Post COP

Well, it was a depressing end to the Climate Change Conference in Copenhagen, but why?

The government representatives who were present failed to put global warming ahead of economic growth. But why?

Just to put this out there, government are self serving entities, who seek to prevail in positions of power. i.e. in the democratised world they seek the favour of the masses. So is it everyone in the leading countries that failed. I think I was guilty in having faith that they would step above their selfish positions and act against the masses to commit to large scale economic changes. In essence this faith was very unfounded, there should have more placards, more membership commitments to friends of the earth or the WWF. There should have been more pressure to make large governments act.

So what next, politics from above have failed, it's time to use other mechanisms to achieve goals. One important group that has formed are the COP 40, a group of international cities, including London, Hong Kong, Adis Abbaba... who are fighting from a much more in tune grass routes level. Their vested interests stemmed from slowing sea level rise to prevent mass flooding of their business districts to learning and educating less developed cities. It is at this level that new mechanisms of department integration are occurring, transport planners speaking to waste departments to develop holistic frameworks to act at local specific levels. This has to be the answer, telling higher politics what is happening, such as London's former mayor did, developing far thinking practical strategies to limit GHG emissions. And of course passing on information for no gain other than to enable humankind as we know it to survive.

So I guess it is up to everyone now, no more eco arrogance, just education and action. Been an activist doesn't mean putting bricks through Porsche windscreens, the people are rich enough to buy a new windscreen and waste even more carbon. It is time for pragmatic universal action to enact real change. In the hope that governments will see the will of populations and fight in Mexico City next winter. Time is running out, carbon emissions must peak before 2017, to prevent the +2oC rise and associated serious affects of fucking with the globe. And this is the minimum we need to do. So it is time to stop thinking that is only one more holiday, one degree lower on the air con, one more break horse power. Time and the people in charge are no longer with us, it is time for us and only us to act. Lets no longer trust those above, and trust our selves after all we are the ones who will eventually have to change lifestyles if governments get together and pass laws, pre-empt and inspire I say.

There is hope, but not for two many more years.

Distance

Screaming impatient
Lullabies.
Into the wind.
Hoping,
They reach you
Beautiful.

Writing rhyming
love couplets.
On paper aircraft
Fuselages.
Fly away windswept
Poems.

Global time zone
Manipulation.
Hazy blurred video
conversation.
Laptop impersonator
comfort.

Hope to Mitigate

When The World is gone,
Scorched or flooded.
When The Last few remain,
Searching aimlessly.

Nights drawing in,
A scant decaying rhythm.
The last leaves of autumn,
Falling towards the ground.

A simple skeleton,
For a timeless gravestone.
The last and eternal rest,
A vigil to nothing.

Will the winds still think,
The tides still breath,
Or the clouds ponder lonely.
Will everything just stop.
Like a tree falling silently.

Hong Kong – First Impressions

This place is tall.

I am on the seventeenth floor and there is a road above my window.

It's a technologically advance place, maybe one of the most on the planet, but they still have old style ring pulls on drinks cans, how 1980's

The supermarkets have lots of greens.

My chop stick skills led to a fork been brought to my table.

Two of my best shirts have splatters from dumplings or chicken legs plopping back down into soup or curry.

The roads don't seem very bike friendly.

The satellite villages have sky scrappers, cloud itchers.

The beer is good and cheap.

Concrete, so many small, tall apartment blocks. Every bit of flat land expanded upwards.

My washing detergent won all the independent tests apart from 'milk/blood'.

Christmas mania.

Roaring, flaming cooking fires, flash cook beautiful fish.

Bustling market, fake, cheap copies.

Car horn impatience.

Gambling island Las Vegas.

Portuguese mo pad, yellow and red building influence.

Long working hours. Silent lift accents.

Pollution burning lungs, underground the world on the MTR.

Hong Kong - The Journey To

Aeroplane engine hum.
Familiar lonely song.
Suspended between worlds.
Worlds which are only
A few seas apart.

The vibrancy of change
Which strikes bolts of fear
And love
Through hearts.
An ode to the engine,
Hum, song.
The shrinking world.
Grand bass of my life.

Ripped from tender,
Post uteric.
Loving relationship.
Ripped and kicked far away.
Time zone change.
Internet phone account.
Frequent flyer discount;
Privilege cards in glittering
colours.

Global personna.
Lonely and lost.
Craving I no longer know
What?
It was until economies melted,
A two up two down.
A Georgian brick terrace.
My lover and a garden.

Now any excuse to work.
I need money for pens.

Hong Kong, before.

The second flight away in less than a year, where am I going? Leaving Squid behind, what I am doing? Moving to Hong Kong, the lure of The East, the corporate east this time, not the jungle and mountainous of the remote east. Dim sum and glass sky coffins. Tropical skies and associated deluges. Reading shows and people speak of Hong Kong's many faces, sleazy, capitalist, diverse. Hunting ground for the dollar, prostitution, Buddhism, Christianity, Cantonese, suits and ties.

Britannia turned this island in the 1850's from farming and fishing villages to global economic quarterback, a banking axis with Shanghai, HSBC, red and white now sits on many a countries street corner. Neon lights, I suspect the outward normal sprawl, flickering signs of suburbia, missing 'el's from the Hotel advert. The modern center, the renovated, the places that move with times, a trait of capitalism to adapt to circumstance and environment, the dragons mouth, breathing fire.

Hong Kong Island, expatriate haven, Chinese refuge, mixing bowl, east meets west soup on a tropical island with surfing beaches, serpents, electronic music, banned Falun Gong, discotheques and chop stick handling skills. Will these pre-conceptions be true?

Emigrating Today

New Places,
The confusion of
The unknown to
The excitement of
The exploration.

A heart beat,
A new phase,
A different page.

Like any step,
Fear and sadness.
Lost and found.

New people with
New hair cuts.
Ever more
Distant hands
Waving goodbye.

A change bridged
By love.
Beautiful connection.
To beautiful to loose.

I probably should
Be packing.
Not writing poems.
Procrastination?

What will this change
Begin?
What will this change
Relieve?
I don't know,
However,
The easy road is usually
Wrong.

A secret location, no dress code.

Underneath a railway arch,
A car park or a disused warehouse.
One night only, blue neon lights.
And a distinct bass throb.

Milling people stand, huddled.
A steaming impatient queue.
Security and cloak rooms,
Apprehension and excitement.

The bass hum now phater.
Built upon with middle and treble.
Lights escape from hidden arenas.
Groups of people meet; great and smile.

Corridors open onto dance floors.
Strobe lights, beats and moving feet.
Musicians play the crowd,
Like a pumping Bavarian accordion.

Luke cold cans of overpriced beer,
Chemical enhancement,
Could be anything.
Hugs and silly hats, laughing faces.

Beats, notes and samples make rhythms,
Moments evolve, drop and decay.
No longer trapped on an Apple Mac.
0's and 1's turned to synaptic pleasure.

Different rooms, different roots,
Different cities, different languages.
Different decades.
The same love for
The electronic.
The digital.
The Dj
The producer.
The dance.

Sunrise at a bus stop.
Ringing ears, in need of a shower.
Milk delivery woman acquaintance.
The real world?

Umbrella Aside

So it’s dark in the evenings now and wet in the days; I was forced to spend £6.99 on an umbrella to keep my woolens and impermeable skin dry, I didn't want either shrinking. The next problems was the new and frightening world of umbrella politics. Mainly a tool of social conscience developed in the late 60’s, it is designed to prevent eye loss of passer byes and provides an introduction into the mathematical fathoming of moving 200 opened umbrellas through a river of central London Worker Traffic (LWT), whilst getting only the scruffy wet. Needless to say I am new to the tool so my umbrella had eye balls and even a small raven stuck to the points after only a few meters. In the end my umbrella was confiscated by the wind and I got wet. Well that was £6.99 well spent.

Zombie Revenge

Inspiration:

People – Squid (always looking beyond the obvious)
Blogs - http://www.thecleanwhitepage.com - offbeat incentive
Books – Wolf Totem – Jiang Rong – Animism and the big ones
Music – N-Type, King Cannibal & Joker (bass heavy madness)

It wasn't long after I got bit, perhaps only ten or fifteen minutes, that things began to change. Looking back now, I guess the main change was in my feelings, my friends, well I call them friends, the people who escaped together, ran together and attempted to 'survive' together; they were my fleeting friends. In our minds I assume we all felt the same; it would work out like in the movies, we'd be hero's, fall in love; fuck to dying cinema lights across the world. We never considered that 'fatal' bite to be a lucky card.

For most people before us, death meant a sudden change, a loss of memory and a new innocent life - what ever was appropriate. But for us, death was a protracted process, a journey that would make us understand and value every future breath. A chance to be part of the living dead.

It was the sudden loss of identity, narcissism and person. This hit home hard at fast. Groups of people suddenly began to act as one, an evil one I admit, but a short lived collective one at least. There was so much death and human consumption that all our preconceptions of a world evaporated. I admit a greed filled us to consume and I think posses, but suddenly the mind was attempting to leave a body with deserted eyes, it was trying to find the next stage, but had time to glimpse the previous whilst knowing there was a next.

It was this moment, when the old human conscious was erased, questions were answered. No one had predicted this outside of the b movie cinemas, there was no plan, no army on stand by, no safe zones or escape. It consumed humanity and brought it together. Gradually we sat down to stave and thought, we prepared for the next – together. And yes this is where we ended up, jumping passed a few steps.

Scribbler Award

Wow, thank you Jamie Nicole (reasons to forget) for the award & certificate. It really made my blogging month....

So i have to post the rules and select my five favourite blogs. Well some of them may well have been awarded an award before, but two shouts can never make someone sad.

The rules:

-Each Superior Scribbler must in turn pass the award on to five most deserving bloggy friends.

-Each Superior Scribbler must link to the author and the name of the blog from whom s/he has received the award.

-Each Superior Scribbler must display the award on his/her blog, and link to The Scholastic Scribe, which explains the award.

-Each blogger who wins The Superior Scribbler Award must visit this post and add his/her name to the Mr Linky List. That way, they'll be able to keep up-to-date on everyone who receives this prestigious honour.

-Each Superior Scribbler must post these rules on his/her blog.

Number One in my world, Squid - scribblesquid her sereal art and words rock my world.

Not just 'cause she gave me the award, but because reading her words is like standing in the torrent of life. Jamie Nicole (reasons to forget)

Since i read the first sentence i was hooked by the honesty and realism of the words here, Stacey Sidebottom, My Brain In Blog Format

Some great poems here, they constantly evolve too. The Reticent One pOETIC aDVENTURES oF tHE rETICENT oNE

Just came across this one Tina Lonergan The Clean White Page and it's brilliant, it's off beat.

So that's my five, maybe i needed ten.

keep up the great blogs.

mark

Autumn Sky

Influences – Train ride to London reading Wolf Totem – Jiang Rong

Autumn evening skies are black with night, an almost comforting black, the kind that proceeds the cold of winter. In the early purple evening, stars wake up, companions to walk home with. Later their beautiful litter seeps through closed windows as the world slips into night. All this after a late afternoon sun set, a tepid pallet which highlights the enormity of the sky, scattered clouds perspectives slashed with aviation trails.

A gentle cold that condenses breath to white cloud wonderlands. No summer sun to stew the jogger, just that morning autumn air, not yet cold enough to burn lungs but cold enough to create those mysterious wonderlands. The winds breath a sudden bite after it's summer caress.

It's the commute home for many, stranded many lane motorways, clogged with lights both red and white. Like serpents that writhe across fields, passed skeletal trees and huggled thorny bushes. Asphalt loneliness and dreams of a warm dinner. Possibly lasagne or stew and dumplings or roasted squash soup with chilli and bread. An embrace for the lucky a microwave for the lonely.

Hedge fruits, red or black or oaken and hovering birds, rodents collecting for the months ahead. The last of summers elegance caught in the orange and yellow and purple memory of leaves. A temporary death, a hibernation of green, a spiders dream whose web glistens with morning dew in slanted dawn light.

The death of summer is beautiful, a last breath of grace before the barrenness of winter, whose desolation is so complete it can breed hope of the spring and summer to come.

A Circle Is A Line

As a mountain I sit.
With melting roots
and frozen hair.

Owls circle passed
and rodents burrow in
As trees grow and fall.

Children toboggan to
Houses down below
to comfy winter smoke.

Glaziers grow
flowing away to sea
And back again to falling snow.

As a mountain I sit
And often think
Is there a next?

Wrapping & Unwrapping

I have written this poem as I rapidly become enamored with a beautiful woman. If you're reading this x.

You know that
Pair of eyes.
The pair that
can make you smile
or cry.

That familiar touch,
To gently help you
Through the day.

Those deep hugs,
that get you over,
All your scary dreams.

That naked foot
At the bottom of the bed.
Entwined,
Attached to toes,
Moving over skin.

A morning cup
Of tea.
Drank steaming,
Next to you.
As another day begins.
Happy.

Sparse beats

Music Influences – Max Cooper
Art/literature – Leonora Carrington
People - Squid

There was a time in my life, when digital music had to be hard, fast and very dirty. There was a time even earlier in my life, when I was an angry teenager, that songs had to contain the word 'fuck' for me to be interested. Now, on the cusp of middle age, I like my music a little more peaceful but sometimes insane. I still like my very heavy bass lines, the beat that twitches those feet, the psychedelic swirls that progress a song. Some days I even like lyrics, (especially those by Kimya Dawson, Bob Dylan...), but most lyrics seem lazy and bore me compared to the vibrancy of instruments or electronic trickery.

Digital music is fascinating to me, it annoys me when people say, 'but they only press play and stop.' does a conductor not just waggle a stick, some of these 'stop/play' people produce every single note on that track, others write there own computer software to make the sounds and some make their own instruments to personify their minds. For me it's a fantastically evolving art form, when mixed with digital visuals, even more mind bending.

Instrument music also inspires me. How a person connected to a shaped piece of wood, with strings, plugged into a socket, or a formed lump of hollow brass plugged into a person can make such beauty. It's utter madness.

I guess this came from a weekend spent with a lovely women, we chilled, chatted, ate... We went to listen to a friend play on Saturday night, a friend from university. Playing minimal electronic music, in a concrete bar. It was a simple but brilliant night. A tasty meal , a chilled bar, engaging music, chat. None of the chaos of a full evening clubbing, not sleeping for two days...

I feel for my last few weeks in London, I need this peace. Moving to Hong Kong will be crazy. I feel gutted about leaving this wonderful woman behind, and I spend many hours con quoting plans not to. But it's tough. Why do you meet perfect people just as life's direction changes? Just like the electronic tune, that builds intensity, beautiful synths overlayed, people begin to dance, the beat intensifies, the bass becomes a little fuller, minds get lost in the repetitive rhythm, all feet move over the dance floor; dance more, whole bodies twitch, eyes close and notes and beats flow over the body, deep bass booting the chest, lost in the dance, lost to the musicians whim, they can take you anywhere at this point – the whole room just one.

Leaving London Town (soon).

The job decision decided. The London job fell through, at the last moment. My cards played for me. It's off to Hong Kong in five or six weeks. Scary stuff, 'How does one go about emigrating?' I guess this blog will provide the answers over the next few weeks.

It should be exciting, but it feels lonely. I'll be leaving someone who has my heart. I'll be leaving many friends who have my joy. Naturally my first thought was to go and see my heart's harbor. So I popped downstairs, jet bike keys in hand. The engine on my jet bike is broken, so I power it using an assorted collection of happy birthday balloons and a hand held fan. Luckily the wind was with me; the journey shouldn't take too long.

Balloons inflated, fan switched to full – I set off...

Drifting over London's sky line is amazing, I'm not sure whether people have ever landed at Heathrow, it's one of the best plane landings in the world. I float down Kennsington High Street, passed the anti-social police who search the pockets of homeless people, before moving them on. Passed a collection of gaudy and predictable consumer havens. Passed the tube station; which I try to avoid. High above Hyde Park, where I sometimes run circumnavigating the Beautifully Baroque Albert Hall, home to concerts and smiles.

Over Marble Arch, with statues of ripped hero's of old on stallions. Tall Georgian business districts, beautiful but inaccessible, wave to the Queen at The Palace, pass down bustling oxford street, Christmas songs already playing for shoppers (maybe I need some ball bells for my tree). Glass shop windows display what you 'can' have through an impenetrable barrier. The far reaching chimney pot skyline of a beautiful city.

Themes slipping through London to my side. Days of old it delivered money to the banking district, now optical connections do that. Glass monoliths that influence The World. Train lines that go everywhere. Trendy east London, tight jeans and hair cuts, pubs and bars where I often smile and dance with friends. I set the jet bike down in Bethnal Green, lock it to an iron fence painted black, opposite The Buddhist Center.

I ring the door bell, lucky guess the password, take the lift upstairs, heart beating, hands sweaty. Curry ingredients in hand.

I'll miss London Town, but I want to leave happy. I feel my heart will be harbored for eons to come.

Tree house dream

This is simply a daydream but maybe a real dream.

I've always wanted,
To live in a tree.
So I glued leaves
To my glasses.

Now I sit still,
In my living room.
With new friends.
Talking in Song.

The Magpie is
The most caring.
We both like
Shiny things.

Tomorrow, I think,
I'll build a swing,
And just maybe,
A fireman's pole.

Then I'll be ready,
To have old friends
Around for tea.
We'll sit and laugh.

Just Another Day

London, London, London. A friends birthday, another friends engagement celebration, a gig, a pub, a club. Lots of friends, some I hadn't seen for years, some I've only recently met. All the makings for night of madness.

London for me, at the moment is a good place to be. There seems to be something happening here, a large group of people who have found each other, through mutual love of music, mashing up, hanging out, chatting and honesty. Twenty or thirty somethings, careers and vaporous weekend memories.

The night moved beautifully along, driven by a soup of alcohol and extras. Lots of chats, belated hugs, dancing, silliness all over the place. I'm lucky I guess, when I get wasted I smile, I'm not a violent person, never get into fights, arguments or any of that rubbish.

The night slipped on, through peoples houses and the streets of London, bottles of taquilla, couches and music. Suddenly it was Saturday evening, where had the next day evaporated to. A friend cooked cous cous. The chat was incredibly honest and refreshing, people spreading the love between friends, laughing.. But finally after a quick couch snooze it was time to head to bed. To my surprise I got a text from a friend, who I really want to be a lover. She was inviting me to watch the sunset on Brighton Beach. So I went to bed smiling, excited about the next day.

And it was a beautiful day, we sat on the beach listening to green waves whisper hello as the clouds cleared and the west was red and yellow and orange - the end of a weekend. We went for dinner, then home, hugged deeply and caught trains going in opposite directions.

Now it's Monday, a new week of possibilities.

Hangover Monologue

This poem was a hangover poem, dedicated to my love of the previous night - wine and vodka.

Wine voice woman
Tongue sweet with roses
Worship my pillow whispers
But your breath befouls me.

If you cared you'd ask
Just why?
Empty bottles cover the floor.

The answers not deep
Or traumatic
Or repressed.

It's a ticket for something more
It's a shattered glass
It's a simple loving caress.

Which Job Do I Take

Influences of the while

Books: Automated Alice – Jeff Noon
Music : Augie March & N type
Film: Baste Taste - Peter Jackson.

Well, in essence I lost my job a while ago. It was my fault really, I decided to ride a bike across Central America. Was it my fault though, I was fleeing a crumbled relationship. Yes, it probably was. That has led me here though, unemployed but two job offers in hand. One in London, where a lot of friends live, and one in Hong Kong, where a new adventure lie. Both fun jobs, engineering sustainable buildings (it's what I do best). Anxiety over what to do is driving me quite mad. My brain seems to explode with fire crackers of options, possibilities and futures.

Well only one way to decide, fill out two acceptances, select two random post boxes in London, assign a job to each, I walk, which ever one I find first is the job I take. Simple. Well nothing is really simple is it.

I had walked about 2 miles when the people around me started to stagger and scowl at me. Rude I thought, but London after all. I walk a bit further, I got a little offended when I saw a couple in an advanced state of foreplay in the street. They were biting each others necks. Passionately. Anyway I was almost at Soho so anything goes I guess.

A question I often ask myself, 'Do you cross the street to help, if you see someone getting attacked?'

Always, I have always thought until today. As I turned a corner I saw a young woman ruthlessly stabbing an suited man in the skull. I didn't run across the road, I fell to my knees, crippled, and cried out 'Help!', 'Somebody, police, someone.' but the people around me seemed oblivious, in a nine to five trance. Sushi for lunch and tips for dessert.

I just stood there, the knife kept plunging in and sucking out. Blood and skull pattering on the pavement. People just walked on by. I slumped against the wall in mental exhaustion. A stream of people flowed passed. And passed. More people. I guess the blood was flowing across the street, I wasn't watching anymore.

The more people that passed me the more they seemed to look at me. Look at me like I wasn't one of them. Look at me like I wasn't a person. The more I looked at them, the more they looked distant, almost alien.

Suddenly a middle aged man in jeans and t-shirt, the type I'd wear, turned to me. His lips quivered. His eyes, although they focused on me, seemed vaporous. His lips turned into a snarl, then they opened and let out terrific cry. The street stopped and turned, turned to me, started to crowd around me, looking intently. Looking like they wanted me.

My legs took over, my arms pushed and swept aside as I ran, ran for anywhere.

Only once I looked over my shoulder, only once I saw the a baying crowd with automated steps chasing me down.

After that I ran, ran fast, and faster. Until my lungs burned and I was safe in my friends flat. I still had both letters, I still don't know which job to take – Any suggestions, I assume the zombies have left now..

Digging for answers

I was digging over my mother’s allotment today, passing time before my new job starts. I was slowly turning over the clods of earth, meeting many earthworms; most of them pleasant. At one point, the fork slipped suspiciously easily into the ground, in fact it slipped all the way to the handle. I rattled it around in the ground, which was a little strange, more earth fell away, the ground beneath my feet began to slip, my knees disappeared, then my hips. For a brief moment all I saw was a swirling soily tunnel until I thudded onto a cold damp floor.

I was sitting on my bum in an angular cuboid cavern. The light came from the comparatively small hole from where I’d fallen. A giant earthworm with a bobble hat on both ends spoke, ‘Hi I’m Albert.’ ‘And I’m Edgar’ each phrase came from under a different hat. ‘We’re siamese worms.’ Both mouths said in unison. ‘We also have split personalities; sometimes we switch bodies. You don’t need to know this however; you’ve come for different answers.’

I suspected either Albert or Edgar was talking out of their arse.

With that the earthen walls swelled into pictures, these were nothing like the oily holographs I’d seen before, there hues were dense, there forms almost palpable. Gradually after a few flickers my face appeared. Although there were no tears my blue eyes seeped sadness. I noticed how blue they were, had I ever noticed this before?

‘You don’t know do you?’ my face spoke,
‘Know What?’ I answered
‘What to do.’
‘About what?’
‘The woman, your new job.’
‘Yes, I know I’m off to London, the city, the music, friends, vibrancy.’
‘Yeah but the woman has gone.’
‘No she hasn’t!’
‘She has, what bit of I’m off back to old boyfriend didn’t you understand?’
‘She might not be, might be just getting her head together.’
‘Might be, might not, but she’s gone.’
‘Yeah but it was so good, how could she go.’
‘Was it good.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Well, it seemed good, we spoke, we joked, we laughed, we had fun.’
‘She was fucked up over her ex though, she just needed a tonic.’
‘But the tonic was good, it worked.’
‘Yes, but only a tonic, and a stupidly intense tonic, look at your blood pressure - 132 over 80 something and you’re half marathon fit. That’s not right.’
‘So what are you saying, I shouldn’t go to London. I shouldn’t live on valerium.’
‘Maybe, check the job offer in Hong Kong, a new country, lights, music, new people and food that’s a whole lot better than London.’
‘She really has gone hasn’t she, that fiery romance, burnt out like magnesium, ashes floating off in the wind. Yeah time for a new start, maybe Hong Kong, maybe London. A new start whichever.’

The hole ejected me like a broken piston part, my hands we’re blistered from the digging, a reasonable area of the allotment turned over and a fine autumn drizzle starting. Gardening is quite meditative.

The Office – towing the corporate line

Do I really want a new job, I remember one from a while ago...

The day was long, too long, many hours sat numbing my mind at the office. Maybe the week was too long, maybe I needed out of this shit. Forty Five pounds rested in my pocket, a gram of coke in my colleagues. The tension had built throughout the day, how do we do the exchange under the gaze of straight colleagues and bosses. Subtle e-mail correspondence. Under the pretense of work, slipped between files, passed between hands. Cash for good times, same old same old.

A gram of coke rested in my pocket. Now understand I’m not an addict, but I really wanted a hit. Sitting down at the computer, devoid of interest and wanting more, I felt the wrap burn my leg, begging me, just a cheeky one, a bump to see off the day, a spark of something else, something better than a customer account, or a flashing cursor and an easily irascible boss.

Off to the cubical I marched with familiar apprehension swelling. You try to be subtle, but how subtle can inhaling a line be. I racked it up on the toilet role dispenser, sharply breathing in the good times. A bitter taste of solid but sordid friendship Splashed cold water on the face, shuck the drips, grinned in the mirror and strutted back to a slightly less mundane job. Life can be fun I thought, life was fun I felt.

Ode to Bukowski's Words

I wrote this poem a while ago, so i guess it is a blog cheat. But i really like it. I also admire Bukowski's freedoma and words, even if he was a misogynistic prick.

lumps of cork
float in my wine
as another evening turns to night
the loneliness of a
different ambition
the smokiness of a fading life
wisps of it
melting into rooms
which in turn melt into a
monotonous world
of blurred expectations
it's strange but is isn't
life is not what we make of it
but the words that surround it

Hollywood Ending

This started off as a poem about winning a heart but turned into an anti-capitolist rant. it's funny how words evolve.

Dead rodent breath.
Saturday morning blues.
Win the prize.
By bribing the judge.
Only got to find
that lethal judge.
Living free amongst
skeletal trees of autumn.
graveyard fantasy.
hydrocarbon vapour.

Monday's Lunacy

This is my first post, a poem i wrote on the same morning as the post. It is one of my favourite pieces of writing i have ever written. It talks of evaporating love and herbal anti-anxiety pills. But generally the crazed freedom of Monday.

Ripping through fields of tulips,
Like a drunk combined harvester.
Throwing flowers away over my shoulder.
Laughing at the lunacy of Monday.
It's been a while my friend valerium,
Knocked on your door with a cup of tea,
Synaptic breakfast mutilation.
Oceans of flowers envelop me,
Red and yellow petal vision,
Driving blues - thank you Bob.
Fine rain drop pollen mist,
Tickles the sides, as it all hits home.