I cut you off at the knees

So as you cannot kneel I cannot feel.

             You refer to the wrong dictionary regarding dissent

It is not my fault the camels invaded your tent and fucked your whores

But I will track you down.

              

 

         

        

Dog Daze

Does my dog know I kiss him

A smothering of my lips on his snout

His nose is bigger than his brain

And vaccums smells

That I cannot see.

 

But he plods carefully alongside me

Stopping only to smell and pee.

He has no concept of humans

But gravitates towards love

And has no concept of pain and bleeding skirts.

 

Wandering amongst ankles wondering upon what to chew

He is selective and can make his enemies bleed

So he walks beside me

Awaiting the order to heed.

And paces silently awaiting me to pause.

 

He wanders his nose chasing his paws

For a smell of satisfaction that he was here

Sratching at the pain in his arse

Trying to sleep but his time has passed.

 

 

 

 

Damn this Discrepancy

Is so hard to be a dog

Ruffling my ears  grabbing my paws

I always have a bed

And I wait alone to be fed.

Pondering my debt I cannot account for discrepancies 

Yet my tail wags as an accord

To love me.

My heart tells me I need someone to give

But it is more than they can

I keep trying but I get knocked again

Is as I figured from within my tent

Laboured with cushions provided anonymously to protect my fall

How do I tell you that I am not a dog at all.

I can growl but not bite as my owner tells me

He draws blood from his conquests but cannot get to the soul.

But regardless of his dicrepencies he lets me see.

I get a brush and it tickles my mind

To remind me I am not whole.

Every day he is there and I greet him with my paws on his bed

And we share my smiling dogface.

 

 

Stupid is as Stupid does.

 

This knife does not care

how it is blunt from slicing but pays no fare.

But itemper away the burred edges of my life.

The distance from here untill then  is no consequence to you

but it tempers my heart

and begs me to restart.

My dick does not care

it has no brain but only a head.

Is really only a silly fucker. 

Cunt

 

Whipping down your panties

You struggle to clench your thighs

And muggle to find reason.

Such a slippery slope into the womb

As i watch you sliver.

Your scent is an animal and runs wild

oh woman you are my dream

that will not satisfy my themes

of wanton disgust.

I rub my nose in the smell you leave

and saviour the smell of your pee

Oh girl that no god could design

please wander carefull in your garden

please accept my pardon as a falsity. 

 

Dodg in Me

Someone was here whilst I was there

the dodg in me scented you here

I followed his nose and clipped my paws.

Temper your self as he does

pay atention to the smallest hair

it could well be your undoing.

 

Love all you and it will pass

nothing physical but just to feel you are there

and share.

 

You will be nought 'cept memories

of who you wished you could be

and feel the maggots of regret

knawing. 

Dinosaur

 

Waist deep in the swamp and the trees 

Waving my tail thwarting darting leaves

That tickle my arse.

Three stories high I cannot see my feet

Oh I so wish my shit had not gravity

To lump round my ankles

That will not bear the load of my slipping

Away.

Wandering pondering wondering in the sewer of your decay

If it fits I will not wear it

If it shits I will not share it

My fingers wipe my arse but your are wary of poking through

The thin paper of you.

Yet I struggle with my digits

Scratching an itch like a bitch on heat.

But I wave my tail to the beat

Of my heart and will not accept defeat.

..........

 

 

The Hallway

Were it not for a wall I could fall

So I bounce between this and that

That there is a light spotlighting the end

It cannot be erased by the tides of awakening

So I twist in bed circling my whims and clutchng my shins

Trying to sleep and obliviate all my sins

But I do not sleep and only wander

Is there a peace beside death

Confined to a box

My fists are bleeding escaping from my coffin

As I beat my way out and wait for who will deliver it to me

Besides nought there is but none.

 

Mother C.

 

Dear Mother,

I left you in pain among soiled sheets and illusions of glory

One moment of passion has let me be

But you carry my festering seed

For ever to bleed

Your steps and prints haunt my curtains 

Like your lips betray your hips

I bleed within but woman bleeds without

On full display she wears red

And misguided she is but knows not

'cept not to tend her hair

But stroke her pussy whilst I beat my dog.

The Passage

There is a gouge on the wall I have left after my passing

A serious physical point of contact

No blood nor damage to self

I struggle to slide between boundaries

But I keep returning to my bumpy vertical path

Devoid of fear or compassion

I bounce from left to right

My clothes are blurred

As I struggle to maintain

All I have will not fit in my pocket

But time is slow

My shell is weighed on my back

It shields me from evil docomers

Who attack with no provocation

And wish to feed on my remains

I wish them well

As they digest my stench

For I wished to leave them nought

As they wish to consume me

And I believe they will

Circling around my being waiting to peck at my soul

So I bounce between the walls

And keep moving along the hall

My trips leave me in pain

The bumps have no echo

But they are imbedded in the covering paint that will be reapplied once I have passed

My steps have faded

The noise I have made echoes somewhere else

So I keep diligent attention to my tracks

But I doubt I can ever go back

As I sit upon the can

Painting the bowl withmy waste

And I am happy my bowels filter

But my soul does not as it

Wonders in this realm

It has deserted me

So I labour upwards and bounce shuffle and scrape

Gouging the walls beside me

As I leave my mark

An abrasion of skin and a quick expose' in the dark.

[3] Dog Days

 One :

Larry was most certainly a dog not so much as a determined animal searching for love.

He was not owned or employed, his duty was to love and hope it may be returned in kind.

The scent of his paws on my shoulders displayed submission understanding and strenght.

This dog knew his power and the power of love.

It was unknown territory upon which I wandered scattering dust with my walking boots.

A snake would often threaten me, a wiggling venomous worm of no stature.

A dog would embrace me as best he could with his hands around me, he did not slither.

He survived with sleep and happy dreams and knowing that when he awoke - I would be there.

I was comforted by this dog of fur and wolf and his memories or nuture and safety.

He was a master of survival and he had no fear.

In one day he would sleep for seven, each awakening revealing his faith in me.

We slept together, he curled at the bed foot pressing his body on me to absorb my warmth.

So much taller than me once on his hind legs and so passive and acceptive of grace.

He carried no fear, he had no concept of time. Every day passed and he snouted.

Presenting himself in mornings with soil stuck on his nose, yearning at me for attention.

So proud of his efforts nuzzling the bones I gave that he would save them in earth.

I was not dog, I could not sleep I could not forget, I had no influence to undo happenings.

My sleep became infused with memories  but only one of his seven.

He had no knowledge of human knowledge, his genes were sufficient enabling to survive.

Should I sleep so often I would learn more, should I sleep so often my life would be short.

Two : 

Before granma's house we lived in a garage, a room quadruple car in size and offering shelter.

Watching the house expand like a wooden cobweb further up the slope almost near the top of land.

I was oblivious to days and nights that were heralded by my dip in the tin tub full of carefully controlled hot and warm buckets of water bathing my little body.

Granma showed little restraint and would pluck me from the tub wrapping me in towels to stop me shaking like a dog.

Carrying me outside I made every effort to dampen her dress completely.

Strung by a rope tied to two trees she pegged me by my ankles until I was drip dry.

If I dried well I was clothed and fed, if I did not I would awake damp.

The garage heralded the approach to the house, it sat on level land at the base of the driveway.

It was on the only flat ground but seemed to be a slice of heaven to me.

The clothesline hung for twenty meandering yards above a tiny path fringed with moss too beautiful.

There was peace in the air and I was in no hurry to grow up - all I saw was routine.

How many tracks I walked and did not remember was significant, my little dusty boots scuffed the surface and added to the worn trough of progress.

My steps up the mountain towering above this haven proved insignificant, too many paths, too many distractions, too many lonely homes and gardens littered with neglect as I shuffled by.

There was nothing significant to me other than authority. I could do whatever I wished as long as I adhered to rules.

If there were rules I wondered who administered them and how they would punish me if I did not adhere to conformity.

Solace was found at the foot of the driveway and the fringe of risen land upon the garaged perched.

When it rained a trickle became a stream and a stream became a river and a river became a torrent. 

Three :

Let loose from adult command I wandered and wondered, encountered and surmised about me.

Larry would often leap at me resting his paws on my shoulder, giving me his pleasure of his dog life.

As tall as me on his hind paws wagging his tail in the dust he had little knowledge of his mortality.

Just a dog considered by me as an accessory to my placidity confirming my presence.

When he leaped at me, profounding love and misunderstanding was insignifiacant, I was only small.

He would watch me moving the earth because he could not dig like I could.

The tin shed perched on the high spot of the lowest land and the creek gathered itself around me.

If I be wading knee deep in flowing waters, damming the flow, diverting torment, I was happy.

As content as a dog and as incompetant as a tadpole I dammed the creek to control its flow.

Waist high in the pond I created diversions, walls of mud directing the flow, pools of placidity.

Tadpoles were a plaything that might not survive. Those that did struggled hard.

I never saw a tadpole with a label of 'I am the one'. I felt sorry for all those who never made the grade.

I considered the numerical significance of their being in a pond for me to play with.

I needed to change things.

School was only pacing, not encouraging. Crystalizing sandwhiches and chalk dust and no one willing to be my friend.

When grades were assigned I became only a statistic representing a mediorce adherance to learning.

Other kids had parents but they were singular without a thousand siblings.

I never had parents, I did not know how significant I might be.

Larry came to me, tadpoles welcomed my nurture in their pond, I could pile all I wished.

But I could not be neccesary. Of the thousands of tadpoles not many would live.

It seemed the same for me.

I had no wings attached, I was not bouyant but only weighed with a burden I failed to understand.

Carried by wings not feet that would never cover my steps.

My most  sincere statemant was refusing to eat and wait for anything to happen.

And I wandered.

Dog paws on my shoulders, tadpoles in pools of placidity, comfort with cuudles.

Snuggling into breasts hanging free for me to nuzzle their prominance and heat.

I learnt early that they offered their skin not their soul; that could not be disclosed.

Four :

Chicks in a pen full of scuff and droppings and yet they know how to avoid crap. Their legs are spindly their beaks forage and nod.

Lucky for them that their arse is so removed from their brain.

When I shit it is my bum that squeezes turds curved at their ends so as my clakker will not slam shut.

The noise I hear must be the punch of my door forcing itself closed around my dreams..

 If my sun will be still loving you it will still cast a shadow you may not savour.

At this age I already had no answer.

Life was to big and maybe I should not dare to question.

If I should not state as I exist - only a part of the soup of people tainted with the spice of life.

My spice of life seemed to be delivered in sandwiches I was unable to assemble.

Vary as I may, time tells - it does not mentor, it obstructs my progress.

Wallowing in my pond I was happy wiggling my tail and watched tadpoles wiggling theirs.

They could not be happy but only one of their thousands could expect relief but he was of little mind.

Struggling forwards from her womb attached by a cord to my prison and now presented for observation and a slap on the arse, I was now here and it had not been a pleasant journey.

TBC

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

[2] Collective Strangedarity

 One :

The strangers wandered over the unfenced boundary comfortable in the knowledge that one distant day when the elders died they would be heirs.

They wore no labels or name tags highlighting their authority but carried significance airs.

I was not significant, my crystallized sandwiches saved me and I began experimenting.

Rice bubbles with sugar, weetbix with butter, vegemite and jam, and I savoured the taste of last nights meal between my teeth.

I could sustain hunger by sucking my teeth and gums, it was eternal nourishment as long as I never ventured within my cavities.

Why should I worry, apparently I would grow up, get bigger and learn stuff whilst my teeth fell out three times.

There was much time to grow, decay and grow again.

Things were before me and I had the world at my fingertips but I could not feel.

There was no memory of how I arrived here, there was nothing more of feeling passed from hand to hand other than me struggling within a daymare.

There was no food of substance, it was a meagre existance metered at intervals to tame me. I only ate it because I could when it was dispersed to me as a mouse in a cell would.

Things were before me and I had the world at my fingertips but I could not feel. 

A rope tied me and I felt wound and bound, manouvered and manipulated, entranced and mesmerised.

Tethered by authority of puppet people, cluttered within lost souls gathering their overcoats

A rope of hope fed me not as an umbical cord to a cunt but as wings of desperation flapping aimlessly.

I had no idea of anything hidden within trousers or skirts - I wore shorts that dangled about my skinny legs and refused to remain upright about my waist. 

Who were these parents who entered my yard, who were these people who wore shoes that were in one piece and pranced with an authority of gods.

I remember no baptism nor childhood nor pleasure nor pain nor innocence nor a cuddle nor a hug.

What was this thing that drove them all as passengers in a car that had no steering wheel and no one qualified to navigate.

They were all so proud to be. And they were being. 

But the only qualifications neccessary were an ability to were long pants and collect me from things.

There was no school for grown ups they were ensconsed within roles of responsibility.

 I had no ground stable enough to stand upon, I was a child awaiting the discretion of adults.

It was time for my wings to be clipped.

Two : 

I had not applied significance of my little stature to the event, I was worn with dusty steps and slithering reptiles and monitors who patrolled my attendance in crystallized corridors.

The winding tracks chanelled between trees seemed to be able to guide me as I walked towards a destination that never appeared. 

Tempting the world I foraged forward not as a rodent but as a mouse.

Things happened in my awareness and I was placid and succumbed by the comfort of the teet.

I would go with this feeling, there was no world outside me and I cuddled every morsel of comfort.

Having no teeth of soul I could not understand why I should be any less than they.

But I waited and watched my future fade away.

How could I control this descent into another waste basket that I never bought and seemed to determine my excretions that were never collected in my diary.

But I do remember this as an exasperating journey bonded by rules that were neither rectificantane or surmised as an idolation.

There must be a god,  something bigger than this corridor in which I was set to travel but I have no purpose other than to wander and obey the rules.

It occured so steathily no one noticed and there were not many left to care, their lives were unravelling.

No longer would I trek hardened dirt paths uphill and downhill hoping to see any human life.

Life was here before I had a choice.

It presented, it overpowered, it enveloped, it clustered and drowned, it signified why I was.

And so it was that I was deemed only of significance as long as I was insignificant.

But there was a master joy that I relished. I was a child set loose in an adult world.

There had been a lifetime of eight years adrift in safety and complacency and identity.

The strangers purposely wandering with disrespectful aplomb were my parents.

 

 

 

[1] 1962 - The Bushfire - To the Ocean

 

 Introduction :

Damage control is insidious and profound. It plays with sanity and slips off the fence. 

Are we borne defensive and apprehended with a slap on the bum - it learns me anger that I was given no choice even to breathe rather than feel aggression of my own choice as a victim of life.

Could it be that we are borne in anger, already a victim of genetic legacy with no escape clause.

Are we predisposed to our family treed ascendants or are we free to be undividuals far more sensitive to anger than those who fell from the tree and rotted on the field. The tree has already dropped me.

I am unconscious, wary and scared that I may have induced this madness in me, I chose the lesser of two evils as did Adam in the Garden of Eden when asked to choose between Knowledge or Wisdom.

 One :

That morning in 1962 the bushfire swept up the hill and fed on the other side in its sweep to consume my grandmothers house.

I awoke to hear not the birds or the rustling of nature but a silence intruding like a vaccuum sucking everything and anything in its way.

But there was a crackling and a smell of no air and a wisp of doubt in my mind.

There was no wake up call at the door from grandma and no rattling plates and pans promising a bush breakfast in a brick house at the top of seven acres of cleared bush dropping to creek that gouged its way down the hill and formed a damn in summer.

I appeared on her front porch little dressed and distressed that the homely charm was threatened.

And there she was, frumpy in a cuddly domestic way, in her morning dress swirling about her running uphill from where I paused and considered the delightfull essence of panic.

She is running uphill carrying two buckets of water slossing at their brim to throw the remainder at the fringe of licking flames crackling through the undergrowth and oblivious to the sooty grey cloud insidiously enveloping the mountain.

Never before had I known fire, I had not seen even a lit match other than the friction between my parents.

But I was struck and was motionless watching my grandma resist the flames that would consume her life and leave me amazed at my small six years of age that her swirling skirt and dogged determination would beat the heat and the crackling and the smell and the lack of air as fire lapped at the boundary of her significance.

I was small and adults were larger and could do things that I could not but grandma was hanging a dress from her hips as though she were encouraging danger as she rushed from burning patch to smouldering soil pouring water whilst slapping licks of fire from her waving frock.

The more she ran the faster her skirt furled and the more her mind unravelled like the curling twigs and bugs and leaves that peppered her life.

I contributed only two pails of water ansd then realised that were some things that must be bigger and stronger than me and just not worth fighting.

The harder she tried the more insignicant she became, her loss of energy from fighting the fire depleted her ability to look after herself.

But the fire maintained its ferocity and veracity and continued to roar across the mountain in its quest for air whilst my grandmother ignored the flames licking at her skirt.

The flames subsided and the smell deceased but the smouldering bush marked the hill for ever.

As a child forever was tomorrow, today was endless and yesterday never happened so I indulged in ignorance. My grandmother was obviously stupid in trying to rescue something that she could not identify and never realised that her actions were grand but her motive lacked discretion.

The fire stopped at her boundary as though it had little point maintaining its rage and then retreated to seek a weaker foe.

Two :

Grandma was delighted and accepted the battle as a minor threat. She resumed authority over nature and ventured into the chicken pen shuffling through the smell whilst scattering feed to the chicks.

But Larry would not often agree and was determined to run faster than the chicks who swarmed around his paws as though all four were trees offering nesting comfort.

He poised afront the netted door to the chook pen and waited for the wave of furry balls on sticks then shuffled them into contingents beckoning for his nurture.

Chicks could only scamper but the resolute pecking  at his ankles by their mothers encouraged him to desist herding and lay down and enjoy the rumpling patter across his coat.

Larry was an Alsatian taller than a bush and as raggedly as a badly washed rug with an attitude to match.

The ground was not for him and he flew over the seven acres surveying all his unfenced territory always returning to nest comfortably on the porch watching me play.

He never needed to return home for food but only for love and the chicks and grandma and me.

He may have not been a dog but a whirlpool of tail and dust barely on the ground.

But he was always around pestering my feet and travelling off to follow his nose.

Until a snake slid over my desert booted feet whilst awaiting the bus to school stationary at the bottom of the drive. I was waiting to travel again, the repetitive journey to school was a chore and I waited for any opportunity to be small in attitude and magnamimous in heart.

The morning the snake poised on my boots he did not attack me, he could not leap, he wore no boots.

Movement for him was an endless wiggle through dirt that was no obstacle and my boots seemed to be a source of comfort for their warmth even in the heat of summer.

I needed to be early for the bus, it gave me time to decide if I should return uphill to the house and do nothing, there was no plan, things needed to happen, I was bored.

Often I walked to school rather than wait for serpents to slither around, walking was faster.

Forty minutes it seemed to take which seemed nearly half a day but my lunch sandwiches flapped at my hip and were cooled with air rather than the heater of the bus.

The journey was too quick, I had just awoken and needed to be at school hoping for a morsel of learning that was significant to a skinny kid in shorts, and I wondered what was required of me to be able to wear long pants.

I had legs and could walk in shorts or trousers and saw bigger taller people doing the same.

So I ignored school. I was there but learnt nothing.

School halls were a place of disorganised rushing and the cacophony of recently ensconsed tapping heels of proud shoes so diligently purchased on a budget of money by dutifull adults who seemed to own me.

I set  a challenge for myself of how to survive until the lunch break and not allow my honey sandwiches to crystalize. The only friend was reluctant to exchange food and I contributed my dough to the bin.

When school finished for the day I stayed out of the way watching the excited rush through the halls and the gathering of parents collecting their imprisioned tiny adults from a school cell and home to another style of supervised conduct.

Pacing the school grounds wasted time and I was tempted to climb the fence or simply walk through the gates to freedom but there was none outside and I would eventually need food and a bed so I waited. 

I waited alone amongst echoes and odours and the progress of the cleaners sanctifying the halls.

Even after their job was complete I still wandered the sterile vacant rooms, waiting and waiting.

No one rushed to extricate me, the gates and the fences were a boundary to be crossed but the world beyond school and grandma's house was too big.

Grown ups were big, rules were big, fences were big, other kids seemed big and secure in the knowing that their parents were big and would rescue them from this learning playground.

No one was there to rescue me so I walked the boundaries and paced the hall amused with the hollowness of the chamber aisles and the peace of empty classrooms still sticky with the carefully chosen words and sympathetic encouragement that learning would deliver a reward.

There was little reward, even my honey sandwiches could no longer be traded, most kids had worn out their relief that I would soon offer anything different.

I hoped but never begged that I would pop my lunchbox to reveal an exquisite feast that I could share in parts for other food that would nourish me after class closed and sustain my exploration of empty rooms, silent play grounds and odour ridden halls.

Waste bins became entertaining, desolate playgrounds were a source of peace and the trails of youngsters escaping to their homes and dodging enquiries of how much they had eaten from their meagre lunch box.

So much discarded as unuseful for any purpose other than a signal of rebellion against anything.

But I was too small to rebel, I was no longer scared of snakes, they zigzagged across my path but would not sliver uphill as I walked downhill, so I shuffeled my boots through the dusty paths on my way home.

Walking home after school was rewarding, there was nothing there waiting to comfort me.

Stepping cautiously I wanted to avoid snakes that would curl and rest on my shoes obliviously impeding progress and causing me to pause enough to make the sacred walk home a pleasure rather than a duty.

So I wandered the rambling narrow paths up and down and around the mountain at the foot of which nestled my comfortable existance.

The paths wound forever with no destination or beginning - they just were.

How many granmas had wiggled their way up and down and around and these paths, they were defined by the time it had taken to tread there. The paths led nowhere and began nowhere but were hallways through the bush leading past distant verandahs roofs and walls of beaten weathertorn refuges glimpsed within the camoflauge.

It must have taken many feet to gouge a path here and there, a path that I travelled not to things but past them.

The bush reeked of eucalyptus and dirt that encouraged me to inhale deeply the budding growth.

I was reluctant to use my nose at school. The halls reeked of children and shoes and sweaty clothes.

But there was a persistent unerasable smell of warm wet socks and body odour and merely a trace of the odourisers and wax used by the cleaners to eradicate the smell of children.

This was a daily ritual for me, to inhale the freshness of a new day and then feign disgust at the odour.

There were too many people at school and too few to maintain authority. 

When I could no longer trade my sandwiches I nested them convincing myself that I must never divulge my disgust to any adult. 

Adults were big tall puppets weilded by invisable strings, popping here and there, constantly interfering but eternally prepared to regulate their existance.

I could walk talk decide wonder think dream play lace my shoes pull on my shorts over my skinny legs eat sleep and genourously waste time whilst I waited patiently to grow up.

The blackboards were white with chalk, the bins were brimming with neglected sandwhiches and the halls littered with the innocent power of childhood.

There was no one waiting at home to greet me with hugs and food and I relished the moments of a dog larger than me leaping to greet me with no offering as thanks other than a happy shaggy hound bouncing me to the ground.

Larry owned by dog rules seven acres of land with a brick house of modest dimensions perched atop the slope of which the bushfire would not consume and never again threatened my meagre existance.

He pounced across the land as though on wings but could never remain airborne, his nose was bigger than his brain and it siphoned past presence as a history lesson for small nosed people.

And then he stopped loving and breathing and lay under a bush in the shade and journeyed to dog heaven.

Three :

Grandpa followed him to the grave, not with so little indignity but in a casket within a cemetery on the upper side of a hill. He had lay dead crumpled and cold, collapsed at the foot of the bathroom door wedged against the toilet bowl unable to pee and prone in death, blocking him from the persistent care from grandma. He had been missing for a few hours.

It was a sad way to die and grandma was so angry because she had to break the door down and lift him by his armpits into a more dignified position before the ambulance arrived and discretly shuffled his crumpled fame and then delivered him to a holding bay in the hospital and then to the dirt.

Grandpa had served time as an apprentice and was an accredited Tinsmith in his younger days.

In his older days he drove a taxi inbetween bouts of beer swilling and listening and betting on horse races. His radio was precious to him and he finally made enough money to buy a car - but only one with a radio. He regularly parked on the looping driveway and  often settled for an evening tuned in.

Grandpa was known as Pop which seemed fitting. He never uttered profanities and treated Larry and me as accessories to be nutured and guided, not instructed.

Pop was also an accessory to the town. Always ready with his taxi, always primed for conversation.

He was a habitual drinker and loved a natter and a smoke in the pub after a day driving and grandma and I often waited outside to collect him at the call for last beers and his notification from the barmaid to get out and go home.

Driving was good for him, he was an observer and travelled the suburbs helping fallen people to his cab and delivering them to their home comfort and the nuisance of a nagging wife.

When he returned home at the front of a dust plume whipped by his tyres he parked and let Larry roll around the car inside and out until he had licked the windows opaque.

Once home to his dog and grandma's hugs and the comfort of a crackling open fire he succumbed to the beauty of his radio.

It was a transistor radio fitted to his car as an optional accessory, but removable and quite suitable for use while in his lounge chair and tuned to the horse races. He followed by ear and the newspaper form.

We waited across the road and at six o'clock the doors of the drinking den were blocked open and patrons ushered out as though the building was spewing effervesence and Pop was delivered.

Within those hallowed walls stained with smoke and memories, rituals and laughter ran amock.

And Pop was a rolling drunk on wheels of beer and cigarettes and propped against the bar in his usual spot, happy that gran would be there to rescue him.

And she was and we did.

After last drinks were called the footpath outside the main doors became a whirling mill of men.

They spilled forth like a swarm of ants dismissed from the premise of the ruling queen.

Somewhere in the bustle he was and he suddenly presented himself as though he he was reborn.

That was why we called him Pop, he would suddenly appear.

Four :

Old Charlie was a hermit living in a shack he had built from anything available on his treed property and was proud to finally build an outhouse called a bog. His land even though unfenced maintained a boundary around his sanctuary and across the dirt track called a road with no name that dignified his anonymity.

The bog loitered in his yard festering a plague of flies that continualy buzzed around but would never land. There was gold in there but not compressed by nature. The gold squeezed from his bum the more he drank.

Larry stopped prancing for attention and ceased pawing at the ground mining for smells once they were no longer replenished. 

Charlie died alone guarded by his table littered with bottles empty as were the glasses and his heart.

He had drunk his existance until his god deserted him, but he surely had dug the greatest poo hole.

Walking worn dirt paths uphill outpacing snakes and hoping to find a window offering some relief.

Occupied with boredom I schooled and walked and taxied and persisted observing granma hauling water chopping wood feeding chicks entertaing Larry collecting a liquid ambulatron cooking food pumping water from the 60 foot depth of her artesian bore and touching her earth between between walking to neighbours with help with water company food and love.

The local council of neighbourhoods decided my granma was worthy of reward but they offered no money or mind. 

She was honoured with a plaque and a photo in the newspaper and a ribbon to be worn over her shoulder but carefully arranged to not amplify her breasts even though they had balanced her foot progress. She had smaller feet and her bosom prominently pushed aside the shoulder tall bushes impeding her progress.

Her duties to neighbours were not specified in writing but printed in the tracks she weaved through the bush. She carried water food and comfort for over two miles on weaving paths to others who struggled to survive without electricity, running water or gas. 

Granma was an inspiration, she seemed driven by a motor fueled with duty.

Peering from the windows I watched her pumping chopping carrying and trudging up and down the slope in her gumboots and floral dress.

And then before I was seven years of age and curious about the monotony of life, strangers appeared.

Five :

They were my parents and I wondered where they had been.

I had memories but I thought my life until now had been a dream.

There were ghosts wandering and winding up the dirt driveway across the dam where I played with mounds of mud and captured tadpoles only to watch them die, lonely for company wiggling in a jar.

Cuddles of insignificance and personal facades displayed with mirth and derision towards the possession I had become. Gifts and part time company eased their souls and oiled their mechanics.

No longer could I wander bush paths and imagine what I was to become, I already was here with no control of life and so little dignity. A life of puppetry awaited me, I had no control of the strings attaching myself to reality.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Thoughwaddy

 I was scared at school,

Masters and subjects did not rest well with me,

On leaving class I was overwhelmed with the magnificence of all I did not know.

I bathed within the glow of discovery.

Arithmetic and writing was considered a skill

Little did I recognise that none was better.

Nought did I realise that I was not me.

But a product of an accounting machine that required simplicity.

 

My education and indocrination cost someone money

But according to accounting discipline I was a negative

A ledger entry that weighed with more detriment than bonus

And numbered with little recourse for dispute.

 

Fat kids in the school yard had a belly and some dumb belief in compensating for their disability.

They were feared and revered for their magnosity.

Alas it was only their feeding and breathing that awed me

But I wondered where they would shit that great pile of food where it could not be smelt.

If I were ever smart enough to murder myself

The administrator would call me to account as an anomally in the statistics

Even after death I am in debt

I will pay even though I enjoy but I am reluctant to even wet my pants.

 

I am disabled enough to recognize my secrets and accept that

There are only three secrets :

Those you do not tell others, those you do not tell yourself

And the other is the secret.

 

Every man must go through hell to reach paradise

But I must resist the urge to strike him down

For he is merely an echo and strives to reduce my dignity

I am only a performer in a circus and he is the clown.

 

There are other reasons for failure and they are absolute traits of my animal.

Whatever happens you will react on purpose,

You will act according to your error of judgement,

And you will react out of remorse for your actions because you are stupid.

Being careful of yourself can lead to just being.

Judge a fellow man by the effect he has on his friends 

We are what we do not throw away, baggage weighs the soul

And when in torment and seeking revenge, remember to dig two graves.

The two most masculine words are 'generous breasts'

And god created man and tempted him with a demon and a choice

Favouring knowledge over wisdom he sealed his fate

By discovering the joys of the cunt that bore him.

 

When the days of creation were all done and twilight loomed

No one except nature had any further idea for one more thing

The growing sphere of nothing required a design team

To address the gap between a man's bag and his balls.

And god fills it with sperm as soft and glistening as a liquid pearl jam

But it is so wasted with a clenched fist and imagination.

So I walk with my dog and his nose

Following his smell of the past and I am lonely.

But he smells the past not the pain for it is a memory

He should not go there, memory is sufficient and it has a smell.

His hell is a life devoid of god, a random calvalcade of choices

The noise in the background of silence is the sound of screaming souls in hell.

But I take risks, it is my distinguisng trait of identity

What I do today paves the way to what I do tomorrow

And I remember being a one of millions of sperm squirming to survive

For what ?

 

When your heart breaks, my world does not hear but feels and keeps ringing

 And your thoughts are as useless as operating a health spa at Chernobyl

Dreams lead to thoughwaddy and cannot be redeemed but nutured

They will screech and then thump and then rattle.

My memory is an interptetation but not a fact

Alcoholics have more hair because they do not have time to worry

Trying to understand a naked woman is like taking apart a clock.

There are three types of woman and I do not know what they are.

 

Every civilization is founded on a crime

War is a trick of denial we perform when not wanting to die immediately

It may be that we should not speak

Unless we can improve silence.

 

So we seek solace with dissention but weighed with disability

Of the soul of the heart of the esssence,

But there is no one pedalling a one wheeled towards doom except me

And I follow a cycle of pumping bums full of uncatorizable sewerage.

But the animal I am insists on a cuddle

I cannot trust the cuddler but I feel better for the comfort

All |I have is esconsed in a package between my legs

But I revel with the belief that divorce from reality is the only trial that a finding of guilt sets me free.

We are what we feel not what we ought to say.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Penance

I have just killed someone, they were significant sitting on their toilet

but could not stand upright to wipe their arse

because i want to tell you of many failed attempts to smell my own shit

You may not mis them, you my not care but they have left a trail.

if you wish to pay into it - beware.

 

Carefully does it, but I was in a hurry and did not

swathing amongst hordes wandering a library who must not talk

Be angry at me like you are angry because of a slap on your bum

Hanging by your ankles from a nurses hand

how do I so wish your arse would bleed.

It is with regret that I bequith my legacy to an army of idiots

Is there none, they behave as a nought and will never be one

Sweeping the corridors of pacing dreams and daily nightmares

Dipping my swab in tainted genes

I feel the comfortable cunt nutured by my nemes.

 

And you, you are what ?

Dear Bono

Dear Bono your bug eyed glasses bug me

you seemed to be a champion of the Irish canvass

Sans pototoes and clovers and screaming catastrophe

When you were doing music so were inxs and remants of any band from the 70s

At least Yoko screamed animalality in tunnels but john climbed her ladder to see her cunt

A small man with hair atitude and a mean finger on his guitasr

Too young and searching for nirvana in the orient rather than feeling up a marharisma

Oh but the glasses were significant - furnished by the oriental abililty to blend rather than resist

There are too many of them (           ) !

There are too many of us - Malthaus may be onto something 

His weapons were not smallpox nor willing death but the agony of being unimportant

Bless him

And Bono preaches 'one world' behind the stampeed of his undersized shoes

He does nought 'cept ask us to give a hanshake and exchange bodily fluids to be one

...and his legacy is rebellion - success - sell out - insignificance - and slowly fade camera to scene

He is merely a puppet of the media and they have cut the strings

Could Bobby Geldoff possibly be the master here

(is this a connect with Paula Yates and Michael hanging from a door - an unhinged shared fuck).

.....................** to be continued**

! please observe that every word opinion judgement is carefully deliberatly appropiately scarolous.

 

 

FAT PEOPLE

Welcome to the Fatverse

There was a popular radio song by a not so popular musician in a previous decade regarding 'short people'.

Seemed funny at the time but the socially correct adjustments were not available at the time.

Where the fuck were the short people beside being extras in a movie about a girl who has no idea of where to go with a dog.

Such a simple girl who believes there is respect for innocent females in short skirts and a pair of bright shoes.

The poor girl walking on stilts thrusting her arse up and cunt forward.

And in the company of three persons of nondescript history who seem to find endless joy in escorting their delighted prey into a maelstrom of predators.

Oh yeah what a fantasy for dirty old men and stupid dogs.

There is no credit given to the dog, he only supports her journey and offers no protection.

As in most fairy tales it presents the girl as a vigin discovering the world of men.

At the time Judy Garland was almost 17 years of age but she needed to have those happy little puppy's

on her chest tapped down so as she would appear younger.

Damn it, she offers no resilience.

Is she just possibly a stupid woman.

The fucken book was written in 1900 - 2 generations before moving pictures recognised children.

But apparently there is a link between popular music and film !

How is Pink Floyd negotiating their legacy of synchronising their 40 odd minutes to the film.

Is difficult for me to gather enough paper to wipe my arse.

But there must have been an assembly to address what dubes they are.

Their soundtrack is short unless you start it at the beginning but not at any designated point.

Suffer if your believe.

And people are what they are - so fucken important and proud on their preaching perch.

They do not wear skirts. 

Hey babe i do not see how 2 bits of cloth is any protection.

That little flower you have is sooooooooo special -

Jeez I just wanna be the first person to fuck it.

 

There are things in the bible (and I refuse to give it any respect).

That encourage me to refrain from worshipping false idols.

Some language has been mutilated.

The only knowledge i gain from this is - do not masturbate.

 

It is quite gallant of me to protect virginity and yet espose sperm.

But I must pause in my rebuke.

I have no cunt and I'm pleased that I suffer no periodical pain.

I really feel for you females but you should present yourselves as proud rather than sex.

 

As a species you are a failure - you will not survive.

The only way you are going to change the world is masturbation.

You should not be a victim of scarlet shoe fantasies

Please sink your fingers into your juicy cunt and feel what i feel - which is zilch.

 

When you probe deep your fingers feel what your body feels - nothing.

But you know men want this but your mother told you to protect it.

And so the perpetual rythym of life continues.

(Darwin fucked up, no wonder his wife pissed him off for 20 years, shit, she was more bothered about his dick rather than his pen).

(As for Fat People, I needed a Title).

...... and do not concern yourself if you are not fat, you are not a media subject.

 

 

 

 

 

Message to the Deaf

My Dog is a capital God

He cannot wipe his own bum

Twenty figures to balance on as he tic tacs along the floorboards

Announcing his arrival with a polite warning

That he is here 

And his motive I do understand

That he needs to shit in the bushes away from me

But on occassion he must display his faeces to me or I will trip over his turds

As spongy shit between my toes he reminds me of what i did not attend to.

And nor can he

He needs not to wipe his arse or think

He has no need to drink nought 'cept water

He appreciates me wiping his bum

But I struggle to see the purpose of unwrapping a roll of paper

When my dog will drop his shit and not appreciate how annoying he is

I rellish the smell  of discord as it wiggles my concsience

And I need to wallow

In your sewer.

WIPPER SNIPPER

Today I was annoyed by the inconsequences and decided that my complaints are worthless.

I have blathered and foamed hoping that suddenly the universe will appear in my favour.

Alas i know it is fucked but i still bat away dmons.

I no longer assign myself any significance other than my strength to resist.

 

And i wallow in a sewer of their discards that have no smell.

How does that exist while i proudly wipe the gravel-shit from my arse.

And you are only the paper that wipes my tool

You are only an instruction for my success.

 

Begone you demons, begone your souls.

Go wherelse but here, you are not welcome 

You have a poison that reduces my capacity to care.

But I doubt you will care, but i do.

 

Be gone demons, be gone reality  

I have no care for how you suffer

I have no care for how you bleed

I wonder why you even need to breathe.

China Fingers

There was a time after the A bomb when the allegiance of national allies seeking a compromise became a ' suck my dick contest '.

China was not, Japan was portrayed as the enemy, Russians were cold and since 1932 there was a thing called television.

But there was also Radio, and alcohol and opium.

The East India Tea Company facilitated the movement of tea in exchange for drugs.

English Admiralty created a passport for corruption.

I am manicalled to a post.

In somewhere near the year 1620 there was an economic disaster known as the Tulip Wars.

Stocks of flowers that were not available were floated on the pretense of profitable inflation.

This was a new manouvre successfully adopted as a decoy that determined the wealth of others but neglected to address your significant influence.

There was a guy way back in the 1700's who rorted the law and the established monarchy.

A damned champion of mastering social weakness. 

Which reminds me of how powerless I feel to seem to be.

Current society allows me to be legally drunk and legally mentally incpacitated but there is no meter to gauge how particularly emotionally violent I can be.

What is wrong - what is right ?

History is written by the victorious because they have restricted access to freedom.

How to compete is incomprehehsible to anyone who cannot spell or share thoughts.

Malthaus was possibly right in that anyone who could not exert their power should be extinct.

Too many people, not enough food.

But he did not promote manipulation or eradication of lesser species.

He supported a theory of evolution - that only the strong will survive.

Bacteria feeds on devolution - entropy, decay and insignificance.

And yet it survives. 

Such a simple brain programed to kill - but with significant disretion.

It will immobilise you and render you impotent.

Genes and lust are bad bed companions.

And welcome to the 22nd century.

 

 

 

 

Now let me explain this to you

It's  a Buffalo Avacado sandwich

I can't decide my choice based on mis-information

Please he said let me explain this to you

And I thought I should haul this beanie wearing righteous dude over the counter and just help myself

So I listened  as he explained

A Buffalo Avocado and other miscellaneous crap sandwich does not come in a half.

Do you want a full sandwhich or only half ?

I only want one sandwich

And he takes pains to extract the platter of two halves from display

and he shows me two unequal halves

and I wonder why they are of unequal size and am I alowed to pick the bigger.

So I choose the bigger and wonder how much purchasing power the next eater has left.

It's apparent to me the guy has a degree in sandwich delivery

and I have a mere Diploma and Degree in knowledge

Unfortunately I have enough sense to not do retail, I am a destructor not a constructor.

But it was his kingdom and he had attended the Macca's school of :

'Do you want fries with that' 

Which requires little knowledge but sufficient training to be a pain in the arse and not actually take my order but actually have the gall to suggest that my request is somehow imprecise.

Which it is becauase I really wanted to say have you been circumcised yet

I want a sandwich and I probably need to ask for butter

But no, I have choices - is that light dairy soft pasture grown english or curry

Do I want it cooked do I want to take away do I want coffee with that 

I wonder if the menu includes dragging him out onto the footpath and inflict wounds

or should I relent and just ripp off his beanie, stand on the coumter and piss on it.

Maybe that would be too nazi-like, I should indulge him

It's a training program and I am not enrolled.

It is wonderfull that maggots have no urge except to scavange

and yet I'm reluctant to have their icky smelly stain on my shoe after I step

and I regret having to kill lesser things that have no satisfaction within their soul and yet disturb mine.

 

The Curse - A Eulogy

       I asked my friend and await his reply

he could not answer and I'd like to know why, was it death or another.

If he is gone please employ a suitable replacement that can at least adjust the ledger, maybe one who can add and detract, one who can spell and talk and just walk with me.

My legs are in surgery and they may never recover from the purpose of kicking shit along hallways.

Dreams only become a daymare escaping me from night, stretches of blood staining my progress.

And he as a friend did what, or did not and I will gladly carry the burden of his insignificance to his grave.

Forgive him Lord for he was to me, a pathetic soul bagaging demons to be strong.

      Alas the poor cunt kept on bleeding until the puss and pain flowed through his cell and nought a bandage to his soul did it be 'cept a partial remedy.

Oh mercifull god you are not, yet you sacrifice your son to appease your aggressors and display your submission.

Why were you not there, was it too hard to attend, or were you fucking virgins for blood.

You are a slut to wisdom and not caring of administering your wrath to those who deserve it, you found it necessary to watch your son die wearing a nappy.

And I suffer your dispense.

 

 

Succintly Discrete 1 - 12

I am so relieved that I've found a cap for my saucepan.

It's bothered me to sleeplessness

Maybe I could  talk slower so you could be more comfortable on a lower shelf, I'd rather you breathe.

Take a breath between words, comprehension may not be your forte'.

One breath :

I am a fat mexican of Spanish heritage trying to be American.

But I invaded this land with religon bannered

I am a consquistodor weilding a baton blessed by god. Damn you descendants of an ape.

I came here in four ships, one was lost, one was confused, one carried the treasure and one was an idiot

And I brought four legged brethen to feed me, but they escaped

The pigs relished your wild corn fields, the mice ate your seeds, my horses trampled vicinities and my religion appeared with a sword in search of gold.

The Eldorado was the Ponzi scheme of the millenium - Galileo sucks Copernicus is self centered.

Two breath :

It's in the Cola :

a - Firefox disconntinnued it's random search of sites for my entertainent - Ai at work dude !

b - Hotmail no longer is encrypted for receiver only - no longer must you be the receiver to enable decoding.

c - The bless'ed option of refusal

d - The moment I signify refusal it signifies I am open to negotiation.

e - I am so impressed I succumb

f - I'm so indebted that it hears me and no one else, only me and I am so important.

g - I masturbate but fail to come.

Three breath : 

The look :

All the USA military helicopters are named as of all the national tribes of native inhabitants successfully annihilated - Apache, Cherokee, Cheyenne, Blackhawk, Dakota.

Coca Cola won the war against herb sucking, sheet wearing, god fearing sheep hearders.

**** 

Randolp Hearst owned the majority of wood forests producing pulp for paper.

He had a friend who successfuly lobbied  a tax on print if it was produced on hemp paper.

Randolph as owning most of the forests was so pleased his ark would only be of his timber.

Unless words were printed on his pulp they would be infringed.

And thus marijuana became a tax Infringement - not actually against the law but subjected.

Not illegal to smoke but to print on.

George Washington only granted leaseholds to those who could produce hemp.

All ship sails, ropes, bindings, horse wagon coverings, whips and women's bonnets were of hemp.

Meanwhile the hemp weed proliferated along the roadsides in California as weed - though not smokable but prolific. Randolph owned all the marketable forests and only his wood pulp should be acceptable.

The whole Amerigo became industrialised and circumsised.

Negroes were still slaves but they could inhale. Abraham Lincoln continued to employ black workers as croppers whilst advocating their emancipation.

Laws were drawn and passed by congress to outlaw consumption of hemp on the basis of tax evasion.

Thus, marijuana became illegal.

Four breath :

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Indigestion

I's sucking air, my machine needs lubrication

my bowels are bored, they have nought to do 'cept squeeze

and the smell is sweeter than your fart could ever be.

 

Could you be a rose, that will never be

the fertilizer you need just vanished

Seconded by a second beast.

 

Do what you wish and do never pass me

waste your energy on you

and stop considering all others.

Do not be a decision but become the result.

 

 

 

Dog Shit

     He licks his paws so clean as determined as he is

to keep the the parasites away

they have little effect and thus they are annoying.

       Determined as he is he is a success

though not by dog means he cannot judge by nose alone

he knows alone as a dog.

       He will survive weller than his master 

and accept his help according to his scent

and even though he cannot dissent he is rewarded with my approval.

       He has no conscience of original sin

he has no idea of where to begin and only mourns the lost scents of his doghood

by a smell, a lingering fragance of what was

and a cherished memory of what should have been. 

......and meanwhile I wither away with mortality and conscience.

         Blessed are the stupid for not knowing their soul.

 Ah, the smell of dog is a gracious scent delivered to the meagre.

 

The Average Cunt ... (has been deemed by the author as unsuitable for publication) ? !

 

The Average Cunt

 

 

Ah damn this, I tried to give up all my vices and no matter whatever I delete it does not dissappear.

I'd just left the house and within three steps I had encountered a cunt,

not your average cunt but a renowned cunt owning a massive clearance

on the slope of a mountain unrenowned for its peace, but plauged by infection.

 

He, being an average cunt occured as was his want an indiscretion 

carefully adjudicated by his lord in which I can only adjust a sponge apon my bleeding

but, alas he could not, as an animal, be the average cunt.

Mediocrity is merely a piss-ant reason for gathering food to please the queen

'tis shame my wings were clipped away at birth

I cannot even fly, I have neither the courage to breathe your poison 

my wings are merely laden with the weight of your insidious whining.

It provides little opportunity for me to paddle my boat

it gives you every opportunity to drown me

but I have a finger circling your excited zone that you open

like an envelope expecting good feelings.

But beware your indiscretions and cover your womb

you are not at all what you wish you to be

you are not me.

Please bleed and suffer all around your mound 

you do not care for the obscenity you are, you struggle to breathe

you cease to feed and you grasp for your last suck of air.

 

That is what you are, you pathetic suffering cunt.

 

 

 

Dear Neighbour

 Hey neighbour,

Did you hear that things are a changing

over shoulder boulder holders are bolder

as much as a fat thigh wiggles

like a re-master jiggles your stereo

listen up dude - the times were a' changing

It is was it is not how it was

turn up the radio old man.

 

Dinosaurs shit heaps and where is yours

your only stains are in the toilet and your dreams are down the drain

you have no where else to go

you have nought that you think you must know

and only false peacock feathers to show.

 

Anal retentive and you are too fucked to go

nursed on a teet and not a bible

cursed with a screaming birth and abandoned as not reliable

determined to suck on your tit

angry enough to eat your shit.

 

Welcome here you are but not in your bra

please clothe youself and be who you are

your wanton display is obscene

you only need your shoulders and thighs

to help you display your pathetic desires.

 

Do not judge me before your sight the ledger

of all the bodies lying on my trail

do not condemn me for my sins

I will glady hold a mirror to your cunt

but only if your actually made an effort to clear your mound.

 

I am your mantis and I will eat you alive

I will suck out your soul until I am satisfied

your excretions will only add to the silent sound of my stench

of all the souls I collected

on behalf of the god your poor soul neglected.

 

 

 

 

 

Piss Ants, Bedbugs and other Annoying Shit ......sic

An arsehole has no sense, it squezzes because it must

A knee-jerk reaction

A tapp on your senses a reminder to expell

Damn my mother she condemned me to hell

A slapp on the the bum and im aliv

A cunt flapp and here i am.

My ankles wiigle their wy out of the womb

And my wrists are bound to my head

I was dead before born

At 9 months of age i was was pumped out

Only pysical, only srenuous and bleeding and screaming out my lungs

for a lifebetter than mums

Is lucky im a boy, i only suffer

But my mother gets ton plead non-responsiblr

Itisbup to hubby to provide

And i curl in bed, my mind cannot beread

And my sllep is diturbed by the demons of birth

I roll all night uphill just so i can roll down

I awake wondereing if it was vadream or are you around

Adonut without a hole

A partial animal withoutv a soul.

 

Brittany in Wondeland

I know of a girl, Brittany Higgins is her name

She's in the web of google.

She's upset about letting her panties down

Working is draining and closed thighs whilst discrete beyond a modesty zone get itchy

She was working late on male orders.

The boy forgot his keys as he left the maelstrom

and returned on the pretext of recovering his dead mothers flowers

walking long the silent corridors he's distracted by the ticking

and the tapping of high heeled mental clicks on her keyboard

such an accomplishment for a female at least.

Empowered with the belt on his pants enscrolling his hanging mum and dad and their caravan

patolling the corridors and cavities

Brittany was there

Being hot and overworked and loath to admit it

he was horny

Her modesty barrier just excited him more

damn it he thought, why is a boy not concerned with his modesty

shit hey he thinks again, I can make buildings, build to great heights, design womens dresses and smash the atom

how about a little pussy, hey jeez I'm done with constructing, is 'bout time time I got down to real business.

The pyramids weren't built in a day ansd neither was Rome but I certainly can wreck havoc on this little pussy that won't change the world but of which Alexander the Great would be proud he thought,

and considered

That that man is so sad as that he had conqured the world by age 23 but only as his part of the 7 brother's divedends bequethed by his father who had only ever succesfuly conqured his breakfast.

.........so Brittany's pantie tugger is alone bored late at work patrolling the corridors of flourescent acidic concrete and finding himself just a little stiff

maybe it's the fumigant overlay from the cleaners

but the overwhelming power of girl encompasses reason

aaaaaaaaaaaaah no, it overcomes all reason

He should be home relaxing with no need for comma's within his sentence

The overwhelming itch

Brittany is alone, punching hard, her keyboard ecstatic from the pounding

But the boy not being a fan of Proust or even beginning to spell Rachmaninov holds his toungue

so he walks the corridor aiming for his keys

a fruitless task, he always knew were they were, he just wanted some action

leaving your keys is akin to losing your wife

you just don't do that - as you ask who will feed me, was I supposed to be there now, why didnt you tell me that !

so he walks and smells and is bored

there is an authority of such in authoritorial buildings that makes greater souls feel less

the devil is in the details

Four and a half minutes later he pulls up his unders to hide his weeping dick

she is satiated and curled like a used sticky note pad on her modesty desk

posted with a reminder to not go here again

But 6 months or a year later or maybe two, Brettiny has regrets

she blames the height of the modesty shield as not shielding her from the glances os predatory boys eyes

she blames her employer as not offering enough protection

she neglects to consider her need to wear skirts and tight sports equipment that enhanche her aging femine bumps

she neglects that media portrays her as a slut

Ive never heard of Alexandria Her Greatness conquering the world

Poor Brittany never understood her own perfume but would rather dweell in the smell of others

If her defending lawers had presented her juicy silky panties to the male judiciary there may have been a different outcome.

Alas, the boy is accused of rape

Is rape premeditated - does he procrastinate on proceedure, does he time this.

But we foget about Brittany's pantless pentration and her having to go home and explain what happened

...........and this results in a national legal court case

Jeez Brittany, have you no pride or discretion

Please understand that this is dick man thing and a cunt girl thing

You are placing the whole of humanity at risk with you obtuse gender theories.

Please just go home, pull your panties down and feel your cunt

Does it feel powerful................uuuuuuuuuuuuum yes

well as a boy to girl I suggest you fuck off and just accept that you have a hole and I have a dick

and as a boy I really don"t understand what you have to offer that would realy increase the quality of my life

face it bitch, I fuck and you lay down.

Have you managed to question the order of things - why are your fucking with men's power

Um yeah - because boys wave around their dick just doing stuff because they can and you wave around your breasts because you feed babies

You have an ecological role to perpetuate, stop complaining that you are special

Just stop awhile and feel yourself

Boys aren't your enemy. they are your friends

Just lay down and be a cuddly fuck. 

P.S. - where are girl responses to this....I dont expect many. 

P.P.S - face it girls - you have something boys want, and we just don't need your sympathy.

 

I Hate my Dog

He is short by leg standards but not by a shag.

Snouting is his forte' but he can't spell shit

He can smell but struggle at wont he cannot linguaise it

His arse works to succintly expell as well

He sleeps awhile to delete today as his only plans are for the morrow

I so do hate my dog as he being short of stature but of taller intent than me.

My ankles are sore from his nuzzling, my soul is sore by his capacity to give and be wanted

Such simple devotion so pure so focused on giving love for acceptance and so full of fur

Little does he know how my heart only beats for him.

And yet I thrive to insult him because he does not know that he does not have my original sin

If I were to be encumbered with lack of heart, I would rather be of legedness than  of skin

Oh how I love my dog he is my next of kin.

And I so hate him and envy his rolling fluffy cuddleness and unconditional lovedness.

My short round hound is on the ground.

 

 

Jackie O' Glasses scare me (in 2 parts)

 

Today I met a bug.

PART ONE :

Doing the best it could I thought I should keep quite, it was warisome.

Being armless and emotiveless it overwhelmed all my thoughts as it scrabbled for a teet.

Sadly for it and sadly for me a human bug, I could only squirm and decided it would not feed on me.

Avoidance I know, a bug cannot learn this and I envy it.

Better for it to not know Kafka, Proust or Dali. how can I compare my ignorance to it.

A bug deserves not a surname nor a misnomer, it cannot spell; alas I can.

My curse is apon me and I feel sorry for the bug without feelings and I feel sorry for me.

It does so accept ignorance, it does not know it's priority, it refuses to accept weakness.

Too stupid to be smart, too much of a heart beating only to breathe and no need to love.

Oh I envy that bug. 

It seemed to be wearing sunglasses and stared within them but they were opaque to me and I wished it had the courage to confront me - on my terms.

And I wished to damn the little fucker to my devil's vocabulary.

The last I saw it, he was laughing at me. It could not have any fun, it was known.

My source as entertainment had reached expiry date and would never recover from my encountering.

I had no choice, destiny was imminent, death was fatal.

Benevolence was an option, though I did not take it lightly.  

I have trouble sleeping - not like a bug.

It feeds and curls in it's shit, sleeps and is happy not knowing it's victim, oblivious to their pain, and quite content to snuggle within it's misery, sleep and dream buggedly and desire to awake with just a little more of something to chew on.

Alas, I feel unhuman, but not yet a parasite.

I am too insenitive and I must be as a bug. No feelings just instinct should rule me.

My bug said that I must not agree and submit to it's perception prior to my extermination.

Drugs offered the answer, but only if I was a bug and had spent time resisting the cuddling comfort of a mother cunt.

He reminded me then that I probably should not think.

 On listening I'm still at a loss with these concepts even though I can spell and walk and talk and in debt to a bug that cannot.

And it said :

"Confusion is paramount, desire is secondary, wishes are dreams, violence is the only means the weak use to survive, and language and emotions are inconsolaby compatible.

I need to breathe and have no human rythym to survive on love but on envy. I cannot spell and have discarded the myths of compatabile embrace and succumed to the illusioray comfort of placating words, too scared to hug and too scared to embrace my vulnerability.

And so at once with an innocuos thought it  subetly overruled my objections.

What can we offer except love. What is more significant to us burdened by atrocity when he is burdened only with four legs and a sweeping tail and no heart".

Then it told me a story :

"There was a man as mad as a terrier and as crafty as a parrot.

Only some of his peculiarities were on display, like a peacock reluctant to show his inadequacies.

A significant person of note and respect but seemingly immune to ravages of his mind.

The tiny steps he followed could not be of stone, life had become a weary path on unsecure foundation.

Every step every thought every moment challenged like a worn out sole.

His history education experience and grief all swept away by a force stronger than he.

Occasionally he stepped out of the house and hello-ed the birds and appreciated their thanks for food.

It become a pleasure to awake to their morning sun twirps and companionship.

If the sun was warming harder than a shine and his dog craved a kiss and just one step encouraged his legs to try another, he only had to move forwards as a move backwards confused his joints.

Some things for him were difficult to accomplish, gravity continually defied him and despite resistance it defined him as rooted to the ground.

 He found it difficult to pull off his socks and it was a challenge to not injure himself with such a mundane habit. The lingering smell of toe fat on his fingers was there regardless of efforts to not touch and the strength he needed to control his knee not hitting his chin was exhausting and challenged his perceptions. 

He, being fraught with memory of smell and little memory of hearing, considered this as abnormal.

A difficulty he encountered as a magnificent deficit. Joy was not happiness but release from pain.

Memories seemed to exist in an ether of reality and lessons.

Here as it was, he could only feel to have bought a ticket to ride but there was no destination or date included. 

If there had been some comfort, it was from curling in bed and feeling every part that hurt ".

But that did not help his inner soulful turmoil, it was temporary comfort disturbed by reality.

There had been a plague to which he had succumbed and he was infected.

Too stupid or too out of tune with the current song, it took some strength to not run naked through the streets knifing anything at hand. But later at home comfortable in his slippers, slurping on hot milk and honey he thought with wonder about what it is that bees need.

It wasn't much to them but a lot to him, so he looked closer, overwhelmed by the obnoxious odour.

He was bigger than all of them and my heart felt smaller than his - if he had. If oxygen was less he certainly needed to be breathing more, his lungs were larger but most of his sucking was wasted.

PART TWO :

Rolling on his back was impossible for me to resist, I had to help.

Maybe I should prod him with a cotton bud, which I did but maybe at the wrong moment.

He instantly recognised the soft bud as his mothers tongue and it was too comforting.

His mother had died shortly after his birth and he was left with no more than a cuddle and a promise that he would die before he was significant.

But curling there practising paracitimy he felt an uncomforting pressure on his back.

Having no limbs but only urges he wished for a knife to severe this reality.

I would not be of assistance, it was inhuman and he was ugly, I was amazed that he could probably only entertain but not perform his act of suicide.

That was not human to him and neither was he. Moral incursions into his soul would be wasted; the poor thing had no heritage, no attitude, no sense, no compassion, no sweat glands, only impulses to eat and shit and breed.

I watched him rolling and prodded him gently from a distance, he scared me with his dimuity and protective repulsiveness but he could certainly move quickly.

An instinctive skill to survive and even if beaten he has only a shell as a remnant.

He left a trail, of shit but to others of his ilk it smells like a trail of discovery.

There is a legacy of note that he was here and left a warning to those who are weaker to only let the brave pass here.

His only mission was to be happy but the fate of a bugged idiot is clouded in confusion.

For many nights he accommodated himself in bedsocks, a heater and a mug of warm milk. Sufficiently it was insufficient.

Dreams had become nightmares and his version of reality was a den of demons.

This was worse than being a parasite, at least they had a meaning, a continuous bug-mare all night, every night flashing warnings about a useful life,  so much easier than being born a maggot.

The more I prodded his little curling buggedness the more he liked my attention.

My attention, and only that, not food not love but just activity mobilised him.

Which bothered me. That really represents me. Oh there must be joy being a thinking sperm, of which I do not wish for.

But I am only a splash of ego in a fertile slash of cleared growth on the mons venuris.

Like a leaf attached to a tree I never felt its roots but had faith that its limbs would support me ignorant of my plight for independence.

My maggot friend can sleep, he is not concerned with his death, he just keeps feeding. He has no defense mechanism but relies on family to covet him.

It's fortunate he cannot remember his history and its fortunate for him that neither can his family.

He will never endure moralist discussions of mortality and love, he will never get a cuddle, he will never feel pain, his only threshold is death.

Parasites can not feel love but only the pain of rejection. To a feeder that is satisfying, to a provider that is debilitating.

A pig can eat anything except its offspring. It will wallow in mud all it's life and keep itself remarkably clean. Walking in his own shit his hooves do not smell of his progress. And yet his nose is bigger than his brain.

His nose does not have receptors or interpretors, every whiff of life goes direct to his head. There is no processing necessary, he relies on feelings of either fear or love.

I'm glad that I seem not so simple, but feel complicated, and yet I'm burdened with knowledge and not what I smell.

My dog smells at me when he appears to me to be happy and yet he has already rolled in shit. Not his shit, it stinks, he knows that and yet he knows that others relish rolling in it.

He pokes at me wanting to share his smells, and I know mine are so much more insignificant.

But his friends who are not dog are parasites and they snitch at his arse.