August 2009 Entries
The link between
Beauty and selfishness
Is undeniable
Un quantifiable
Indefinable
But quite reliable
Attracting and
distracting
And then subtracting
your energy
Vanity is
Another
Insanity
Sold two
For one
Wonder
If one day
One big head
Is better than two?
I’m just a single celled soul Selling myself to the system Oh yes the cistern Pull the chain and flush With this weeks wages I’m down the drain With all the sh*t and the condoms. My single sell soul swimming With a lemmings chance of Bringing the minging miracle Of multi-cellular salvation To fruition. For creation is a loop A hoop of hygienic hierarchy a Higher plain of majesty a steeple Chase of saving grace that you must Face and hope to be lucky. Thank the big booky in the sky If...
Add support to the thought
That we ought to know about
The snort that brought us all to life
The line, the climb the hedonistic
Time that god or that odd
Sod who was responsible
For our emergence had
When out of their mind on
Some utopian kind of illusion.
Irresponsible I don’t doubt
An impulsive bout of indulgent
Bingeing, a wingeing whim
Virging on the obscene
but now we are on the scene
There's no telling where things will end.
Sustain an
entertain
meant to be
For then
You shall see
That reality
Is practically
Our own
Arrangement
I aim to pain
Your brain
Into laying claim
To an insane symmetry
A super synchronicity
of spiritual simplicity
An earthy muddy
Menstrual bloody blend
That will extend
A certain kind
Of consciousness
Because
Literal is lateral
It forces you to think
It forces you to
Stretch out and find the link
That connects you
To a consciousness
That elevates your soul
That entices your spirit
To shoot at your goal.
What is this stream of consciousness?
The cream of consciousness
Or just a dreadful mess..?
The scale of value is monetary
An inventory of material worth
Not like the lovely earth
Who has the most.
Is the toast of our time?
Instead of ephemeral spirit
We trust only in merit
Of a truly bureaucratic kind
So move fast for its being cast
And soon the net of rationality
Will close in and catch us like cod
No romance with a frozen chance
Of finding all your dreams
Creamed and boiled in a bag.
Vibration, this earth is alive
And if we are to survive
We must revive our rustic ways
Remember rotation is the
Creation of fertility
And an ability to fertilize our feelings without double dealing
Is a nobility worth regarding
Cultivate the resurrection of
The organic connection
A super string of events that
Give vent to life's energy
An art of escape
That wears a cape
In a caper
Or a crusade
To invade the
Values of respectability.
The norms and conventions
Of exterior inferior affiliation,
A citation of explanation
That no one understands
But we all must bend
To its command.
Don't raise the volume
Of authority more
Than is strictly necessary
For too loud means
You’re not allowed...
It works without feeling stealing its pride, if you try and hide you will fall wide of the mark, shag the shark in sheep's clothing, roaming the hills till the fin.
I should sell all my belongings, for I belong to my belongings, bent like a five-pound note around them, I wrote to the mint and gave them a hint but they ignored me. Do they ignore all bank managers of beloved volumes, quaint and ancient? Investment is a gambol of virility and sometimes sterility, I stake my claim in name to the monument of the idle, the idol of idolatry,...
Bring out the schizophrenic blocker, a bit of a shocker, the name dropper, knocker on the door that opens up the great plain, the winding path, mountains so massive the earth would roll down their side like a ball of string, a spring, a water fall full of flash folk throwing out empty cans. The can of worms that earns you a fortune, writhing and diving deep into them selves, their smell reminds you of hell, a tolling bell, hold out your hands, the lines on your palms paint more than the future, they paint a picture of your potential,...
Time emiT
It out
Not in
And then
When
You wake
You take
A day off
Forever..
A train of thought
Brought about by our
Doubt what we think
Is the link between
The mean and the lean and the dream
We seem to be independent
But if we try to go it alone
We are redundant
Encumberant, itinerantly
Coterminiously drifting like
An extra space between words.
In an extra space between worlds
I go there, come with me and see
Possibility as a poet tree.
Culture is cream, the stream of consciousness that cuts through the rock face of fantasy, fantastic fortune finds no home in homogeneity. I hold forth, for my illusion was my grace, a race that rid me of revolting retribution, the infusion was forced upon an unending idea of communication wire. Without the dreams of the open-minded, fact is confided rather than risk it being derided.