remote. control?

Sometimes I forget my name;

and my place.

I see manicured fools

slyly check their reflections in shop front

windows.

Like thieves, successful in their art.

Keep smiling you smug bastards.

 

Time and again I forget my voice;

but not the idea.

I see these songbirds

gossip and scheme

I open my mouth and the sound is exiled

before it exists,

 an unplanned child from an unplanned kiss.

Keep on singing you birds of prey.

Too often I forget my face;

my space, 

my time,

everyday is a distant re-run

from a distant VCR.

 

six figure stitches

it's cold out baby

in the wind tonight

as you stumble numb

under neon lights.

with your palms out-stretched

and your baby crying

"you won't get none here"

get busy dying.

the man in the business suit,

he won't speak;

he's got six figure stitches

sealing his lips.

the homeless girl

won't just dissapear

because the business man

has six figure stitches

across eyelids.

breeding should be means tested.

Okay, so you're 18, possibly younger, and you've just had a child. Now normally this would call for congratulations... BUT YOU'RE 18, POSSIBLY YOUNGER.. can you not read?

Don't get me wrong, I don't doubt your love for the kid every time you see or hold it. But i doubt, very strongly, that you grasp the gravity of the situation. Now, for some moral, financial or emotional reason you didn't have an abortion. Good on you for sticking to your personal ethics; or price range. But at least you're going to use condoms now right?

No. You want more kids, and your fucking 2o years old. What the fuck? Were you semi-aborted when you were kid? Do you think children are pokemon?

Maybe you should concentrate on producing an environment, both financially and emotionally, that is conducive to raising a baby. Not just popping them off every nine months cause they're cute. Jesus Christ! I'd like to apologize in advance to the next generation.

However, if you could battle them like pokemon, I'd definitely get me a badass Blastoise.

tazer eye

she was of scholarly virtue,
well read in all the classics;
from tolstoy to voltaire
dante to mark twain.
with zeal so many tried
though their intentions
were nothing pious;
they used all the classic lines
and with one stare they were denied.

psalm for a simulated reality.

ignited and inhaled
i'm becoming a part
of the scenery;
a painting on the wall
camoflaged within the trees.
an identity lost and found;
only to be misplaced once more.
wrapped in winter
a decorated box
left by the door;
lying in wait
there's no point in direction
we're travelling together
not at equal pace
but with the same destination
always searching for a cause;
a catalyst for conversation.
in a dream
i dreamt a song;
a sound track
for those wandering souls
overwhelmed by the stimulus
all we need is a little flavour,
something with which
to paint our tongues
as the sirens sound
another victim has been claimed
on the television
stuck on repeat
when the warning bells sound
does it mean we should leave?

illusions of the mertic system

i guess this ends now;
the philistines have spoken.
they call for surrender,
from the balcony ramparts.
the cities will choke
on deep fried dreams,
their veins sting for petrol;
haircuts and labels.
the brightest of colours
the biggest of trucks.
we had stong resistance
and over-priced vodka.
the whores moan for love;
not money or drugs.
there's no serenades
when the philistines sing.
while the homeless feed
on the stares and the jeers.
these prophets are false,
they were already drunk.
so we don't leave house
then all screens attack,
we've messaged our votes
and purchased our tones.
the vices stay hidden
in the perfume of pages.
these headphones are armour
not pedestals or masks.
we weren't subscribed
but the philistines called
they have our number;
we're on speed dial now.