there's no other way

got a bit of the shakes.
a shakeful of fist, a little white crystal.
a hurricane stare for a burnt little crisp, poor soul left to dry without a kiss.
so march henceforth, i confess to a sin
a sick old trooper just lied to me
and dead birds litter the ground beneath
never did they cease to speak, til the picture was drawn
and the glow was blinding
but yeah, i knew they were lying.
the skin grew red in time, face morphed into what it deserved
the shadows of a former self
squashed along with dead birds

pick it up, its alive!
go throw it in the water
i'll bury me before they get the chance
and bide my time godamn
GODAMMNN
i made a plan
should stop making these plans.

(each day is being 'wasted'.)

EGO UP

how can i speak amongst so many egos. too many egos.
a genious no doubt, all hail, teach and learn. and one up-man-ship flutters in the air, all grateful, all bitter. longing to leave. to gain the attention has come to mean to flatter, spread open and pour vodka. forget your plans, im busy. aint got no time for enthusiasm, shut it, let me float. dipped on the spiked grass i was watched for half hour. i took those spikes to build a guard. adulthood needs some defence. other adults will use you to make them feel better.

"Take care of your self because no one will take care of you" he wrote.

control freak

"Fact-checkers," he says sadly, "have no sense of humour whatsoever."

damn game, hot and cold. tell the heart to stop. chill it out. think of your black square.
think of your spreadsheet, oh the tales it should tell. stories of misguidance, extravagance; and pledge with all your might. yeah, you cancel and we all cheer.
damn child, im careful of what i say cos you could turn on me. see no one trusts anymore.
unfortunately i found myself amongst your dialogue. official uninvited guest. if you could just remove me in your mind, i just cant help but listen to the drivel. my ears prick up independently. a radical amount of quality street, and you censor yourself for me. darling, you simply dont have to.

what have i done?
ive moved along the movie.

summer is 'ere and its fookin fookin buzzin

in the 90's i thought nothing more could be done. it was boring. had all the fashion phases, invented everything, mourned the loss of 80's television and film, lost pleasant summertime and headed off to college. of course, I was only young(er). i hadnt even thought about dying. or that we were spinning on a big rock. that was only the beginning. i remember thinking it was boring. there was a time inbetween that vibe (up in smoke n stuff) and .........nanotechnology! chicken dippers! pollen count, radiation, hoover bags, carbon monoxide detector, polymers, bottled water, 10 euros, soggy tissues, soy sauce, masking tape, snacks, eat half and put it back, half smiles, sweat, and finally... rapid response.

i miss the 80's. being a kid was fun then. now i cant even talk to a kid. awful awkward.
it looks darn nice outside, in an hour and a half i'll be allowed out anyway.

geeaaar its fookin buzzin in ere. phones buss'd like mad, oh i could a chilled white wine. (Please dont talk whilst eating, or stuffing)

tunes
easy star all stars (only in sunshine)
third rock from the sun
martha wainwright
janis
sonic youth-sister

i am not an activist

food is power

industry, industrial faries, head dangle down and feet tied up. Floor removed and poured to an end.
Apathy, too much apathy. It was the first conversation we ever had.
Triangle motion and a grid costs money, you are the reason for this situation and most situations. spied a strife, couldn’t see a way through. They now all queue to talk to a machine but the machine will never reply. Friendly fisherman gone, replaced by recycle bin. Mass harvest spun, millions of nameless faces. Your food is power, its grace and elegance mask the tale. The journey to your table. And they all cheer, they barbeque and the stench of death fills the air. Rotting flesh charred and fed in brazil. Brought a million miles to get to you. Many contradictions, wrong doings and oblivion. Saturday night television and curries. Not a second thought, just to live, just to get on with it. Green tea leaves, chickpeas, spring greens. Everything is guilty. Your food is commitment to a higher number. what selfish love.

Thinly sliced fillet of chicken with Roquefort sauce - Sautéed potatoes
Pork Filet Mignon with Onions - Dauphiné oven baked potatoes
Skate wing with Capers - Steamed potatoes
Burgundy beef Fondue - Lettuce

W.R.O.N.G

whats the fukkin difference?

Pinch of salt please. But read and weep. Canteen is gone, pinch of salt pinch of salt. Grass is tough and something you smoke. Pear juice runs down my arm and bugs swarm. Shelling out cash at yesterday's expense, drink my sorrows but cant quite make it. Money is tight, and the more the tighter, the tramp got greedy, said times were hard. Night goes fast when old and tired.night is dead on its arse. More words would flow had I not choked on awkward air, so sit back and openly stare. I stare back. So drink the journey on its head, escape some more blues. 2 bottles down. Chronic. Competition/Conversation....dead on its arse, dead dead.