The Better News

I was born long ago in the 1980s.  A time of coal and lizards.  I was yellow when I was born and at school they called me radioactive: The joke was on them becasue in 2009 I worked with radioactive amino acids.   I was put into an oxgygen tent which sounds like a festival but is not.  It’s a tent for sick babies.

Then my sister was born and it was good.  Then my next sister was born and she was and is a small tigress.  Then my brother was born and he is wise like an owl.  My father was angry and sad and happy and made money while my mother made lasagne which my best friend devoured.

At primary school I was the best but then I moved to a special bully school and it was shit for two years until I met the soon to be named Shaolin Monkey Crew.  Big L, Little D, Liono, B-Lime and Feeling with my little brother and Pedro.

I took some acid and watched L’s face fall off.

I went to study Pharmacy and mixed dangerous chemicals together.

I smoked on a plane and went to jail.

I studied Biology and got a first.  I became defacto leader of the W Massive.

I fell in love twice and lust infinitely.

I did a PhD and went crazy.  I became friends with superdave.

I went to Asia.

I fell out of love and into Buddha.

I came home and cried.

I became God realised and Chrisitian.

The End.

Any Questions?

cold toilet nostalgia

cold toilets and fruit detergents
nostalgia is emerging
mould on the curtains and the dryer’s not working
I pissed on the seat,
Nobody’s looking.
Someone was in here.
Fucking.
Spoon on the floor for cooking.
A foil johnny rapper,
Its contents elsewhere, imagine, disgusting.
People still make things that insist on rusting.
It drips down the urinal,
Into cakes that are crusting.
They soak up the odour and show you your fluids.
Thank God you’re drunk, think about druids.
Slip on the tiles, for miles to the exit.
Push into the bar and order the next hit.

fox

i saw a fox
our eyes locked
he looked
he isn’t on facebook
when something tweets
he thinks it might be something to eat

he lives in a den
a real den
not a shit den that kids make that blows away
a real den
his only friends are his kin
and his vixen
who he loves
whatever she does
she does much

when he gets back
with a rotten rat
their noses touch
and they have lunch
and she feeds her kits
and they squeak

humans used to be like this
but now they use formula
even though it’s not recommended
by anyone
because it’s not natural
they have to go to work

 

bus arrives microseconds

bus arrives microseconds
no more guessing, get to lessons.
It’s our bus
in bus we trust.

stare air diesel
creeping ipod weasels
pick up propaganda
sit in silence
read violence
oil reliance
unnecessary science
bus jerks
I’ll talk about this at work
little boys that used to stare at little girls skirts
delve into 3D worlds through screens
outside is grey post punk post industrial concrete
queues of tin machines
switch off data
pick up paper

game loading, brain exploding,
experience encoding.

converstation eel

conversations reel around, revolve I mean, like those annoying doors nobody needs or likes.  These confuse idiots.  We discuss politics.  The polite tricks of fiendish, selfish, parasitic humanoids.  Homo sexus.  Homo parasiticus.  Stare into peoples’ eyes, talking about the dumbing down of education or pollution or some other banal, self righteous slurry words.  Occasionally make eye contact with someone and see right into something real and then it’s gone.  A momentary sight of clarity.  It’s always a stranger but not always a girl.  That’s the truth and it walked away again.

Drone persons project their fake, saccharin mood on you like cheap wall paper paste that’s gone off and doesn’t work.  The paper slides down, involved in a council estate ritual and slowly degrades as pages of a wood chip book. Emotional residue remains and goes hard.  Spend the rest of the day picking it off like a scab.  Pray for rain.  Pray for scars so you have a story to tell yourself of another you can cover in paste.

Eels are not disgusting but your culture informs you otherwise.  It has a lot to answer for.  Get excited about your ability to grow a baby inside your body, then pay a teenager to look after it.  Your job makes you feel more important and useful.  You are not an identification.

I’m doing a studying for a moment in the future.  I’m revising for a moment in the future where I will be happy.  Right now I need to be unhappy.  I need to push myself further into nothing to get something later.  Then I will have it all and the little people will make me coffee and I will buy things and enjoy this brief happening of decadence.

I will eat things that make me feel sleepy and sick.

Ideas on how to trick people into clicking on a thing.  Don’t ever say hashtag to me.