16 Apr 2014

Girls of summer II

Everything is questions now
A tipping point reached
Sliding down the other side
Of the goddamn mountain
Looking back
Looking up

Digging your nails in trying
To slow yourself
For even a moment
Taste the air
Take it in
As it passes you like a dog
Hanging out a car window
Don’t look back
You can never look back

Still you ask the impossible now
Of yourself
Of others
Reaching out to grasp fingertips
Of hands just inches away as they blur past

And your eyes divert
Forward like a hunter’s gaze
You are looking for the box
And you are looking for the trap door
Still in your ears old songs ring
Straight to the heart
Where they were imprinted
So many summers ago

And they remain there
And they are solid
And they are like iron           
And they pump the blood
And feed the soul
And cause the shadow of regret
And melancholy to fall
Every now and then
But it is just that
Only a shadow

Don’t look back
You can never look back
Even if it was all gold
Warmth and carelessness
Nights that never came and never ended
All at once
It will only ever be a version of the truth

But it can’t be helped
And believe me I have tried
Though this age
Is the best time for this introspection
Opposite reflection and infantile regression
So why listen to me 
Feed the soul with a solid red
Scream shout laugh lament
Close your eyes and dream it all back.

26 Feb 2014

Bill. That is all.


I'm not big on anniversaries of deaths, or the ‘they would’ve been 40 years old today…’ stuff. They’re not – they’re dead. They died. They no longer have a birthday. So with that in mind, happy deathday Bill!

Also read this - Patton Oswalt's scrapped intro to a reprint of American Scream

21 Feb 2014

Mr C Pulman Esq.

Should have posted this a week or two back, but didn't. Hey I do have a life you know... Anyway as per my previous post - Chris was always a gent when I was in Slam back in the day, so support this.

13 Jan 2014

I am the cat stuck in the middle, cleaning his balls

There is little as boring
As a room full of people all
On the same page

A group with the same ideals
In agreement about the world
About styles and politics
And books and art

Jesus if that doesn’t kill
Every last atom of creative thought
What a waste of fucking time to be there

Yet this is what so many strive toward
Like-minded friends
A band to belong to
            I just want someone on my level…

I am still better in an argument
Or better than that
Just alone
The comfort of retreating will never leave me
And I like that

Wilson said that the group is a grammatical fiction
As it is made up of individuals

And here they are
The individuals
All trying to be like their friends to
Feel that inclusive lie of belonging

I have never understood this desire
And don’t think I ever will
That’s why I find it so hard to work
In the hard labour sense

Everyone committing to the team
Yet another group that will always exist
Within an even bigger collection of nobodies
A circle of dogs chasing tails
Happily ever after.

10 Jan 2014

Quote of the week

The thing about trendy marketing, though, is that it never lasts. Skateboard companies are posting losses for the first time in half a decade. The Tony Hawk Pro Skater games are likely not long for this world; the consumers of the game will forget about skateboarding the same way they forgot about the XFL. But some people will still love it so much that they won't know what else to do with themselves.  Ocean Howell 

4 Jan 2014

The illusion of security

I lay my neck back
Awkwardly and as comfortably as the upright sides of
The tub would allow
Almost five years
And I have not had a handful of use out of this
Goddamn thing

I lay the hot flannel across my face
Breathed the steam in with closed eyes 
And soaked my old bones
The door goes
As it always does when you’re in the bath
And I call out for her to answer it

I hear formal chit chat
Feel the cold air up my back from the hall
And under the bathroom door
That doesn’t close properly since I fixed it

After the click I find out it was a (nice) police lady
Explaining that the neighbour had a break in over Christmas
And we should check the window locks and all that
We have very little but what we do have
To quote a great man
Is gold
To me at least

I’m barely a Buddhist about it
            I sometimes think the Buddhists are scared of life entirely
Scared of experience and just plain living
And that their relinquishing of material goods just
Eases the transition into being a spiritual hobo

We check the locks and know we need more
Go through the motions that the world requires of you
Whenever you need to ask someone above you for things
That should in any polite society
Be offered freely in the first instance

And I sit and pour one
And then two
And think shit
I know I’m not exactly Christian about it
These people come back home at Christmas
And some motherfucker has been in there going through
God knows what
All to make some quick cash
Christmas time – right

And I think there seems to be some justification if
Something happens to you on the street
Out there in the concrete and neon wild
Fish gotta swim birds gotta eat

But even among the underworld there should be
Some kind of ruling on a home
The other side of that being
If you caught them in there – well

And so now most of our stuff is locked away
And there is no fear really
None that wasn’t there already
Fear for us and fear for our child
That the big bad world has no soul
No conscience or memory

It is a new year and here we are
Leaving no footprints
No marks on the walls
Still just passing through it all
And yet

With every passing day I feel something
Like a warm light on the back of my skull
Maybe it’s the sun telling me to
Never mind my bullshit
And to not forget that
It still comes up every day.

12 Dec 2013

Joy to the world, etc

According to many scholars, the events of the nativity took place around 7 BC. Given that “BC” stands for “before Christ [was born]” and the nativity is the story of the birth of Christ, this means that Christ was born around 7 years before Christ was born.

This is actually one of the least illogical things to happen during the birth of Christ.

5 Dec 2013



(this is the 'I have no good posts these past few weeks, so just to keep the blog running...' post)

24 Oct 2013

A small life

I stole two bananas this morning
In broad daylight
From under noses
After walking in, under the half moon
Over a pile of old coleslaw on the curb
To which someone had helpfully added
A small plastic knife and fork set

After screaming into the night
Over things that really don’t matter
The gods covering their ears
The cats listening from rooftops unimpressed

It’s good to keep yourself on your toes
Touch life
Test the world from time to time
Make sure it’s all still there
Still tangible

The rules of the everyday
Do not apply as much as you’d think
Even if you don’t do anything of note
Even if you are not regarded by others
And just go about your small life
Content and happy and just getting

That’s ok
That's alright
Just don’t forget to
Keep tasting the fruit once in a while.

7 Oct 2013

11th hour

A sober epiphany
It is the night before
It is a walk into battle without a rifle
I find myself suddenly needing to play catch up

The masks drop for long enough for me to
Remember and
        long enough is not long at all
And I am fragile and I am small
I carry a deck of 52 aces
Black hearts every one
They have got me this far and now refuse to
Serve me any further

A Bösendorfer sends me down the rabbit hole
The sinking feeling nourishing and deadly as
I hold my breath and decide whether to ever
Let go
And it is almost time
Almost tomorrow

Then I see it again
The film still
The portrait

Bleached out
Morning country
Winter air
The opposing blade to here and
And what would once have been hell to me

That being the fault of wise elders
The conditioning by family
Who knew better
Or were just scared to death themselves
And wanting to protect a child

The white keys begin their fade
And I know the end is due
It comes without fail
Without surprise

And silence remains
And the image remains
Secret desire
An infamous chill

Then the small face
Two eyes ready to be filled with
Whatever I choose…
Cold water from the streams
Runs down my back
Smooth rocks underfoot unsteady me

For the first time I question
What I have done
Everything again a divers weight on my chest
Taking me down and
I am encased in cotton wool and silken thread
Forced toward an ever long metamorphosis

I am not running out of time
I am immortal and unwilling
I have all the time the gods hand out
These days I just have no idea what to
Do with it

And I am fragile and I am small
And I carry a deck of 52 aces
All black hearts
53 if you count the one that keeps me

So I break out the claws
And turn my back on myself
Sit, sip, wait to get pulled into the whirlpool
It is almost time
Almost tomorrow
My journey to the centre of the earth.