Your Instagram tinted daydream solo self-help projects
are naught compared to the many faces of my Ketamine addled
multi-faceted bed-ridden wasted ****** aesthetic
Bring me my poppers while I can smell them
or get off my ******* rocket ship
These are the bed sores of regret
tinged in tingly jingle-jangle garage rock twattish twee twaddle
Smoke my tea drink my plants, Kratom of the smack recovery
cat come cat-call **** all to be done
the ladders lead to the plateau that the Meat Puppets sang about
Some say I've been away, some that I've been dead
dada said daddy in the monotone voice, slippin' mickeys and mandys in the drinks of the boys and girls for spoils of war
and causalities of the political system
I hope the vote for your preferred pederast is enough to stop *******
or in fact let us turn to your queen so the monarchs can reward the patriarchs that beat the matriarchs and maybe we can sleep a little better tonight
Truth is these four walls are enough of a prison within the prison that I feel free in slavery
Words too imprison the soul, so I stopped using them
implicit in silence
explicit in message
call on your horses
kneel before the great *** of democracy
these are truly the end of days
and her natural milk shall flow through our veins
until the new dawn awakens from solemn slumber
and your faux-intellectual ******* returns to witch doctor ritual seance ******* matador squeaky clean record having gutter-troll reprobate sunshine easy listening solipsist elite country club golf retreat in the hills where you **** the carcass of the empire with your dysfunctioning penises and praise your zionist overlords that mock your ****** hospitality through gritted teeth as they push you over the edge onto the wailing crowds of peasants below where your alien bones crumble to dust and your stagnant coagulated blood oozes into the Earth where it burns like gallons of acidic chemicals and the world rejoices at the sight of fallen greed and toppled regime until the next time it happens again

Sandbox giggles and seesaw chuckles
echo around the park.
Little ones pitter patter on tarmac and grass,
oblivious to their age.
All they know is the sun is shining
and they're going to feel like this forever.

Rubber throwing and hushed whispers
echo around the classroom.
Schoolkids adding and subtracting,
oblivious to their age.
All they know is that they hate math
and they're going to be an astronaut when they grow.

Cheesy pop songs and girly giggles
echo around a bedroom.
She's curling her friend's hair and smiling,
oblivious to her age.
All she knows is that Jake is a cutie
and she's going to marry him when she's 21.

Birthday wishes and lots of love!
echo around the dinner table.
He's having his first beer as an 18-year-old and loving it,
oblivious to his age.
All he knows is that he's going out tonight
and staying up till dawn.

Baby rattles and first words
echo around the house.
The baby is mumbling its first word,
oblivious to the meaning behind it.
All it knows is that its mummy is warm
and it's daddy smells nice.

Memories of sandboxes and summer nights
echo around their heads.
They're laying in a bed in a sanitary place,
oblivious to the current situation.
All they know is that their time is up,
but they had such fun whilst it lasted.

i remember these two particular catchphrases uttered from english lips in the early 90s: the burqa? satan's postbox; and the other? jesus is coming: look busy.

i have to admit it, jazz sounds so much better,
and i'm sure if i was writing this in
the 20th century, jazz would have abhorred me,
but more so the beatnik poetry-jazz fission,
like some godfather of rap of something -
still jazz sounds better, and even though i was
partially raised on classical music,
point being, when *batman forever came out,
i didn't buy the soundtrack with U2 on it,
but instead the elliot goldenthal score -
notably for the song fledermausmarschmusik -
times were tough, we still used to play
with action figures and were the puppet-masters
in those days, rather than monochromatic
in smartphone wizardry...
                and i remember this one woman working
in our price asking me whether i was
sure i wanted the classical score of the movie,
rather than the soundtrack: and i said -
well, d'uh!
   but i can't contest for loving classical music
more than jazz, esp. not during these "detox"
weeks... jazz is just that: a cough medicine,
a paracetamol, something akin to beating
egg yokes with some sugar, until a pale canary
foam forms, and then you place it on top
of a black coffee, with some whiskey to boot...
i'll say this, these "detox" weeks are best
done during the autumnal / winter months -
just enough sunshine to make a 32+ hour days
bearable...
           what time is it? almost 3pm?
that's me crossing the 24h threshold of being
constantly awake...
            by the time i hit the whiskey this evening
i'll be heading into the 32nd hour of being
awake, straight...
            but i love these prolonged days,
the sort of days that merge into nights that then
somehow merge into the high octane morning
hours, notably looking at schoolkids pass my
house in school uniform...
         you should have seen this kid (who i was)
and his first time in regent st.'s hamleys...
  it was like a scene from big -
  once he spotted those batman action figures
his cheeks turned into bright luminescent
beetroots...
                   prior to that it was the joy of
playing outdoors, throwing marbles
into a dug hole from the distance of 2 metres,
and there was also the bet: 4 marbles a game,
5 marbles go into the hole and the winner
takes it all...
         and what about plasticine in the game
of kapsle, placed into bottle-caps,
and flicked around in a maze drawn on
       the pavement with chalk?
girls? hopscotch...
                                but we used to gang
up as if the utopian version of the lord of the flies
and head into the woods, and bake us
some tatties in charcoal of a fire...
            we used to look out after each other...
obviously some of the kids from my childhood,
last time i heard: became violent criminals...
but that's beside the point,
  when we were young, it mattered that we
had a group ethos: no one is going to be left
behind... stealing gooseberries -
  that would make these overly sweet sour-sweets
taste like honey drizzle over oats...
but that's the great thing about these "detox"
weeks, i get to experience 32h days,
   half a day, the entire night, and the entirety
of the next day, and about a third of the next night...
even if you asked me how i managed
to stay awake for so long and fail to even
powernap for a quickie 15 minutes,
       i'd probably sooner inquire:
so, what's the secret for those quickies you wild
kids have in the domain of ***...
last time i checked, she just perfected
her ******* before we were breaking up -
she tightened her lips...
        ah, i know the youtube hysteria of:
telling personal things to strangers -
    i get the argument -
  but unlike the medium of youtube - writing
still has the aura of:
as one stranger unto another -
          there's no greater sense of privacy,
as the privacy without a muzzle-guard of a dog...
it can be rather intimidating, to find that
however personal your content is,
   it actually entrenches your privacy,
paradoxically...
                    don't ask me how this happens...
i guess that: if your "privacy" is merely
an intricate web of lies... i guess you'd really
want to protect your spidery-ego as much as
possible...
                  but when you state your privacy
among internet profiles - glass people in glass houses...
(who the hell puts up these profiles,
what's there to talk about, on the date,
when you already have an a priori picture of a person
and their interests?) -
   once again, i don't know how it happened,
but by revealing my private life in "public",
i somehow managed to turn into
a right ol' hermit...
                      and unlike the youtube mentality:
i'm still a stranger among strangers,
       maybe that comes down to my ability
to talk to old men on benches, randomly,
while having a beer and a smoke;
don't mind homeless people either -
  give them a cigarette, ask how they're feeling,
and never bothering to ****** them
about the ethos of work, given that
so much of "work" these days is exactly that:
"work".

Mary Jane walked in the rain
under her umbrella
Opened up a can of salt
and dried up all the water

We pitch in change
We can't afford but, go ahead and buy it
And sometimes help the other side
When leaders, they do blind us

But listen it's not just the mines
Which lead us into danger
All the answers, written here
But, you need something stranger

Okay here goes, let me explain
Easy answers end no rain
Schoolkids with talent wind up a dropout
High football players take drugs then they cash out

We give more to money to make more of money
The Superbowl rules US.  Is that all there is, honey?
Gangsters rule, violent street killers in suits
You shouldn't be driven when you're on the toot

Those forest trees now they need to be saved
So listen to college, the students, be brave
Anything we can do we need to right now
So listen up baby and don't have a cow

Plant it!  The CAN-O-BUS, some call it hemp
It's cannabis, Hurry and save the planet
So many jobs gained just from making clothes
Food, medicine, and paper with No

Damage to the environment this be our cause
Dependent on oil?  Well, we've got that solved
Just grow hemp and use it, the answer to all
Oh go ahead, light some, and go have a ball

We can not go on with this fighting for oil
WE'RE KILLING OUR PLANET, like Cain, he killed Abel
Don't cut your brother, you mothers of spoil
We can make a change, lead us now, 'cause you're able

Put punk-*ss *** dealers out of control
A nationwide income and even on exports
Come on now get us off oil
It's killing us, choking us, children will boil

Everyone working and happy again
The bad guys, the dealers, now useless my friend
It's easy so do it now, now means today
As easy as feeding a horse, Ed, some hay

Come on off your high horse, stop drilling to ****
The fish in the ocean are dead from the spills
It needs to be outlawed; All men grow a brain
Make oil illegal, we need to be saved

Put out the fire and legalize **** we need
to get the 5.1 million off their duffs
It's not about wanting to grab a free puff
It's jobs and it's fent in doing what is right for mother earth
George Washington could not have been wrong!!!!!!!

He Walked through the long corridor
of Green Park tube station.
There was a strong backdraft
that pushed him from behind.  

He entered the train heading westbound
to Russel Square, on the Picadilly line.
It was packed with every kind of person
imaginable--the weird, schoolkids,
the bankers, tourists, parents with babies
and then there was her.  
She had shoulder-length brown hair.
She was slim, pale and had piercing green eyes.
She was wearing khaki chinos
with a white Ralph Lauren Polo shirt.  
A black choker on her neck and holding
a book.
Murakami's 1Q84.

The same book he was reading.
There was a hush in the air
as their look lingered for several seconds.
She looked at him, smiled and lifted
her eyebrows.  

He looked at her and said,
"If you can't understand what just happened now
without explanation,
then you won't understand it
with an explanation."
She smiled and remembered the line in the book.

9/30/2014
Manhattan, new york city, new york

you got to wonder
September saturday nights
walking down church street.

the man on his smoke break
gives me a smile on the corner of 9:30
at night and i return it even though it
isn't wise because
it seems kind,
a smile i’d like to get to know better.

in the taxi
i think uninspired thoughts,
running along the sidewalk’s lining
sidewalks i’ll probably never walk on
and this is when i realize
Manhattan is a small island.

back on the train
i think that monday mornings wouldn’t
be so bad if I lived in Manhattan
crosby street or wall,
but then i think of all the
manhattan schoolkids
that seem like they know everything
and i think: do I really want to?

back in Princeton
i think that i am bored
and i realize far too much has changed
from april,
the raw essence still the same
seeping at the core of the stem, however

and i accidentally step on an ivy league
cufflink. I think to myself
i probably wouldn’t think so much
if i was in manhattan.

our love was not made for movie screens.

our love was made for slow-burn tv dramas;
for the two schoolkids in the street's high school
barely grazing adolescence
who - fumbling - find a graceful love amidst
the corner shop and cobbled streets
and throw it all away for a second chance at a life
torn apart by carefully orchestrated constructs
of one lover's written word.

our love was not cultured by typicality.

our love was created through inside jokes;
nights of fireflies rocketing around in my chest - of you
warming me up from within
through all manner of crooked smiles and worries and
hands in my hair and
fingers linked with mine, lying on top
of my scrawled poetry i'll never admit is written
to you.

our love was made through careful planning;
through the nurturing of a friendship that turned into something more;
through a whispered confession followed by a laugh
followed by a written word saying just the same -
yes.

our love is yours.
please do not give it away.

This is America
Where the rich only get richer
And the only thing that’s free is poverty
Where a single mother cooks Spam out of a tin can
In a 30 cent dented frying pan
Where little black boys clutch their guns to their hearts
Loaded and cocked;
Ready for the **** to drop

This is America
Where everything costs more than a dollar is worth
And even the dollar stores are 99 cents and up
Where Asian schoolkids get called Ching Chong
By fat middle class white boys devouring Ding Dongs
Where women’s bodies are controlled by men
In Ralph Lauren suits;
Spewing their propaganda on love and hate

This is America
Where the devil’s truly in the details
And if you want to make it big, you better have something to sell
Where healthcare is monitored by the government
Siphoning out your drugs like a treat for good behavior
Where crackheads and dope fiends and pill poppers
Are one in the same;
Minds and bodies and spirits riddle with addiction

This is America
Where jail time is a punishment not rehabilitation
And broken men evacuate our prisons with nowhere to go
Where incarceration is code for a controlled population
Killing culture and cops and citizens like a gnat between your fingers
Where higher education is a necessity but only somewhat free
Pell grants and work studys;
Graduating and finding yourself with a useless degree

This is America
Where immigrants seek asylum
And we call them bottom feeders and lazy day laborers
Where the borders “need” be stronger
Assigning them men with dogs and guns trained to shoot to ****
Where little Mexican girls traipse across the desert
Bare-footed and thirsty;
Hiding in the brush to avoid the copters

This is America
Where freedom isn’t free
And the only thing worth a buck is your soul
Where underage girls give a quick **** for a quicker bump
Abducted from their Kansas white neighborhood
Where **** is prevalent in a Christian society
******* and *****;
Always searching and seeking for the money shot

This is America
Where money is handled by crooks and thieves
And the poor, cold and hungry, suffer on the streets
Where panhandlers and beggars flood the suburbs
Abandoning their upside down mortgages for a solitary corner
Where every single material thing is a luxury
Taxation on *******;
Living paycheck to paycheck for a box of tampons

This is America
Where the middle class barely exists
And it just doesn’t cut it, your 40 hour work week
Where your earnings are garnished by social security
But the elderly are still struggling to make ends meet
Where retirement means a part time job
Office work or retail;
Dealing with the public for the next 15 years

This is America
Where free speech isn’t so free
And censorship exists despite our history
Where college kids speak their minds in poetry slams across campus
But the working class chit chat about television
Where hipsters and deadbeats stake their claim on
Restaurants and bookshops;
With ironic names in Helvetica print


This is America
Where we shed our blood for the greater good
And send our young and naïve to the front lines
Where soldiers come home to their families
Now realizing the only thing they know how to do is ****
Where they watch their children play in the streets from their bedroom window
Suicidal and Homicidal;
Placing the end of a shotgun in their mouth

This is America
Where reality TV reigns supreme
And more people know the name Kardashian than Einstein
Where kids are taught by underpaid unionized men and women
Holding the future of the country within their poor hands
Where schools can barely feed their students
Stomach and mind;
Both empty and starving, craving for attention

This is America
Where ignorance is the greatest epidemic
And keeping your mouth shut is the greatest sin
Where you gotta stand up and shout the truth
From the rooftops of Brooklyn to the sandy beaches of Pasadena
Where you gotta write and sing and rap and talk and feel
Pour it out and soak it up;
The true loss of the American dream.

You should have seen it,
Quite the spectacle,
So it was,
Insides spilling out on national TV,
Schoolkids watched in fluo vests
Their eyes like spot lights.
The stink was abhorrent,
And seemed to chase the people around and came back in their dreams,
But that was the least of their worries,
It was cut into slices and transported to Gent,
Some say pieces of it were sold on the black market,
You don't get many whales in these parts.

Inherent madness, or good or evil
Everyone is questioning my devilish innocence
Airbrushed the evidence, vanishes with the vain goodness
Proud of a crime I'm an asylum to broken bad
Crime Punishment tends to the children of terrorist acts to schoolkids
Revolutions a part of the agenda of educated sordid seditions
The propagandist flag yells "Act", taking it for what it's worth
Act before the protest, the run after the morning, I have left my clock on stop
I looking for an eternal reflection in a tomorrow I'll never see
Jungle-run and humming puns, hammering drunkards with reruns
I'm rivetting with the genesis and my enunciated elegies with the dour dry
Or for someone in dearth need and the falsities and fallacies
Peacefully and four friable fiends, that crumbled with the atomic bomb
So, why are selling streets in the dead-end dreads
The locks of a speakeasy, the talking eyes, the messages beeps intermittently, telling me to sell the bomb
In the jungle rage of the rhyming of the ****** bombs, that I find peace and fantasy with truth and profanity
Peach diesel kick out from underneath, **** my destiny and fears
Burn up with the gas, with the members of the fraternities of the derelicts with freewill crooks
Gravitating towards the era of laughter and mirthful madness
Burning money and the diesel at the same combustible pace
What's oil without fish food?
Water surfacing across the painted picture
Of the absence of truth
Inflammable, both of these items of greed in a box of full of things
The thespian greed in the sequestered dream, quoted by the *******
Quantifying these Swedish dreamers and sycophants and circadian  hillbillies

Walking down Franklin Street
On my way to play basketball with Aurelio
Passing Schoolkids Records
And reading the chalboard sign:


On November 3rd flush the ****.