Sajna Ve~ Das Kahton
Aaj Kahton Sajna Haasse
Khossh Ge Ve Bullan Toon
Khamb La Ke Bhro Bi odh Ge
Isqe de Phullan Toon
Painde Ne Wapas Karne
Karze Ni Payara de
Chithe Jad Rabb Kholo Ga
Hisse Jo Yaaran De
Lekhe PE Jaane Dene
Ohde Fir Saare Ni
Mitran Ne Totde Vekhe
Arshaa Toon Taare Ni
Mitran Ne Totde Vekhe
Arshaa Toon Taare Ni...


Badlaan Da Banea Dhooan
Suraj Tak Saddea Ni
Chann Ohda Hor Kise de
Kothe Ja Chaddea Ni(26 feb-2018)
Enha Vi Maan Jawani
Kar Na Tun Naare Ni
Mitran Ne Tutde Vekhe
Arshaa Toon Taare Ni
Mitran Ne Totde Vekhe


Wahla Si Isqe jo Karyea
Sachia Ni Neeta Cho
Ban Ke *** Lafaj Dulu Ga
Baatha Ve Geeta Cho
Gallan C Jo Vi Krian
Gallan Reh Jaan Giaan
Gallan Cho Hisse Ayian
Peedan Bas Haan Diaan
Kehdi Okaat No Labh Di
Firdi Motiyaare Ni
Mitran Ne Totde Vekhe
Arshaa Toon Taare Ni

If I could be a cartoon character
Which one would I be
I thought about being Fred Flinstone
But he's too old-fashioned for me

And then there's maybe George Jetson
A man who knew electronics
Nothing like Yosemite Sam
Who needed to be hooked on phonics

And what about Shaggy and ******
You gotta love those ****** snacks
I've never really considered a Smurf
And their tiny little mushroom shacks

Or maybe I'd become a super hero
Who comes to save the day
Batman , Green Hornet or Underdog
Who puts the bad guys away

Maybe I'd live in Jellystone Park
Where Yogi is still the king
For "Hello Mr Ranger Sir"
Is just the funniest thing



© All Rights Reserved

This is one of Barry Hodges' most inspired memories.

  'Twas morning time in times of yore and I, bold Barry Hodges, stood outside my store, my giant vegetables on display for all to see, when lo and behold! a luxurious limousine drew up, and from the back there emerged a gorgeous form of voluptuous statuesque feminity.
  "My God!" I cried, it is that beauteous lady from *La Dolce Vita, the wondrous Anita - and I gazed with joyous on her divine body, imagining it sprawled lasciviously in my bed, legs open as wide as a major road junction on the M1 motorway.
  "Excuse me", said she in that Italo-Swedish voice guaranteed to make any man wet himself copiously, "But I am a-lookink for a shop a-called 6B, and yet all I can-a-see is a Barry Hodges' the Master Geengrocer's, complete with a giant cucumber or two, which I 'av to say remind me of somet'ing tasty."
"Dearest lady, said I, you have come to the right place: 6B is the trading name of my sister enterprise: Barry Bodgers' Boil Bursting Beauty Bureau which is located upstairs, Barry Bodgers at your service, my dearest, most delightful Fru Ekberg."
"Shhhhhhhhh! I am een deesguise, not even dear Federico knows I am-a-here." And thus, assuring her of my utmost discretion, and forming a bond by saying that I too, the famous Geordie seducer, Barry Hodges, had indulged in a slight nomenclatural change in order to separate the two sides of my business interests, and in order to do a spot of money laundering on the side.  "But," I enquired, "How is it that you have need of the rather specialised medical services we offer, you who are so radiant and bella-bella?" She lowered her eyes seductively and promised to reveal her terrible secret.

As I ushered her up the stairs to the studio, my eyes on her ****-cheeks wiggling like two delectable beach ***** in a sack, she told me the sad tale of the immense boil which kept recurring on the middle of her back and which no amount of corrective surgery could fix.
"Aha!" I exclaimed, "Only Barry Bodgers, the world's greatest boil-sucker, can effect the cure for which you long, and I shall operate on you personally, not entrusting such a task to even the best of my boil-bursting minions." I added to myself, "Also I want to give you a good old bonking while we're at at."

Once we attained the privacy of my consulting room, I instructed her to strip off utterly so I might examine her, and I can tell you, dear reader, that her **** **** was a joy to behold. I too divested myself of my clobber, knowing that boil-******* can get a bit messy at the best of times. Jesus wept!, but the mighty boil betwixt her graceful shoulders revealed when de-plastered was a true horror, with a yellow tip as big as a Grade One Belgian Turnip. I explained that I would **** it out whilst I rogered her from the rear and that, when she felt her ****** on the way, she should scream out to that effect and I would then bite the core of the boil right out in a blaze of mutual ******* glory, before applying a dose of my exclusive Boil Preventative Cream, namely a handful of our conjoined love-juices extracted from her gaping ***** by hand a few seconds earlier.
"Yes! Yes! Yes!" screamed the Swedish bombshell and with a mighty **** like an industrial Dyson FX334 on full power, I slurped and  razor-bit the boil, bursting it asunder, smothering my eager face in blood and putrid pus, thereby causing me to blow my *** as ne'er before. The green core of the boil emerged from its fleshly cavity with a deafening plop as we came together like a nuclear blast d'amour.

O, but only then, as my seminal outpourings soaked my jim-jams, did I awaken to discover yet another nocturnal emission. And, not unexpectedly, dear Nurse Nellie, having heard my cry of ecstasy, rushed in to my bedroom, head-shaking and tut-tutting as usual, as she knelt down and licked my tum-tum dry.
"Yum, yum" she murmured in her dulcet Northumbrian tones, "Ah've looked after three generation o' Hodges laddies, and I kin tell ye, your *****'s the tastiest of them all, ye bonnie wee man."
"Better than Grandad Charlie's?"
"Why aye, mon, yours is well creamier."

am fae a toon that's done so bad
they gave it twa D's

whar the future greets
o' barren streets
on starless nights
an' the same ald wind

a suppose
ah wi kin dae is sing

an' sing wi dae
but no in tune
for ev'ry uphill
there's anither twa doon

an' some *****
howlin' awa' at the moon

it's quite the place meh toon
am gona quit the place quite soon
as I finish writin' this doon

an' tak' a last wee look
at the failin' toon
that helped write this book

Do people ever truly lose there mind or were they always ******* bat **** to begin with?
I believe half this earth is run by insane people most of which have way to much power and far to little sense .

The ******* radio is a great example ever listen modern music ?
You know that **** that doesn't require any talent to preform just a record player and some half wit to rap along with so you can have a remix yes country music is vile enough let alone throw in a nerd that would **** if he got his thirty thousand dollar sneakers ***** once are made in some sweatshop for ten cents a pop yeah how ******* fashionable .

And remember when you had to play a ******* instrument to have a record out?
Yeah I'm so old fashioned I mean sure kids wear all the  shirts to half the bands I grew up with and have no ******* clue who the bands are but yes the world is stupid and you wonder why I drink.

Just like people who believe the world really gives a **** there having a bad day # who gives a **** Twitter is for stupid ***** and celebrities who have as  much depth as a public toilet but are far less clean.

People always read me and believe I am this nice easy going goofy drunken ******* who only lives to make them laugh and talk about ******* well who doesn't like ******* there awesome.

Hey Gonz do you like kids ?
No I don't !
Why ?
Cause they always annoy the **** out of me when I'm trying to sleep off a good ****** in the park really whatever happened to letting the TV raise them hey I look at me I didn't turn out so.
Umm well okay so I'm a little ****** up .

Hey do you ever get tired of being funny or find it hard to come up with new things to pick on?
Well just watch the evening news for a second and head down to the local bar or that gate of hell Wal-Mart and look at all those ******'s who believe they have to buy **** just cause its on sale yeah sure why not buy two hundred rolls of toilet paper  cause you never know when the world may end and the zombie apocalypse will begin .

Newsflash when the world does cease to exist you probably will to and when your starving to death or being burned alive I really doubt that wiping your *** is going to be your top priority .

And we already live amongst zombies   there called yuppies and those I phone twitter loving instagram ******* are ******* everywhere and driving while doing all this **** so pick your head up and watch out!!!

I recently was on a little road trip and while in Evansville Indiana as me and my head cheerleader were riding around the city late at night we were ran into by a young and brainless little **** who admitted she was texting and driving and as I sat there waiting for officer fat **** to arrive to give this cyber **** a ticket .

Yes Indiana it's slogan should be hey are you ******* lost?
Yeah I know I'm a real people person .

Anyways as I sat there viewing what looked like babe Ruth in a bullet proof vest hand out a ticket as he sweat out gravy I had to question with  fifty lares of flesh for padding was there really a need for the vest?

They say when you go insane it's hard to truly rejoin society .
But honestly after looking at half the strung out loony toon's that are considered normal why the **** would you ever care to be part of there brain dead **** storm ?

And since when did the news care what was popular on ******* You tube?

Todays top stories the worlds on the verge of self destruction, A man kidnapped a child ***** her for several years has five kids with her but later on that right now let's check out this cute cat video.
yes the worlds obsessed with ***** .
And you thought it was just me.

And why do teachers now all **** there students and where were these horney ******* when I was going to school.
Yeah having to settle for a ******* from the janitor just wasn't the same.
Although he did have a fantastic grip I'm kidding.

And why  do people even own TV's duh cause books are to much like work but hey remember to buy mine cause it has  plenty of pictures  yeah what isn't poetic about ****?

Yes I can imagine what the great writers from the past would think of the new bestsellers.

Who doesn't like books about gay *** wizards and **** vampires that glimmer in the light yeah I didn't read it duh I saw the movie *******
yeah you may laugh but whatever got my sixteen year old girlfriend in the mood was alright by me I'm  kidding again she was twenty one at the time least that's what her fake Id said.

Yeah least I'm not as bad as Micheal Jackson  cause I'm actually alive that is duh.
Yeah he didn't have issues he just a ******* amusement park in his back yard .
Me I'd prefer a ******* or maybe a mall yeah don't ask.

Common sense nowadays it makes people laugh and the key to humor is always truth people are all ****** up hell just look at me I'm truly insane I own my own bar I get paid to write I do stand up for free drinks but honestly would you really want me doing anything else?

Attention this is your captain speaking umm look I really  don't know how to put this but I forgot to gas up before we left so looks like were all going to die as we crash into the earth and burn to death.
Yeah my bad .

But hey I want to thank you all for flying delta and please remember the do not smoking light is on yeah sure your probably going to be busted into a million pieces but heaven forbid the ***** next to you catches a whiff of smoke before he dies.

Loosen the **** up cause your not going to live forever  .
People are so uptight afraid to say **** or disagree with each other cause we all need to think alike like a bunch of ******* lemmings.

I grew up around backwoods rednecks I lived in the city slept in the ******* street okay there's no difference in people except real ******* people aren't scared to **** others off they are who they are and if you like them great and if you don't then ******* life's to dam short to sweat the ******* and this high school mentality needs to truly get ****** the worlds messed up so embrace it .

Like me, Hate me at least you never have to guess what I really think .

Stay crazy kids cause the normal ***** of this life are usually  total closet freaks who **** hookers on the side and make bombs in grandmas kitchen .

It's a shame cause a good ****** is a terrible a terrible thing to waste.

Well hamsters until next time this has been your bartender for life with your friendly perverted public service announcement we now return you to your regular scheduled program right smack in the middle so you wont know what the **** happened cause we can nah nah.

And if I somehow offended you please fell free to write to.

Gonzo's complaint department in care  of .
105 It's called a ******* joke way .

Cheers Gonzo

I’m just a stoner hitting high notes and your a coward in a cool coat
We'll go swaying for a while to the toon of broken hearts
Playing backseat twister in your car that never starts
Take a sip find your grip tonight you can have it all
Forget the lovers in our lives they can catch us when we fall
Hold me tightly through the ride god your so ugly when you frown
Close my eyes to chase the high only good till I *** down
Don’t like the angry silence **** your sweet prefer your violence
Play the prince for me and I will be your queen
Blaze one up make me beg it’s only good when it’s obscene
I could tell you that I love you but we both know that that’s not true
So lay it out and I’ll cut the lines with these ****** cards we drew

die ompad is die beste                           the detour is the best
    gedeelte van die reis                             part of the journey
       as jy nie verlore raak nie                          if you don’t get lost
kan jy nie die regte pad vind nie                      you won’t find the right path

as jy ontmiddelik op                                     if unexpectedly you
    jou drome                                                        come­ upon
          aankom                                                      ­              your dreams
              sal  jy veras word                                                         you will be surprised

drome is soos                                           dreams are like
     'n fyn skuldery                                           a fine painting
         elke streel                                                 each stroke
              van die verf                                             of the paint

elke kleur                                                  each colour
       elke toon                                                  each tone
              elke emosie                                              each emotion

uitgedink                                               ­    thought out
uitgebrei                                                    ­expanded

en dan skielik is dit                                  and then suddenly it is
wonderlik                                                  won­derful

There he is!
Again today
Playing the banjo
In every way
A skip to his feat
A song to his beat
People will follow him till the end of the street
His lips didn't move
But, boy, did his hands!
Even the busymen danced at their shops and their stands
But the boy was not seen at the end of the day
No one would dream to follow his way

They said he was gods gift to the people of maine
They said he was a boy who just wanted the fame
But he never spoke a word, didnt even look like he breathed
And everyday,  without a word, he took his leave

But there was a reason none followed the boy
You think that they would with all of their joy
But no one came back from the forest I fear
They all end up gone, they all disappear

They say they leave to heaven with the little musician
I say thats all a superstition
I say its his banjo that traps its prey
Luers them into an unclosed space
Where they are forgetten by their father and mother
Their friends, their family, their sister and brother

They say that those strings on the banjo he plays
Are strings from the heavens that lightens our day
But the strings are black metal cords
That cuts the fingers and makes blood pour
Banjo uses the boys blood to play another toon
The boy is enclosed and trapped like the few
That followed its toon and was taken away
By the banjo, the banjo's tune will luer its prey

Somewhere in the world a young girl sits with her headphones in and music blaring strikingly loud Listen delicately and you’ll hear the pain in the words from a writer who is proud to share their work to an entire crowd
A writer who’s
Words are  so well spoken...
They give you the blues
She feels so broken
from glass which has shattered
And left her with  cuts and bruises
Everyone she loves she loses
So much so that all she can do is
Sit there and do what she always does
she abuses herself
Now a boy comes by with a bright smile
and a brand new toon and he says
The words she’s always needed to hear
He says it without any sort of fear
Because he has no fear
He says it so clear
It brings a tear to his own eye
Hello there, my dear,
what’r ya listen’ to?
Come on, don't be shy
The girl looks up with her shattered eyes
and broken heart and says what she has trained herself to,
“Nothing new”.
He takes off his hood
And he spoke as he stood
Just as any strong person would
Nothing that’s good
Nothing that will help you in the way everything should.
Let me save you
I could help you get through
The pain that you’re going through
Let me help you see the world in a new hue
Do you know who
Who what?
Who you are.
Strive to be the best version of you
Try to be entirely true
true to..?
True to yourself
Make is so they rue the day they ever tried to
Stop you or hurt you
but, that's what they do… what's the point?
Because darling that's how you do it
You show them the day where
despite all the broken glass
and sass
you flew
Don't do this
it won't help you through
Fight like the warrior I know you can be
Be free
despite the cuts on your face
and the glass stuck to your knee
Free like the waves at sea
Free like the wind that creates those waves
And flies for miles and brings new smiles
and entwines itself perfectly into the branches of the old oak tree
the same wind that helps the leaves fall from that tree
helps the leaves be free
and the tree is lifted from its year-long burden
like wind, help liberate everyone and every thing
and be what they're supposed to be
the wind that blows unrelentingly
and apologetically
with continuous glee
Show them that you are the key
Because we’re all the key
to someone's locked door
Because everyone keeps something hidden
Inside their house or their room or a glass box
Everyone has something that they lock away
And houses have windows
People like to break windows
Like they break your spirit
Don't let them
some might throw rocks in at the windows
To create more shattered glass and sad eyes
because windows are the houses eyes
Some might sneak their way in
when you forget to close the window you left open
Because you wanted to feel the wind on your skin
but they aren't welcomed so break-ins don't count
be the person who stops those break ins
remember, you are a house and though your windows may be broken
You’re still standing strong
Your bones are keeping you upright
And your foundation--your faith-- it remains
and take in all of your own glory
because darling you are glorious
honestly miss,
its ludicrous
how gorgeous you are
and how you don't see it
how don't you see it?
It's really a pity
that you're so pretty
especially with those shattered eyes
eyes that have seen so many lies
eyes that just want to hide
please don't hide from me.
you don't see that you're
New York City
you never sleep
there's never a moment where you don't make a peep
some think you're a bit of a creep (you're not)
but in the end you make everyone feel welcomed
But you yourself don't feel welcomed
Why don't you feel welcomed
Who told you that your body was a toy or a tool
They were a fool
No, they weren't cool
darling, show them you rule
You wish your body was clay
That way you could shape yourself into whatever they want to
You could do whatever they say
but darling I pray
That someday
you'll show everyone just how much
you slay
Slay, girl. You’re a fighter.
The girl smiles in a new, healed sort of way
in a way you can't help but to hope will always stay
kind of like how you hope the new puppy doesn't stray
although sometimes it does
on occasion, puppies run away
but, hey, that's okay
because you have to have the courage to run after it
and search it out
sometimes it's hard
but you can't pout
happiness is worth it
Never underestimate the power of positivity  
But also never underestimate the power of negativity
Both can consume you
If you let it
And never, don't you ever, underestimate the things you say
they count they matter and hey
often, they can save the day
Go save someone's day.

The green handbag,
Clutched close,
Constant companion,
Matching clothes?
Not always.
Where did you go today?
The green handbag,
Loose change,

And pension book.
Made up?
Take a look!

Where did you go today?

The green handbag,
Memory sac of
Nooks and crannies,
Papa, Grandkids,

Aunts and Grannies.
Where did you go today?

The green handbag,
Held to heart,

Perched on knees,

A medicine chest,

With pain to ease.
Where did you go today?
The green handbag,
Where did you go today?
Pointless question, Usual answer.

As ever ­ ‘Up the Toon!’

Too soon,
Not today.

The green handbag,

Not clutched,

Nor held,

But at the foot of your bed,
A reminder of hope,
Where did you go?

Today,
The Green Handbag,
Sits at my Dad’s feet.
A monument to love,
In fading verdigris.

Airwaves awash in the new gospel barrage:
calling forth the neighbourhood hack,
Abe Lincoln toon in towering hat,  
the corporation is coming -
will you not
collaborate my friend?

Everything good that you ever dreamed of is here:
Marbonite floored flats with self-terraced roofs;
The swankiest of cars, in imported hues;
Your arm candy drools,
now, brands, bigger brands!

All in your grasp, now, in community gates
shut safe as society decays.

Skies spitting frogs? Pestilences amass?
Listen to the Gospel according to Bane:
in the desert, smell octane. Hallelujah,
everything we make, from watches
to headscarves - your underwear is cheaper
sourced from the next so-lala-land.

Forget your sources tiny of incomes varying:
Bakers, cobblers, tinkerers, we also have
a uniform for you. Oh you rustic
tradition-bound bandy bumpkins!
Abandon your alleyways, and
welcome to the ghettos...where

What you eat, to where to retreat:
we cure everything from heartache to panache.

Wash away your sins in wonder medicines;
Waters can part, yes, see how the Pharoah
is disarmed; Big city dreams, dream
global manna beams. All that is needed for
salvation, is a little bit of classification. Are you
left-wing or right? Center-left or center-right?

The powerdrill tearing down edifices
resonating through noon. A crane arm's shadow
hovering high by the moon. Tablets from skies
now proclaim the new gospel for the land,
the airwaves are awash
of the miracle of Witwatersrand.

The corporation is coming, to a store near you:
Amen! Will you not, then, collaborate, my friend?

Am I the only one that grew up watching ****** tunes?
I loved those animals much more than the ones in the zoo
Daffy, Bugs, porky, and Elmer Fudd,
got me laughing as a kid, even when I was in a rut.

But my favorite toon, if you couldn't guess
was Wile E. Coyote, and Roadrunner, They to me were the best
Would He ever catch his prey? as a kid I only fashioned a guess
with each and every failed trap, showing the Roadrunner was blessed.

Now to use these two metaphorically
I'll be Wiley, and Roadrunner would be
amour, you see.
Now in every episode I keep trying to pin it down
but just like Wiley, I get blown up, flattened, or otherwise hurt while it roams around

maybe it's fate
or a strange genetic trait
all I know is sometimes living in a cartoon *****

WATCH OUT OF THAT TRU *POW!!!!!!!

Swerves the verve of voluptuous curves
That ******* clad lies become ironclad wides or wives
That the uxorious mission is a useful instrument of precision
That a denuded forest becomes the acme of toon and television
Let us garble our quotes and refrain from prolonged oaks
That whisk the memorial flames beneath the softly and the constricted spoke
I wrangle with big swells and tumescent lips
Labial love is liquid rushing to impress my scent and my lisp
Flamingos careen the specialty of wide-nosed oxygen
The toxic ragamuffin does lack the characteristic halogen
Runny tears on whitewashed days, scrape the pond of excess
**** of waifs and wastrel sways the world’s columns stand ever more proud
The future has two authors a converging future and an approximated past
Leeching on to the dastardly knockers of hacked brass tax
We then linger and malinger with germs that flippantly exercise the *******
That exorcise the ruffled harbinger in an incomplete rhyme
Sordid yet sublime, a city breaking on through to the mother side
Of the brother’s promise, to bequeath love lost and undressed
Unbuttoned snooze caffeinate my coffee
Established crews scour my pastiche of laundry
I need a confirmation that some littoral joke isn’t anymore creative than a hoarded broke
Broken in fracture, illuminated by rapture, the panacea of pain disaster
The deliverance of fragrance yet to gain and yet to lose,….. refrain poetaster
Simpered friction swipes the edict of election
As ******* becomes the Olympus of defection
But ponder no more these quodlibets of regaled glory
The amaranthine time has been proferring the same tried and true Love Story
Arranged or deranged, the best will *** and the rest will come
Thereby we become the litter of Medulla Pons surviving on Jack-and-Dandy ***
Remember this in many ways we are a shining city paid for by the mentally ill
Waylaid with the marble of the ultimate rocketship dumb enough to thrill
We soak and absorb the truest bright and the weakest light
As the fraternal order of the lambent moon becomes an extraterrestrial communion rather than an aghast fright
John Derry offers me two geese and I offer to fleece the homespun danger of the moral police
But Capone cannot cap the stone with signature and artistry alone
He cannot unfurl the booth bonfire and the broken home
But his evaded taxes are relaxed because of meritocratic classes
Of wisdom becoming wizardry and idiocy becoming harlotry of sinister waste crass plastics
Limpid with freckled frowns and monolithic and nomothetic pounds
Of zeros escalading a spawn-trout upward voyage and a quiet pillage of a bear-eaten town
Benign rumors of soaring afflictions and deloused tumors swarm the pasquinade village
A Potemkin place where gays get spayed covertly by laying a nescient egg deceased and weighed
In the navy we are not, but thanks to the gravy we are bought and we are sold
And of course you must trim the bushes before they scowl in the fold
Hedged bets on arts, squirts and debts
Of hottest flirts, car washed shirts and wrangled King Tut **** and Cleopatra wet
To this history I owe a greater than perfect debt
A Raider with influential sweat
A gamboler with a frisky totem of regret
Radiant sun says goodnight
Glazed to beat you, you fearful fitful 1997 willful fright

A Story of Scientology and the
Mental Health System Connection


What you are about to read *will shock you. Some may find it extremely disturbing. I will tell you from the outset, also, that i am quite "insane". According to the psychiatrists "******-Affective". Manic-Depressive with Paranoid features.
I will freely admit that what you will read here will sound crazy. But please read on. It may be horrifying. It may be weird. It may seem extremely paranoid. But it still interests.

It is my desperate hope that you will read. And believe me. For, my "diagnosis" notwithstanding, I am as sane as the next "normal" person. I AM NOT A LUNATIC! What you are about to read really happened. To ME. It has plot twisting tension that could be put to the credit of Alfred Hitchcock. And a psychological horror that Steven King could emulate. How could I compare my writing to the genius of those great & talented men? I don't. Because, dear readers, I did not conceive of it. It was done to me. I merely convey the technology and techniques used to make any "normal person" appear a ****** Toon of 50 mile high proportions! It exists. And it is excruciatingly painful to be the subject of it.

So why would a girl from a comparatively small city, with no seeming accomplishments to commend her, and is actually quite unimportant, be the subject of such hateful torment? What has she done? I will convey ALL of the reasons. I did play a part in it. I had a tri-fold lawsuit against a once-high-profile video dating club, who wanted to prevent litigation by thoroughly discrediting me. And I had a very virulent and hateful foe...

*The "Church" of SCIENTOLOGY.

I bled to be the rainwalker
Talking downwind, stalked by shadows, the night periodically erupts abruptly disrupting peace of mind and leaves behind the ears of corn that would expand with **** to what we now know as the sacred substance, understand this and we'll move on from this station, the hatred that makes us complacent, no directions can bee seen in green painted on the inside of our eyelid
But we did see them, when inner illumination activated the
Glow-in-the-dark properties that so impressed us coming down from the frozen mountain
Into the valley of golden fish worship,
Demons manifest in gargoyles,
Speaking through sages
Becoming animated in the full moon
Loony Toon ecstasy destroying bridges back to the sun worship
Which sees itself reflected in an empty black sky

"Sit down, shut up and listen....
"Don't tell her that your feet,
start to glisten
and go clammy when you meet,
"And keep it to yourself,
that your desperate on the shelf,
and missin' (you know what),
so desperateleeee....

"So never let her know,
you've been lickin' her window,
never  tell her of your
trouble down belowwww..!"
"And if your feelings linger,
don't offer her your fingers -
here love have a  smell!
*******!

"As  for playing hard to get,
you may as well forget,
there's nae a lassie in the
toon so desperate!"
"But don't you start a-praying,
God will laff at what you're saying,
and send you down
to Satan for a pet".

"Now it does seem that is that,
you're a skinny Welshy ****,
you will hear it from
Scotswomen one and all
They will cut you down to size,
stick their fingers in your eyes,
and make a set of earrings from your *****!"

"The only chance you got,
is to study and to swot,
to practice every hour and every day.
And if it ****** fails,
you just polish up your nails,
and sing ok, I'll be a ****** gay!"

your lemonade
will not fail
to be-
come a pla-
toon of
lemons

and

the dead

will con-
tinue to take
to the sea

as they
have al-
ways

done

as for me
let's just say

madness

will be
consumed

Menstrual.
You got mens true all
Every 29 days I wanna sense you all
Sensual,
Consensual.
Hour glass got me gassed,
Condense it all.
Hard as ice, hot as steam,
Reciprocal.
Sublimation gettin' peak,
Critical.
On a wavey frequency,
Metaphysical.
Drown in voyancy,
Straight jacket for buoyancy.

Full moon in full view.
Stimulating senses,
Changing up my mood.
Got me animated,
Acting like a ****** toon
Give a dog a bone
Turn into a werewolf.

"My cousin's out fighting dragons, and what do I get? Guard duty."

i get'it, theyire's knowthing twoo me
but yea'don't knead to grind it heithere
i scene gnomething oin mean owlready

"You hear that? I swear, there's something out there. In the dark."

and ire looks gold in pearsin
but i thinks knot-keen of my shimmer
i done't acspect peep'les to too light-key me
it's hall'opposite

"Only burglars and vampires creep around after dark. So which are you?"

hi've acspected spleenpoles twoo b-eats me
it's what i've no'n
and halves tune watsch fuohrer

"Gotta keep my eyes open. **** dragons could swoop down at any time."

sew know, i'm naught which'ya seam toon thunk
i'm
or yea, i no'n't, naughts
u 'le glisten to your ownpunions' bouts me
over antsynthing i chavsed to say

"Watch the skies, traveler.”

You know man, living the life of an artist
it's not an easy thing to do, it's true
what they say, there's so much pain
entering in conflict with your soul
no matter how much you desire it, it'll never be whole
You try and try to escape the cruelty of your fate
you can't, it's all been decided before
So you suffer, hoping one day the veil shall be lifted

Come on now little man, you can do better than that

I've lived a thousand lives under the empire
of my pen
I've seen a million deaths unfold before my eyes
on a screen
I die every passing day, I lead my thoughts astray
further and further away from reality
To justify the notion of how my emotions
give birth to stars painting scars on the veil
of time and the cosmos

That's a little bit better, you're getting there
go on, tell us more

I wear a thousand mask for a thousand personalities
each interesting in their own way
to protect the boy I selfishly
locked away in a corner of my mind
A boy tormented by visions of Hell,
darkness, fears and insecurities
to give myself a sense of security
I write lines furiously and cry to my muse
hoping she'll have pity and fuel my addiction of words
I writes lines haphazardly to try and make
sense of the Universe which is life
I write lines to justify my meaningless existence
because broken promises of Heaven and
afterlife won't satisfy my unending thirst
for freedom of mind
I write lines to deny the existence of a ******
reality that crumbles down every day and to
prove to everyone I am my own God
if not over everything that is, was, will be
than over this tiny little world encompassed
in a tiny little brain

Good, we're almost there, do go on
loving the anger

I want to be understood
that's not to much to ask for, is it
I don't want to be forgotten
rotting in a coffin as time consumes my rhymes
until inadvertently no one will know of my existence
no children, no family to carry on my legacy
of broken thoughts and badly written lines
Remember me, remember us
That's how this odyssey should have ended,
an extended ode dedicated to the random
stranger living his/her life
A testimony to the gruesome beauty
of our ultimate God, time.

Ah, poo soul tormented by pain
don't worry your efforts are not in vain
You're far more than the plain
simple-minded folk running around doing
their menial and petty tasks
Look at you, only 26 years old and already
so wise,
It must be gut wrenching to live with
your parents while not being able to maintain
a job
Oh, how I pity your tormented soul
when you do nothing at all, sitting in front of your PC
lamenting about the absence of your muse

But, but I have personality issues, I suffered
from depression and had suicidal thoughts

Whoopty ******' do, poor you
you're a ******* disgrace to the human species
watching your own mother work from 8 to 8
just to support your sorry white ***
Oh, but don't stop now, tell us more
about your extremely difficult life
charm our intellects with your witty rhymes,
your view changing, ground breaking, mind shaking
life altering poetry

What are we...

If not leafs blown by time
brave soldiers fighting crime
in the empire of life
all the never-ending strife
carving our skins with a knife
forged by scars worn and memories torn
from our darkest fears
So on and so forth, see?
It's easy spewing **** out of your ***
when clearly you have no understanding
on how to live, on what life really is
Don't you think it's about **** time
you take your head out of your own ***
and start using your brain?
Heaven forbid someone dares to upset your all so
fragile balance
Heaven forbid you spread your wings for a little
while and experience flight before
you come crashing down
You deserve no sympathy at all, self righteous,
money ******* pseudo-intellectual ****** leech
Go now, cry to your muse and girlfriends about
how cruel the life of an artist is
Sniveling little **** -

That's it, I'm putting my pen down
I don't need to listen to all this hateful
mind destroying *******

There we go, the root of your essence
the core of your soul, this is who you are
a coward.
Whenever someone, God forbid, decides
to challenge your foolish ideals and talk some
******* sense into you, you flee faster than a
rabbit scared of its own shadow
Go on then, shoo
back to your exploding pixels, locked away in front
of a box where your toon is a hero
back to your wanking and occasional girlfriend
you'll eventually get bored with, get bored of how
she dares demanding you open up a little bit
back to your castle in the sky
where there's no one but you, and who can confront you?
No one!

**** son, you just got wrecked, bahahahahahaha

Now that I'm stripped of all the masks
standing naked in front of you
do you still value me?
I imagine it would be childish to play
"Oh, I'm just another human being
filled with flaws, I'm in no way perfect
but can't you see, that's what makes us
so beautiful? Our imperfections" card

i don't get inspired... i get prompts,
e.g.?

one in particular...
her name? sam leith -
the saturday the times weekend
magazine (july 29th 2017) -
the usual load of *******
from the ***
of west london...

sam? why not samuel but
samantha?
  what sort of man cites his
father as the guiding beacon?
me? you?
s(he) - ah, transgender perfect,
armed with a rifle, and a bra
stuffed with scrambled eggs -
she he he she, she she he she,
it dot, tag, you're it! he she
she she he she, she she he, he she,
she she, he he, shish kebab,
samuel beckett's watt:
bonkers, boing boing boing,
apache heli-copter! trampoline!

slap in the face seriousness...
she-******
quotes her father citing
ecclesiastes (oof fra fra in essex,
high-brow y'ah tellin' moi?!
   neece... nice? n'eh ce pa?
tortoise mangetout peckam, n'es pas?)...
dog ****.

         to, every, thing, there, is, a, season,
     and, a, time, to, every, purpose, under,
the, heaven.

and then ******-he goes on to add:

        post-60... never pass an alleyway
for a wee... (not little, down south it's
called the glaswegian pish-soother),
     *******? no, thank you,
   i do mine almost daily while taking a ****...
for some reason an eager **** always
provides the ***** with some mexican
"artist"... milk that cow boy! milk it!
         boy milk it!
                         ah sweet maritza...
hombre in ex hombre... y'allah...
                                                     im'she!
(camel talk, spit and gnarl at toon poond
uh'xtra!)...
                      point no. 3: farts are boring,
unless in a tight space,
where all solipsism disappears...
   there is a proof for solispsism,
but it doesn't come from either head or mouth...
psst... comes from the ***...
    the argument for solipsism comes from
the ***... evidently the theory stands on the proof
that: everyone enjoys their own stink...
  and i believe that's a universally accepted
logic... you can smell your own ****,
but dare not to gag at someone else's,
     there, solipsism, proved via farting.

no man cites his father unless he be a semite.

so this bothered me... she-******-it-he-it-she-ooh
the following (age-limit requirement in brackets):
- not knowing how to cook (30)
- long hair for men (20)
- wheelie pavement transport (35)
- having one-night stands (26)
- posting selfies on instagram (35)
- long hair for women (50)
- jeremy "che" corbyn t-shirts (30)
- going clubbing (37)
- saying you're a d.j. (30)
- tattoos (age limit: never!)                  huh?
    - not being able to drive (20)
- baseball caps (36)
- going to festivals (50)
- wearing shorts (40)
- cleavage (40)
- showing other people your
poetry (16)....
   that's what got me, **** the rest...
what are you?
   spank-the-monkey-tiger-mommy?!
you the whip the ****** latex c.e.o.?!
the **** is this ******* rambling?!
    oh look... what's next...
an article!
   let's see:
           post-cougar, pre-pensioner -
it's a.... "tricky" stage by a 57 year old...
sure, i'd **** a granny... if i were african
working in a care home...
  as the headlines read only two days ago...
no... it's one thing philosophy attacking poetry,
but it's another when journalists do it...
no you ****-****-faced-*******....
you're not going to get away like the so easily...
******* leeches of conversation...
       barren wastelands of introspection!
i know my patron... at least this ****
german appreciated the craft...
   you? you?! you're a pathetic waste of time
trying to replenish a taste for
ancient greece... and all that pederastic education.

poets? masters of listening to
silence,
   within hearing sound

                (vacuus in vox, papilio in turba columba).

Every poem's about who I don't want to write about anymore,
The ones who got away,
The ones who chose to leave,
The ones I pushed out,
All of them

These poems are full of the skeletons from past friends and lovers, gone but not forgotten,
Never forgotten actually,
My mind could never get rid of any of them

I'm feeling it all,
All of them all over me,
Suffocating me,
Radiating a toxic hymn from the depths of everything wrong with this world,
Humming a toon that could only be heard through the ears of the broken,
An apocalyptic afterthought of an apocalyptic messiah

If I choose to die, who will live?
If I choose to live, who will die?

How long until I am forgotten,
How long until I am a skeleton,
How long until I am just an afterthought,
An unpopular opinion thrown onto a popular back burner,
Everywhere I go, I have my back turned,
Everywhere we went, she couldn't look me in the eye,
I can't even look myself in the eye

How long until I forget about you?
All of you,
All of you,
How long?

Billy Shakes: poetry! Tis nothing but the product of vile fantasy, a pox on art and the cogitation of righteous men.

Billy Wordsy: And though with poetesses I often lie, my hate of the poem I cannot descry

Em Dicksdaughter: i had no time for,--
Poetry as once I thought--
Words puzzling leads to nought--

Langs Huwed: when you see words on a pa-
Ge I will kindly ask misters and misses that they remember MY work. My so-
Ng. That the workers may not write ... to the weary sax toon of fanatic reds.

Sylvie Path:a shock of light Pierces an empty **** coach corpse
Flowers shudder at the thought of the hateful word: Poetry

DD Goings: a poet slapped my(****** whole )face once and i(neverlikingpoetry) strapped him with dynamite.

At first when we met
I danced to my own beat
To my own toon
That whistled in my ears
But then as we kept talking
Kept growing closer
You became the song
That was evermore stuck
Dancing on the walls
Of my head

You've been the same places as I
Hands linked together, we soared up high
Who would have known that the day I'll die,
My mind would ask me repeatedly why?

Why did it have to end so soon?
Just as we sat under the stars and the moon
We both had the same favorite toon
And loved to listen to each other's tune.

You were my savior, my lovely knight
who protected me with all your might
One day we talked, had a petty fight
And there it all ended on a quiet night.

So I stood still and watched you leave
knowing I was the first to truly deceive
Felt remorse as I made you believe...
Now that you're gone in silence, I'll grieve.

Words fail to describe
My heart's lullaby
It sings a beautiful toon
That reaches all the way up to the moon

It's a promising song
One that reminds me to hold on and be strong
For many times I feel weak
But when I hear it I once again get up from my knees

I would be lying
If I went denying
My multitude of blessings spread through my years
Why did I waste so much time on fake friends and fake fears

What I've realized is right now I'm just Here
And I've learned to love being in my warm bed instead of backpacking
Those dreams may be accomplished later, or never at all...
All I can experience right now is Here...
And I choose to enjoy and revel in this very moment.

To love is to destroy
To love is to enjoy
To love is to care
To love is to share

been said and heard a 1000 times
In war, between landmines
In peace, on a bench under the moon
or with a simple toon

~I love you

You cross my mind
Toon often
We’re both looking into
A new set of eyes
With each other’s still
In the back of our minds
Our truth settling in
That maybe we can never be again

I’m trying to remember our reality
Of what we were
An obsession
A drug
Our heart break still creeps in
Though I️ hope to be stronger
Stand against hurt
Knowing your heart still feels mine
Falling weak
Where are you in the world
Sweet man
What do does my soul need to do
To see yours in my dreams again?

Wanting you to hate me
Make it easier to stay away
Be with your lover
But I️ know she doesn’t look at you
The same way
I️ am the one who wanted to stay
Stick around forever
You’ll always make me wonder
What would’ve happened
If we fought through the thunder

I’ll always keep you in my heart
Imagine your smile,
Like an old work of art
You don’t want to hear from me
Allow your life to grow
It breaks my heart to say
But I️ know
I️ need to let you go

Rabbits on the moon

So much of the universe I didn’t know,
Like the Antarctic dolphins that live in the snow.
Or the ostrich of Scotland that wears a pink kilt,
And the Icelandic sunflowers that never shall wilt.
There’s kittens than swim in the cold baltic sea,
Or the cobras of Poland with raspberry ***.
There are turtles with shells made of musical twine,
And bulldogs in France that crush grapes into wine.
The are sloths up In Finland that wear woolly hats,
Made from the hair of some ginger Swiss cats.
There are budgies that swim in the seas deepest cracks,
And hamsters in Egypt with humps on their backs.
But nothing compares to my favourite ****** toon,
Did you know there are wild rabbits that live on the moon?
They are scary and angry and take people from tours.
They pull at their legs, just like I’m pulling yours.

Dead...
Alone and cold
Stuck living in the coffin my limp body lays
Hearing no wind
Feeling no wind
The pale white skin never touched by sun in many moons
Mouth too dry to speak
Yet still able to hum
Though this is nothing but a feeling
A feeling so heavy it wrapps around me like a blanket
With my eyes growing heavier by the minuet
The temperature decreasing by the second
Shivering I sit there, deep in a dark corner
Hidden from society
Drowning in what seems to be the ocean
Though only my mind
Knees to the chest with short breaths
That share the same rhythm as my heart beat
Humming a small toon
Trying to calm my stiffness
Being so stiff to the point my back locks
Pain shooting up my spine to the temples of my skull
Wishing I was dead from the pain and suffering
Hoping it would end soon
But only to be whiplashed when things seem to be going right
Why can't I just be set free?