Burning stronger than yesterday!
WHATEVER YOU DO, DON’T GET SUCKED IN TO READING MY PREAMBLE OF PROPAGANDA, SCROLL DOWN A COUPLE OF SCREENS AND DIG INTO THE REAL POETRY
(and whilst you’re scrolling, consider doing yourself a favour and finding a real job).
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.
No apologies for the spacing issues that you may enjoy whilst browsing this website. I don’t have the time or will to iron them out.
Thanks heaps to Cath for meticulous proof reading, and Ngoya for picking out mistakes.
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
On the mirror
Of the eye
Was a mosquito
The other pest
Under a mosquito net
Freeing the mosquito
And the planet
2) Why leave for?
You run from my side
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
that their voice-boxes spewed out onto the grass
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
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
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
Mobile phone minx
Inflatable rocking chairs
Moon eels and beached submarines
Hollowed out coconut hats
Water eggs and pistols
Hydroponic koala claw
Erasable white board magnets
Edible disco balls
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.
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
The benevolence of the sub-conscious
is an autobahn
the cold evaporates
stress extinguishes itself
visual fortifications without accountability
even mozzie bites swell but without register
the fruit of tomorrow
by an unseen generator
far away from the co-ordinates
of space and time
14) cloaked darts
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
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)
It’s 41 degrees
therefore it’s 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
I’d jump into any body of water
I’d even jump straight into rocks
because I was indestructible in the vitals,
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,
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
16) You know as well as I do
There’s enough shrubbery
to teach all of you a lesson in humility.
The oil riggers
I’ll dump you on a desert cactus,
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.
my good friends,
on the bottom of the pacific ocean,
with bowling balls strapped to your testes.
I give you 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.
“Is a false quote”
“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,
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,
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)
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.
natural birthing ground for rodents.
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
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
to the edge
of the fence
irrelevant technological shifts
by urban roosters
by those who sustain
their cocky anthems
middle class professionals
two car families
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
there’s a knee
stretches to 180
and only when it’s
half of which
above a desk
even dust mites
require more luxurious accommodation
and let it remain in peaceful hibernation.
I’ve never volunteered my body in entirety
to a charitable cause for invisible bugs
Didn’t think so,
so why the fuss?
inconceivable when passes
natures winds and faunas chorus
with great intent
that shatters rocks of calmness
monks deceive themselves to reach nirvana
before they wish to live on earthly rent
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
that busts our own deceptions
The martian truth
which sets egos alight
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.
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.
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’
‘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)
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
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!
Complete three miniature hops forwards over
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
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
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
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.
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
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
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.
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
You can’t pass to a timeless paradise before
passing through a borderless and moneyless
It’s contradictory to profess to love nature and
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
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
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
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,
it was a fraudulent activity.
It only started another fire on a planet where billions of fires have been previously started,
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,
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,
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.
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,
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:
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
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
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
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
an extroverted unicorn sensationalist fraud
with no magical or psychic abilities
an extroverted unicorn sensationalist fraud
with no magical or psychic abilities
Do you mind if I sift you
for balloons crackers or watermelons
Do you mind if I sift you
for balloons crackers or watermelons
an extroverted unicorn sensationalist fraud
with no magical or psychic abilities
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.
Why didn’t you interject my monologue?
You infinite chronic corkscrew dickhead.
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.
The ability to curb the sick lust to control others
verbal or written language is a useful substitute if you lack the vocabulary to express the term in body language