Archive for August, 2013


::::mediocre comes as standard:::: [ poem ]


The tedium of the itchy eyeball – just the act of looking is annoying.
Better just to let those fleshy lids fall
you never notice anything worth seeing anyway
– no clear vision to present the world.
Nothing that would make even the most slack-jawed catch their breath.
Just receive what gets transmitted
with nothing
approaching
sense making apparatus in that shirt pocket
you call mind.
Mind you, wouldn’t know the way you go on
– gabba gabba all damn day.
Anything for a motherfucking look-at-me.
LOL.

He Knows I Want Him


::::I just want a taste:::: [ poetry ]


Cut this fragile cord.
It holds me down, anchored to the rotten soil.
The sky tastes of her.


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It’s true. I have a book coming out. A certain someone has been giving me a hard time over not having any physical objects she can help flog. CAN I JOIN YOUR DEATH CULT? Is the result of that nagging. Often surreal, usually melancholy, regularly angry, this collection of poetry will stick in your throat and make you wish you never remembered your dreams. WATCH THIS SPACE.


::::are you sure this ain’t Sunday?::::


Kįttŷ


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::::GET YOUR FUCKING SENSE HERE::::

::::No Deal:::: [ poetry ]


EITHER/OR/BORED

Is these circles a roundabout way of enforcing an intractable perspective on a population too distracted to notice that the total surface area for occupation and proliferation is being ever reduced in a bid to limit both possibility and opportunity for what once would of been referred to as the proletariat but has now been divided, in a diametrical fashion, into grotesque reimaginings of the have and have nots. In these times of scarcity such things ar expressed using a kind of negative space where time is money becomes deconstructed in honour of a new dichotomy – the Do and Do Nots.

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::::The future is too far gone::::


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CAN I JOIN YOUR DEATH CULT?


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::::the human taint::::


This dead creeping meat
Sets root
In idle bones.

I’d never noticed how bored they become
When you take
Away
Their toys.

::::I cannot stop listening to this song::::


::::this breath is not my own::::


I cuddle into you
Not because I ache
Not because I doubt
But
Because
That’s where I belong.

:::::they passed between::::


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::::THEY PROBED MY ANUS::::


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