How was your thanksgiving?
Was it the same as it was?
Did the people round you
Seem the same as your default?
Was it somewhat different?
Did you repell Or were repelled?
Is there an opening leading down to worse than hell?
Can youse hug it out?
Can youse talk ?
And ring the bell
Of the bell that can still
Can ring
Or will youse slowly go to Hell?

If Silent Echo ***** in the woods
And there's no one there to hear it
Does it make a sound?
And where does the bear fit in?

My grandad on my mothers side
Was an idiosyncratic cat
Obsessed with engineering
Draughtsmanship and that

Recorded and catalogued
Big bands on a reel to reel
Oft silent in a low mood
You never knew the way he'd feel

But at Chrimbo came his home brew wine
and after a glass or two
He'd start to act all silly
Mug for the camera
Then the night was through

He had a turn of phrase
Long outmoded in the seventies
To the point of incomprehension
To the children of his latter days

If you asked what he was doing
He'd say I'm just scratching out my Ditty box
An invite to absurdism?
Or another life he'd half forgot?

I think he missed the war
And the certainty
It brought
As he poured over his old blueprints
The battles still unfought

When you in a hole
Stop diggin
I've heard a lot of late
Made me think
What if I didn't?
Shovel through
The earths great plate
Where would I end up?
Which is the antipode I seek?
Once I've dug around core
When my journey is complete

I would surface in New Zealand
Well... the South Pacific sea
The nearest town is Papatowai
Its population just forty
I could talk to the ghosts
Of Moa
Tell em of the Liver birds at play
We could watch the world's
Last sunset
As the ocean drains away.

They eat well
For awhile
But they always
Get put down.

Townes Van Zandt
Had electroshock therapy in his youth to deal with depression
A miss prognosis
Cos they just about wrecked him
120 volts is generally the dose
But it looks like they upped it
And so cooked his goose
Memory loss and despair
Followed him the rest o his days
It's really no wonder
His songs are so great.

I remember a fella
At war with his self
At times he seemed lost
But not beyond help
He howled at the moon
He wept to the rain
The ants in his pants
Then lived in his veins
His verse was beauty
It was warm
It was tight
Right up to the day
That he turned
Out
The
Lights.

I knew a man called trvevour
Way back then through the mist
I know
yet it's so hard to convince
The people who say that
Trevour exists
Is a complete fantasy
My *******
They twist

Get up and drink
Wouldn't that
Be funny
But we live in a world
That runs on money
The thing is that that means
What We create
Is based on the workings
Of what you call hate.

It's not Tuesday
I hear you say
I believe that
Does matter anyway
Good lord
The facts are not real
So get ready for incredible speed
I say things that you cannot believe
But get ready
For stuff
That
Makes you
Feel
Real.

In polished chipped diorite
The essence of a god
The detail is incredible
His expression slightly odd

They found him upside down
In a pit in the valley temple
An indignity four millennia long
Trapped under sands
Not inconsequential

When you approach him from the front
He seems alone
This King of Kings
But when you see him from the side
Horus laughing spreads his wings.

From my lungs to your ears
And then hopefully your brain
The squishy bit in the midfield
That copes with love and pain
The Hypothalamus spreads
Joy and doom through the land
Secreting oxytocin  
From the pituitary gland

Not to be confused
With the hippopotamus
Which controls memory
Short term not bottomless
That might explain
Why we do it again
And again
Walking the line twixst
Love's
Heaven
And
Hell

Stolen ponies found abandoned
Clearly far too much to handle
For the fool who thought it wise
To take this horseflesh as his prize
Perhaps a blind impulse rob
Maybe a drunken bet gone wrong
But when resason or sobriety hit
He let them loose
And did a flit.

Ben just said to me
Thank you for reposting my piece on the dying babies
It made me laugh for ages and ages.

The titles o two very similar books
Concerning  previous and subsequent looks
The founding of places,laboratories really
Trying to figure the graft that might nearly
Make life a thing you painfully get through
Instead of infection,agony and death
Slow suffocation
They couldn't **** down their neck

A man named Gillies raised his hand
Said I've got an idea you may not understand
Though it seems like hubris so far unheard of
And I think I can lessen
The pain of these heroes
If I cut flesh and ribs from below
And transplant to the visage
Cross fingers,let grow
Hope for untainted stitchage
Then repeat the move again and again
We might drag a few o these poor souls
Out o Hell

The Germans and Yanks
Of course tried their own stuff
But the definitive work was done down in Sidcup
There's remarkable pictures
In the above mentioned tomes
Of a type o recovery
Of faces so torn
And shredded
And crushed
And left in the mud
A testament to
Those who lost more than blood

So when you see the faces of the foolish and vain
Know the source their reform
Was enlisted men's pain.

I am a line manager for the county
I'm in charge of the roads
Searching for someone
To supply tarmac
Cos we need loads
But there's no one
On the wire
I can hear my bosses whine
And the Wichita line manager
Is still on the line.

When you walk
And then talk
Do you do it straight?
Or Are you bent on inclination?
The modern debate
Tiller handle movement
Has no effect on the wake
Could you look at yourself?
How much o this could you take?
And then expect it o them
That are clearly involved
With themselves
And the void
Hanging
Off
Of
Satans
Prong.

Leonid
Taurodid
Rocks thrown through
This fermential lid
Twice an hour
Then a flurry
You miss it when you bow for curry
Or kebab
It's late night tucker
Eat the meat
Miss out
On  succour

Ah don't be like that
Come on now
You know I didn't mean it like that
Good lord I don't know
How you can conflate
The things that I said
To your message o hate
But then again
I twist round in the wind
Shove me enough pressure
And my views I will l rescind
I missed the screen
What did they just tell me to say?
It don't matter
It'll change tomorrow
Why hey hey.

The Medusa touch
Is the British
Rosemary's Baby
Only better

Moon Cresta was Galaxians
And by extension Galaga as well
Sky Kid was Scramble
But they hid it pretty well
Street fighter was yie ar Kung fu
Though it made a lot more money
Hyper sports was track and field
Or the or the other way round
Memory
Is so funny
Some say Hunchback begat Donkey Kong
But that's a bit o a stretch
But nowt beats Asteroids
The original and best.

The Hobs of hell have to be operated
In a rotational system for maintenance and cleaning
Even though the work's intense
They're never exactly gleaming

Though the workforce is unlimited
And of course they get motivated
The endless drip of blood and filth
Gets baked on fast
Hard accumulated

The demon chargehands
Drive on the ******
With whip and fork and brand
But The broken barely keep up
In this accursed land

And so I think of childhood
With my poor mother near in tears
As she proclaimed the above Sisyphean task
Akin to cleaning
Behind my ears.

I grew up round the corner
From where Clive Barker was born
Though he's twenty years older
That was where we called home
He described the neighbourhood
In the first chapters o Weaveworld
I viddied it well
I could follow the lead role
Could see the portal to hell
It's quite a feeling
It's quite the trip
To see a bestseller
In the streets which you skip
Once you learn you live parallel
To the abyss

That's hard to shake.
As the midnight meat trains
Rattle the back gates

When you're in the subterranean chamber
That must be quite the feeling
In that tiny bubble
Just above the ceiling
grows a hillock
O the local limestone
A hundred foot above
Topped by more o the same
Blocks two and a haf million strong
Times approx two and a haf ton per block
Could be six million ton all told.

I'd **** me self.

What's that thing that you Yanks do?
From the civil war to World War Two
From Gettysburg to the sea o tranquility
That haunting sound gets driven into me
Through the smoke and swathed in reverb
The nations emotions
Sonically preserved
Uniquely you
You ******* own it
That old evocative
American trumpet.

What's that thig that you Yanks do?
From the civil war to World War Two
From Getsyburg to the sea o tranquility
That haunting sound gets driven into me
Through the smoke and swathed in reverb
The nations emotions
Sonically preserved
Uniquely you
You ******* own it
That old evocative
American trumpet.

The pan is hot
The oil it spits
Yesterday's *****
Has given me the *****
If I drop it in right
I get those bubbles that I like
Thin and crispy
And crunchy to the bite
**** hot and salty
And peppery to the max
Each one o these tasty *******
A step to heart attacks
Though the greeze and the salt
Might stop me feeling rough
I'm going back to
New York City
I do believe I've had enough.

Every breath comes with effort
Every step with pain
The ****** things you did
Flash over and over again
You never see your friends
And they have never seen you
Once ruddy with passion
Now you just feel blue
Ache
Cough
Splutter
Limp
Arched over like aged cast out toothless chimp
Can't connect to the world
To my dim eyes
It's just crazy
I said it once
And I'll say it again
I wish the lord would take me.

Do you remember
Chorlton and the wheelies?
Through the mist
It comes quite freely
But probably not that accurately
My friend

There was an angry
Welsh Witch
Cruel but unarousing
Like a some Marxist
Maggie Thatcher
On the prowl
But Chorlton was
Neurodivergent
To him it was not urgent
To seek vengeance on blodwyn
To make her howl.
But that only made her worse
To spit bile and curse
Which always led to her downfall



Clearly he won every week

"You came to me this morning and you handled me like meat,you'd have to be a man to know how good that feels"

Leonard Cohen "Recital" radio city music hall April 2013.

I heard a few people say
Their fear of death was blown away
By seeing a picture
Of their folks
Afore they were born
In the snap
An older sibling
In their arms
Giggling and wriggling
Before the stuff that made them was formed

At that moment
They knew
Gave them truth to hold on to
There was no pain and anguish
And they were not bored
And it will be the same
After The reaper came
No one suffers
All is nothing
In the void.

Twinkle twinkle ****
You have got some ******* front
To call me your friend

When someone looked at you
And was compelled to smile
When the journey was blissful
Neither counted the miles
With warmth without edge
And peace within reach
When puppies gambolled  
At your feet On the beach
When you returned home
To comfort and food
When you fed off of each other
When connectivity accrued
When you both were anchored
Moored solid in love
When it would last forever
Decreed from above.

Are the swing states
The ones who are into partner swapping?
If so they should get Doug and Melania
To drop em
I think I see an early
Winner here.

Flailing Wildy in the dark
Panicked dance
Unlikely arc
Stunted verse
Backed up flow
Narrative path
Nowhere to go
So calm your mind
And stand quite still
Take a breath
Pick up your quill.

I think I remember
Something that I don't
I believe I'll push
Forward on a thing
I don't want
I think in fact
You've accessed
Excess
It's as sure as
Egg and cress
Oh baby
It's somat
I dont
Want

What is that my love?
Is it the wind up above?
The end in the trees?

The inn at the oaks
Is where we all decompose
Spiritually

Gambling fallacy
Has been made quite clear to me
Quit while you behind.

Today is the day
I have not been waiting for
A chance to begin.

I don't know you now
Since the day you went to town
And came back to me.

Birds don't fly they are flown
And fish don't swim
They get swam
There's a predestination
In all that we do
You'll see that when
Your race gets ran

It's a game written
So long ago
Way before
The big bangs afterglow
Unknowable programmers
Laughed up they sleeves
as they piled on
Unlimited code

But in the end you will be set free
As the electricity drains out o thee
And binds itself
To the omniverse
Recycled
So efficiently

The quick brown fox
Jumped over the lazy dog
He could not be bettered
Like a super efficient postman
He just run out o letters.

If men can be rakes
And the ladies get called hoes
What garden tool
Are the sexless
Do you suppose?

I remember a joke from when I was a child
Bout a darts match and a bride o Christ
The sister was there collecting alms And praising the lord
Got taken in spirit
Stood a bit close to the board
Two double tops
And one in the fod
The priestess struck down
Right there in the pub
The ref totalled up
And inscribed the scoreboard
One nun dead and eighty
Is that what was scored?

When two is one
And one is nought
What is the magic
That makes one comport
What it is to calculate
The thing that makes us
Repopulate.

I've heard there is a bus stop
On the old Kent road
On the roof o which
A VHS o Hellraiser
Was thrown

Someone saw it
And took a picture
And soon a community was formed
And more copies
The elements endured

Rain and frost and then thaw

A classic piece of art
Wether meant or not
You got to give to the cockneys
Some o them ain't *****.

You tell your boss to
Swivel *****!
I will tell mine
To stick my job up his ****
We could even synchronise it
Record it
Editise it
Turn that *******
Into art
You can sell your mothers house
And I can sell my grandmas flat
Cash in all pensions and ****
And that will be the end of that.
Then move to Bolivia
I hear they make
Excellent crack.

Milney's got the lurghy
Milney got the vid
He's stuck down there in Kernow
coughing spluttering
He's One sick lid

He should be in the pool now
A weekend away from ******
No fine wining and a-dining
It really is a *******

But he's stuck there in st Agnes
ill with the doggies on the beach
Instead of rolling round
In cocktails
Fuckery just out o reach

Like Shaw and Dreyfus
Like Kubrick and duval
Like Klinski and Herzhog
Just like Derek and Clive
A bit like Eric and Ernie
Not at all like Cannon and ball
Antagonism is a tactic
Not loved by one and all