Rhinestone’s being unique
The added harmony a sheer treat
Cowboy’s and horses racing by
A sunset that has turned a final sundown being a cry
The question being of why?
It’s Glen Campbell, Country Western Singer who died
Rhinestone Cowboy moving along in the western countryside
The beauty and horizon of the hills
The legend in singing in attention in be still
Glen Campbell a man who loved the west
His country western style singing says it best
Rhinestone Cowboy, Gentle On my Mind and Galveston
Those are only just a few, but there were many more
I actually visited Galveston in Texas
Mr. Campbell’s songs in let me tell you a story
My mind smiled through my pain
My heart is country western and that is what will remain
I have seen the sunrise and the sundown
But Heaven called and this is where I am bound
I have travelled from the East to the west
My every song tells of my life in being a testimony of my confess
Yet Heaven heard my endless plea
It caught the attention of Faith in singing pitch being the total key
Heaven invited Glen Campbell to come up
Your Stardom caught Heaven’s eye
But it wasn’t stardom, but the blessing being Glen Campbell’s joy to sing with expectancy to join thee
The Rhinestone Cowboy will be shining in Heaven among others who have arrived there
Heaven is like no other place compare
Glen Campbell jumped on his horse and galloped to the pearly gates
He knew he couldn’t be late
The gates then opened
Glen Campbell entered
You told the world and your fans this is goodbye, but added, “We shall meet again”.

THE STORY OF MY ALCOLIC GRANDFATHER FATHERING MY DAD



YOU SEE, WHEN ALEXANDER GIMBERT DIED, HE TRIED TO BRING THE FAMILY

TOGETHER, AND FIRST, HE WENT UP TO JUPITER, TO SQUIRT METHANE ALL

OVER BRIAN ALLAN, AND FORCE, MY BROTHER, INTO THINKING THAT DRINKING IS

COOL, AND THEN MADE MY BROTHER ONLY BE HIS OWN PERSON, BECAUSE

I WAS BEING MUCKED WITH BY BIG MENS KIDS WHO WANTED TO DRINK

BEER, AND ALSO, MY DAD, WAS WORRIED, WHY I WAS FIGHTING HIM, BUT

ALEXANDER AND CLARRY JUST WANTED DAD TO GO TO BED, TREATING

BRIAN LIKE A LITTLE SHY BOY, NOT CARING HOW I ACTED AT SCHOOL

BECAUSE BRIAN USED A LOT OF ***** MOUTH, ON DAD, AND CLARRY’S

REINCARNATION, WHICH IS RYAN CLARK, THE ACTOR WHO PLAYED SAM MARSHALL

ON HOME AND AWAY, TRYING TO EXPLAIN MY FATHERS MANS KID, BUT

BECAUSE IT WAS IN THE 1990s, THEY HAD TO GET WITH THE MODERN TIMES,

ALEXANDER GIMBERT, IS NOW DAVID CAMPBELL, WHO IS FATHER OF MY DADS

NEW REINCARNATION, ELIZABETH CAMPBELL, YOU SEE, DAVID’S BACKGROUND

MATCHES WHAT ALEXANDER WANTED FOR US, AND THE FACT THAT PATRICK WAS

INTO JIMMY BARNES WHO IS DAVID’S FATHER, YOU SEE, I GO AROUND TELLING

EVERYONE THAT MACAULEY CULKIN WAS CLARRY, BUT WHEN I COME TO THINK OF IT

RYAN CLARK MAKES MORE SENSE, AND, HE IS A PROFFESIONAL LIFEGUARD, WHICH

HE STUCK AT HIS GUNS, TO MAKE A VERY GOOD LIFEGUARD, JUST LIKE EVERYONE IN MY

FAMILY, YOU SEE I AIN’T LIKE THE OTHERS IN MY FAMILY, ONE REASON BECAUSE, I WANT

TO BE A FAMOUS ARTIST AND WRITER, AND I ENTERTAINER ON YOUTUBE, AND ALEXANDER

GETS INTO MY HEAD, TO MAKE ME KEEP SAYING, I LIKE ART AND WRITING, YOU SEE

CLARRY WANTED FOR ALL THAT HAPPENED BEFORE DAD DIED, AS THE DEMONS, USED

ALEXANDER GIMBERTS SOULD TO FORCE ME TO THROW ALL MY BELONGINGS OVER THE BALCONY

AND THEN MAKE ME GO TO HOSPITAL, TO EXPLAIN MY BELIEFS WITH A LOT OF WEIRD CHATTER

AND MADE IT CLEAR TO THEM, THAT I LIKE TELEVISION, ACTUALLY THERE IS A VERY STRANGE

SITUATION HERE, YOU SEE OLGA CHICK, AN OLD LADY BRIAN ALLAN LOVED TO TALK TO AT VINNIES

SUDDENLY DIED AND WAS REINCARNATED AS THE OLDER BOY LEO CAMPBELL, AND LEO IS PROUD

TO BE A BIG BROTHER TO ELIZABETH CAMPBELL (DAD) AND WILLIAM CAMPBELL (ROBIN WILLIAMS)

AT PRESENT ALEXANDER AND CLARRY HAVE BEEN WORKING WITH DAD, TO TRY AND BRING FUN

INTO DADS NEXT LIFE, YOU SEE, I GOT A PHOTO FRAME OF PUTTING DADS OLD MAN, THROUGH

THE POWERS OF BUDDHA, REINCANTATE TO ELIZABETH CAMPBELL, AND MY NANNA IS WATCHING OVER

US, AND HER CURRENT EARTH LIFE JOHN ROBERT REMIEL, IS CURRENTLY MUCKING WITH MY BROTHER

WITH MUSIC AND MUCKING WITH ME ON YOUTUBE, AND DAVID CAMPBELL WAS BORN WHEN HIS FATHER

WAS IN COLD CHISEL, MIND YOU DUDES, YOU SEE JIMMY WAS A BUDDHIST, AND ME AS CRONUS

UNDERSTOOD THAT MY ALCOHOLIC GRANDFATHER DIED, BECAME SON OF JIMMY BARNES

AND NOW, FATHER OF MY FATHER, HOPEFULLY WE CAN MAKE THE FIGHTING ALEXANDER USED TO

DO TO MY MUMS MUM, AN OLD FOGIE THING, SO NOW POP IS NOW DADS FATHER, THROUGH THE EYES

OF BUDDHA EVERYONE IS RELATED

The “C” in Campbell
Left my proud resolve in shambles
As I made my rounds
I took a deadly gamble
With my witless hands
I spent my plans
On sleepless nights clouded with suicide

One step from the edge
The overpass fence
Became my best defense and my closest friend
I walked aimless
Anxious under bruising skies

The “C” in Campbell
An edgeless dead-end town
I sought my self-destruction
But no self was found
Only the burnt out and bored there
Spun out on cold stares
Hung out to air dry
By the slow creek with graffiti eyes
Broken hearts
Muted lies
We rummaged through stolen goods
Sneaking an alibi

The “C” in Campbell
We thought we were so much bigger
So much smarter
But we could never deliver

Not quite beautiful
Not quite scorned
We were insomniatic
Thrilled with being half-born

A buck shy of broke
I was thinning away with every rhyme that I wrote
Like a fevered poem
I was skin and bones
So alone

The “C” in Campbell
I dream of you washed in light
Freed from that which harbors you
The depravities of night

I know your streets are not so clean
I know your stars
I know your amphetamines
I know you too can be redeemed
From mediocrity and self-pitty
The underbelly of a forgotten city
Skin and bones
So alone

The “C” in Campbell
Believe
Believe!
There’s no other way out

N THE YEARS OF 1995 AND 2007, I WENT TO WORK AT

NORTHSOUTH COTRACTORS, AND I MET STEPHEN

VOLKS, AND HE WAS A VERY ENTHUIASTIC PERSON

ALWAYS WORKED HARD, DID THINGS HE SHOULDN’T DO

SOMETIMES, BUT STEVE VOLKS DIED AND HIS MOTHER

CRIED AT THE FUNERAL, AND STEVEN VOLKS HAS BEEN

REINCARNATED AS A CAT, LIVING NEXT DORR TO ME IN HAWKER

THE CATS NAME IS JADE, AND I LIKE JADE, AND JADE IS A REALLY

CUTE CAT, REMINDS ME OF VOLKI’S LAUGH AT NORTH SOUTH YA KNOW

I GOT ON WELL WITH VOLKI, AND NOW AS I SEE JADE ENTER MY

BALCONY, TRYING TO PULL  MY SCREEN IN, YA SEE

YA SEE, AT LEAST STEVEN VOLKS, IS AT PEACE WITH BEN

MY NEXT DOOR NEIGHBOUR LOOKING AFTER IT WELL

YEAH AS JADE IS SEEN BY ME, I MUTTER TO MYSELF, HI VOLKI HOWS IT GOING


AND DAD AND ROBIN WILLIAMS, HAVE ENTERED THE ****** OF DAVID

AND LISA CAMPBELL AND LEO, WHO IS THEIR ELDEST BOY

WELL APPARENTLY HIS PREVIOUS LIFE WAS OLGA CHICK

AND I MADE SURE THAT DAD BROUGHT HIS AFTER LIFE TOYBOY ROBIN WILLIAMS

TO MEET WITH OLGA CHICK, YA SEE, THIS IS A PLOY TO BRING OLGA

TO DAD, OLGA WAS A WORKER AT VINNIES LIKE ME

AND SHE WORKED IN A BIG CAFETERIA, ONCE, AND

AFTER SHE DIED, AND SHE WAS A LOVELY LADY, A REALLY LOVELY LADY

AND SHE BECAME THE FIRST BORN OF DAVID AND LISA CAMPBELL

OLGA IS NOW LEO CAMPBELL, AND LEO IS GETTING TWIN SIBLINGS

DAD AND ROBIN WILLIAMS, REINCARNATIONS AS I WANTED DAD TO MEET OLGA

SHE IS SUPER NICE, AND I WANT DAVID LISA LEO TO MEET DAD AND ROBIN WILLIAMS SO THEIR SPIRITS DON’T STRAY

LIKE I DID, AND MANY OTHERS DID

I BELIEVE OLGA IS LEO CAMPBELL CAUSE I AM A BUDDHIST
AND STEVEN VOLKS IS JADE CAUSE I AM A BUDDHIST

STEVEN WANTS TO BE JADE, SO HE CAN CURE HIS SOUL FROM MENTAL BREAKDOWNS



OLGA AND STEVE, UMMMMMM, LEO AND JADE UMMMMM

UMMMMMM OLGA IS LEO,   UMMMMMM STEVEN VOLKS IS JADE

I'll probably go visit my parents on Thanksgiving. I'd hate to miss the way my father nods at my mother's sisters and brothers then steps backward into the shadows until he becomes them. We're having the mess at my aunt's in Seminole. Dad always drives separately. He makes his escape without saying goodbye. Leaving my mother, my sister, my brother, and I to explain the hermit.

I never ride with him. Haven't rode in a car -- just him and I -- since high school. I would lay my head against passenger window. Listen to tires press gravel deeper into the red earth. He never asked my thoughts on God, though a minister. He never asked about my classes, though a former teacher. He never asked about girls, though my father. Glen Campbell, however, he'd talk about Glen Campbell. Claimed I always looked like him. When I was a child, he'd even part my hair sharply and take pictures. What a good, little Glen Campbell. If he took his eyes off the road long enough to hone in on a power line, "Wichita Lineman" inevitably became the topic of conversation. That song would delta off into "Rhinestone Cowboy," "Gentle on My Mind," "By the Time I Get to Phoenix." Soon we'd be in town, knowing each other no better than before the departure. But we arrived. That's something.

To this day, no occasion could coerce me into parting my hair. With the exception of Mr. Campbell's funeral of course.

Tim will love your family. As I did. Still do. I thought he might only be a consolation, but looks like he's a trophy. Happy Thanksgiving, Ms. Anna Prine. I thank you. The fowl of the air thank you. The beasts of the field thank you. Tell them they're welcome.

Find the lighter, use it as a lighthouse on a walk below the wall you watch along the wave-formations. Who Wants a Cold One? a Coors Light ad corrects.. When it comes to your home, the little things matter.. an insurance ad blares.. my computer is infected with 3rd party applications unremovable to my meagre tech-ability.. there is a hero as Joseph Campbell once theorized.. in myself like a sick bastardly virus waiting for moments to prove to me "I AM THE SAVIOR, I AM THE CHRIST, I AM THE WARLORD, MICE, MAN, AND VICE".. the windows of opportunity close, I am left waiting the door

& the elevator.

Thirty-thousand years ago, there was nothing but a breeze.. a viscous breeze across chill-spined pterodactyls.. warm-under-the-jungle-brush tyrannosaurus rex, and to think one day I will be just a legend in bone..
Charlotte said she thinks of death and so did Jen. They sat next to the all-you-can-eat and discussed the inevitable. I was sour and playful with no-will-to-understand, just reminding my hair of breezy summer days of 10, thinking of strangeness, of place I was in.

When it's quiet sometimes, I think of old dreams.. dreams I sunk below drown-level as a child in bed and belief. Both mommy and daddy were arguing in the kitchen, this was 7 or 8.. they argued so often one could hear mom begin to cry sometimes, and dad I could see in minds-eye with a grimace so closed and so creased he was hurt and yet honest.. I did not understand so I hid under-stood-silhouettes, oh adulthood..

once in dream I was in pulsing green graveyard like crayon realism strobe lights, tombstones all-round and faint-buzz of outside and one of those strange balded henchmen of badguy Jafar from Disney's Aladdin came peaking outta nowhere with curled eyebrow and baggy one-thousand-one Arabian nightlives parachute pants, curled toes brown-beige moccasins to.. he let out conniving 'HEUHEE!' and slapped me right-side cheek and I JOLTED up bedwise in real time to feel actual physical sting for a few lingered seconds then the sobs of poor mother outside.. I never remembered a dream so clearly again.. they all come, Pro-Found, and dizzy away after hour or two for rest of eternity or perhaps to Place I Can Visit at Death to Review Every Vision and I wonder... when your life flashes before your eyes and the light is encroaching, scenes of mother, brother, father, son, daughter, best-friend, party, break-up, heartbreak, slip-fall, first-sip, first-drag, last-leg, first-kiss, first-hit, first-game, fear, love,  HATE, wait.. do the Dreams come to? Are they all flesh-ed before your eyes as you pass into Light? Are they brought to direct remembrance as you cross the border with Passport of Gods and a Goddess (and which Picture appears on the Page)..?

I remember the old eczema taking bits of skin to carpets round-town and round-lower-mainland to disgust of friends old and new-- this was era where confidence ate itself in mirrors, the sober reality of ugly-ness chiseling away at my Goodness Attempts.. All That Pointless Pain was no Exception nor a Rule, it just **** Happens every once-and-again to the sound of life farting. I used to miss school for feet so impossible to walk on, pussing and bleeding and staining the sheets, shoe soles, carpets, and soul.. limp thru the hallways of Brooks Secondary feeling like bad flavor additive to multicultural Planet Earth-- sleeping 'til the bell rang drinking coffee singing songs I said '**** the ******* educational system and **** me I'm so flatlined..' someday I felt things would really get better and lucky young me I was right.

A half-decade later, I am 21 and hoping, floating, free in the breeze as the wings I have grown keep on wishing the subsistence down. The girl, whoever-she-might-as-well-be, sits immediately vertical chatting frantically to boy with a bit of a cowlick slouching on-up over a bundle of colored paperwork. It seems late in the season for homework, and assume they may have some affiliation with a crazy-hep computer design group in the tradition of Nouevau Silicon Valley.... I sit at my laptop, inching a word a million cubic millimeters closer to God or Divinity or Crescendo or A Bunch More ******* You'll End Up Ignoring---

It's a sunny day, the rain having slathered-off into obscurity somewhere with the Monsoons when the Sun gave the Moon a Soft Slap and the poor purity white-kid went off whimpering, bleeding nose-- I sat, the other night, playing another Grand Strategy game as Tom divided his time between a vaulted and damaged lover, his labor, and his life (friends, food, video-games, vice)... Chai, old Chai the Thai Guy mentioned past his nose in previous iterations of Depictions sat and described his pins-and-needles upset at his bosses at one his three many jobs.. desperately firing text-messages into receiving-space-panel and reflect and back unto Tom's smartphone dash asking him to order a six-pack from a local delivery service cuz his adrenal was giving him heartpain with hurt, and Tom being Busy as All-Ways Tom Is wasn't able to decipher the scramble in-time to make contact before closure of the liquor stores.. poor not-so-poor Chai at first felt castrated at realization he would miss the 11 PM dot-time, but didn't mind as he rendezvoused with Tom and I at Willows Beach where Tom reminded him of a whiskey he'd bought sitting counter-wise at his place.. we kissed a few Mary Janes rightsideup, dragging our butts in the sand to discuss what was wrong (each of us had a problem that night, save for perhaps a less-vocal Tom, I describing my annoyance that a lazy consensus had erupted in my sorry-hometown between my sorta-friends and friends-of-friends that my writing and sharing my writing was arrogant and I an arrogant *** for sharing and I just confounded that they would find my passions so trivial-- perhaps jealousy, perhaps complacency and judgement-for-lack-of-anything-better-to-do and ah **** em all if they think like that, I'll write and be the arrogant me they think I am and share 'til I'm blue in the face and dead perhaps for outspoken intellectualism in their autocratic pointless-waste worldviews.. sad that I dislike them only on the basis they disliked me first..)

I had planned to stay late and leave early-morn (5 or 6 AM) to catch a first-off morning bus back home and sleep, hoping for most part to avoid the shattered-***-mess of a home I was living in.
About 2 days ago, give or take, a water-line for the laundry machine had erupted to soak our entirely-carpeted basement suite, forcing the poor new landlord (a sweetheart of a man named Ron having just taken possession of the house from previous owner on May 1st and, it seems, left 'holding the bag' as they'd call it in day-trading-investment-lingo) to tear out the entirely-soaked carpet and replace it with sensible laminate flooring and rendering the entire suite virtually unlivable for indefinite-few-days and so for me work and friends and especially writing become a welcome reprieve to I, a first world Refu-Jeez.. us, so terribly-off I sip a latte near sunny panorama windows-so-clear-they're-not-there overlooking the crosses of Yates and Blanshard with European church of Gothic architectural style poking heedlessly into empty-open blue.. ironically and strangely there is a liquor store quite literally right next door, and's one I shop at often for its decent prices (God is Dead or Just Drinking to Cope with Sartre and Kierkegaard's Ultimate Thesis) (Kierkegaard especially '*** Kierkegaard seems a good and long friend of God the Almighty) (...I talk with such Judaeo-Christian Catholic rhetoric it never ceases to amaze myself as it bleeds to page..) (stranger thing is, tho, there is no beginning, no middle, no end.. you read or you are bored and either/or is just fine..)

There is some hypothesized crescendo-bliss Tech Singularity on the way in the try-dition of Ray Kurzweil and William Burroughs.. Oscar Wilde to.. (see The Soul of Man Under Socialism in essay-collect book De Profundis).. one day we will all be eternal happiness expressed in song and dance and LED erected-projections of Imperfect Universe (Our Imperfect Earth) with lives stuck on infinite repeat.. our idea of Paradise.. and for those with ability to remain rushed to cortisol (stress-the-best hormone) it will be Hell on Earth, so DRAB and THE SAME all the TIME and it's READ and it's WRITE and it's RIGHT.. the world runs faster with every passing day so desperate to discover the Globe is Flat so we can Hop Off the Other Side into what one might assume to be The Better Place.. elusively picking-up speed thinking 'closer now definitely closer now' unaware (or, secretly aware and unwilling to admit for what will one do when one cannot run?) they are Running in Circles Over and Over and Over and Over and Over Again... cannot take the hint in the fact the Pacific (same Pacific) has been crossed a hugeillion times, nor the same McDonald's in the Azores of Atlantic Portugal is the Same ******* McDonald's stopped-thru on the then-trillionth time last year... and all whilst the International Space Station remains muted up-above crossing 'round and 'round 'til the Jehovah'n Day of Judgement (Chris Hadfield now below with advice for how to run a little faster even blinded in one eye..) then there are the dying Prophets Predicting Industrial Collapse who preach upon the Mount of Internet Sinai Eternal and state "the world is now unsalvageable and we are all about to die.. if ever you wished to find Buddhistic Nirvanic Peace, now is the time so start meditating and imagine Death as New Life and Geopolitics as Game".. forever and ever and ever and ever.

It is only natural to find existence to be 'weird..' layered with Who's That's and giant What The ***** everywhichway you turn.. did it start in a Big Bang, will it end in a Big Crunch, Big Freeze, Big Bang.. ? all questions once ignored for certain ignorance and resurrected as questions concerning the Nature of the What The ***** (also known as 'Science').. and if it did start in a Big Bang, did I start in a Big Bang..? and if it does end in a Big Crunch, will I end in a Big Crunch..? am I a sudden flash of REAL in a Universe that isn't me..? or am I an entire Universe.. perhaps even more than that...? the questions pulse in youth like bad words or bullets. I once stayed up all-night thinking of infinity with my head soaring space-wise forever and ever and ever and I stopped in sudden panic thinking: I could lie here up all night and all day 'til the towered age of 37 (I was 14 at the time) and still be no further on the Universal Map than from thumb-tip-middle to thumb-nail so I wrapped up the attempt with a mix of fear and incredulity, went to school next-day exhausted and tried to explain it all to friends.. they got it, I suppose, but we were all 14 and played basketball instead (I imagined infinite-spinning-basketball on thumb of Michael Jordan).

It's always best describing life in form of Disembodied Poetics.. sure some Philistines won't understand '*** their minds are made of Clockwork, Digits, and Blockthought.. but the general psychic underly implied in all with human faculty will ring-a-ding-ding! and remember all such ancient thoughts and feels as forgotten as a child, locked away until the Spirit rose-up from a rosey thorn prickle to flower straight-up into a Rose! or so I hope as a one-of-many writers-- all of which will write so-as to speak on your behalf.. all floaty and marking a purpose.

.i have come to realiße that... it's not so much what you write about... but the mere fact of writing... i can't imagine myself being subjected to something, like a narrative, or furthering a character study... i can be the object of whatever is whimsical enough to come into my head of its own accord - i want to forget forcing something to come into this puncture, this dam, this incision that i am coordinating... and it's not that i'm objecting to something, but i am not going to subject myself to - no more than a whim, of its own desires... with no attached: i think so too... it's not about what i write anymore: it's the fact that i write... if i'll be able to spew 3 thousand words tonight... i'll be content... because... i know that i have crossed the threshold of not being left "satisfied": nonetheless constipated by an instagram haiku... mind you... that's a very troubling hindsight note you have in there... wouldn't an object the size of the earth... in a vacuum of space... create its own winds to imitate movement? there is no wind on the moon... yes... and we're talking hindsight from 420BC... the moon landing happened in the 20th century... let's give it some times before that becomes an obvious hindsight too... do you feel movement - rotating - did the turkish dervishes help at all?

the fine line between: competition and corporation,
otherwise known as a: very, very, naive poo'em...

by a definition alone:
it's not so much concerning whether this
would ever become a capitalism vs.
a communism "debate"...

after all - i'm ref. walking a tight-rope...

of the latter, verbatim:
'an association of individuals,
created by law or under authority of law,
having a continuous existence independent
of the existences of its members
and powers and liabilities distinct from
those of its members'...

can i just point out, foremost,
in an environment of competition laws can be bent...
to add to: the spectacle...
the athletics doping scandals:
it's within a spirit of competition...
the sprinters are not corporating for give
a spectacle... they are competing...
for the the spectacle...
ask me again the difference between...
what used to be a competitive event
done during leisure hours...
and what was a leisure event akin
to reading...
and ask me again: the difference between
taking part in the event of competing...
and watching a competition -
and what had to be involved to give
the spectacle its architecture...
i don't think it was so much competition
as it was corporation... never mind for now...

after all... how many times have laws
been bent when watching a football match?
the passing of law is hardly an objective
crux that so many "rational" and logic-"riddled"
people stress - can be made by one man...
sure... laws in vivo - science and what not...
these objective safety-nets...
that can lead to endless to-and-fro...
but i hardly think... man is capable of passing
objective laws: in vitro... notably in -
           in unum: omni...
unless that's a schizophrenic metaphor...
which is already a metaphor when
tested on a bilingual brain...

how many people did it take...
to pass: the earth rotates around the sun?

the heliocentric model...
genesis in the west from philolaus,
heraclides ponticus,
pythagoras (hindsight...
wouldn't an object moving in
a vacuum of space... create winds of
its own?)
aristarchus of samos,
then onto philolaus of croton -
anaxagoras; whoever was
debunked by ptolemy... then so many years...
until enough time passed...
before people could take the plunge and
be certain: for old time's sake with
copernicus - well the people have been sleeping
for long enough...
enough time has passed and we can pass...
this objective truth... that the heliocentric
model is true and that the pharaohs held
no authority as the sons of the sun
in the static geocentric model...
likes Xerxes ordering the sea to the be whipped
to calm down... and become a lake...
some pharaoh must have had a wild
idea telling a sand dune to stop moving
or seeing some mt. sinai said: shrink!
so instead be said: let's build us a... perfect pyramid...
a mountain that looks... geometric from
both afar and near!

or at least that's what Homer would have
said when visiting Giza: Δ'uh!

so a single man is somehow justified
in passing an objective truth?
unless the mob encores...
but what about the jury - a trial without a jury
is any trial at all...
murky ground if you ask me...
i don't expect man to pass...
judgement for a universal equilibrium...
but what i do expect is that:
he doesn't think he's capable of this: grandiosity!
clearly he's not... the objective reality
of falling... the subjective: i'm right as
allocated the status judge: therefore i'm standing still.

competition in a medical environment...
only in the realm of psychiatry...
and the mine-field of misdiagnosed misfortunes...
but i hardly think... competition is a catalyst
for getting surgery done...
corporation, yes...
among farmers? a rare treat....
a hobby pursuit for a selected fraction of
the crop... the dear-to-my-heart "g.m." tomato...
but all the other tomatoes... need to be harvested...
but this my pet-tomato... which needs to be:
THIS BIG! another matter...

sport and competition...
but work... and competition?
no wonder work and competition,
rather than corporation gives end results as...
who's wearing the most trendy sneakers?
who's social media account requires...
the most editing? who's child is the one with
the smartphone? etc. etc.

the bait of the poo'em is that it's naive:
but i think it is - so there's that to begin with...

i still can't fathom that "capitalism" was solely
promulgated on competition -
i'm still having to address the "model" as...
having to retain a "socialist" aspect akin to corporation
to get away with... what later became:
an all out economic "war" of competition...

naive utopian of me to somehow huddle
at the fireplace of corporation...
work - if so many people hate their work...
what would be the only gratifying
alleviation? and i'm pretty sure some places of work
are less about competition: and more about
corporation - as i write this...
the british national health service...
some people will compete by cutting corners...
competition will lead to doping scandals...
competition is... an Elisium for the few
and... a crab-bucket for the some...
call them the 10% cliff-hangers...

i've noticed it in poetry... slam poetics...
what not... this affair is already riddled with too many
****-up ****-wit window-lickers:
of which i am primo...
but i don't think it necessary to compete...
this was never about competition...
not every work is required to be
tinged with competition...
sometimes... it's just better to corporate...
do... undertakers compete?
do... postmen compete?
last time i heard: each is allocated his volume
of letters... it doesn't matter whether
he finishes his chores before the other postmen...
no postman is stupid enough
to take up someone else's allocated letters...
the first finishes his chores sooner...
the latter works overtime without pay...
it's a corporation of endeavours...
all the same... but there is no need to give these
postmen running orders when
they can walk the ******* mile...

competition within the realm of sport is one
thing... i guess a long time ago...
some people engaged in competition: sports...
to escape the general lagging begin plateau
of corporation... Rome wasn't build in
a single day... others dedicated themselves to
slouch and sloth of expanding the cranium
by reading a book...

the naive is still the bait...
is conscripting in an army...
about competition... or following orders and hierarchy
and therefore: not solely about corporation?
hierarchy you ask...
well... wouldn't that be something borrowed from
plutocracy / nepotism?
competition in an army environment...
what if you're in the royal guard
competing at what... shooting more blanks
into the sky expecting to shoot down the moon
at a wrestling-match fake
of staging of a state funeral?!
the cannons sounded... and that's all these
ever did... they were shooting with
empty wallnut shells! the wallnuts were
eaten by gunpowder gremlins long ago...
before the pomp & circumstance was shot
with: aenemic *****...

this is not a capitalism vs. a communism
debate... communism was riddled with nepotism...
come to think of it...
capitalism is not there yet...
but it's already there...
from what i've heard...
capitalism as this utopia ideal is not a meritocracy:
exceptions are made...
cicero was an exception of the roman empire
under nero...
exceptions and genetic freaks...
is this still a naive poem?

i can understand where competition works -
notably in what jobs it might work...
but most jobs require a stable work ethic
of corporation...
perhaps all self-employed entrepreneurs...
"perhaps" have no corporation in mind...
to a greater degree of orientating themselves...
in that corporation is: outside the bracket...
if everyone was suddenly...
self-employed... there would be no fear of...
the robotic onslought to come...
at least then... the microcosm would open...
and there would no longer be any employees...
just self-employed facets of...
"corporations in name only"...
which they already are...
corporations in name only...
given that... the corporations are no longer
competing with each other...
they have consolidated on a monopoly...
and since they are no longer competing with each
other... they have designated their former...
inter-competition into a hierarchal intra-competition
of "employees"...

can a bus driver, or a tube train operator compete?
by law... you can only drive a bus for 8 hours...
to operate a tube train... you can do X number of hours...
and these include breaks... necessary breaks...
can you find competition in these:
ultra-corporative environments? no!
capitalism might think it is necessary to scare everyone
into: the robots are coming! time to be self-employed
and compete! compete!
but some jobs are still: primed to corporation!

could i ever see undertakers competing?
in times of a spiked demand - during a plague...
what is healthy in sport -
is not necessarily healthy in a workplace -
after all... most people detest earning money -
it's a chore - mind you: do i enjoy writing poo'etry?
am i being paid for writing it?
no... i am "volunteering"... for the love of
the art... for ****'s sake... nothing more!
nothing less!

is this still a naive poo'em: yes... sorry...
i forgot to be caustic and there's no rhyme... my bad...
but this is not a capitalism vs. communism
tirade... from the yoke of the soviet union...
i learned from my mother that...
flues weren't really that prominent...
not until the 1970s...
by then it was a common theme...
biological warfare... while the crown-virus has
yet to claim a life outside of the mandarin
genetics: in the age of propaganda journalism:
you hear a "truth" one day...
three days later you're singing along to your
own "biased" / solipstic narrative...
after a while you have to adopt the "autism"
of solipsism: the world can only bite so much
out of you... you have to turn to standards of delusion
to match to their: from the many, one...

in sport, competition is the "zeitgeist":
it's not a metaphor, it's a misnomer...
but given the " " ditto brackets - i'm tired of looking
for the: "required" word... sometimes...

by the 5th definition of competition...
it's not as direct as corporation, competition
needs to borrow from an -ology...
again, verbatim: 'rivalry between two or more
persons or groups for an object desired in common,
usually resulting in a victor and
a loser but not necessarily involving
the destruction of the latter' -

what is untrue about this is that...
the destruction of the latter is paramount...
at least these days...
am i to believe that capitalism was not,
not ever, tinged with a belief in corporation...
that it was always, somehow, only about
competition?
what was communism born from?
when did the abolishment of serfdom happen
in russia? 1861...
the abolishment of slavery happened
in england in 1865... 4 years after...
but... but!
in russia? the slaves were thought of as...
people from within russia...
in england? the slaves? en route a trade from
one foreign place to another...
wow!
all slavery: either foreign, or domestic...
and to think that communism was a "failure"...
hard to imagine... truly hard to imagine...
given that... communism was born...
4 years prior to slavery in general was abolished...
of foreign to become "nationals"...
what does english he-he-history tell us about
native slaves? four years prior to the slaves
moved from africa to the cotton candy fields...
there were slaves that were not: ***** out of africa...

reperations who's who?!
why didn't capitalism bloom in russia...
why will it never bloom - oligarchs and...
currency of modern western capitalism:
nepotism...
who is jared kushner?
mr. cushions mr. cushtie...
mr. minted in: network baron...
slavery was abolished on the international scale
in england in 1865... four years after...
internal slavery was abolished in russia... 1861...
isn't that the sort of wow you were expecting?!
so when was slavery-slavery abolished
in england?
again... if internal slavery was abolished in russia...
4 years after slavery on an international
stage was abolished...
communism was a failure because: per se...
or... was communism supposed to be...
a short-cut attempt to catch up to capitalism?
was it a failure in catching up to capitalism?
in the 2008 financial clash...
where was Poland? recession free...
again... communism was a failure per se...
but... was it a failure in terms of catching up
to capitalism?
to me... it's still catching up...
when again... we're talking... freeing people...
only 4 years prior to people who would
otherwise still be... rummaging the romances
of Kenya and seeing no albino tourists sipping
brandy on their shores...
perhaps better for the whole load of us...

i ask, again, in my naive way...
that's the difference between competition and corporation?
not much...
a football team needs to compete with other football teams,
but it needs a corporative methodology behind it...
you can sometimes spot a maverick who wants
to be the solipsist in the team and become
nothing more than the top goal-scorcer -
then again: a kevin de bruyne and the number of assists...

if there was to be a level playing field...
everyone was to be self-employed...
what fear from robots?
competition on a ford's:
each man is a cog in the assembly line...
you can't compete... were you supposed to?
i thought that the only reason sport
was fun was to be compete and corporate...
it wasn't solely about competing:
not even in tennis are you ever competing...
unless you're serving a ****-ace...
competing but also corporating:
for the spectacle: with 19shot rallies...

to reiterate: this is a really naive poo'em...
is has to be!
- again... before capitalism became this hell-scape
spiral of: fear of robotics / a.i.:
let's just see if we get enough self-employed
people on board...
oh sure: the self-employed undertaker...
the self-employed bus-driver...
i'm sure there was, what's not called:
a "healthy spirit of competition" in work related
niches of existence...

i'm an alcoholic living among workaholics...
not a pretty sight... believe me...

i'm sure that capitalism... must have began
with: a "healthy spirit of corporation"...
that one henry ford would benefit more than
all the assembly line workers: fine...
the brains is allowed the conscious efforts
to move the eyes, close them,
use the jaw... bite... do magic with the tongue...
the liver has no knowledge of alcohol...
the heart isn't exactly aware of either veins
or arteries... fine... a henry ford cigar can get
away with thinking he's not adding
a chimney to the whole affair...
or a rhine-valley load of chimneys...
the stomach doesn't know what taste is...
sure as **** the small intestine knows
what it feels like to be a woman:
should it find itself unfortunate to have
a hitchhiker tapeworm attached to it... etc. etc.

but i imagine the capitalism had a sense of
corporation before...
it worked too many psychopathic sport analogies
into itself... precursor to the fear
or a.i. robbing people of their jobs?
testing people in a self-employed job market...
again: oh sure... the self-employed undertaker...
the self-employed busdriver!
perhaps a self-employed cabbie...
a self-employed surgeon?
how would that work?

        what's that? the cult leader... would not find
a job status match... in a corporate market of ideas?
then a ******* maverick he is...
esp. with such dates as: the brian jonestown
massacre hovering over his head!

perhaps i am naive is reiterating:
work implies corporation rather than competition,
in that work implies chores...
i've seen this in my father -
he doesn't underand household chores
on the basis on corporation -
he understands them on the basis of competition...
and he's to somehow... take pleasure
in the "free bread and circus"...
when the circus is not what it used to be?
once upon a time: the circus involved
men... who were footballers...
but they also did part-time metallurgy work...
they would clock in at a certain hour...
then be let off work to play a football match...
they weren't paid: professional:
disappropriate wages...
because their "work"... was over-inflated
by the gambling syndicate dicta...

there was a utopia in Poland...
it lasted for... roughly 30 years... from 1945
through to 1975... after that the herrings
didn't want to be pickled...
the baltic sea started to boil and the fish
strarted to froth at the mouth...
it's not a nostalgia segment: i was born in 1986...
this is mythology: curating the temporal
standards of modern journalism...
history: what time ago?
50 years? elvis was abducted by aliens...
n'esst ce pas?!

slam poetry competition with fellow:
poo'em eaters...
can i jut take the armchair with Horace?
i don't feel like competing...
what am i competing for?
volume... a new YA novel?
i will not ***** language...
even if it is a language i acquired:
and it's not a tattoo native first come first served
expression...
this is not a capitalism vs. communism
affair...

all the: towel in champions of capitalism
have made it clear:
start a traditional family, start a farm...
milk some goats...
pluck some eggs... living the dream:
brown fingers and all...
                       way way out from competition
in the workplace...
so... no need to corporate...
solo does it...
                                and if i'll be needing some
milk... i'll likewise claim: an autistic
pension and enough barren land to feed
goats organic glue and toilet paper that
magically morph into... a propaganda poster...

olim truncus eram ficulnus, inutile lignum:
once i was a stump of fig,
a wood without use... this is my best Horace:
thank you, goodnight...

what is to be competed for?
rather: what it to be retained, kept, status quo
enclosed... this pride for corporation?
competition in the workplace can only go as far...
not all professions can allow competition...
some will forever retain their base:
corporation...
to compete outside the realm of sport...
sport... those with enough awareness
of the body would pursue it...
those with a bit more brain in tow...
wouldn't... the ghost limb terms:
there's nothing of note
when it comes to competing with i.q. in
mind... or corporating...
there's this ancient feat of "solipsism" and
self-bettering... rather than running
the "expected" mile...
was capitalism always this:
chicken-shack-shackled into... wishing to squeeze
out drinking water... from pig ****?

again... this is not as easy give-away
that it's a capitalism versus communism base scrutiny...
all the eastern european laid-deeds have made it into
their chandelier filled land-allotement sights of
better ****** that gynocentrism...
i don't mind...
      yes... because among the bulgarian strip-party
i'm the ottoman janissary turned
well spoken sheikh... when morocco is given...
a fictional name... and i'm the Ali
that rubs Muhammad's lamp and
averts the... most ****** schism...
oh sure... Islam would be a pure religion...
and they would be allowed to complain about
porky-pies...
but... you see... how long did it take
for a schism to emerge between the orthodox grees
and tha catholic italians?
how long did the islamic schism take
to grovel and dig trenches?
not that much...
after all... Shia... Persians... Ali Woke-oh-Haram...
and the ****'ite... the ***** muslims...
the Saudi bin-Ladens...
well... that schism... didn't take that long...
some whisper about a schism in the monotheism
of the hebrews...
ha ha! i write ha ha... but even i have to laugh
out loud... a monotheism an inbreeding
of something more than genes...
fix the idea... and continue!

by now even i know that christianity has reached
a status of polytheism...
it's the same jesus... sure sure...
via no other than the orthodox,
the catholic, the protestant (calvinist, lutheran)
standards... or the baptists... or the jay-***-***-V-and-G
standards...
next thing you know: the vegans are
the gnostic monks!
because it has to be a joke at this point...
if christianity is a monotheism...
i'm mother theresa and that albanian
that stole george w. bush' mickey mouse's watch
on a state visit...
so to complete the holy trinity...
i'll be... alastair campbell... always for the giggles...

an alcoholic among workaholics...
who always had the satan's postbox concerning
the niqab... the same ones who were to be always
quoted: the beast from the east...
jesus is coming! look busy!

i mean... no need to look busy...
when the high a tide is making a comeback...
would you believe it?
if you saw the words... united kingdom...
england, scotland, wales... ireland...
that this was not moldova?
this is a language these are letters so arranged...
by an island-dwelling folk?
if you're the first, driver...
shotgun! who are we smuggling in the passenger
seats behind us?

imagine my surprise at the rereading,
with the typo: a missing (s) in letter()
and a missing (d) in arrange(d)...
i call them... the lost key of solomon...
or my own personal, hybrid,
hard-on...
oh god kept me with a phallus...
while giving all the angels a proper chopper
of the ol' wood... **** to stump...
i'm the one that wasn't circumcised!

and all i now have to sing about... is...
a forest of pines! a forest of pines!
pines pines pines! yippy caye!

GLEN CAMPBELL HAS PASSED AWAY
HE WAS THE RHINESTONE COWBOY
HE HAD STYLE CHARACTER AND WIT
BUT MOST OF ALL TRUE GRIT  



I WILL MEET YOU AT BONAPARTE'S RETREAT
I AM THE WICHITA LINEMAN
HIS MUSIC WILL STAY IN OUR HEART
BECAUSE ALL HIS SONGS WE LIKED THEM



THERE ARE SINGERS IN THE WORLD AND THEN
SUPERSTARS THAT JUST PASS BY
BUT TOO LOSE GLEN CAMPBELL
MAKES MY BEATING HEART CRY


A TRUE MUSIC LEGEND

HI DUDES

THIS IS THE MANY SIDES OF DAD, FIRST HE WILL BOP TEACHING US MUSIC

OF HIS TIME, AND THEN TELL US TO EAT NICELY AT THE DINNER TIME

HE WOULD SING, OH ROSIE, LET’S DO THAT FOR THE BOYS

COME ON SUSIE, ROCK AND ROLL

AND THENN AFTER WHEN I ATE LIKE A SLOB AT THE DINNER TABLE

DAD WOULD CHEW HIS FOOD, LIKE AN OLD GRUMPY MAN

I WAS A BRATTY LITTLE KID, DAD SPOKE FOR THE CATS

HI FROM LADY, IN A LADIES VOICE

HI FROM SNOOPY IN A BIG MAN’S VOICE

HI FROM FLUFFY IN A POXLEY LADIES VOICE

YA SEE FLUFFY WAS THE CAT LIKE MISS PIGGY

I USED TO HAVE ARGUMENTS WITH THE CAT, SAYING MY BROTHER PUT ME IN CHARGE

AND HE SAID, SNOOPY, HE CALLS ME SNOOPY, YOU ARE BOSS OF YOURSELF

WHEN I AM AWAY, AND I WANTED TO BE THE ACTING MASTER, AND HE SAID

NO, YOUR BROTHER SAID SNOOPY, YOU ARE THE BOSS

AND DAD SANG THIS SONG WILD BILL HICCUP, OR SOMETHING WEIRD LIKE THAT

AND MY BROTHER SMILED AT ME, CAUSE, THAT LADY’S VOICE SOUNDED LIKE FLUFFY’S VOICE

YA SEE WE HAD CONVERSATIONS FOR THE CATS ALL DAY, BUT WHEN DAD WAS ANGRY

HE LET IT SHOW, I LIKED WHEN DAD SPOKE FOR THE CATS, BUT I HATED GETTING ANGRY TO MAKE HIM ANGRY

YOU SEE DAD WAS A BIT OF A STICK IN THE MUD, TELLING ME TO EAT NICELY

I HATED THAT, BUT I WAS LIKE THE KIDS AT THAT STAGE

BUT I TOLD DAD, TO GO AND **** A LEMON, HE GOT MUM’S FRIENDS TO DANCE

TO HIS VERSION OF SINGING IN THE RAIN, YA KNOW, CHOO CHOO CHA CHOO CHOO CHA

BUT I TOLD THE WORLD THIS, BUT I WANT DADS HUMOUR IN THE WORLD

DAD’S ADVICE NEARLY GOT MY HEAD PUNCHED IN AS I COPIED THAT

LIKE IF SOMEONE SAID, WHAT AM I LOOKING AT TWIRP, DAD TOLD ME TO SAY,

DUNNO HASN’T GOT A NAMETAG ON IT, BUT CANBERRA COULDN’T EXCEPT THIS

MAYBE, IT IS OFFENSIVE, TO THEM, BUT I ALSO DIDN’T STAND FOR THE ANZAC DAY

I WAS GETTING MIXED MESSAGE OF DAD AND THE YOUNG DUDES, CROWDING MY HEAD

I DON’T MIND THAT, CAUSE NO KID WANTS TO BE TOTALLY LIKE THEIR FATHER

MY BROTHER WAS A LITTLE COOL KID, WHEN HE USED TO TEASE ME, AND THEN USED

TO GET INTO FIGHTS WITH ME BY THE POOL, I MAYBE HATED AT FIRST

BUT I AM NOT LIVING WITH PAST TEASING, I USED TO THROW STUMPS AT MY BROTHER

HE WAS SAYING, I WASN’T A COOL KID, I SAID, HE WASN’T A COOL KID

WE FOUGHT, WRESTLED, AND PLAYED BACKYARD CRICKET

WITH ALL OUR NEIGHBOURS, OH YEAH THAT’S COOL AS

DAD LOOKED LIKE DADDY LONG LEGS, AND MUM WAS MUMMY SHORT LEGS

AS THEY WERE HAVING A HIT IN BACKYARD

I HAD MY VERY OWN FOOTBALL LEAGUE, AND I PLAYED FOR BRIGHTON

AND DAD PLAYED FOR CCAE, WHICH IS NOW UNIVERSITY OF CANBERRA

AND DAD SCORED ABOUT 1000 GOALS SITTING IN THE FORWARD POCKET OF OUR FRONT YARD

I USED TO GET SICK OF DAD LOOKING AT ME, AT BEING A LITTLE SHY BOY

I HAD MY PLANS TO GET ON TV, THANKS TO MY BROTHER, FOR MAKING IT EASIER

I AM SUFFERING, BUT I FEEL POSITIVE ABOUT HITTING THE BIG SMOKE

BUT MY BROTHER AND DAD’S SENSE OF HUMOUR, GOT ME THINKING

WELL, MAYBE A LITTLE TOO IMAQGINATIVE, BUT IT MADE ME THE COOL PERSON I AM TODAY

I PERFORMED IN TWO PLAYS, URBAN DREAMINGT 2003, AND MOVE SPEAK ACT FOR MINDSCAPES

IN 2014, I HAVE TO SIT TIGHT, BUT THERE IS TRUTH IN THE FACT, THAT BIG THINGS HAPPEN TO THOSE WHO WAIT

EVERY BLADE OF GRASS TO BE SOWN, MOVE SPEAK ACT HAD FUN WITH MY EVERY BLADE OF GRASS THEORY

IN A THEATRICAL WAY, MADE ME FEEL GOOD, DAD ALWAYS SAID, TO START SMALL

DAD GAVE ME A COMPUTER, SO I CAN BE FAMOUS ON YOUTUBE, WELL, HE WAS GIVING ME THE COMPUTER

CAUSE I NEEDED TO LEARN, BUT DAD USED TO TELL FUNNY JOKES TO FAMILY AND FRIENDS

THEN HE STARTED TELLING HIS LIFE STORY

I HOPE, IF DAVID CAMPBELL AND LISA CAMPBELL GET CATS OR DOGS, YOUR FUTURE TWINS IS MY DAD AND ROBIN WILLIAMS

TALK FOR THE CATS, YA SEE ROBIN WILLIAMS AND DAD ARE ALIKE, IF YA LISTEN TO THEIR HUMOUR

IROBIN WILLIAMS DID IT IN HOLLYWOOD, DAD DID ITWITH FAMILY AND FRIENDS, THINK ABOUT IT

ROBIN WILLIAMS AND DAD ARE THE PERFECT TWINS, BUDDHA DID THIS, SO THEUY CAN CROSS PATHS

LOOK OUT DAVID CAMPBELL AND LISA CAMPBELL, YOUR  TWINS ARE FUNNY

**** ANY MAN OUT OF YA COTTON PICKING HEAD, I PREFER DAD MATURE

I LIKED HISV FUN SIDE, **** HIS BIG BIG MAN, I WAS SITTTING ON THE COUCH

CAUSE OF THE FUN DAD HAD

BUT I HEAR VOICES NOW, OF ME GOING TO JAMISON SLIDE

AND SPENDING 2 HOURS ON THE SL;IDE, ATTENDING POOL PARTIES

DAD PROBABLY THOUGHT THIS WAS COOL, BUT I WAS NOT A LITTLE PARENTS BOY

I WAS A FAMILY PERSON WHO LOVES LIFE

BRING DAD AND ROBIN WILLIAMS TOGETHER JIMMY BARNESY’S GRANDCHILDREN

BOBBYE DAD, ENJOY NEXT LIFE WITH RW

I INSPIRED THIS SHOW, BUT THROUGH EMAILS, CAUSE SINCE DAD DIED
I HAVE BEEN TRYING TO BURY THAT OLD KODGER, YA SEE I KNOW DAD HELPED
A LOT OF PEOPLE, BUT TREATING ME LIKE A LITTLE SHY BOY, LIKE THE WAY
HE DID, WASN'T HELPING ME, I WAS TRYING TO BUILD MY LIFE, AND LIKE
NORMAL KIDS, I ARGUED WITH MY PARENTS, AND DAD, DESPITE HELPING
MY BROTHER AND MOTHER, AND OTHER MEMBERS OF THE COMMUNITY
AND FAMILY, HE REALLY NEVER HELPED ME, IN THE SAME WAY, HE SHOULD'VE
TRIED TO FIGURE OUT WHY I WAS FIGHTING HIM, I DON'T WANNA HEAR HIS
VOICE IN DEATH, SAYING, SHUT UP DUMMY, TO EVERYONE ELSE DAD HELPED THEM
TO ME, DAD LOOKED LIKE, THE OLD GRUMBLE *** FATHER, ON THE WONDER YEARS, IT LOOKED LIKE, HE WANTS TO TEASE, THERE ARE WAYS, FOR DAD
TO BREAK, HIS PRECIOUS ROUTINE, TO BE A BETTER FATHER TO ME, HEW
SEEMED TO THINK THAT I WANTED TO BE A LITTLE SHY BOY TO HIM, BACK THEN
IT FUCKEN MADE ME SCARED OF DAD, IN A WAY, AND ALL THAT TRIGGERED OFF
WHEN I TOLD THEM, YOUR NOT MY REAL PARENTS, TO TELL YOU THE TRUTH
DAD WAS A LITTLE SHY BOY, CAUSE HE SO NAIVE, THINKING I WANTED TO
BE TREATED LIKE A COOL KID, OR A MANS KID TO A FIGHT, I DID ALL THAT
TO TRY AND EXPLAIN TO DAD, THAT, I DON'T WANT TO BE A COOL KID TO HIM
DAD WAS SQUARE, VERY SQUARE, AND DESPITE ME TRYING TO UNDERSTAND
HIM, I STILL THINK DAD WAS SQUARE, NOW, I KNOW PAT ISN'T MY DADDY, BUT
HE HELPED ME MORE THAN DAD DID, LIKE SHOWING ME HOW TO BE COOL
DAD DIDN'T WANNA BE COOL, BUT I HATED DADS DISCIPLINE, RIDUAL, LIKE
TRYING TO STOP ME FROM BEING A BIG MANS KID, PLAYING SHOWS IN MY ROOM
EVERY TIME I SQUABBLED WITH DAD, I HATED HOW, HE WAS TRYING TO GET
THE L;AST FUCKEN WORD, I TRIED TO BE A COOL KID TO DAD, BY JOKING LIKE
A COOL KID DOES, BUT MAYBE DAD WAS WORRIED ABOUT THE TEASING LIKE
ALL PARENTS, YEAH, LIKE ALL KIDS, I HATED, BEING THE YMCA'S DIRECTORS SON
BUT, THIS WAS DADS LIVELIHOOD, I CAN'T STOP DAD, TRYING TO BE A GOOD FATHER, LATELY, I HEAR DADS VOICE SAYING, SHUT UP DUMMY, I AM NOT DUMB
I AM A NORMAL PERSON, WITH A SLIGHT INTELLECTUAL DISABILITY, AND DAD
TREATING ME LIKE A LITTLE SHY BOY, MADE ME FEEL, LIKE A REAL LOSER, WELL
NOW DAD, HAS TO YA KNOW PROVE HIMSELF TO ME, AND BUDDHA WITH ADVICE
FROM ME, PUT DAD IN LISA CAMPBELL'S ******, AND HIS FATHER IS DAVID
CAMPBELL, TO TRY AND SHOW, ME, WHAT DAD WAS DOING, CAUSE, I REALLY
HATED, BEING TREATED LIKE A LITTLE SHY BOY LIKE THE WAY DAD TREATED ME LIKE ONE, IT WAS SHOWING, THAT DAD WAS IN FAVOUR, OF THE HORRIBLE
TEASING THAT WAS HAPPENING, I THINK MY VOICES, HAVE MORE PROTECTION
THAN DAD, EVER COULD, I KNOW DAD, DROVE ME TO BASKETBALL GAMES
AND TO FRIENDS HOUSES, BUT THIS SQUABBLING WITH HIM AND MUM, GARBAGE
I REALLY HATED, I HATE BEING TREATED LIKE DAD, AROUND MY HOUSE, I HATE
BEING TREATED LIKE A COOL KID TO A TEASE, TO ANYONE, I HATE TEASING
FUCKEN LEAVE ME ALONE, YOU BIG OLD FOGIE, DAD, ALL YOU WERE DAD
IS AN OLD FOGIE, AND DESPITE ME TRYING TO REACH OUT TO YOU, YOU
STILL WANTED EVERYONE ELSE TO LIKE YOU, AND CARE ABOUT ME, I WALKED
AROUND CIVIC ALL NIGHT, CAUSE NATURALLY I WAS WORRIED ABOUT GOING
HOME AND BEING TREATED LIKE A LITTLE SHY BOY, SO I HUNG AROUND THE
CIVIC, TRYING TO BE A YOUNG DUDE, I TOLD DAD TO **** A LEMON, IN THE
NOTION, DAD WILL SAY, I DON'T WANT TO TEASE, BRIAN, BUT, WHAT IS WRONG
WITH ME HAVING AN IMAGINATION, IT'S BETTER THAN DADS ****** NOTION
OF ME BEING TOO SHY FOR THE REAL WORLD, CAN'T DAD MISS THE FUCKEN
NEWS, TO TRY AND UNDERSTAND, HIS SON, AS OPPOSED TO TRYING TO SQUABBLE WITH ME, I KNOW DAD HELPED, BUT I HATED DAD DOING ALL THIS
HE WAS A REAL ******, YEAH I WAS NICER TO MY MATES, BUT DAD WAS
TO ME AN OLD GRUMBLE ***, AND I THOUGHT DAD WAS A LITTLE SHY BOY,
ALL BECAUSE, I DESTROYED HIS AURA, THIS SHOW EXPLAINS, HOW I VISIONED
DAD BEFORE ALL THIS LITTLE SHY BOY CRAP, A NICE MAN WHO HELPS HIS
KIDS HANDLE THE REAL WORLD, BUT IN THE 80S, I VISIONED DAD, AS A
STUPID OLD KODGER, WHO IS SCARED, OF HIS KIDS GETTING TEASED
TAKING MY FOOTY AWAY, CALLING ME DUMMY, TRYING TO TREAT ME LIKE AN
ADUKT, NOBODY WANTS TO BE, STOPPING ME FROM BEING A YOUNG DUDE
IN THE WRONG WAY, I KNOW DAD TRIED TO HELP, BUT, I HATED BEING TREATED
LIKE A LITTLE SHY BOY LIKE THAT, I WANT TO LIVE MY LIFE LIKE IT'S ONE BIG
ADVENTURE, DAD, MOVE FUCKEN ON TO DAVID AND LISA CAMPBELL'S FAMILY
WITH ROBIN WILLIAMS, STOP SAYING SHUT UP DUMMY, LET ME BE COOL, YO ****

MY DAD WHISKED ROBIN WILLIAMS OVER THE CLOUD 9, TO BE HIS TWIN BROTHER

OR WITH THE HELP OF CRONUS AND BUDDHA, YOU SEE AS SOON AS ROBIN WILLIAMS DIED

CRONUS, AND BUDDHA, PUT DAD ON CLOUD 9, TO CALM THE SOULD OF DEAD ROBIN WILLIAMS

YOU SEE, BUDDHA AND CRONUS, HAVE BEEN WORKING HARD TOGETHER TO GET ROBIN WILLIAMS

INTO LISA CAMPBELL’S ******, I KNOW THEY WERE EXPECTING TWINS ANYWAY, AND BUDDHA

MADE ROBIN WILLIAMS DIE IN AUGUST TO GROW THE FETUS INSIDE, DAD, IS THE MIGHTIER TWIN

CAUSE, HIS SOULD WAS ALREADY THERE, BUT IN AUGUST, AS I TOLD YOU, ROBIN WILLIAMS DIED

TO GROW HIS SOUL INTO LISA CAMPBELL’S OTHER TWIN, I AM NOT TRYING TO MAKE LISA CAMPBELL

FEEL BAD, ACTUALLY I PREFER HER AND DAVID NOT TO BE FACEBOOK FRIENDS WITH ME,

I PREFER THIS TO BE KEPT OUT OF THEIR FAMILY, BECAUSE, I AM JUST EXPLAINING ROBIN WILLIAMS’S

ROLE IN THE ******, DAD IS ONLY MIGHTIER, BECAUSE HE WAS THE FIRST ONE DIED, AND

I DON’T BELIEVE, THAT BOTH SOULS HAVE TO BE THERE AT BIRTH, BUT BUDDHA IS LIKE THE CHRISTIAN GOD

HE CAN’T PRE EXPLAIN ANYTHING, AND ME, WELL I MADE SURE THAT DAD HAD ROBIN WILLIAMS SOUL

FOR BEING NICE TO ME, BY BEING A FATHER AND GOING TO MY CHRISTMAS PARTIES WITH MY MUM AND DAD

AND ANOTHER THING, DAD IS GIVEN THIS CREDIT, FOR NOT KICKING ME OUT, WHEN I WAS A DRUNKEN LOUT

YOU SEE THIS IS THE BEST PLACE FOR DAD, DAVID CAMPBELL MORNINGS, JIMMY BARNES GRANDDADDY

AND MY OLD FRIEND OLGA CHICK, FROM VINNIES IN SOUL LEO AND OTHER TWIN AFTER DEATH ROBIN WILLIAMS

SOULD GRADUALLY ENTERED OTHER TWIN AFTER BUDDHA KILLED HIM

BUDDHA WORKS IN MYSTERIOUS WAYS, BUT IT’S BEEN DONE NOW, ONLY COMPLICATIONS CAN STOP IT

I dreamt my tower before my tower
Arose from oak-treed woods,
And standing far above a sparkling sea
Providing welcome space: a home
From where to think, compose,
Be quite alone.

When becalmed by night, the youngest girl
Of three and yet *****, I sat and pondered
Many silent hours, the house quite still,
(No music sounding out, or I to give it sound)
And sitting so did spin a future for myself:
A castle-keep upon a point of wooded land
With sea to either side and hills behind,
No, mountains surely, and across the water
A sprinkle of isles all shapes and hues,
Their aspect changing hour on hour.

It was not arranged that we should meet,
'Twas a love match made by Cupid’s hand.
At Mrs Morran’s weekly dance he came,
The second son, a slim, dark soul,
Rich in silence and sharp looks
He did at once unlock my heart, so seated
At the instrument my hands did briefly
Falter at the keys to see him frown then look
When I began a *Menuet from Playford’s book.
I sang, but now cannot remember what,
My voice seemed strangely not my own,
But distant, far away and lacking tone.

Faining not to dance he later came and spoke
Of Mr Handel whom he’d lately seen and heard
On that great man’s brief sojourn in our city.
Masterly playing, he said, rich in invention
And delight. You know his work? Oh yes I cried,
Of course, of course I play his keyboard Canzonets
Until my sisters scold me and my finger sore
With trills and turns and ornaments apace
Such grace this music . . . and he laughed.

Six months later we were wed,
He, a most Honourable son by birth,
I, his Lady came to be.
Through music our love begat
An heir then daughters three
Before five years had passed.
And then . . .
With swiftness hardly comprehending
He became the heir and Laird
Of 20,000 acres in Bendeloch, Mid Lorn,
His father and his brother dead, their ship
The Coral foundering in Atlantic storms.
And so did Lochnell, newly built,
Become our home, its policies
******* broad Archmucknisk Bay
That favoured to the west the Isle of Mull
and to the north Argyll and Bute.

As children grew and wifely obligations
Changed I became again a dreaming soul
Returned by degrees to that first love,
My music, that had brought to me such joy,
Affection, happiness, delight.
My husband busy with affairs abroad,
I filled the house with Mr Handel’s
Strains and finding I could improvise
Upon his grounds, discovered too
That I had tunes a’plenty, and not only
In my fingers, but in my restless mind.
Whilst other ladies write and paint
I scribe the symbols of my art, and then
In music’s script composed and scored
To paper with a draughtsman’s pen.

Each day I went to seek my muse,
Would find her form in nature’s grace.
My garden walled in granite stone
Held leafy treasures safe from wind and storm.
But ascending thence through oak woods
To peninsulary heights I glimpsed afar
A fine, majestic view towards the Highland
Ranges so rich in Gaelic names (and oft in May
Still topped with ice and snow).
Such sublimity I felt when gazing
On the aspect of these distant hills
That music came unbidden to my waiting hand
And, returning to my study, I would play and write
My manuscripts till late at night.

My husband smiled at such full-fancied thought
Then hid from me a brave intent and plan.
Whilst away one spring we travelled south
To Venice and Milan, he ordered built
A tower to rise above the trees
With winding stair and tiny chamber
At its top where my small clavichord
might rest and furnish me with
With gentle sounds to speak of music
On the very peak of Gardh Ards.

Arriving home in burnished autumn’s wake
He led me to the very top, and there
Above the forest sward, rose up a tower,
A tower from whose fine granulated heights
A Lady who wrote music might imbibe
A richer view, and then in silent meditation
Take from landscape’s glory all and more.
And so inscribed upon a plaque reads
*Erected for Lady Campbell anno 1754.

'Put my hand in the hand of the man from Galilee,

that song keeps playing in my memory, and I recalled

Or I thought I did, I imagined he'd walk with me
and talk with me
Along life's merry (or was it narrow?), way

a light touch, his arm around my shoulders,
as boys are wont to do,
I axed 'im,
help me fill the darkness behind my eyes,
which I think may have been blind, at that time,

I have memories like that.
packed away in old memes. That mean something...
Gold-something...
color maybe, Goldfarv? Bloom.
Right, my augmentatious savant
looked it up and I sorted what I recalled

Google The Global Brain, Howard Bloom,
where he named a kind of
category of knowability. Memes, he called them.

And I thought, memes mean something more,
not Dawkins's, nor Bloom's, but these,
heteromemes bubbling out my belly button,
look real close.

Here a seeing being done, words appearing...

fractally featureless by the time a clock could have been imagined,

the point of the story was made,
and there is no end in sight.

Pop. Another apocalypse bubble collapses by mortality. Whaddyaknow?

What remains when a bubble pops at a positron level,
after the charge is touched and
the tension-power-loss collapses the bubble?

You should think, you know atoms work, this way.

Touchy bubbles disappear when their form is disinformed,
the wall of a bubble,
one quanta of power thick,
vanishes
as the charge that formed it flees.
That bubble,
not cloud-based, random super positioning,but
elect
tric-magi-tech, a touch screened
at the quantum accounting point of real-ification,
but, probably,
a bubble,indeed,
powered, one way or another, with a single charge,
Go, that's it.
(I charge thee, son Timothy, go)
That's all an electron does.
It goes, as soon as any sense can be made of it,
outa here, oughta hear it, clear,
ping. No charge, no bubble, but next sure as...
No, ah, when I think about that..

Hell,
somethi' from nuthin musta hapt one time,

but ya'll take no heed, this voice,
m'fallin angel, Tantan, droppin' in ol-fren, tricky hybridbast...

Noah was a tellin' Ham the truth
found in wines that moved themselves aright,
slurry tongued, and laughin' but pisstoff.

The idea of somethin' goin' south in a family,
that started up again when
ever Noah started drinkin' old wine, sayin' sbetter'n...

Old story, God damened 'em, not me, I just
built the box.

Who told you I was naked? Noah queried Shem.

-- aye, ye know, Noah was drunk,
No excuse, but you know.

Things were said, that maybe could be forgotten, after a while,

But those father wounds a man imagines worst
are the one's his son's forgot.
Forgot can't be forgiven it seems, sometimes...

The story being told is complicated. See,
the Bible is a lens,
not a map.

I've looked so long through that lens,
that I began to see the bubble formed around me,
charged powerfully with fear,
'yond my bubble monsters lurked.

But, my bubble bumped another,
purest of happenstance,
the bubbles merged and merged again,
their power building to a wave,
crashing to the shore and no more
was I bubbled in my safe place.

I found this trail up from the beach.

It got me much farther than this, should you ever
visit me.
Did you regret the defeat at Ai,
or were you
Aachen, bold?

No, irrelevant, obtuse allusion to Yahshua,
that's not in the stack,
that card's about as relevant as McLuhan's hair of the dog.

Information unformed begins to boil deep in me.

Somethin', ain't it?  All them three meter dishes shrunk down
to the size of a spoon, a teeny weeny spoon, a coke spoon,
like on Miami Vice, back when.

Satellite TV changed the desert, fer sher, but 4g, brohan,

that was the trick. Elect trick.
Future, on demand, where outhouses are still de rigueur.

Before you know it, country kids,
too poor for any but outlaw dreams,
can audit courses at MIT,
if somebody
shows him, it can be done, prove t' him
it works, faith can make things happen,
but
happening as an event, in the Deep Field,
is sorta hard to nail down to one thing,
until the very last
Planc-sec.  
Astrophysics is part of the metagame, fer sher.
But
there's some stuff that takes some patience,
to learn. Fifty year'r longer.

Everything that's old and still works is only old, not rotten.

Olde time religion, at the oldfo'k dayroom,
where the clock runs the whole show.
It's another game show. Saint Bob Barker takes a bow,
and declares the potential worth of all your eyes behold,
behind the curtain,
lies the prize.

If, if, if you are a luckywinner and
you arise when I call your name
to come on down,
fall on your knees and declare the worth...

pure gamesmanships required here, golf whispers only,
worship, 'smuch more difficult to aim for than praise.
I agree.
Praise, appraisal, worthyness, worthship, prize, what's the diff?
How comes a thing to be worthy,
in your estimation? Tell me no lie.

A feeling? What's it worth?
Depends.
Safe? Priceless! Don't shout. There's money to make.

'Got a busy-ness pre-positioned high above the rest.
A super-positioned superstion. The darkness.
See, safety is a human right.
So we sell walls, impermeable. It's always, lights on
within, then
We'll be rich and powerful wallbuilding,
citi-zen warriors fed and fattened
by those we make
feel safe, from the dark unknowns seeping in.

That's the idea. It's worked for years, at least
since
we saw the Power in Myth and
capitalized Campbell's bliss and Sagan's billions and billions of stars.

Within these walls workers will work for food and a feeling.
And Facebook.
They choose a place and stand, and do what comes to hand.
Heartily
grip what's easiest for you to hold on to,
they are told.

Attendants bring the meds, settling every disruption
of the peace the patient craves in his comfort.
The price ain't right, m'mouthmumbles...

You are absolutely co-rect-allatime, tekayepeel.

There are wishes being made,
on all manner of stars
for happy ever afters.

If wishes were askings, what if
connecting to the source of haps which,
every expert knows, haps are
all happiness can possibly
consist of.
Oh, consist.
That sticky, gluteny idea stuck in my daily bread.
It's related to resist, desist and the command to stand.
Sistere. Shield-wall and all that. Turtles all the way down.

A disruption!
Day room Now! Granpa's shouting,

This is that bomb, this is a dam buster Jesus H Christ Bomb!
I'll drop it. I swear.

Something's bound on earth to go wrong,
ever since Eve bit that apple, if she'da left that apple on the apple tree
Nah, that ain't how it went down and
songs about it don't change it none.

But, maybe this is me interrupted... in my meander.

What if, nothing is immaterial,
as an idea, it can't go wrong,
and Murphy's law, obeyed, is good, all the time.
If nothing can go wrong, it won't.
Ask the pilot flying by faith in his checklist.

What if,
asking for help helps?
Was that a message? A touch by an angel?
Spirit, the idea? An answered prayer?

Are you familiar with its role in reality?
Something makes these bubbles spin, y'know.

Ignoring is bliss, nay,
No more,
precisely, nevermore,
quoth the raven, shall the man who can read
be locked away from all the stories,
telling eventualities that
men, wombed and un,
have told and tested for ever, it seems,

Stop
striving for perfection and let patience have her way witcha,

whatcha learn can change the world.

Look back. Good news from a far country come our way.
Grandpa made some sense and we built a fort, of pillows

i have to sometimes be inclined
to allow myself to feel...
dead people leeching onto me...
and this is no seclusion mentality...
given the already printed numbers
and the readily available
population numb numbing numbers...
i am well worn and subsequently
wallowing in: to come, bargain
neon tokyo proof...

James, the Earl of Moray...
and what was "earl" Fassbender...
and this not any other Macbeth...
i am living but given my prior to:
for the dead inclined...
to have to... speak their unwelcome
tongue among the living!
which makes me!

their equal in me being twice
the unwelcome inclined!
my kingdom the shadoqw,
the rust and the dust and bone
and maxim and all that is least
gracious when all, somehow,
spring back to life!
the scythe bore smile within
the glee of the moon come mid!
and all its harvest of constellations!
too dear my love... to heave me baron over
a cousin!

and you to be gladly: towed!
the beard! the beard!
give me a year to admire my own fervent
blush of ****** *****!
before your fabrege "egg"...
scouts! half-boiled... hard-boiled...
soft-boiled...
and all those promises in between!
within this given framework...
each time i feel inclined to cry...
i want to grow most cruel...
the more i cry the more i want to be
cruel...
i want to tease...................

something that does not require
"it' being teased...

thomas cromwell and henry VIII...
elizabeth I and william cecil!
"oops" via tony blaire and alastaire campbell...
doppelgänger "oops"...
but it's not even an "oops"...
herr goebbels: goebbels nicht herr...

can anyone cite the **** doppelgänger
hollywood counter plotline - lineage?!

vorstellen! finden nicht ein doppelgänger!
nein goebbels! aber sie sah...
sogar Gunther von Hagens
ist nein Paul Joseph Goebbels!

i say! the thespian autocracy! primo?!
the actor is above the painter
and all will: bend the knew before this...
lordship of the weakest knee?!

there was a time where:
a macbeth did come before
a hamlet! you *******, porky pie!
but this is no: minding a Freudian couch...
the macbeth comes first...
the hamlet second!

stiff! in my "upper"... "prime"...
the delicacy of being confined...
the thespian autocracy is still forthcoming...
the actors still hold sway over the nunnery
and the priesthood...
otherwise i would "see" the "truth"...
should i be the next to nothing next
dumb plumber with enough
of ****** to marry a woman and make callus
the offspring wishing to
have been: better bred...
or kept in better lineage.;..

a cromwell a cecil... a campbell... a goebbels...
but just one philip augustus...
solo project...
tough on the tooth and limbo jaw..
said: crown the hazelnut!
otherwise... the flag of georgia was
never a universal identification posit
for the young turks and...
when russia would alwahys yawn...
the crusader myth...
the crusader myth: we woz izlam...
and the northern crusades against the prussians,
the lithuanians...
i almost forget that some of us vicinity cracow
barons would treat the masovians
and the capital warsaw as:
not yet incorporated...

until napoleon...
but of course... not since citing the evil empire...
kazakh and what not... turks in new york...
perfectly angry... perfectly: boring and...
Philip's in-on in-oh... does it matter?
there was only this one type of crusades...
into the... Ishlam Ishmael People-Kind sorts
of: the Peoples...
there was never a northern crusade...
the Poles never defended the last pagans of Europe...
the Lithuanians...
no... no! no! NO! that **** never happened!
we woz kurds!
all the ******* time:

me alias bin-baghdadi! all woz iz woz iz!
******* uncle sam...
******* Meghan Mcmarkle!
the blocks and tiramisu needs woz to we'write woz...
coz... trig and: Fishland! bez knowz uz as
Finnishland! sayz auz!

bongo bongo... cowabunga...
seez you better... zzz... pulling this sort of **** in
Wha-wha-usher-in-us-yah!
bongo bongo? no bongo... choke...
st. petersburg'yah?

for all this "misunderstanding"...
the plebs resorted to misuse the plurality
of the pronoun "we"... via them... and they...
one royal resorted to enforced retirement...
which gave me ample time to abuse
the royal pronoun of: one... and the "concrete" we...
i iz pleb... i iz "eastern" U-rop plebz...
not Rotherham plebz iz w and "e"...
"we"... wed to the weeds on a Wednesday...
widowed come a Friday...

any scot or velsh or essex proud is not
plebz... but uz ****** lithuanian...
mid-week ukranian and not quiet russian
or igor gweek...
we'z plebz! bongo bongo: kenya two-point-oh-oh...
best: betz ugh oh oh!
we'z plebz and we drill!
drill yo! yo!

we learn stupidz in the rapidz oh oh!
we emoji and emopticon con hierogylphic oops
a daisy lo! lo!

i don't even know who, or why,
or who "invited"... "us"... i'm never an "us"...
the ****- can speak for a ****-...
the paddy can speak for a paddy...
but i'm hardly going to speak for...
the old ones from cracow would speak...
rather differently when it came
to the masovians and warsaw...
just like the old germans would speak...
much later... when... the prussians
came down with their berlin...
things change...

it would be oh so much more simpler if...
english, a language...
was not supposed to be this medieval
lingua franca...
at this moment in time...
if i really demand myself to care...
this insomnia will ruin me rampant!
i don't want that...
i will not want that...
i will have... what's leftoever.

December 25 - 28, 2010


Stuck in Miami, Florida, because of bad weather in NYC.
Composed after reading the poetry of Campbell McGrath, who lives in Miami.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
­
electric pinpricks of
unfamiliar red and green lights,
bedroom traffic guidance
courtesy of a stranger's
tv and cable box,
an emblematic totem tonight,
of my physical dislocation,
reminders that I'm enslaved
by weather machinations.

I lay, resting uneasy,
in a strange bed,
one night too many,
snow storming in my head
snow storming up north aplenty,
a blizzard of ruminations are
my white coverlet,
while stuck in Miami.

faraway drifts have
force fed and freed
an imprisoned restlessness,
a multipurposed, slashing.

Miami midnight incision has
let out the bad humors,
let in an unfamiliar odor -
lechón asado,
which texts my Pharisee nostrils
in Cubano,
words muy ironico,
a single waking thought,
"who ya kidding?"

Everglades rain
imported from California,
recycles on rooftops,
thrumming a heart beating,
syncopated, watery refrain,
a regifted heavenly present.

the sound waves mark
as a barely undulating wave,
inside this super soaked brain,
that transforms wine into water
and scan lines into these letters,
"who ya kidding?"

all this exponential signage
of this NYC boy grousing, are his
defrocked muses annoying,
with a serenading blizzard
of one trick pony repetitions,
coronets trumpet his unmasking,
this essay, a revelation,
a product of their
harmonious discordancy.

a single note crowns his head
as he weeps whole food
organic, non-recyclable tears,
products of his new inquistional,
a self-inflicted interogatorial,
"who ya kidding?"

compiler of an
occasional talented catch phrase,
strung'em together like
cheap pearls,
pretensions of literary acumen
once populated his Id,
articles of spilled word *****,
but Florida rain has cleansed
his Northern haughty pretensions,
with an injection of truth serum,
a pharmaceutical wonder of
a local poison labeled,
"who ya kidding?"

A day laborer, nothing more,
rise up at five, brown bagged,
a client of Mammon's *****,
soul sagged, life hagged,
a sum of cultural cliches,
a cell phoned baby boomer,
a would be millennial,
constructed of paper mache,
who on occasion,
has been known to say,
"Let's play poetry today."

the poseur chokes
on this new poison,
delivered by unhappy stance
by the arrows of his
current misfortune
for he now suffers from
the deadly disease of
"compare and contrast."

a slim book of poems
of Campbell McGrath's
(his phraseology,
a veritable theology)
shoos the blues traveler,
over to a funhouse
where an honest magic mirror
cuts him down to size.

his poetic aspirations,
a residue of self-infatuation,
are summarily dismissed by
the truly gritty, quick justice
of a master poet's
"who ya kidding?"

so watch how a would-be
poet disappears,
in a barrage of bullets marked,
nevermore,
his dignity, more than hobbled,
his cheek, gone, gobbled,
his juice, a currency unaccepted,
his holiday present,
a ceasefire of conjugation,
a cornucopia of declinations

dare I ever write again?
who indeed, am I kidding,
other than myself?
I am an addict, not a poet.

A Verse In Time: A Trickster’s Alchemical Approach to Memory in Three Waves

(Warning: The following collection contains depictions of three waves
of the psychedelic experience—particularly with God’s allies, Los Aliados, the mushrooms—and like the psychedelic experience each wave possesses its own waves within itself.  Ride with discretion.)

.

Wave I: The Allies’ Nursery Rhyme

The Allies
came to visit
and take me
on a trip.
No need for boat
or bus
or plane
or even rocket ship.
The galaxy, as they explained
resides inside your mind,
The portals to the universe
are windows you call eyes.
Instead of always looking out
you should try to look within.
The ending you have always feared
is exactly where you begin.

Yes, all the spans of time and space
exist in you behind your face
and yet you cannot understand
that nothing is a race.

Oh wait, please be careful with that mirror
when we are here and you draw nearer.
Don’t let the face of everyone replace your face with fear.
You are Horus, Mary, Jesus Christ, Cervantes, and Shakespeare,
and all the men from beast to mice, from oceans down to tears.

And so they pried behind my face
and pushed me on through outer space
and soon enough I understood
there never was a race.

It all exists right here, right now—
the past, the future, the grass, the cow,
the vast, the nature, the cash, the house,
the king and the savior
the beast and the mouse
are all your creation,
your relation,
your spouse,
your Path,
your Bible,
your ‘Gita,
your Tao.

It is all
of your moment,
It is all
of your now.

For you are the mystery
of that which you seek.
You invented the minutes, the hours, the weeks,
the deserts, the rivers, the valleys, and peaks,
your digits, extremities, elbows, and knees.
You created the cure, you invent the disease.
The labyrinth is you and
You defeat it with ease.
To master the Minotaur just follow the string
Discover the dinosaur, discover the king,
discover this grandiose song that you sing,
and uncover the truth of the message you bring
when you ring bells or

Stroke piano keys
and make the doctor sweat.
The pranksters shifting shapes again,
it’s time to make a bet.
With silly laws of threes and fives, this riddle I repeat, replies
that by the time the rhyme is over, the trickster will arrive.
Gliding up in cycles by, the prankster grins and winks his eye.
He fabricates a fluffy fix with fuzzy snow white lies
to bring the doctor to a six then down to four inside
and bring the tempest to a wave
on which the four can ride.

Do we glide?
Do we slide?
Do we fly really high?
Do we bobble and sink
with the rise of the tide?

I remember the brink
the cellular stride, the following leap,
the primitive mind
I remember the dirt, the water, the fire,
the wind and the ether,
the passion, desire.
I remember that art
can never expire.

Do we depart?
Do we retire?

The answer is yes,
The answer is no,
The answer’s the same wherever you go.
It’s never too fast,
it’s never too slow
and you are never the last to not really know.
For the sun always shines,
the moon always glows,
the old always die,
the young always grow,
The seeds that you plant
are the trees that you sow,
from the bees and the ants
to the bulls and
black holes.

It is all
in your stance.
It is all
in your
soul,

When you follow your dance
the bliss
takes control.
Take your place
in the play
and master
your role.
The Aum
is your home
it’s inside
of your dome,
Whatever
you wonder,
Wherever
you roam.

And so it flows behind my face
the universe of time and space
Now I understand that time
is invented as the race

Yes, you are Borges, and Buddha, and Krishna,
and Lorca, and Vishnu, Dickinson, Lennon,
Eliot, Gandhi, Marley, McKenna,
Campbell, Picasso, Alpha, Omega.
You are your enemy,
your stranger,
your neighbor.
You are the peasant,
the king,
and the savior,
the mandala man,
the cosmic *******.
You are the taste
You are the flavor
and you are
the wave
the unwavering
Creator

Even us
as they explained
merely extend from you
A mirror to the macrocosm
for you to gaze into.




So when you get lost
within your lies
and cannot find
your rhyme,
Gather inside with your
Allies
and master
the maze
of
time.


Wave II: Contemplating The Allies’ Advice

Thunderbolts of cackling giggles
shutter through your vitals, shaking shoulders
and squirting tears from squinting eyes.
Exciting when dimensions hidden creep into your line of vision,
morphing mapping iridescence with a fleeting fuzzy phosphorescent
undulating elfin presence following your every contemplation.

Concentrating on a caterpillar crawling up the wall
how curious, this furry beast has fingers not to fall.
He folds into his fuzzy form, a sleeping bag to keep him warm,
a little home as still as lead.  He hibernates and contemplates,
waits and waits and transmutates into a gilded butterfly
that flutters through my head.

Violet translucent landscapes bleed through grass and trees,
focus on a precise place of time and space and witness the birth of the human race.  Projections made in fuzzy fourth dimensions quickly fade
if your gaze should wander.  Positioned to ponder,
you plunge into prepubescent wonder as a shooting star splits the sky wide open revealing heaven and everything under the sun is tune and the sun is eclipsed by the moon.  And once again, the music comments chronologically on your moments, as if all these notes and lyrics were cataloged to sync with the scenes of your epic voyage.

Destroying contemplation again, the sea ***** the wind through the trees
and blows a blue marine breeze through your hair.
Do you dare take the time to recognize the punctuality of the gale?
Should your frail and fragile mind be dangled from a line
to flap and fluff and figure out the nature of the rhyme of our mother?
You are your brother, your keeper, and your lover.

All the lines align and oscillate in cadenced flow,
the more you see with your mind the more your mind will know.  
A ****** brain may strain and throw a fit
if faced with the tricky truth of the third eye
Surprise! Who knew that Jesus Christ could sprout from cow ****?
Can you believe it?  Wow, Bob, wow.
Where do you think we got: ******* and holy cow?
Heaven is the here and now
and every time you try to leave
you lose what you have found.

(* All words in italics come from    
   various songs, films, works of        
   literature, etc. and are not the words    
  of the author.)


Wave III: Los Aliados Wake

An apple carries a story deeper than the tree,
More nourishing than the luscious skin,
More central than the seed.
for the apple gave original sin
and knowledge from within
and fell upon the head, announcing gravity.
Have you ever heard the tale of Johnny Melon seed?
(The apple is global, so I wonder why,
what could be patriotic of pie?
Is it not just a strudel,
a pastry disguised?)

The colors we create
distort. manipulate.
The fools who follow fear
are doomed to find their fate
between their ears
where the colors seem
to blend and stream
and almost disappear.
To wonder why we’re here
all colors must appear
and merge into the blinding light
that obliterates our fear.

All your dreams, your fantasies, your symbols, and beliefs,
all a compass pointing you to endless mystery.
The treasure that you seek
resides inside the Self,
A jewel within the rock,
A book upon the shelf.


I bought the ticket,
I’m taking the ride.
I’m spiraling miles through the bowels of time.
I’m spinning and laughing
and losing my mind
and finding
it always returns
just in time.
It’s right where it left me,
so I’ll leave it behind
and return when
I’m ready
to relish the ride
with a bite
from the apple
of my
holy
third
eye.

canto 1
I call her daddy my own. He felt nothing for her when the time had come for him to do something he fell and she felt nothing at all, nothing whatsoever. It is a cruel world, mateys, and the best thing you can do is curse God and die. Hard to ditch the pity act. Ditching is denying and there is much truth to the lie.

canto 2
Their eyes bubble in the open air, they fill to bursting and scrub until they scratch. **** drips. It's a sound that I will never forget. A sight that should be reserved for the dream world...a stench unrivaled.

canto 3
The Chinese bomber is persistent. One has to wonder why he bothers at all, seeing that his attempts have been futile up until the present moment. It's shoe week, so I guess he has his reasons. But this has gone on for far too long. If there were a way for me to stop him I guess it wouldn't hurt to try.

canto 4
Random parking lots and good God what have they done? I thought it was all over, these thoughts were through, these voices are mad. Usually it's not as upsetting. Your car door gets stuck, you know, it happens all the time. It happens every day, still you never get used to it, do you? You're always stuck inside that ugly mirror.

canto 5 (the "missing canto")

canto 6
I want to tell the world how good you are. Amazing and incredible. **** and *******. Talented and unrestrained. Honey nut Cheerios. You give it but I have a sneaky feeling you would rather be lost in a dream. A banal night vision. Comparably

canto 7
I want to make it better. I want to see you smile. What can I do? You are my own heart ripped from my chest and given wings to fly. Your smile is a lost treasure I would do anything to get it back to give it back to you, I didn't mean to take it away from you. You push me up against a stone wall and you don't even realize you're doing it. That my soul cries and prays for something real, for some kind of explanation or even an excuse would be fine right now. Instead I float. Not the way I like to float. I drift and crash, a dizzying spiral out of control, confused and dumbfounded by the realization that none of it means a ******* thing. What I thought was love turned out to be a jester's game, a joker's trick. You don't need me anymore.

canto 8
I hide myself behind a blanket of stone where you cannot spit fireballs at me without cracking an egg. Cold breeze tickles my news. It's not too chilly in this room. But the fireballs warm things up. "Blanket of stone"...what a stupid expression. Why do you have to be so hateful to me? How many times can a man say I'm Sorry without losing an eyeball?

canto 9
I have no right to feel the way I do. I don't think I can control it, though. This is one of the ****** up idiosyncrasies of my confused existence. Vanish without a trace and look for clues in the alphabet soup.

canto 10
Weariness is like a slug, a giant slug, a parasite infesting my body, hanging on and hanging out. A fire down below that waits for my imagination. My sleep patterns are getting ****** up but I'm not sure if I was sleeping or just dreaming I was awake. Under the impression that it doesn't matter? Well, you are a stone fool for thinking that way. You've never experienced the life-changer. Else you would know. But all I want to know is this: Why am I afraid of sleep?

canto 11
Things get slow. Patience is required, but I don't have any. Why does it have to be that way, o cruel dictator? You get a kick out of this ****, don't you?

canto 12
Spill your guts, maties, it's the only way you'll ever come out of this situation with even a shard of dignity intact. I know it's early and you haven't had time to adjust your eyes and your wrists for this delicate task. Go! Do it now before you lose confidence.

canto 13
We took a holiday and it was so nice. She stood there on that stage without a stitch of clothing on her voluptuous body. Baby, don't you let your hairdresser down

canto 14
Who doesn't love breakfast? Me, actually.

canto 15
I can't help it if I'm changing every day. Ask the question later, maybe my answer will be suitable. I don't think I can help you because I'm not like anyone you've ever known or will ever know or can ever know or would ever want to know and why do you keep wanting to know where I've been? I've been right here. Right where I've always been. Haven't moved a muscle.

canto 16
This is the 16th and I should be proud but the apathy seeps from my very pours. That little ******* was about to take a **** in the corner. When I picked him up to take him to the paper he dropped a couple of turds on the floor beneath me. I guess he couldn't wait.

canto 17
Sometimes things change so much that it's hard to tell if they're for the best or the worst. It is at these times that I enjoy a good evening on the water, enjoying my yacht and eating peanuts from another man's sack. Salted peanuts with pickled eggs and deviled ham with a side order of angel food crack.

canto 18
My wrist hurts and I've lost the will to **** socks.

canto 19
The lawn chair has been placed under extreme scrutiny. It's rocking motion is being scientifically tested and arranged for packaging. The physics of this miracle are in the process of logistical infiltration. You'd be surprised at how useful a rocking lawn chair can be in a world tangled in war. It's a good place to relax. For paranoids, that is.

canto 20
Bird feathers of a different post, it has never made a lick of sense and the promises made were broken. Who was that man in the bird suit? Why was he making all those funny noises? I'll have to investigate. Lawd have mercy I do believe I've **** my pants.

canto 21
Don't come crying to me if you feel misunderstood. I can read right through you and I know that all you're doing is fishing for a compliment. You will not receive one from me, Salty Dog, not because you don't deserve one. You probably do. But not from me. Perhaps you should take up your case with Hoda Kotbe. Who knows but that you might look really, really good on television. Just remember to feed the dog before you leave. He gets hungry. But he doesn't miss you. I don't mean to break your heart, but the rational man within me is very convincing when he tells me you are a real pickle.

canto 22
Those comments are found particularly offensive in light of the situation in the Gulf. You need to regulate your interest in beans. One day you'll fly to the Middle East looking for peace and all you will find are demons like the ones who raised so much hell in "The Exorcist". You don't want that, do you? Settle for Ranch Style and leave the diplomacy to the masters.

canto 23 (the "lost" canto)
I wouldn't wish this on a barrel full of monkeys. They say that time heals all wounds and I suppose it does. No "if"s, "and"s or "but"s. Don't believe me? Listen to 'em snarl. They're hungry for blood and sandwiches. I owe you nothing, so perhaps I'll send you a good time from New York. You gotta love a trapeze artist.

canto 24
I'm trying my best to change the world but the fact remains that the human race does not deserve the kind of tender loving care that I'm well known for. This holiday event will not include high temperatures or the kind of crap the weather people try to sell you.

canto 25
******* Valhalla. This is how it always seems to wind up, isn't it, Pinnochio? Just when you think things are getting better, BAM, ****** up again.

canto 26
You know you've reached a severe point of boredom when you switch to the Daystar Network and find yourself singing along to the bogus faith healers. Pecans on that one, please.

canto 27
Plug away, Sailor. Keep plugging away. When you get there you can say you plugged away with as much vim and vigor as a much larger man. Slough it off, O Great one. Keep sloughing it off. When you get there you can say you sloughed it off with as much skill and empathy as one might expect from a lizard. Or a monster frog.

canto 28 (the "twenty-eighth canto")
Come, look at my incredible collection of dice. Right next to my collection of mice. Next to that bowl of rice. Sugar and spice, everything nice. My head's full of lice. Don't think twice, just break the ice. Pup your puppy dog in the freezer.

canto 29
My toes are cold and so is my nose. I should be concerned with this situation but, strangely, I could care less. There are so many other, more important things to worry about. Like how many frosted flakes are in that box over there. And is there any milk left? And is it the real deal or that phony 2%? 1%? Skim milk is even worse. If it gets down to that point I'll save the money and use tap water. Don't think for a moment that I won't.

canto 30
Colored pencils expect risque answers to tame pencils. Unfortunately the quality of superior eggs is relative to the ice cream that has dripped down your shirt. You're starting to smell bad and I would highly recommend soaking in vinegar for an hour or six.

canto 31
There are times when I wish the planet would implode and **** every living thing into a void. I don't wanna die, but if I'm gonna I want everyone else to come with me. I'm tired of hearing about God's word. But even more so John Hagee's special gift for your love offering of any amount, the super duper Bible verse audio player, with selected passages read by the man himself. You can leave him behind.

canto 32 (the "same as the 31st" canto)
There are times when I wish the planet would implode and **** every living thing into a void. I don't wanna die, but if I'm gonna I want everyone else to come with me. I'm tired of hearing about God's word. But even more so John Hagee's special gift for your love offering of any amount, the super duper Bible verse audio player, with selected passages read by the man himself. You can leave him behind.

canto 33
Yazaa, yazaa, yazaa I told you I was gonna steal that car. You didn't think I had the guts, did you? But look who's laughing now! That guy with the big flower in his pocket must really feel like **** right now, realizing that his awesome vehicle is no longer in his possession. Maybe get an ice cream cone, maybe feel better.

canto 34
Come out of your hidey-hole, scurvy dog. Rat scabies be breathing down your neck and it's cold and old and you'll do as you're told. Pinch back that stray lock of hair, O Queen of Sheba. You shall spend the rest of your days parked on a green chariot overlooking Lake Erie

canto 35
You could have given me a reason for the season. Instead you had nothing to offer but a huge chunk of pepperoni that had mold growing all over it. Admittedly it was delicious but surely you could have come up with something a bit more expressive of the tender emotions I inspired within your fluttering heart.

canto 36
The prospect of a news reporter calling you a crack head based on information gleamed from your Internet social network profiles is quite terrifying, but when you tie the noose you might as well make sure it was time well spent. It's a shame you shaved your head because the painful truth is that now you bear a striking resemblance to Telly Savalas.

canto 37
Energy. That's what is required. And not just the kind of energy you can get from sugar, caffeine and butter. If it were that easy you could be **** sure that the Catholic Church would be the first in line to canonize it. They have a burning desire to fall off the wagon. "Which wagon?" you may ask. The one with the ice cream, of course. Don't be a fool.

canto 38 (a "short" canto)
If boredom is a sea in which one can easily sink into and drown in, I must be swimming the Atlantic.

canto 39
When the dog barks like that it's a sure bet that he's been neutered in the last few days. It's a sad and sorrowful sound that is only recognized by **** knockers in the deep woods.

canto 40
I could stare at the bars of this prison for the rest of my life. Okay, that's *******.

canto 41
Who was it that once said time is the only reliable concept in the universe? Oh, wait. That was me

canto 42
They tell you to wait. That's what it's all about. Wait, wait, wait, wait until I can almost feel my hair turning gray. The estimated time is currently number 7 the estimated hold time is 4 minutes, thank you for your patience. Well, you're welcome, comrade.

canto 42
I've only to surrender you to the world, lie down and wait for it to crush me.

canto 43
If I can only keep it together...if I can only hold it together this one time, I know the gravy train will come my way. Would it do any good to pray? This isn't the first time that enlightenment and illumination have reared their blessed heads. Would that I could live within them this time.

canto 44
Have I told you lately how much I hate to wait? Thinketh not that the Chair has lost it's financial imbalance, the very thread of chocolate that brought you here. It is still a very important and, some would say, a hot topic regardless of the amount of grime, sweat, blood and V8 juice is spilled on it's ivory shaped pear seat.

canto 45
The shadows turn into cloaks, dark itchy woolen capes that enfold the nothingness beneath them, the nothingness of being. You could have worked a little longer and a little harder on that one, amigo.

canto 46
It's been awhile but my wrist still hurts and I've written the word "moon" on the back of my hand with a Sharpie.

canto 47
I'm movin' this **** to WordPress. No I'm not. **** WordPress. Press WordFuck. Word FuckPress. On and on and on and on and not the least bit clever or entertaining. But I do like steaks.

canto 48
I swear to God I wish I had never taken that first hit of ****. Look what it's done to me. After so many years, I guess I was only fooling myself. Or maybe I was so dumbed down that it didn't seem to matter. But now things have changed. And I can do nothing about it. Dump a can of Campbell's Chunky Soup into a bowl, throw it into the microwave, let 'er go for three minutes, let 'er cool down in the oven for a couple more, stir in a quarter cup of Tabasco sauce, let 'er cool down for a little while longer, mix in a ****-load of Cheez-It reduced fat crackers and then go to ******* town. Go to ******* town, I say, **** the stoner days.

MY GRANNY IS HAYLEY FROM THE BRATAYLEY YOUTUBE SITE

YOU SEE, IVY GIMBERT WHO WAS MY GRANNY, LEFT HER LIFE

IN JANUARY 2004, WHEN I WAS SICK, AND RE ENTERED THE WORLD

AS ANNA IN BRATAYLEY, YOU SEE WHAT MY GRAN IS HOPING

TO ACHIEVE, IS HER GRANDSONS ALL OVER AUSTRALIA

WILL WATCH HER VIDEOS ON YOUTUBE, YOU SEE YOUTUBE STARTED

IN 2004, AND BUDDHA MADE IVY ANNA BECAUSE, THIS IS A WAY

TO REFORM MY EVIL JINGLES LIKE OOPS PLEASE KIDNAP CHRIS

YA KNOW TAKE HIM HOSTAGE TIE HIM UP AND, ANOTHER THING TOO

BUDDHA, WANTED FOR MY GRAN TO BE A HIT IN CYBER SPACE

SO GRAN AND NAN, CAN BE TWO INTERNET SENSATIONS, YOU

SEE NAN IS JOHN ROBERT RIMEL, GRAN IS ANNE, AND ANNE

IS THE OLDEST SISTER, I AM SURE, GRAN IS TRYING TO SHOW

HOW SHE ACTUALLY WAS, BECAUSE, A LOT OF PEOPLE REMEMBER

HER BRI URN, AND ME TRYING TO SHOWSHE IS LIKE  LIKE THE BIG KIDS, BUT BUDDHA REALLY

THOUGHT, IT’LL BE HEAPS BETTER TO PUT IVY INTO ANOTHER GIRL

YEAH, THIS WILL BE FUN SAID IVY, AND IVY WAS PLAYING AROUND IN CYBER SPACE

WITH NAN AND GRAN, AND THEY STARTED UP THESE CLUBS UP IS SPACE

WHERE I CAN PLAY AND HAVE FUN, YOU SEE GRAN IS A BIT DIFFERENT AS SHE

IS GOOFING AROUND AND NAN, IS A 14 YEAR OLD SINGER, SHOWING OFF HER

CREATIVITY WITH THE GUITAR, THROUGH JOHN ROBERT RIMEL, AND, AT PRESENT

HAYLEY IS ENJOYING BEING THE CENTRE OF ATTENTION WITH HER SISTER ANNIE,WHO IS GRAN

AND BROTHER CALEB WHO IS PETER SARGENT, A FORMER KEANE PLACE KID WHO KILLED HIMSELF

WHO DIED IN A CAR ACCIDENT, AND THESE 3 KIDS ARE KNOWN AS THE BRATS, WHILE JOHN

ROBERT RIMEL IS WORKING ON BEING A MUSICIAN, AND THE REASON WHY I KNOW THIS IS

BRIAN ALLAN IN CANBERRA IS CRONUS, AND WATCHES EVERY LIFE, GO FROM DEATH OF LAST LIFE

TO BIRTH OF NEW LIFE, CURRENTLY I AM KEEPING OUR FAMILY TOGETHER, THROUGH BUDDHISM

YA SEE, I HAVE A SPECIAL GIFT, OF BEING THERE IN PREVIOUS LIVES, MY VOICES ARE THE AFTERLIFE

I CAN’T HELP IT, IF I AM CRONUS, DUDES, AND IN 2003 I WAS SICK, WHEN I WISHED GRAN DEAD, I DIDN’T MEAN TO

BUT I CAN ASSURE YOU, BUDDHA TOOK CRONUS OFF ME, SO I CAN THINK ABOUT MY SPECIAL GIFT OF LIFE

BUT I MUST BE CAREFUL, THE INTERNET AND SOCIAL MEDIA, ARE THE BEST WAYS OF GETTING YOUR STORY OUT

MY GRAN IS ANNE FROM BRATAYLEY NAN IS JOHN ROBERT RIMEL, DAD IS ELIZABETH CAMPBELL,

MARK JONES IS SUPERSONIC 3 YEAR OLD LIAM, AND THERE ARE HEAPS MORE TO NAME

MY GRAN REALLY ENJOYS BEING HAYLEY, YA SEE IT’S HER FAVOURITE

THE PARTY IN THE AFTERLIFE, WITH IVY GIMBERT, MAKING THE WIGS AN IN THING, AND A CHEAP WAY

FOR BRIAN TO BE CREATIVE, THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH BRIAN’S TAPESTRIES

AND IVY’S NEXT LIFE ANNE'S FAMILY HAD A PINK HAIR WIG, JUST LIKE MY SUSIE WIG

AND MY GRANDMA WHEN SHE SAYS BRIAN’S LIKE US, COULD SHE MEANS ONE OF THE CREATIVE FAMILIES

I AM PARANORMAL, I CAN’T HELP IT’S A BELIEF

UMMMMMMMMM SAVE US FROM THESE ONLINE KILLERS

UMMMMMMMMM THEY ARE JUST TRYING TO ENJOY THE FUTURE OF TECHNOLOGY

UMMMMMMMMM PLEASE SAVE OUR YOUNG, UMMMMMMM THEY ARE TREATED LIKE TOYS


UMMMMMMMMM STOP THESE INTERNET PREDATORS, UMMMMMM FROM GETTING THEIR WAY WITH VICTIMS


UMMMMMMMMM  THE COMPUTER ISN’T A TOY, IT CAN BE DANGEROUS, DON’T LET MY OLD ME, IN ANY OF YOU

I DON’T WANT PEOPLE GETTING ME WRONG  UMMMMMMMMM I WANT ANY SIDE OF KIDNAPPER OUT OF ME



UMMMMMMMMM PLEASE COUNCIL BRETT’S FAMILY  UMMMMMMMMMM PLEASE COUNCIL BRETT’S FAMILY


UMMMMMMMMM THESE INTERNET PREDATORS MUST BE STOPPED, UMMMMMMMM  BURT IT’S HARD TO STOP THEM



UMMMMMMMMM YOUTUBE IS FUN AND UMMMMMMMMM DONE IN THE RIGHT WAY, FACEBOOK IS FUN


UMMMMMMMMM  YOUNG DUDES, BE CAREFUL, UMMMMMMM YOUNG DUDES BE CAREFUL


UMMMMMMMMM  DON’T MAKE STRANGE FRIENDS, UMMMMMMM CHOOSE YOUR MATES CAREFULLY


UMMMMMMMMMM CAUSE, THIS IS A HORRIBLE EVENT UMMMMMMM  HELP GIVE EVERYONE PROPER COMPUTER CLASSES



UMMMMMMMMMM ON HOW TO HAVE FUN ON COMPUTER  UMMMMMMM MY DAD WHO DIED AND BORN AGAIN AS ELIZABETH ANN CAMPBELL


UMMMMMMMMMM  ALWAYS TRIED TO UNDERSTAND TECHNOLOGY  UMMMMMM DON’T LET INNOCENT BOYS BE CAPTURED BY COMPUTER GEEKS


UMMMMMMMMMM  NO COMPUTERS ARE FUN, SOCIAL MEDIA IS FUN  UMMMMMM  BUT PREDATORS ARE DANGEROUS


UMMMMMMMMMM DON’T LET WHAT HAPPENED TO BRETT, HAPPEN TO YOU, UMMMMMMMM TECHNOLOGY IS FUN, UMMMMMMM TECHNOLOGY IS FUN


UMMMMMMMMM  BUDDHA ATHENA AND CROBUS, WHO IS ME, TO STOP ONLINE PREDATORS, GET THE HANDS ON OUR YOUNG

UMMMMMMMMM   EVEN IF THEY ARE YOUNG THEMSELVES,    UMMMMMMMMMM  YEAH, BRING US PEACE FROM STUPID PREDATORS



UMMMMMMMMMM  I AIN’T COOL TO ****, UMMMMMMMMMM  LIKE THE MAN DOING BURNOUTS IN THE CARPARK UMMMMMMM IT MIGHT LOOK FUN


UMMMMMMMMMM BUT IT COULD’VE KILLED THAT LADY, UMMMMMMMMMM IS IT REALLY WORTH IT,   UMMMMMMMM IS IT REALLY WORTH IT


UMMMMMMMMMMM IS IT REALLY WORTH IT, TO ****, FOR TECHNOLOGY, UMMMMMMMMM IT DOESN’T IMPROVE THE WORLD

UMMMMMMMM TO SEE ONLINE PREDATORS, GET THEIR WAY, UMMMMMMMMMM UMMMMMMMMMM UMMMMMMMMMM

Betwixt of any sense beyond experiment, I sat on the bed between shifts and out-whipped the bag of Concerta given to me by Matt, o'timey hard-worker-soft-souled Matt, who felt, perhaps, that I had a legitimate reason to explore this legal avenue of pharmaceutical mind-manipulation for reasons he would rather fathom in retrospect. I popped a single pill, and voilà, the legal-cocainnabinoid began to flow between my red and white blood-cells playing cops and robbers.

It is when I feel nostalgic that I feel the need to write. I remembered, at work, with all those strange everyone-elses faces gliding past (and myself annoyed at the general lack of positive reception "Hello there!" "h .. i ." is one sour-looking businessmans sultry whispered reply.. once, a woman told me 'look, I know that you are told to say hello at the door to everyone who enters, but I don't like it. I just want to shop in peace, and no, I don't need any help' and without case to what my managers could say, I somewhat-hissed-back, "if you don't want to be greeted, then perhaps you shouldn't walk into big private corporate establishments to find the books you're looking for," and she shrugged and muttered some ****-talk under her breath and glided upstairs to find a copy of Ayn Rand's Fountainhead or Machiavelli's The Prince to validate her bitter attitude, I bet, the sour witch), my time spent living in that backwater Esso suburb of Port Coquitlam back in 2011 when Occupy Wall Street was still a hungry potential, not yet bogged down in procrastinates over herbal teas and talk of chakras and enlightenment and how the typical Wall Street businessman probably never had a real ****** and hence had never truly satisfied the energies now burnt-to-crisps inside his Root Chakra or whathaveyou, where I believed I would find a better, more interesting world further from the musty-smallness of forest-drenched rain-drenched Powell River, only to discover I may be right outside my front door, but that's EXACTLY where I was, no further than right outside my front door.. I mean, for Goddaskes, I was born in Vancouver, this isn't a culturally-shocking move to New Delhi or Kathmandu--- and so on and so forth is how I once berated myself thru constant cycling thoughts of no-escape, I, a little walking hell of devils-advice and panic disorder-- the Great Big Port City of George Vancouver only succeeding in further overwhelming my already delicate attempt at false optimism thru self-voided Buddhist smalltalk as I travelled from bookstore to bookstore reading Alan Watts in shady attempts to save-myself but only digging my walking grave even deeper into the soil of feared-insanity.

Port Coquitlam itself was a small-town wearing a business suit and holding hands with an angry father forcing him to college for computer networking as it's the most economically viable market at hand.. at first, I did not see this. I saw my idolized imaginings of Vancouver (never Port Coquitlam), the shining water-reflected skyline of my past and present legacies, where my father once snorted ******* with a bohemian group of someones, and my mother tried LSD just to prove to her friends how bad it was (and lo and behold, what a terrible time she had!), all this Otherness, Strangeness, yet still Connected-- an Otherness with which I was taken, left to whisper into empty Campbell's cans so-as to speak with the city from a distance, two children growing older together 'til my inevitable return and our agreement to share costs on rent.

I returned, as planned. I returned, and found that old-best-friend hating the Homeless and loving the Rich-- spending time with the Peppy Plutocracy whilst enslaving the Middle Classes (first Letter Capitals to Assist YOU in Grasping my Anger with All Five Thumbs) and the horrors I saw in my already delicate state, all the starving addictives slouching-inching down the sides of ***** old walls, the only thing missing a smear of blood to follow their corpseish collapse, all just footnotes to history, footnotes to wealth and progress-reality, all footnotes with no shoes O my God O my Goodness and O Canada, Our Home and Native Land!

It hurt like it did, but I felt powerless and gaited. Felt like it were just as well me (*** it just as well is), I, in Vancouver.. *Great Big Port City of George Vancouver.. saw the end-stretching-cold-legs of Nietzsche's Dead God.. those in cutthroat-black-suits armed with calculators and wives could afford private jets and yearly trips 'round our globular strangeness whilst others had to beg and berate and debate and break-down to get a crummy old bagel and a past-due mostly-empty jug of old milk and perhaps a 'side of fries with that order.'

What crushed me so much about this playing a Witness to God's Death (or, not so much a 'witness' as a relative asked to the morgue to identify the body) was my intuitive grasp that this is the poverty of the First World.. this is not as bad as it gets and on a scale of 1 to 10 this would only be a 3.. all the poor and displaced of Eastern Europe.. Moldovan families indifferent to the whims and what's taken.. someone called me a Socialist and said I would later grow out of it as 'reality' angled its rearing-ugly head to chop me smithereens like it did so mercilessly to the Poor and Irrelevant.. I looked at them and still look at people like them and think 'that is evil unsure of itself.. that is evil unaware... that is evil and evil is  evil to watch..' the Evil Act being the use of Money to purchase the world, demanding us all to pay royalties (mass royalties) for the privilege of life so afforded by them.. (the Sons and Daughters of God first stabbing their father then stabbing themselves then locking away and ignoring their young brother with cerebral palsy '*** he could never be armed with a calculator, nor wife)..

I learned, thru practice, to cope with these evils as laws-for-now. Coping did not mean tolerance, nor did coping mean agreement.. I had charged at life expecting hugs and bottles.. what I got was hugs and bottles.. all while I watched over the shoulder of whoever embraced me and saw young-others doing the same, where are the hugs and bottles..? they sank into the nether as the crowd ebbed past, ignoring the cries of pleading love, pleading love over time so traumatised as to distort this love (so inherent and implied in the Heart) into confusion, confusion into loss, and loss into hatred.. as the crowd ebbed past, the crowd ebbed past..

After 3 and a half months, I moved back home to Powell River.. the soggy ol' calm of what I already knew.. the warm arms of the rest, the warm arms of water-reflected sunsets.. and I got my hugs and bottles.

but was this really a happy ending?

like *******'s paint splattering on canvas
like Warhol's Campbell soup in print
like Cunningham's democracy on stage

she loves him like that; she loves him like Art

the day when my uncle ray became sunday rose kidman urban




you see when my uncle ray pocock died in 2006, buddha was having a hard time trying to put him in

another family, and then uncle ray asked cronus to force keith urban to have *** with niciole kidman

to create a new life, and ray has been trying to search for a way to enter nicole’s body, it was like a

blessing for my uncle ray, you see my grandma who died in 2004, 2 years before ray, decided to

hold a sunday roast when her family went to bed, you see they had methane plants and chicken

and potatoes, and uncle ray decided to die and enjoy this sunday roast of the cosmos, ya know like help make it

and my grandma said, ray, how about when you reenter this world, your earth bodies name will be sunday rose

but you will force barry to hate the name, trying to explain that it sounds like sunday roast, which is cooked by me

and then my grandma invited cronus and buddha and athena to the sunday roast, so that uncle ray can be reincarnated

into nicole’s ******, with the help of keith and when they did the initial bit, it was a good wait, and then in 2008, sunday rose

was born, and it was ray pocock, and ray brought on the roast in her name, sure ray is a girl in his current life, but whether

he is a she or vice versa, it doesn’t matter, you see from the day that sunday was born and then named, this was going to

be a bumpy ride, seeing that ray pocock was a reverend, and died to be apart of the celebrity life, you see from that day ray and

my grandma has been hosting a big nightie conference with the whole family, to reform violence in the family unit, and ray brought

barry allan up there to get him to change the way he talks to brian, and also ray would invite nicole and keith in to meet his

previous life’s family, you see as nicole and keith are preparing to be good parents to their two kids sunday and faith, and ray

was given a job as our family’s joining, so he can make sure we are alright, and that is why sunday rose, is just walking around with keith and

nicole instead of being big youtube junkies, you see they were famous, but they wanted to be there for sunday and faith, for every turn

of their lives, ray was brought toward nicole in a party on jupiter and they bonded, just like mother and daughter, and ray went to buddha

and said, i want to be nicole kid man’s daughter, i want to learn how a famous person goes about living their lives, i like to bring barry allan

closer to liking the famous way of life, and i want to be named sunday roast, and force barry to get puzzled, so the name was not very long away

as the name was sunday rose and then ray was given the new life and buddha and cronus said i now pronounce nicole and keith’s new daughter

as sunday rose kidman urban and in the rose, r meaning ray and o as the second letter of pocock, but nicole and keith has a better meaning to the word

rose, and now sunday rose is 7 years of age, and ray pocock is considering himself the new GOD, flying around keeping all the families together, but the

problem is, families aren’t perfect as we are still having kids being kidnapped and people being stabbed or murdered, and ray has a lot to do

and another thing ray wants to do, is reform brian allan, by getting into his mind and telling people what is going on, even if it destroys other families

but if it destroys the family, ray explains to brian to write with a messed up brain, so you don’t reveal much about what cronus is doing, but if it makes

you as messed up as a hooligan, you must tell, and expect people not to like it, and then ray said, he is the NEW GOD, he is trying to keep domestic violence

and aggression out of his old family, now every time a picture of sunday rose goes on the internet, you can feel that ray pocock is at peace, you see sunday

is enjoying her life on earth, and i suggest to nicole and keith, that they have a little angel amongst them, and this was the sort of angel to lure brian away from

his old mate, because he was too negative, and from that moment  brian’s mate was getting panic attacks, and ray and ivy forced brian not to help him, as

he was a little negative ****, and he needed to stand on his own two feet, as ray got another mate to tease him and getting another mate to make ******* comments

driving him mad, and ray knew this was a hard job, so he made brian rave on about sunday rose and forced a conversation about when celebrities have babies

and then ray teased my mate, by making him think he controlled the world, to, i don’t know, lure him away from brian, because brian was trying to keep positiveness

with his mate, and then as it was hard to get his new mate out of his life, ray pocock forced an old friend to tease brian in his mind, treating brian like a little negative ****

to get rid of his negative friend, so that ray, can enjoy life as sunday rose and ivy can enjoy life as annie from brattayley and lucky can be baby **** and barry can enjoy life

as betty campbell, and not worry about, brian’s stupid mate unleashing his negativity onto brian, because what ray was thinking, brian would be positive without his mate

constantly around sprouting negativity in his head, and hopefully find out what brian really wants to do to keep positive, and one thing brian likes to do, is write out his hooligan

and cronus is a hooligan, because he is old, and brian needs to tell us all what is going on with cronus, to clear his mind, and one thing is, to never have brian and his mate dan

walk past and ray pocock is watching over his old family as well as watching over his new earth body sunday rose

BRIANO ALLIANO PERFORMS AT JUPITER MOON


hi dudes and welcome to jupiter moon where i will chuck a methane smoothie all over dad

so he can stop treating me like him at home, you see last night dad used the old young dudes

tp say i am not like my mate pat anymore, no, don’t want to be a cool kid to my dad, but i can

clean my house to what i like, and nothing more, buddy, so if you treat me like dad, you must

except i want to be a poor man, because dads way will never work, he should work on betty campbell

here is cruising round with red bull


I see some sorry old soul walking around the town, with a leather jacket on and a red bull in his hand, you see he looks kind if ***** and ****** up in the head he also looks so droopy, too, he should be home in bed, he'll go into JB hifi, if they'll let him in, that is and then he'll notice his red bull can is empty, he didn't know what to do, and everyone is staring at him, he yells out really loud WHAT ARE YA LOOKIN' AT YA ******, and nearly gets into a fight, and he was going completely crazy, yes he was weird, so ran through the mall, saying, I have to get my red bull, I have to get my red bull, I have to get my red bull, it's a f..n matter of life and death, if I don't get a red bull now, I swear I'll **** someone, waddaya think of that, everyone was saying as he passed thinking this man is cool, I think he's a loser cruising around with his red bull
When he got his second can open it up and it squirted everywhere, and unknown to him that half the can was lost in that squirt, so he cruised around with his can saying howdy to the chicks and saying hi dudes to the chaps, and, man he felt so cool, as he went over to JB hifi, yes his red bull can was empty again, and he yelled out ****, this time he was really ****** violent, he knocked over an old lady going to the bank and punched a yeah mate yeah kid,  (nerd) in the gut, and he was like that all the way to the red bull shop, when he got their the red bull was sold out and the store clerk said we have red eye, mother or V, and he said I don't want those, they are woosey drinks, I only drink red bull, because about 1 hour the man was taken by the police, as he was cruising it gives me wings, as I left he saw a kid who bought the last red bull, and he offered him $50 for it, and the kid said, money comes and money goes, but this red bull stays with me forever, and he got violent threatening to **** him as such and the kid said, ok dude, keep ya shirt on, give me $50 for this can and I will give it to you, they exchanged what they had and the kid went to the police station to fill in a statement saying he was threatened by a crazy red bull ******, and in around with the kids red bull, the police took him away the kid identified him as the guy, whi would convert to violence, to be cruising around, oh yeah, yes, man cruising around with his red bull, what a loser

and now here is my next song, called go to bed little shy boy, because i feel like a hooligan with my itchy feet, and i feel like i am getting kidnapped on earth because i am a tad messy, cause dad will never help me, when i do work, i feel like a lady, well, ****** oath i am a
lady to a tease, but i don’t want to get teased though, so i am a man
You see, you are still a little shy boy, and we are still teasing you
So, now you are working, man, come, leave us
And let us muck around, we want to smoke our bongs
As well as drink our bourbons, and drink 100 beers
Yeah we all feel cool, and don't wake up little shy boy
We want the adults to not bother us, cause we are having so much
Fun, we don't want to be adults,and don't want you to worry about us either
You see, all the men, are sitting there, trying to muck with them
Saying tease him, if you want to tease, just teaee him
But at the end of the day, man, we aren't really teasing
We are sitting up all night, being bums and young bludgers
And it's because you are such a ******
We might be making it seemed you are getting teased
But, we really want to leave you alone,,if you leave us alone
Cause, we are drug addicts,,and we want you to respect the fact
That we don't want to work, as long as you think that you aren't a young bludger
Everything will be already, but young bludgers go to bed for work
So mate, just enjoy yourself, and smoke your bongs
And have a good time, doing it
You see, I want to enjoy ourselves doing this
You are now leaving us all on our lonesome
See ya dudes
yeah, i don’t wanna be a cool kid to tease so i say to you, shut up cockbreath, here is my next song


I am a man and other men are teasing me with the kids
This is driving me crazy, I told them that I am a man
And I don't stand for this kind of juvenile behaviour
You see the kids didn't listen to that, they just laughed
And for a while each man kept on trying to be mature adults
Which we all know they're not, said for the kids to leave me alone
And then said, he isn't a target for teasing
But then after 3 days, the men said, what the flaming ****
We are going to tease this ****** yuppie
Yes, we'll tease them with the kids
The kids would teaee and when you go to the men
The men will teaee them too. They will act like all other Australians
And tease you as well, yes and they will ****** find it ****** fun
You are suffering cause you haven't got many friends

And the kids are laughing, while the ******* men say
You are a fucken big old softie,and you are now with no friends
Then you get a knife and try to stab him
And after that you punch him in the back
And then you draw out your knife and threaten to slit his throat
If he doesn't stop fucken teasing him
But they go, I am teasing you, and that's the only way I am being



You see when I go out of my bedroom after having a night of ***
The kids ate teasing me, left right and centre
And I try to handle it, but it's so ****** hard for me to do
Because they are saying things like, I am going to bash you up
And giving me a pineapple drink which was ****** wee
close to you
So if the kiddies are teasing you, and you turn to me, to get me to muck with you
I will say, I ain't mucking with you, mate, neh
I am just teas---ase---ing you with the kiddies, you aren't like us, cause when we tease you
Mate, you can't handle it, and then you say, you are spastic, and dumb as well. And I will punch you with this metal part of my leather glove, to show you who can't fucken handle teasing, you **** of the earth, fucken man
Then you go to your room, and they don't talk to you anymore
Because they are treating you like a target to tease
And that drives me crazy. And i yelled out
I AM SICK AND TIRED OF BEING THE MAN WHO IS GETTI NG TEASED BY MEN AND THE KIDS,  LEAVE ME THE **** ALONE
And they did, I am now a free spirit, no one can successfully taste me, never


yeah, i don’t wanna get teased by the men and kids, so i will be a hooligan oops, i am a cool person

you see, i am a polite man, hey, what did you say, you are protecting me with your hey, so i want dad to fly off, ok

have found a polite way to

I have found a polite way to say I love you even if I don't really mean it
I have found a polite way to tell you to ******* when you constantly bug me at my place of work, and that is treat him like an employee and then sack him, that'll work
I have found a polite way to tell someone that their weird without making them get upset
I have found a polite way to say to a right wing party that their policies stink by saying, you guys are a bunch of total perfectionists, who care nothing for the little guys
I have found a polite way to tell someone that they aren't the right sort of friend for me by saying, please mate, I need to broaden my horizons, so can you leave my perfect world buddy
I have found a polite way to tell my boss that I am resigning and that is I really don't want this place of employment, it's not really my cup of tea
I have found a polite way tell someone in a bar to stop bugging me by asking them nicely to please leave me alone and if that doesn't work then leave the bar saying if people aren't going to be nice to me here, I ain't going to come here
I have found a polite way to call someone a young bludger by telling them that they are as lazy as you were when you were their age
I find polite ways to say anything because I value my
Life too much to be hurt people's feelings, I am really cool, man

ya see i hear voices of people saying i have no real problems, but i wanna be famous, and i want to move to adelaide, but i don’t get positive feedback

so i feel like getting drunk and vomiting like this song

You see I love to have a few beers, or chocolate, and chips, oh yeah
This was what I really enjoy when I go to a pub at night
You see I live next door to this nightclub, called the hungry ****** horse
And I ain't cursing because I want to, man, that s what it's called
I met a man named Roger Killbert, who I had *** with and having a few
But the beers weren't doing good for Roger, they made him really sick
You see he was getting drunk and vomiting, yes, he was really sick
I don't share children with him, so why did I stay with him
You see he lost his family in the recent fires, and this is the first time he went out
And Roger was getting a sickly taste in his mouth, oh yeah
And it made him *****, he was sick,
You see it was just vomiting, so I didn't bother to take him to hospital
But I changed my mind, when te blood came out, it was really bad
So I took him to the hospital, and the hospital said he fine
But I know in my fucken ****** heart, that he was sick
Then he vomited blood, and the nurse said
To Roger to go to the waiting room
Because this isn't too important, but we do know that it was
And I said, why don't you get your *** in gear
And help my fucken friend, and from that moment
They labelled me a stubborn girl, yes I hated that a lot
And I said, yes, I'm stubborn, but I care for him, and have you got
Someone you care about, you hear about doctors like you
And I am more than just a stubborn woman
If you don't look after my friend, or at least try
I will soo your pants right off
He fucken had the nerve to say on what grounds
I am trying, to be my job, follow work protocol
Yes, I am doing fine, I earn a lot of money
And I deserve every cent, then I said you deserve squat
But I don't really care, when we left, yes I sooed his pants off
And since that ****** day, this doctor never learnt his lesson
We were moved to another hospital
You see he is getting drunk and vomiting, and he was very sick
And we are enjoying spending his money we got out of the doctor
Yes I feel ****** good

you can get your earth bodies to look at aaron clayton or aaa youtube TV, to hear everything performed by me

here is my next song


now, i will tell you where my cool kid is, at the mall mucking around
you see I go to the mall, being with young people
And I have so much fun, making young people mistakes
Like drinking all night and passing by McDonald's
For a McFeast and fries and coke
I will look like a junk food hooligan
And yes I will look so cool to the young
But I wish it was as simple as that
I want to have some fun
So I saw my two friends Eddie and Daniel
And we mucked around having fun
But it wasn't really what I wanted, man
So I told them both to *******
For 3 years after they purposely ran into me
And call me Woosey, and um, they will put the smoke in their ear
And eat McDonalds while I will try to be an adult
And every adult decision I make, they said Woosey, Woosey, Woosey
And then I got up and said you kids make me sick
But I couldn't say that, and they called me Woosey, because I was
Too Woosey to be a man, that opens up to his problems
But I felt like trying my hand trying to intimidate them
And make them leave me alone, it drives me crazy
All I want to be is a normal young dude, you know
Playing around making mistakes as well as being cool
But I have **** like you two teasing me as if your friendship is a fucken lie
You look like greedy pigs when you eat your McDonald's
And you are a ******* when you bang your head against the tapes
Yeah, dude, you look like a Woosey to me, mate
I am just doing the kind of things that Patrick did
Because what he likes to do, is similar to what I like to do
I like hard rock music, but I ain't a little young dude
Who is to scared to escape the tease
You guys are two little Wooseys, and I will say you are Wooseys
Mainly because you eat little young food like maccas
And you stick the cigarette in your hair, like a ******
I am a cool young dude, cool young dudes do art, and don't look lost
I'm not lost, I am so radical dudes, let's party
I am now on the healing process, because Daniel is the only Woosey
And that's the truth, you see


you see, how many of you guys have been called a woosey, you see i believe in loving life and here is my next song

i still wanna be young, what is wrong with that
Yes, mate, I am happy and I feel cool
I feel my body is getting younger and I want to break the adult rule
Mind you, there is nothing wrong with growing up, and being wise, so to speak
But really that's too formal, man, doing that will just send you weak
You need to do things that are exciting
Like go on an aero plane, like to Thailand or Vietnam, or even the mighty USA
You should go on long rail journeys too, yes that's a bit of a buzz
You can either choose having a sleeper, living the lap of luxury
Or roughing it up on the single ride seat
You can also grab a hot meal on the train
And you can eat it in the dining car
And you can eat it up, real fast, so you aren't away from the seat too long
I also like a bus trip, like to Batemans bay or beyond
And a trip to Sydney. Melbourne, Brisbane, Hervey bay, gold coast, and fantastic Adelaide
I go into a club and if I hear music I will either tap my foot or dance to it
Depending on the mood of the place
I also like to stay in a Hotel, and watch a bit of ****** Rupertvision
Some shows are good, and thouroughly entertained me so much
But not enough to make me give to that rich *****
I sometimes like a good trip in the country, where I climb mountains
Or just look at the views from lookouts and even the wild life
And mind you, you can have a ball in the country, cause you have no main worries
No worries at all, sonny Jim
Then you can spend the weekend in Sydney for the Carols in the domain
Where you get in early, pick a great spot, and take in the Christmas spirit
Mind you, you have to wait in line at the toilets, but it's all in good fun
And mate, if you happen to lose, dad, or even your mum
Just go to the stage, and tell them that you are a lost boy
With no directional skills, and how do I find mummy again
Of course they will help find them, but you really just wanted to get on the idiot box
And mate, just wait for the hiding you get off mum or dad
For wasting important television viewing time
There are so many things you can do, but, mate
You need to get a job, oh yeah, don't make your mum and dad pay
That can make you uncool
You see, I am a 43 year old young dude, yeah
And I will be there, till the day I join the afterlife, oh yeah
i hear voices of people saying, i ain’t going to help you little cool ki, ****** oath i am cool kid



Hi little kid, you can't find your mummy, you are a baby
Cause this is a family event, and it's quite ****** safe
Just ask a fellow kid, sure you are safe little kid
But then another kid will come, and trick me into
Looking like a phedaphile, and I won't be able to get out of it
So little kid, keep looking around for your mummy
And, yes you will see her, and I ain't helping you
Cause I am not the kids teasing Buddy
You see I want kids to let me be a true grown up
Who wants to be cool, and have a lot of fun
With other grown ups, and if kids can think of Judy being with each other
The city will look after their needs a lot better
You see, I dressed up as Santa, but I ain't helping you kid
So *******, or I will put you in the toilet
Do you want that, I don't fucken think so
I can tell you, I ain't no kid, I am an adult
Who wants to have fun and enjoy life
I don't want you kids to come up to me
And ask me to do something inappripiate
Even if it looks innocent, it ain't, I aren't that type of guy
You kids are a pack of fucken losers
And just keep yourselfs in your family groups
Cause that will suit me just fine, because
I ain't gonna he

i am an adult, and i am ok

i hate old misery gutses winging all day

you see i am a cool adult oh yeah

i live my life to the full, like it’s a big adventure

people are calling me a big fat boy, and i hate it so much

burt i am a cool adult anyway

i think i am better than anyone else

cause i like helping the homeless

while i asm trying to get people to help the poor with me

so they don’t be a **** that they are today

you see i hate pats voice in my head

cause i really liked him, and they are trying to turn me off him ya see

like i know i am an adult, but i am not awn old biddy

i don’t wanna be a cool kid, cause cool kids bully, and i am no bully

i love my life too much to bully anyone

my dad was a weird kind of fellow,

treating me like the cool kid, i never wanted to be

when i was young i wanted to be a cool kid, now an adult

i am an adult, i told my dad, in the cosmos

and dad is now a little girlie, betty, oh dear betty

ya see, i am living my life right buddy ole chum ole pal

i am an adult

adults don’t discipline

adults are creative like me

adults are nice like me

i like patrick when we were younger

we joked around together about TV shows and watched FOOTY together

and partied together, and cause of all that, i was wanting pat to

come to the nightclub or the club with me

that is when his voice started saying, I AM NOT YA DADDY

please, i am not trying to force patrick to be my daddy

i thought we were good mates or friends

please don’t give me delusions like dad, patrick was nice to me

i am living alright without him as a mate, but it would be great

to get rid of that daddy figure, out of him, and me

because dad is dead, and i went crazy before dad died, ok

throwing my iPad over the balcony, i still like computers

i am no woosey for life, dad hated that, i felt it was the reason why he died

so he can tease me with his next life

i hate dad putting his daddy in my mate patrick,

because, my mental illness still forces me to be crazy

only rich arrogant ***** are nasty to me

dad was a ****, ok

i never really made him smile

if anything, i want dads next life to sort of make him understand

what i visioned, but in the next 6 years, ok

i will help the force treat dad like a shy girl

how does it feel DAD

Rugby, Warwickshire
16/10/2015

Unholy streets of G-d, liquid tobacco,
gentle froth and steam
from the coffee estuary, split beneath the clock tower
on the idle hour; more pigeons than people,
more buildigs than choices
on this small-town, charity shop parade.

The women are still beautiful, still unattainable,
still on the brink of a breakdown
in the most confident dress.
Street-pastors carry the drunks home,
the street-cleaners appear by the afterparty,
clear out the old bottles
before the commuter picks up cigarettes
from the newsagents that never rests.

Tattoo parlours, barber shops,
Christmas on the radio come Hallowe'en-
this is the town that crazy built:
war-time poetry, jet propulsion,
chief inventor of sport,
of mild alcohol addiciton.

There's hundreds of places to get drunk in this town,
hundreds of places to hide away;
a foreign face in a sea of family and friends.
Landlocked, gridlocked,
centrally located but left out on a limb;
this town clings to the tracks,
it's avenues of escape
the only margin to keep the residents
out of mind and in their place.

But this is where I grew up,
always more car-park than parkland,
my first steps on Campbell Street,
on Armstrong Close,
first time I broke the law on Bridget Street,
on Selborne Road.
I'd push my bike all around this town,
no stopping off for a smoke,
for to get my fix-
I'd push on and on past graveyards and open bars
without a second gance.

Now, it's all shooters and soul-singers
and happenstance;
chicken wings on a late-night binge,
a box of wine, a night of sin,
wake up in shame,
life's a guessing game
and guess what, you'll never win.

Chewing gum, patches,
vapour that scratches the back of my throat,
nicotine in my blood,
you know, I'm trying my best to get clean.
Blister packs of vitamins, bowls of fruit,
buying coconut water over the counter-
green tea by the rising moon,
incense sticks and vegetables in the garden,
yet by the time night rolls on by
the locus of my eyes, they darken;
I'll be back on the beer,
I'll be smoking a carton.

This is the town that crazy built,
even the flowers by the roadside wilt,
cement factory, hum-drum poverty,
post-code belonging to Coventry,
kept out of the war
by a matter of minutes,
kept from the future
by corporate interest.

Hospital lights, supermarket glow,
I can't remember the last time
I wasn't loaded with chemicals
every time I get home,
every time I sign out
and put my head on the pillow,
I see familiar streets, familiar signs,
the job centre, the floodlights,
the 12% lager, the twist of lime.
I struggle with rhyme,
I struggle most days to get out of the house,
but at night, I know, that sea of doubt
is a river of light, to ruin my liver,
to spike my fever, to calm me down.

There's hundreds of places to get drunk in this town,
and this world it don't spin,
it just throws me around.