war drums

bip, bop

bippity-bitty pop.

war drums

clock, clock. clock.

ad-hoc, black bloc.

anarchy rules, walk. walk. walk.

 

two dogs bark. the world watches,

some in awe. others in shock.

"feed em' to the croc! feed em' to the croc!"

the chants get louder

a radio full of propaganda, or a censored browser?

take your pick, white wolf or black schnauzer

 

flip, flop.

new rules, news rule.

loose runes, loons rule.

war drums bop, bop. bop.

 

noose lune is here, time to sharpen the crop!

we shall march! light the torch and fire the glock!

nobody gets away, build the walls and seal the docks

once and for all, burn the commies and massacre the ox

tear up all the pretty frocks, feed em' to the fox

tomorrow they will come for you too, knock knock knock

all that'll be left will be roaches and rocks

 

nuke them, duke them.

puke them, spook them.

 

it's time for a war, the band marches through Anaheim.

flares shoot up in the sky, all hands up for hate crime

a collective suicide at an uncertain time

it used to be viva la revolución across the rhine

but it all simmered out somewhere down the line

all sense of moral abandoned, hanging atop an amazon ravine

 

and yet we have the audacity of questioning

whats divine

it's all past saving. the water is saline

drink and dine, shrink and die

it's not a revolution, if it's just one last whimpering cry

 

and the day we disappear

maybe we could start again all over

and try

 

naye, delusions and the collective mind all too high

to remember we're all just living one collective lie

 

trip, drop.

a riveting mop.

war drums

chop, chop. chop.

 

flip, flop.

new rules, news rule.

loose runes, loons rule.

war drums bop, bop. bop.

 

ad-hoc, black bloc.

anarchy rules, walk. walk. walk.

war drums clock, clock.

 

click.

Disappearance.

A figment of the universe
A fragment of time
tis’ all that’s left
of this mighty warrior, once brave
wore a gold vest
eventually we melt

crave.

a year past, and the same familiar circles
trappings of my own, a comfortable bunker
evermore safe, while the war rages on

in his mind, in your heart
a death of valour, the funeral of the forgotten

a seldom wisp of remembrance
the past, and the future continue to whisper
to me, a sandwich of entrapment
designed to kill, peanuts with spikes

splintering your cell.
the mind stays awake.

time and again, dripping nostalgia burns
etched into your soul like a beautiful fever dream
it shines like a bright star
above your hell.
some days, you are surprised it’s still there
others, you tell yourself not to care.

oh, sweet nothing prayer.

why must you call me back.
to the end of my eternity!
why must you torment me.
trapped in between the gears
friction slowly rots the bones
here, another ice cream cone
you will feel better
it all means something

secure delusions, unhinged dreams
alas, what truly is a sweeter poison –
a raging night full of green
or the daylight scream?

doesn’t it all feel the same now
the colours don’t stab me.
beautiful, bloody irony
to feel too deep.

A gift.
A fucking curse.

But all the same.
Severed corpse, but an intact spleen.

Disappearance.

in another seventeen.

no internet is the new rain

A day isn’t
a day well spent
unless it’s spent
trying to make
screeching violin
noises sound pleasant.

 

what is this? a new present?
or maybe the generous givings
of a very kind peasant
a new sample library?
or maybe, an old Wagner (or any)
others are in the race
and they’re far too many!

 

worked out of my hard penny
This is not just fun, Jenny!
ruckus here, and a tumble there
oh look, there’s Kenny.
On Twitter he is, creating quite the flurry
while trolls and hackers make some merry!

 

Are these workings of a strange planet?
Or maybe Pokemon is the new game for Janet
and Jane, oh so trendy yet so plain?
everyone runs around the city
while I adjust the gain
in an iffy-jiffy!
What is pain? is it sitting in a train?
you see, no internet is the new rain

 

yet round and round we go,
all in vain.

Fear Talks

The setting was impeccable
flickering lights, foul winds
shattering glass, hurricane ring
The prospect however, quite terrible
the bitter cake in front of us, barely edible

 

‘Let us begin now, child’ fear tapped on the table
with its fingers long, dark and brittle
Unavoidable as this chance encounter was
I could already sense it going south, thumbs twiddled

 

‘Um.. How do I begin? Where does this start and where does it end?
What came before? the chicken or the egg?’
I asked, expecting a reply, barely holding back a sigh
Fear sneered itself into a mocking scowl
‘I do not know. Ask another question’
And so it continued one after the other
All to no avail

 

And thus, went the night
No sudden fright or icy spine-chilling roller coaster ride
Just an inert presence slowly fading away into distant memories
And once time was up, fear did not need
to disappear or even continue with the sneer

 

For the most lethal and darkest of fears
are not quite what they might seem
made not of tears or unfinished beers
not of companions found or lost
to the depths of time or even spectres in the rear
none of these situations perhaps even come near
the true depths of real darkness as it might appear

 

nay, the true destroyer is the question
the silent whisper in the back of your head
on a lonely rainy night, you very well know or you might
that silent whisper that slowly asks you to give up the fight
it’s all quiet and serene before its begins
a violent internal riot
tears you up, smiles as you slowly and slowly
choke your own dreams, kill your own means
until all that’s left is a few spare beans
nothing radical as you die watching tv in your jeans

 

there is perhaps another vague voice in the back
of your head that talks slowly while all the lights get whacked
and then before you know it, you killed it
every single cheat code hacked
while you play your video games
silent bliss oblivion
no desire nor fight left
it disappears and stays at the same time
reduced to not a even a nickel or a dime
ladies and gentlemen,
I present to you.
The power of the human mind

 

Bravo. Hurrah. Hallelujah.
Now, die.

Watercolours

The wonderful thing about life,
It starts with a blank canvas and a box of brand new brushes
You just need to find where the colours are
Magenta, green, purple and red
And some of them you conjure up all inside your head
And thus begins the journey

 

The more interesting thing about this situation
You start not knowing how to draw
A splash here and a spatter there
Some of it hits where it needs to, some doesn’t
Alas, a flawed masterpiece
But what does one truly do
when there aren’t any erasers or a clue
It does even seem that nobody cares
for a while

 

You keep splashing through
Like you’re learning how to swim
But you cant seem to see beyond the deep blue
You can’t find another colour
It’s quite the struggle to
find the colour you need,
perhaps because what you want is a different book to read
Not the same one over and over
You want to breathe, smell that strange clover
That once revitalised you, made you hover
Alas, it might be over

 

And then, the colour starts hardening
and so do the principles and the beliefs
You never realised this would happen
A great deal of more questions, a lot less answers
What must a hardened artist do,
After years and years of mistakes
centuries of colour shakes, watching sunset lakes
trying to get that inspiration before its too late
Maybe it’s already too late
The questions change everything

 

The next few years dissolve
trying to pick apart the hardened canvas
There was no other eventuality left
In between the confusion and the questions
The search for brand new colours, abandoned
Dismissed as a pointless charade
You don’t need brand new colours, you just need to get better
and there lies the belter
An artist destroys one’s own shelter
why you may ask, why the helter skelter
Is it perhaps disillusionment
With how the world works or perhaps something more conflicting
In nature

 

Maybe it’s our own opinion curvature
That spins us round and brings us back
to where it all began, in the rusty mind shack
Old canvas, old beginnings
No winnings
Airs are bold, but white hair eventually take hold
Another machine sold
For barely a percent of a life
Why even try anymore, why keep wrestling trife
Yet that one canvas slowly crackles away
As you go about your day
Harder work, lesser pay
Until one day it all dissolves before you
And another beautiful painting is lost
Memories, people and places
They all eventually disappear
The crackling paint finally melts
Death finally knocks
And finally asks that one question you always feared
What is it that made your life worth? What did you achieve?
Another blank canvas waiting, you say
I lived.

Failure, The Creator

Success once asked failure ‘I give a man everything he wants – fame, money, a good life, high esteem in society. what do you give? nothing but pain,misery and sorrow.’

 

Failure replied – ‘I give those men a road full of stones, pebbles and potholes to walk on. they bleed, scream and curse their fortunes. I am their worst nightmare. I crush all hope. I’m a monster. It’s true. but know that without my existence, their life would be hollow. Without me, there would be no you. I am the creator.’

A little riddle.

I hide in plain sight and shift between what's black and what's white. I give you a reason to fight, yet  I will make you question why.

I close at the open and open at the close what am I?

Meet Your Villain.

Hi Joe, meet Stella. Stella - your villain.

it won't hurt much. a little bit of a tickle, a little bit of pain.

the ol' upwards thrust of the train.

A broken skull, a twitchy little vein.

so much to lose, so less to gain.

An uncompromising position, without a brain

oh boy, will she play a wonderful game

Of cats and mouses and hidden rules

parade you naked, sitting on a mule.

laughs and mockery abound, anyone care to dance?

Stella - the ungrateful little bitch is but a façade

who knew? the very same that grew out of the pure disregard for all the modus operandi and the 'establishment' might one day actually decide to turn upon themselves.

Jack on cake, spade on horses.

Unresolved disputes and loyalty.

two a dime and a seventy a dozen.

Unfair games.

Meet Stella - professional villain.

Home, Not Quite.

I’m going away, I’m going home.

But not quite.

 
 
The window sill with tinted yellow sorrow, still

Images and frames, exasperations and nicknames

All the difference makes it all the same

But something did quite change.

 
 
Older age and shrunken heads

The passion of youth, the fires of revolt

Somehow a bit more tame

And old lost parent inviting you for a good ol’ game

of chess, of cards or maybe something better

 
 
Drinks to All! Drinks to All! Drinks to All!

Life is wonderful, travel is joy

But there’s something in between, left. An eerie void.

A strange kind of un-belonging, If I may be permitted to say

 
 
Nay! Nay! Nay! Jolly ol’ boy, yer’ a man now! slaps the old uncle on the back

Stares and questions, raised eyebrows and elbow jabs

grins and gossip alight, welcome back circus clowns

To the most wonderful place around

 
 
One old man sits to his wine and wife

calls me close and asks me what about life

It’s all I brung back, sir

Gleam in his eye ‘let me tell ye a secret, It’s not what ye brung back, it’s what ye left’

 
 
A toast.

summer, blue.

Another empty hallway echoes the freedom of youth

another window speaks in tongues of lark and gibberish

speaking only in languages I have barely ever known

It’s a windy path ahead, and all I got is a rope and a way

but the winds, they blow colder as time trickles down

An uphill task, an unglorified tale

spare me the detail

when all you strive for is left weak, frail.

all you’re looking for, a quieter sail

alas, only sea and the breeze to whisper sweet nothings.

summer, blue.

and you wish the music were lighter

the rain, quieter

the storm rages on outside the window now

but the shadows lurk beneath the bed

what might you say, to strike down the wondrous mellow bed of death

that calms you to the lull of sleep day after day

offering you a slight embrace and an understanding of all that’s dealt

of you and your fate, a shifting pack of cards

you play some, you lose some

would you play again? take a bet with the gods of chance?

or maybe worse, you dodge and dance and prance

avoiding the unescapable decay

you will find your way, oh you will some day

summer, blue

why would it be this way?

you ask, the universe in play

nay, there are no answers mate

behind a silver spoon and a rusted plate

one must walk.

further, to keep walking is the hardest part

a stop here, and maybe oh there! a start!

not quite

not as black and white

or so it may appear

for lose sight too soon, and the oasis disappears

there is truth in your fears

know that fate only throws winds

but it is you, my friend who has to steer

there is truth in art

summer, blue.

de l'Absolut

Another cold place, another shattered dream.

Perhaps, the order of life is tied into the random and the unexpected.

There are times when all the shivers that run down your spine aren’t worth it.

You feel cold with a glass and a packet and a bottle and a gun.

They’re not all here.

Some day. some other time.

Save seven, unhinged nine.

all in me, except a bottle of wine.

I don’t need your shit.

I seriously don’t.

Brutal, twisted world.

So dark, yet so beautiful.

Fever dream.

Packet of lies sold.

Buy truckloads.

Intoxicate yourself before its late.

Find your beautiful funeral.

Catch the bait.

All part of the wicked plan.

Catch your part.

Before it dissolves you.

All that you know and desire.

up in wisps of smoke.

Kill your dream or destroy yourself. make your choice.

Find meaning in all this absurdity.

Is it all numbers and integers?

we’re all creators. before we fall.

into the abyss of all that uncertainty.

all those dark corners that my shadow follows me.

whispering of dark futures and disturbing pasts.

all my life trying to find meaning in the absurd.

this existence, it pales.

before all i feel and experience.

Perhaps it’s all an illusion.

an illusion of absolutes.

Liars.

Glitch in my coffee.

As I sit and sip another cup,

mourning over the loss of pure childish innocence

the lack of brightness behind these closed and boarded up windows.

it bothers me.

howyers changed the lines that trace through my hands.

they reach the boneless soul of my existence, theypour

all that is needed, but never quite as much as I want.

like a hole that void.

nameless whispers that talk and seep into my dreams.

they tell me of stories yet untold.

they are of darker nature than I would be able to swallow.

It's all biscuits and coffee this life.

you might want some tea once in a while.

some mind to juggle up your breath.

but that's all the space I was ever given.

Adapting is changing yourself.

I feel conflicted.

But this glitch in my coffee.

Finding the Sun.

I sit and stare at the days that pass by.

I have a cold, long hard look. All that remains.

Some old dusty fragment hidden inside an inside an ancient book. Buried, forgotten.

No communication, only passive participation.

Dependent on the number, what are the odds?

Who decides your fate? What is luck but a flip of a coin, a failed move on a chessboard.

Endless possibilities, endless failures.

making and breaking us all, these days.

These days, all I see is a bright light. Sometimes it’s distant. Excitement finds me somewhere hidden beneath a rock.

Like an unknown dust particle sucked by the laws of nature into the very depth of all existence.

The abyss goes deep, my friend.

A lot deeper than it seems.

I touched the other side once, all I heard was static.

Saw a ghost of a past, a destructive future.

I couldn’t change my past. Rode through it on a motorbike half-screaming half-dead.

Felt more real, more hurtful.

What cuts is deeper, what heals is worth the pain.

All I see is an epiphany. All I feel is intervention.

A future, somehow disconnected.

Moments like these are common at ten past two in the morning.

I ask myself what is worse.

Waiting an eternity for sunrise or never finding solace at dawn.

It’s all worth it, not.

But the sun knows.

Granite's Lament

2014-06-15 16.01.42-2 I am the stone behind the image

I do not make you who you are, I break you

because I decompose

much like everything you have ever composed

Hard as a rock, but everything crumbles

tumbles and fumbles but visually humble

I do not want your trouble

I came here to warn you

The scratches are permanent

we are all sideways, bent

placate yourself in the crime

before they catch you, scarred

the old man's stories are all but true

you're not mine but we are all a distinct shade of blue

the lament is mine

 

I was once a distinct flavor of wine

before I was sent back inside

from the earth, to the earth

Ground, shaken and stirred

like a dry purple martini, severed

time passed by in seconds

like in hours, I incubated in thirds

oh, the worlds

that I have seen, what you might never be

but what lies inside

the work of a beautiful mind

within all of us, a wondrous land

the candle burns slowly through the night

the lament is all but mine

Stories of Long Lost Faith

Vacant eyes.
An isolated head.
She was a beautiful nightmare.
Heart full of teary-eyed half-broken dreams.
She could breathe.
Living in a plastic-packaged cheap dream.
Selling all she can buy.
Living it all.
Seeing it crumble behind her.
All the things that die.
She could live for ever and ever.
A packaged cold-storage for all the world to touch and feel.
Awfully struck brilliance.
She took everything she could.
Living by the road.
Creating a violet-red streak of fire as she passed through the town.
People could smell the light.
And everybody peaked out of their windows to see what was the bright light in the middle of the dark deep ocean.
Shooting up like an earthquake.
Tearing up the sky like a midsummer night’s dream.
Too horrendous to see it stumble.
Too brilliant to see it stand back up again and pose for the cannibalistic cameras.
The lights. Diabolic peaks of unaccounted energy burning up the atmosphere like a rocket on fire.
Violas screamed.
Sheets of paper tore themselves up.
Another one lost in the static.
Trying to scream their way through.
Never really found out what she was living for anymore.
She lept and jumped through the rabbit maze like a lone finger trying to catch up with the rest of the fanfare.
To be followed and to live life like there’s no tomorrow.

Nobody knows.
She was faith.

Ramblings from The Madhouse Part I

the canvas left bare. yesterday another painting washed away.

I could see the colours flowing.

Oh, the sadness.

Wherever I may belong.

all i know is you're my only living, breathing bacteriophage.

I will make you run.

but i will never let you go.

Oh, the horror.

and all i could think was cherry pie trees.

let's create a sweet rythm tonight.

let the alcohol flow.

let it run down.

deep and wild.

Oh, the mysterious challenge.

like a pebble in a haystack.

burning on the top of a beach.

Oh my lady, you're so dead.

and all i could do was whistle and wave.

Oh, the ignorance

Earth disappeared.

Oh, the spacey disillusionment.

all i could do was wave my fingers around.

there was heavy cheese in my neck.

there's a throat-sore in my head.

and i don't understand.

Anything.