When I was younger & the idea of personal transport was still a novelty,
me & my friends would drive around town & shout 'nice things' out of car windows at strangers,
''you look lovely'' etc.
In later years I walked around late at night,
writing similar notes on scraps of paper & putting them in telephone boxes
& on benches for people to find.
Around the same time, my friend Charlie wrote,
''It's nice to be nice'' on a wall near the local college
in permanent marker
Oct 20, 2012
Oct 20, 2012 at 5:12 PM UTC
I don't think I'm a very nice person.
Dead people can have *******
The weirdest part of this morning was the tropical bird that was road **** but I thought was a bag of salt and vinegar crisps, in London.
Always ******* up, ******* up all ways.
I'm your green grocer.
Mental collapse is quite close.
**** my ****
A gale of wind.
Sitting by a canal in the sun with a coffee at 7am.
My time is now.
That isn't sarcastic, it's brilliant.
I saw a werewolf drinking a Piña Colada .
Need an adventure.
like peas in a pub.
Jun 20, 2012
Jun 20, 2012 at 7:16 PM UTC
Since I last saw you,
You appear to have joined a motorcycle gang
You have signed a record deal
You have ''come out of the closet''
You are living on some sort of commune
You got engaged to a troglodyte/knuckle dragger
You got married to some sort of inflatable doll
You have gained weight
You have traveled the world
You have lost your appeal
You have done too many drugs
You look older, worn out
You haven't changed at all
You disgust me
You became a nudist
You started selling things ''off the back of a lorry''
You died
You started dating a guy twice your age
You got thrown out of your band
You might as well be a stranger.
Jun 11, 2012
Jun 11, 2012 at 6:36 PM UTC
All the trees with polythene leaves like ghosties trapped in branches.
Dancing drunk with headphones on//& you are the taste in my mouth.
My only ambition is to one day, some how, if only for a moment, be completely angelic.
I dreamt that my eye lids were reflective thoughts on the balcony.
I guess it just boils down to one final rule - EVERYBODY HAS GOT TO **** SOMETHING.
Walking home with Satchmo.
It’s never too late, fall down the stairs.
If I had a car I wouldn’t have to pay rent.
The lights on the buildings shut off when they see me coming.
Walk by the river until there’s blood in my shoes.
You dress like a jumble sale & hide your teeth when you smile.
Two left feet & two right shoes.
Go outside. Drink if you want to - (HM).
May 29, 2012
May 29, 2012 at 6:50 PM UTC
Tiger stripe- midnight counting down the hours until i can see again
& on the way home(alone...yes)I swear I saw something in the hedgerow//rhyme//shudder
something, something, SOMETHING BIG
it was moving, it was watching me & licking its lips
it knew my name, my real name
it said
they're right you know
it...IT
it sounded like Miles Davis on those recordings when you hear him say something off mic to the engineer
it said
is that what you wanted
are you happy
what do you want
what do you want
what do you want
i was running
it was chasing
it was tethered to my boot heel
it was on wheels
it howled like a BETCH
the lights of passed houses lighted up
the wife was saying
what was that noise, honey, honey, what was that noise.. go look
the husband was sleeping
the husband was buddha'd
i ran to my car
locked the door
put on the shipping forecast
slept on the backseat
morning came
SCHLINGG!
Apr 17, 2012
Apr 17, 2012 at 12:03 AM UTC
Ride your bike at night with no breaks & no lights
no street lamps in the country & PEDAL
as fast as you can so everything is a deadly blur
A MILLION MILES A MINUTE
believe that the road knows where are you are going
& that it loves you & that it is soft & that
'pain is just weakness leaving the body'
//meat-head bull shit//blah
I no longer wish to write like jazz
but to only be honest
alas, once again my hands are a opaque swizzle
of pink flesh & I find myself wanting to voice my
words with my bones & scream GALLEEB SHIMB CRANK ROARR-
EEEEEE like I always do
Friday night I danced in the dark with great humiliation
& not caring(much)drank down brown ale & talked to no girls
I realised that music was dying & what then but eatsleepdrinkfuckdeath again&again;&again;&again;
spoke of films I knew nothing about but nodded anyway
like I always do
once again attempting to walk the 25 miles home for lack of pockets & broke in to the train station where we slept & smoked under the milky light of no glasses.
Apr 8, 2012
Apr 8, 2012 at 7:20 PM UTC
You
Should
Try
To
Make
Your
Head
Explode
At
Least
Once
A
Day.
Feb 20, 2012
Feb 20, 2012 at 8:29 PM UTC
Observations & conversations, written the the shallow heights of the sinister winter.
The year that the would ended, successfully, unsuccessfully
''who were forced to open antique stores where they thought they were growing old & cried''(AG)
The same year we lost Bert & nobody cared & as a mark of respect, all of my guitars were given away as
parting gifts & so the songs did not cease to be written but only written now on key-junk & toy-scramble
& far as my plans are planned this is the way I will stay, & no, your're right, it's true I haven't played show in months. My fingers now smooth & twice as yellow, just like when I was older than I was tomorrow & you ask me if I have ever been forever & the notebook brimmed over full of eavesdropping & secret secrets I expose in writing that you'll never read & long walks home & Picasso pictures of strangers that I've never seen (gasp!) The great mythological hat flapped, low heeled, opaque smoke covered goon of the night, only to be seen propping up lamp posts for a light to scribble by & then gone in to the night again like Jack The Shadow when he was young & always one eye open when the cars drive by, to save the blind eye, in one eye anyway & now & then blind in both by text message of newfangled but out of date technobabble & uncool is the new cool. Tired, writing.
The gravel mounted marching marvel, which never really made any sense to begin with but(have you ever read Tender buttons?) nothing else really ever makes sense too, just like when I discovered that time doesn't exist, but O' the contradiction of the clock ticking. simultaneously asking favours from the moon, saying ''come on, please, tonight could really be the night, one more, anything, anyone will do'' praying, but only in jest & grand sarcasm just like the day that Chaplin died(although, yes it's true I do enjoy the merriment, but in the end it only brings me down once again to think how its only once a year that people stop hating each other & then only for the want of THINGS) & now birthdays too have fallen through the holes in the floor in a see-no-evil-hear-no-evil attempt to keep from aging & even now I feel a little older(tick tick tick). Always fearful of change, constantly fumbling for more change in futile empty pockets in the back bar to keep from being seen & then back around the river again to sleep & dream only the most mundane of dreams to wake up scared that you have no ideas left & your creativity, which was all you ever had has finally dried up before you really got to use it, & the pain in your nut-box, maybe you've really gone too far this time & maybe you really have woken up dead this time & woe is everything & you never got to be a cliche & move to Paris & write & starve & drink with Hem & Fitz & watch Fitz faint & work in a hotel with Orwell & all the Russians & be treated like **** by Strickland(even he was fictional & if he wasnt he died a leaper any-who).
you know you've always been a leth-wretch & a glutton for sorrow, but who cares about happiness, all things temporary etc etc. & I remember saying '' I think to make any great art, you first need to die a little'' when I was drunk & the next day feeling a fool, but ''better a witty fool than a foolish wit'' etc etc. when I got the beermares & the flashbacks of secret hand holding under the table & us(I), waiting until we were alone & never spoke of it again(again)& now the standard issue of time apart before we forget again & the whole thing will unravel again with shocking to the detail similarity as before & the time before also similar, for which I wont go into details for fear of you reading this & having probably already written it yourself, you being a much greater writer than I & we both know it, but still you would never say it & I only babble about myself in a chain smoking, nonsensical, bending on a loop, only ever thinking out loud fuzzy feedback ash tipping of the mind but still I wouldn't give away any secrets. I'm still surprised I gave you my real name, but my oh my, isn't hard being a spy.
Feb 16, 2012
Feb 16, 2012 at 7:29 PM UTC
The good old days...
The good old days...
I miss ''The good old days.''
I really do.
Dec 18, 2011
Dec 18, 2011 at 1:36 PM UTC
Ground flesh, stumble-grins, arguments without anything pertaining to anything else, only downside down-slide, grumble, rumble & spiff.
If you ever take out a loan at this bank you better not take down any trees 'cus they'll chop you back down, believe me.
Only the fire may burn in yellow & gold, you gotta burn in black,
horrid gold, horrid shtuck, never take a trip too soon, never ride in a car with a man in a green fedora or a 8-ball on the gear stick.
When I fell down the stairs you caught me and said 'dont you know that you can die?'
'no, no, whats that?'
'never mind'
and you were gone.
I think I'm really going crazy, I'm losing my hair and my teeth feel loose, soon I'll be nothing but a shell of hollow bones & ideas that never made it to fruition.
The world is really crumbling all around me, the people are melting, the babies are crying, the cats are singing songs of doom & the birds have all forgotten how to fly.
I have the answer, I have the solution, I can be the savior of manki...
..ooh look, donuts/sex/television/THINGS
Dec 11, 2011
Dec 11, 2011 at 9:35 AM UTC