Saw that girl,
with her black & white shoes
Saw her teeter, but never fall
Saw her with her laced up legs
More nervous than before
Saw that girl,
her hair cut shot,
never quite the same
Overcome adversity
Go dancing in the rain
Saturday, May 14, 2011
Monday, May 9, 2011
Computer Art
Bridget Keena (@M_Ravenscroft) has shared a Tweet with you: "artnetdotcom: Pioneers of computer #art are in danger of becoming the lost generation of our cultural heritage http://artnt.cm/j8WEXC" --http://twitter.com/artnetdotcom/status/67561009992318977
Monday, October 25, 2010
Something Happened to September
Something happened to September
When I looked around she wasn't there
Wasn't displeased to have misplaced her
Just not sure where she could have gone
Looking forward to November
But December will be better
When I looked around she wasn't there
Wasn't displeased to have misplaced her
Just not sure where she could have gone
Looking forward to November
But December will be better
Friday, August 27, 2010
When You Pout Like That You Look Like a Malformed Hapsburg Princess
When you pout like that you look like a malformed Hapsburg princess.
Lower jaw stuck out to catch the drivel spewing forth from that moist slit.
Your father gets off each night imagining you bent over his knee. Beating you both to a pulp.
No matter how high the heels, you're still stepping in shit.
A hot brand will still burn.
Little princes have bowed legs and tricorner hats.
Lower jaw stuck out to catch the drivel spewing forth from that moist slit.
Your father gets off each night imagining you bent over his knee. Beating you both to a pulp.
No matter how high the heels, you're still stepping in shit.
A hot brand will still burn.
Little princes have bowed legs and tricorner hats.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Holding Pattern
I'm stuck in a holding pattern.
The loop repeats.
While I wait to be raised from my slumber, worms writhe behind my eyes.
My coffee has gone cold.
No more worshipping of false idols. I will no longer wear the Hellenic costume for your benefit.
When I place my hand in yours the ground opens up and swallows me whole.
Basta!
I will not be subsumed.
The loop repeats.
While I wait to be raised from my slumber, worms writhe behind my eyes.
My coffee has gone cold.
No more worshipping of false idols. I will no longer wear the Hellenic costume for your benefit.
When I place my hand in yours the ground opens up and swallows me whole.
Basta!
I will not be subsumed.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
The Demented Doctor
I stumbled into the Demented Doctor in a overcast lane next to the mews.
His eyes held the light which signalled the calm before the storm.
The last time I had seen him, he was rocking back and forth on his bent knees, holding his head, as he made a noise somewhere between maniacal laughter and keening. The syrup emitted from his ruptured pores and mixed with the battery acid leaking from olafactory organs.
I faked to the right before throwing myself behind the cast iron gates.
As I climbed the stunted excuse for a staircase, I could hear the banshees wailing.
Black wings hovered overhead and the bells began to chime.
His eyes held the light which signalled the calm before the storm.
The last time I had seen him, he was rocking back and forth on his bent knees, holding his head, as he made a noise somewhere between maniacal laughter and keening. The syrup emitted from his ruptured pores and mixed with the battery acid leaking from olafactory organs.
I faked to the right before throwing myself behind the cast iron gates.
As I climbed the stunted excuse for a staircase, I could hear the banshees wailing.
Black wings hovered overhead and the bells began to chime.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Text Message from a Ghoul
The ghoul raised his head again. Typically with a text message at dawn.
"I miss you."
I don't miss the slimy hands or the hooked claws. I don't miss the constant rumble. I don't miss the vapid arguments.
Now I can pace the vacant corridors without white elephants in the way. Now I can lie spreadeagled. Now I can trust the dirt.
Still scraping off barnacles from the inside of my skull.
No more fez. No more Palestinian battlecrys. No more peasant bashing.
Lots more war paint. Fighting fit. Feeling comfortable in one's own skin.
Molotov's the right weight in my hand. Easier if its not double glazed. Pity about the collateral damage.
She branded my mistakes into my pale flesh with every lash of that forked tongue; while she continued giving her paedophile lover a hand. While she reminisced over the glory days of group sex with overly robust men.
And she still gets off on hand to hand combat.
"I miss you."
I don't miss the slimy hands or the hooked claws. I don't miss the constant rumble. I don't miss the vapid arguments.
Now I can pace the vacant corridors without white elephants in the way. Now I can lie spreadeagled. Now I can trust the dirt.
Still scraping off barnacles from the inside of my skull.
No more fez. No more Palestinian battlecrys. No more peasant bashing.
Lots more war paint. Fighting fit. Feeling comfortable in one's own skin.
Molotov's the right weight in my hand. Easier if its not double glazed. Pity about the collateral damage.
She branded my mistakes into my pale flesh with every lash of that forked tongue; while she continued giving her paedophile lover a hand. While she reminisced over the glory days of group sex with overly robust men.
And she still gets off on hand to hand combat.
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