obey the sea for now,
further instructions will follow in the chirps of birds,
the silence between seasons,
the friction between elderly humans,
the yellowing of the halo of angels fallen,
the rotting of discarded fruit

With tears streaming down my surprisingly gaunt cheeks,
I hide out in a public toilet like it is a cave in somewhere much more exotic than this,
I am not a ****** addict as per accusations but I don't feel so good,
Useless at collecting money for a charity
Just another thing to feel uneasy about,
My brain and happiness are a half-****** dial-up connection
I bawl my fists up like an infant testing out his hands.
I think about shadow boxing but feel too lethargic to do so.
If Floyd Mayweather is money than I am poverty
A woman who looks like a Beverley, asks me if I am OK.
I lie that I am and thank her.
Deception is a necessary weapon at times.
Perhaps I am too far from home.

Of all known tyrannies,
This is the most airy,
Each word from this day forward,
Will be silk coated
More carefully chosen
Whispered from a kingdom up high,
There are many feelings weaker than,
My hand upon yours,
Our eyes meeting,
I cannot wait to hear your heart's music,
And for it to be recognised for what it is,
Your steps will be the music that gives me strength,
With you,
The world has less sharp edges
harsh looks,

Flickering,
like a daydream,
knotted together days
losing curiosity
regarding what happens between,
polar opposites.

can't send a message to myself,
my body is willing something
false starts and abandoned plans ,
droning contained,
inside my head.
There is an inevitability to all things,

I really want a doughnut,
i think,
but where do i get one? I am vegan and in Belgium.
They are not widely available,
When I dance in my kitchen thinking of doughnuts
I am the spirit of James Brown
Well not really, he was way cooler.
Additionally, I am 6 foot 5 inches
White and have two flat feet.
I can speak Dutch though and James Brown couldn't
my kitchen surfaces are sparkling and I am possibly high off the cleaning product fumes.
Provided the manufacturer hasn't removed them for safety purposes
I really do want a doughnut.
Now, not tomorrow,
Life is short, give me the sugar,
I wonder if James Brown sometimes got strong sweet food cravings.
Could probably check google and find out,
but some things are best left unknown.

The roaring passage of shadows
concrete intrusions and sunrise deterred,
here where the stars are obliterated
and the sky is no longer spoken of,
People shriek and whisper,
night comes like a monolith
Sickness is yellow and blue,
metal is like loneliness,
everywhere and cold,
trees grow wherever the eyes goes,
roaming the dead,
a stiffness to the spirit,
that cannot be resolved,

It sticks to me like heat and syrup,
Having no answers and understanding,
Whoever you are I love it,
We will be the same and different
Matched and divergent.

There was nothing that made him want to leave the house. The world seemed hostile and uninviting; waiting to trap and mock him. A life of action seemed to evade him, no matter how much he willed it into existence. There was nothing but his own mental landscape and how it quickly it turned on him. Unfavourable memories returning like they were on loop. He slept as much as possible; awakening only to eat or to chat with people he barely really knew on the internet. When he wasn't in his bed he could smell his bed inviting but sour. He distrusted those close to him, waiting for them to prove his paranoia to be true. He spent days pondering things of zero consequence and comparing himself to inconsequential  people.

If he bothered to wash at all; he sat in the bath looking at his kneecaps, trying to produce a thought that would change his circumstances. Transcendence and an existence outside of his own body and mind didn't seem possible. He was suffocated by the vividity of his own imagination coupled with his inability to overcome his own anxieties. When they came, social invitations were quickly turned down; the act of interaction and fostering relationships seemed superhuman. The task of leaving the house seemed herculean. He neglected his talents and watered his insecurities like plants until they were deeply weeded in his psyche. He ate infrequently; destroying a once taut and capable physique.

Varnished
Almost gleaming
A voice much like my own
In my head
A pale narrator
The cigarettes were a suprise but shouldn't have been
A photo, you are my age,
There is not much resemblance to speak of,
Seaside
Seagulls screeching witnesses
What passed from your lips
Conversations somewhere

****** are calcifying words,
the metronomic marching,
of the new world,
in utero,
Static will bring to bear,
the new frequencies
metallic angels
choking out their celestial messages,
ears deaf to the
shifting of the blood current,
gabbling gods computing
as the future is weaning.

Puppet-master
You flavour cooking with untruths
your teeth are roadside shrines to in-authenticity,

your mannerisms are that of a rogue aircraft controller
you are above all, a conceited individual.

devoid of humanity
a puppet-master without understanding.

lost in the shadows of your own ego
you are a slave to your own impulses,

a hissy fitting diva
you weaponise falsehoods.

creating division and disorder
you never take responsibility and look to deceive

you are full of simulated pomposity
you are 6 foot odd of nowt.

My granda snored as loud as a shotgun going off
in a silent film,
called us tossers,
cooked us food,
picked us up from school,
was a source of joy,
set us right,
but never gave us thick ears,
in his finals weeks,
he took the time,
to tell me all he knew.

A strange kind of intrusive ambiance; voices in several languages, forced laughter, technological functioning; human activity intermarried with machines. The volume rising perfectly in sync with my cortisol levels, I interrogate  my past for signs of the path that led me here; it remains blurred. I did not dream of working in customer service; but here I am regardless, moments of my life that I will never ponder again; a cascade of  the present moment repeating as long as my employment contract exists. An event-less horizon, memories are stillborn here and true ingenuity stifled. There is much and nothing that has led me here. It is hard not to feel like a horse bred for performance in this place; everything is monitored, quantified, reviewed and collaborated. Performance reports produced with the fervor of medieval scholars translating the bible.  I look to the sky, what else is there to do; only to see smoke alarms and aesthetically neutral lighting arrangements. There is art work on the walls, but is generic, created to defy analysis. The colouring of the walls is chosen to exude a neutral sort of trendiness; on brand for the overarching corporate image.

Moans were heard at a distance,
there a point of separation
between deed and sound
untethered from chance,
dragged time is repeating,
beholden to a frail passage
in the eyes of the yielding sun.

foaming winter/hollowed out/shackled trees/brooding mother/licks tears/blood strapped/earth limb/dissuaded path/glow tentacle/downed civility/shed bonds/cascading days/lion's sight/mayhem night/echoed end.

Of all the eccentric ways

tongues given to the withdrawn ,

As the day becomes a disease,

never quite what it should be,

Numerous guises intertwined

there is a flippancy of rhythm

Knowing but not,

mouths are soiled and numb,

I speak to you through older people,
suffocating me,
Reassuring to know that
This will never amount to
Bruised and quickly passing,
Is the worst of it
Autumn now and repeating.

overt discriminations
polaroid dickensian remonstrations
elevated poo pooing of forecasted demonstrations
coalescing in a whitley bay bus stop
be sick on my shoes
angel of the overcast sky

I will fornicate with bureaucrats and syncophants
call me beligerent in an acid rain downpour
belicose victim of the jackbooted thuggery
tattooed forearms,
a conduit for satanic grunting
I hear volcanos erupting, sick sick

Debonair and not caring
uppercutting the earth until it enters a feotal position
razorblade wit and ******* upon a darras hall balcony
I would like to inhibit a physical space paramount and facile
I smell tomato ketchup and whipped flesh
unequal pleasures and sequinned ******
boot me into a grave state of mind

Expert testimony has decreed yellow,

Who are we to speak against those with seven tongues and antlers,

You sleep as the muffin man creeps

Camera in hands and remnants of sickness past upon his clothes

Your eyes Otto Dix, your face like an anguished customer at Greggs.

He, the muffin man, staggers in the night and surveys these barren lands.

At what point will you release your patterned anguish?

Expert testimony has decreed yellow,

Watermelon and disorder for the masses in their lived fury

hunters of the lowest rung,

misery and handbags at the cumulative paces from Newcastle to Carlisle

Flawed Romans and tasty Saxons,

Expert testimony has decreed yellow,

Revolt! bring down the manor!

The muffin man in his element, deckchair reclined

Bus number 1,

Was here now it is gone

Eyeliner-ed lads and young berserkers,

value centre decadence,

warwick terrace is decaying

I am cidered up and paranoid

my hands twitch omniously,

I will never ‘’be’

Dehsi bar and grill meals

Bathtub ruminations

rosy cheeks and wounded ego

watching ritualised ****** disguised as music

too much too think

confined to my mind

i persecute myself unrelentingly

I resent everything,

leaving the house to grocery shop,

I let my youthful physique dissolve

I no longer recognise myself

My hair grown

Bleak propositions

I begin to assemble empty defences

Sickened sky favouring,
eyes trembling and fixated on unending facades
Mammalian dancers bled out
bound limbs and high pitched spirits,
heated up and cauterwaling,
the fundaments detached,
re-imagined by minds unhinged,

I should have thought,
It would be easier,
Somehow haha,
It is neither here nor there,
A coincidental chain of things,
Setting in motion
Something akin to,
A dreamless day,

A wooden sort of way
Of going about,
Cumbersome,
Turtled,
Thiking about,
Nothing while,
Fixing blye eyes,
Analysing speech patterns
A superior sense of spatial awareness
Coupled with sartorial elegance,
That could be counted in kilowatts,
He/she is the incumbent ruler of a blank,
Where are our chaperones?
This is not the kind of party I had envisaged,
A monster is as much as you allow it to be,
So take me to solitude.

Airport

Covering my face with my hands, there is an incessant in-pouring of light. I feel like I am in a casket. My brain seems to be swelling, in tune with an invisible pendulum. Waves of nausea flood my body.  Small children thunder around in front of me, like hysterical nightmare projections.

I have never enjoyed being in Airports. They are morgues with an added buzz of visitors and commerce. The sterility of the interior design and the nervous excitability of the passengers sets me very quickly on edge. As a salesman for a major international e-commerce company, I am required to fly often.

To avoid excess stress and anxiety I prepare meticulously. Nothing must be left to chance. I am regimented and purposeful during my preparation. If the luggage allowance is 15kg, then I make sure that my suitcase is dead on that weight. I reweigh my suitcases on several sets of scales. Checking there is no error in their calibration.  I do not carry any prohibited travel items. I ring airline customer support several times to double-check. I rummage through my suitcase repeatedly. I allow no error to go unnoticed. I google articles about travel preparation, checklists, essential travel items and I read articles about anxiety related to fear of flying. Neither my emotional state nor practical matters are to take me by surprise. I am like a samurai undertaking pre-battle rituals.

Check-in is open. I funnel through to the check-in desk. There are several people before me; their movements generate a low pitch buzzing in my head. They are hyper-kinetic, speaking at unreasonably loud volumes in an indecipherable language. My arms vibrate down by my sides, my tongue thickens. I feel warmer and more vulnerable. I start to think about the first meal I’ll eat in Rekyjavik. I have panicked thoughts, recognition of myself in these thoughts is minimal. I swing around to check that nobody is standing directly behind me. The several people check in without issue. A man in all black clothing, I presume, a security guard intercepts me and asks me to go to desk 13. Although there is a sign hanging down from the ceiling with directions to check-in desks 10-15, I am unable to locate desk 13. I double back on myself, I ask the check-in assistant from desk 12 where desk 13 is. She says that it has been temporarily moved to the second floor of the terminal. Desk 13 on the second floor doesn't in the slightest resemble a check-in desk. A burly individual with an absence of ****** expressions or an officious manner mans an oak desk. There is no conveyor belt for the luggage, only a shopping trolley. ''Ermmm can I check in here?''. The man whom lacks an officious manner nods curtly without removing his eyes from the newspaper he is reading. "Documentation''. I hand him my documentation. ''Passport''. ''Going to Reykjavik?'' ''Erm yes''. ‘’Follow me’’.
The man, who lacks an officious manner, leads me a door behind the check-in desk that doesn’t in the slightest resemble a check-in desk. A young child with golden blonde hair in white robes pushes the shopping trolley behind me. We enter a room that is high like a cathedral and tiled in exquisite mosaic tiles; alternating gold and white into infinity. The ceiling is so high it seems to disappear off into a void. Sat down at a bog-standard mass manufactured desk in front of me, is a man who must be at least 13 feet tall, he has enormous ears like an elephant and is speaking in rounds of what sounds like the same phrase. I do not recognise the language. I am ceased from behind by the blonde child and the man who lacks an officious manner. The man with enormous ears like an elephant screams ‘’I hate Iceland’’, the blonde child laughs uncontrollably grabbing his stomach like he is holding his insides in. The ceiling begins to close in and a space opens in the floor. The man who lacks an officious manner says in a sinister tone says ‘’Do you think you would be forgiven”. I say ‘’I have got a ticket, I’m going to Iceland on business’’ I feel a prodding in my lower back and then darkness.

The night conspiratorial,
A certain unfriendly bite to it,
heaviness like things undone,
Autumn is television cackle mahogany scented,
one creature making sense
Of its biology,
Legs and arms and hearts and minds entangled,
Until lethargic resignation
Slipping our memories in years to come,
Like we were absent from our bodies,
Fleetingly appalled at my abandonment,
To what extent do the walls know?

Tantamount to the crawlspace where your emotions
are dissembled,
is the animalistic focus in your pointed gaze,
Sketchy eyed with jerky limbed motions,
As elusive as you are always around,
Or so it would seem,
Their eyes fall upon you,
no doubt,
You are a vision,
That I do not and have never questioned,
There is a fundamental lack of
hesitancy in your days,
lately you have looked let down,
Thinking of you,
occurs outside the restraints of time,
I would like to be everything with you.

It is a sickness,
That lives amongst,
The focused sky
The curious child,
And the moon illuminated.

It is an endless drone,
That wrenches our stomachs,
Enslaves our neighbours,
And breaks our spirits,

It is worshipped,
Yet will see us forgotten,
A blip on a savanna,

We must not neglect,
each other's tenderness,
pushing forward,
the unknown is a moment,
in the midst of everything.

Bleeding earth,
Of motioning limbs,
praying to the tethered sunset,
wooden seasons snubbed,
abandoned and slathered,
Between almost everywhere,
Unnamed and shrub covered,

Something found in the endless,
plain and comprehended,
Civility manifested,
cottoned on to,
scratched out with plastic implements,
roaring blood cascading,
mechanical timidity,
tongues are on a journey,
naked and dead.

Last night communing with the,
much more than anything,
but still not quite,
echoing in worlds beyond this one,
if it pierces,
empties out carefully
What is it that is never quite,
intact or playfully,
ask the sages to reconsider,
paths to the sun,

Wonderful it will be to reach,
apexed or transcedent,
finger tips dusty or removed,
which is the endpoint subtracted,
faces that are familiar,
but are no more,
bottle green,
they are everything but sad,
dowsed in caffeine again,
heart is drowning in,
stolen courage,
the day passes away,
lost and fragmented.

Barely do my Wednesdays fill with longing,

Lost observers rendering August whims to the scrapheap of infinity,

Galvanized entities downing tools schematically,

A posse of awareness pronating towards incandescent light,

Mostly everything a prolonging of jest and belly laughs,

Dawn brings the sick belly of listlessness,

Hordes of happenchance and imaginers of silence dancing,

The chitter chatter cadence does dim for a minute stretching yonde

A loose handed emblem,
of folded thoughts,
Loss is weaponized in enchanted red,
Wrongs corrected stemming from the
blissful bare signed gawky individuals.
Homage backtracked and renounced
Barely earnest calls for a curious fathom-ability
Heaven bound birdlike shadows,
Bright light gagged and janky,
Found little finger blood tacked to the earth.