Category Archives: General bits.

Ragged downladder.

Seek to dissipate boyhood
whilst maintaining desire:

Overt panderings &

Inverted wonderings &

Bells yonder ring

Knells echoing in caves
& Under things

People don’t say what they mean when
they’re pondering.

The wearing-vest chest that is

blessed as caressed,

Cut up & bloodied

to buy time to be studied.

The powder of crystal

So fine in a mist wall

(A shrouding shawl wrapped

And wrenched ’round my face)


Ricocheted ’round the place

Is like light out in space

Braving chasms of quarks

& light years of dark

The danger of sparks

It’s a lark so

I don’t know why you drink

Your light spirits of stink

Don’t expect things to link

Or you’ll be in the clink

Or trip over your brink

Hmm.. What should it be about Honey eh?

A mounted yet talking trout is funnier.

Is great weightless? or grace? .. or space? . ..

Time is one of my only wines
Or: 2 whine is the sum of thy lonely wines?


F youtility.

A proposed experiment with

A man shaped by his


Do his sentiments betray

higher contemplation?


No. 1 for Thax Douglas (pre-guitargig orator extraordinaire).

On Monday the brian jonestown massacre blistered us with 3 hours of sound and at the end everyone stood still about to shout like mantric louts “1 more tune” !!!
Their sole support was a sound scribbla same as me self, but he speaks.
Fer ‘im;

The man who sees
Stands up and frees
The word from ears
That we should hear
Guitars carve in
But not before
The baton so beat and blue
Is given them by him

If you want more conthaxt check out a documentary from 2007 called “THAX”…

Vincent the wanderer.

I met a young man today whilst walking back through Leeds from a meditation meet. His name was Vincent, and his aforementioned youth did not establish itself in my mind because of his vaguely worn clothes, or even his looks really; he was bright and kindly eyed, and even seemed in manner like he maybe thought himself a little subservient, but he definitely wasn’t snivelling. When he asked me to have a guess at his age I told him I thought he looked somewhere in the area of forty to fifty, wanting to give myself a wide berth as to not be so pointed.
He looked genuinely like he’d weathered another twenty years under the sky past my own age – at this stage he’d already told me that he’d been living pretty hand-to-mouth, travelling around, spreading “God’s message” and doing anything over and above these things completely as a secondary to and allowed by his success in these first – in other words, he’s a leaf in the wind – he has such faith in a higher power that he is willing to kick to the kerb any self-first inspired impulse in order to be morally allowed to rely on “God’s” power of giving him a bed i.e. whether or whether not this person I’m presently approaching to ask will give me somewhere to stay tonight… it could go either way.
He had a little bit of grey hair under his hat there, I noticed before guessing and built it into the final guess. I imagined that with this, what would be called a “bum’s”, life, his evidently thick, black hair from his thirties had faded to a snowy grey.
He soon smashed this into bits by telling me he was sixty-four and had been living like this for the past forty years, along with all my ideas about how the tramp’s life takes it’s toll – even Orwell made it sound like a bit of a drag. Wow, he looked genuinely brilliant for his age, I can only assume there must have been some positive effect of riding around, place to place, relying solely on the kindness of the great unwashed on the street and being happy with very little. The less we have, the more our mind is bare, shining out from beneath all the little emotional pulls towards things, possessions, habits of thought about ourselves and others etc. It must be literally easier to keep yourself in check and be really good, thinking of others and other basic stuff.
Anyway, I had to get off so I wished him luck, told him I’d ask the little lady whether she’d be cool to let him stay at the flat if he ever got stuck and shook his hand firmly and told him what he was doing was surely an important thing. I really believe that and hopefully he’ll see this bit of writing as he asked me to write down the link to this site when I said I was a writer (when he asked) – hopefully his heart will be warmed and he goes on to spread more leaflets and love and hope to other people and hopefully my girlfriend would let him sleep over at the flat, although I do doubt that.

Love/hate, it’s all the same to me..and you..and everything.

If you think that you love Person A more than Person B, you are wrong. There can be no increase or decrease in love, it is our basal existence (the base of everything in the universe that could be said to exist!) You have merely created reasons (subconscious or not) for your love of Person B to have become convoluted and distorted.
This is even the case with people we say that we hate, that’s why it doesn’t feel at all nice or wholesome to hate someone – no matter what – they are a reflection of the exact quality of love that you project outwardly in the world. Like in Bill Hicks’ (typically subversive yet hilariously astute) comedic impression about the unlikelihood of ever seeing a ‘positive’ drug story on televised news;

“Today a young man on acid realised that all matter is merely energy condensed to a slow vibration, that we are all one consciousness experiencing itself subjectively, that there is no such thing as death, life is only a dream and we are the imagination of ourselves. Here’s Tom with the weather!”

– so it could be said that when you say that you hate someone, you’re declaring contempt for something that is, at the root of everything, you. Every single little thing that you can possibly experience is a mere reaction in your own nervous system – or a ‘sense’, it is never a separate entity existing outside the bits of your experience that you normally choose to identify with. When you have realised this, you have realised truth and your life’s fuel is then the orgasmic effervescence of sun-fire.

Quitting smoking in the raw present.

Are you plagued by the cruel dichotomy of wanting to healthily quit tobacco-smoking whilst genuinely enjoying the act in itself (it HAS been a human pastime since we started recording time after-and-before-all!)? If so, take some time to examine the subjective psychological struts that prop up your own dependence on nicotine and see if you can’t kick a few out – are you holding onto that time when yourself or someone you may hold closer told you it was cool to smoke, and if so is that serving any purpose today other than the maintenance of your fiendish habit?… Alan Watts used to talk about an idea that; as children, we played a game with ourselves whereby the object was to elongate the amount of time before the commencement of any desired activity (“putting something off”) – whether it be eating sweets or going to the park after you’ve tidied your room, it was always sweeter or more enchanting if one had forced oneself to WAIT beforehand.
When this logic, then, is transposed back onto the abstaining from the deadly brown leaf, you can passively (and therefore quite easily) recapture the feel that it is you who are, psychologically speaking, in control of the decision/impulse to smoke or ‘the smoker’ – and from that perspective (alone) should you decide to quit – if that’s what you want to do. THE FOLLOWING should be on the bottom-front-and-back of fag packets (aren’t YOU sick of the impotent scaremongering on ’em currently?!): “If you want to get MORE ENJOYMENT/FLAVOUR out of your lovely delicious cigarettes, put them off, smoking less often and therefore giving your lungs a well needed chance to rebuild!” but alas, all we have at the moment are pictures of dead folk to show us just how resolutely and roundly DEAD we will be if we carry on – like some inane photographic old wives’ tale!
It’s as simple as, when you want a cigarette, really zone in on that pulling part of your psyche that seems to implore that you have one and open up a conversation with it – it’s a bit of you! Ask yourself questions like “how long, I wonder, does one of my cravings really last?” and observe the answer to your own question – watch the craving end! THEN review if you really do want a cigarette. It is hard but you’ll start to see that YOU are the master of the whole game – YOU are “the smoker”! Right that’s all for now, I’m just off to have a tasty stick of smouldering hypocrisy…

Art/Egot – ism.

I would think there’s probably a lot of psychic overlap between people who are said to be great egotists and people who are said to be great artists.
And, if this is true – then can egotism even be looked at in the same light? That same old green gloom of regret and shame?
I think NOT – for art is that simultaneous expression and impression of the pattern of life, the very grain of the wood in the tree of life!
(I’ve got a blue biro-scratching of a little tree in the notes at this point and wish an equivalently spirited effect could be had on this window of illusory plasmic phonetics)
Endeavor to attatch less and less to the mere explanation of this holiest of facts, however – for alone it provides little for the guts to get around. And life IS the guts.
Annotate it all if you fucking must – but just remember that the master of such annotation is your own self and there is never the reverse of that, you won’t ever answer to your own rules.