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

Thursday, August 28, 2014

INVOLUNTARY EUTHANASIA

shards of discontent
blood stains
on dirty walls
we would all like
to wash our hands
but truth be told
we are a collective of fools
an ultra-violent species
destroying all and sundry
bring on

involuntary euthanasia
it's the best thing
we could all do
for the sake
of the world
progress is now dead
that much
I would agree
with the postmodernists on
there is no hope
for our species
as a whole
and if you think there is
then you are as deluded
as a (wo)man
who believes
in the existence of god
I am not a pessimist
I consider myself to be
a realist
who has had a gutful
of humanity
we are all dog meat
on the bones of ashes

Tuesday, August 26, 2014

...WHAT WILL THEY DO?

dingbats and blind fools
the world's full of them
it's what our rulers want

an unquestioning populace
keeps capital alive and moving
as we sleepwalk through life

the path of least resistance
we bow down, submit
to nefarious agendas
as units keep shifting
and the gluttonous
keep hoarding specks of iron

when the oil runs dry
what will they do?
when the coal's burnt out
what will they do?
when the ice caps melt
what will we do?
voluntary euthanasia
could be the saving grace
for mother nature

Thursday, August 21, 2014

LINE FOR LINE GRASS

face down
misinformation axes the door frame
the height of ignorance
the cow has a paddock slouch
automaton pushing buttons
he says there's not much left
that bender he went on
the bitter taste in the back of his dry throat
a voracious appetite
grass has never looked better

a light bouncing off the watch face
a shadow approaching in its demise
the evidence speaks for itself
a church approaching reverence
crème de la crème of lameness
the newspaper wept for them

onion tears fall into an omelette
foetal discrepancies abound

Stockholm syndrome
a means to no end
an end devoid of honour
lacking in triumph
kamikaze kids
the kaffir masses
banish the infidels for they eschew paradise
with their Western ideologies and Eastern food choices
tattoos and filth
hoe and MILF
bitches and bling
the pressure is on

 

YEARNINGS FOR SIMPLICITY

hanging from a wire
upside down

hopes suspended

raindrops on petals
rolling beads
colours swirl

other worldly

simulation
and simulacra

postmodernism
permissible?

death of the author?

my homunculus

little man
inside my head

castigates me
waves his finger

expectations
to conform
one must conform

but I'd rather
run into that flock
of pigeons

much rather
dance in the rain

much rather
jump in puddles

time moving backwards
the stuff of dreams

WHEN GOD TURNS AWAY FROM YOU

people look strange
Abbott even stranger
when not in budgies

Rhodes scholarship
gave him delusions
of grandeur

made him believe
that he was smart

 

but evidence
suggests otherwise

indeed

he has not one iota
of intelligence

nor one shred
of decency

beyond redemption

sludge at Abbot Point
concentration camps
gulags for youth

he can repent
but God ain't listening

and if he were to die
he'd be turned away
at the pearly gates

God's not happy
with his wicked ways

Monday, August 11, 2014

LINED UP FOR THE LINE

the television buzzed with nondescript emissions of static
the silence made the room shake
pleasant euphemisms fell from the decorated shelves
under the pavement...
below the daily churning of societal bounds
chains shackled to the feet of an aristocrat
he stumbles as he attempts to tread the commoner's path
birth, school, job, marriage, materialism, mortgage, death
love, hate, rebirth, orthodox, training,
repent, calm
Presbyterian awakening, Jesuit sleep
disaster, the calm after the storm
have you got the medicine?
do you have an opinion?
the mind is never entirely made up
fiction is more real than fact
science is for the logically incapable
a fully competent adult chucks a tantrum
a woman never lies
premeditated premeditation
destructive criticism
a hatred of repetition, a repetition of hatred
a cycle of malintent and informative malnourishment
white boys popping caps in the Dalkeith hood
black girls shopping at City Beach
and China is a continent
just like Taiwan
the United States of Austria
the most formidable and regal of empires
the emperor likes to imbibe nonsense
whilst the citizens prefer other routes of consumption
a bra for his man boobs, two sizes too small
a car for her problems, freedom for one and all

Saturday, August 09, 2014

NOT JUST ABOUT A PIMP CANE


retroactive realisation

all the moments lost in the sands of time
time waits for no one
a wasted youth
waiting for things to happen
something, anything
it's happenstance
all those glimpses of darkness
do you remember when we were young and free?
do you pine away for those days to return?
but age is just a number
a number that creeps up on us
the hallowing seeds of deception
looking for needles in the glove box
the onset of boredom
enough to maim and kill
there was once much hopelessness
but those days are dead and buried
meandering monologue
your impersonations do not impress me
but it's entirely your own choice
to toke from the bong
as the days slip away
please do not call me when I'm in class
and no, it's not dardy
not even close
you condone racism
not realizing how stupid you sound
the static nonsense of your television
but you have given up
too far gone
but this is not about you
it's about everything and nothing
and endings are never complete
just as beginnings are never new
time to turn up the ante
change is just around the corner
do you believe what you believe
I'm starting to believe that you believe in nothing
please do not call me
unless you've got something to say
beyond what you always say
and no, it's not dardy

DRAWING THE LINES

darkness engulfs all and sundry, piercing the light
curtains of silk filter incoming luminescence
another slight attack as innards reach up towards the sun
twisting and entwining like ivy
days of being wild and domesticated all at the same time
weeks of reckless distortion
cancerous fumes caressing the small of her back
I remove her corpse from the bathtub
shrapnel shatters in all directions as a bo
mb explodes in silence
the media does not notice
one life worth more than another
Kanye is worth millions
and Kim Kardashian more than the entire world
pop culture plagues the airwaves
disseminating pre-packaged spectacles for millions of blind fools
consumer based hierarchies connected directly to brain stems
buy, buy, buy
shop until you drop, it's all the rage
petrochemical collectables
the emperor still wears no clothes and he is all of us
I don't watch the news any more
death is just another product they sell to the highest bidder
and Rupert has a lot of money
he probably sleeps with money and shoves dildos made of gold up his arse
I guess it comes with the territory
if you took away a rich man's money he would miss it like an amputee misses their legs
phantom pains
all you money fuckers can go fuck yourselves
shackle your body with golden chains while Gina sits on your face
you'd like that a lot, wouldn't you?
good luck finding her clitoris
as hard as finding your soul amidst all of your money
good luck

MAGGOTS AND PIRANHAS

harlot hanging from a wire
with one hand and three feet
stars collapsing into flowers
blossoming on a mission to wilt
a homage to the nothingness of eternity
she does not want to pick them
so she shuts herself away from a cruel world
intrepidly wandering the recesses of her mind
escaping from the demons, stranded in purgatory
into the abyss of reflective cognition

powerless like an axe without a handle
yet she swings
on a pendulum of despair
locked into motion
hopelessly hanging on to a ledge
the heroin thwarts her clamber
the dirty stains of time cover her white frock
weightless as she kisses the moon
she dreads the rising sun
as dirty pictures encircle her soul
like a black and white film reel
she tip toes towards the edge of the world
she wants to see the drop
a recurrent theme, a sadistic dream
a collection of props
not all stories are true
some waiver between the bounds of fiction and actuality
the memories of a torturous childhood run through each waking moment
the devil beckons her to do his bidding
and in a moment of weakness she obliges
kills the enemies in her mind
but cowers before their presence
gravestones covered with blood and semen
she spilt her guts that day
a pile of maggots and piranhas
sharpened teeth and writhing slime
enough to bite the head off an angry bear
they told her she wasn't ready
too broken to pick up the pieces

CHASING BUTTERFLIES

a rush of blood to the head
the ugliness of concrete and neon lights
the superfluous spite of human nature
stockbrokers clamouring for gold and diamonds
reactive radiation flows back to the source
they keep coming back, gluttons for punishment
the sun explodes, as they pick up pennies
emptiness spreads its arms far and wide
the rich will have their day in the gallows
the tower of Babylon will collapse under it's own weight

we covet that which we cannot have
climbing over one another

the anger and despair of wasted youth
greed and lust will kill us all
the world will never soothe our appetite for destruction
how many carats will buy your soul?
the cuntish cretins build their castles on broken glass
wealth cannot quench their thirst for artificiality
they think they have it all but they have nothing
their overinflated egos will sink like the Titanic
so they keep on searching for something
anything that will fill the void within their hearts
only boring people get bored
too busy chasing after each other's money
I would much rather chase butterflies
and I may fall flat on my face
but at least my soul is mine
what the fuck does a rich man ever contribute?
fuck the rich and fuck their gluttony
I would much rather chase butterflies
candles burning halfheartedly in the dead of night
like the fools at an Amway convergence
they think they are going places
but they are going nowhere fast

Wednesday, August 06, 2014

DELIVERY


torrid earth
traces of blood
wash my hands
it wasn't me

cataclysmic clash
pitch battle
sweet destruction
a catharsis


despotic wave
drowning rats
invoking hatred
revolver retreating

colours bleed
a knock at the door
nobody there
my imagination

trail of debauchery
toxic avenger
awaken from slumber
slide through inertia

remember those days
days of being wild
all the rage
within a teacup


deliver us from sin

Friday, August 01, 2014

ZION CALLING

static, silence
falls on deaf ears
the violence
unrelenting
Gaza on fire
state terrorism
murder
with impunity
bombs
bulldozers
the homeless masses
Zion calling
land grab
partition
repositioned
media bias
barbaric terrorists
vs shaken Semites
tragedy unfolding
humanitarian
disaster
celebrity addiction
digesting rubbish
streets littered
with corpses
and amputees
precision targeting
targets confirmed
innocence defiled
era of terror
Zionist agenda
incursion
invasion
technological
superiority
Uncle Sam smiles
aiding and abetting
as children cry
and mothers
lose faith
heaven forbid
the stench of death
media spectacle
humanity lost
we are all
complicit
the violence
of silence
anti-Semitic
criticism
beyond critique
rocket terror
she's got the voice
idol for millions
as Gaza burns
we are all invited

REPORTS OF THE WEATHERMAN

the weatherman
explaining changes
cynical observations
violent deliberations
loaded like Patty Hearst
lining up targets
categorically insane
blood and innards
a giant crater
relief from disbelief
become excitable
easily distracted
the fountain spurts
cowardly acquiescence
taste of disappointment
a bittersweet reprise
storm-like flux
a pile of nothing
score another one
down the crooked path
enter through the window
sweetest aroma
destructive tendencies
a certain path
negation, creation
pushing the boulder
the force of gravity
epoch of mediocrity
countless Darwin Awards

the weatherman
never disappoints