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I owe these two cunts a lot. They also have other talents.
sometimes I write poems about the people I love.
This is the first thing I ever wrote with performance in mind, captured here by Sam Small Poetry. I may have gone a little overboard with my rapid fire delivery.
It’s been a long time, I know. I’m not really sorry but you can pretend I am if it makes you feel better.
I wrote this for a Philanthrobeats event celebrating mental illness. Or moaning about how hard it makes things. It was definitely something like that. Anyway, I wasn’t going to be in the country at the time so they shot a performance of it at the first High Flight fundraiser. Anyway, turns out I was in the country so I was gonna do some live stuff too. Then there was a snafu with encoding the vid3eo, so the poem I’d written just for the event didn’t get air at the event. So, yeah. Gonna memorise this beastly motherfucker and shoot a performance of it some time soon.
Have a picture of my face.
Does the running of your lips help?
Does it stop the spreading of the panic? The drawing of bad blood.
It was good to cut yourself yesterday.
Felt right as rain
- But adolescence abandons us all. Leaves nothing but bruises and breadcrumbs.
Not that you can ever go back
- not without pulling some serious trauma
and those debts ain’t so easy to pay off but hey
if that’s what it takes. Just don’t go too deep.
Got that arrested development shtick – playing it like a fiddle.
It ain’t their fault
and you ain’t making any friends
Bleeding on the carpet.
Time to play make-believe
At being a grown up.
Razorblades are for children.
Real Men swallow their pain
With a handful of blues
And a mouthful of whisky.
Just beat your wife
Or significant other
Whatever. All your sins will be absolved.
So it is written.
Why would I want to save the whales when I don’t even want to save myself?
The sanctity of human life!
Like human life is so fucking precious.
Face it, people, we’re just another species amongst many
And when we’re not fucking and killing those other species
We’re fucking and killing each other.
Entire nations have been founded on these principles!
Civilisations are born from such foundations!
Oh! Isn’t mental illness
Such an apt metaphor for the vagaries, jouannce
And ennui of the late 20th/early 21st century?
Oh yeah, baby. Intellectualise the pain away.
Sometimes you have to pull the wool over your own eyes
Just to function.
When you are wallowing in your own filth
It seems ridiculous to get uptight about the little things.
As long as you dress up pretty for the normal folk,
Make it to work on time and at least pretend
To care everything will be okay.
If it gets too hairy,
A little too much,
And you veer into the attention of the medical community
Try not to get your hopes up.
Can only do so much.
You’ll need distractions – the more intricate the better.
I hear a career can be helpful
A focus and release
For all those bad thoughts – take some gentle exercise
A brisk walk around the stairwell if you’re lucky
Some fresh air can do you good
Maybe take up a sport
Or perhaps something that involves sitting
- a hobby
or unhealthy obsession.
Neurosis are all the rage with the cardigan set.
Nice sit down and a cuppa tea pet.
Makes everything better. World of difference.
Just tell me all about it and be sure not to leave out any of the
juicy details. I just want a taste and sympathy is such a good
lay. Makes you breakfast but
doesn’t help with the washing up.
Kick that cunt to the curb with a busted lip.
Some people do not like to be alone.
Need the repulsive throb of other
Human beings – so close they can touch you.
It is okay to need
Just don’t take more than others can be
Bothered to give you.
We are all complacent
In this torture garden :-
The giving and receiving of pain
Both emotional and physical
Is as natural as shaking hands
or sharing breath.
You certainly aren’t being disproportionate
In your charitable donations.
The good lord never gives us more than we can handle.
Stiff upper lip
You cry baby fuck.
If you honestly feel that beyond have you tried
Just not being such a miserable cunt?
There are starving AIDs babies in Africa
what have you got to be unhappy about?
Quit attention seeking and bumming me out with your eyes.
I have problems too but you don’t see me desperate and aching wondering if this feeling will ever go away
with its gnawing insistence that nothing will ever be okay
again despite what your rational brain might be insisting is the truth of the matter
better just to listen to the hateful whispers as they mutter over and over
about your worthlessness
and the pointlessness
of trying to achieve anything ever waiting
for the words to eventually tire
so you might put yourself back together.
Pick yourself up
Dust yourself off
And carry on with this marvellous motherfucking mess called living.
Loki, Glasgow Hip Hop’s prodigal son, shows us the way.
Fucking Fantastic. Watch out for a recording of me doing this poem soon.
My mates’ band is playing London. They’re pretty good. You should check them out if you’re in the area of Hackney tommorrow evening. More info here.
They sound like this.
5 day forecast clouds in a piss cup
Trying to pinpoint when the shit went tits up
Whatcha gonna do to get your ass out of this rut
So you don’t have to live your whole life tits up
Precious, brothers ain’t a name in lights
A last rice cake shared under flames and dice
That know to cope, gotta swap old campfire chillers
The kind that only grow in vampire state cellars
And climb out of jars when they migrate westward
Where they were free of any chessboard square
Hi, I don’t shake beer in the dark
I write but I’m no Shakespeare in the park
I’m a grownsed up punk with an ear for a heart and I hear you
Please wait here for the ark
Yes sir. Likely to fester inactive unless they address all the death
And distraction, shake hands with a foxhole raider
Got a grip like c-c-c-c-combo breaker
Tally up the dead folk squashed in a car
Fire still warm they couldn’t have gone far
Packed up tough in your double stuff swimtrunks
Cannonballs recalled when your shit split
New high score on the IHop Dig-Dug
Pretty cool otherwise pretty much
How can I save you when I can barely save myself?
Codependent No More on my audiobook shelf
Cruise to your town in my cape and my unitard
See what I can do with my lyrics and my guitar
Now I got my sidekick who brings the beatdown
Have you seen the size of his feet?
Clown shoes with his own name in gold on the side
If you’re in the dark we’ll bring a little Lite Brite
Pop in the pegs
Make cute pictures
Pick up some merch, make us permanent fixtures
On the self-help shelf of your record collection
So if shit’s tits up you can make the selection
That will take you from limp to a little bit pumped up
Our HQ is gluten free bun truck
Shhh, zip your lips
Don’t tell the bad guys
Shine that giant bun signal in the sky
Wait a few months for us to arrive
Big group hug, a little awkward
One day you’re in luck
One day you’re stealing cigarettes from a flipped truck
Dick face, Tits up
You feel a little better when we sign your high tops
When you get home it’s the same old tits up
One half megafawna one half mall rat, haul ass
Straight face, dove-tailed ball cap
Grape ape unveil plans for the van use
Drive to your shit town, tell you that your band rules
Live with the get down, maybe out of shampoo
Radio on scan for a stanza to lampoon
Under the bum drum cutter is a real motherfuckers’ motherfucker, motherfucker
Alex Karras and Conraid Bain and Leather Tuscadero
And Pinky and the Brain re-enacting the Universal masturbation movie
Dolph cold cocks Courtney love boobies and that over the shoulder anaconda holder
You were close to the hole, you’re getting colder
Bogeyed your birdie when I powdered my putter
But there ain’t no fluffer that can fluff this nutter
One day you’re in love
One day you’re pills suck
One day your shits fucked
Nip tuck tits up
Snookie in a snuggie at the walt witman pitstop
Cinnabon, Bon Jovi, slippery tits up
High noon, milk duds, cherry cola big gulp
Corn dog, dim sum, moon die, tits up
Swab your six lips with cholorform litmus
Colorforms, horshack, Rorschach
Hey Mom, life’s good, works great, tip tops
P.S. send cash, half dead, Tits up
Riding on the back of Undercat Battlepop
Underoos, big sword, top drawers
Can’t plug and old faithful with a fist fuck
No rain coat, no dice
Go Tits up
Shine my shoe kicking elevator missed hugs
Seventeenth floor nothing but bugs
Brunch at the strip club, corn beef, crisp ones
Four teeth, pink tux, porn stash
Joey Martin Lawrence – WHOA!
Little Stevie King Tut
Bad taste walkaways, eternal blame
This’ll be remembered as the year you ruined Christmas
Figgy pudding everywhere, shitty footing
Willy Wonka shooting blanks
Tae Bo Banks catwalk
Fizzy lifting tits up
Block block, chop block, chop, kick, kick, punch
Step over the line if you ever feel tits up
Trimmed muff not so much