An attempt at humanity through attempted poetry?

the dead women of Juarez

2011-12-20T00:07:00.008+08:00

I relate to the dead women of Juarez.
Every scar a colonial moment.
Privilege cut into our skin.
And every fuck just a fuck.
The history distant,
imagined and dull.
But her eggs aren't well done
and the inheritance won't come
'til she's at least twenty five.
Sulking on the golden teet.
Polite conversation before
the big black man
with a gentle face
and nice smile
slips it in her arse.
And meanwhile
another face,
is buried
beneath men,
violence
and dirt.
Her stomach cut,
tear-ducts fucked,
pissing blood and lime.
A sour taste.
Hidden beneath
the discarded fragments
of industry.
But there is only silence
in illuminated text.
And it is strange
to not have TV.
No room for dessert.
Throat cut,
eyes to god.
Laying in a ditch
while her mother sleeps,
unaware,
dreaming Mexican dreams.
And perhaps there is no difference
between the white woman
disturbing my meal
with inane chatter
and the dead girl
just south of the US border.
But I relate to the dead women of Juarez.
My bones aching with guilt
and my beer getting warm.

anarchists

2011-11-29T15:52:00.001+08:00

oppose
a social order
of slavery
a violence within
the walls
buildings
and monitors
connecting us
to nothing
the exploitation
of sunsets
sex
and dreams
the death
of the flies
gathering around
dried blood
the 46 year old man
born muhammad
or joseph
or steve
a junkie
or mechanic
lying still
in the dust
shot or shot up
discarded
an unfathomable distance
from your tv
the eight hours
sitting at a desk
staring into pixels
chatting
rotting in
obesity
anxiety
and depression
anarchists
oppose black
bags
15 million
square kilometres
of plastic
in the pacific
a global military
expenditure
of 1.6 trillion
anarchists
oppose murder
money
lipstick
cell phones
televisions
vibrators
the collars
on children
chained to fences
or walked through malls
anarchists oppose
malls
inane conversation
spectacle
promiscuity
taxes
flags
handguns

monogamy
viagra
government
prozac
celebrity
aropax
SUVs
social networking
states
and porn
for this
anarchists face
repression
discrimination
detention
deportation
ridicule
attack
and gaol
anarchists are
shot
judged
condemned
sacrificed
sold
betrayed
stigmatized
and dishonoured

but anarchists
still
believe

in you

her face behind a blue cup

2011-11-17T18:03:00.005+08:00

Love,
she says.
A distance removed.
Thinking about it,
still sore from all the fucking.
Love,
is intense.
Not what
she's looking for.
But what
she's running from.

I say,
there's nothing to be afraid of.
Comforting stories,
my litany of dirty fucks
posing as polyamory.

But she's leaving
to find herself
somewhere,
not here.
Of course.
No need for
attachments.
And love is intense.

I say,
I have no expectations,
knowing full well that
I'm expecting a reply.
Affirmation,
a return to source.
With every glance and motion,
her on top of me.
Anything is possible.

Her body still sore.
In silence.
The warmth so close
and eternal.
Closing our eyes
as we reinforce the walls.
For now.

Love, I say,
is not as intense
as fear.

with honesty for friends

2011-08-08T18:01:00.000+08:00

Brahma plays with Buddha
beyond dogma
And we recite Blake's London
in kitchens cleaning
for minimum wage
And yet still free

Like those who play
with sex and drama
Everyone fucking everyone
fucking everyone

Jamie's paranoid direction
coming in and out
of inebriation and argument
Sleep deprived and stoned
But always smiling

Those who ride the
fading morning
longer than most
closer to fifty
but happy at last

Rob's walls covered in
foil and reality
Keeping everything distant
never falling

Those friends more broken
but in love
Others solitary in caves
of virginity, sadness
and loss

Jason a king of kings
Reminding us that we
can always do better

Crossing mountains and
burying our childhood
with every battle
orgasm and
scream of passion

Brian a bear of a man
breathing compassion
with subtle smile
walking slow
A laughter emanating
from source

Moments of truth
in climax
Painfully reminding us
that we are sorry
I am sorry

Every lover who
is golden, beautiful
Privileged but empathetic
gorgeous women
broken and held close

Our hands forming fists
chests tightened
Shouting at faceless
men, processes and violence

Alex committed more
than we could know
A wealth of protest
articulated in soundbites
ten minute drives and
European squats

And my spirit existential
finds Russia
Nineteen seventeen
Two thousand and ten

Katie hitting hard
sonic connection
and essence
Beyond politics
and intimacy

Clinging to each other
like pigeons in the rain
Just long enough to
feel the weight lifted
The space warm
and empty

And many more unnamed
in commune
and resistance
Honesty and
imagination
Gods in reflection
not without hearts torn
and shattered mind

My brothers and sisters
never born
Friends in every sense
In love
Our conversations
keeping me whole

Thank you

2011-06-08T21:48:00.003+08:00

our radical history
separates the spine
turns the clock inside
and even outside
the walls fade

bullshit confessions

2011-05-08T12:40:00.002+08:00

this confession does not help
the cocktail of stds
flabby gut
limp wrist
posturing and wank
not to mention the bullshit
cumming in 6 minutes
thinking the women like it
at least for 2 to 3 weeks
psycho-analysing
to add to the bullshit
a vegetarian for 3 months
didn't drink for a whole week
and read a few books on zen
but still the same cunt
breaking people
one
after the other one
after the other
and arrogant enough
to assume that
i am the only one
bored
weak
and cowardly
a moments release
replacing purpose
truth
beauty
love
purging this bullshit
replacing it with bullshit
until there is nothing left

The Limitless Sky

2011-02-10T23:54:00.002+08:00

There are 10 buildings on the horizon.

A blue neon silk,

the sky emaciated.

And you would not believe the words.

But listen, this isn't for you.

White plastic decor that we've become.

I have friends so golden

and a childhood so broken -

just like you.

My drunkenness finds sorrow and joy.

The vacant dirt so dry from neglect.

A great distance from the beyond.

And she, not you,

is more than the weight in this room,

more than the history of exploitation,

more than anything possible.

Strengthening these bones,

the taste that i've become.

You, that consume this.

You, that watch the fourth wall undress.

You that I would fuck with abstinent eyes.

You know that every minute matters.

And I, who just wants to get laid or forgotten.

I, who is not the absent stage or amplified sound.

I know the space between us.

But we, we exist in Egypt.

Eruptions of conscience and compliance.

Beneath this privileged facade.

We hang from suburban trees

with such beautiful grace.

The junkies, deadbeats and alcoholics.

We that are and always will be.

Our bodies warn,

our souls stunted in the artificial light.

The futility of money plastered to our dull face.

The streets forming track marks in our veins.

And we look east for salvation.

Squinting in the dim light

just long enough to know

that we are the monster.

But not understanding why.

A thousand self help books

burning in the conscious mind.

A hundred protest marches,

suffocating in the shade.

Insignificant and silent.

Never quite desperate enough.

While they drown on the lines of empire.

Property, corporation and state.

Occupied and beaten.

For what could never exist.

Deprived, desperate and hungry.

A life we could never know.

You would never want.

And I could never feel.

There is no horizon in the limitless sky.

Identity

2011-01-04T17:12:00.005+08:00

I am the vacant stare at the rim of the glass
the drum and bass thighs of transvestites
pretending to dance
A last desperate attempt
to love someone,
somewhere
I am awake,
waiting
Always
Reminiscent
Not here
I am wire, teeth,
denim legs of a woman
who is only wanted
Too certain but afraid
I am bad acid
and broken childhood transience
I am your beautiful breast
and many other things
I could never say
but do
I am Jesus drowning
off the coast of occupied land
I am absurdity in neon,
drunk and fucked up
I am displaced and lonely
but never desperate
I am heroin
and every other last option
I am a word
or breath
that is
or is not
omnipresent
I am yelling from rooftops
and welcoming death
with each kiss
I am violent lust
I am everything I despise
I am despised
I am hope and anxiety,
depression,
paradox and truth
I am void
I am someone, somewhere
Not here.

burn

2010-12-05T16:24:00.007+08:00

she's cotton like language hung well over a creature of comfort she's just a follower
of the prime cut teevee dinner jesuits and a duality of sinners materially obsessed
and willing to accept what she cannot see like the icecream koolaid polarbear selling me
selling you, these cheap commodities, a console to console your lack of being free
so these budgie smugglers will make me so content in your farcical parliament
with backwards breathing vents and a thorough application of indie pop ointment
that will build tracks in the arms of puppet soldiers spreading condiment over continents
for oil spectacle and a common sense of what big brother said to you on master chef
don't you get it? it's all in your head. all the isms that got read in the russian gulags
the prisoner complex soap opera con gags, an aneurism for the empires new rags
but no-one bothers the lovers and mothers of a revolution that was shot in the head

so it's all a dick and jane reagan wet dream. a drink-up jacked-up consuming fiend
we like our rotting meat lean our whitewash radio temple broadcasting the obscene
a resistance of empty teens, their slogans plastered on quiet minds still not weened
off of the golden teet career scene, corporate coprophile, one love of being reamed
while the corpses of 68 dead philosophers resonate in the tombs of the once sacred
we sit and argue about misplaced sex and hatred. a grasping ID of ego life wasted
like the time we tasted the barricades, sweat drenched dances that had a love of a rage
against the machines that held the cage or cribs of drunken gods on broken stages
that replaced dreams with moving images and the spirit with deadbeat homages
to the ins and outs of hostages held left or right of a nightmare of our own creation

and lately
all i want to do
is burn it down.

the roles we played

2010-11-04T15:12:00.005+08:00

how.does.a.woman.cum
how.does.a.woman.cum
how.does.a.woman.cum
how.does.a.woman.kar-ma-sutra
how.does.a.woman.kar-ma-sutra
how.does.a.woman.ka-ma-sutra
how does a woman cum-

a sutra psalm a spoken poem
17 with these sweaty palms
a reoccurring scene
this wannabe man

an 80's romance rerun
manifest in infatuation
climax like heroin
everything you've ever imagined

17 on your bed
this kiss
17 on your bed
kitchen knife your wrists
17 on your bed
or was it mine
telling you that i'd love you
like reagan
or any other b-movie
hetro hero heart-throb

a 90's spectacle breakup
something indie like death

19 on your bed
this blood becoming
19 on your bed
a wish that i was falling
19 on your bed
numb but free
staring not speaking
scribbled plato's reflection
and anarchy
on your wall and flesh

the observer 'comes real
an ad' break from monotony
and then

21 on your bed
without protection
21 on your bed
machinelike penetration
21 on your bed
a daydream of boredom
sleeping until 2pm
consuming
the remorse
of a loss of a feeling

no more heros
no more heros

25 in my bed
memory sentimental
25 in my bed
these hands now regretful
25 in my bed
or was that 35
fucked and loved
forgotten and held close
but always gone

never coming back.

this city

2010-10-14T02:51:00.007+08:00

this day dream white wash cracked and forgotten
with movement the cement becomes life-like reflection
this cigarette stutter and nod with a drunken shadow
sediment dust exhaust blood curdling in phlegm

this pollution consuming distant neanderthal abuse
anger locked atmosphere fist pulled awaiting excuse
smashing cunts and fucking with suggestive eyes
stimuli grunts cashed-up lobotomised - chimps

in this city

this clique trendy latte catchup with synth low-cut top
the resistance renaissance wanker apathy pop
this middle-class pretence before the picket fence
a pick up pick pocket green voting pomo poet

this insecure thug sanctioned criminal racist in uniform
to state the obvious police state bastard colonial spawn
this punch in punch out telephone book taser baton fuck
the great protector bobby boy patriotic - another worm

in this city

this stalinist sect newspaper pusher sold out communist
these five drunken anarchists with limp disco fists
more broken heart ideologues suffering indifference
token arguments for dialectics or didactic showmanship

this existential bass player playing pussy for entertainment
deadbeat manipulation a sentence lies empty and content
backbeat posing on airwaves for kudos and failed love
this closing comment to connect with you - for a moment

in this city this city this city this city this city this city...

that we all dreamt.

-------------------

Hear it live on RTRFM 92.1 here

deported

2010-09-24T01:48:00.006+08:00

each tear is a scream
for every wall we built

seen from an impenetrable distance
a young man deported
from a prison camp roof

his body lays broken-
still inside

while the sun moves freely
through the southern cross sky

the only child

2010-09-03T18:16:00.001+08:00

The only child
left
in desperation
clings to his monologue
and buries his childhood
alone.

symmetry in emptiness

2010-09-03T18:14:00.003+08:00

The distant sky
is but a reflection
of the ocean
turned upside down.

And I am here.
An image
caught in rapture.
Drowning.

a fear of the unknown

2010-08-13T01:19:00.003+08:00

This scar,
That never heals
Is working up the courage.

Towards an inevitable end.
From a space never touched.
With a weight unimaginable.

This fear,
That holds us together
Is distorting my love of images.

But in dreaming
I still savour the longing
Of this scar

That never heals.

the ascent

2010-08-09T15:09:00.001+08:00

here
he cums
again

why you write

2010-07-05T01:42:00.004+08:00

your privileged fear of sharks
-and the history
only reminds me of myself
turned to bitter delight

still
there are many ways
to starve

a status update

2010-06-16T02:08:00.006+08:00

you might say
she's an ex-
or a fuck
depending
on how you're
twisted

but
when i thought
about it-
it cuts
to hear
she was married

still-
i'm glad
i checked
facebook

if not
for the distance-
to feel

these days

2010-06-10T17:11:00.004+08:00

in the absence of
what is left

there is no
humanity

sex and death

2010-06-09T03:46:00.008+08:00

4 loved
in lust
drowned at sea

close or eager
nervous
irresponsible

9 shot
dead by IDF
drowned at sea

beyond mediocre
keyboard
spectacle

31 fucked
in waste
drowned at sea

time passed
and cum
fulfilled

25 years
in waiting
drowned at sea

an easy death
an undying
thirst

elsewhere
they scream

content
in knowing

they
have something

to die for

memory

2010-03-26T01:29:00.002+08:00

solitude
sought
for all
of its pleasure

as the shore
resists the tide

he still stares
at her picture

looking inwards

what was said

2010-03-17T17:13:00.003+08:00

from twelve to six foot, fit recovery/dull health wilt with wage slavery/he’s clutching phantom pain groin poverty/to bricks built debt confined tenancy/and on rotting couch scribble verse incessantly/derailed debunked and overwhelmingly fucked/but not laid screwed jumped or even sucked/ha it’s funny how on the best of days the worst of days seem faint/through the nightmare glow spectacle florescent/and convalesce cum recital of Kant/but dream of monsters inside these giants/thousands seeking refuge in A B C or D block/smuggled LSD stop to bounce like pinging pong back and forth/singing a junkie psalm of denial of course/with hope for landfill or the nurse’s cunt/you can’t say that and she’s not the sort/a carpet fetish perhaps or worse/

But I-lodge the mod-f, or was that why/we look at the wall rather than face/demons disguised to manifest a race/against counting sheep in a choice of workplace/100 points to point the identity of lines traced/back to economy not absurd conspiracy/but he’s always drinking thinking whispering to friends/of occult and mechanisms of control/or was that control of mechanisms bodily functions and delusions to rhythm without soul/but sold anxiety to PC fingers tapping relentlessly/techno tracks and DMT/make for mismatched thought patterns serial packs of scratched records and CDs/

and even with a dilated people and jumbled rhyme/we see that beyond writing lines to form poetry/name drops to desperate hypocrisy/we’re all suffocating in this goddamn city/bastion of capitalism that it be/and shit we’re all living in San Quentin/a colonial mining prison/cashed up bogans and patriotic vermin/noongar youth beaten til not just black/refugees unwelcome and workers sacked/and yet convinced of the politics of power to the infinite by etc times etc times etc

but what of this has not already been said/to witness thirty people drunk and well fed/change the room in which they sit/sipping beer, thinking of a post-teen angst fad/of that acquaintance or the comfort of the seats/preparing pretense to consummate the distance so discreet/why waste the breath/of only two times sixty/a moment or less to whisper and repeat/what hasn’t been said

as we sit so quietly and dead

reclaim power - for the 1st heat of perth poetry slam...

2010-02-25T13:25:00.002+08:00

Police charge pepper spray mass arrest/a public burlesque turnin’ to baton breakfast/with spectacles gazing at a spectacle farce/mark up the market no matter the cost/a cop kettle black bloc anarchy lust/a lossy format formin' structures lost/on your back asking whether the weather has passed/reciting one rendition of enough is enough/while militants and miscreants struggle against/capital’s resentment of half moon and crest/to survive we stumble in our humble jest/beat words like flies off our heavy chests/but the sun that burns hot never ever sets/and there’s always a gun left to caress/so all the kids tick apathy or hedonist/and the right write the history of what is left/

of a lonely fist in the crowd/a hacktivist over speaker loud/a rhyme twist soda pop asking how/a human less culture can make us proud/a sycophantic kiss to the well-endowed/and why this bless be the bliss of a mother's shroud/a test that was missed and forgotten 'til now/is whispering to concrete when the state allows/

but hey - everybody’s got a job to do/we’re all cops, judges and CEO’s/listen to pop, rock and a bit of soul/drink beer, vodka and do as we're told/stop and search on a bitumen road/here in this new lost city full of the old/customs and racists ten fold/border police genocide to prison cell/cashed up jacked up on mortgage 'til cold/turkey or snapper to escape this hell/

so we sleep in and imagine closeness to flesh/drawn back covers to possibility limitless/humanity abstract cums closer with sex/or spirit in streets and subversive protest/and with each breath we exhale to resist/inhale whispers of freedom with a kiss/and know that we are here - together in this

walls

2010-02-16T01:44:00.006+08:00

your rainbow socks dreadlocks
black nail-polish to tell you apart
leather jacket black shirt or shit
this ain't going nowhere

these scenes
and vacated streets
poets for stalkers
and over priced drinks

conversation mandatory
slurring speech
you just want to fuck to get sick
and curse the bitch

and if it's self delusion
or destruction
then long live
this town

because a memory of walls
cannot be spoken of
nor broken
down.

will

2010-01-02T07:29:00.008+08:00

when we lost the tracks
the time scarred
and the content
-blinding light of the snake god
was spoken through

boots dragged in snow
a nonchalant vow
manifest in desperation
hours of conversation
reduced to these

transitory bodies
suffocated and drowning down
another chapter
of laughter
and the forgotten

a room that is or was
typing, chatting and silence
images for faces
a memory of wasted
scars

left behind
in embraced convalescence
existence before essence
a movement or shuffle
misplaced
and left to

write and
repeat after loud-speaker
or whisper forever
that only sound
is manifest

and in these tracks
we will be found

thursday night

2009-11-05T22:02:00.002+08:00

bestow this memory
beyond accelerator
before roundabout
we frame a better picture
suburban street
bus-stop
bitumen blur
littered corpses groping
slurring
sucking flesh
his hand fumbling thumbs in cunt
the wetness and saliva fermenting
soggy chips
the gravy drips
down her thighs
beer salted snot
tongues gorging throats
hands grasp arse cock
wet boxers hard
burger breath eating faces
chewing scar
rubbing sweet
piss-stank-cum
consuming
these neo-suburban neanderthals
suffocating
in misanthropic sprawl

on sleeping in until 2pm

2009-10-20T16:27:00.006+08:00

whiskey double
the growth of pubic hair
sleep past midday
layers of teeth rotting
resembling
female figure
hair so long

self sabotage
mucus in lung
a cyber affair
nullified, pacified
boredom
to form excuse
after excuse

a wednesday
professing love
friday
avoiding glance
semen in jar
art project
now abject

lack of sincerity
wish for emptiness
distance in walls
refuse proximity
sunken eyes
desperation

and returning
to womb

Railway parade

2009-10-05T21:53:00.003+08:00

I learnt to count to 26.
In lies, ceiling fixtures and flesh.
The numbers just stopped.
I guess.
Lips and tongue form kiss.

We had no right.
They said.
This absurdity.
Empty lots, exploding toilets.
The abstraction of love - now dead.
An unprecedented wealth in numbers.
A train of strangers.
Passing.
Always passing, fulfilled lives buy-
a complacent piece.
Medicated.
Romantic setting, burning beach.
A moment or two of innocence.
Emptiness, when we leave.

These walls now built
hold nothing.
Train tracks for scars
seek oblivion.
Everything must go -
breathe often.

Lay alone.

Always.

the carpark

2009-08-28T12:39:00.003+08:00

It's easy.

They paved the roads with dark black bitumen,
stained.
I drank beer and smoked.
Too numb.

A circle of friends.

You pass and wave.
Hold hands.
Again.
With another.

I take to my scars with razor.
Blade.

Twenty years on and i'll drink to your memory.
I'll drink til i forget,
the roads now paved.

Primates

2009-07-27T01:22:00.002+08:00

Even at 1.23am
The post-climax-porno
Makes me question
How far we've come

knowing

2009-07-20T02:38:00.004+08:00

you know.
its cold grey after taste,
impenetrable concrete.
Kulbardi means magpie.
you know.
AND THEY'LL ALL GROW UP BIG AND STRONG.
and even if you never fit the bill,
whiskey poker, piano madman,
wandering alone through mediocre.
a rendition of one too many
i love you's.
one too many scars left to admire.
an undying thirst.
at least the noose,
the driving,
masturbating,
swerving to avoid kangaroo,
suicide bomber.
the line in the sand that drew these borders,
fences and wars.
this bullshit we call death or love.
even if it is just words,
at least you know.
and i know.
it's something.
anything
to stop the silence.

Where it is often

2009-04-26T02:50:00.006+08:00

Where it pushes and pulls for excitement
A born-again toilet cubicle
Rather than with Eros
Laying beside you

Where it’s a cathartic code fuck
That only returns to sender
Climax-cum-enlightenment
A hit of nostalgia

Where it’s always pussy and tits
An empty-fit times six billion
Simulated rape scenes
Emotion without feeling

Where it calls you a misogynist
A post-post feminist
Rather than a third wave
Middle-class pretentious

Where it loves your poetry
A face full of cock
Beg for clarity, abstinence
Through writer’s block

Where it’s never coming back
A spectacle of abuse
Your father’s hand to
Tie the lie-cum-noose

Where it’s a text message kiss
Detached reinforcement with an x
To pointless conversation
Rather than sex

Where it’s screaming desperate tears
Of love and life on the verge
It is always thrown away
But now and then

It hurts.

Pike Bishop is dead

2009-02-12T17:08:00.003+09:00

a text message counselor at 5pm
out of fish bowl, thirty centimetres wide.
we're sweating sickness to our forgetting
sun damaging our peak-oil polished hides.

he says she fucks but doesn't come in.
he shouts at mirrors in the bathroom
purging junk from arms and outside.
we're drunk on the bust and boom
advertising jingo lullaby.

but in god's grace or another fairy tale
they're burning people alive.
for abortion, Islam or new-speak
Coca-cola, Baghdad or sex for 1.95?

and even Pike Bishop is dead.
i heard it on the TV.
he laid down his guns and said.

'the animals are better than you or me'.

Book My Face Megatronn

2009-02-09T17:21:00.005+09:00

i said book my face megatronn.

i was sick of status updates so i became a gangster rapper.
i went underground in search of velvet sonic youth.

we broke the siege - freed Gazan refugees
and talked of loved one's lost.

to the peter thiel's and the 'new deals'
to that latest capital crazy
i want your stimulus package baby
oh Mr Ruddy please save me!

but now we're a rock star pose, a flying vee
got a lingering for the truth
we wake - sleep - dérive

and there are 86 friends in common
out of 1 4 7 discarded fits
this is a face like an epitaph
syphilis for politics
and primate worship.

and man is paradise
as the walls come tumbling down
and man is paradise
as the walls come tumbling down
and man is paradise

for another struggling poet.

09/02/09

Do not forget

2009-02-04T01:19:00.001+09:00

Thirteen hundred awkward ‘I Love You’s’
Once whispered from mouths hopeful in solitude
Now buried forever. Beneath rubble and memory.
Look closer. A child’s hand. Phosphorus eyes.
The soldier’s smile reflecting national pride.

The machine gun screams.
We are the victims. We are the victims.
Manufactured caste leads a people to genocide.
Headline reads: Israel retaliates after rockets fired
Sixty-one years of occupation forgotten.
Simplified. Sensationalised. Legitimised.
We perpetuate the lies through silkscreen eyes.

In workplace conversation we reiterate their racism.
Portray the situation with inane misinformation.
‘Those mad Arabs just need to be civilized’ he says.
While we beat our wives and practice our own apartheid.
Wrapped in the butchers apron behind our white picket fence.
Screaming ‘oi oi oi’ til the bombs come home to roost.

And in an instant soundbite commercial all is lost.
The thousands dead exiled to page 48 in small print.
The death of Dafur, Gaza, Iraq, Zimbabwe, Afghanistan.
See no, hear no, speak no - all is forgotten.

You turn the dial. Close the blinds. Open eyes with no mind.
My every sentence breaking into fractures, soon to lose syllables.
Resonance. Determination. Meaning. But this is not a dream.

From this page to this mouth to the radio to your head – this is still reality.

There are still thirteen hundred dead.

Do not forget.

the winged giraffe winks twice (how i try to love myself)

2008-12-22T03:48:00.011+09:00

i’m three dollars eighty drunk and blind
and a senator’s after the love of my lives

these underpants maintain a certain dignity
and yet
have not been changed in weeks.

and all i can ask myself is
when will i forget
and repeat

this.
poem.

nostalgia.
‘fear of the unknown’
my imagination is always worse
trapped in rooms. texting on cellphones.

your thighs. his saggy balls thin cock.
no one is inviting me to pillow talk.
career career career
slaps the arse of doubt
anarchy long forgot.
climax. she shouts.

or more i murmur in my musing
selfish pity past the point
drinking heavy for confusion.

tell yourself you’re losing
that you’re self abusing
that it’s all.
their.
fault.

she’s right. you’re morose.

that it’s wah wah bang bang
give a bloke a blow-
job.

or at least another self to love.

and all these words that rhyme and say.
nothing.
like.
laughing.
like.
sex.
and.

i've detached from the reflections of others.
been sleeping in til 2 to wrestle with monsters.
and got eyes like violence behind the silkscreen.

yet i still cry for india. on days of clarity held dear.
searching for clues in lucid dreams.
in fragments reflected back at me. lost childhood trajectory.
life is never elsewhere. behind their tv screens.

and so okay
i admit that i am afraid of sleeping.
waking.
dying.
loving.
but mostly moving on.

and my cock 12 inch deep won't make me feel.
but recites the memory
of walls. hands. faces.
touch and conversation.

and yeah this love of scars will never heal.
but between keystrokes and long strokes
there’s moments of realization

like here.

in this.
poem.

Live without dead time

2008-11-12T14:37:00.002+09:00

We remember the colours that ran down your streets.
The children scream red, white and blue.
Others see red in dreams replaced by moving images.
In houses made of white sand, they will never be you.

We turned off the lights to love a stranger.
Every minute of our nine to five was worth it.
Masturbated over the masterstroke – screamed hallelujah.
We’re content – our desires are up for market.

In Chicago the crowd hears that ‘change has come’.
On her face lay tears hidden by the barrel of a gun.
We still choose our leaders, a savior to free us.
But the children still see red in Afghanistan.

And there are 700 billion reasons to burn down Wall Street.
Breaking the spell with a brick through a window.
Instead we head the tone dead funeral procession.
We’re collapsing as we speak words with no value.

Never mind as long as you get to take her from behind.
As long as we can sip some wine and talk about your poetry.
Maybe even that great hero of the people Pontius Pilate.
He knew that there is hierarchy in poetry, and poetry in hierarchy.

Not that any false prophecy could of ever saved us.
And this is whiskey smile, slurred arrogance to mention.
But any order of governance will always be broken.
And all the hippies can’t put it back together again.

Because there really is no government like no government.
Empowerment can’t be bought with a Che Guevara shirt.
So they’re burning ballot boxes for warmth on Grand Boulevard.
While we whisper ‘vivez sans temp mort’.

12/11/08

Three poems on Unlikely Stories.org

2008-11-04T17:40:00.000+09:00

http://www.unlikelystories.org/grenfell1108.shtml

Footage from Perth Slam

2008-10-13T16:25:00.001+08:00

Performing in the 1st Perth Heat of the 2008 Australian Poetry Slam. October 2008.

http://au.youtube.com/watch?v=QSL_FXk0FrM

Poem - Australia (1 in 3).

1 in 3 Australians are openly racist...

2008-09-30T20:14:00.004+08:00

Australia (1 in 3 people)

Drunken teens sipping on the fruits of slavery
A Blondie remake who never quite got the trip approaches
Curled lip looks at my aboriginal flag broach, she says

“Are you an abo'?”

Conception of genocide, colonial mud-orgy at Botany Bay
Interventions, apartheid segregations, deaths in custody
Alcoholism, imprisoned in prisms of a white phallic Australia
Seventy seven percent straight up racist picnics at Cronulla

“Are you an abo'?” she said

But it’s ok we had an apology
Burning your house down, kicking you in the teeth
But it’s ok we said sorry
Building a new mansion, letting you sleep on our streets

“Are you an abo'?” she said

Clinging to the coast like molluscs to the pier, dare not venture into country
Ignore cosmology, the omnipresence of history – develop and destroy
And you sip your beer and think -
it’s only poetry, doesn't effect me

“Are you an abo'?” she said

And the apathy the apathy the apathy the apathy is so goddamn cool
Your new iPhone compensates for losing 100 thousand years of culture
Alcopops generic pop subservience, a cop inside all of us
Just don’t be too political

“Are you an abo'?” she said

A Perth mined blank – BHP Woodside BOOM
This aint ever been a hella of a good town
Move on orders – gentrify – uranium mines
This aint ever been a hella of a good town
White-bread chicken shit mass media manipulation
This aint ever been a hella of a good town
Deforestation - stolen generations - a racist nation
This aint ever been a hella of a good town

“Are you an abo'?” she said

I wish.

an ode to Kaufman read aloud in yuppie pubs deaf drunk

2008-08-22T02:22:00.000+08:00

frustration

heater's on. 1am. simplicity in this.
humming to the sound of the machinery of the never-ending war.
always in the distance.
climax dreamt an end to the material.
engine's on. a gorgeous smile.
my tongue in her. back arched, all the while,
we know the impossible, the inevitable.
we numb to the wasted night.
stumbled conversation by detachment.
a word slurred and she's gone.
the stereo's sonic to an imagined beat in passing.
if free i would of asked you, to have me, forever.
in silence, absent panorama repeating suburbia.
and these are no ships to return.
fading bright neon, nerve lost to converse as vision distorts.

this is an intimate poem.

and there was another poem...

2008-07-28T00:57:00.004+08:00

solitude

A city, the street torn carcass of another lover's loss.
Tabletop high, long forgot.
And all we have is the spaces in between the silence,
an imposed distance.
A 4am exile,
a pretend call for old friends and their memories.
To resurrect the dead tailings of heart,
of drunken song, of mischief
and moments of entangled ecstasy.
We lose ourselves in fading streetlights after dark.
Like rag to flame, all burns out.
Years pass but the silence weighs just the same.
Our appearances and loss.
Our parts amiss.
Her beauty, too rare to grasp.
My heart, too close to fist.
Symbol crash to radio speaker.
Tone dead anarchist funeral march.
Under bridge, planting trees by moonlight madness.
Know us by the scars that are left.
Clinging to possibility to dream, beyond sadness.
Sleeping on fences now broken.
As rain patters to mute insignificance.
You awake and nothing is spoken.

movements of being

2008-06-22T23:57:00.003+08:00

"Colours blind the eye.
Sounds deafen the ear.
Flavours numb the taste.
Thoughts weaken the mind.
Desires wither the heart.
The Master observes the world
but trusts his inner vision.
He allows things to come and go.
His heart is open as the sky."

- Laozi (老子) [Tao Te Ching]

i love my father’s taunting fists to stripped, naked breast.
i love my dad.
i love my mother for tolerating eleven years of this.
i love my mum.
i love memories of camping in backyards, to avoid.
i love the images of strangulation, cricket stump no longer a toy.
i love the scratch of the record player, we hear sex pistols one more time.
i love the ocean, the sea, the swell, the salted moments of treasure.
i love drowning and being alone.
i love the fear of leaving home, my big blue pig, strange landscapes unknown.
i love years of being called a fagot for being shy,
then a teenager thinking that i should be wishing suicide.
i love those many conversations with you, and all of you as well.
i love pretending that one day there’ll be equality,
that one day we’ll wake before we fell.
i love that first time i saw you at the rally.
i love fantasizing about you, on top of me.
i love the corner of your eye, your body.
i love your smile and your conscious self.
i love the constant analyzing.
i love our mental health.
i love the screaming in the car, the slamming of breaks.
i love laying crying every second day.
i love our unborn child.
i love your insecurities.
i love never knowing where we’re at.
i love brief moments of relief.
i love the passion, the pain and the grief.
i love missing you.
i love being thankful when we detach.
i love you not being here.
i love you.
i love loosing you.
i love loosing you.
i love loosing you.
i love my terminal sentimental nostalgia.
i love having no one else to tell but myself.
i love this poem.
i love the words thrown onto keys on a mobile phone.
i love sitting here, again alone.
i love the emptiness, the desolation, the debasing of my humanity.
i love being free.
i love being free.
i love being free.
i love being free.
i love knowing that accepting is being is loving is.

for free love

2008-06-03T01:10:00.003+08:00

to live and repeat

seconds, minutes, hours waste
as cancers, arthritis, depression grow
nostalgia in an empty room in absent space
the mind wanders to
intimate conversation, relation, penetration
reminded that
i am alone in the familiar of
my own being and loss and note
that there is a pattern here of course
only a handful let in close
from boredom and fear and an unrepentant urge to fuck
it is hardly scandalous
so please don't humour me with dogma
or hate campaigns designed to alienate
they only cause reason to sober
watch porn and masturbate
for here i declare to you that
we love and love is free
that no matter your persuasion
an orgy on the street is ecstasy
to be in Paris in May '68
to paint the walls with excretion
erotic dancing in London 1908
to exist for a moment outside
and that to fuck was to live
and repeat
that something more was gained from living
and that to fuck was to live
and repeat
that something more was given and taken
and that to fuck was to live
and repeat
that something more was gained from living
and that to fuck was to live
and repeat
this is an empty shell to be broken

i am particularly prolific at the moment

2008-03-31T01:02:00.001+08:00

i poem

i ran over a dog today
i thought of infidelity and reached a place untouched
i died in trenches with my grandparents
i sort comfort in solitude
i pretended to care for another
i watched people play out dreams that were never mine
i craved a drink and a conversation
i yearned for the smell of a woman
i stared into a screen in search of companionship
i thought of friends who i dare not call
i dreamt of children shot in gaza
i pictured graveyards of mobile phones
i whispered to the ether for an end of a moment
i struck ink with keystroke til cancer corrodes
i procrastinated, masturbated, humiliated and contended
i felt infatuation with my constructed reflection
i slept and slept and slept and slept some more
i gazed into a mirror and warmed to my youth
i knew i had nothing to say and said it anyway
i lost myself that little bit more and wrote poetry

Please ignore most of the poetry on this blog. It is shit.

2008-03-27T23:03:00.002+09:00

make believe and dead civilians

reading over old words with contempt

twisted fucking love poem after climax

and all we ever wanted was attention

surrounded by a mob of self righteous hacks

knowing my ill health, the smell of a tired face

masturbating for regular exercise as people are shot

i know with painful clarity that i am not a poet

or a musician or an activist and yet

i still say the words and my being is my mantra

know with some certainty that we are surely doomed

so wait to suffocate in this hip mono-culture

to whisper with absurdity at entertainment news

oh capital how i love you

with a giant c for cunt

a populous enslaved

and a never ending want

to not hurt anyone

but myself

a new poem

2008-01-29T02:52:00.000+09:00

between you, me and the freeway

we meditate between spaces between chords in sweat drenched shirts once bought
a punk rock show, our mantra a riot a storm our message
i hit 120 on the freeway but don't feel free.

the graffiti reads "we live in chaos"
reminded of hitting bitcherman as a child, my knees bleed
now a man in two ton of steel, so close to the barrier.

imagine hitting 150, the car in front, that last breath
the same freeway. the same suburbs where we live and die in.
the same stores. the same brands. the same dreams of dying.

memories of Croatia replaced by advertising injected into 80 something veins
i cannot escape the noise, she cannot see the sea. a storm water drain.

the audience is the prison because i don't listen
and all we have to talk about is TV
the audience is the prison because i don't listen
and all we have to talk about is TV

there is no they. only you and me.

29/01/08

Something new. Obviously.

2007-04-06T17:15:00.000+08:00

Our Time

We are empty on these streets, tripping on commercials.
The cracks fill the void til the pavement beats a rhythm.
The women, the women, the women are tired and we’re tied to them.
Not knowing how or why the skipped beat is leaving.
But the running left us with nothing to believe in.

Around and around I played in the garden.
Capitalism - stolen virginity, right and left grieving.
Infidelity - distorted junkie, cashed up heathen.
Beyond purity like a HIV soaked syringe.
Trying to escape TV - the real - move away from the fringe.

Sold on special, loved for days and then thrown in the bin.
There ain't much more left to say unless we pack it in.
Great minds always come before and after the effect.
We stand in line, in style we wear barcodes on our necks.

Then from deep underground comes the most raucous laughter.
Birth: molotov romance in the distance - this is our art.
This is the beginning of the end - no more war no more poor.
Is this it comrade? Is this it my friend?

Masturbating over broken records, get that feeling?
Your own sense of self has forgotten.

It isn’t the qualifications that made us take this stance.
It isn’t the bank balance that made me write this poem.
It isn’t the cafes or the clubs that made me dance.
It isn’t the stories of the old world that lead us to roam.
It isn’t the love of the material that gave us a chance.

It is the dawn, the moonlight, the love and the fun.
We step to the rhythm, our time has come.

more stimulation

2007-02-02T01:28:00.000+09:00

Addict

Disposition towards promiscuity, opposition towards proximity.
I am alone in this contrived depravity, the pace has been set.

Words express confusion within triumph - delusion.
The hammer hits iron, mug shot fading - forgotten.

Causality, self pity or the empty streets of a dying city.
Absence of resemblance to attachment - your breath.

Signs blur in distance, insecure persistence - free?
Maybe I just want to fuck and fuck and fuck and fuck.

Until there is nothing left of me.

Ends left untied, threaded by razor wire of mind.
Tell your self that she died like she died like she died.

Truth not real enough to bare, escaped your skin I wear.
Who's tears drown my guilt, addicted to losing you.

Finally.. A new poem.

2006-12-29T03:12:00.000+09:00

It has been awhile but isn't that always the case?

All of the above

The moon turned to face the rising sun, the dawn gave birth to three minutes of regurgitation. In a moment she wondered if it was really worth the breath of air across the face of a whisper and we're all getting old enough to die.

Feelings construed give meaning. Wishing for abstinence in order to see through this haze of depravity, this superficial naivety. A face as soft as snow but eyes turn away. Feelings lost within an absent gaze.

This is history repeating and my CD skipping is sanctuary. Doubt, guilt, stimuli - a life of love too much or not at all? Not knowing how, not knowing why just knowing that first kiss in beginning and in demise.

I rise from slumber to feel ever so numb. Her residue stuck to the walls of mind. This cannot be nor cannot be undone as there is no escape for the blind. Fragments of memory, reality and hope crafted to meet the eye. This will sustain I tell myself for what is truth if not but a lie?

So we wait at bus ports, shopping malls, the cinema, protests, cafes and the rest. She waits for change I wait for need, my cards are played at best. I know sorry wouldn’t quite cut it but it wasn’t through lack of love, it was simply that I forgot to tick ‘all of the above’.

Two performance pieces

2006-10-09T18:18:00.000+08:00

mirror

revolutionary networks encircling

layers parabola unravelling

billboard jam construction fucking

my face feels empty as gravel shifts time away from nothing to nothing to nothing

we search for reason normality suffocating distractions TV

in the distance we see our hands covered in blood but not knowing why

and you're not listening you're hearing

because words have no meaning

clique or just talking i don't care

shells exploding white picket fences corroding the insane comforting

reminding me that i cannot hold your stare

that i am alone in myself this perfectly crafted box of self help instruction, convulsion

i watch as i die or do i die as i watch the clock ticks tick fucking tock

what the fuck am i talking about?

awake yet sleeping images of black masks heart beating, fists raised fraternity, the end is the same equality - refusal of a shallow grave mentality

repeating oaths to make conviction so that i may escape your television

i won't eat your cold peas and watch your football, i won't lock up refugees behind razor wire and concrete walls

i won't fight your fucking war and i won't get bored

to create we must first destroy. a whisper of totality beyond commodity

but we argue. head in hands he resigns to the voices dogma commands because only you are right

black and white black and white

i'm not trying to write good poetry just express myself endlessly to you my enemy, lover and friend a mirror to stare at over and over again

i see you

you push and shove and love and give
but it's ok to loose yourself sometimes

in front of the tv screens and whitewash dreams
we're all feeling fine

but behind the plastic scene the children scream
we're all doing time

because times like these need strong drugs to ease
everything but your mind

for clarity of vision is substance
for feeling of meaning is dying
captivating or exasperating
those feeble minds

every day and night, eyes closed tight
work commute work go mute die
on street corners and in your malls
to end and beginning, a life of lies

you say fresh bagel I say we're living in a racist island
and there was never touch to loose
but i am significantly gone
for how much more must this existence prove

to me to you to me to you to me to you to..
..day may not be the first or last but just the beginning
so shouldn't we at least learn to swim?

while academics drink themselves in ivory towers
global illusion of freedom gaining complete control
nothing is everything is nothing done nothing wrong
does this not bequeath to our children this world?

slave labour lounge chairs only 9.95
CNN come again, media mass whore
guevara is an ice cream and trump is a god
devils, if such a thing, surely know the score

barbaric cellular phone home loan decapitation
servant to malformed intolerable glutton
check points, razor wire fence, billboards in the sky
and then all of a sudden

i see you for the first time

and know why

Inspired by travels through the eastern empire

2006-08-20T23:59:00.000+08:00

the modern death

peking mountains surround
humble existence destitute
red book mantra meaning lost
eating mobile phones as if bamboo

she sings songs of freedom
over brand new sweatshop shoes
prayer flag whispers for another time
i wonder how much more must these people lose?

from atop the hill he stands
facing west, one last solitary frown
skyscrapers soon to obstruct his view
i look again, vanished without a sound

eastern eye blinded by the commodified light
hard face black heart mentality
peasantry slaughtered like pigs and dreams
and we can't even speak of democracy

forgotten in imperial leaps and bounds
the whip cracks, market demands
trickle down the streets, see beggar's open palms
in chains held tight by totalitarian hands

however the beauty still remains
in the simplicity of life's many faces
eyes of an elderly man looking forward
beyond our kind's many disgraces

power structure dissolved and not replaced
to a day where we are all so meek
so in distant lands i still do dream
that we shall rise like smoke from chimneys to mountain peaks

for the love of revolutionary women

2006-04-21T01:23:00.000+08:00

A short note of appreciation.

I met you, I didn't even speak your name.
I met you, disassociated normality of the insane.
Our eyes kissed, the fire flies breathe.
Now I'm thinking 'did i miss another opportunity to be free?'

Oh how I digress in self absorbed poetry.

a new one for your consideration

2006-03-22T01:24:00.000+08:00

is this enough?

the words may one day reach you
through the veil of a plastic scene
my eyes are heavy as I wake
dormant in a hotel lobby, he screams

Free...

drowned in a sea of emotional awareness
the sound of money and a distant murmur of war
contemplation beginning to crave experience
he staggers to his feet and opens the door

Free....

the people on the street are forgetting
with TV minds switched on
that a hammer to the axe may save us
he walks quietly on their blood soaked lawns

Free...

the pyramid is our own creation
perpetuated by the isolated mass
molotov mentality begins to deconstruct
he rejects class and other concepts

Free...

the doctrine tastes sour
and so we break with all oppression
power beyond hierarchy manifests
his pace quickens, his fist tightens

and he asks himself, is this enough?

Freedom.

Three new poems

2006-03-05T01:29:00.000+08:00

Dead Poetry

When Nietzsche spoke of god, it should have been in rhyme.
As distorted microphones dictate in unfamiliar time.
I'm thinking fuck this is boring but fuck this is divine.
I fucking hate poetry but somehow I'm feeling fine.

And although prosperity and poetry don't really mix.
I sometimes feel like we're just up here doing tricks.

After all there's nothing a good pimp can't buy, but self-esteem.
Though I wonder if poetry extends from whores to feeling free.

Now you may think I'm being harsh, spitting in your wine.
But you may dismiss this as angst or bad taste.
I really do not mind.

Just as long as you understand these few simple lines.

Language is a brothel and we are all its whores.
Sipping ice tea during the rape scene, tisk tisk such a bore.
Cliché after cliché within a culture war.
Come on baby clap your hands and count to four.

1. 2. 3. Well it's just the dead fucking poetry.

Words Going Nowhere

From here, looking at you without looking up from this page.
Any meaning had in keystroke begins to dissipate.

Has it been replaced?
Something more poignant perhaps?
No not really.
As life behind constructs tends to collapse.

Yesterday I saw another old man in my shoes.
And I really wished that they weren't such a common brand.
The old men that is.
Shuffling from street corner to cafe, eyes down.
To the beat of a concrete waltz.

It isn't as though I see an aged self nor is it that I stumble upon the profound.
But perhaps when we exchange a glance, I stop thinking and listen to the sound.

Of humanity. Of all that was once before. Of trying too hard to explain this sensation. Of letting go of a world abused by Capitalist whores. Of music become noise in the cafe scene. Of slowly forgetting this sensation, emotional masturbation. Of silence within the best of our dreams. Of TV junkies milking the fiends. Of starting to rhyme when I said that I would not. Of his concrete shuffle continuing up the street. Of my own voice in my head telling myself that we are all alone. Of time slowly moving away from the ever present today.

The sound of words going nowhere as we all get that little bit more afraid.

Found

It is not where it is at but it is where it may be found.

Born from infinite head space leaping in bounds.

It is not where it is at but it is where it may be found.

Our fathers were shepherds, we were mere clowns.

It is not where it is at but it is where it may be found.

On the boulevard I sold my soul for a few pounds.

It is not where it is at but it is where it may be found.

A slave like existence within an almighty compound.

It is not where it is at but it is where it may be found.

Beyond the inevitable where silence meets sound.

It is not where it is at but it is where it may be found.

With no feeling but the thought of flesh on the ground.

It is not where it is at but it is where it may be found.

We stare back at the sun as we all slowly drown.

Perhaps I have found some sense of clarity, perhaps not.

2005-12-23T02:22:00.000+08:00

Difficult times for the sensitive kind

A package laid on the table; half open and half closed.
Inside was all that had once been between lovers, new and old.
I looked at her, she looks away and I contemplate its meaning.
Another unsuspected reminder of all that I have lost in dreaming.

I tell myself that I was too afraid, too young and too naive.
That being with her meant giving up on everything.
Alas any sense of truth is elsewhere, in another moment perhaps.
But seeing her again, across from me, makes me grasp for memories lapsed.

Eventually there is connection and her pain runs down my spine.
This expression is limitless, if only we could kiss, if only she could be mine.
I am reminded of how I once wrote a poem that would easily juxtapose this.
Dismissed as existential nature, while others say ignorance is bliss.

After our brief interlude between thoughts and selfishness.
I wonder if this path will lead me back to some sense of 'us'.
But currently I fear that the odds are stacking up against me.
And so I murmur 'is chance a game that even fate won't play?'

Tears begin to form from love, jealousy and pride.
The old question appears, ‘what would she think if I was to die?’
Duality hits and I consider myself both masochist and saviour.
But confusion overwhelms before I can reach an answer.

You see I have been drowning in depression and have lost sense of self.
Drugs, sleep, alcohol, detached sex and so forth.
And yes I know that these are difficult times for the sensitive kind.
But I still long for her to save me from the darkest corners of my mind.

Pessimistic feelings on a cold night in spring.

2005-10-19T14:18:00.000+08:00

Silence

Stale silence, cold fingers press into the back of my skull.
Reminded that the sensation of mortality is only brief.
Experiencing the turmoil of senseless plastic.
Missing all of those who I love beneath.

Something that is not other people's judgements of myself.
Tattoo "real" on my chest, just for proof.
Forget that I come from the same shopping malls and chit chat.
To kill my former I must first learn to tie the noose.

And we hear the buzz of more machines than I wish to imagine.
Working over time for the good life.
They say that he cheated on her with a vacuum cleaner.
In order to calculate the death of all time we must be precise.

Precisely, deadly dollar signs ring out over the land.
History fucks irony and then stares blankly at us.
As ignorance finds another opportunist to Capitalise on.
I feel as though it has all become too much.

But then reactions to the doomed creation appear.
And once again my heart is plastered on a placard.
Are you lost? Your eyes do not see past the gold watch.
So I picture you on your knees sucking a corporate facade.

But I'm not there now.
No, I am somewhere else.
It is uncommon and yet I saw it coming.
Only on the days when i feared the worst, of course.

In silence I stare into darkness and watch it happen.
My last moments as a provocateur and observer.
You and your species stand front and centre.
And for once you are right, there is nothing else here.

Inspired by too much suffering in the world.

2005-09-13T17:40:00.000+08:00

Another one..

Come down to subverse at the perth townhall this friday from 7:30pm to see some brilliant poets and see me perform this and a few others..

The Lucky Country

A misguided, apathetic signal receiver sits in comfort.
Pathetically as he chewed some chips he thought.
Someone, somewhere really gave a shit.
His meaningless persistence to transmit.

You poor stupid fucks.

Sloganise your devil's eyes through corporate lies.
Child dead, mother covered red.
Change the channel, change your mind.
"Someone else will fight" you said.

You poor stupid fucks.

Another televised, institutionalised genocide.
Just watch and smile, hit the dial.
History unknown and so fucking bored.
But baby you'll buy anything that you're sold.

You poor stupid fucks.

Freedom was never on the agenda, big spender.
Instead we shot black doves and talked sport.
The presenter did a line or two or three or four.
While shit kickers kicked themselves and called it work.

You poor stupid fucks.

Compassion demonized, be afraid, be afraid.
Patience for some is all but gone.
Waiting to see the elite taste their own brutality.
Sitting, counting the beating, just waiting to be born.

You poor stupid fucks.

I wake up and I die again, I wake up and you lie again.
The pain of seeing and hearing pain becomes too much to bare.
We're calling out, crawling out for help.
No answer, just a tightly gripped remote and a cold detached stare.

You poor stupid fucks.
You poor stupid fucks.
You poor stupid fucks.
You never knew your luck.

Words and info..

2005-08-28T23:52:00.000+08:00

During September I will be performing at the Spring Poetry Festival - Sub Verse on 16th and 30th from 7:30pm, Speakers Steps on 4th from 2pm, Poet Trees Aloud on 15th from 12 noon and Poets Corner on 15th from 2pm.

See http://www.thewordisout.net for details on the locations of the various readings.

And now....

They Call This Extreme?

The man was present for explanation.
There would never be need to digress.
Because beauty was found elsewhere.
And the pawns have no idea of chess.

A child born inside out wonders why?
Business men made a little cash.
I'm sorry but I'm sick of explaining the obvious.
Feeling ill while I contemplate this mess.

A cancer within a cancer.
Sometimes he wonders if there is anything to save.
Stylized commodities suffocate the meaning.
While an imaginary norm teaches us to behave.

But I doubt that you ever listened.
Balaclava, baseball bat diplomacy will do.
She wore a short skirt while shopping.
Is it just me or does this sicken you to?

Majority beaten, bought and sold again.
Atleast the starving child could feel the rot.
CEO's meditate to the pseudo.
Maybe you could fire your boss and shoot a cop.

Extreme times calling extreme measures.
Are you listening to these words?
Extreme times calling extreme measures.
Or are you simply following the herd?

Feeling like i'm lost in time and space again.. Funny that.

2005-08-05T04:18:00.000+08:00

Without this depravation.

An indecent slave to these hormones.
So many luscious lips, asses and tits.
But getting bored of a lack of connection.
Realised, detached and sent you the bill.

Focus has lost what should have been thought.
Drifted, found a fantasy or three.
Fucked up everything, shouted at it all.
Perhaps the pressure became too much.

For me, for me, for me, for me, for free.

Fearful of anything but fantasy.
Relationships outside the subjective.
By this stage you may be confused.
But shit this could be the nature of eternity.

Even though I feel that I am alone.
Afraid of memories, or lack there of.
Not that sure of self and yet so full of selfishness.
When push comes to shove it will be known.

Life could one day be worth a kiss.

It's been a while.

2005-08-02T03:38:00.000+08:00

Well my 'puter has been ass raped and saved from a terrible non-existence.

So i'm back online and ready to hit you possible readers, comrades, lovers and pieces of rotting flesh with some words..

Read it like you fucking mean it!

Checking Out

Jack pocketed a Swiss fucking watch.
A million hopes and screams were eaten for lunch,
Buying tycoons, soap operas and hopscotch.
Culturally speaking I think we're all fucked.

The napalm hit at precisely nine o' five.
John put on his favourite tie and went to work.
David Jones locker rooms resized.
Oh baby I love it when the president cums twice.

Cadillac class is where you're headin'.
Said the well-dressed manager to his salesman.
Praise be to Capitol Hill, a humble cleaner mentioned.
'Cause if it was possible we're all going to hell after luncheon.

We can talk in stats, figures, dimes and fear fucked brains.
For instance two hundred thousand dead in Iraq and still counting.
But like eight slugs to your head for missing a train.
It just don't seem right unless you are..

Controlling the game, feeling the same, going insane.

MARY MOTHER OF A WHORE.

We are all to blame.

So lock up your children and drink all of your wine.
Listen to those war drums beat out our future child.
As the old church bells ring out of time.
You will be wishin' you hadn't spent so long in a checkout line, checkout line, checkout line.

Checking out now.

Because I have seen a few worrying signs.

a new awakening perhaps?

2005-06-10T02:40:00.000+08:00

It was difficult to write this.. Perhaps because of it's very personal nature.

Keep on moving my friend.

As we all fell from grace.

Saints now drown in tears of delusion.
The suicide rate grows old.
I am once again head struck with confusion.
A friend lays, surrounded by white padded walls.

A hymn is sung from your mind's dark corner.
The highly rated sermon comes to be.
We are reminded that with pride they warned her.
Not to forget to beg and pray.

Speed induced hypnosis born.
The paranoia swells in his veins.
Another consumer casualty mourns.
For we can no longer recognise the sane.

Strung out, drugged up and left to rot.
Bed ridden and lost in conspiracy.
So little friends and so many memories lost.
Beginning to wonder, is it you or me?

Sitting in a circle of empty chairs.
Our fate collides and becomes one.
While we all lost what was never there.
I still hope that i'll awake to the rising sun.

And so I sit and await your funeral.
Although it may not come today.
I fear that you have lost the strength and will.
To break these chains and drift away.

and the poems keep coming..

2005-05-21T05:46:00.000+08:00

If anyone does indeed read my blog.. Please feel free to comment at will. I get very little feedback when it comes to my writing, perhaps people are too busy yelling abuse to offer critique.

Nevertheless.. abuse is welcome.

Denying Reasonable Existence

Good evening and thankyou for the convenience.
Weight of trinity in the divine adolescent pool of wonder.
So you should escape the barbed wire silence.
Reign down clarity, for whose world do thy plunder?

Debrief a nation that has not stopped.
Convalescent priest creates a flux.
Ran through nonsense to come to point.
Neither you nor I have known our luck.

Reefer grin standing with a celibate twin.
Noun of excellence becoming sound of decadence.
Moist connection, drive shaft feels broken.
Facial recognition, she was alone in a forgotten sentence.

Your solace ego formed a welfare state of fraud .
Signed up for subversive behaviour next to you .
A kiss to whisper poems of my revolution.
Not yet removing myself, we shall see it through.

Before the marching band gets bored.
Clash and bang the wheels of time.
Pen drew blood, counting sheep, the score.
Pardon the fierce diplomacy but words rhyme.

Better, the skills of grace and will.
Advertising sacrifices to your kingdom.
Uneducated Freudian fraud finds sex.
Socratic talent to ask and convince in question.

Within the party they sanctioned murder.
Optimism is the opiate of the people.
Try as you might, hearing noise you recognise.
The sight of more momentary cog denial.

The score on drugs..

2005-05-13T03:08:00.000+08:00

Drug Trekking

You will quite probably bellow out loud at the sight of a teacup.
Converse with the trees, talk complete gibberish for hours on end.
Anyone within a ten yard radius will be compelled to shut you up.
Liberation which can result in mad, abandoned sex for days on end.

If it's true that behind every great man is a great woman.
Emotionally mature, multi-talented, courageous, intelligent, respectable.
Everyday objects will take on bizarre and sometimes wonderful new forms.
No matter what 'cool' imagery the media tries to portray.

Hot and cold sweats, nausea, diarrhoea and confusion.
Anything's better than the treatment room.
Out of body experiences, along with physical incapacitation.
The way it would sicken any decent person.

Music can sound heavy, weird and strangely compelling.
Remaining standing as the men pass by her.
It is important to be in a safe environment when confusion sets in.
As all traces of sanity disappear after 24 hours.

All traces of sanity disappear after.
All traces of sanity disappear.
All traces of sanity disappear after.

All traces...

Disappear.

A freak that has definetly lost all traces of sanity.

More words and noise.

2005-05-11T01:31:00.000+08:00

An awakening of sorts.

White wash walls, decadence alludes.
Mayhem confuses the straightened spine.
Reflecting timeless attitudes.
You walk with regularity down the line.

Killing pain or simply killing mind.
Prescribing philosophy to edify.
Neglecting substance, acting without trying.
As preconceived judgements rectify.

They invented circus maximus.
While we were still feeding the lions.
In the grave we quietly discuss.
The possibilities of forgetting mind.

As we know that we were all born loses.
Paradigms expand and gamble.
Pathetically he thinks that he can choose this.
Collapsing subjective invasion for sale.

Envisage time and space outside the limits of matter.
While you bow to the facts of the tangible world.
Listen to the immediate data of conscious chatter.
Escape crude concepts of human reason once sold.

So I tell you with vision that I now see.
That the individual is the variable combination of the past.
Prepare mind, bent phenomena so that you may be.
One with atmosphere where thought arrives last.

Innocence, a virgin's virtue, a murderer's crime.
Considering the universe according to categories that lie.
Freedom from number, space and time.
If we were to awaken would we die?

Strapped in and feelin' fine..

2005-05-04T03:57:00.000+08:00

I got up early yesterday.. What in a sense is still today as i'm yet to sleep. But after having a moment of silent reflection with my dog, words filled my head. And so i mentally wrote this poem down.. First time anything has ever come out of nowhere like that.. Crazy shit indeed.

The Last Infidel

Lynch all the bovine cretins.
Unprovoked sonic assault.
Sent you mince meat mittens.
Obtuse realisation sends a jolt.

We can drink our woes away.
Defecation of a million vowels.
Sufficient turmoil turns blood grey.
While barbaric silence begins to quell.

Recognition of vulgar shrines.
Advertising shrapnel plutocracy.
Sacrilege in the womb of time.
Needing one more fuck to see.

Pocket an expedient generation.
Hijack prominent McChildren.
While we wait for radicalisation.
In the unconscious pages of legend.

And so they say.
What doesn't kill you makes you hunger.
Dead caught waiting today.
For global revolt suffocating anger.

Again they copulate.
You don't know what you have until it kills you.
Left cumming all over this mental state.
Old doctrine, force-fed, Mr Who?

Marketed to feel in motion.
Tall poppies are never broken.
But insignificance is token.
Lying asleep but just awoken.

Forever the jubilee of fascists.
Displayed on phallic symbols.
High above sky scrappers, they still insist.
That we are all going to hell.

Debating knowledge to persist.
The final curtain falls.
On this tired mind, broken fist.
We bare witness to the last infidel.

Here we go again...

2005-04-28T19:06:00.000+08:00

In this forsaken, subservient city.

Youth guerrilla underground resists the thin white line.
Hours and days and the power plays, exploitation.
You're forced upright and they tell you that "you're feelin' fine".
While you're hit with the bricks of forgotten institutions.

They realise divine creatures of subjectivity.
Art coerced to fit decorative procedure.
Cut at neck height and formulating pity.
Hierarchy seeps through the words, suit your leader.

Alcohol kills another through loneliness as it's lover.
We are left standing on the great divide.
Brothers and sisters lay dead in the shopping aisle.
At least we tried as they lied; at least we tired when we got too high.

On a million concrete floors, a multi million dollar industry.
Chained at the neck, head hung low over the branded machine.
Tears flow from bored eyes as they rationalise insecurity.
Third child slaves as the first child controls his dreams.

A perpetuation of their ideals, leaving you with no room to feel.
What's the score? Where's the bargain in this deal?
Why the fuck can't the dead child feel?
If you can't buy happiness then STEAL.

Mobile phone cancerous fuck for breakfast.
Pain killers with Viagra for lunch.
Staring blankly at the blood drenched piss.
Nothing left to do, eyes dry red in the sun.

The distinguished politic order was blank.
They choke on token democracy.
Opportune prayers to the world bank.
Reconnecting prophet and history.

Mundane existence coupled with perpetuating joy.
Overwhelming desire to fuck, defect, fuck.
Visionary scribes fuel further ploys.
As the lost generation counts it's luck.

We all live in self-loathing pity.
We all live in self-loathing pity.
We all live in self-loathing pity.

In this forsaken, subservient city.

sick, bitter, twisted and all fucked up.. this is what my insides look like.

2005-04-06T04:04:00.000+08:00

These Times

And so we bare witness to the atrocities of your kind.
Underneath the neon skyline that shines ever so bright.
Please take us with your regretful mind.
So that we'll be born again in the endless darkness of night.

While the minds of the masses are tied with gold.
I felt love for you and you did not know.
So now as my very insides turn to coal.
I think of you and try to let go.

It's true, freedom is just another word.
Documented in the faces of the oppressed.
Without action there is nothing but sanctioned murder.
All within this culture fuck feeding forgiveness.

The sound of a child realising that he is mute.
The sensation of an elephant's dying breath.
The struggle of a machine that cannot compute.
The love of a stranger now left.

And it's all meaningless, repetitive phenomena once read.
But excuse me sir, stop wasting intellect in the morning dawn.
Because someday everyone you know will be buried and dead.
So you will have to see the end of borders, cut throat desires and war.

But you may now know that I'm not a stable person.
And something like that could throw me over the edge.
This attempted detachment from the tears of a woman.
Could be the final words that they lay on my deathbed.

Baxter mind fuck..

2005-03-31T16:30:00.000+08:00

Well i could write out another long winded rant about my experience at the 2005 Baxter convergence... However i done that in 2003 and i honestly couldn't say much more than i said then.

So instead...

Blind Doves Caught In The Razor Wire

The dust settles in a fenceless land.
While brothers and sisters - isolated and afraid.
Step out of the fringe and embrace the warm, desert sand.
Desperate feelings of love once lost on this mid summer's day.

They came with spirit whole and torn.
Escaped television fed, consumerist bore.
For it was no longer their place to simply sit and morn.
Wild eyed radicals hell bent on evening up the score.

Brutalised by authorities and portrayed as swine.
As winds of change spiral and fall.
This passionate hope is all that is mine.
So hold my hand comrade and embrace the turmoil.

White flag waving tears of joy.
Screaming "AZADI, FREEDOM" and we will all be one.
Together we will smash this barbaric ploy.
Beneath the birth of a majestic, blood-stained sun.

Arrival of the present moment.
And i cannot help but feel.
That this metaphoric path of hellish torment.
Was never no where near as real.

As our brothers and sisters containment.
In that concentration camp.
Made from one hundred percent of.

Xenophobia inducing punishment.

Another with a similar theme to the previous one.

2005-03-07T01:04:00.000+08:00

Reaching Out

Secret lies without contempt.
Puppet’s spies within my head.
Service of a species dreamt.
Sometimes we are better off dead.

Good range of products?
Caught up in this fixation of self-trust.
Before you construct the constructs.
Penetrate to the core we must.

Die a fool and be born a master.
Or so they say as this ship sinks.
Faster and faster and faster
Perhaps you needed a little time to think.

Contemplate the ringmaster's plan.
Before you jump into the den.
Remove the lion's mouth from your hand.
For we train to fight, not to defend.

Resistance does not equal sorrow.
And you feel that victory can be ours.
So know that if you die tomorrow.
They will never take back your power.

One and one will equal all.
If you take my hand.
Love will never be the toll.
If together we make our stand.

Arghhh...

2005-03-06T02:56:00.000+08:00

Jesus.. The other night once again the subject of my constant "campaigning" for various things like the Perth Social Forum, PFW and other activist crap was mentioned.

I sometimes worry if i'll survive this trip.

I'm a young lad and unfortunatly there are not many people my age as actively involved in political activism - give or take a few hippies who sit in trees and smoke pot (what's cool.. each to there own). And as anyone with any experience in the state of mind that is activism will tell you... It is fucking draining! So i have to wonder if it is all going to come crashing down and i'm either going to burn out and become another cog in the machine - unlikely, or just push myself over the edge. Whatever that may be.

I guess the "edge" can be equated to mean so many things. It is that constant variable that we compare everything to. The extreme limits of body and mind that allow us to form our own perception of reality.

Sometimes the extremes push the whole scale to the edge and beyond.

I hope if i go over the whole freaking scales goes with me.

Anyway enough bullshit.

To my possibly non-existant readers, here is another one for your pleasure.

Generations of distrust

Numbers crunched to fit procedure.
We run through the storm.
Fashion statement, false leader.
No such thing as home.

Black blocks and puppet socks.
All and all the same.
Words lost and bullet covered rocks.
One and one within the game.

Stock crash over head.
Can you see the razor wire?
Nuclear blast, cum stains red.
Children born without desire.

Jive on young son of mine.
Through the essence of the swell.
With this legacy so divine.
Tomorrow is no day to dwell.

Signed conviction in our scars.
Where the wild buffalo did roam.
Wisdom falls from the stars.
Love from generations long ago.

But most are oblivious to these cries.
Constantly consuming soul.
Sweatshop ethics, segregated spies.
All fit for making Nike shoes in hell.

Dreaming...

2005-02-27T01:31:00.000+08:00

In The Picture

Well can you imagine.
Mother holds dead child in her arms.
The pain of starvation.
Other side of world, no qualms.

With your imported sweets.
The birth of another western deity.
Far away from the blood stained streets.
Sense of death in a fallen city.

Put yourself in the picture.
Blood dripping on the soil.
Not another fucking cliche.
Be there and feel the turmoil.

CIA backed millitia kill again.
Corporate giant win, win.
Fine wine with a friend.
The chaos begins to sink in.

The social standard is murder.
Rape the people with a grin.
Business man wouldn't hurt her.
Gold rush posse are driven in.

Atom bomb, skin disease.
Slaughter house justified at NYC.
Cancer fuck, die with ease.
And then i dreamt of peace.

Sad, lonely times await us all...

2005-02-22T00:26:00.000+08:00

It is with a heavy, heavy heart that i write this poem. Firstly the one writer who i have ever felt connection with died on Sunday. Secondly i am growing ever more convinced that the world will not survive this insane system.

Sleep well dear brother of dissent..

The next moment

All of my heroes are now dead
And there is no salvation for any of us
Better that I stay inside instead
As all flowers soon turn to dust

Where to now?
Flock of sheep just awoken.
Screaming at the sky - HOW
Do we fix this society broken?

I know that I am frightened again
So tell me a riddle that I haven't heard
Because dreams without solution depend
On things that cannot be found in words

Oh how nice it would be
To be ignorant of this world's downfall
In a small wooden cottage by the sea
Where I could sit and wait for dawn

I hate you because you seem not to care
That a majority now live in hell
I envy you because you just sit and stare
As the last innocence is killed

So come with me into dreams
Beyond the concrete walls
Beneath the sky we will scream
Until they take our soul

A new one at last!

2005-02-16T04:17:00.000+08:00

Inspired by jesus freak spam..

In the temple

PLEASE ENDEAVOUR TO USE IT FOR THE CHILDREN OF GOD
But what if god is dead?
PLEASE ENDEAVOUR TO USE IT FOR THE CHILDREN OF GOD
But what if god lies within your head?

Will the children die?
Or will they simply not use their heads?
These are questions not found in lies.
Nor in silent streets where drains run red.

Preacher with a bible?
Preacher with a gun?
Neither are more liable.
But either will harm your son.

The business of selling us that which we do not need.
Alas the lost meaning gathers dust.
But a prophecy of such can only be fuelled by greed.
Never love, compassion, empathy or trust.

They say the devil will come for your soul.
But in the rigid hands of your lord I do see.
Hearts, minds and spirit whole.
Dying church of coercion and hypocrisy.

Firearm critic oh where you at?
Now the temples begin to crack.
Napalm city in religious tact'.
And the people of the world begin to fight back.

Another one for you dear reader.. No matter who you are.

2005-01-21T11:44:00.000+08:00

Contemplating The Tide

The motif was once explained.
Tribal lands now diminished.
Screams of the lost souls resonate.
All the beautiful stories astonish.

Four white walls now surround us dear.
Confused pack of wolves eats what they find.
More cold, dark cell compounds, created fear.
Another construct regurgitates matter instead of mind.

They said that they would never sell.
This essence of love once found in human kind.
Where poor men weep and hunger dwells.
Losing all and finding hope can now be bought and sold in dimes.

One last saving grace.
Oh so many paths that one could take.
We all scramble to disrupt this insane headspace.
But what difference could it make?

When the prophets are all dead.
Our spirit has been sold.
In its place sits our self-infatuated head.
Desolate cries to return all of this worthless gold.

One last union of empathy, compassion and will.
The old man walks away from all worldly torments.
"Communion will not save us" he says as he chokes on the blue pill.
Now at the shallow grave where no thoughts content.

The tomb stone reads:
"Another refugee from a crumbling sphere of penance and hell."

On the subject of relationships once more..

2005-01-11T11:25:00.000+08:00

Well things have been, as this poem describes, confusing lately. Without going into details let's just say I have no idea what I want. I'm "stuck between a rock and a hard place".. Thank fuck for writing and activism!

Below is a pic from my first and possibly last public performance.

Confused

Nonsense to the point of attraction.
Here and now I'm trapped again.
Your emotional reaction.
To that which I try not to defend.

By your side.
Physical, sexual, sensual desire.
Before I run and hide.
I will take you once more.

Like a vision from a past hell.
Those eyes cloud my consciousness.
Now lost, these feelings begin to dwell.
Forgetting everything that pushed me into this.

Sympathy for a wounded dog.
As I dig into your womb.
The release comes on slow.
I await my chance to escape this tomb.

Afraid to try and cross these barriers.
I'm so alone, so mistaken.
Was this ever deliberately created?
Or simply born out of circumstance - perhaps I faked it?

And yet I feel so much pain.
For I know the suffering you endure.
If only there was no need to complicate the game.
We could be together for this moment of pleasure.

But now as I lay by your side.
Tired, cold, wet and sore.
Your very touch nearly makes me cry.
And this same old room begins to bore.

If only I could say I was sorry a million times.
But I cannot begin to delude.
For this beauty is masked by my innocent crimes.
And this passion fades away when I am confused.

A new one..

2004-12-16T15:03:00.000+08:00

Contrary to how i feel personally right now this is a rather bleak poem. Nevertheless hope can be found in the very darkest corners of our mind.

In The End

Slave free, national disgrace.
Indulge, material obsession.
Forgiven, a prayer of mace.
Another lesson, another question.

Gas chambers only $9.95.
Close the market and exchange the clones.
Alas, they pretend to be alive.
And in the office he answers the phone.

Six foot deep and the feeling grows.
Hatred and distrust.
For all of those - holes?
But is there any space for lust?

Crackling voice answers call.
A body falls past the man.
Let the towers burn and fall.
Just watch how we land.

So far so good.
So far so good.
So far so good.

Credit card, neat legion, pop star, atom bomb, excruciating belief in freedom.
Burning sun, lips sewn shut, dying to be undone.
Fists, burgers and fries, suicide, policeman, virgin, corrupt,
Please man, Hollywood, mistakes, penetrate, just shut the fuck up.

Disturbed.
Disturbed.
Disturbed.
Disturbed.
Disturbed.
Disturbed.

Something has gone terribly wrong.
As the man hangs up, the building crumbles.
And so he dances to the final song.

Silence.
Silence.
Silence.

I am sorry sir but Armageddon has already been sold.

What the fuck is a poet?

2004-12-06T01:51:00.000+08:00

I don't know.. But I embraced performance poetry for the first time last night at a RRAN fundraising gig. At first I was worried about there being too many people, but unfortunatly the turn out wasn't what the organisers had hoped for (50 - 60 max) and I soon realised that it is really just as nerve-racking performing in front of a small amount of people (even if you know 3/4's of them personally). However, with the help of drugs and the support of all those present I semi-confidently receited a few poems. And it was actually fun. Goddamn it! Who would of expected that! So yeah.. I might have to do some more...

Anyway today was boring and so I was left falling back into these continuous cycles of contemplation...

Waiting

Dreaming of some kind of excitement.
Same old room, my mind sinks.
Denied something more, bored and confined.
Pushing the absence of stimulation to the brink.

Open water, far from land.
No path could be taken.
My perception twists and bends.
State of motion must be awakened.

And then the words fail to eventuate.
Lack of recognition, connection.
Leaves my soul to regret.
These moments contain nothing.

Same old theme, same old poem.
I am stuck here in this blurred dream.
Waiting for release from this cruel kingdom.

And oh how I fear dying.
Without you no matter whom you are.
Not just fresh meat in the shop window.
You would be worth buying.
A possible friend, a possible lover.

Instead I am simply placed in cue once more.
Another modern techno freak.
On my back the barcode reads "social whore".
And the smell of fear begins to reek.

Like an old coin given to the poor.
My dreams will not shine.
Tucked away in an old wooden draw.
This coin, this dream, this moment is not mine.

Strange feelings in this lonely room...

2004-12-01T04:16:00.000+08:00

No One In Paticular

Streamline thoughts of her.
So divine, in the wet and damp.
Embracing the warmth of fire.
Fell back again, desert storm, cold dark swamp.

The cold pavement reminds the weak.
Solid state, mistakes, sand castle falls.
A red river flows into a creek.
Kiss her like a Jester's fool.

Naked and soft.
In the same room alone.
Closed eyes remember the touch.
Connection, the woman and man, human.
No longer enough.

All that is left.
Remnants of essence.
Keyboard, amp, bed, CD's, books, lamp and the rest.
Forgive my sentimental presence.

It wasn't I who went away.
As perception formed around another.
The sun broke the sky on a new summer's day.
Meanwhile, cried again, a lover - I loved her?

Beginning to end.
End to the beginning again.
Cycles of violence shared with a friend.
We are all attached to the constructs of man.

Another poem for your consideration...

2004-11-19T17:26:00.000+08:00

Dying to be Born Into Nothing.

As these words hit the screen.
Like an old Sci-Fi movie.
Somehow this seems obscene.
Wire at my fingertips, thoughts escape me.

Is this poetry?
Out of the dull, tired matter.
Or is this just fantasy?
Chaotic rhymes or boring chatter?

Sentences have no meaning.
Network order, bureaucracy.
Left alone, voices screaming.
Through this moment, watch it bleed.

Come undone, like before.
Followed truth through the void.
Beyond the pen lies the score.
In the bunker is where they died.
In the bunker is where they died.
In the bunker is where they died.

NOW that they have withered away.
A million red roses lie on their path.
Somehow we knew that we would see this day.
For once there was birth and now there is aftermath.

The final act in this painful play.
The final act in this painful play.
The final act in this painful play.

Oh Jesus, Allah, Lord, Mohammed, FUCKING CHRIST.
Please do not stay.

Border line explosions...

2004-11-15T01:35:00.000+08:00

It is a very lonely existence when you have a very dissenting view of society and those that hold the reins. I wonder what happens to those who burn out but have no where to fade away to. I say this in relation to activism and to some extent life in general. Well my life anyway.. As it consists mostly of activism, music and taking an array of mind altering substances. The later is usually employed to cope with the first two. I really hope that change is inevitable.. Well my understanding of this reality tells me so. I think i just need a buffer.. Something or someone to fall back on when it gets to me. But as most women either think I'm a freak or "too extreme" i don't see this happening any time soon.

Anyway this a portion of the shit floating around in my head. It doesn't really portray my feelings at the moment. Not in a linear sense anyway.. It is really more of a plea to those enslaved in the system of thought control.. I feel sorry for you poor fools. Sure you live a life of less pain than myself.. But don't you get bored of the flat-line?

Standing alone on the eve of destruction.

In the middle of a swarm.
Going down stream again.

Suits and ties equal a disgusting disguise.
Awoken from their lies to the sound of more cries.
French-fries, get high, like a pig in a sty.

Placards and banners ring out a familiar tone.
On the streets their eyes were dazed.
Like a child without a home.
Fear has been entrenched in the last phase.

Are you just going to sit there?

Working a day and working a night.
Different lifestyles, different fight.

Are you just going to sit there?

Swine in the temple run the dog show.
Unless we rise there will be no where else to go.

Are you just going to sit there?

Seen the score but frozen like a donkey.
On your back rides the insane monkey.

Are you just going to sit there?

Don't you feel that pain?
Don't be afraid to leave the ball game.

Stand.

It's ok not to be sane.
We can survive without their mainframe.

Stand.

For something other, something more.
Compassion, understanding, forget psychobabble bore.

Stand.

The equation equals one.

One mind.
One soul.
One kind.
One world.

Stand.

The equation is undone.

One mind.
One soul.
One kind.
One world.

Stand and be one.

Something I just wrote after a crazy convo with richie..

2004-11-09T02:37:00.000+08:00

Technological Revolutions

Perhaps the future lies in the evolution of the subjective.
Is this natural progression?
The destruction of the objective.
Creates this history lesson, obsession.

Cause creates effect.
Technological map across our land and sea.
In the darkness we see the poor and sick.
PC programs empty tickets and you pay the fee.

With better machines of labour.
The newer the beast.
We can consume and produce faster.
The more it eats.

Advance and be destroyed.
Counting the ones and zeroes.
You will die without your toys.
Another dream begins with the love of your foe.

Plastic wires in your arm, sweatshop workers, Mercedes bends.
Mobile phones, quantity control, your mind with these new trends.

With these new trends with these new trends with these new trends.
You realise it is the machine that you have been made to depend on.

Hope shines through.
Attempt to change the destination of adaptation.
Realisation that we can fight to.
Turn the monkey back on itself and let the war begin.

Bush got back in and we're all going to hell.. Fun and games.

2004-11-04T20:13:00.000+08:00

Disobey

As he slams the book down on the table.
The faggots were lined up against the wall.
The niggers were locked away in a jail cell.
Castration of a million men who only wished for a better world.

Where did this begin?
What century am I in?

Many bodies lie diseased and torn.
The majority moralised over abortion.
But no care for one hundred thousand dead pawns.
Blood and oil and blood and oil, extortion.

Another child becomes one of the fallen.
The grip tightens and the fear is excreted.
Another Jesus freak, born again.
Secures victory for those who breed hatred.

Any hope on this miserable day?
My mind bends and I loose my existence.
Persistence, it was the only way.
To live, to breathe, to be at one - please go away.

Go away, go away, go away.
Too ashamed, too ashamed to stay.
Need change, need change, need change TODAY.
Before this world burns you must DISOBEY.

I wish I talked to her when I had the chance, instead of chassing something that could never be...

2004-11-01T01:02:00.000+08:00

Fade Away

Sometimes it would seem as though I do this only..
To inflict pain, hurt myself.
Chasing those who I would never miss.
Taking another moment of torment from my mental bookshelf.

If only I had asked your name.
Thoughts took me elsewhere.
Touch down far out field, another oyster loses pearl, match and game.
If only I had asked your name little bear.

Return home, two fall dead.
Two possibilities of relation, hesitated.
Alone a slurred voice answers my call.
Father, drunk again, agitated.

Making no sense.
But now it shall be clear.
We are one and the same son.
Here have a beer.

Do I deserve these cycles?
Acceptance or retaliation?
Spinning as my world falls.
If only I could learn patience.

Shy girl, shy boy.
Fucked up world full of gold.
Keep to there constructed toys.
Left alone to grow old.

Observer and critique.
Don't jump in and play.
Never a part of this lively clique.
Watch as I fade away.

I've been dreaming of this girl lately..

2004-10-30T18:56:00.000+08:00

Together In Nothing

Through a veil of alternate consciousness.
I met a girl, I met a girl.
Plagued by this manifestation of a first kiss.
With a world, with a world.

Never seen before.
Yet the familiarity is always there.
Born from lack of connection and boredom.
I touch her soft skin and silk like hair.

Together in a new space created.
A floating island in the sky.
Is this what awaits the misplaced hatred?
Does love conquer life?

We rise higher and higher.
Troubled past was her charm.
Feeling as though we could die.
She pulls herself closer, wrapped beneath my arm.

Falling forever, until I wake.
This devotion to imagination.
Perhaps the mind has made a mistake.
For i'm in love with this notion.

Of never ever being awake.

Some more stuff..

2004-10-24T22:28:00.000+08:00

The War Of Art

Saline flat rates flood the head, cartels kindle, felons dictate panegyrically.
On the other side of town.
Boycotts, brethren network, sultans are hung, inundated with synthesis pathologically.
The war of art has not yet been won.

Communal martyrs, savage objectivity, ruckus, scrutiny and we regurgitate.
the state the state the state the state the state the state the state the state
Brick wall, mortgage shares, striving to be plastic, executing sardonic movements, inveterate.
mental state mental state mental state mental state mental state mental state

Never mind the suffering.
Fear and ignorance / be here and ignore the hate.
Never mind the crippled who have had too much.
Discrimination and prejudice / fuck this white nation and it’s capitalists.

Blue collar and white collar fall at the boots of black power and red power.
No longer do they make the rules.
No longer do they make the rules.
No longer are we their fools.
No longer are we their fools.

2004-10-24T18:33:00.000+08:00

Not My Love

So sorry to tell you.
A letter written from afar.
Love, lust, Chirst who?
I could never be this fragment of heart.

Misplaced devotion.
Weak, powerless, it was a mistake.
He refuses to drink the potion.
Reality, we cannot escape.

But it cannot end for it never began.
So where does this leave us, please us?
If I was to look in your eyes, I would run.
I'm sorry but I feel no rush, nothing less.

It was simply not meant to be.
You fell in love with another construct.
Let us part our ways in peace.
Forget this mental product.

I'm sorry but this is not my love.

Time to rock and fucking roll..

2004-10-22T03:10:00.000+08:00

The Time Is Now

Breaking through these concepts that were once created.
Sitting in a chair in a solid state of motion.
On the second that it was stated.
The data hits and reacts, REVOLUTION.

Consumer, producer.
Predator, prey.
Rejection creates acceptor.
In the hallways they play.

With these chains around my neck.
Attached to all that was created before.
Endless paradigm, continual mime, what the fuck?
The blurred grey begins to bore.

White noise expanding.
The rest suffer.
At these hands, in the land of man.
Mother earth, why not lover?

Pledged red, black and green.
Slaved kind slips from view.
Loaded thought control again.
Point blank, charging at who?

Out of this machine we find ourself.
Standing alone in a friendly shadow.
Taking up arms and becoming one, stealth.
Class war, corporate society knows.

React, react, react, react, react.
Take back, take back, take back.

Fire in your heart made it so.
Fist raised as the clock hand reaches the hour.
Time to make those fuckers go.
Loose your control to gain your power.

For the time is now... NOW. NOW. NOW.

More for your sludge..

2004-10-19T02:30:00.000+08:00

Expanding Consciousness

They came to consciousness, awakening, a conclusion.
Beads replaced with a tie, that lipstick hides an evil smile.
Their innocence was not chosen.
Nature forgotten, sickness consumes when they modify.

Cold water on my face.
Damp air in my chest.
Trying to find something real to embrace.
Distant cities grow and fall with the rest.

I feel the burden of culture.
Ashamed of my pale skin colour.
Realization, surrounding are blood thirsty vultures.
Fighting through confusion in order to find power.

Statistically speaking it fits the rationale.
But I cannot expand without more.
No pseudo spiritual experience, just something whole.
Pushing through these capital whores, mind will not bore.

Looking for light in dark corners of the mind.
Peace, love, justice and equality.
I find my might in hope and love for mankind.
For this is what will eventually set us free.

azadi, azadi, azadi

This is all that we can ever be.

I really do wish there wasn't so much fucking suffering..

2004-10-18T01:18:00.000+08:00

Another creature dies.

This begins now.
With the pain of loss in every tear.
The creature was cornered how?
Instance passes by with the fear.

Dark figures stand over.
Now the being cowers.
Saliva drips from their mouths.
The beast of man has found power.

The glint of the blade is now so exposed.
A tear runs down the pink soft skin.
She wonders why she is so loathed?
The creatures undying love is seen.

Master hold's her head up high.
The barn roof is her last thought.
Your food cries.
In your throat, as you chew your pork.

Another creature dies.

It is so lonely in this empty room...

2004-10-17T01:41:00.000+08:00

No Longer Real

In the empty room the man sat.
Fighting through the mist.
Past experience, joy, love, forgetting all that.
Wondering if he felt anything during that first kiss.

Never did he want to hurt the object.
Is that all she has become?
With this definition, he now rejects.
Is there such a thing as 'the one'?

Afraid of connection, or was it just not there.
Perhaps the answers lie in the empty room.
Fear, fear, fear, fear.
Pre conceived notion of doom.

Or maybe he is just following his path.
Generation after generation.
The joker on his throne laughs.
I cannot find love in this notion.

Better to fade away and be forgotten.
Then to live the life of a fool.
Deluded and rotten.
She is not real, not in his world.

Similar subjects.. I wonder if anyone reads this..

2004-10-15T01:55:00.000+08:00

Beyond The Physical

Fist in the fucking air.
Arguments have been said.
The young man reaches for the chair.
His eyes now red with hatred.

But is it your place to criticise?
Philosophy and experience has come to this moment of action.
The child's creation and ultimate demise.
Rebel at heart, we will take up arms for our own solutions.

But you scream so loud through your megaphone.
Non-violence, peace and community.
Method means nothing to the broken.
It is time to take back the hostility.

Consumer goods are alive in your mind.
Left, right, it doesn't matter.
Bought to be emotionally blind.
Eat that TV friend, get fatter and fatter.

As your mind is warped to confine.

We don't see no difference.
Unless you open up.
You are scum to us.
We have had enough, fuck up.

Extreme? You fucking bet.
We won't buy your power, cars, TV's or idealology.
Of course we believe in peace, justice and all that.
But we will stand strong for our freedom and equality.

It isn't in your words but in your hypocrisy.
You must go beyond the physical.
A new mental state must be fought for, so be with me.
When I ask you the break through your dogmatic walls.

Be with me comrade as we run for the hills.
Breaking down the fences and the thought.
Stop taking their bright blue pills.
Otherwise our revolution will never eventuate.

Taste the fucking freedom..

2004-10-15T01:19:00.000+08:00

When One Day Was Today

Good to know you are here.
I feel my blood run dry as I fall.
There is a whole sky out there.
Do you wonder who owns your soul?

Grounded in the traffic of mind.
Enemy of the enemy.
Past notion of not being blind.
Don't do this to me, history?

Repeating the value once more.
We pass the keeper of time.
Deconstruct the factual reality of a whore.
Enter, freedom of emptiness, feeling sublime.

Every man owns his prison.
Keep struggling to consume.
Bought and sold kingdom.
Share market blooms.

Out of the darkness these objects come to rise.
Riot, heightened consciousness, fight, fight, fight.
Subversion of the path they created, we despise.
Black and red, head strong, if only they could forget.

Past difference always turns around.
Facing the wall, rebel warrior, sword in hand.
Their officers on our own battle ground.
One and united, we make our stand.

Tear down the fences, walls, barbed wire defences, fools, constructs, conformity, rich fucks, capitalist society, social whores, fear machine, plastic cause, the great western dream. Tear it all down and be granted freedom.

This xenophobic nation is full of shit!

2004-10-12T03:27:00.000+08:00

My god.. This election is getting me down. I only hope that people wake up to the extreme nature of this racist government and RIOT! Let's see what comes out. Meh..

So ashamed, I throw the blame, the lamb is maimed and we are all drained. Paint my face black, cut the veins in my wrist, tilt my head back, no chance for peace. You mother fuckers with your mortgage, shares, thought of giving? Do you care? CARE, CARE, CARE. I'm so ashamed. Kill my brain, humanity is fucking insane, the rose is black. Oh you fucking hacks! Tapped into the dark side of the moon. Gas chambers and blue balloons. You fucking fascist goons! I hate, too late. Burn it down. And I thought I was found. And I thought I stood on beautiful ground. BRING THIS MANIACAL SYSTEM DOWN. Please, I get on my knees, please think beyond your hip pocket, please think of humanity, think of your fucking sanity!

I have never felt so ashamed to be Australian..

2004-10-10T15:29:00.000+08:00

The first degree of fascism.

My fellow white Australians.
Votes now counted.
The results are in.
Fascism has been founded.

White-collar politix.
Watch it on TV, it will do you no harm.
Businessman, nice family, gets his kicks.
Shoots up greed, gains his charm.

Children in concentration camps.
Fled oppression and death.
Waiting for the dark skin lamps.
Are we there yet?

It's a matter of fact, fact, fact, fucked.
That 75% of you are racist.
And 90% of you are stupid.
Don't give me those blank white faces.

You know the truth.
And you love it.

Hitler met Howard today.
He said it for Franco and now this other man.
As he runs away.
"I would rather pull out all of my teeth than have to talk to him again."

So brothers and sisters everywhere.
Raise your hands to the sky.
If you dare or if you just don't care.
Swallow more of their lies.

Blood on your hands.
Taste the unborn child's cries.
Blood on your hands.
Watch that nigger die.
Blood on your hands.
Pull the trigger and say goodbye.
Blood on your hands.

For my friends, the end is nigh.

free style stuff

2004-10-08T03:06:00.000+08:00

Non lo so

Reason, reason, reason. Paradigms, white cloth crimes. Penetrated, so mistaken. Alive in the here and now, now we sit and dine. Window dressing so exposed, the lunatic fools run the show. Sodomised culture of class distinction. Raping the earth of all that was worth anything. Real men, real men, real men. What is real? What is real to them? Fucked up and alone. To be with me you must please.. Get stoned? Please forgive my heresy. Right, wrong, mighty clones, tone weighs down on me. I feel so much sorrow for those who are not free. Barbed wire vistas, beatings for dinner, landmines for breakfast and the rest, rest, rest-ah.. I breathe.. But where is my freedom? Kingdom of fear. Terror towel dark skin neighbour economy mortgage evil grin nuclear family loan secure borders home estate political correctness white and pure white and pure white and pure lack of awareness.. Ignorance. Belligerence.

non lo so non lo so non lo so non lo so non lo so

And in other news.. I'm getting death threats from psychopath stalkers!!

Never a dull moment!

more of the same..

2004-10-08T01:38:00.000+08:00

Goddamn it! I have to stop watching crazy films on SBS.. I just finished watching a crazy satanic japanese horror flick. Now i can't stop looking over my shoulder. I'm so pathetic..

We had a pretty shitty jam today. Well we managed to jam out a few things but we are lacking feeling at the moment. I couldn't help feeling as though it was my fault, either my lack of skill or understanding or both. I guess it will just take time for us to all mold together. I think we all need to know what we want as well. At the moment we don't have much of an idea of the sort of sound we are after.. We are slowly getting there.. But i guess you have to fight through the tear gas to punch the cop. Strange analogy i know.

Anyway let's see what comes out.

Is there anything new inside?
The old man sits on the floor.
Steel strings, oh how they confide.
Hearts and minds do bore.

Just incase there was.
Hope not lost, gone.
And just because, just because.
Metaphysical mine field born.

Alone without control.
Loss of grip, rock face, darkness consumed.
Pay the toll, pay the doll.
Wish for relation to bloom.

Stuck here with the same old, same old.
Friends, lovers, thoughts and the mind bends.
In the shop window, it was sold.
Natural reaction to defend.

But i am still here.
Pathetic nature and lack of skill.
Will not break down and consume the fear.
Instead i listen and break my will.

So dear..

Jumping full force black box clusterfuck i am gone, i am lost!

No.

I should be at work..

2004-10-06T14:15:00.000+08:00

I was reading through some other random blog (stalling so i'm late for work again).. When the hippe-club was mentioned.. I tried to add my comments.. But apparently there is a 1000 word limit to comments.. Not that it matters to you my humble (possibly non existent) reader, because luckily for me no one reads this and if they do they rarely comment.. Anyway..

Some say that the hipe-club is a fine establishment..

Ha.. I had the shit kicked out of me by bouncers years ago there.. I was 17 at the time and had no ID and so i done what you do, used a fake id.. The dude rejected it.. I got rowdy.. Calling them "fascist cunts" and the like.. I'm very original when drunk.. Then while i was walking away some asshole (probably a spook) gave me a can of spray and told me to write "dog" on the wall (dumb fuck a-political asshole probably couldn't think of anything better - yes i'm a bit bitter that i was coerced into it).. I was having trouble standing and, considering my drunken state, had to think twice about it.. But after standing there swaying for a few minutes i attacked. Spraying "dog fucking fascists" (i think i even misspelt fascists) on the side of the wall with hundreds of redneck dumb fucks standing around watching me. All of a sudden six beefy bouncers were running after me.. I managed to get away and spent what seemed like five hours (more like one) in scrub throwing up.. After the cops had been and gone i emerged.. Tired and just wanting to go home.. As i went to get in my car.. A good 300 metres from the "club".. Some pill popping, steroid freak jumped me. Slammed my head into the concrete a few times.. Usual sort of shit.. I didn't resist one bit.. In fact i think i stuttered "if you don't stop choking me asshole i'm going to break your fucking arm".. Something like that.. I was too drunk to do anything anyway.. But i thought i should get on the offensive.. Anyway after all that i only got a warning for the graf and an infringement for the id. Oh and a few scars on my head.. Funny shit..

Anyway years later I picked up a dude hitchhiking (for some reason I always pick up hitchhikers.. I guess I sympathise with the poor old fools).. He was going to the hippe-club.. I told him my story.. As you do. He was shocked.. Not because of what had happened but because of what had not happened.. It turns out this guy's mates run the joint. All Coffin Cheaters (surprise, surprise.. Most bars and clubs are run by bikies in Perth).. He had once seen a guy taken out back and whipped with chains just for talking back to a bouncer.. After hearing this my spirits lifted.. Don't get me wrong, I felt bad for the possibly dead guy but it is almost uplifting to know that my punishment wasn't as extreme.. However i still blame that little geek who handed me the spray.. Bastard!

Crazy shit..

Anyway.. The point of all this?

The hippe-club is fucked ;)

Anyway i had best call work and tell them that i'm on my way.. Arghh..

Ramblings at 3:30am!

2004-10-06T03:41:00.000+08:00

Well the swine have got me down..

REVENUE baby! Don't you fucking love it? I went to pay my fine and the freakin post office people (good folks) informed me that they couldn't accept it. It was due in on saturday but because a) i'm poor and had no money before monday and b) it was a public holiday on monday. So I could not pay it until tuesday. But apparently the 'officers of the law' do not accept payments even a day late. Why? Because they would prefer to send out another bill with another $38 added to it. Bastards! Found out something interesting though, according the the post office dude the coppers make 4 million in revenue from driving offences every year! And people look at me funny when i call cops dogs.. The police force do not hide the fact that they are an army for the elite. What little good they do does not make up for the endless corruption and revenue raising. Anyway.. SAE was as good as to be expected. I have been chosen to help record and produce a SAE CD. It will be a complination of local bands - mostly indie sorta stuff. God knows why they chose me.. I mean i'm ok at working the desks.. But i'm hardly reliable. Meh.. Here are some poems i wrote during my last two lectures.. I was really happy with how they turned out.. Considering they only took a minute each to write. Maybe i'm not half bad at this poetry thing afterall.. Note the audio engineer language ;).

Standard Parody

Sample the data now.
Fire in the heart of a star.
Dissolve the metal block how?
Red book standard travels far.

To detect and correct.
With this parody word.
If the error is too large to check.
Fall to the ground with grace in a blur.

Hold the last good sample.
The output will be muted.
The rest of them fall.
The outcome was disputed.

Coded Solutions

Correction cluttered importance.
Error detection.
Reduction comes from capacity, sorted.
ASIO protection.

Play back hardware.
Convert the team.
Tribal configuration scare.
The great western dream.

Ask not what you can do for them.
But what they can do for you.

The individual.
The individual.
The devil.
The devil.

But ask not one but ONE.
Reply with solution.
Collective world.
Revolution with choices proven.

Perceptual coding.
The people have spoken.

I am also considering sending in some of my crap to a local publisher.. You never know.. I mean i don't write in the hope of being published.. But it would be cool to have a hard copy of my stuff with a nice shiny cover.

Dull times..

2004-10-05T16:50:00.000+08:00

So i go to check my blog.. And there is nothing there! WTF? I scream at the fucking screen. Maybe it is just optus being a bitch..

Anyway i woke up @ 2pm.. Richie came over to get a cable for the projector, sat around talking.. It is now 4pm and I'm still in my robe.. I have to go pay some fine soon.. Hopefully the post office closes at 5pm and not 4:30.. I'm so slack.. Anyway.. Have to go pay fines, got to SAE and do the Perth Indy show (www.perth.indymedia.org) on RTR..

The highlight of my day..

The other day I stayed up until sunrise and took this..

Coward

What is missing here?
Vicious cycles of love.
Got the fear, got the fear.
Mechanical structures from above.

The steel mill was broken.
Rivers run red.
Democracy token, joke.
And the prophets are all dead.

Wild eyed and afraid.
Passing through the void.
Conformist courtship fades away.
Love their toys?
Today, today.

Where are we going?
Past becomes the future.
More abusive cycles turn.
He receives his torture.

Thick, dark, damp and alone.
All this in this life.
Gone through and beyond.
Cut the veins with the knife.

He turns to face the crowd.
Now he is Jesus.
Standing tall and proud.
He has his believers.

Leave us.
Leave us.
Leave us.

You coward.