We rearranged matter with our minds,
We made our children our home,
There's no singularity,
No negative vibes,
No distance between us,
Just a dream as we walk in the light,
Immortal; yet entangled in our dark material world,
There's infinite time to learn and move on,
We can't hold the matter in our hands, or our hearts,
Fear and materiality is not the true reality.
Let it go!

For the last few thousand years, humans have continued to trespass, venture into inhospitable areas, burning down, meddling, or just poking around in natures complex, natural chemical laboratories.

The more humans encroach upon the natural world; the more exposed we are to a highly complex eco system; a system that has evolved over millions of years to support a huge diversity of life in which humans play a tiny part.

As a species we struggle to survive the mosquitoes, not to mention the trillions of other diverse insects, animals, fawner and flora we are now disrupting and introducing to our populations, is it any wonder so many of us are dying.

This disease is a symptom of our consumption and lack of contentment?

Everyone cares how they are perceived in society; otherwise the ones that supposedly don't care... wouldn't insist they don't care!!

On stage; my conviction creates the illusion of charisma!
Off stage; I'm like a fish out of water waiting to be baked or sautéed!

A global class system that values its citizens based on their economic wealth.

A global economic cast system based on:
How much an individual can waste?

Success is measured by,
How much disposable income an individual has.
How much an individual can over consume.
How much consumption an individual can generate.

Peoples privileges are then banded appropriately, based on their position within the economic carousel.

There are also millions of people that don't have, food shelter, security or drinking water.
(These are rarely mentioned)

The mob is single minded, The more people feel justified; the more likely they are to commit extreme acts of cruelty.

Recently I came to the conclusion that our body's are perfect, it's taken a long time!
The fact is we are all truly beautiful and diverse in shape and size.
I no longer look at the symmetry; lips, forehead, broad or narrow faces, chins, noses, jaw, eyes, cheekbones, how clear and smooth is the skin; how tall or small the frame.

I've come to realise that over time, these comparisons are a form of physical nostalgia; just a combination of shapes reminiscent of the many people we have loved or admired throughout our lives, and that our body image has become a measure of our perception of our physical self, our feelings, our positively and our desires.

I've come to the conclusion that all vessels embody the beauty of the individuals they carry; because everybody is both body and soul.

I could be happy,
I could be slow,
I could be weak,
I could be cold.

You could be sad,
You could be quick,
You could be strong,
You could be hot.

Sweet La Rossa;
All I want is you...

I could be closed,
I could be noisy,
I could be me,
I could be better.

You could be open,
You could be quite,
You could be you,
You could be sweet.

Sweet La Rossa;
AlI I want is you...

This song of love, was always meant for you.

This song of love, was always meant for you.

Little pleasures; When luxury becomes the norm, both the anticipation and the pleasure in little things become diminished. Lets put away our plastic teabags and start our value enhancement with a lovely *** of leaf tea.

Being at the right place, at the right time, requires moving about freely.
Exploring leads to discovery.
If you're chasing a dream, then it's heading away from you.
If you are handling it, then it's not willing.
If it comes to you, then there may be some symbioncey.
with every responsibility there is a duty, with every duty there is constraint.
it's all monkey business.

I wish every human had a fish for a foot, and a Canary for a face!
Over night there would be clean air, and better **** in the sea.

I want someone that respects my opinion,; and not just my right to have one.
I want someone who stands by me; despite any differences of opinion.
I want someone who trusts me to make all sorts of mistakes.
I want someone that doesn't need me to understand.
I want somebody that looks me in the eyes as we ****.
I want someone that's respects my right to say no it's not for me.
I want someone who is polite; and not rude or unkind.
I want love & reassurance, reducing any risk that's frightening.
I want loyalty and someone who also seeks, this basic remit.

Is this too much to ask of anyone?

My favourite flowers are dead,
dried up by the sun,
clutching the ***,
the last of the lot,
from whence the spring has sprung.

So I bought fresh flowers from the shop,
adorning the ***,
the best of the lot,
I love perennials.

There can never be a realisation,
The loss is too profound; too permanent.
They closed your eyes in front of me, you died 10 years ago, yet I always remember it as the year before last;
I fear I shall feel this loss all my mortal life.
Your devoted child X

I'm a standby lover,
with all the duties of a partner;
but with no assurances.

I'm that safety net,
a dollar in your pocket,
the bump ugly,
the yoyo on the bench.

You can ghost me for awhile,
lead with breadcrumbs,
make me smile,
save me for a rainy day,
tuck me up and play away.

When you've found the one you're after,
and swapped the years of fears with laughter.

I will rejoice; eventually ;)

Armadillo has it’s world,
It’s heritage soon unfurls.
Coboys started smokin' dope,
***** Freeman takes a poke.
Lyle Lovet never had a job,
Guy Clark still knitting fog,
***** Nelson croons a tune,
Waxing waning with the moon,
Mickey Newbury pens a song,
Wilson just cracks on and gone,
Steve Young the dreamer has a plan,
Van zant the future past is man,
Waylons forever riding on,
bless them all and every song.

(  )*(  )

My hands ****** deep into my pockets, searching for reconciliation; every rummage a sacred act.
I’m reaching for emotional growth; but just pulling out splinters, plectrums and bits of fluff.
The keys have to be in here somewhere.

It takes so much strength to suppress that yearning,
To step back and let the thing you love grow,
It’s bittersweet, crushing and revealing;
Going with the flow,
when everything inside you says:
No,No,No!

We require desire, ***, love loyalty and compassion, but we also require honesty, commitment and consistency.
If we can't communicate these things or reciprocate; then we must remain alone but not unloved.

It's on you both to fulfil this promise, these vows!

By Purcy Flaherty a.k.a. pig man & The Rubber band
(Intro single strums)

(C) Put the bog-rolls
(G7) down Mrs Brown;
(G7) for it's time to sing
(C) along.

(Verse strumming)
(C) Sing a song of freedom,
(D7) Sing a song of love,
(G7) people sing together,
(C) to fill the air above.
(C) Sing it from the rooftops,
(D7) sing it from the street,
(G7) sing it to your neighbour,
(C) and every one you meet.
(C) Together we are human,
(D7) together we are free,
(G7) together we are able,
(C) to set our spirits free.

(Repeat verse over and over)

The Equalist!

RE: The guerrilla girl’s poster 5% women artists yet 85% of the models are female.

This poster was heralded as a feminist rebuff of misogyny and the male gaze.

It is my opinion: one of the reasons females are more sexualised than males in Western society; is because the majority of women working in a sexualised industry such as modelling, dancing, fashion or *******; choose to perpetuate that role and the connection between *** and femininity; often in industries where females outnumber the men six to one; I'm also aware that the majority of the hierarchy in theses industries are male, it seems their gender solidarity is more concerned with the money; than notions of ****** inequality; thus perpetuating the issue.

Vernacular test:
Step one - Question one:
I took a survey of 30 fellow artists asking what is a misandry? followed by what is your gender?

Step two - Question two:
I took a survey of 30 fellow artists asking what is a misogyny? followed by what is your gender?

I did offer any information or allow any of the subjects to see the survey paper, or overhear the question.

Results: 30 subjects took part in the survey; One female knew both words and their meaning, and one female didn't know what Misogyny was. (Two females approached refused to take part in the survey, all men approached engaged.)

Step three - Question three:
I then gave all the subjects the dictionary definition and asked why they thought the vernacular misandry is not as well known as the word misogyny?

(I should add that I too couldn't recall the vernacular meaning of: Misandry; though I could recall the meaning or definition of Misogyny.)

Answers:
Female... "I don't care"
Female... "It's due to a gender economic imbalance"
Female..."Blokes just don't like it when women speak out about it"
Female..."I don't get involved in protests"
Female..."I don't know"
Female..."Men just think with their ******"
Female... "There's more misogynists"
Female... "Because men are pigs"
Female... "Why does it mater"
Female... "It's just a word"
Female... "I'm not interested"
Female..."Try being a women"
Female... " It's *******; it's just a vernacular"
Female..."You wouldn't understand your a man"
The other 5 Females... chose to offer no explanation.

Answers:

Male..."I don't know"
Male... "who cares"
Male... "Yeh that's interesting"
Male... Why does it matter"
Male... "Let me think about it"
Male... "Who gives a ****"
Male... "What's this about"
Male... "Can I see the results later"
The other 2 males... Chose to offer no explanation.

I personally identify as human; and don't wish to be defined, labeled or marginalised; I also don’t believe that secularism in any measure is healthy or meaningful in an inclusive society.

I question why 29 out of 30 subjects had heard of Misogyny; and just one person had heard of Misandry.

Sexism is not as the dictionary suggested prejudice, stereotyping, or discrimination, typically against women.
Everyone is effected buy prejudice, stereotyping, or discrimination.
The subtleties of which is played out every day.

Let's make music with the blue flute,
The beef whitle, the fruit shoot,
the horn of plenty, the disco chick,
the quiver bone, the rhythm stick,
ding ****, a wing dang doodle,
ding ****, a wing dang doodle,
tug that rope and ring that bell;
we're gonna make the whole thing swell.
And as we make sweet music; my honey says to me; i love you, je t'aime, ich liebe dich!
oh you're such a clever ****.

The mystery of love,
Spits with desire,
Watch it evolve,
Ply it with fire,
It came from above,
Higher and higher,
A riddle to solve,
Awaken the squire,
Upon a winged horse,
Virtue and vice,
As lust takes its course,
Sugar and spice,
A terrible force,
Colder than ice,
With little remorse,
Naughty but nice.

I see a billion black boot soldiers
Marching through the dawn
In a ****** up ****** sky,
With thier standards standing high.

There’s a tale in every colour
And a line through what’s been drawn,
That depicts the hurtful images;
Of the things I can’t describe

I see a single dove amongst two spires,
Flying high above the crowds,
Calm within the sweet warm light,
With her wings spread wide; she glides.

Now there’s poetry in motion;
With her head up in the clouds;
A good soul in quiet repose,
And with her angel eye she spy’s.

A foetus in its Sunday best,
Travelling through the birth canal,
On a joyous bed of hell;
From betwixt two ****** thighs.

A brand new storey does unfold,
It’s said all’s well that ends well,
Its place of birth here on Earth;
That’s where we hear each child’s first cry.

This painter paints for me
An image I can’t perceive
Of an angel soaring high above our skies.

Soon another will pass by,
Lying in a box too cold.
In a cemetery up high,
On the top white lily’s lie.

As-if in quiet thinking,
Four corners of a box men hold;
Within the body’s final fold;
A simple sky the mourners cry.

This Artist paints for me,
An image I can’t perceive;
Of an angel soaring high above our skies.

This painter paints for me,
An image I can’t perceive,
And I sense that as one enters life;
Another light shall die.

Insects once restless below the bark,
Now skit across the torn dress that hugs the sweet flesh of my honey,
Yes she’s tired and a little grubby,
But she’s my honey just the same.

My hands clench this the object of my desire,
Six legs stride to and fro escaping this murky mire,
Perspiration runs the length of her shirt,
While fluid fertilises this ever evolving tide of ****** consumption.

Her scent inhabits the soil,
She’s breaking down from corner to corner silently in alternating triangles.
Love is written here within the beauty of her frame.
Yes she’s tired and a little grubby but she’s my honey just the same.

She comes to me in dreams In dreams, in dreams.

Simply scoop lots of Vaseline into your hands and rub it into a small fluffy cat; work it in all over and slick it right back!
you get what looks like a very convincing otter, and at a faction of the cost!.

The son of love and god scratched the surface of humanity, only to fall in love with a kind soul, for every night I slept, the monster invisible crept, naked with feathers and a bow loosing arrows blow by blow; Busily chanting songs from its celestial throne, songs that transform; inspire love, arouse jealousy and invoke war!
Please, please, take pity on these the windows of my soul, for when the son of love is seen and the temples fall, the earth will howl with the trees, the birds and bees, let sleeping dogs lie with the serpents of blind faith and beauty;
Place in a box the nectar to protect her, untill the earth grows young again, voluptuous and born of pleasure.

Above the rain below the ground,
the leaves hide her blooded shroud,
Soon her folks will sense her plight,
Through the tortured dead of night,
They’ll ring her friends, the cops, and every-one,
They’ll search for miles until their done,
And when she’s found 6 months later,
once again she makes the papers.

First they sent me flowers,
Then they sent me gold,
Then they stole every hour of my life
When they sent me down that hole,

First the ground began shake,
Then the roof fell in,
Then came the unholy silence,
That spewed the darkness from within.

The family sent down flowers,
sent down pictures of our kin,
They ticked every box on their forms,
From this place of filth and sin.

Not even a drop to drink,
Not even a mobile phone,
Down in the stinking city of rock,
Pleading for our homes.

We used to mine for copper,
It’s true they owned our soul,
Now we simply fight for survival,
as three rigs bore the holes.

35 degrees of swelter,
69 days in the dark,
we are well in the shelter,
the 33 Copiapo.

A billion eyes are watching,
As we’re pulled from the ground,
Despite the dust... the blood and fever,
The circus comes to town.

35 degrees of swelter,
69 days in the dark,
we are well in the shelter,
the 33 Copiapo.

The Lightning Man.

In life we beat out our time; knees bent, singing and dancing.
In death our spirit, reappears in human, plant and animal form, recycled; reborn.
In telling our stories; we move through the days and walk in the past.
We push up mountains and invoke the rain.
We cut our bodies; dress in leaves, oil and paper bark,
We paint our bones red with ochre returning to the womb from which we sprang.
Nothing has changed...all is as it should be.

My favourite flowers are dead; dried up by the sun, clutching the ***, the last of the lot; from whence the spring has sprung.

You shall remember the departed; shinning in the sun, adorning the ***, the best of the lot, from whence the spring has sprung.

Who are you to doubt your perfection, who instilled the idea that you are incomplete and that fear is healthy in all things; including your dreams and your beliefs.

I want to feel worthy, to be known and understood.
I want to feel relevant, just like every ******, on every socia media platform.

But here i am feeling insignificant along with all the other dreamers.

Breaking news!
Donald J Johnson withdraws releasing a startled Boris Trump.

The desire for chemical relief, playful, wilful abandonment, stirring the ***, awakening the physical urge.
Both stripped back, longing for the oxytocin fix, the serenity of melatonin and the minds hush; as our bodies push.

Abstract writing;
Using figurative words with no objective.
Writing streams of consciousness, that simply documents a perception of the now;
without ego or restraint.

(((Just write now, and make sense of it later;
It will always make sense when you give it a title.
(((A label)))((( A meaning)))

The Art of the happy accident.

A happy accident is neither perfect or imperfect;
it s a manifestation born within a state of harmony.
Sometimes; what we call a flawed thing, is simply something yet unimagined.
Awaiting its assignment, its place ?

I am driven to be an artist,
I can't be a good husband, a father and an artist, as each would require my complete attention.

At most, I am reasonable and a part time lover, but for another to love me would be an act of generosity; to be a my keeper something I wouldn't  wish upon anyone.
But here are the facts.

Nature is my mistress, bitter sweet, bitter sweet; the scent of young lilies and regret, for a woman's heart is slender, deep yet dark and tender, and as silent as the body's first caress.

My mother and my farther, and my brothers and my sisters, and my uncles, and my aunts are all quite fair, but something doesn't sit right, it's not quite in the spotlight, I'm looking at a world that isn't square.

The plastic spoon to stir your tea, the carrier bag you got for free,
the slow decline of honey bees, the friend that slept with you and me, the tragedy of fantasy, the whisper carried on the breeze, that traveled the century's with sailors on the seven seas.

Distracted by the rhythmic words, we listen to the humming birds, the nature of your natural eye encircles us like butterflies, the creature has it's mothers eyes, the lure of love flies on the wing, to take the insect and the sting, to follow ends to sticky ends, bitter sweet, bitter sweet; you're so sweet!

I love you honey want you be my girl.
Won't you be my girl for just one night.

Simplicity & complexity are a powerful combination.

Minimalism is discipline, the aesthetic is often pure and sensual; 'a simple joy’.
It strips the superfluous down to its essentials; it enables the viewer to contemplate the gaps and see the magic through simple repetition and gradual variation.

There is more room in our future when there’s less in it.

It's a setting for subtle syncopation, a place to break free from convention, a setting where aesthetic simplicity and abstract thought can combine to facilitate change, a space where human beings can create a tangible difference with very simple things; magical things.

By Pig-Man

I love you honey
I love you're honey hole,
I love your sweet nectar
It satisfies my soul...

When I taste your honey;
It tastes so sweet,
You're my honey suckle honey
and a sticky tasty treat...

Your my honeysuckle honey,
Your my honeysuckle hole
I like to tease the sugar,
from your sugar bowl...

What I like is oozy, gooey,
finger licking good,
You're pure perfection,
sweet confection,
sent to me with love.

Freedom dies with you!
What are you fighting for ?

This is your generation people,
I'm begging you; don't go to war.

Freedom dies with you!
you can't fight for peace!

I'm begging you, don't go to war.

Not in the name of liberation!

Not in the the name of humanitarianism!

Not in the name of freedom!

Not in the name of free trade!

I'm begging you: Don't go to war!

Love; a voice filled with desire, like the song of a siren; like the call of emptiness

****** into the void; I'm yours
Louise!
I kiss you gently like I kissed your ***.

I'm looking for the woman; my belly on the floor, skin like silk, our mouths full of passion and wine.

The spirit of the stairs,  
I love you Louise but I know that you can never be mine.

Oh love, love, love, love I know that you can never be mine,
Oh love, love, love, love,
our mouths full of passion and wine.

Oh love, love, love, love I know that you can never be mine,
I love you Louise with every inch of me, but I know that you shall never be mine.