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i am the dissident poetician...i tear down fences with sardonic sardines and metaphysical cucumbers

Wednesday, October 04, 2006


This morning, I stumbled out of bed at 6, scratched my balls, then said "good morning" to my friends.
There was Mel and Koshy and the rest of the gang, greeting me with their warm, welcoming smiles.
Koshy told me all about Aussie values and about the time he spent on the Kokoda Trail, the time he chased down an ambulance and the many rewarding moments he spent with Brant and Todd.
He neglected to mention the smell of sweat and shit and piss and beer.
At this point, I decided to leave Koshy and paid a visit to Kerri-Ann - boy was she looking hot; it must be the miracle of botox.
After I parted ways with Kerri-Anne, I did some soul searching and realised that my soul had gone AWOL.
But not to Panic, I had a lunch date with Dr Phil and a man with his wisdom could surely help me out.
The good doctor informed me that it was inappropriate for me to ram my pregnant wife's car with my shiny Rolls Royce while she was in it, and that I needed to take responsibility for my actions.
It was like some kind of spiritual epiphany and I felt a lot better for having taken the time to seek out the wisdom of Phil.
One o'clock came round and I was still hungry so I decided to have lunch again, this time with my billion dollar bitch from the hood.
When she asked me what I was having, I said "whatever you're having", knowing it wouldn't be much because Oprah was on a diet...yet again.
After the usual post-lunch dip in my circadian rhythm, I was feeling young and restless, so I decided to pay a visit to my friend Marlene's monster cock mansion like the ones you see on top of the hill.
She was busy preparing to throw a big charity party, before she received a call from Alex warning her of imminent danger: someone she knew well was planning a hostile takeover of her cosmetics company.
Marlene started to sweat profusely which made the thick layer of make-up on her plastic face start to run, upon which time I felt it was time for me to make a hasty exit - poor Marlene, how will she be able to afford her next holiday skiing in the French Alps?
Oh I wonder what Paris Hilton would do? She'd probably head out to some groovin' nightclub and meet some hot guys.
It was now time for a bit of retail therapy so I decided to jump into my 4wd, run over a small child and head on down to WESTfield shopping centre - I was so giddy with anticipation, a mood of gayness or was that what I was about to pay for?
Once I arrived at the shops, I mainly browsed around to avoid impulse buying. That was just before I laid my eyes upon a pair of the latest Calvin Klein pre-faded, pre-torn, bootcut jeans - I just had to but them, a bargain at only $139.95.
I approached the counter with my heart filled with joy but this was short-lived because the chick behind the counter informed me that I had maxed out my credit cards.
Oh the heartbreak and the disappointment - whatever would I wear to Marlene's party?
I headed into the newsagency to see what I could buy with the last $15 in my wallet in order to console myself until next payday.
Those large-busted bronzed babes on the cover of the FHM magazine caught my attention so I picked up a copy to have a little looksy.
There were some interesting articles on sports and whatnot so I decided to purchase a copy, while trying to contain the massive boner that the cover babes were causing me to have.
I bought the magazine for the articles; no really, I did.
Back at my humble abode, it was almost time for dinner, so I decided to fry up some nice juicy pork chops.
Oh shit, it just occurred to me that I had forgotten to buy some food for Rover while I was at the shops - how absent minded of me.
I shared one of my pork chops with Rover and he scoffed it down like he really couldn't get enough of it.
I then realised that I had forgotten to invite Rick and Suzanna over for dinner, right before Basil knocked on the door.
We had a good yarn about the Eagles' chances of winning the flag and the value of our stocks.
To my surprise there was another knock on the door - it was Monika.
We exchanged niceties, then she told me all about the pressures faced by footballers' wives and warned me about the health hazards of muesli bars.
After saying goodbye to Monika, I paid a visit to some friends in Summer Bay.
On the way to Kim's place, I bumped into Rachael and she seemed rather upset because she couldn't give Kim any children.
I felt saddened by this and told Rachel that she could lean on my shoulders any time she wanted.
The next stop was at Darryl's dancing studio where everyone would be.
When I arrived, I was blown away by all the glitz and glamour - the costumes made all the girls look hot hot hot - which gave me the biggest hard-on that barely subsided for the full two hours the dancing took place.
When I arrived home, I was so overwhelmed by the days events that I fell into a deep coma, dreaming pleasantly wet dreams about the FHM cover babes, Oprah, Kerri-Anne, the dancing queens and my pregnant wife.

Wednesday, September 27, 2006


fungus footbal faggot formaldehyde
umbrella underwear uncle undress
camera circus cancer cannibal
knowledge kingpin kinetic kamkaze

cleanliness convention conspiracy conundrum
uxorious undertow user-pays umpire
newspaper neanderthal nipple nephritis
taxonomy tendrils tonsillitus tabernacle

specialisation semen spectacle supernova
histamine histrionic hermaphrodite history
intense intuition insanity ice-age
therapy theosophy thoroughbred technology

patriarchy petroleum polysyllabic plebiscite
island industry irreversible individualisation
sandpaper semantics sandgroper sedition
Stalin semiotics sweepstake synthesis

frzzl flzzl frzzl flzzl
undllr undrza undllr undrza
clazzl clozzl clazzl clozzl
klazzl klozzl klazzl klozzl

fun udder cadaver kleptomania
ford utopia communism  Kropotkin
funky undersized cleverness ku klux klan
factory ugliness consumer kinky

famous underneath calamity kangaroo
flippant unconscionable candy karaoke
fire uaccountable chinese kingdom
fraternity uncertainty curry kinship

fozzl fuzzl fozzl fuzzl
ugllr ugrza ugllr ugrza
clzzl crzzl clzzl crzzl
klzzl krzzl klzzl krzzl

Friday, September 01, 2006


Fuck what they say!
This is what they will not say:
Join us in our merry parade,
Celebrating the state of our money.
So we can buy more bourgeois items.
We will destroy your KKKorrupt KKKapitalist KKKulture!
Then we will destroy everything
Because we all need more whiteworld-slavetrade products!
We will destroy your banKKKrupt imperiali$t vulture$!
And the meanings of your rational world are the meanings we shall destroy.
Will Darth Vader come to destroy or perhaps save us from ourselves?
No, we will anihilate everything before mohammed h. jesus gets here.
No, this isn't a war on Islam or a war against an abstract noun.
Its not even a war for OIL or a war to AID corporations.
Its a war on every front, a war on the common person:
The man who works his fingers to the bone, struggling just to SURVIVE.
The woman who watches her children cry in fear as sonic booms steal away the night.
They call it collective punishment when you target everyone because they are the other.
Reminders and the legacy of the tormented,
Tormentors torment and maim the satellites of innocence.
The tormented become tormentors, rabbits transmutate into dingos.
I liberated a coca-cola glass and its slimy innards came to a violent end,
Fractured into the toxic shards of western civilisation.
I loaded up an aristocratic catapult with pyro-synergetic propaganda,
Then I fired directly into the triple-bypass heart of prime time.
The automatons malfunctioned and started singing and dancing to ones and zeros.
The engineers and those information peddlers, who dwell in ivory towers, began to panic,
Until everything became illuminated by the halogen glow of freedom.
The robots and their creators danced together on every city street...
And then I woke up to this lolly shop of hate and VIOLENCE,
To feel the wind changing direction.
"Storms are coming", proclaimed the Maybelline weather woman.
But i did not need her to tell me the wind has changed.
I feel the change in every mode and moment of my existence.


Television and misrepresentaion.
Hierarchy is phallic elevation.
Tabloid sensation, trail of production.
The righteous authorites are coming.
The neon signs are hauntingly silent.
The stockbrokers are aroused and cumming.
The price of oil is rising.
The obsolescence of modern reason
is the renaissance of leaving.
The empty solitude of symbols
is the West's amplitude of "evil".
Rogue nation, which TV station?
Power station, which proxy nation?
Keep your arse glued to the cushion of luxury,
unaware of omnipresent hyperreality.
Nothing can be said that has not been said before.
The free markets lies are coming through the door,
So the doormats dust themselves off and rise up.
Amputees regenerate limbs and hurl molotov cocktails
straight into the cholesterol-clogged heart of a system that's KKKorrupt.
Pirates draw their swords and furl their sails.
And the pacifists raise their brows and turn the other cheek,
but if they think the Revolution can be bloodless,
Then they are naive angels ejected from heaven.
Words, words, words, metaphysical turds.
Judge a man based on his actions and not his words.

August 06