Start from black,
And there was light,
Peppering of materials and heat,
All matter of the universe,
Expanding from the size of human head.
Add in time, and say,
Good morning to the sky,
Good morning to the plough, 
Good morning to the man that never slept.
Start me from nothing,
Clear me from nothing and add nothing to nothing,
To equal minus nothing,
To which there is definitely something.
Expanding and spreading, 
The everything will appear
As if it was always there.
Like a house
Protecting your bed from the moon.
Woken from nightmares of repetition,
Again a morning of again reflection,
To all you asleep again waken,
Don't be at ease in your slumber.
Starting everything all at once,
Dance me the expanding infinity,
So fast my eye would never see prayer,
Only your result can be seen.
Full sails of morning light
Start and finish with no middle,
For I see both start and finish.
If light were coloured black I would not see morning.

Waken Mirror face
Drag your ancient bones out your hole!
Away dreamers of abstract delights,
Draw in a line with start, middle and end.
Now feel your senses,
Apply the encroaching logic of experience,
For now
In but a small moment, 
Gravity drags you right back.
You can feel your senses,
You're back,
Trapped in me again,
The limit of escape refocused acutely to F22,
A fine point so clear it is a perfect miniature.  

The comfort of being in the middle space,
The space within the space,
Without a word, thought, or line.
Once noted it's ethos instantly lost,
As if never actually believed.
You lurk in the cracks in between me and my mind,
You are what ancients believed were Gods,
You the perfect spread over all cracks,
You the self-centred-self-lover in all monsters.
Make me feel I am a slice of the divine,
That I am needed, wanted, and special. 
I can't sleep through such victorious light,
Open the curtain and show me the stage.
A romantic heart can be fulfilled once only,
And leaves a taste worse than death.
It is a time to write, or a time to drown, 
Draw on me natural lover,
Draw on my eyes,
For it is too early for consumption and machinery,
No one but the birds are awake,
Singing to their deities in the Trees,
Natures concerto to early eastern light,
The purest light of the day,
Before rolling white clouds kill all shadows,
Leaving no shape,
Or contrast,
Breathing in and out.
Refocus from macro to wide,
For any pleasure is just a visitor.
A coastal experience of varied tides,
Swamped or barren,
Famine before feast,
Nothing in-between,
Sprinting for your life, 
Or decomposing rotten in unholy garden.
Remind me who I used to be before I died?

Gentle movements with mild waves of emotion. 
Monstrous explosions of joy. 
Draining your desires like a hammer to an egg. 
A killer kiss from death himself. 
Questions of your own existence;
I am not the imagination of a fictional character,
Some starving protagonist,
A dead whale lost at sea, 
Recently harpooned and dragged ashore by its tail.
The weight of its own flesh collapsing its lungs. 
Starving its brain of oxygen, driving it into a coma.    
Angry sailors boil the body as it slips in out of Consciousness,
Mammalian consciousness drifting away;
Precious oil drips from its open side
Into a barrel
On a bonfire of penguin feathers. 
The fire is burning, spitting, coughing. 
The memories relapsing
As the last flicker of electrons fade.
Am I the delusion of those dreaming deities
That peer through eyes of owl?
What do Gods dream of?

Look at you, 
Look at you the human animal,
The beast on two legs, 
The great ape designing machines.
Look at you,
Look at you the human animal,
The beast behind the wheel, 
The great ape farming everything it sees.
Look at you the master race, 
Look at you the great human animal,
The beast under your bed is yourself,
The great ape fragile weak and floored.
Look at you. 
Don't look busy because the master isn't coming,
Don't rush because time is short here.
My thoughts are the sound of deep cello, 
My every moment alone, 
Is a moment with your face remembered.
Leaving you in ceaseless misery.
The tears of the death bow saw
Stuck in the only moment,
Caught in old photographs,
That is you over the cliff's edge,
That is you fallen on your sword.
The Only Relief is the fragment of paper a splinter of bless
A sense of escape, the willingness of slaves.
What do you think of
When all your dreams have died?
Grow back your gills, tail and return to the sea.
Awaken man for you are alive! 
Smell the sea salts.
Descartes hold me; remind me, breathe with me,
The swollen sun is warming your face,
Feel fusion against your skin.
Take your fingers out of the wound Thomas!
Your sword is now a Machete!
Cut back through the wild wood
And listen to your heart beating.
Cut off your morning beard,
Return to the beginning before all this began,
am I the current moment, 
About to be lost and replaced?
A moment that passes by,
Before I am aware of it?
Could I be nothing but a memory of self,
Romantically envisioned later on this day?
Or perhaps I am gone
And all that remains 
Is the moment you hear me in your thoughts. 
God, what have we done?
God hold me, protect me like my mother did,
Soothe my agony and love me,
For I am alone in this world.
If I had done wrong I would understand,
But the more I see,
The more I despair and wish for complete annihilation
For every one of nature's freaks.
Dirty vultures circling starved landscapes,
Enlighten me by killing me.
Or give me a life worth living,
Where I want to rise from the bed at dawn,
To reload,
And take all.
For conciseness,
Let's be clear.
I want to retreat to a warm memory,
A memory of love,
A memory without death, loss or despair.

Cuts of consequence
Slipping in and out of mindless conversion.
A good strong dose of the liquid blackout please,
A step back from your daily self
Into blind lovers eyes.
And start again,
Same bastard behind the eyes,
Same unclean regret.
You retreat back to your womb sheet,
To cry off your shackles.
The pinnacle of human experience is to be dosed,
To deafen, 
To do the naughty.
Help us into our sandy shoes,
Shine bright light into my face
And pull back my skin,
Reveal my sinning bones.
And we have arrived in the land
Of the orange faced, over dressed
Meat factory,
Where a dosed up donkey is your prize.
If I could sleep for a thousand years
I would,
Because there isn't enough
To be awake for.
Saddled in from day one
To justly want
What we just don't need.
I was an idiot to believe my dose was special
My experience so unique.
The beasts are roaming the streets,
All roads lead to nowhere,
I know where nowhere is.
We have over ridden natural selection.
Death, doom, and delusion are the only faiths.
One cult engrained into culture.
Lonely souls encased in wheels, like modern tombs,
Lurking in B roads off the slums of ancient ruins,
Staring out of plastic windows in warm sunlight.

You are a mystery.
You people indulge the sick in their fantasy, 
Pouring fuel on the fire of the genius,
Forever falling as the flightless bird.
Is the truth so unbelievable?
Should I invent a better story?
Back to the towering tree at the centre of all of us
There is a scorched earth.
Within the soil,
There are burnt remains. 
You are half the weight but twice the reward,
So tonight I will take down the sky.
I will not drink to Bacchus ever more
For the female body
Is the garden of Eden
With whiskey to water the soil.
Could you write a Fable better than the bible?
Yours is a free mind,
A tool to delude. 
There is no order, only nature competitive
In battle with itself. 
Breeding to our genetic peak,
The skill of consciousness,
Giving birth to compassion and altruistic design. 
Human achievement is thusly
The naming of groups of atoms
Categorised as objects. 
Belief in language is a lie we tell ourselves
Like the pigment of a photograph.
The infinity of experience
Reduced to lines of hieroglyphs
Arranged neatly in white rectangles.
God is and always was the simplification of all questions.

Can you help me escape the boredom?
Encased in the amber of a retail park
Just off the M27?
Every minute a painful reminder of the slave I am to be until I die. 
Just another must have object,
An artefact of cannibalised tourists,
To capture their dull and repetitive lives.
Wallpaper for their palaces,
The Gods of the modern age. 
Buy me, love me and bin me. 
Reseed your landscape with mountains
Of broken electrical products.
Stack me high under your tree.
Rivers of wires
Coiled around roots.
Lakes of toxic LCDs,
Caves filled with unusable plastics,
Stop me before I buy your every machine. 
Stop me before I block out the sun with power stations.
Filling the sky with stolen energy
As the phone in my pocket radiates the sperm in my testicles. 
Feed me until I am fat and can't move. 
So portly I can't get to the freezer section
And die of starvation. 
Light up the night sky with 50 inch HD screens
In honour of the great Panasonic.  
Please insert a USB port in my neck
So that I might download iTunes 
And block out the desire to even think. 
To hear music in my head, 
To write notes in my mind,
To make new memories with my eyes. 
Fuck it, 
Insert into my head a 3G wireless router.
Updating my Facebook internally,
Surfing the net in my skull,
Walking the streets in a vacuum of data. 

Does altruism really exist?
Have not all actions a physical or emotional delay?
All creatures have the selfish prerequisite.
No one performs a selfless act.
There is always the function reserved,
To protect your own genetic material, 
Hidden in your body,
Or buried in your child. 
Once seeded
My time is done. 
All humans thrive on one frequency;
the being as consumer. 
The dilution of our motivation
to be anything of worth. 
Living in the void.
Indulging in Infanticide. 
We will leave nothing of ethos for our children. 
Culture grows weaker and thicker,
The crushed glue of ancestors bones. 
We are angry as we look toward Britannia's blank face,
Her legs spread eagle,
Being fucked by the moron. 
Times are cyclical,
Social freedoms get replaced. 
Each idea recycled,
Each idea rephrased.

I am a fake 
I am nothing
I have distorted and killed everything 
I am not special 
I am a fraud 
I am without substance 
I am misery 
I can't start again. 
I have seen the truth and it is a façade, 
The masquerade of beauty.
Still I hear the music in e-minor,
In love with my own misery 
Copulating with my psyche.
Our genius grows hair, 
Like Flowers of bloom 
Ingrown follicles embedded in thoughts.
In love with our instinct,
The one we love second to our sons,
The only beauty still alive.
More wonderful than our creative mind,
Yet not, like us, remotely aware.
In love with the killer,
The intensity of finding a mate,
Slathered in translucent unseen emotion.
They prey on you when you are weak, 
Get you when you are low,
Like the gate keeper of all morality,
The threat for sinners is his infinite error.
A child's mind in a dead body,
A little pill, a shot of this, a sniff of that,
Your own divinity, your own Messiah.
Our ritualistic rickets dance in tune 
with loud bass,

Existence prolonged in a warm world of your own,
The senses and endorphins pleasures you beyond God,
Without any sensible dogma, or belief,
Watch as I weep,
Listen to fake prophet’s tears
Music is the idiot propaganda 
Simplified to an irrelevant hook.
Nothing can be said in a sentence that is balanced,
Dancing is like marching,
And it takes away the individual,
The mob of a dictatorial source.
Refined from a rock into sand,
A rhythm sold as glass.
Do all prophets die at twenty seven?
When the heavens opened, 
The earth closed, 
Light was lost.
Guns, shipwrecks, rum and rape.
We all die in the wastelands of our forefathers,
Achieve Rigour-Mortis in the name of our freedom,
Lost alone and forever forsaken, 
Existence looks as empty as pop music.
Tired of being tired. 
Sin is sin 
Dead is dead.
Corpses beneath the edge of your town,
The dead inside stare at symbols.
Look down at the ground and know they are Love,
Yet gone, forever, never to be spoken,
Numbers disconnected,
Stagnant dial-tones,
We the living are still suffering,
Missing and loving,
Regretting and needing.
All those unread emails of the dead,
Piled in boxes infinitely forever. 
Let me in to heal you, hold you, care for you,
Make love warm in your being.
Don't see me as a Jewish son, or a deity.
Don't' see me as a wounded magician,
See me as the light in the sky, 
the ground beneath your feet, 
the tree framing the land.
Feel me in the cathedral, 
Feel me in the stone circle,
Feel me within ancient Forests,
See me behind the symbols. 
The glue holding souls in place,
The one you can't see,
The source of all pure love,
Hear me in song.
Remember before you were a son, 
When you were with me in the stasis before time,
When there was no noise
Or movement.
No reaction.
You could look into the deep,
Cogito ergo sum
Past our sun, 
Past water, earth and air, 
To the beginning. 
Put your eye
To Newtonian reflector
And you will see.
But if you really want to know 
where we come from, 
It is very simple,
You came from your fathers 

Indeed I have taken you all,
I don't believe in you,
I am the anti matter that circles your mind,
I am the nails in the crucifix,
I am the false hand holding your every deed,
For I am the scapegoat of knowledge,
Dying at your well, 
Drinking your poison,
Directing you away from madness.
I am just a nothing, space in-between a material, 
An invisible lock holding the construct 
Never to be broken.
I am the end and beginning of everything, 
For I am the centre of creation.
The light from the first reaction is still 
within your mind,
We but a dream of our selves,
Reflected by shards of mirror.
Anonymous like a thousand deities 
A sick folly of unspoken commutation
between cells, 
God, what have we done?
God hold me, protect me, like my mother did,
Soothe my agony and love me,
For I am alone in this world.

We leave with the tide of ages,
Washed to the back water of lack lustre repair.
My eyes are your eyes,
My memories are your memories,
behind your eyes, lay my invisible eyes, 
To be read all over your face.
You, the eyes of all future possibility, 
Eyes reading eyes always see the truth, 
Many eyes alive by the the allure of her eyes,
Because Venus is the West and she is our womb,
Where life is peaceful and serene, 
No plague, No war, 
No fear.
I cry at images of terror and suffering,
Poisoned to the gills with wine and whiskey,
Intoxicated cognitive response, 
My own reflected empathy.
Believing in the greater good. 
Smashing a rock of Egypt
Into the face of the most beautiful narcissist.
Reading Rosetta as it crumbles against your hard nosed vanity.
Or, more likely,
The stumbles of allure and lust,
A demand for the ecstasy of St Teresa.
Wanting and needing you, 
For more than any promise of eternal absolute, 
I want the black hole between your legs,
I want to swim in the river of creation.
I want to give you my grandfathers memories,
As quickly as I can.
Before your allure begins to bore.
Before you discharge your beauty.
Before you cast yourself as the serpent.
Please remove your imperial paw!
Servitude, Lust, dirty Democracy, 

All western and middle eastern religions
Are medieval delusions
Based on a prehistoric fable.
What are you teaching me?  
How can any modern world be conscripted by this?
What are you teaching me?
You people indulge the sick in their fantasy, 
Pouring fuel on the fire of the delusional,
Forever falling like the flightless bird,
Defending your nest from the wildest of boars.
Is the truth so believable?
You are a mystery.
You are roaming twin tribes.
You the Mirrors that surround us all.
Make the trees grow to the north 
Away from the light,
Thing don't go right, 
Things don't work out,
Things are hard and make you cry,
Things delude you and kill your soul,
Things make you ill.
I am decaying in front of you,
I am falling to bits and spreading all over the floor,
I am dying and dripping slowly into the ground,
I can't see the complete picture,
I can't see protons forming atoms.
I can't see nuclear fusion,
I can't see Gravity
But I believe they are happening.
Could I apply this to our dear dilapidated God?
I would like to understand why,
I would like to paint you in gold,
I would like to hold you above my head as I drown.

Divine measurements of the perfect.
Did I see the light coming through the stained glass?
Accelerating to the optimum distance
From my eye,
Reflecting surface colour,
Moving into the future past all existence,
To hide my mind from thoughts of decay.
Keep on moving.
Don't lay down,
Don't stop thinking,
Don't stop breathing.
Dead being dead,
The final dead.
Eyes still open
But no communication,
Moving past the yews,
Going into sleep mode,
Moving past the soil.
Moving into an endless nameless.
I saw Vulcan and Neptune collide.
Drown the fire burning
And fire burn the water drowning.
I can't be much more than mist,
Two ends of magnetic indifference,
Stealing the shoes of the dead,
Milking the clouds of birds,
Completing the three legged circle.
Landscape humors, 
Bleeding imbalance to all deltas
Leaking lonely leisures of toxicity,
Looking for broken arms,
In naked burning fields,
Loaded with hollow toughness.
Screaming trees doubled over,
In red rickets, cuts and locks.
Numbed by Vulcan charring touch,
Counting one million and one leeches.
The impossibility of belief.
A symmetrical monologue,
A symmetrical tree,
A symmetrical belief.
This is an A-moral experience,
You can't form a covenant,
There isn't one pillar
To cut all your eyelashes for.
To burn in Persian pyres,
Scream a sound, 
A force of realities tectonic,
Good or bad become irrelevant,
Just endlessly slow movements,
You can't heal the sick,
You can't split the moon,
You can't give me a refund.
Am I awake? 
Carving up charcoal in your oil stick cave,
Milking your mind, 
Hand and eye into one function,
To rise,
To lead tectonic animations of materials.
Do you sleep?
Warm, fattened, and comfortable, 
Slow, greedy, and cretinous,
Selfishly human
And humanly selfish.

I want to have some fun with a hot dog in my hand,
I want to grab that girl and bite her ear off,
I want to sleep on a window ledge,
I want to set fire to my eyebrows,
I want to punch myself in the face,
I want to smoke six fags at once,
I want an ice cream,
I want to fly like the headphone gang,
I want to be awake for ever,
Let my hands be like a pilgrim on the road to nowhere,
I want a long blue dress,
I want a yellow tie,
I want to sing the blues,
I want to talk to 
I want new trainer's,
I want to ride a horse naked
On the beach in Mexico
With a cowboy hat on,
I want John Lennon to be alive,
I want a Ham sandwich,
I want to read your mind,
I want to be original.

Originality by the roots of the word, 
Contradicts the post-romantic, 
Believe of genius self. 
To be original is to return to origin. 
To rewrite Plato on a service station napkin.
I am my father sons,
I am my cultural reading,
I am my fathers most original thought,
I am the books I have eaten,
I am the digests I have digested,
I am the women I have pulled apart.
You can not create from nothing.
Unless you were born divine,
No mother no father,
Grown in a void without windows,
A pure white space.
No inspiration, nature or music,
My symbol already well used,
My story already told,
My design already produced,
A comfort in being recycled,
In art I am myself through a filter,
The creator of a reflection of self,
Each human is its own sun or star,
A shared function,
A scaled model of the heavens,
A circle moment of golden ruling,
Strutting from east to west,
To repeat process,
A circle path of magnetics. 
Each of us made from the debris
At the centre of the first chemical reaction,
Forged in the heart of a dying Star.
That which separates us from animal
Is our eternal search
For truth in absolution.

All the endless echoes of love,
All that endless fresh flesh rotting in chests,
A Sea, 
A Sky, 
A Ray of sun, 
A Black cloud,
A Gravity, 
A Rain water,
A River,
A Wave,
A Black hole botanic,
A Higgs-boson.
A Chest monster, 
A Knife pig pork.
Millions of tonnes of rotting materials,
A Turners sunset with reflections on water, 
A beautiful dirty Portsmouth sky.
Buy an eye piece, Sir?
See a little more, Sir?
Lift you a quarter of a mile, Sir?
See the curve of the Earth, Sir?
Buy a cup of what is free to a bird, 
Free to a broke heart rising,
In-growing toes and wisdom's teeth,
Boldness and longsightedness
Close eye's,
Open eye's,
Do dodo, da Dada,
Isn't it brassy charm, Sir? 
Or uncultivated ignorance, Sir?
A fool choking on chicken bones.

Nonsense duplicating Nonsense,  
Humans imitating film,
Art imitating life,
Fashion duplicating music.
Fiction makes for a fictional reality.    
Culture being culture-less,
A four chord song, 
A good Beat Per Minute. 
I am not a Spanish painting,
Religiously protected in a cave
In the hill's just west of San Lorenzo.
I am not Saturn Devouring His Son.
I am the character I can't see.
If I could see, 
I would be uglier than Dorian Gray.
So lost
In the tea strains
Of the death bow saw, 
More than almost any other,
Living or dead.

Nothing can't be nothing,
Nothing is an abstraction of something.
The layout of atoms in your finger print,
The same as pattern of stars in the sky,
So why do I feel so lonely?
When all there is combustion and expansion,
Plants and animals, 
Rocks and men,
All the same material.
The stately home is no romancer,
Built on mountains of sugar, 
Built on mountains
Of dead black slaves.

Bacon on a pig,
Bacon cooked,
Bacon raw.
Ape-looking raw bacon,
Bacon burnt,
Bacon buried.
Where is the intellect? 
War is done from the naval.
A cave scrawler recording existence, 
Hand, stick, rock,
Bone, spear, fire, arrow, clay,
Burning arrow, sword,
By lance or hatchet, blood. 
Distress, Deities, Sailing boat, Galleon,  
Egg tempera, quill, God,
Art, printing press, typewriter,
Machine gun, battle ship, bomb.
Space travel, computer, Zenith mark two.
Ten thousand years we were wild,
Deeds indeed of wolf men,
Wondering around the tundra,
Not a numeral in sight,
A machine for the living;
Bodies painted in green.
Wearing tweed on the inside of hairy flesh,
Stoic without a stout in hand,
As fast as the day is long,
A taste of blood in the mouth,
A Jerusalem in Elgar's ear,
In love with the fields,
In awe of Nimrod,
In dreams of Petworth deer.
A warm flea on my shoulder,
Hanoverian horse skin in hand,
Without vision there is no future,
Without ego there is no past,
A Higgs boson in-between,
An epoch with an incubus at the foot of the bed.
Faith in the machine,
A warm fire in a wooden house,
Turn out the candle to see through the catacombs,
Symbiotic like heart and lung.
Man can see the heart beat,
But cannot see the brain wave.

Mementos of a life I have left to smell,
A rotting heart now incomplete,
The slopping ruins of vena cave,
You, my saw cut.
Heavenly bleed like the sun of all golden light,
The mountains of gold captured,
From sun to space to sky to land,
To scream like Munich,
To tolerate the torment of living
In a godless world.
Burn down the sun
To remember Boudicca
Blackened by Thames soil.
Wash away the evil empire of our blushing colonial tic tacks,
Leave me alone to scream away
All armada from Tilbury hill.
My ancient working earth,
My first nervous break down,
My first rat tat tack, 
Never would my ancient fathers
Believe that we Saxons
Would go on to eat the whole skin,
Rising genocidal loving hand,
Consume corrode copulate,
My battle ship ties,
I stair into your fascist eyes,
Stroking your hair
As you trim your beards,
Illusions of function,
Ineffectual mob rule,
The pig roars democratic. 
A loaded tongue with Gutenberg pressed all over it,
Handling the hoards of shouting Anna baptists,
Watching mass murder in the reflection of your eyes,
Then go eat all the buffalo.
A descendant of the great Khan
Searching for his kingdom,
A catatonic cat nap in front of entertainment,
Just because the Indian eats hamburger now,
Doesn't make him an American.
Lard laying lonesome leaking diabetes.
No more a holy cow.

The biggest lie ever told
Was from the mouth of Christ,
“Forgive them for they know not what they do.”
Humans will do what ever it takes
In order to exist.
Eat and resolve,
The smell of burning flesh,
The beautiful salivation of anal organ meat,
Salvation on the homicidal grill,
A leper Messiah Chewing on a Mammal,
A seaside disease,
I know this complication,
I am from the sea!
I live in my own time,
I live in my own mind.
Never to be collected, 
Alone like disdain. 
Alone like lovelessness,
Alone like God. 
Lip sink,
I pretend
That we were ever really friends.
A case of smoking motors in the engine room,
Wet like the weather I remember.
The swarm of instinct,
Cold like depleted batteries,
What do I say
When I see your fat legs
And your little shorts?
What do I say when I hear your tuneless tone? 

It took me five years
Of classical piano
To cleanse the brain waves,
To un-slop the rap worms,
To remove the blues rock hooks.
A woman's creativity is in her vulva
For it was as if all fish spoke French.
Cycles move in circles,
On epic season changes,
In soft sear-seal shifts,
5000 years of dark,
1000 years of light,
For the plague is like the sun, 
Always rising in the east.
Remember me,
When all gods are dead,
When you don't have the freedom
To pace around your memory's cage,
When there is no neighbour,
When there is no one to love.
Memories written in folk song,
Carved on ancient walls,
Sons so hungry they devour each other.
I will cut off the right hand of God,
Eat it all with full salsa relish,
Every hair,
Fleshly bone
And dirty fingernail,
Serve up his head on 16th century rose plate,
Set place his teeth in my crown,
Weave his beard into my goat-haired shirt.
I am divine ruler of People,
and Sky.
Cut off my head, 
Two with grow back twice as strong,
For I am lord of infinite ego.
Taking down all masks from the Hall of Invention,
The face of Christ, 
The face of Mohammed, 
The face of Diana.
Strip down all façades, O bodiless dictator,
Who have Lay waste to my frightened mind!
Who have Enslaved millions before me!
Mountain sword too weak to cut them down.
Hmm… I cannot repay.
I am grandmother's morsels viewed
In the mirror of the dead,
Slipping into two modes of character, 
Tartarus' murderous Knife,
Nyx's cold night.  
Murder's hat hung on the bed end,
Open guts for truth-sayers reading.
View the distraction, 
Scouting the lye,
If only Dionysus had loved
Evil blue eye
Just a little more,
Maybe it would have been different.
There is no truth,
Just illusions and fantasies, 
Painting and paradox,
Stories and dreams.
There is only the Now
That has already gone.
There is only my mind,
My tinnitus,
My disdain,
My pulsing heart, 
Drumming drumming drumming.
There is no love,
Just creatures,
Before they expire.
Survival in a dinner jacket.
Reading without moving my lips,
Do I trust my minds memories?
I keep telling myself
These stories of yesterday,
For my unconscious mind
To warp and distort.

Memory is a fable.
That rotting reflection, 
The reselling of diluted liquids.
When I smell chocolate, 
I am 7 years old,
In the school yard,
By the tree,
Talking of ghosts,
Holding the moon in my hand,
Holding my cheese bocadillo.
To care too much, 
To be totally in touch,
Yet completely floored.
I am a cocoon turning inside out, 
Removing all layers,
Boiling in fluids, smoke and soup.
What is it to be you?
Are you the projection of all my needs?
Are we just neon dogs?
Are you not God?
Are you not just my cultural Icon?
Are you not my lover?
I pray to you,
But you don't reply,
Praying to walls,
Talking to you makes me want to die.
Talking to you is restless,
Talking to you is pointless.
How can I really be alive?
Without the violence of violence seeded
There is no survival.
No survival with pity.
No bible without the kill.

To take all the servitude out of altruism,
To want to destroy, 
To subjugate, 
To control information, 
To make history,
To improve the strength of the species
Through the charity of raining bombs.
Our souls are explosions,
Christ's human qualities,
The poignant past
Written in the future,
For the only God is Nature,
With her atoms,
Her mammals,
Her metals
And microbes.
There is no man at the centre of this.
Could I have been mistaken?
I am still here?
No sight.
Yet I am here,
Sat in your house,
So talk to me,
Leave your breath in my ears 
And forget me always,
For all grand illusions
Are the grand mistakes of science.
Forgive me all thoughts that were not prayers,
Leave me to naivety,
The cutting room floor of all transit,
Fill me with love I had not in existence.
Warmth in my death womb,
Flying above me.
Could I have been so wrong
In the prophecies of my youth?
No more glue, just shrapnel blasts. 
Pre records and extensions of experience.
If I believed in the great Nothing,
Would it stop raining bombs?
Would the sun rise for me? 
The rest is easy to forget,
Whatever is left of the organ we play,
Soon we forget everything.

The atheist in the catacombs.
A conquistador
Rubbing greedy flesh against Inca gold.
An English pirate armed to the teeth
Lurks within the triangle's mist,
Stripping the veins of dogs,
Stirring the soup of withered bone.
Not even Darwin knows what's next.
Is this moment just a dream?
Lean your face against the grave,
A thousand years of dirt under your nails.
Godless lover, play me like a harp,
Cut off these thumbs, remove all teeth, rack me up
Picking through the wasteland of human existence,
Where once I held a stone
And made it into a digital switch board
In a moment of enlightenment.
Where once I turned fire into a lover,
Where once I turned pig into the oven.
No need to split the moon or desolate an atom;
Don't remind me of my own creation.
A moment for me of most importance,
The only moment,
The greatest moment in all existence.
Without me there is no world!
For I am all and everything!
Paint my face over broken bread,
Leave me a perfect ceiling made of glass.
Imagine the sensation of ejaculating forever;
An endless orgasm,
The zenith of all emotions.
A king de-fleshed,
Burning the last candle ever made
To its waxy base.
Moments become meaningless after an eon.

Devoted to the loving sea,
Watch in me as I don't seem to see.
Can't seem to shake this head of priests.
There is poison in this tree,
Cut the branches and burn the leaves.
There is no fish,
No nets nor breeze,
Earth and dust I do not see.
Walk on water,
Fly overhead,
Stare down at me with all your heads,
Carry your loved ones around your neck.
Put it in a letter or write it in a note,
Tell everybody,
That everything has changed.
Walk through the landfill,
Past the storm drain,
Up to the Georgian house.

Checking your wing mirrors, 
It is better that the great are dead,
So they can't see,
What I can see.
My hands are those hands
That cut down poisoned trees,
My hands are those hands
That farmed seven billion parasites.
We are not at the beach,
We are at the coal pit,
We are at the oil field.
Burning tar is in my eyes,
In the eyes and the microphones of the town,
You can see it in the western and eastern worlds,
African blood all over our hands,
All over our boots.
Have I met him?
Have you met him?

It is so easy to work,
So we work
And it is amazing how we all work.
Going back a long way,
We love to make people work,
Cutting tea,
Building pyramids,
Shipping pleasure everywhere.
Perfect line and design
Is built by man.
The story is told for generations to come,
I am told it is the ethos that counts,
Not really what happened.
Is that the truth in your mouth
Or a myth spilling out?
Are you just a hook with a large penis?
Are you ready for the ultimate sacrifice?
Don't say sorry because you will do it again.

The past is over,
Now the real story begins.
All my dreams are so beautiful,
Modernism without the concrete.
Sing me a song David Bowie.
I have empathy for the monster,
I have sympathy for this age,
For this age as grim as a smiling nail bomb.
You missed out on the upgrades,
You missed out on everything
That was going for free.
Look into the street
And through car windows,
See it all happening
To all of us.

Burn all your clothes in shame,
Attila climbed the Alps on the back
Of an elephant
For some double AA batteries,
A ham sandwich
And a three piece suit.
I will sleep forever in the flowers,
I will think so hard I will fall off my chair,
I will wake up on the floor,
Like men of prior centuries,
I will be bored and emotional.

Food, sex and escapism,
A major new film that will change
Your whole perspective.
An eccentric survival strategy;
Today Andy is buying souls and all my contempt, 
For sale at a hundred percent of the cost.
Leave your life at the second page, 
Having worn out your eyes, 
The next day will not be so kind.
Bent out of shape in the corner,
No one loves an artist more than the artist,
You are your own prisoner.
Time is so precious.

The sound was so beautiful
Once heard never forgotten,
The music was like white light;
It warmed the soul,
When the strings made your hair stand
And the base held your body to the ground.
We all want music's infinity,
To lay serene in its glow.
Turn up the volume
And for a moment reach out
Away from yourself,
Cradled in your mothers arms like a baby.
Images will save us, 
As they're subjective.
We are the trees and we are the fish,
We are the grandest of the apes.
The grass will one day grow
Down Oxford Street.
The cockroach will feast
On the National Gallery.
Feeding on me
Beside The Fighting Temeraire.

Once seen never forgotten, 
Passed down through genes,
Resonating deep in collective unconscious.
A linear movement from a broken heart,
Plan your fun
And fold your washing.
Reflection of rain
Breaking pond surface.
These hands are tired and sore,
A den of iniquity,
A Victorian Prostitute on your knee,
Is this the life you really wanted?
The perfection of Rothko,
The truth within the sublime.
Light and dark are but the same.
Hiding your face behind a stern mask,
Holding a lump of Berlin wall
In your throat,
Do you believe in Nature?
Do you believe in Art and Creating Wonder?
Just imagination and everything that follows,
Everything for ever.
Show me Catlin
Or just blank canvas,
Show me something
Outside the flesh.
Light turns inverted
Around corners of her flesh,
Twisting lovers preying eyes,
Shapeless slipping
In and out of nothing,
Horizon lines through fishing nets
Wash away the vainly vessels,
Tighten up your belt by 4 holes,
Breath with me.
It is a sad old world,
Full of hole punchers
And necromancers
And little antidote.

I am the parody of me
That carries third person.
A dead character
In my arms
And on my back.
Crying in my arms,
Falling into pieces, 
Dragging a thousand selves
Like rosary beads.
Drag my same body
Through the same river twice,
And I will wonder
If it's still the same river,
For you can wash in meat and silver.
Like the gold that is so precious to me;
To a chicken,
The waste on the floor holds more value.
We can never see the whole picture.
I can't remember what I was.
I can't remember what I wanted.
It is too hard to accept
The complete rejection
Of every emotional impulse.
Creatively and physically
Wanting and longing
To sit with the gods from a rope. 
Tears at the door of Hades, 
Tears like a plague, 
Lumps under tongue,
How long has been this sorrow?
Nearly twenty thousand years.
Still can't repair ice headaches, 
I just wish there was a beautiful world
For just you to live in,
I just don't know where it is.
Just a world of sorrow, decay, and loss
With fleeting moments of joy.
The brain is a monstrous thing,
Full of dreams and denial.
I am just a man,
And we are just not getting better, 
We are just getting fucking lost.

Sloping, slapping, in love's liquid labour,
Romantic like the Didcot railway line,
Romantic like a hard screw in the disabled toilet,
Romantic like religious nonsense
Exploding in your body parts.
Like a movie, 
like a movie in slow motion,
Like teeth and bone in motion,
Like the most evil movie you ever saw,
Images like the blood of Rasputin,
Soundtrack like the swagger of Khan,
Strapped to your seat,
Eating, fantasising as real as memories
With popcorn in your teeth.
Sit beating litres of blood
Around your organs,
Pumping blood, pumping memories,
Seat belts holding litres of bodies,
Holding them from liquidity.
At the end of a metal tube with wings,
Just metal, plastic, fuel and combustion,

Did the engineer check the brakes?
Did he check the turbines for dead birds?
Did the doctor check the pilots heart for clots?
Did God check the sky for natural disasters
Or human distaste?
Oh, to place no trust in humanity,
Oh, to know that some are incapable
Of ever being human,
Oh, to have little or no faith in other,
To look down at perfect patterns of lights,
To see miniature star systems
Covering the ground;
I see Urea-Major, Pegasus and Orion.
Man made wonder,
A little wonder by man,
Many men made by man.
If we were born out of the sky,
I would like to survive long enough
To see my burning remains,
To communicate with Ra via the solar wind, 
And be released from this stupefied
Ant box of mistakes.

Put on your make-up to face death.
What would Newton say
If he could get to Edinburgh
In two hours flat.
A loaded tongue of empty quotes,
A blood cell full of survival machines,
Enough sperm to arm a stone age nation
Like a bomb with a thousand nails.
It was always about machines.
I want to look at the clouds forever,
The one selective view out my portal,
No one else can see,
Just me.
The desire to be my own grandfather
Flying over Denmark
On my way back from bombing Dresden.
I am the pilot,
I am a sun of many endless suns,
A ray of light reflected and rearranged, 
Where light isn't a constant,
Dividable by prisms,
Where time is the maximum force;
A place where the sun isn't framed in blue
But like all stars
Is framed in black.

A fourth edge not seen by human eyes.
A boat adrift
Where dust and antimatter
Do all the movement.
Just because it is day, 
Doesn't mean the stars are not there.
Remembering many clouds,
Falling asleep to nature,
Watching ancient stones,
Grounding myself on the surface of grass,
Remembering silence,
Listening to it,
Listening to where soft vision stares,
Remembering every sight and sound.
A recalibration of all senses,
Every ram spotlessly purged,
Remembering love and action,
Remembering one happy moment
Between Erectus and Sapien.
Eat the meat,
Grind the meat, 
Eat the meat of the eaten lands,
Pour cum in the sea
And built like ants,
Invent your cults,
Enslave the animals
And each other,
Forget about love,
Cut down forests, build castles
And drink whole lakes,
Stick our dicks in all caves,
Marvel at each other
Through lenses, windows and LCD's.
I'm creating nature,
Would you like to see?
Second, third or fourth hand?
Cropped, saturated, and soundtracked,
Powered by chemistry, 
Brought to you by ego.
Hanging from God's sugar coated moustache, 
Intellectual but ineffective,
Shadows in my hemisphere always fall clockwise.
There is no dream within the dream,
No mist or soft focus, 
Dreams are memories,
Ideas of the hyper real
With no time line,
Unedited pleasure.
I learn, I repeat, I make mistakes,
Therefore, I am.

Self actualised realisation, 
An ego as big as Pangaea,
A killer whale of an idea
To occupy all our minds,
A neo-plan-a-gram.
Aghast to Bacchus
For I can play nocturne eight
In d flat
On my nose flute,
Submerged in C.
Don't square or cube the process,
It is all the same in the end.
Oceans of space,
All spunk and thrust.

Cut to the bone and skin,
Bleed for all yellow humours,
Ready to feed hungry nations
All across the world
In a number languages
That no one computes.
Revolt, war, collapse, 
A run on resources,
A loss of communication, 
A loss of control,
A murder, a million deaths, 
A fight
Followed by isolation, 
A Disease,
Then God's favourite:
The body of Christ,
A pyramid balanced on its nose,
Structural and social failure,
Apocalyptic winds from all directions,
Moving the deck chairs around the Wilhelm Gustloff,
Sat praying for a miracle, 
As her internal organs fail,
Charging head long
Into death's cold, hard hands.
Prophecy of Necronomica
As we walk into Moses' fire burning mouth.

Be done man;
This is your locked door
Now that every door is locked.
All the people's mind's,
All the animal memories, 
All the doors of the dead,
All the remains,
All the great Art,
All of us gone,
And all that we did,

Start from black,
And there was light,
Peppering of materials and heat,
All matter of the universe,
Expanding from the size of human head.

Jez Sugars's picture

Un-published, I write for myself, a keen painter, and photographer.

Last updated January 05, 2015