rambles, rumbles, cymbals & stumbles

windblown & westbound

2008-09-27T17:07:00.000-07:00

your crystalline lips haunt this room,
smeared red onto your pillow,
and a pout over my full name,
on the first page,
and the last page,
of the diary i photocopied,
when you kept bar, that summer,
bookends, one for the start,
and one for the tearfalls,
raindrops over fountain pens,
mascara smeared words,
surrounded by rouge infautation,
within withered cardboard walls.

crescendo

2008-09-27T17:04:00.001-07:00

you were born 4 months late,
or me 6 months too early,
stuck on allegro and lento,
the horns are out of time,
& the strings a cacophony,
of snapping bows,
& dimmer glows,
every night your kisses missed.

scribbled

2008-06-30T10:10:00.000-07:00

banshee screams over under through
my overwrought dreams
of hail stones and halos
half mumbled hellos
golden geese
& the patina of weathered limestone

sheltered boyhoods
funeral pallor falsehoods
cedars hold leaves
like mothers hide thieves
bolthole and priesthole
jumped bail/parole

repeatrepeatrepeattofade

2008-06-22T15:46:00.001-07:00

he traces the same old steps,
following the lines of his regrets,
boots lying heavy, on and on,
down the path until it's done.

the wires leap and twine,
down the rails, all through time,
heartbeats and distortion,
limbs shiver in contortion.

anciens

2008-02-21T13:06:00.000-08:00

it's been awhile, my lonely little blog...cast adrift onto the waves of the internet sea.
left to the sharks of the ocean to chew at its weary carcass

or alternatively, i forgot the blog for a while, screw the pretentious sixth form poetry. Probably not even sixth form. year five. year three. year r. nursery school. toddler. womb. egg.
egg poetry. that's what this is.
.
.
.
a spider crawls around the edge of my cobwebbed and dustbound bedroom.
il n'y a pas de soleil.
shutters are pulled tight, keeping out the wizened clouds that pile over ma maison. dans la campagne. dans la france. are my volcabulary skills impressing you? am i dazzling you?
no?

sorry.

i'm just trying to get by. i've barely moved from my crumpled sheets, and mattress more springframe than comfort. limbs withered to their scrawny bones, paralysed in slow, slow asphyxia. all i have is a phrase book, water damaged and dog eared, most of the typescript faded away.

i've been living off the tinned cans that line the walls. rustspotted and decades old. my faithful old pocket knife follows the typical literary conventions, and remains my faithful old pocket knife. sustaining me on tinned peaches and tomato soup.

each night i fall into a deep slumber, the static filled quiet lulling my brain into rapideyemovement.
a(sleep)

crashcymbal

2007-09-21T14:47:00.000-07:00

i stumbled into work, bleary and broken from too little sleep, too many sketches.
the ache in my side was growing, eating away at my kidney, my liver, whatever I couldn't tell. guess it's from all the pretzels. it's all i can handle these days. my guts are rotting in situ. haven't slept in months. insomnia trapping me, i stay up. creating.
sketches, writing. trying to avoid the pretentions and cliches, so common place....
yet this is full of them....a plot done to death...i cant help it. no sleep comes as i try to dodge these words, try to find new ways of saying, writing, drawing....allusions, metaphors, similes.

someone let off a crashcymbal by my ear. please.
wake me from soporific lows, sparkling highs.
the world is full of crashing bores, cries the lyricist.
wax on/wax off.
fly away, fly away home
*clickclick*

moodhightothehoodcitybanksmoke

stimbling II

2007-09-20T12:18:00.000-07:00

I walked out to my mud speckled Chevrolet, more dust than green metallic sheen. Chucking my shoulder bag in the back, I stuffed my savings into the canvas folds.

My eyes were buzzing, black shapes swimming across my eyes, like leaves in a river. Massaging my temples I tried to gather thoughts, extract espers and whispers and tapers from the sinkhole.

Plug pulled.

Taps running.

....lost it...gone....where?...out.....shift....back.....
What/why/when?

The river poured over me....

stimbling

2007-09-19T08:00:00.000-07:00

I sauntered up to the woman, confidence falling from my every step like sparks from a fire. They spooled out into a trail behind me, my meteoric progress across the linoleum a sight to behold.

It was one of those buildings that shoot up like bamboo across the town. Grey. Concrete. Concertinaed and crumbling already. Fading back into the desert scrub they crushed.

I could see her, eyeing me up. Looking me up and down. Thinking "is he going to be trouble?" Assessing the risk. Watching the situation. Wary. Guarded.

"What can I help you with today sir?" Curt, polite, aware.

"I need my money. Now."

"Can I have your details please?"

"Here"

She looks them over, dials them into the ancient computer system that must have run the Byzantium empire.

"I'm sorry Mike, you can only withdraw $500 in any 24 hour period, so I cannot give you all the money you have deposited in your account."

"Fine, whatever. Get me it as quick as you can."

A dustball rolled past. I felt like I'd stumbled into some wild west hell. Some ghost town suddenly transported into 50s architecture hell with added crimplene.

She handed me the crisp green sheets. Pocketing them swiftly to hide them from any ne'er-do-wells and banditos I hurried from the cracked hulk out the sliding doors. Emerging into the dry desert air of the mid west I tried to remove the stench of wet weekend savings and despair from my heart.
.....

tangents

2007-09-18T17:42:00.000-07:00

hearts fly along
falling off the rails and running down the tracks
tears streaming down, puddling and pooling
farewells to all, goods packed up into the knapsack/haversack/bivouac

piles tottering on spindles and sand
biros and sheets, breeches strung
mandolins and ukes croon
across daisies and meadows
a winsome tale of soleil fading

sparkle vistas

2007-09-14T06:03:00.000-07:00

soon...

warmfuzzglow happy bubble memories
billiard table green and spuds in the soil
roots out to the ground and estate boogie woogie

soon...

crashing, crushing, dashing, blushing

2007-09-14T05:38:00.000-07:00

crashing inertia breeds tedium breeds grey matter collapse neurons blocked synapses falter/syntax fails
laying back in deskchair...
spirals enveloping my brain as eyes become dashed pixel fonts
thoughts spool up on the reel, bells ding ding dings trying to catch up with the retinas
treeline retreats in a deathly funeral pallor
family picking up broken crockery in the parlour
a trashcan, a dustbin, an elevator man
workstationMDFplasticdialupticktock
post it notes stuck on the screen
drafts and edits and redos
clay moulding into man moulding into dust
man baked in kiln biscuit soft
whitspittled on the dancefloor neon
gramps on the bellowphone
rombined and gyrating
scoped on the reflex
nonsense rhymes and drifting minds
printprintprint
typetypetype
hyphon/dash/dot/comma/full stop

2007-09-10T16:13:00.000-07:00

velveteen
sheen
shine
glimmer glamour
glummer dumber

(i'm drunk, i think i'll stop)
ciao bellax
ps snails in the wine, taps on the wire. nudge nudge, wink wink, say no more, say no more
pps dripping taps, sipping gin, glugging wine, thinking again...
ppps im buying stuff tomorrow. im a consumer, hark at my top hat and tails
(i'm definitely stopping now)

whipcracksnap

2007-09-09T07:07:00.000-07:00

tapper tapping on a keyboard. waiting for inspiration.
a missive?
about what?
nothing really....a load of pretentious waffle caused by task avoidance and procrastination

soulmate's away. swimming in the sun afar.
lay down. "bedrest is what you need, my son"
internal monologues and mulch mucking up the threads and spindles filling my weary cranium

*sigh*

scrambled mess, visions of leopards and trees....static....bombs.... apocalypticwashedoutgreytumbledownconcrete shacks
kids play with shrapnel
rabid dog mobs raid the supermarket
death...holler....silence

when it started...

2007-09-08T16:28:00.000-07:00

hold the fireworks.
put down the sparklers.
tonite a blog starts. with not a bang or spark to be seen. no glows over the hills.
no colourful explosions or joy leaping in your heart.
it's a blog.
of stuff.
i write.