Tag Archives: joy

What’s on the box Eng a match with which to strike ‘n’ burn it down 2drown in sound.

It was a fix, father
we thought in our heads
then got up from telly
And laid down our head in bed

Picking up pieces
From what had been said
And turn sounds & curtains of clockwork cross-ceiling light
Over & around
All in my sweet head

Can cars be stars?

Head lights are shooting

Been awake for years
And as many years, fears;
Refugees and war
Goes through sore
The mind of my kind of kid
– but now see they had hid
& do the ones who through news
so openly kid         ?
Don’t put things in my lid
Just fill up their pot
Ignominy & plot
Ignobility & rot
And rotting corpses
To boot
And loot.
Wearing your suit
Coloured ties such a hoot…

TV Screen        TV vote
TV beam          TV goat
Tv scream        TV Screened
TV Scrote         TV Scream

And listen to how furry your teeth are and go and brush them for god’s sake

“I’m gonna go on the internet for a bit”
No one says that anymore eh?
You abide in the internet


Boudicca’s boudoir.

Faux males
Get thumbnails
Sum rouge and incense to
Bend brevity and mood
Furs ain’t faux and aint fo’ u
So toil some more in
Soil on floor
And tooth and claw
Sewing shut inside tent door
Begin in breaths of chants of lore
On mats of skin of boars and bores
Glistened skin a fireside awe
Paint all low and flesh you grew
Inside a heart you never knew
Twisting ’til her fathers knew
She shake your feathers far and true
Chariot to weather blue
Blackened flesh and painted blue
Comes cleaner than Iceni knew
Comes clean in Prasutagus’ lieu
His process shining firm and blue
And covered silk in juice of you
Me dreaming of the thing I’d do
She’d eat me down and spit the goo
I’d twist her trestled snake sinew
And bend Britain away from you
My long hair would use your hide to hide my chair
Red hair knotted everywhere
On her and my lit bodies fair
Bloody milky cream and hair
She lucids me what else to wear
She lets all loose and thunders ware
She’s stronger than your average bear
Melts iron and my awkward stare
(Being her children’s children’s children’s child, at least his spirit,
if yore with it;
Incense-intent timetravel make incensed inter-ancest incest ensue) !
Femme fatale won’t cut it like she cuts
Her breast so full and full of cuts
I’ll never pleased call women sluts
Wolf whistle?! dog, back to your mutts

F youtility.

A proposed experiment with

A man shaped by his


Do his sentiments betray

higher contemplation?


What’s a broken record?

Give me an idol’s death

& woman’s purpose

Let no one fully see my surplus

Except for Him & all his worthless
creatures under stone can’t hurt us

How many more malignant murmurs?

‘Nightsurge’; is a happy night terror a lucid dream, or wet dream, or wat?

Just woke up in cold sweat, good god that was terrifying but I’ve basically been on nights in the garage next door to my flat – there’re upsides/downsides to it being that close – got in this morning, said hello to Holly and watched a BBC/netflicks something comedy with McDonald’s breakfast I went back out to get – then started snoozing, she said I’d only been asleep for twenty but said it like that was a really long time as I sought approval that it was a short time because of the implication of that on that I’d just gone through this:

My old mate tsangy from high school was stood in a white hospital back room with me as I’d made a tasteless joke about the person’s injury that was being rushed right through the back door near us and he sort of reprimanded me based on the laws of karma and that I would or had already been stricken with something likewise. This is interesting because tsangy is a teacher now but me and him used to fake trip right into bins right in front of teachers to see their reactions and he was better at it than me, he’d just batter into it and teachers would help him up empathetically and he’d be acting all accidental and we’d all be off in a corner of the playground pissing our onlooking selves. Anyway, I started to fall in on myself as he showed this plea for my togetherness – I’ve not spoken to him in years but the other day we were facebook messengering eachother aroundabout some twerp we sort of used to know who was being flippant on fb – then everything went inside out and I was stood behind the desk of a retail outlet, not unlike my next-door garage, other than that it was a vw camper van and also was the Grand Canyon – the walls of which weren’t clay-y like my gran dad’s photos but were a very dark black green and consumed me as the innards of the van by being covered with picture frames of different colours but I couldn’t see the pictures in them.
We sold oddments and sleep paraphernalia.
Then a hugely large grey smoke-plumed feather duster was there kind of in the corner but also floating in the centre of the room but also not at all and in the hand of a German chap, perusing the shop, which was obviously at the same time tiny and ginormously naturally huge. I could tell he was German because he had on lederhosen and a mad brimmed hat I’d never seen before in navy blue that looked like it could have had a big spike sticking out the top but didn’t. He struck me as the kind of guy who probably really enjoyed the smell of his own shit with a little half kempt half not grey beard and he may have asked me something before leaving the shop-van-canyon. It is unclear. As he sidled out and left the left side of the shop went see through especially the bit where I was standing serving and the man was very clearly and with terrible intent looking me up and down like an x ray but mainly focussing on the down (the lower part of my body (the legs))) and this made me feel disgusting and on show so, even as the faceless presence I was serving next floated at the desk in my deepest mind’s eye and looked on, I started to take coins and little grey pebbles from the till float tray under the desk and throw them really hard at the window, where the German man now made his way back along the vanshop. The glass was reinforced and bullet-proof and I knew this as I continued to ping little solid objects at this bloke I’d now assumed was somehow detrimental to me, he’d also caught my eye through the see-throughness of the shopvan wall and it really made me crawl in a way I can’t place as he looked mostly jovial, his little navy blue hat and shorts with the braces.
Perhaps it was proximity?
About my third or fourth coin/stone throw and the window smashed a little hole in itself, large enough a crack for a pebblecoin to make it through and the man flinched and suddenly ducked as though it’d hit him. There was little blood but I instantly felt awful and this upspring of guilt and unbearably awful emotion turned me inside out again so that I was begging the gods in the unseen aether to grant me consciousness
– a layer peeled back and I awoke and looked round the room – ah thank god – holly, she was stood there naked and getting ready and messing about with a few things in her hands, one of which was a ridiculously big, room-filling grey plumed feather duster, so I was like 😮 WTF and said something like
“Woah, where d’ya get that?”
“I dunno”
“that was just in my dream, one just like that! Oh myy……………………………………………………………………………………………………more time was spent in the babyling mind gas as I begged and begged for real-life-feet-on-floor-back-on-bed consciousness and the second layer ripped it’s unravelment back from around myself and I awoke to a real and much meeker me, knackered and calling quietly from the pillow-depths “Holly!” to see if she was still in the flat, she was going to see her mate this evening while I go and do tonight’s nightshift.
She was so I telled her this and we laughed – but me more and I told her that the reason we need sleep is because otherwise the conscious sorting process of info that is dreaming is unbearable to cope – fragmented circular burnt string and fabric tied to Catherine-wheel layers where the seams are only very slightly visible and a certain quality of concentration is actually required if one is to be one – I vowed to sleep more but that actually wasn’t bad – I’ve suffered night terrors before and this was more light-suffused and I loved throwing those stones, it was death and life/life and death and those little daft choices are ultimately who I am now.. Not to get too silly or owt.
Exhilaration started to pop and fizz away so this pen is in pursuit but that particular prang was pristine.
Twenty minutes..
My eyelids feel sick to their stomachs.
The people I can hear outside would think I was lazy if they could see through the wall into a cross section of my room but I would think they were wrong.