Extremities go numb,
i am not in my rite mind
everything is so unkind,
i’m feeling kind of dumb.

Xenophobes might run this fucking place
but I live with love,
i’m elevated above
the petty squabbles of a rat-run race

And nothing I say or do has meaning
nothing I say or do has meaning
my extremities go numb
i need peace of mind, just a little

Measures of measurement
mind is a state
meaning has meaning
mind ain’t a nation

Politics is nothing more than children screaming
rats and roaches that know nothing
their numbers growing, teeming
overwhelming logic by sheet numbers

Life is fucking doomed, get over it
we never stood a chance
cannibal minded monsters ate our futures
devouring all in this macabre dance

Examples are made from examples set
set by examples
circular logic makes no sense does it?
eat your weight in the flesh of your fellow man
and bow to the oligarchs, submit to their lies.
the lord of the flies
is a fisher king.



Not my best, if such a thing exists at the intersection of “good” and “my work”. I blame random word generators.

Aware, Constraint, Defend, Pay, Particle, Village, Lift, Stir, Slice, Straighten, Climate, Bounce, Unlike, Brush, Attachment, Random, Shoulder, Link, Paper, Bald

Struggling to stay aware

The world around me acts more as a constraint

Held down by those seeking to defend

The brutality of the piper’s pay

I am but a particle

A grain of sand in this global village

But give me time, I will lift us all up

Sand can become sandstone, sand can stir into storms

I am how I am sliced

Straightened out by society

A product of this climate of fear and entitlement

Another one thrown into a world unable to bounce

Landing on my face unlike the others

Nothing but a brush and a canvas to tell my tale

Never get too in, avoid all attachment

The random number generator of life’s lottery

Will cost you a leg and an arm, then come back for the shoulder

Because until we can all chain together we’re nothing but loose links

Numbers on the paper of powerful men looking to exploit us

Selling us their bald faced lies about some dream

Houses are unaffordable, cars are too expensive, love is unattainable and lust is still unavoidable

So what am I to do but try and remain aware

I am just a piece of a puzzle no-one is solving.



To feign innocence,

Worshipping in the fane of ignorance

Appealing to the vain interest

So pro-vane how pro-fan we get

Throwing out the sane

To install the reign

Of our own particular brand of theign

Never mind that both will rain death

It’s a vein illness

We rein in the wellness

Becoming soulless constructs of vainglorious

Sentiments against the sentimentality

Of making sure we all gain

Never be a socialist, socialism died along with social awareness

Instead submit to be the instrument

That instruct destruction and insane villainness

Follow your faith, blind and devout

You’ll figure it out eventually

They don’t care about your personality

You are a body to throw into the grinder

As opium is to the addict

Religion is to the theign

There is nothing to gain

But we hit up all the same, just for that fleeting moment

Of feeling good, feeling level, feeling sane

But sanity is not predicated on mass consensus

In a world of addicts, is the sober man the crazy one

In a world full of guns, the bullet is the one to blame

So feign your ignorance

Politics is a dirty word, never bring it up

In polit-e company.


more word association this week.

Does it mean much to you
that space compresses time
so much so that light bends backwards in vacuums
visiting places before it has visited them
accumulating mass
filling points on the fabric of reality
warping matter into black holes
like the hole you left in my heart.



Midnight in mid-urbia. Domesticated animals prowl the streets. Street-lamps flicker. Cars line the asphalt. Driving home from the shops, chicken stink washed down by star-light air. Oxygen rich, poor in everything else, two enter a cold house. No lights, no need. Ninja up the creaky stairs. Sit silent, devouring the burgers and cola. Not the best kind of date, but one of them. Being together more than makes up for it. Dawn in the window, finish dinner. Lie on down, the bed is soft. Forbidden romance, chicken dinner. There is probably a metaphor in there.


2017-10-02. 98 words.

Irradiated parking space, the night sky’s skin bleeds points of light through soft vapour. Thick concrete, asphalt, metal boxes lining the streets. Step from parlour to park, medicinal light floods the shop where the chickens burn. Greasy animals, the sun slowly cooks everyone, others cannot wait. Find a way to beat the heat death, randomly generate entropy in your innards. Sit on the hood of a car, metal metaphors for parts unknown. Huff cigarettes, puff clouds. Soft fucking dreams of middle-urbian chicken shops and waiting on an animal to walk back into life. Chicken burgers, coca-cola. Life unromantic.