Tuesday, 25 October 2016

dig for victory

each one of us is a witness to
that which is glistening in the distance

spinning it's soliloquy of silence
into the brine that surrounds us on
all sides in times of great stress

and above a town without any honour
the sky is alive with lancaster bombers

as i whisper all my tips unto the grizzled god of the ad hoc
he sat me down and me talk of topics, ghostly and ferocious

and how we might stitch the rustic to the rigid and digital

it's the time of the year for incredible gestures
something to minimise the difference and stitch us all together

and somewhere in a village stripped of all visible history
our siblings have somehow learnt how to drink themselves to victory

to victory, to victory, to victory.

it's the opening night
and the opening notes
and the room is alight
with the hologram of hope
reflecting off varifocal lenses
miraculous happenstance
miraculous happenstance

fulfil your attendance with no hint of duress
at the festival that never lets you forget

miraculous happenstance
falsified in electric light

la danza

our guests are knee deep in la danza,
dazzled by my most impressive palabras.

if you are unsure of the angle:
bring all vacant units back into utility.

a new dialect for every weather,
stripped of all diphthongs and silent letters.

silent letters.

Friday, 26 August 2016

book of beasts

you will beg for the army.
make your pitch as you're leaving.

they bashed in your head for a pack of cigarettes but
you are looking younger from the trainers upwards

you will beg for the army.

he said,
amenities and luxuries
never meant that much 2 me

consider the ant, consider the bee.
forget your centre of gravity and
throw yourself at the lion's feet,

take your cue from the book of beasts.

Tuesday, 28 April 2015

soap factory

i play bass in a band,
we practice in the place
where my dad's dad lost his hand.

it's great working here,
you stay late and you get
free pizza and beer.

as i told her this,
she rolled her eyes and said

"is this some kind of sick joke?
we get paid more than that
working in a mexican sweatshop"

here they come, the super groups,
everybody always says they're good
at what they do and between black
walls of marshall stacks the drummer asks:


i went through the north and the west and nobody gave a damn.

and the asbestos halls just laughed.

i always dreamt of peeling the lids of off tin sheds,
holding companies folding, moaning low in pomona...
in clippers quay, in merchants quays, in exchange quay..

where rows of condemned souls - unfit for purpose -
are all lined up, waiting for their turn to be converted

and every click of the mouse
is enough to feed a shanty town yeah.

soap factory, soap factory...

and if you ever stop to miss us,
just wish us back into existence.

soap factory, soap factory, soap factory.

Sunday, 7 September 2014

inner ring road #1 (slumlord)

speaking in code
on the inner ring road
staving off starvation mode

turning purple
in the turning circle
taking the eccles tram
through our sham of a hinter land.

i was thinking
and walking it was
following me

as i flicked betwixt
multiple realities

digesting the world
internally amongst

the bleating and squawking
about trams and psychogeography

pointing your sword
towards magnetic north

breaking the brotchen
with the bitching and bored

sick of the saints
i think i'll take my complaints

to the slumlord
to the slumlord.

inner ring road #2 (eccles tram)

speaking in code
on the inner ring road

taking the eccles tram taking the eccles tram
taking the eccles tram taking the eccles tram.

speaking in code
on the inner ring road

i had just turned
one hundred thousand
years old but

i still got all my own teeth
which i keep in a box beneath the seat.

struggling upstream
with the garbage and the geese

finally making my peace
with the water taxis and river police

as i follow the sodium lanterns
into a quay where i wouldn't object to being scattered.

i teach myself to read again and act like i'm on tv again
i teach myself to read again and act like i'm on tv again...
the man across the aisle from me asks me what i make of this century

i stare six feet ahead of me and
shift my box onto the empty seat
i shift my box onto the empty seat.

it starts with thinning at the crown and ends in one of the many rooms of your father's house.

Tuesday, 2 September 2014

beef with everyone

in every office and every home, content getting fucked by form.
every exhibition is amateur porn and we've got beef with everyone.

we've got beef with everyone

wince as history is being written by a coked up kid with no qualifications
blessed with hair so effortlessly thick it makes you physically sick to see him

he's dressed in echo on the edge of town, the battle for the milltown crown
there's nothing scarier than an emerging area policed by mysterious criteria when

we've got beef with everyone
we've got beef with everyone
we've got beef with everyone
we've got beef with everyone

he saw the sadness in her eyes and said just treat it as a bit of exercise,
something to define yourself against, something to remember yourself by.

bye bye.

no goodbye and no hello, no more opening up of the door,
no goodbye and no hello - cos you're not our customer anymore.

you're not our customer anymore.

carling cans on the megabus - your new definition of dangerous.