The anthology “Shoot a poet save a tree” is due out at the end of the year. Here are some samples

I’ve published a portion of a book here written by an anonymous poet, with a name, Yambo.

The book is called “Industrial cattle” and I found it extremely insightful


3) Mechanical Cattle

They run around on concrete
Free to roam the land
wanting everywhere

convenience is the excuse
drive in and out in a day
on a Holiday
Take the Freeway

The mechanical cattle graize in….
industrial wastelands
made of concrete and bitumen
with a 24 hour light supply

they mark their territory
with lines and signs
sometimes even
billboards decorate their landscapes.

When the rain sets in
Light up they do
collums of Red and White
like ants before a storm
Such a familiar sight

6) The end of the month

Its always the same
every month
like a dripping faucet
that is no longer in use
slowly running out
then nothing …but waiting
for the heavens to open
at least a trickle
Its always the same
the dams have been built again
only to be demolished again
to be rebuilt again
at the end of the month
Its always the same
a full fridge
becomes a half moon
becomes an emptiness
of choice or possibility
Its always the same
The Landlord gets 60%
The phone company 10
Gas and Electricity another 15
and of course you have to buy food
Its always the same
a non performing stock
heading to the bottom
and overtime
at best break even or worse
Its always the same
the flatness
patient accountability
treading water
Its the end of the month

9) Electric Money

It used to be
that you got paid in cash
a ritual developed around pay day
but now…
the payment is silent
just a quick zap
and boom it appears in your bank account

Now we don’t have to delve far
To see the new picture
More control for the bankers
regulating their free market yet again

But worse now are restrictions on access
see…it used to be in the cash day
that everyone got payed the same type of currency
even if the amounts differed

Now…you have to use your electric money
To pay online
or with credit
sometimes deducted regularly from your account

clean effecient seemless transactions
silent fast money movement
regulated calculable paper trails
monitored by…industrial machines

Individualised bank accounts
with levels of access
dependent on hoops jumped
and boxes ticked
gone is the collective payday
hello individual monitoring

16) the simplest thing

Under Specialisation
All things are commodified
When they break down
Most people buy new replacements
even for the simplest of repairs
of the most simple commodity

Its not that they want to be simple
for they themselves are complicated people
nor do they want to wasteful
its just…well…
its easier to simply replace new for old

In this way things lose their saki
Nothing is passed down through generation
because everything old is a liability
Quaint but non functional

But their is a solution
A simple answer
Build simple things
With simple reductive aesthetics

18) Disconnection

It simply is not right
To be disconnected without notice
Humiliated with lag
Placed in a pool of non performing downloads

Crossing your fingers for Youtube
Watching Google deny page access
unopen browser windows one after the other
Timed out

then forced to communicate during office hours
with an unknown entity
to solve a problem
created by the disconnection

all the while wondering
how can I survive not hooked in
where did my virtual life disappear to?
I surf therefore I am

17) Locked Gates

There are so many gates
They are everywhere
All industrial cities have them
they are as common as air itself

Every single thought is a gate
Meaning all humans carry them
as if this constant burden wasn’t enough
People build more gates

Like I said
Gates are everywhere in Industrial cities
How else could we maintain the population of

Struggle as you will
opening and closing them is
in a sense
a random number generator

Since the gates are somewhat unavoidable
and opening and closing them is random
dependent on time and place and space
why then are….
… their so many mean spirited Gate keepers
determined to make you suffer!


Running on electricity
much like your heart
without them you can have no 24/7
for they are the suns of industries
shining away with a dull glow
illuminating the shadows
making the real sun redundant
changing the life cycle forever

such a simple thing
little electical light
away with candles and lamps
gone are the dawn chasers
forgotten are the fire sitters
now we can see at night
flick on the switch
and our choices increase
or do they?

They generally plug into a centralised space
reminding humans of their clever systems
laughing at the old gods
silently plugging their trade of dependency
pretending they are rational production
when they are anything but…
being designed to break deliberately
so they can then be replaced
by the next ignorant sack of blood and bone
who is switched on to consumption without consequence

31) Self Service

In a bid to cut labor costs
and encourage shop lifting
the local supermarket retail chain of stores
has in their infinite wisdom
installed automatic check out machines

The new free laborers are customers
They dont take tucker breaks
They dont pay union fees
No holiday pay, no sick leave
They dont pull sickies
and they never argue with staff

Policed by morality
pressure is placed on the consumer
to do the right thing
disregarding coercive cameras
and the military looking security guard

Costs and Losses have all been
accounted for.
14) Rain

When it rains in the industrial playground
puddles appear on the ashphalt
and if it keeps raining
sheets of water slither along the bitumen
ready to soak everything

Industrial cattle chug along
slowly moving in condensed plastic herds
with their dull yellow eyes
manic like eyebrows
and red warning tails

strangely they heat their stomachs when wet
as their eyes become cloudy
they seemingly become hypnotised from a downpour
as their eyelids blink in futility
desperatly trying to wash the “natural” teardrops away

Even the rain is dirty in Industrial playgrounds
A dusty soot that soaks everything
its as if the clouds are stained
or better yet, infected
with a drab grey membrane

when it really rains
the gutters become small creeks
rapidly devouring every piece of litter available
ZOOM… sucked down into the earth
later emerging in a river or by the sea
as if by magic

still its a nice metaphor
out of sight,,,out of mind
tis the industrial way
you cant really drink the rainwater
and not get sick
sick of all the industial waste
where only rats and humans thrive

Belligerants start war

Everything else suffers

Cultures are destroyed

Traditions are lost

Cities are broken

All Industries are placed in a state of flux

Old civilian Industries either die or enter a coma

They too are victims of the madness

Military Industries flourish with pointless verve

Using human beings as glue

In hindsight we conveniently blame leaders

Unable to accept the real knowing

Deep inside our rotten cores

Whispering.. we  are all belligerants

With every action,belief and word

For this place grows poisonous hearts

You gotta get in the right lane
To time your exit
Too early and your late
Too late and your gone
and it ain’t easy
because even if you make all the connections
your still going nowhere
rinse and repeat

The thing is everybody plays the game
regardless of which lane they choose
there is no choice at the moment
only the dull grey
of a highway to hell

Environmentalists are right to question
future generation tunnel vision
destruction of habitat is sad in itself
but nobody seems to mention
the roadkill
be it human or other beings

Going going gone
are all the great species migrations
from the soldier crab to the buffalo
replaced by human egoists
who like to go for Sunday drives
and enjoy the country air
from inside their mechanical cattle
12-23)  Rise of the mall

Truth told
It started of as a small farmers market
and quickly turned into a shop
not long latter it sprouted a chain
before finally focussing on the experience
Imperial by nature
It soon grew up and out
just to escape the weather
never happy standing still
Attraction became the new buzz word
Branded with giant tatoos of consumption
and singing sirens within the hive
The next step was complete dependency
in a glorious sedated way
not so much as an upper or downer
but like a suckling sow
millions of beings flocked to the teat
hooked into a ritual
that sought to commodify their whole lives
It was unavoidable
the land itself could no longer breath
the people now belonged to nothing
27) Respect

When every fibre of your being
is measured by the aesthetic
then you better be certain
you have found the right place
but since most of us are lost
bonded within circumstance
then it stands to reason
that our tastes would be different
growing up under such conditioning
it ought to be remembered
lest we forget

that respect begins at the office
or more respectively
whatever Neo Vocation
you ply your con with
the more you get payed
and the more you get payed
the greater your respect
forget about ideas
dismiss your language
throw away all history
piss morality out the window
drive a stake through your own heart
and cancel all feelings until at least next Tuesday

and as if that was not enough
make sure you are contactable 24/7
just in case there is an emergency
this is the only way to gain respect
your current family will barely know you
but society surely will be
forever in your debt
cause you are the man
bringing home the bacon
getting things done
proving your a good person
and even though deep down inside
you truly know that everyone
including yourself is a fake
at least you will be respected for being
an authentic copy
lest we forget

15-26) The materialists

Imperial by nature
they seek to expand
at first, private….
consuming the new car
maintaining the valued lifestyle
building the aesthetic
collecting collections
investing in their families
tentavivly ….
they put their youth on hold
whilst accumulating
building the bank
chasing a career
missing out on the debauchery
that the rest of us experience in our prime
writing it off as hedonism
secretly harboring bitter resentment
they start rolling along
buying property
making business
travelling on holidays
all the while getting louder and louder
as if the rock they had lived under
all their lives
was finally removed
looking around at their wealth and material
they safetly conclude that they are the winners
for dying with the most toys
now vainly planted in the public arena
these vulgar wallflowers seek retribution
having been robbed of their youth
they now want to explain to all those losers
where they went wrong
not themselves of course
but of course
it is par for the course
what is public must become private
because manicuring is best done solo
in this way the sameness secures victory
the taste of success
as defined by the successful
they know its a neo con
but,hey, they have better taste
and dont they like to remind you
all the time
with their boredom
29) Protest

There they are
waving their banners
pushing their placards
shouting their mantras
There they are

Somebody is on the inside
Somebody else is on the outside
Somebody will talk to the medias circus
Somebody gets arrested
Someone call the cops before they even meet

Before they clash
The pigs take a side
Always conserative
Just keeping the peace
Which is ironic for a protest
because the general rule is
the bigger the mayhem
the better

33) Contempt of the Masses

A simple case of maths
everything is a numbers game
but when it comes to people
well…quite frankly….
it is problematic not to be cynical
the issue is one of the lowest common denominator
to be a part of the mass
and at the same time a pariah
exhilirated and fearful
exiled and united…

nothing and I mean nothing
brings out personal contempt
more than Nationalism
where the average unite in a group
blandly obliterating others
with dull dutifullness
robotic morality
and ethical suspension of disbelief
there is NOTHING more horrifying
then seeing good people
brainwashed with true belief
exercising their mass power

go to any sporting crowd where
the national folk tunes are played
and refuse to sing along
or stand to attention for the jingoism
with people the same as you
who you went to school with
shared a joke with
loved life with
hugged,sung,drank,or ate with
sat down in their houses with
the very same people you were born with
looking at you in a different light
as you betray the cause
refusing to believe the myth

feel the haunting looks
of judgement and hatred and disgust
as they turn on you
inside their heads
silently staring
trying to will your obedience
not accepting your difference
all the while making certain
that you instantly understand
the power of the masses
contempt of the masses
36) Recluse

you have to do something right?
or else boredom will set in
so you keep yourself busy
doing meaningless stuff
collecting trivial things
running around in circles
chasing your own tail
but at least you are doing something
or at least it appears that way
and yet most achievement is meaningless
whilst most work is boring
and most stuff is trivial
and if we all die anyway then
Consuming product is circular
still..doing is the real deal
but what to do?
It seems reclusion is the big trend
dont like most people
well fuck em
lock yourself away
in your own padded cell
maybe interact with a few nice beings
and place the rest of the human race on your ignore list
cool plan bro





In this poetry book which is to be read chronologically, we encounter a man grappling with a war that is fabricating itself within his head.  The voices yell louder and louder, whilst he scours frantically for a  love which was once sitting on the hill, but unfortunately the ball has already rolled away.


(Original hand bound edition)

By Stein Holte and Ibby E Okinyi

Futile attempts publishing mouse

For exchange at the suggested price of 200kr. In cash or knowledge

Order of poems










































Walking through the gentle rain

Watching and listening to

the rockets exploding

on the hillside in the distance

Still in the memory

of the cunt eye of the dick storm


Yes I do understand you’re poisoned 

Because you took dietary advice from the experts 

Because any advice you consumed constipated you 

So try to flush this book anti-clockwise down the toilet 

Or suck shit if you’re reading this off a flat screen 

The doctor’s wallets fatten themselves in the strychnine cabinet 

Flat line? 

Then I’ll piss on your grave 

And then as a dead mound you should be grateful that at least someone visited you 

I’ll give you shelter at a slight price 

I’ll act like the cunt eye of the dick storm 

In the middle of three roads forked over the edge of the horizon 

Straight stripped slogans guiding you smoothly out-of-bounds to oblivion 

You all received commands shot out of the same loopy thoroughfare 

A starting gun blown towards a vacuous finishing line 

Ditto ditto ditto ditto 

Echo echo echo echo 

Political correctness is the persuasively nice henchman of the dictator 

Creating Swiss cheese whilst sushiing your dick on a cheese grater 


The sky is burning above me

I can see

the glare even

through the dark clouds

All and nothing is lost


the cunt eye of the dick storm


I flew into the current of your looks when we met back then 

But I ran away because it was national day celebrations and I felt queasy  

But fresh as a six-year old’s aorta 

Pickled in the euphoria of cringe-worthy foreign celebrations  

Comforted by the champagne of an antithetical anarchy 

Then you texted and I responded five million times with a trumpet of blossoms 

You in turn wilted to my all-in approach 

Did penguins find soul mates today? 

The hills are scattered with a sunset of horse bollocks today 

But still I don’t know whether you are a romantic or a business woman 

Such is the shade of the cunt eye in a dick storm  


The cunt eye of the dick storm

Dancing over the land

Breathing immaculate

Soft satin silence almost

We don’t see it

We don’t feel it

Lamenting the past

Already at war with the future


I was thrown out of your house due to differences in standards and ethics 

Why are the priests the one who loiter around the congregation 

Now you’ve thrown out the used laundry why don’t you go shopping again 

Like you I’ll be at recycling your catalogues into my books before they even get used 

Sweety, I’ll be sewing them up and deliberately pricking my fingers with the needle to prepare my skin to take blood sugar tests for late onset diabetes  

Or why don’t we spare ourselves the civilities and you go fuck a goat? 

Your looking for a hard-on with no past or personality then why don’t you have fun with a pretty little kid with no body odour whose 18+ ID looks false to me? 

Maybe in the church congregation with the priest who taught you in the first place? 

His confession box is the complete inverse of the cunt eye of the dick storm 

For the homeless it is illegal to Sleep in a “public” park in this country under the interest of public health, learning means going to the library where it is frowned upon to talk or communicate, and the bigger your land and the higher your fences to shut everyone out the more socially acceptable you are considered. 


The devil made me a proposal

I’ll give you the cunt eye in the dick storm

to keep forever

Well, for as long as you live. If you give me…

Yeah, I guess you’ve already guessed what I want

Of course it’s your soul

And I want to keep it. Forever.

But just imagine that

The cunt eye of the dick storm

for life!”

And I said

No, no no

I know what happened to Faust


Robert Johnson!

Well, it’s your own choice!”

Said the devil

You had your chance, and you blew it”

A couple of weeks later

I met a man

with no soul in his eyes

And the day after that

I saw him kissing and fondling you in the park

That’s why I killed him

Now I’m waiting

for a new proposal

and a kiss et cetera from you


Lovely lady, You told me to be more of a manny man  

so I went out to the park simulating sex with trees doing pull-ups until my hands turned into whatever cuttle-fish use to sharpen their beaks 

I was as strong as … yes … I kicked goals out of everybody’s egos to satisfy my own 

I became such a manny man that I made all the other men on the soccer pitch wear tight shorts and stared at them drooling, only to size up the competition to win you back  

Then I don’t know what happened but I got beaten up and put in jail, I must have slipped on a curve or something because I’m a fair player and I want to give everyone a chance. 

You are still the cunt eye of the dick storm 

The moral of this story is that this is a Where’s Wally book 

If you can’t find Wally on this page then look in your pants 

… HELP ME BY INSERTING HERE some line about the hearts of the hearty hearts and euphamise this poem into immortality entombed in the hall of the dead classics 


Thunder storm is rising, it’s starting to rain
The smell of your socks is driving me insane
Throw them in the river, Baby throw away all you got
Now open up that jar, I’m thirsting for another shot

I’ll be sober this Christmas, no matter what you do
I’m gonna make you a present and do all the baking too
I try to be kind; you keep climbing up the Christmas tree
I’m gonna shake you down and stir up all your misery

Next time I see you coming I’m gonna find a place to hide
Where the sun is so shy that it never goes outside
You can shout for me darling, turn on your megaphone
You can tell everybody that you’ve broken up your happy home

Thunder storm is rising, crashing down the hill
Rolling on the river, getting ready for the kill
Everybody’s running but nobody’s trying to hide
I’m ready to go; I do believe I’ve hit my stride

I’m gonna stroll on the river all the way to Albuquerque
I‘ll go roaming in the valley, I’m gonna hunt myself a turkey
Light up your fire; keep it burning and ready to roast
I’ll be sliding down your chimney just when you need me the most

When I’ve done all my deeds I’m gonna pick up my guitar
I’m gonna strum you a tune, I’ll take you riding in your car
I can take you to the crossroads, how far do you want to go?
One highway goes that way; the other is the highway of love

Thunder storm is rising, there is war everywhere

But bad people like us baby, we don’t have to care

The best way to hide is to wear a fancy uniform

I’ll meet you right there, in the cunt eye of the dick storm


I’m here in your bar 

Because it’s warmer than the streets who flipped 

Out on me sometime last year 

When the pavement faces turned in right-angles from neutrality to looks of contempt 

I’m here in your bar 

Because I have no place to lie down 

And all around me here look equally comatosed 

And warn thin by the changing of the seasons 

But I am only thirty-two why has it come a few months early 

Don’t I deserve a little more  

Than the grinding whiplash of the cunt eye of the dick storm? 

I’m here, in your bar, 

I can’t even find the confidence to grip the pen to write another resume 

Destined to find the red “rejected” rubber stamp 

I am here, in your bar, 

Because I’m so low in limbo 

That I struggle to even accept your spare room 

For a night or two 

In case I may make you uncomfortable 

I’m here in your bar, 

Because my family has been shredded by death 

My land is far away  

and I won’t return to paradise 

Because the ghosts that walk upon it are far too powerful 

Therefore it’s better to be suspended in the land of spiritual void 

Waiting for a non-existent angel 


The terrorist is among u

We don’t know who he is

We don’t know what he looks like

We even do not know his gender

He is not one of us

He is among us

He may strike

or he may not

But he is the master thief

of safety

Nobody feels safe

Not even

in the cunt eye of the dick storm


The rise in differing perceptions is 

The primordial pool for diversely lush growth 

Greener and greener 

Pulsating radiance outwards 

The souls of the wilting 

Sever themselves into a new and stronger warmth 

When she climbs five meters  

He climbs three 

We climb ten 

Those searching for prints around the cunt eye of the dick storm 

don’t understand that we swindled the arbiter 

By using each other’s backs!  


Standing on opposite sides

on a waste and open battlefield

that none of us are eager to cross

considering all the dangers

The mines

The rockets

The crossfires

The wind

The thunder

The mocking teeth of life

But somewhere

hiding between us

must be

the cunt eye of the dick storm


My mate is the biggest piss heads in the suburbs 

He’ll drink vodka until he spews  

Then use his alternative humour to sling light insults at random strangers to try to make new friends 

The lively spider who spindles its way to safety into a nest of death is the only being with lively pincers  

Smeared into the wedge in the cunt eye of the dick storm  

one’s wails may be wrongly perceived as howls from the corner of a palliative care unit 

Few of those fat-lipped  

Good people 

Dredging the suburbs of enzymes which create  

A society rid of condescension  

Would willingly lend me two square feet of the kitchen floor near a sticky dustbin 

But when I take my friends floor and sleep 

He always insults me in the middle of the night by throwing over me his unwanted spare blanket caked over with four week matured vomit 

If you’re permanently worked-up by getting pricked by cacti it’s time to acknowledge the pyramids of the desert where you exist 


Quantum mechanics may be our only hope

Beyond the molecules

Beyond the atoms

Even beyond the quarks

there seems to be a different world

with different laws

with different love

with different cats

where nothing is like it seems to be

so maybe the world is not

what it seems to be

And maybe this different land

that most of us don’t understand

is the universe as it really is?

Maybe all we see and feel and think

is wrong

And pain is joy

And hate is love

And war is peace

And death is life

And this is where we find

the cunt eye of the dick storm?


On the rebound 

I may wet my pants by attempting to piss  

Head on 

Into the cunt eye of the dick storm 

But if you follow me  

By emulation or attempt to correct my path 

Then don’t assume that I threw you a gutter ball 

When my ball sack swings backwards and knocks you the fuck out 

and … so …  who really cares  

what if someone closely stalks some idea or over-inflated genital in pendulum motion 

it can be fun to bounce on a jumping castle and feign a fatal fall into a balloon like substance in the dregs of the dark corner where no one willingly gives you a hand back up 

and luckily … thank you for not going for grabs … because any hand is as suspicious as the luring hymns blurting out of the ice-cream truck at four pm. outside a school canteen. 

Can you keep a secret – hahaha get it? 

It’s gonna be another one of those hypocritical learn by not doing what I do – remote control reverse  

I sometimes wax my head and go out to the bowling alley so on the odd chance I do knock ten pins down I can turn around and coolly seat myself as if nothing strange has just happened. 

Pins fall in and out, and violent collisions between them only stain any positive that they’ve ever stood for, but after years of being knocked down and reset into place and number, a spontaneous explosion within myself against myself may cause a pin (if I feel weak enough to believe I’m pinned down) to go ape shit at another pin, neglecting the understanding that it’s something heavier knocking us both out the lane. 


War is kind

People are kind

Dogs are nice

Cats say meow

Kindness kills

if executed

by the wrong mind

Cruelty is good

if it saves a life

The cunt storm

of the dick eye

may become

the needle of death


This is not a book  

Entirely built to cross-stitch any wisdom that I may have in my unwashed socks 

With some base, luring words 

But rather a non-toxic paradox of  

politically correct clarity 

through a period of turmoil and sanctioned nonsensicalnonsensory rabbleonandonery 

On a side note, anyone who wishes that I remain in line 

Faithful to all the currently accepted anti-social norms and forms that reared me 

Has my permission to go to the nearest park 

Drop their boxers and wait for a passer-by  

In a suit and tie 

And take it up the backside 

I live in the empire of my own cloudy visions 

But I don’t subscribe to the narrative your fairy tale 

Whilst the cunt eye of the dick storm whispers song 


Slay the dragon, steal the gold, and marry the princess 

Because the dragons a good bloke when you get to know him 

The gold weighs too heavily on the conscience 

And there is no princess in the castle 

Only a bitch 

And it’s not her fault 

Because she’s sacrificed a mountain to climb the primitive social rungs 

And try to reach above the clouds 

She’s sacrificed and she’s sacrificed and she’s sacrificed 

She’s sacrificed her empathy, community-spirit, and those she doesn’t need anymore 

Those whose moods may have temporarily dropped 

Then … then … then … then … then 

Then she will proclaim 

You have failed as a provider 


That was the first time I had sex in twenty-five years 

So from simple deduction 

You tricked me into leaving you with enough food for over two decades. 

She justifies her mentality by claiming it’s her intuition 

What the fuck is intuition 

The neurotic gauge on the reptilian radar 

That peps the monster up to make a fatal attack straight through the soft tissues of the heart? 


Rivers of blood they say

There are no rivers of blood

Rivers should come from the streams

with the inner voice

of a newborn baby

Blood should run in our veins

and never touch the ground

Everything runs in place

in the cunt eye of the dick storm


I knew a man who trapped himself away in darkness preserving his depression 

Under a warm doona in a cold moist room 

He said 

To him 

The most perilous hours were the sunrise 

When the acid of the first terrifying rays hit his eyes 

Teleporting flashbacks  

Flushing him clean into his sockets and out of his skull 

Away, again, 

To people on secluded counters for their waking lives 

Cross-checking objects unable to check-out people passing the object 

Of million year old tormented forests laughing at the latest suicidal species 

Of roads to ancient treasures suffocated in tar 

And traffic jams of lonely people far too immobile to throw a hand 

Of memories folding into memories without a latch to weed them out 

If only the doona transformed its feathers into life  

and grabbed at him 

And he could hold her back 

The torment could dissolve to simple elements 

With focus on another and nothing more 

For there is no expression but touch required within the cunt eye of the dick storm 

But no, 

He adjusts the shutter 

Removing any trace of morning light 

And attempts to drown out any chorus of the living 

Not even a rat has the fangs enough to crawl within his room 

Inevitably the second ray busts through the window 

And he’s forced into choice 

The final option which really suits him and will neutralize all the pain 

He doesn’t take 

But elects the choice for others 

Clinging onto the window ledge, flinging open the shutters and taking in the sound, the lights and the distopic pollution 

But with the caos at least there comes a new morning’s breeze 


Oh what have they done?

Of course they did it

Surrounded the cunt eye of dick storm

with landmines

Turned you into a whore

And a martyr


This is third psychoactive poem that I’ve written in twenty-minutes 

So of course I’m damaged goods and faulty services 

What other desperate spamming fish could 

Swim the seas of sheets and cover them in pee 

But you left me and I understand that I’ll never understand you 

Baiting me on to hooks of bullshit romance 

In a world where you’ve proven that giving someone a heart and a full will to change personality into whatever neutered species turns you on is not enough 

Then having lost whatever I hallucinated into thinking I had, let me intoxicate myself in peace 

And if the bouncers begin their forceful coercion to change my behavior into zero 

Then understand that I may put out shit with fire 

And swing from the train station railings whilst I kick the fuck out of all of them 

It would be simply smashing away dicks laying siege on me for no logical reason 

I cannot call you a cunt for reasons of politically progressive politics 

And I appreciate that because it leaves me pinned down with a heel on my neck and two hands behind my back 

But today neither want I a cunt nor a dick storm 

And the eyes that I once had to view your beauty have succumbed to the cataracts of my own deflated self-esteem 

You can go live in your shrinking world enthralled in playing the game in the cunt eye of the dick storm 

But as for me I’ll choose another world through whiskey 

… and If one day that glass developed into you and grew a soul 

I’d pour out all the whiskey and immediately melt into that glass. 


We are the victims

Tin soldiers in the ovens

The death of the innocent

The unknown civilians

I tried to strike

deep into your heart

to gain some strategic advantage

I didn’t mean to blow it apart

It was unintentional collateral damage

I don’t feel well in uniform

Drive me to the center

of the cunt eye of the dick storm


Muddy toes on monkey bars 

Strengthen to mistimed waltzes 

Fortified drink bottles spell the origins of marital toasts 

The youthful kittens scratch 

In quests for understanding all with movement 

Whilst the cunt eye of the dick storm merely blows undetectable 

To the playfully skewed barometer of the whiskers song. 

For the wage of what you’re worth 

The fuse of that bottle of illusionary death 

Should never be confused nor exposed to the woolen ball of playful beauty. 


I’m yearning for those days of yore

Those joyful days before the war

When larks where mating

Where lilacs bloomed

Free from the shadow of the tomb

Those sunny days when life was calm

in the cunt eye

of the dick storm


The coldest bath 

In the stiffest of shadows 

One ever took 

Was poetry 

Dead words glotting themselves incongruously 

Without accompanying song or rhyme 

A deceased art-form burnt out of redundant wisdom 

Runes on sheets without sweat stains 

Opaque to Wharfo’s emotional cannibal 

… who lurks behind 

The luring flesh trap strapping victims to bondage vices in 2D 

Inaudible syntax shipwrecked in the skeleton of a dried out square 

Fiery phlegm sterilized into politically correct Ghee 

Coaxing moths to ventricles, toning arthritis orgies to your left knee 

Books are to lay shut, filed, and dried out like sacks of corn 

Show your partner the locked cabinet, now you’re both safe, so pump animalistically until Mondy morn. 

Dance on the periphery of the cunty cunt eye of the dikt storm 

Even God gets horny sometimes 

And Satan feels rejected so he rips off a horn 

With my life the best thing I could do for the planets texture 

Would be to banish its worst inventions including this tedious lecture 

I’d tie all ranters spew books round the necks of A-bombs, that I betchya 

Then launch the rocket up into mars’ ass and chill out and watch the fireworks from my deckchair. 

(Honouring the deal made with the other authors in the series, the other half of the book will be available in hard copy as part of an anthology later on in the year)

Walking for a year and a half boycotting money, ID, and transport.  Pretty self-explanatory, one foot after the other (doesn’t matter the order as long as there is alternation) try to remain almost perpendicular to the Earth, but don’t move as though you got a measuring stick wedged up ya … or you may trip over a wayward tree root or rock.  Here’s an in depth article I did for shareable magazine.  It’s been translated into a few languages and re-appeared different places on the net. To re-cap on the facts of the voyage, I walked and swam from Oslo to the town of Guemes in Cantabria Spain. The only transport I took south were two mandatory ferries in and out of Denmark and a few free rides in police cars for allegedly sleeping in a tent without identification. Crossing the continent on foot gave me a great deal of self-confidence and confidence in humanity as the voyage reconfirmed to me how many real and friendly people were out there. I also had an unimaginable amount of fun. Right now I enjoy expressing myself by combining work with other artists and musicians. Since the trip I have written two books which I hand bind. The first is a novel that I produced 251 copies of (which I don´t print anymore). The second is a poetry book with 292 copies currently in circulation. You are also welcome to read it for free HERE! SONY DSC Coming soon:  “The law of my own country”. The law of my own country is an essay that does not suggest the implementation of any laws, it’s merely a contradiction, for in essence if there is law, there is no kinship nor kingdom, so therefor there is no country.  The only empires that exist are allegiances that are so cohesive that no laws need to be specifically stated. On every hospitable continent since “modernity” right up to the present moment, lawmakers have constantly rejected the validity of nomadic culture and subjected those who practice it to unduly severe inhumane punishment.  Why is it that one who does not stake a claim to land is considered such a threat?  Why is it that when I feel ugly I can’t rectify the problem by smashing the bathroom mirror? Synopsis: Through the experience of walking across a continent, I found the need to compile a manual of alternative law that requests that humans be granted the same rights as animals if they choose to boycott money, transport and ID for an indefinite period of their lives. This includes the rights to move wherever they wish unhindered throughout the planet if they migrate peacefully and have the resources to exist without direct participation in the system of trade, providing they are not deliberately using a trade-free mode of life to “better” their own social standing in the long-term. It was evident to me that during my walk over Europe, the most threatening people to my freedom and safety were those in sanctioned positions of authority.  To me, the police were far more menacing than gangsters, citizens who hugged the law were far more offensive and strangled my creativity far more than those who chose to disregard the law.  The reason for irrational behaviour towards travelers is not intentional maliciousness nor an application of punishment fueled by an ancient conspiracy against travelers, but rather a lack of comprehension of the motives of those living a nomadic lifestyle.  Firstly this book will demonstrate that non-traditional lifestyles are neither more productive nor destructive to society, and so therefor the persecution against them is unwarranted.  And secondly, a new law will be proposed to protect those who wish to boycott money, trade, identification and transport from the outdated laws that currently exist.  I will also demonstrate the positive consequences of moving societies laws and hearts inline with “The law of my own country”. 

Under this post lives a copy of my free poetry book.
And somewhere beneath that is a further explanation of what I encountered when I walked from here to there

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………   Thanks again to the illustrators who have helped me by adding their expression to this book. A message was just received informing that some viewers may apparently see adds on this page. To deluded companies who, without permission, choose to try to tap into attention donated here … I understand and have full sympathy for your frustrations … but from experience, I suggest you’ll have a better strike rate in over thirties nightclubs.


Being the stalwart anti-capitalist that I am … I wish to use this opportunity to advertise the trustworthy facebook company:

-contact details .

The link between poverty and foolishness is just as accurate and relevant as the link between green necked tapirs and castration

Buy that man boots! Tusser is a top class clown … The link between poverty and foolishness is just as accurate and relevant as the link between green necked tapirs and castration.


Illustration courtesty Era Leisner

Illustration courtesy Era Leisner

I sue you because I love you I love you dearly if one dislikes you then one may ignore you but as for me I shall ensure that you never choke on your own vomit

Ibby E Okinyi.

1) Change in shifts

Mosquito (final)(Illustration Idunn Aker)

On the mirror

Of the eye

Was a mosquito

Recycling blood

The other pest

Trapped himself

Under a mosquito net

Freeing the mosquito

And the planet

2)  Why leave for?

chew this 3 with edit(Illustration friend A butchered by friend B)

You run from my side claiming I am too old for you you blindly assert I am too mature for you What you have failed to understand is that in my mind my age is clearly not the problem, for in fact I have two extra hidden penises so you need not be scared. When one organ surpasses its use by date and shows reluctance to function with full vigor I simply and accurately amputate it and substitute in another one until the primary grows back to full health do you not think it selfish to require more than this from a totally partially committed partner?

3) Embellishments and Establishments

Establishments(Illustration Mutan Tone)

An organisation set-up to fight corruption is hypocrisy in its deepest lair

Establishments and allegiances to them are the gametes of personality fraud

The smiling prison guard who handcuffs himself to others opinions and behaviours

A painted iron blender that attempts to pulp iron bricks birth and baptism on a well-maintained gravestone

The toothless snake who swallows its own tail in order to nourish itself

I’m not one to cast judgement on hypocrisy as without it the sun never drives itself to dusk

Co-operation, the merging of ideas and feelings are the staples of the living but orders and obedience are the hatchets of the dead

4) The clairvoyant

The most honest of all clairvoyants entice me to live along side them they’re never human by definition or else they are deceiving us about one or the other I prefer that an unknown entity doesn’t attempt to peer down my soul or else I’d feel victim to perversion so don’t inform me if you’re attempting such on me I guess it’s not prudent to try it on others either unless they’re already consensually naked if I ever wake up sailing through a dreamy open-mind I head off to try to interpret geographical locations if there’s a gentle introverted breeze I walk out to the beach and observe the future of death and life the sand minced up specimens long departed from the realm of the living cram themselves together devoid of any unison polluted in far greater density than any metropolis of the future no luft for growth of individuality stepping over the cemetery of stagnation is the shoreline and beyond it lie those who have mastered isolation and lived its merits but my greatest respect goes to amphibians who gather and mix the profound with timely light and jovial socialisation

5) The crack in the middle of the sky part one

I’ve been told to eliminate all trespassers on my property

with more legs than two

Fly swats

Rat sack

Whipper snippers

a chemical inquisition that dilates my pupils

sweeping clouds under the carpet

There’s no sanity in my sanity

boredom weaves looms out of rubber tubes

nauseous I kick open the door and make an entrance to the earth

6) The crack in the middle of the sky part two

Crack-in-the-sky(Illustration Line F. Andersen)

I walk to the perimeter of the lake and look up

I notice a crack in the middle of the sky

The sky throws me birds

I drop the fear of being defecated on and they sing me the fables of distant lands

I pocket it for my grandchildren

I laugh at the coward shadow of my former existence

The sky throws me bats

I drop the fear of being hung upside down

They radio my paranoia inside out generating empathy

I dance with the coward shadow of my former existence

The sky throws me a mermaid

My scales fly away exposing nothing but light I undo my collar and expose myself

The crack in the middle of the sky materialises in the form of the eve of time

7) Blow it all up

martine not a fuck(Illustration Martine Magdalena)

I was in my tent last night listening to cicadas

Obviously discontent to be where they were they put on a poor performance

I had all the amo to write a proper poem but then you distracted me by entering and undressing

The cicadas acknowledged that they were losing the battle of attention

so they began to arc up exposing their breasts

and becoming more audible but then you upped the ante and imitated them

you turned them up so loud that their voice-boxes spewed out onto the grass

congratulations fucker

you not only rooted my concentration but you also floored an army of cicadas

There was no poem yesterday and worse still only garbled syllables today.

Want to come to my tent again tonight?


Together we may be able to blow up the entire world.

Yours sincerely … x

8) Can I have a sandwich Freddy?

Can I have a sandwich Freddy?

Sure Kick back and expose your toe hairs to the fan

All the labour is completed by robotic rats and the waste is devoured by robotic rats

I am going to celebrate my one hundred and eightieth birthday tomorrow and fiddle with the cartridge on my nintendo respirator

The unemployment rate here is one hundred and three percent I live on the seven hundred and fifty-second floor in the ghetto all by myself on a thirty acre property with omnipresent binary bots binding my balls

Can-I-Have-A-Sandwich(Illustration Line F. Andersen)

9) The referees whistle

I don’t necessarily believe that structure has a positive or negative constitution how can a leaf be good or bad or a rock cod be evil or saintly or a horse be corrupt or trustworthy The most narrowing blinkers one can ever don is to pick a team and leach onto it And I am first to admit that I walk short-sighted with ear wax but no pom-poms

Mine is the team that nobody backs the one on the bottom of the ladder that challenges all bigger than it continually being mowed down but never brought to its knees

I switch sides after witnessing the winners cheating and swindling hundreds of times being subjected to years of water drip torture by governing forces being present at too many ceremonies where tears flowed from behind sunglasses observing that most politicians had shares in the funeral parlours after being knocked-out by thugs who bought their gloves from off-duty police Although we are trash and have no formal victories We play on a different pitch to where the action appears to be As the referees have concentrated venom in their whistles capable of vaporising all of your dreams

10)  No look pass

I was fifteen and a few months or something so I went to meet up with a couple of mates in the park and shoot some baskets after school.

I had my headphones in and was dribbling past an old man on the park bench who grunted very loudly.

I switched off the music and turned around to see what was going on.

I asked him if everything was OK

He said “The best advice I can give to you is take your basketball and fuck off”

Dismissing him for a headcase I turned to leave and make my way back up to the court.

Then a rant commenced which paralysed me on the spot.

In ninety-three years on this ball of dust I never witnessed these pathetic times You hug your ball like a cold sore but you can’t even shoot in time That chick over there locked in a vacant stare one playing like a rabbit in the sand cannot fathom leaving her partner’s hand one bonehead tied to his dog the other one carved into a log Yesterday’s newspaper Mobile phone minx Beer bat Coffee chameleon Inflatable rocking chairs Political hamsters Moon eels and beached submarines Hollowed out coconut hats Water eggs and pistols Hydroponic koala claw Octagonal dildos Locust repellent Tomato blades Erasable white board magnets Edible disco balls Corroded snags …

He continued without blinking,

“Nobody ever tries dropping everyone and thing and existing”

I had to go to the toilet anyway, so I put the ball on the bench and took slow steps away taking deep breaths as I went. I reached a tree, hid behind it and pissed.

On the way back I noticed something had changed. Either the grass was very long or my sandals had grown shorter.

When I returned to the bench, the concrete in front of it was vandalised with black spray paint.

It read:

There was never any poetry here, things are straightforward and you are very lucky. The first thing I told you, as I said, was the best thing you could have done.

There was no old man or ball.

11) Preparing for night shift

I put on a bloated jacket surrendering mobility in my upper limbs they are not required especially northwards of the neck I am now a pig-man on a raw onion diet even though the scales indicate famine work beckons me out the door of the apartment she throws a saucepan at me I catch it with the back of my head I never agreed to participate in such a fast paced sport My brow turns humid I turn and look her in the eyes I blow her a gentle breeze far too weak to soften two boulders she repeats her mantra today I found an immunisation against hypnotism she repeats her mantra If you don’t come back to bed you don’t come back she repeats her mantra If you walk through that door it transforms into a wall But the rent is not yet paid I walk through the door to prevent the landlord from vaporising the roof The back of my head catches another saucepan The snow is crunchy and homeless outside On the way to work to pay off two broken saucepans

12) Extend it

There are some out there with the will to master gymnastics They will persistently intrigue at the risk of broken spines conjuring heartbreak from the illusionary hat they preserve a dynamic dynasty of movement whilst successfully deflecting attention from the displaced air We have all observed their victory of aerial conquest but none have witnessed their landing in the rankest swamps where crocs simultaneously take out their knees as they sink into an infinite death-roll To stretch the trampoline down to record lows naturally implies an impending rebound to combustible heights Although no other gig has validity when compared to the dual act where one who is already in a precarious position extends a hand from the trapeze and catches another in free-fall

13) You Sleep

You Sleep ferdig(Illustration Idunn Aker)

The benevolence of the sub-conscious is an autobahn to bliss the cold evaporates stress extinguishes itself visual fortifications without accountability even mozzie bites swell but without register falling into flight the fruit of tomorrow is harnessed by an unseen generator that exists far away from the co-ordinates of space and time

14) cloaked darts

martine2(Snap of exhibit by Martine Magdalena)

A form of old school art

which cloaks a fleet of modern darts

imbibe subversion without warning

wake in gutters in the morning

flat white, latte, cappuccino,

what variation human seagull?

I couldn’t give a shit you bore

I take whatever wriggles raw

dead, alive,

rabid or tame

coffee and milk

with fancy name

versus ripping up your lawn

but yet you can’t resist return

If you can’t understand what’s sewn

then do more push-ups til you’re torn

the runes inscribed beneath a page

or coming plagiarized on stage

tongue hanging desperate for a fix

now comes the joker with new tricks

go to work and earn your wage

I bind your legs in the golden cage

15) Shit hot (a very good poem)

Shit hot (final)(Illustration Idunn Aker)

It’s 41 degrees

therefore it’s hot,

shit hot,

shit and hot.

I used to vote

in a ballot-box

for 45 degrees

when I was a kid,

I’d watch the geriatrics

melt into concrete,

then I’d get out my gumboots

and dance.

I’d jump into any body of water

head first

I’d even jump straight into rocks

because I was indestructible in the vitals,

shit hot.

This morning a dragon flew into town.

Nobody gave a shit,

or prevented it’s arrival,

because firstly it gave shade,

and secondly it was shit but hot.

I told it not to breath,

because it’s a total fire ban day,

they said on the radio,

on air


The dragon kidnapped a child,

and flew away when I was napping,

nobody tried to stop the beast,

they let the child go,

because they hated him

because he thought he was

shit hot.

16) You know as well as I do

chew this tree (edited)(Illustration Friend A butchered friend B)

There’s enough shrubbery

in Australia

to teach all of you a lesson in humility.

The oil riggers

I’ll dump you on a desert cactus,


your reservation

is next to the lyre bird’s nest.


parachute to Greenland

with a bow and arrow

fishing rods and sand-worms.


grab a toothpick,

and straight to the bonsai daffodil field.


isolated in the middle of the jungle,

with a suitcase and fluoro vest.

Immigration officers,

my good friends,

on the bottom of the pacific ocean,

with bowling balls strapped to your testes.


I give you star fish,

star fish,

you get a wish.


locked in the cellar

whilst the paws recede

over into the next barrel.


It’s easier to be a chief,

categorising everyone antagonistically,

resting on the delete button,

hiding behind a computer screen.

17) Money

Is a false quote”

18) Money

A dog and his balls are soon parted”

19) Threesome versus el Don Judgey

Two chooks clucked towards a sleeping dingo,

pecking left and right three smiles collided.

Two chicks waltzed up to a shoddy flamingo,

being a humble being just being,

he didn’t know with whom he’d sided.

Two licks soothed a bulging ripened mango,

and let the juices flow from deep within.

Two peeps glowed above the bedsheets,

excitement rode a wave out on a whim.

Three freaks rolled around the sandy beaches,

married to the driving pulse of earth,

Three laws claimed a different tale,

interpreted by who they wish to serve.

Three books scribed in different egos,

Three lives full of lively songs,

judges nagged and bashed us round the ears,

boredom’s hoards still preaching ‘right’ from ‘wrong’.

20) Where’s the hierarchy?

Roving round a contemplation of boxed-up issues

far too complex for me to prize open,

I collapse on my back and suck in the sun.

Thanks for nothing but negligible flare old sun,

bound in bondage of millions

a cog in a galaxy

disgrace of a mayor.

The sun felt the grievance from lower ranks,

it lay on its back and sucked in the galaxy.

You hole of a galaxy sheds nothing but darkness

taxing my warmth whilst diffracting my vision.

Your body is stagnant with limited movement

crawling to Virgo

you lecherous scum.

Virgo, feeling agitated through a rumour of impending complaint,

lays on its back and sucks in the universe.

Universe of dark matter,

expanse of null,

you’re a scam of a business producing jack-shit.

Your health has corroded, expanding, contracting,

terminal condition, you may as well quit.

In summary old hob-nob,

you’re backward and lonely,

no partner or friendship

in a multiverse of x.

I stood up and felt queasy as something was taking place inside me.

My bladder was chatting irreverently.

Human you slim-ball,

I slave without break,

and in turn you award me with nothing but piss.

One of these days I’ll embarrass you badly,

when you peacock,

on a first date,

in a restaurant,

I’ll hiss.

Inside a bladder a group of punk cells popped up pipping.

You lock us in

you pin us down

but if we revolt

explosion rocks your town

we whip you here

we cut you there

drunken orgy everywhere.

Bored of all the chanting and anger, I got up and went down to the beach to play frisbee with my neighbour’s dog. How did you pass the summer,


21) under-board

Calling out from a paralised city that lies victim from an infection loitering on a roster from nine to five The prerequisite for a human who feels love was to respond to an SOS at all times It is more than a con artist sticking to strange clothes or a marsupial bleeding from a three nostril nose It’s existence which currently lumbers against fraternity as the depth is no more than what hovers under a one meter springboard

22) The cob house (Disjointed or nomad)

nomad(Illustration Line F. Andersen)

A regular suburban dwelling,

standard low security jail.

Mansion with tennis court,

isolation chamber well padded.


monogamous heterosexual couples.


orgy under the pretext of spirituality.

mud-brick house,

natural birthing ground for rodents.

train station,

very effective wake-up alarm system.


door mat for pre-dawn joggers.


may you join the pile.

the fireflies at night

fuel the nuclear sunrise in the morning

Tai-chi on grass

regresses to Kung-fu under lights

A kennel of pure dynamite

scratches ground of great resistance

a long production line existence

or an ephemeral epic gale

23) put in the point

regrouping unsuccessfully on the border of state at a time all external interactions seem as foreign as what’s beneath the skin hail strikes the body possibly piercing it but you remain completely ambivalent as everything and all lacks a point collapsing towards the ground a previously unacquainted person catches you rising with revitalised strength the motivation of all is simply to reciprocate the handle before the angle grinder descends

24) Talents

If there’s one talent that I’ve nurtured consistently in my life to the point of honourable and quasi-legendary status, it’s fare evasion.

I’ve gate crashed buses, trams, trains, cop wagons, go-carts, horse and carts, ferries, toll roads, I hitched a limo once in Switzerland for a laugh and the list proceeds and will proceed until the oil dries out and nobody gets further plagued by arterial blockages.

Despite my ability in shaizer chronology

what’s private is public

and what eats cat-fish is the law

who gives three opened-legged wall papers

the freedom to breathe leisure

I had a dream

I fucked the pope

I tied him up with a rope

There is not an incessant lie

of the four possible brands of soap

I am an anti-dialectic criminal


who loves all (at times)

without too many barriers

standing tall to a vicious lion without conscience

tortured by the cape of circumspect logic

I was conceived in pornographic visions

and like you all will end in all.

25) Hole in the fence


push time

to the edge

of the fence

irrelevant technological shifts

by urban roosters

gently repelled

by those who sustain

their cocky anthems

middle class professionals

two car families

vote green



corked-hat rowzabout

votes with hand and skin

26) A little wind

Ash and hot winds

are all it takes to undermine years of honest work

Ash and hot winds

are all it takes to set a region on fire

Ash and hot winds

are all it takes to place lives in the lurch

Ash and hot winds

banksia seeds open whilst distraught parents frantically search

Ash and hot winds

are the mediums of obnoxious and destructive rumours

Ash and hot winds

victim trembles whilst mob chants with the ruthlessness of tumours

Ash and hot winds

the banter forces one more to the streets

Ash and hot winds

the anti-cosmic place where no one ever meets

27) Let them remain in line

Leg)(Illustration Idunn Aker)


the table

there’s a knee

that only

stretches to 180


and only when it’s

under obligation

through reflex.

It’s connected

despite protest

to another


half of which


above a desk

gathering dust.

On occasion

even dust mites

require more luxurious accommodation

so shut-up

and let it remain in peaceful hibernation.

After all,

I’ve never volunteered my body in entirety

to a charitable cause for invisible bugs

have you?

Didn’t think so,

so why the fuss?





inconceivable when passes


natures winds and faunas chorus


with great intent


a shock

that shatters rocks of calmness




monks deceive themselves to reach nirvana

before they wish to live on earthly rent


an eerie

shady unknown player


You’ll never again

together laugh or dance or cry



erases all the pages




Vacuum of gloom and greed

that siphons the spirit

of its victims neighbours

even nabbing chunks

of those who barely view it floating by


The light

that busts our own deceptions


The martian truth

which sets egos alight



spontaneous insurrection




Censored constantly

throughout the ages

sews the deepest knowledge

amongst the intergenerational

crop of sight.

29) Religious fervor and the anti-poem.

A boy had four sticks

three of which he sold

The ultimate one he used

to beat his dad into shape.

He snapped the stick over his dad’s back

destroying both stick and back.

In his prudence,

and through his dad’s will,

he inherited a tree with one hundred and eighty-four sticks attached to it.

As the boy was a good man,

he carried his injured dad to bed,

where he lay down.

He wisely broke a stick off the tree he inherited,

and beat a passer-by out of shape.

Upon submission,

he generously gave the passer-by employment as his trusty servant,

bidding him reliance over the care-taking of his aging father.

The passer-by washed and ironed the father,

for the next four hundred and eight years,

which constituted the term of his life.

But the boy had a grand vision so he did not pause for rest.

He broke off five more sticks from the tree out yonder,

he stripped the rough bark off the tallest of the planks,

leaving only the smooth un-splintered wood,

and placed the edited stick up his rectum.

The other four sticks,

he strategically bound with the bark from the former stick,

which was now inside him,

converting them into nun-chucks,

before he bowed,

faced the sky,

then hit the town.

30) Up in the lock-up


Can you please jump up for a second, there are plenty of microbes being squashed between you and the ground. I mean how do you know your rear isn’t trampling a genetic spore that’s discovered the evolutionary mating short-cut to evolve into a Mandela some time in the next four million years?

How much air have you swallowed today cobbler?

Your wind pipe seems to be laying around sun-baking on un-entittled break whilst there is a possibility that outside of these walls fourteen Indian elephants are drowning on the foot of the Gobi desert, playing monthly tribute to the beached whales who perished during their roles in service.

After all, I saw you the other day jaywalking through a green light




“Your shoelace was undone and it all fell over onto the nature strip. I have all the time in the world to keep you locked in, so sign here please.”


“What makes you think I’m not enjoying the cell. Remember, you as a worker, put yourself here forty hours a week through your own will. You are here in the prison because deep down you believe you are dangerous and require restraint, you’re sick. I don’t mind, I like sick people. That’s why I’m well. They are the most interesting of all of them. I worked in an asylum for a few years to pay my bar tabs during uni. I won’t sign the sheet, merely because then you may release me. I like you being around here, and if you feel you need counseling I’ll do my best to assist you.”

31) Where is the road?

Don’t get ahead of yourself.

Water is not the greatest drink on planet earth,

it is one of the most inferior.

It belongs to the class of people who drink it.

The drink I would install on the highest shelf,

laps ahead of the finest whiskeys

and oceans above the most exquisite selection of champagnes

is what precipitates on top of the earth.

There are reasons why birds volunteer themselves to certain formations

just as there are reasons why certain fish power upstream

whereas others dwell close to the floor.

I have always understood why carnivorous plants would choose to welcome flesh,

but it plagues me when mosquitoes elect to become extroverted.

Likewise, water is not a favourite drink of mine,

as I have never mastered the routine,

I have no license,

I had no tutors.

The only drink that deserves to be filled in the chalice

in the epicenter of the garden,

is the variety of water that flows down a pristine river,

whose banks are so green they put bulls to sleep.

It can never be caught in a bottle and drunk on dry land.

It only exposes its true flavour to those who enter the river respectfully with bare feet

and drink through a chalice of cupped hands.

That is why it is the only drink I would put in the cupped chalice.

As the pleasure derived through the procedure,

and the water in the chalice,

reflect the faces of everyone who is or has ever been.

32) Interlude (Grønland police lock-up)

There I found myself in fetal position, clutching at a thin blue blanket, trying to rest on the right side of my body as the left side was still stinging and caked in a layer of thick dry blood. Bricked into the tiny cell in the bricked in police lock up.

I had to try once more, it had been about two hours I guess, but I couldn’t know for sure as the clock which hung outside the first sheet of double layered glass on the thing that vaguely resembled a window was paused at 4:52 while it mockingly blocked out some of the little natural light the prisoner was entitled too.

Maybe the robot had gone home to oil her hinges and possibly someone else in the universe with an ounce of empathy had commenced shift to broadcasting the grunts into the end of the police station intercom button.

I pushed, full well knowing the automated answers to the questions I was about to pose.

¨Hi there’

I said in the friendliest tone possible for me to muster up considering the situation.

‘What do you want’

Blurted my captor.

‘I was wondering if I could have a little bit of milk, because I lost a lot of blood last night’

I queried.

‘WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU! ARE YOU STUPID?! You already had your milk, it’s one per person do you understand’

Continued the dominatrix.

‘You will talk again to the police detective when THEY need to talk to you, UNDERSTAND!’

I decided that I was happy that the creature I was just conversing with was on the other side of wall, with a mound of micro-crap and cable in between us because I guessed that by the way she talked, her insides must have been in the advanced stages of the decay process. I concluded that if she hadn’t combusted yet, the toxic gases in her innards must have conveniently been vented out somewhere, so logically at best she must have had terminal bad breath, which, in the weakened state I was in, may just knock me out for the count. I knew as well that there was no point in trying to challenge her on any level, the stench was sticking. It would be a waste of energy to bring storm to a creature who had the predatory resources to survive the asteroid hit 66 million years ago that wiped out all other non-avian dinosaurs.

I lay back down on the blood stained plastic mattress, my luxurious bit of furnishing, meditating to the serenade of a fellow captive who was losing a kick-boxing bout against a quintuple reinforced metal door somewhere up the hall. The hospitality extended to you in isolation cells is never complete without the intermittent gongs of neighbours broken big toes announcing their presence.

However, somehow, being trapped in the same pitiful conditions as they are, you strongly feel their pain and wonder why it is all happening to them, and how have they reached the point of spasming and lashing out at everything for the purpose of self-harm.

Although in rare moments of clarity it was possible to bite through my ego and pathetic self-pity, and admit to myself that this unharmonious situation didn’t arise not due to the fault of any workers within the lock-up. The fault is not with the dominatrix, who most likely manages to whip her empathy back up when she gets back to her household in the company of her loving partner and children. Nor is it with my new mate who probably now has webbed feet. The torture has no one owner, but in fact we are all culpable, as ironically, it’s operator is isolation, a feeling that has never throughout history been so intense as in the ‘modern’ period, where our new toys have shredded community, and our neighbours have been reduced to financial digits.

Even over the microscopic time frame of a little more than a decade, since the tragic conception of social media and mobile phones, free-spirited adventure and openness to learn from whoever co-inhabits your immediate vicinity has been sacrificed for pedantic plans to meet with those

who think, act and groom in a similar manner to ourselves. We have collectively become more interested in stalking the lives of phantoms over the other side of the planet than interaction with those within our community.

These media vampire gods sink their fangs into community whilst performing fellatio on it, destroying its natural structure whilst sucking out anything that may give birth to a future generation with greater social abilities than a scaly cold-blooded bot.

Now, as the lady behind the intercom, the gentlemen with the steel toe fetish, and myself had fulfilled our lifelong ambition of inhabiting a high security property all by ourself without the need to share it, we seemed to have figured out that dream accommodation was not all it was hyped up to be.

I tripped on my face muffling myself with judgments and internal commentaries on terrains and characters. That is what landed me in the lock-up initially. Maybe I still haven’t unshackled myself in entirety. I query to myself whether there remains another bridge to perpetual freedom, an evasion of conflicts both internal and external through the face of walking whatever I consider poetry rather than writing and dreaming it. Bypassing the game of vermin and felines.




map to a



Originally discovered folded into five

(An excerpt from Chew This)

Fold 1)

Are you honestly still worried about wrinkles?

You’re about to break me out in panic by

confusing me into not knowing whether or not

they misinformed me by telling me that worrying

creates wrinkles …

hmm …Anyhow now’s not the right time to worry

because here is a map which will give you simple

directions to arrive at a world without worries

or wrinkles,

a recipe to a world without time,

a timeless world.

… and it’s only just a matter of time before we

all arrive there to stay!

Fold 2)

Complete three miniature hops forwards over

the backwards,

so you can control the clock’s

hands with the make-shift magnets in your mind.

To arrive at the land where time doesn’t exist,

the steps are so small and from the moment you

jump out of the blocks,

the wind assistance is

chronically amicable.

Dreaming through an

aether spells the end of all hallucinations.

Presently we’re all queuing behind each other,

in a circle,

waiting for someone to break rank and bring us

to the first station.

The hardest part of any journey is always to

emerge from the doorway,

picking up the backpack which is crammed with

the full belief that you can reach a distant

undefined destination whilst enjoying the

pleasure of the epic quest along the way.

The shredding what you formally believed was


Fold 3)

The first and hardest of three hops is to arrive

at a world free of borders,

a borderless world.

The Custom’s control only permits us to enter a

borderless earth when we’ve managed to dispel

our irrational fears.

The simplest and quickest path into an earth

without borders is through the breathing


All we need to learn is to inhale and meditate

on the experience which flows free with every


Vesicles commence the natural expulsion of our


toxic paranoia.

Acceptance will remain within us as the by-

product of the reaction,

this is the beauty and

the higher natural function of the invisible

organs in our body.

When we have matured enough through worldly

experience to accept ourselves for what we


human beings …

Then we will fully acknowledge that borders

serve no purpose to us.

Fold 4)

The second step into humanity is to arrive in a

world free of money,

a moneyless world.

This world only comes true through a deeper

level of love and empathy.

A true love for yourself and all others out there.

A love that permits you to lose concern for

other people’s judgment.

A love that deems all people as equals,

and all grudges irrelevant.

The main reason why people cling to finance is

that they use it to define themselves,

they are not comfortable enough with themselves to

love all people as equals.

In a moneyless world there is no need to show

off at the expense of the other.

A moneyless world is a world of love that molds

you into someone only concerned for the

wellbeing of others, even more so than the

well-being of yourself.

You arrive at a point where you are convinced

that everyone is inherently “good”,

and that you should trust them.

This in turn converts you

into a “good” person.

A “bad” person is only “bad” because he or she is

fearful that there are other “bad” people out


Someone who is fearful cannot share

materials, time, skills or love.

A love that is the polar opposite of the monster

of insecurity that draws you into lust for

objects over humans,

making you want to swindle people at every possible opportunity.

Love is a confidence that lets you understand

that you need nothing more than other humans,

and they need you equally.

This allows you to give whatever you can,

however you can,


accept whatever is given,

and at no time feel

indebted or owed.

It becomes difficult for you to own anything

when there are others out there with

unfulfilled needs.

You feel ashamed to don luxury clothing when

children are still out there who have never had

clothes on their back their entire lives.

Entering a moneyless world is only possible

when you realise that you’re already too rich

without possessions.

When you look to live more humbly,

it makes no sense to amass more.

If the society in which you live has matured past

the self-conscious stage of puberty where its

members feel the need to prove themselves to


then money is out of place,

just as training wheels are out of place on an adult’s


Money has now been outgrown and removed.

Fold 5)

The final step to immortality takes you into a

world where time does not exist,

a timeless world.

This is the most incomprehensible step in the

backwards modern era in which we live.

It can only be achieved after passing through a

borderless and then moneyless society.

The key to arrival here is perception.

A keen perception that allows us to immerse ourselves

fully in nature and observe the perfection of

what’s already present.

When you really feel the earth, you realise the

importance of every plant and animal.

After delving passionately and deeply into a

trance by marveling over its complex


exhilaration comes with the

knowledge that you are blessed by being part

of the Grand One.

To love nature you first have to locate it.

You can’t get to this step without firstly loving

all humans.

You can’t pass to a timeless paradise before

passing through a borderless and moneyless


It’s contradictory to profess to love nature and

hate humans.

A true love for nature comes logically through firstly understanding and

therefor loving oneself.

If you do not love yourself you are incapable of loving others.

How can you love nature if you have never even

located it?

You, and all other humans,

are an incarnation of nature.

As soon as you fully realise that people have

immersed and engulfed themselves in nature

since they arrived,

you lose all your fear and

enjoy meditating amongst the lush green of the

forests “alone”,

dancing with scorpions on the sands of barren deserts,

swimming through rivers and lakes

plays out as naturally as washing your face.

The ants and mosquitos become your cousins,

and the wolves and crocodiles your brothers,

aphids and ferns become your spiritual advisors and the rocks

take on the texture of marshmallows.

The oceans are formed out of the tears of bliss

of all your brothers and sisters,

be they animal vegetable or mineral,

irrespective of whether they exist in the present form or they

existed in the former ancient times.

The warmer ocean currents function like your arteries,

constantly flowing with or without your


the cooler ocean trenches are still as connected to you as your veins.

Earthquakes punctuate your speech,

their exclamatory echoes allow you to hear

yourself a little louder.

You perceive volcanic eruptions as the natural orgasms that are

there to bare witness to the power of you and

the rest of the grand one,

they fertilise the ground with pride.

Everything is part of you,

and the barrier between your human form and the universe

dissipates into air.

You don’t worry about your

physical death as you continue on through

everyone and everything that is still present.

You understand that life expectancy is no indication of the success of a society.

Life expectancy is a figure that demonstrates society’s selfishness.

Citizens of a future timeless world studied the ancient societies of

now that dwelled on such statistics,

bemused that they had all failed to compute a more

important figure known as expectancy of life.

Expectancy of life is the amount of time that

life is expected to survive on your planet.

It is directly related to life’s proximity to its


It’s a figure that began to reach a higher value

when people used to nurture each plant as they did their own children.

The figure grew steadily when indigenous populations were prevalent as there was little direct threat that life would be euthanized by its own


but then something happened.

If you are not worried about aging,

as you have become aware that you are part of an

indestructible universe that is already old,

then for you time has stopped and you’ve

reached immortality.

If you care with great passion for your great-great-grandchildren

who are unborn,

you enter a state of bliss,

and care more about your contribution to sustaining

life on the whole than the psychotic fear of

your own death.

Welcome to a timeless world.

Ston witnessed a dreamer’s crucifixion on the barbs of the real

world, and his tears flowed out of the cave and into the forest.

Mop was wrenched limb from limb although his song was

carried to immortality via the hearts of the living.

34) Empire of thoughts –

(written in 2012 whilst walking a continent for a year and a half, boycotting cash and cars)

Can my friends and I construct an empire built out of the microscopic building blocks of humanity, our thoughts?

Even if we do succeed, how would it be useful?

One thing is for certain,

it would be less destructive than empires built out of lack of thought.

It wouldn’t bomb innocent children who haven’t even had the chance to learn to speak or walk,

and justify their murder in the name of justice.

It wouldn’t deceive millionaires into believing that their life will be fuller with the acquisition of more objects,

when in fact it’s their excess of possessions which drown them and prevent them from making contact with other humans.

It wouldn’t mould us into callous monsters who ignore the cries of starving children,

because they have a different colour skin than ourselves.

It wouldn’t restrict the miraculous works of top scientists,


and medical practitioners,

and prevent their advances from reaching the areas where they are most needed.

It wouldn’t restrict the top scientists,


and medical practitioners

by preventing them from working on themselves and advancing in the areas they most need to.

I burnt a passport or two,

so what,

it was a fraudulent activity.

It only started another fire on a planet where billions of fires have been previously started,

nothing groundbreaking.

If the thought trader was cold,

then why wasn’t the internal thermostat cranked up a few degrees.

Pissing (and maybe even shitting) is another activity that has been done for centuries with even more frequency than fire lighting.

One should piss (and maybe even the shit) all over the Louvre,

but so what?

People have pissed (and maybe even shat) all over mountains,


nuclear reactors,

in barns,

and possibly even on the moon.

So when it happens ignore it.

Start quoting yourself and your friends,

they are the most relevant,

because they live in the world that we know is real.

Quote Sheik Spear not Shakespeare.

Trying not to participate in any system you don’t believe in is living in whatever you believe,

and hence believing in living.

The feather of vulnerability and shame which uncomfortably tickles a person apparently surviving on charity and good will disintegrates upon contact with the doona of gratitude worn with every meal.

35) The wrong carnation

Having walked Europe from top to bottom I only ever bumped into one cliff that is occupied by a fleet of vultures.

I hope I am short-sighted or miscalculated,

because when I eventually switch-off I’d like to be recycled in the way of least practical bother.

On this beach I witnessed something that defies nature,

something counter-intuitive:

resembling an octopus who shakes your hands then releases them without the will to obtain a deal through coercion.

The thorn that blunted itself on its own skin in a protest that discipline had been overemphasised by the powers that were.

A fasting mouse,

a subtle rock,

a cat and dog in arms wed by a pragmatic sword-fish.

I witnessed a vulture who loved the dead to the extent that he loved his life,

he circled for some minutes as if in contemplation,

then nose-dived into rocks,

deliberately plummeting into the next dimension.

metropolis(Illustration Mutan Tone)

36) Splat!

Give them enough time,

and they all fall like fruit off the mouldy slack-line.

On the flip side,

some somersault through the air,

before the splat,

other’s don’t even wait,

flipping themselves inside out,

not understanding,

that even futuristic prickly-pears,

require some sort of unofficial mulch.

The most inspiring to me,

are those with pretty eyes,

that hang four to five hundred meters away from their sockets,

with a vision so pronounced,

that even as they descend through the smog,

they visualise others in ascent

to the left of the see-saw.

37) Disciplinarians built the plank

The most honest disciplinarians force themselves to walk their own plank

and the plank don’t laugh

as they sink through the brine of their compulsion to control

and the sea-level don’t rise

when their toes break the surface

and their hair gets wet

with their self-concocted paranoia of a novel creative being

and the sharks don’t bite at putrid flesh turned rotten

by innards so dank

that they don’t care but to crank

and the man don’t weep

because the man lost his brain

as his belly’s been bended by an institution’s name

that neither he nor the plank comprehend or fortify

a fictitious concave life

under the pomp of a lie

and the most callous and absurd

is that his crew feels nothing

only another overboard

now to the first mate they start sucking

38) Warming a dinner

Add water and stir,

stir, stir, stir, stir,

and add water,

then stir until your arm drops off,

empty the pot and scrape out the bottom,

chew it a little,

then refrigerate it,

even freeze it if you’ve got the gadgets,

laminate it like a five-year old’s drawing,

then microwave it like a five year old roast,

or chuck it in a pan then burn it like five year old warts,

throw a chair or two on top,

then a table,

and transform your kitchen to a furnace,

exit the pile of futility,

and go hide in a river,

put your hands in your groin,

and start screeching whilst jumping up and down playing the frog,

when the novelty wears thin,

modestly swim a little,

then walk and swim until you sleep where you sleep,

and wake on the frost to a morning,

where the ground steams with ground,

and the ferns toast the clouds.

This was the most potent curry I ever cooked”

she screamed with sincerity and contentment,

pointing to a burnt down shack on top of an abandoned hill,

snowed under by isolation, repetition and bureaucracy.

39) Desert swords:

Interdependence Is a parallel concept to the unobservable force that binds objects of mass in a stable orbit across an undefinable journey which is lengthier than words Independence and purity are midday mirages in the desert of Tuesday that forgot about Monday dehydrated by the cactus excluded from fun and play Can someone go announce to the deluded goldfish who swims round in circles to the stroke of his premise that he created his own water stoned into his own pond that the lady who rants about her self-made fortune requires him for a business meeting on the outside of the cactus on the spikes of the desert swords which cut larger than words because unless they both grow real and merge with the hoards they still don’t find play

40) Ladder faces

LadderFaces900(Illustration Line F. Andersen)

It has been pissing,

into the left hemisphere of my brain

since before I learned to walk

from about the time I realised how to flick on the dial

that half’s pickled now

oh well

at least I lived

so forgive me

if I vent it by crapping out my mouth

onto your perfect white dress

because although I’m lame and without a viable excuse

it’s still worse with this generation

they hook ‘em up to weak lights and skinny beats from birth

then decapitate them cleanly at the first legal opportunity

and install a ladder from the neck upwards

they put titles on it

doctor smith professor mutambo-alifali general life-in-boots

then scramble up each other’s ugly ladder faces

for 60 years

until their heads are trampled in by each other

and one dimensional

then they retire to a pension in the form of a heart attack

before ascension of but one rung of the imaginary ladder

gasping for life whilst wondering when they actually lived

41) The vegan hamburger fraud

Chew This 2 (with edit)(Illustration Friend A butchered Friend B because Friend C shamelessly slept)

Hi I am an extroverted unicorn sensationalist fraud with no magical or psychic abilities

Hi I am an extroverted unicorn sensationalist fraud with no magical or psychic abilities

Do you mind if I sift you a little for balloons crackers or watermelons

Do you mind if I sift you a little for balloons crackers or watermelons

Hi I am an extroverted unicorn sensationalist fraud with no magical or psychic abilities

Hi I am an extroverted unicorn sensationalist fraud with no magical or psychic abilities

Thanking you and g’day

42) To whomever reads this

To whomever reads this,

A flower smelt

and sounded to me like a heavenly chute

expelling all hate from my body

it’s scent sang a lullaby

of peace and love over the eternal fragrant fields of beauty.

And that’s my perspective.

Poems over.

Why didn’t you interject my monologue?

You infinite chronic corkscrew dickhead.

43) Politics

skunk(Illustration Skunük)

The cult belief of desperadoes lacking nous, fobbing around in a futile religious search for someone who is prepared to grab their necks, poison their brains, and lead them away from their human existence and onto the treadmill at the apex of the cliff.

44) Power

The ability to curb the sick lust to control others

45) Language

280(Piss art: Dr. Erik)

verbal or written language is a useful substitute if you lack the vocabulary to express the term in body language

46) Extravagance

47) Extravagance

48) Extravagance

49) Extravagance

50) Extravagance

51) Extravagance












8 mins silence








Don’t feed the Owl (border control)

img140(Illustration Sarah Eve Cajayon Paulsen)

Throw up the bars and block the way

There lives a monster the other side of the cage

He takes chunks out of flesh and shits out hay

His dick can attack from across the bay

Throw up the bars and block the way

He’ll spit shingles and typhoid on ya breakfast tray

He’ll bone all your wives then declare himself gay

Next he’ll tear off ya willie without a g’day

Throw up the bars and block the way

There lives a monster the other side of the cage

Check out the clouds an ominous grey

He’ll use them to perch then pounce down in May

Throw up the bars and block the way

There must be a monster outside of the cage

Though no one has seen him by night or by day

The bars and tall stories all sell the same way














I’m thoroughly appreciative to friends who have helped by illustrating (thanks again)… But … I still refuse to admit any guilt or suggest that the poems require more colour … eh? … … Even if they couldn’t stand vertically by themselves I wouldn’t acknowledge it to you, I can’t even see your floppy facial pubes back there, so why should I rant on about my shortfalls to you? There are currently 115 hard-copies in circulation, and a translation to Norwegian is due to break upwards out of the ice soon. A bonus poem (which was ommited from the first version of the book) has also been added to future printed versions, it can be sighted, loitering at the end of the book below. . These are some poems from my latest book.  All except for a handful were written in 2014 over the period of a month. . I was particularly motivated to get this work out of my conscience to further shed light on institutional brutality, in the form of a specific incident where I was refused treatment at a hospital for head-injuries after falling, then chucked in the slammer????? . During twelve hours of custody, whilst concussed and bleeding heavily.  I was also refused treatment or a medical examination, even though lawfully the lock-ups are obliged to have medical staff at the ready. . Other than ethical disparities between my own ideas on what it is to be a mature human being, the police’s practise from a medical point of view was extremely dangerous and potentially fatal. . It is obvious to me that those in higher rungs who are entrusted to oversee and assess police operations are well-aware of the discrepancies between what happened and the protocols in place. They also understand how little regard was given to human life simply due to the overriding perverted will to control. . I was given a 9000kr. for “disturbing the peace”, and the threat was that if I refused to pay it I’d go to jail for 18 days.  It was subsequently removed when I requested the CCTV footage which showed that I committed no crime.  They went all went red, realising how naive they were to trust their grunts on the street. For more information about this case there is an in depth newspaper clipping here. As there are many (who truly live on street level and not off the glossy cross-lips of politicians) who are amazed at the frequency of such occurrences all around a world which prides itself with civilisation. By sharing stories, it allows people out of their pretty little homes and on to the surface of the world to see how society really functions outside of the slender little cross-sections of life they are used to.  And I, just like anyone else, belong to a tiny restricted slither of thought, although I hope I can continually expand and improve. . I am interested to see how the justice system proceeds from here, as even though in this case, the evidence is clear-cut.  The issue will be whether the claw that commissions the courts that belongs to the juggernaut who has inflicted the brutality, can free itself. . Mr. Workman, are you spineless or apt? . will you suck up to someone (or thing) bigger than you on your little lego job hierarchy structure? Or stand tall in the face of injustice. . . For more information about my experimental voyage, which entailed walking over a continent for one and a half years boycotting money and ID. You will have to either walk it yourself or check my thoughts and articles linked to my facebook: . and more human blubber: . But I am very bored of discussing both of these incidents, as life is a touch broader, so please proceed through the book.  Hopefully there is a little surprise below for everyone. . I’ve left this website up for now because I wish to not only hand-bind the books, but also to distribute them by hand. This may lead to a very restricted market, which is probably good because who would want to dictate the mindset of the masses.  However, this way I can let all the people I’ve met along my travels, or whoever has had interest in my expression, read whatever they feel like reading. . At a future date if a publisher decides to impound my work, and I feel that its bondage would be beneficial to it for some warped reason, I may have to remove this website. So have fun whilst the sun’s out. To be honest I don’t really believe in copyright if I can get away with it. I will pirate you hook and all, so feel free to do the same with my work. . It is great fun to make your own books, it is also a practical skill that one can take all around the globe.  I am in the midst of organising an intercontinental (yeah that sounds way more important than it actually is!) underground label with a few other poets whose work I get along with.  (“Chew This” my first novel was sold out with 251 copies gone.  But, production has temporarily stopped, as I am even more bored of that book than discussing police cells.) . Please note that the poems are specifically ordered, much thought and time has gone into this. If you want to get as much as possible out of the book then read them in order.  Conversely, If you don’t wish to take out anything out of the book, then feel welcome to read every word backwards. . .

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Book release party in Oslo


My hand-bound poetry book will be released 2nd May in Hausmania cultural house in Oslo.  The event will include poets, speakers, stand-up comedians.  There will also be great bands and Djs.

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Chew This!! – Not coming to a store near you very soon.

I just finished binding the first few copies of my new book called “Chew This”, and I hope one eventually reaches you if you have the will and time to read it! I’m building the copies by hand whenever I get the resources and time (each book takes about 45 minutes to make at the moment). Each construction is original, some look funky, others only deserve to be chewed by a monkey.

I’m getting help from a friend who is a master book builder, and when we have 100 copies we will have a book launch party, where we will try to raise 10000 kr. so he can pay his fine and avoid going to jail for graffiti. Later in the year I hope to have enough copies to send some presents out through the mail.


Illustration donated by Jannicke.

The book is a 150 page novel that is set on the day that the plants go berserk . They decide that they’ve enough of being stepped-on, eaten, trimmed, pissed-on and entombed in concrete. A heartless dictatorial flesh-eating plant attempts to take over the planet, brainwashing his minions to set deadly traps for all the animals and devastate all the cites and townships. A group of wanderers who have dropped out of society meet up in a forest randomly and realise what’s going on, and they take on the quest to locate the despot and end the war.



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The comic version of “The ballet of Bluffs”

A few have kindly hinted that the “Ballet of Bluffs is far too long and epic for what it’s worth IN THE AGE OF THE TWITTEROLOGIST…  I unfortunately agree.  In response the comic version will be out soon to save your time and attention span. Here are three sample scenes without text:

Coming soon (courtesy Malvina Wan & Claudio Albarran & Ibby ) don’t bite your tongue:





Ibby E Okinyi contact details:


Facebook address for publications


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Euskarra – Castellano 27 – 01

English speakers please patiently wait your turn. Seriously who do you think you are?

EITB (T.V. news pais vasco) Castellano 27-1 . (Spanish news EITB) – Puede ser que el link va a cambiar, pues hice una copia y voy a poner subtitulos en inglese cuando tenga tiempo y ganas.

With English subs for snooty grubs.

Al menos algo por los que leen Castellano y Euskarra, que encontre en esta etapa del viaje.   Gracias por la amistad :) Prefiero escribir algo … Pero como manejo los dos idiomas ahora, si lo lees vas a llorar!

Hice una radio entrevista en (casi) Castellano con Roge Blasco, aqui esta el enlace:–la-casa-palabra-radio-euskadi/

otra discussion en Euskera.

Euskara !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Eskarrigasko Ibby.





Empire: With your much appreciated consent, we´ve decided to privatise your hair.

Human: My hair?

Empire: Yes, you see it´s a fantastic invention that hasn´t yet been patented. We believe unselfishly that other´s should also have the opportunity to exploit it.

Human: But I really like my hair

Empire: If we don´t privatise it, someone else with bad intentions will. It´s the lesser of two evils … see!

Human:  How does that work.

Empire: It´s called Trickle-down economics.  In your town, we will install a very hairy man that resembles a bear! And thus eventually, through moulting and balding, everyone will have unlimited access to hair!

Human:  Well I prefer my own hair to the bear´s, but I guess whatever you believe is for my benefit is for the benefit of all involved.  Just give me a little notice if you decide to privitise the air, this way I can prepare to move planets.

Empire:  We´re also sniffing out options on how we can best privatise the air. 

Human: eh?

Empire: Great, now I get to explain my plan with a little more flare. We firstly hike up the price of “public transport” to 5000 times the average annual wage.  This is forces everyone into cars, tractors, helicopters and other vehicles that will create an environmental tear.  

Human: wot?

Empire: You really don´t understand much about the realm of finance do you?  It´s the principle of supply and demand.  Once there is little remaining air, the resource will become a precious commodity available for sale thus boosting our economy and shares!






Posted in Uncategorized

The day politics ceases to flagrantly promote racism will be the day that borders cease to exist.  The moment when we are all capable of seeing past the mirage, and acknowledge that our true power climaxes when we strive to control ourselves and nobody else, will be the instant that politics and trade  vanish altogether. 

Profession:  Teacher/Student (Without the need to be institutionalised to practise or learn … and more of a student than a teacher)

A hypothetical scenario to ponder over…


A) The definition of work is: A socially constructive activity that secures the resources that are vital to your survival.

and B) You existed in a society of scarce and rapidly depleting resources, in which the only employer was a temporarily delusional but well-meaning machine who planned to throw to waste what remained for the “benefit” of all.

Then the only possible route to work would be to stall the process by going on strike!

What I´ve found my good friend:

I and everyone else have the need to justify our crazy daily habits. But when we see through of the socially constructed ghosts that have been manufactured to keep the daily rituals which we perform logical to us, we find everyone is good … all these evil vampires thrown upon us by the media, only exist in our heads and nowhere else.

Not talking to strangers, hoarding big bank accounts to protect you, and worshiping the flag etc. are just forms of contemporary witchcraft which bluff us by preying on our paranoia.  Laugh at them, but at the same time try to educate yourself and those around you to pave a brighter path to true power.


There was a kind article written about my voyage in Shareable magazine by Maria Grausaskas on 14th jan.  It went a little haywire on social media and had over 900 shares on Facebook in the first week.

There was also a discussion about the walk in Basque on the radio.  I don´t understand much, except that Basque has a beautiful tone to it, and all the people I´ve met around the little towns have been super friendly.  The mountainous natural landscape is also as amazing to walk through as the modern history of resistance (against hegemonoic forces) that took place within it.  But, I´m not entirely sure what the Columbian passport is doing in the frame?  Maybe the radio station discovered my real identity :)  Eskarrigasko!–euskadi-irratia–ibby-okinyi/

I super appreciative of those who have written articles about the walk, the blog content, or even better …  issues relating to immigration detention, especially in languages other than English.  It´s good to offer people a chance to read in their native tongues.  If you have written an article can you let me know so I can add it to the press page of the blog when I get a little more internet.  It will sit alongside the articles in Dutch and Faroese, Thanks also for sharing this page, I hope to be able to provide interesting and informative material in the future.

Please note; The walking is on hold.  

I flew back to Australia to attend the funeral of a family member, so the walking trip is now on hold.

I walked from Oslo “Norway” to Guemes, Cantabria “Spain”.

But I still dream of one day continuing from the same place I stopped, and finishing with an artistic illegal crossing to Africa …

I believe that there are many interesting positive conclusions to be drawn from this experiment that I will summarise at a later date.  The walk has been benevolently described in a fairfax column as “original ”, but luckily everyone’s life is original, and thanks to that, I’m very appreciative to those that taught me over the last year and a half.

I’m around Australia at the moment and planning a moneyless walk from Melbourne to Canberra to show support for flag change.  It would be very satisfying to witness the removal of the Union Jack, and live in a country that has outlived it’s racist history.  Remember when the English arrived they did not value the Indigenous Australians, and claimed the continent under  ‘terra nullius’ implying nobody previously existed there.  It is important to honour everyone in this thriving multicultural country, not just one of many waves of immigration.




Walked over “Norway” and “Sweden” and swum through all intersecting rivers. Maybe about 600km not including forest wandering episodes.

(yeah, yeah it was summertime then)

map 1 Ibby

Arrived at Helsingborg and took a boat 5km to “Denmark”.  This was one of the two times I took transport to move south (other than generous rides in police vans).  The captain allowed me free entry after he almost choked with laughter.  The cooks even offered me a plate of leftovers.

I definitely would have prefered to build my own boat or refine my swimming skills but there are too many ferries these days interfering with the currents.

ibby map 2

Walked through “Germany” and “Holland” including a scenic detour over the 40km dike in the north-western corner.

I then got imprisoned in “Belgium” for not carrying identity.

If you read on in this blog you will see the proof that I put myself in the closed detention center to renovate it. 

The proof comes from the toilet seat!

“Under a government which imprisons unjustly, the true place for a just man*  is also prison”Henry David Thoreau, Civil Disobedience, 1849

(This quote uses the word “man” instead of person, so you may as well burn it.  What an ignorant dickhead he was.  However, what it does show by the use of horrible language which was then accepted as the norm, is the progression in society.  Bare in mind Thoreau was a progressive thinker in the US at that time.)

For me the inhumane conditions of the cell were no big deal as I was extremely  psychologically prepared after having walked through nature for the past year.  The guards on the other hand were not psychologically prepared for me to enter the prison as they knew I was there because they were doing the wrong thing.  They felt uncomfortable.  They also knew that formal punishment was not a threat to me as I used the isolation cells as meditation centers.  I was struck with disappointment at the mistreatment of people who had committed no crime other than being born in a different place on earth.

In the end strangly enough it was the Belgium government who committed a crime by breaking national law and releasing me.  The law states that I´m fully within my rights to stay in the prison until identified, and I never formally was!

I would appreciate if you read more about the system of immigration detention in “Belgium”. This is pretty much standard all around the world.  There is an underground site that I recommend:

The fault is inherent in the system, as governments are constructed on an electoral system that encourages candidates to spend all their time trying to harness popularity, so those who really need to be helped, the people with no voice, get trampled on.

ibby map 3

After being released I had to take time to meditate over my next step. I rode a train without a ticket out of “Belgium” to “Luxembourg”.  I stayed for about a month and wrote an except for a philosophical magazine and did a radio interview.  For the duration of the stay (and the whole trip to date) I´ve still boycotted money.  I then returned to the point in “Belgium” where I stopped the walk and recommenced.

ibby map 4

I  walked through the whole of “France”  north to south, enjoying a luxury pit stop in Paris for four months (all the while still cashless).  I´ve recently entered Basque country on the Iberian peninsula.

I´ve now walked from the northern most European country to the Southern most, but the trip is not finished.  If I successfully walk through “Spain” I intend to find a way to enter Africa without papers or money.


“Yeah, yeah make sure you get a meal, but whatever you do never strive for perfection.  The amateur lives a wide range of experiences but still never forgets who he is.  The proffesional´s heart and mind got hijacked and hacked out by computers a long time ago. But still just keep kicking up a fuss and have a good time.” – A sober old man I met on a park bench (looked like Yoda with the dress sense of  Darth Vadar)

…… ….  …. …………… ……… …………….. …….

What did the establishment do to those who first suggested the world was round??

absolutely nothing!

It was in fact those who followed the establishment blindly without the ability to consider different, new, and ever emerging schools of thought that got worked up and reacted violently to the progressive hypothesis.

It is possible that there was never any new thoughts and ideas, just the re-emerging and rounding off of ancient wisdom that is forever getting buried amongst shiny and fluffy things … Shiny and fluffy is not necessarily bad either, everything has its place thankfully!

What has been constant throughout time is that there have always been a small percentage that have suggested that the world is round, going against the razor´s edge, working for future generations with visions that can only be interpreted by those who have not had their creativity shaved by the carrots and whips of the illusion of hierarchy. These people whether vocal or not, can read with clarity what the majority may consider as dreams.  Even today there exist those that declare that the world is not flat.  This I promise :) They can see that society has continually progressed — and will always progress — back round in a circle until politics is dismantled in entirety.

“Fascism” and “anarchy” are mere abstractions of reality.  They are terms of no coherent meaning.  They are both only printed on paper to show each other up as circus.

However, what some particle physicists acknowledge as truth is when matter collides with anti-matter they both annihilate each other — and light is produced … it is this light, that is worth harnessing and releasing.

Just a few footnotes!

Throughout the roughly 3000km walk I have boycotted money entirely (that means I left the house with 0 kroners and haven’t accepted one over the past years and a half).

And … This Christmas , we shaved the ol’ mans beard off, warmed things up by burning a fire at the bottom of our chimney – and incinerate him if he tries to break and enter, and showed our children this video instead of rotting their brains and teeth with sugar and cheap whistles.  If you want to teach them bluff and fairy tales, at least tune them in to someone who can back it up (er … until shoulder pain kicks in).

This is a nicely written up synopsis of moneyless life by Finnish hitchhiking guru and authour Tomi Astikainen, check it out. ———– NO SERIOUSLY CHECK IT OUT, ITS STRAIGHT FORWARD, he´s even omitted the slight-of-hand fifty-two card deck stage one novice card tricks.  He also has a few books and the key to an explosive adventure attached.   

The intersection between the playground and the jungle.  You only begin to travel when you detach yourself from what you believe are the objects, people or concepts, that you believe are essential for travel.

I guess I could´ve kept my passport in its case, nice and dry, and below one hundred degrees celsius … but to carry it I would have had to teach myself to carry more unjustified prejudice which would have been even more difficult.   To retain both my passport and frame of mind would be like entering a forested area to enjoy and examine wild grasses whilst lugging around a cement mixer just in case.

This is now the time and place to read (and follow instructions if you dare) through the treasure map to a world where time doesn·t exist!!!!!!!!

Firstly, apologies for boring you with the uncreative web address name “Ibby walks”.  The address was initially made because I created this page to swap toddlers photos with my mum when I was homesick overseas. Then I realised I had many mothers that were looking at the page simultaneously…

Or not ..

Or something like that …

So I guess I should now start to tidy up my webshite now?

Or not! The universe is the antithesis or order, so to try to clean it up by imposing my will on it would be a touch arrogant don’t you think.

So I try to act locally with the people around me.  Which means away from this voodoo gadget.  Here you will get a glimpse for a split microsecond through the end of the Hubble telescope (if you’re lucky) at how rich life is without money (a money filled life is one of permanently scamming people for a bargain) or transport (the vehicle for those who cannot live in the present.

Gandhi on singularity:  

“If you wish for computers to sap your last drops of humanness and completely annihilate life forces, then be the change and keep licking this screen.”

(The aboves a misquote by the way.  The gist is more or less right but he added in swear words repetitively and intermittently as he was reincarnated into a more modern setting when the discussion took place  …

but the details are not important)

This a page, that has not been well maintained with age.

Better than than just find my personal page on facebook if you´re going to use the beast in anyway “Ibby E Okinyi”, add me, and throw me a comment here or there.

I receive all messages but I go through periods of little internet access , so I’ll get back to you when I can.  I’m always ten minutes early for all appointments (that way I have an excuse to leave them before they’re finished).

Do you understand my drif – ting?


Okay put it this way, I leave massive holes in my text like this …






So you have the time between sentences to jump out the side window of your house and run.


Or be polite and hand the keys over to your house mate with a hug and softly close the door after you

or if you’re a chicken, make a coffee and have a wank.


Merci à mes nouveaux amis français que j’ai rencontrés au cours des 6 derniers mois.Vous êtes très apprécié! Malhereusment mon français est toujours la merde, est encore la merde, et je préfère vous écrire la poésie avec le pie, mais de toute façon ici, c’est un article pour vous :)

Le voyageur a apprécié l'accueil des Rochefortais.

Hi,  thanks for coming!  My names Ibby … and I do nothing.

That’s why you may get something out of this website (especially if you study the spelling and grammatical errors )

Hi, thanks for nothing, my names Ibby … and I try to do nothing because generally nothing is a lot less destructive than something.

I’m sitting here eagerly awaiting a massive world-wide economic crash … In fact, I’ve already invested all my cash on it.  Let’s hope the worldwide economic “catastrophic” crash makes haste and beats the death knell of the atomic free-for all crash, the final whip of the UV lash, or the total human personality crash, where we all assume the characteristics of a flat screen.

The only beef I’ve got with the flat screen personality crash (or whatever you  want to label it) is that I never really owned cutting edge technology so if we all start to morph into these gadgets, I won’t exactly know or understand how to conduct myself without freaking people out.  Is that being self-centered? Or should I learn to light up when someone plugs a live 240 volt cable into my ass and stares at me with an open mouth for 10 hours a day? It just doesn’t feel natural to try to get used to it, sorry if I’m old-fashioned can’t help it.

and you?

Hmmm, if I was crouched over in the middle of that arid postapocalyptic desert with radioactive vultures munching away at what remained of my right testicle, at least spare me the pain of seeing someone wave a mortgage at me trying to get hold of my left one. …

Please … Don’t take both of them, at least leave me half of one … or at the very least the quantity required to help me to piss the little water I may find in the bottom of whatever iPipes are lying around … If your cojones are required to assist in that anatomical process of urination. If not, then whatever, forget what I’m talking about and charge me.

Don’t be lame, if we want to accelerate progress why not directly nuke the arctic?

And If you do so, do it with one of those silent bombs so at least I can finish my dreams and enjoy the last three minutes of my life.  See I’d probably be sleeping in a tent and if I got woken I’d wake to a meal of plastic melting into my mouth and up my nose, and to walk all over the world and wind up in Maccas for my last meal would kind of make me think I took the wrong choice way back at school when the careers councilor took me into her office. I may start to feel helpless or scalpless or something like this.

Just shut-up and do your dirty work if you really have to do it.  But let me stay oblivious in peace, or at least without cheap melted cheese.


Poets whose prose make more sense than their lifestyle, are professional liars who are so good at their job, that they’ve already convinced themselves that they’re telling the truth.  They can be at any stage softly encouraged to come out from behind their shield of possessions, fire their reputation, and live in life itself.

I’ve currently been living without money for over a year and a half whilst walking 2500km (at a really slow average pace of 4km per day).   The blog was initially built to show artistic solidarity with those who showed me solidarity on the way.

Now the blog is marketed as a free-for-all circus which is also an exaggeration, as the website does nothing unless you switch off your computer and jump out the side window of your house and run.

The header entries are to be read first … Whilst you’re opening the window …

On the right panel you’ll find a collection of short essays or poems, and on this page you’re reading a few different videos, music and an overview of some free family activities like burning down passports to get granted a free visa to immigration detention centers.

………………………………………                 ……………………………….                 ……………………..

End Chapter I

End Chapter II

End Chapter III

End Chapter IV

End Roman numerals

Whilst walking along the Loire river I stumbled into a small town called Blois. I was kind of in a hurry to migrate south 300Km to beat the snow this winter … but then my ears dragged me into a trance, then under a saxophone and into a jam session. We had such a fun time that we decided to make an album one song a day…

One song a day makes this music tribal music not stereo music.  Music from one of those tribes that you think doesn’t exist because its members run so fast that you can’t see them or feel them.  You know what I mean?

What do you mean you know what I mean? How can you know what I’m talking about if you can’t see it or feel it.  If you know what I mean … then I guess I don’t really know what you mean …

OK whatever goes, just check it out :)

I got a great review for the album by the way “Ibby this is a fantastically high-tech production, your voice sounds like Pavarotti through a serious distortion pedal.  Anyone who doesn’t appreciate it lives in a cave and is mal-adjusted to technology”

(that review was from my mum by the way, the one who I swap toddler photos with … don’t tell anyone) 

Put on your judges wigs and let’s get off to the more serious business.




(On the 4th of June, 2012, I celebrated the 1 year anniversary of my divorce with money, she took my entire estate, BUT … … … … … I fought successfully to regain full custody over my mind)

by Ibby & Okinyi, professional trader of the elementary building blocks of every human construction,

the items more vital than water…


cough cough cough …

If I claimed I presented you this website in a minimal layout to avoid showering you in gimmicks, I’d be deceiving you. And maybe it’s not that I’m too lazy or incompetant to make it look better either.  You see … back in the stone age all web sites looked like this, so I could possibly be trying my best to mimic the ancient formula to give this work a little historic value :) … Besides … The only way to read the essays is to turn off the computer, and jump out the side window of your house and run  …

and then tell me where it is.


The army of the future marched into countries with stealth, ‘brutelessly’ colonising them. They had no need for violent force or suppression of information, as they knew that love and logic would eventually permeate in all directions irrepressibly.

In each region of conquest, instead of planting a flag (an archaic object designed to magnify differences between people), they planted a pair of well-worn socks.  Resisters would smell the essence of what all humans are really constituted of.

Or something like that.



This book is being written whilst the author walks over a continent on a quest to further understand reality.

The experiment observed the following rules :

The use of transport is forbidden: (This would take me out of the where I am, contrary to the objectives of the experiment)

These days on occasion I may take a little transport if there is an exceptional reason, but I make sure it takes me back to the same place it picked me up.  Cars are one of the most offensive objects on our horizon that regularly fuck with our visionary abilities.  We all continually move forward as one mass, gathering energy and radiance.

The use of money is STRICTLY forbidden: An unnecessary distraction for a strong human in its prime, an object not worth its weight

*** The use of alcohol, tobacco and drugs prohibited: Today I explore this reality, not that one

*** (This rule was held for a year, whilst walking Paris to Oslo, it’s been dropped for the second rotation around the sun, to keep myself flexible , otherwise the experiment would have been too easy)

I have promoted myself, I am now boss over myself (and boss over no one else). (Whilst curable starvation exists on this planet in such prevalence, I have no regard for the corrupt ineffective laws of the land which prevent the transition to a more just structure of resource distribution.  National law will be over-ridden by the laws designed by my own morality.)

I am now going deeper

 (after exhausting my quota of power words: forbidden, STRICTLY,prohibited, boss, deeper, left is the remainder of the text which comes friendlier to the

eyes :) )









Other than all the many obvious ethical reasons why one would wish to boycott money

and national ID.

Trolling for laughs is just as valid as any other in this society where the media tries to

manipulate us

into assuming the personality of dried prunes :)

Just because you run the media and your lust for money has fossilised you … you wish

to drag all the suckers

down with you into the bog of scummy objects? … What if I want to be a healthy carrot

not a packaged up

dried date?

then, I guess I should …

       D    O           I   T        N    O  W !!

Belleville, Paris, June 2012… … ??? … The center and intricate right panel (and all that looks the best to the eye) courtesy of artist from L.A., alien specialist (and fun person) B.B. Bastidas currently doing two gallery exhibitions in Paris. So don’t be just unjust, show off your tonsils or at least your molars, have a laugh. Get down there! Now !!

(then) GET UP!!!

“If you arrive at the end of the universe, and find yourself separated from Utopia by an

“unshatterable” transparent barrier,throw yourself at it with all your weight.

If you work at it your whole life and only manage to chip it,
not only will your children inherit your attitude,
but you’ve come a chip closer to the paradise that the children of your children’s children’s children will inherit.”

(happy new year !!)

31/12/2011 (11.59pm) -Inside Merksplas center for illegals.








New Releases!

The new edition of Buiten de Orde (it translates to “Out of order” I think … but then

again so is my Dutch) ! It costs a whopping 2.50Euro because those who dedicate their

time into producing it seek greater profits that are non-monetary, (for example

demonstrating that things can be achieved without financial incentives). I was

lucky to have the opportunity to write a personal letter for the magazine, and

it’s nestled amongst many other even more interesting and different ideas

from a diverse range of people who are willing to think for themselves….

Check it out … (or believe that change comes from within the order, okay

well maybe not from your boss but from his boss, that jerk? … well what

about his boss, who that greasy dude who’s so tripped out he thinks his a

woodpecker and has been trying to make love to the mast of his luxury

yacht for the last 6 months… I don’t know but either way don’t look at

this post in case someone sees you… especially as that person may be a

woodpecker …

14/5/2012 – a) The Ballet of Bluffs has a new facebook page.

Will it save the world, no the lovely madame doesn’t need saving.

Many people told me it made them think though, others told me it was the most

elaborate form of mindless spam that had ever crossed their line of vision …

If you consider that  The Ballet of Bluffs may fall into any of these categories (or any other)

then please consider spreading it like sexual frustration in the vatican.

b) There is a facebook event (with a website attached) launched primarily

to give attention to a new global project and yahdeedah-bladyblah. You may

read about it there. The by-product is there is space in the event where

relevant ideas, events or art can be advertised. Please do so.

Media is a critical resource that’s been in the hands of a few (generally out-of-touch

and conservative) gentleman until the decade. Let’s not squander this newly acquired

asset.  The aim of activism is to raise awareness by finding a medium to carry worthy

concepts from the free thinkers into the mainstream.

As amusing as it is to flirt with a 350 year old dude with fake tits and a mustache

who’s trying to fool me into believing she’s Aprodite’s identical twin, that’s not

the reason I joined social media half a year ago.  (Maybe that’s why I stayed on

social media reports haven’t been confirmed yet).


14/5/2012 – “The ancient treasure map to a world where time doesn’t exist.” Published

A tourist guide I was invited to write as an outsider whisked through the exotic

streets of Luxembourg… for one who only settles for the plush side of existence.


The philosophical and political magazine gave me rough guidelines here to trick me into not

confusing myself as I wrote.  I appreciate this and you may as well because it’s a little more

connected than other pieces.

Have you ever examined the footprints of an immigrant, or at least paused to think what it’s

like to live a life where you are continually instructed to assimilate (become more normal)?

Are you and your family really that poor, or could you modify your attitude a little to share

some space and try to waste a little bit less?  After so much evolution in the global political

structure in the last few generations; the independence of many colonies after years of being

squeezed dry, the end of apartheid (on paper), the demolition of the Berlin wall, who is willing

to try to push that little bit further to arrive at a world completely free of the caste system…

a borderless society, in both a political and subconscious sense.

After my stay inside immigration detention, stabbed in the soul by witnessing first-hand

what people are prepared to allow others to endure under the pretext of saving money

(an object people don’t even understand),  I’m often comforted by my firm belief that the

globe is in transition and humans will eventually unite without distinctions.  But how long

do we have to continue to pay the toll? How long we will have to bare the knowledge that

millions of children who live south of the Meditarranean starve to death each year unnoticed

whilst the news raves on-and-on about a crisis in Greece and Spain (in both countries food

still rots in bins due to overproduction and poor distribution).

Through history there have always only ever been a small percentage of people not content

with the status-quo, understanding that a leap in political consciousness (not spiritual

consciousness) is possible.  And I hope to be one of them providing it’s not a cosy Sunday

morning :)

If you examine history you will see that these warriors have followed their heart,

seeing through the world of propaganda that attempts to pacify us all. They have

shattered the constricting shackles that we impose on ourself through fear of judgement.

They have understoodthat being vocal is not a sign of disrespect for society but rather

the ultimate respect for humanity and its ability to advance.

Although these people may not be fully understood at the time of their actions, they

have all eventually succeeded in achieving what they set out to, even if the greater

extent of their work has not been understood until a couple of generations after their


So to all those who are currently challenging the mindsets of others and spreading

awareness, thanks for thinking of the generations to come,  and inspiring us all by

publicly denouncing wrongs and continuing the harmonious anarchic work of our


If you can do all the above crap steroid free whilst simultaneously having a good time,

then you get a promotion to the next level and a session with the big boss …









……………………Have fun and keep tickling the robots :) ………………………………………..





Curriculum Vitae:

(Its only relevant if you want my recommendations on how to use the net

for activism in 2012.)








1) Walked “Norway” to “France”.  Driving away from the world of transport has

led me to more adventures and adrenalin than any previous lifestyle I’ve known. Once

you’ve had the pleasure of leaving everything behind and swimming through a river that

crosses your path,  you’ll enjoy the pleasure swimming through every river that crosses

your path, especially if it’s around the time of the green Scandinavian midsummer.

2) I haven’t touched money since June 2011. So what? No big achievement.

It’s sad if money is the focal point of your existence.

3) I wrote this book without owning a computer. There are way too many

objects out there, I don’t consider myself special enough to require any of my own.

We impose enough tax on the environment as it is.

4) I burnt my passports in front of police and they told me they loved me.

I was sincere and so were they. Why should we not love a fellow human?  Afterall they are

ninety-nine point nine percent the same as us.  There is no proof that they are not just us.

A passport is racism on a flakey bit of wood, that’s all.

Passport burning tips for you and your mates: If you use petrol you can force

your new friends to jump higher, if you use petrol liberally you can turn the passport

into a children’s inflatable jumping castle!!!

(If you believe that the only valid revolution is a leap in consciousness, the main idea

of political action is to evoke thoughts.  So it makes sense to record acts and get them

out there. If you place four or five journalists around with fancy cameras, there is a

better chance that workers will think a little before acting robotically.  This video has

also functioned as my ID for police.  When they view the recording, they get an

opportunity to think critically as well.)

5) You still reading? Why aren’t you writing?

6) I managed to find my way into an immigration detention center in “Belgium”

for three weeks

and bring the internet into the facilities and people’s story outwards (check link below).

Not even journalists or relatives have access to the center.  But go ahead trust your

government, blindly vote, convince yourself of its importance if it makes you feel furry.

If you intend an action, you should show that it is premeditated and not just spur of the

moment insanity. An honest little video is all that’s required.  This was recorded off a mac

book, without rehearsal.  A friend put in the subs and music.  It’s not special or

state-of-the-art, but its good enough to show there is a human with reasoning behind

his actions.  The intended audience for this video are the workers within the facility.

That is why it was important to make a dutch copy as well.  This action had much

more effect on the inside of the immigration detention facility than it did on the

outside of it.



Maybe I am playing with the immigration laws, but its important to remember

that they are only laws.  Furthermore, they are laws that play around with real

people`s lives.

7) I was lucky to be invited to participate in a party outside Merksplas.  It was especially

emotional because I still had many good friends held there. There were gypsy bands, Djs,

speakers more powerful than massive outdoor concerts that echoed off the evil walls.

The inmates even educated us on what was happening inside as we broadcast telephone

call.  It was a great group effort organised anonymously with the participation of many


A video of event courtesy of my good friends @ Occupy Rotterdam

(my home tent whilst away :) )

Coverage courtesy of Indy media:

8) “Belgium” has recently repetitively showed their citizens, that they wished to

squash all democratic expressions of freedom of protest.  I even observed a court

case where the police prosecutor quoted Mussolini.  To save my time and the police`s

time I decided to do the right thing and go and protest directly at the police station.

I occupied the Central Brussels Police station for 3 days   I found this

exercise very fruitful as I had contact with about 200 police, some managed to

eventually jump out of their uniform and embrace their human side.

9) Dreaming and loving, loving the dreaming :)

Welcome to the humanitarian aid to the “1st” world project

(the Ballet of Bluffs in a Belly of FIRE !!!!!)

by Ibby & Okinyi



If you still have a passport my advice to you is read as far as the preface.

Take out your passport and incinerate it. Laugh, feel good, and only

then read on.

 Happy burning Ibby :)



Before the bulk of the philosophies, pseudo-philosophies and outright bluffs,

I’m leaving this website constructed by friends when I was held in immigration detention in “Belgium”.

I smuggled out writing through visitors and SMS’s as internet and cameras were

banned in the facility.  All humans, should feel a deep shame for still allowing these cages to still exist.

In the future, when all humans are given equal rights at birth, and free passage

exist for all over the planet, we will look back at these times and wonder how we

could have been so brainwashed into nationalism, and how borders never served

to benefit anyone at all.  It will be acknowledged that they only perpetuated starvation,

they kept the rich too paranoid to experience interactions with others and enjoy the

diversity or cultures and ideas.  Borders will be etched into history books as the one

big bluff that justified the exploitation of our environment for the benefit of the

fictitious national economy.

If you’ve understood the trends of the times properly, you’ll realise that borders

are on the way out.  But the quicker the better. With this amount of information

available world-wide I guess that we are living in the last generation of this senseless

structure of borders and national competition.

Thanks to those who created the below website from

SMS and letters smuggled out of detention -Ibby

the next action is …

               ALWAYS !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!




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link to the page with all of Ibby’s letters from inside the deportation machine

If I am doing any action, and get dismembered by the national mafia, or locked in a cage and fed it should be written up here.!/profile.php?id=100000665281023

Accepting all 2D friend requests.  I hope I am humanly enough to do the same in 3D life as well.  All very welcome to raise points and awareness on relevant issues on the profile.  :)



Simon, an inspiring friend of mine (and friend of this rich planet), is about to attempt to paddle from Valparaiso to Costa Rica to try to raise awareness about the huge problem of plastic in our Oceans.

He’s previously crossed the Baltic from Sweden to Finland in a kayak, and traveled Australia on a natural diet which included a healthy share of roadkill. Follow his trip at ,and also find videos and information on the biggest environmental problem our oceans are facing at the moment.

 Good luck Simon !




Also another interesting adventure:

Harald’s eco adventure:

He’ll be walking, peddling and hitch-hiking from the most Western point of Eurasia to the most Southern, from Portugal to Singapore. During the journey he’ll look into ecological problems and the impact of global warming on mountains and the people who live there.

You can read more about his plans @


BACKGROUND IMAGE: ‘Existence’ by Lizzy (Rotterdam).

HEADER: B.B.Bastidas (L.A) – Wall work in Paris

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