Sea, Earth, Sky.

It came from the sea
From the cold lightless depths
Eyes in the chasm
A mouth full of teeth
Thrashing and churning
As the sea itself might
Oozing slime from a jaw
That would shut out the light
And an underside scaled
Thorny and black
Fish making homes
Of the bones hanging off
Thrusts itself out
And onto the quai
To make waste of the land
O, it came from the sea

It came from the earth
The clay and the mud
From the fiery pit
It shudders and roars
Crushing over the trees
A mountain that moves
A thousand bulging legs
All claws and all hooves
The eyes have gone black
Fetid and gazing
But the fiery maw
Sends out great plumes of smoke
Rising above the great forest
It moves mountains of dirt
An unstoppable force
O, it came from the earth

It came from the sky
Like some terrible angel
Screeching like needles
It swoops from above
Stalking the land
The great beast of prey
Shining and burning
In the light of the day
Clutching and scraping
With claws of white bone
Devouring whole
And ascending again
Those terrible wings
On an ill wind it flies
It will blot out the sun
O, it came from the sky

Through the snow.

Not quite sure
Who is?
But let it snow
And make your footprints
Through the snow
You make your footprints
Even if you're not too sure
Of where they'll lead you
Through the snow

It's okay, though
You can mess it up
You can backtrack and all that
Once a year
They clean it out
The place where your footprints sat

They whimper and they cheer
To see the footprints swept away
But that's not the way to do it
That's not how the game is played

If you're not sure
(But who is?)
Best let it snow
And through the snow
Seeing your footprints
Swept away
Just smile
Just smile and know
That wherever they lead you
Come what may
You wouldn't be here to complain today
If they hadn't led you through the snow
In their own special way

The End of the Line.

Empty bullet shells
A curse on my house
Fuck, hail Mary!
Burn the Devil out
Barbed wire
Salt and flesh
It looks like I've got
Nothing left

To lose my faith
Strange that I should
Stop believing in Him
When the Devil is at my doorstep

Empty bullet shells
Sabotage! He's coming now!
He killed them all
I hear his footsteps now
It's good they're dead
I couldn't bear for them
To see me become a beast
And fight the Devil off, for them

Let the Devil come
Let him come
The end of the line
Awaits us both
And I'll be damned
If he isn't too
And I will burn
And he'll burn too

Weak.

We're all so weak
And no one cares
I am unable
We're all unable
It's just enough
To sit and stare
Have a drink!
Forget your cares!

Am I disgusted?
Well, that's just it!
I don't even care
Don't give a shit!
Can I care about that?
Well, this is just circular
Going round my brain
Nothing in particular

We're all so weak
And so are you
And so am I
So through and through
All we do
Is drink and drink
But I don't care
I enjoy it
I think

-

But I actually enjoy it more than anything, that was just a nice ending.

Plath, Thomas, Eliot.

They say dying is an art
And if this is the way
The world ends
It took nothing more
Than a short course
A certificate in sacrifice
A diploma in death rattles

Grand old Death
Cloaked in stars and night
Grants a grand old death
The Earth whimpers
But doesn't fight
Rejoice to the end times!

Death's dominion is no more
And the poets in the next place
They weep there in the after-place
They become infinite

Yes, dying is an art
One that takes a lifetime
To learn at all

What an absurd analogy.

Curse the shackles

Of this bourgeoisie brain

Demands and wants

Curse it again!

Demands and wants

And what of the rest

The proletariat body

It does its best

Internals, organs

To pick up the pieces

Of the messy mind's wants

Lest the body deceases

Trampled under foot

Of the bourgeoisie brain

Reciprocal? Yes

But not an even domain

The insides must acquiesce

To whatever demand

The aristocracy gives

But should it disband?

Rebellious rapscallions!

The consequence outweighs

The demands of the brain

Move out, now! Gangway!

Pangs and pains

Even the balance of power

Neurons no match

Against the body, they cower

A gentle reminder

To the bourgeoisie brain

Its wants are no match

For the proletariat in pain

Better/Well and the space in between.

Better?

You know

I'd much prefer

Some peace of mind

Than pieces of your mind

But I suppose that's also fine

There's little else to do but steal

Pieces for peace is fine enough

Perhaps a weaker form of

Tooth for a tooth

'Eyes, you mean'

Do I?

Well.

Little White Card.

It's nice work if you can get at it

Who in the hell said that it's

Not even worth the cash

Coin's goin' out of fashion?

All the army boys are cashin' in

Gift baskets for their sweethearts

Workin' nights and workin' hard

For that little white card

Well, Lucky's got a sweet gig

At that big downtown hotel

He said it's worth the silver

If you can just manage the smell

He comes home with stories

Of the customers and folk

He just wants his little white card

Puttin' up with their off beat jokes

Coulda' been a somebody

Coulda' been a real man

Old mean Joe ain't got nothing though

Workin' the midnight paper stand

Was threatened just last week

By a guy down from the brickyard

He said "I don't mind the bruises

If I can just get my little white card."

Better off in the sticks

Workin' for a dollar here and there

Than talkin' to the jet black kids

Behind the counter of a fair

Shorty's wife just left him

He can barely pick up the shards

His life's in pieces, but man

He's drownin' in those little white cards

First World Angst.

So what the fuck do I do? I really don't know, internal monologue, I really don't know. Oh, how I wish I knew, what great relief that would bring, to have some neat cobblestone path to tread down. That'd be swell. A little white line to adhere to, with optional distractions never too far from the road to that cosy little slice of life I'll supposedly inhabit in the future. Supposedly. I don't know, is that expected? Work, mortgage, superannuation, etc., with occasional distractions to make sure I don't develop a healthy distaste for gun regulation and regular thinking? A trip down the thin white line with a couple of forays into the jungle of exciting things every now and then, just to prove to myself that I can. Well, that's boring, I'd rather live in the jungle.

I can't stop expanding. I'll die. Not really, but maybe sort of kinda. If I stop doing new things, and learning new things I will murder someone. The only option is to learn. I like learning. Nerd, wait till the jocks get at you. If following the accustomed route is like walking down a road then forcing myself to continue learning is alike to hacking through the jungle with a machete. A machete of knowledge and awesome. In the common case, learning is the distraction you take, awesome new things are there to slake a thirst that's meant for so much more than that. I'll stay in the jungle, and the thin white line will be the distraction, thank you very much.

That was badly phrased now wasn't it?

#firstworldangst

Accursed band-aids.

Tread the keys

Ivories to be tickled

Bitten fingers

Holes in your hands

Band-aids, go!

Wrap-arounds

Band-'aid'? No

Helpful? I suppose so

Damn it all!

Where's the feeling?

Fuck the band-aids

Rip, tear them off

So I can feel again

And it hurts as well

But I can hear it all

And it's all so beautiful

Beauty from pain

How fucking poetic

Make it rain, make it rain

Notes like acid raindrops

The King,

The earth is screaming

The moon is marching

What the hell is happening?

The sea is rising

The trees uprooting

The mountains are all shuddering

The fire's spreading

The forests receding

The plants and insects just accepting

The king is coming

The king is returning

The king is here for the reckoning

The stars are singing

The birds are flocking

The animals from their caves are leaving

The wild dogs bowing

The horses praising

Every able creature humbling

The cracks are opening

The earth is screaming

What the hell is happening?

The king is coming

The king is returning

The king is here for the reckoning

Pounding Headaches.

You've got, what?

All the right pills? Check

You've had your fill? Check

Images to stills, heck

Where did your brain go? Shit

Time's running slow, shit

All the right pills

For all the wrong thrills

Fait battre ton tambour!

Beat, beat, beat, beat

Through the bone

And through the brains

Through the stone

And through the rain

Beat, beat, crash, bang!

A thousand tiny nail guns sang

They're all right here

Right here with you

Les anarchistes.

I'm far too angry

And pubescent

Violent fake!

It's just fluorescent

It will all fade

In time, but I hope

I don't settle down

I don't learn to cope

If the world won't stop turning

I'll see it all burning

Light it up, a flick of the wrist

On that day we became anarchists

Hue-mongous pun efficiency.

Brown, no

Orange, red!

Golden amber

Waves instead then

Fire! Shoot!

Until he's dead then

Take his clothes

To a wiser man

Let it grow, let it grow

The son of man knows

Green, yes

Yellow, blue?

It's a rather

Alarming hue

Dead! Dead!

Blue skinned and bled

Take their thoughts

To far away ports

To a wiser man instead

Black, huh?

White and grey

Ashen chalk

Powder grey that's

Laid over blue

All in a pile that's

Too deep to dig through

To that most alarming hue

Set on golden amber sand

To be ferried off

To a wiser man

Come on, kid.

You should be working

You know that

It's right there

You stare

Don't even care

To bat an eyelid

Come on, kid

There's work to do

You should be working

Work to do, work for you

Come on, kid

Delicious angst.

Time is marching on

Isn't that disgusting?

The great lie is here

All you could want

Feel

Think

Dream

Wish

What is it, really? Useful? Ha!

Is that your childhood knocking?

The door of time is great

Too great for you, boy

Time is marching on

And it really is disgusting

Give him chains

And he will break free

And in the same way

Freedom begets chains

Everything must change

There's nothing you can do

Whew! It took a long time to say that

There's nothing I can do either

No fucking stupid words will work

Wordsworth... worth what?

Nothing, nothing you can do

Time is marching on

Fine, I get it, you get it too

But it's disgusting all the same

Please don't give me freedom

When I yearn for chains

Only in chains

Can everything then change