Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
No one man should have so much power
You have the power to
rewind time
You have the power to
reverse an earthquake
You have the power to
feed those in need
You have the power to
make people see the truth
You have the power to
bring people together
You have the power to
change the world
I have the power to
make you smile
rewind time
You have the power to
reverse an earthquake
You have the power to
feed those in need
You have the power to
make people see the truth
You have the power to
bring people together
You have the power to
change the world
I have the power to
make you smile
Saturday, June 18, 2011
0 O Oh Owe
I am a dead angel in a glass coffin buried in a pile of leaves and the wind is everywhere and I am turning into dust
I am a rotting corpse in a museum in a forest on an island with a beach with black sand and diamonds
I am the shedded skin of a snake draped through the branches of a tree with no leaves in the middle of a thunder storm
I am a broken finger on a large hand covered in green paint half dried
I am a deadly poison in a chalice in a treasure chest buried in the sand in a sandpit in a school with 400 students who each know each others’ names
I am a chain wrapped around the limbs of a skeleton in a bedroom in a hut in a desert which seperates one ocean from another
I am a sleeping dog in the lounge of a centrally heated apartment with all the lights turned on in the middle of the day on a Wednesday
I am a coin in a jar in a cage in an otherwise empty room in an office building in London
I am a rotting corpse in a museum in a forest on an island with a beach with black sand and diamonds
I am the shedded skin of a snake draped through the branches of a tree with no leaves in the middle of a thunder storm
I am a broken finger on a large hand covered in green paint half dried
I am a deadly poison in a chalice in a treasure chest buried in the sand in a sandpit in a school with 400 students who each know each others’ names
I am a chain wrapped around the limbs of a skeleton in a bedroom in a hut in a desert which seperates one ocean from another
I am a sleeping dog in the lounge of a centrally heated apartment with all the lights turned on in the middle of the day on a Wednesday
I am a coin in a jar in a cage in an otherwise empty room in an office building in London
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Monday, May 2, 2011
Huggies are the best brand of disposable diapers
Hugo is a great name because it has the word hug in it
The word huge also has the word hug in it
Will someone called Hugo give me a huge hug?
The word huge also has the word hug in it
Will someone called Hugo give me a huge hug?
But I swear I'm not a paedophile
When I used to work at an after school care I was told not to hug the children but I did it anyway
Sunday, May 1, 2011
Tonight
Gorillas gnaw on bones, their fur coated in gore. Gorging themselves, gulping from golden goblets. The forest is alive. Every tree is a gravestone. Fruit falls from the branches and rots on the ground and feeds families of worms. Flies swarm around the gorillas’ thrones, curtaining them off from their subjects. Spiders drop from tree tops. Birds drop from the clouds. Bird droppings drop from birds. Tourists attempt to follow animal trails and loose themselves in a maze of tree roots tangling their way up out of the ground. Eventually the travellers find themselves at a cave mouth, the ceiling of which is studded with stalactites. They have been forewarned but they are determined. They have read all the guide books and learned the language. They set up camp and sing around the campfire. The ants inform the gorillas of the tourists’ presence. The gorillas grunt and grumble and get out their guns. The guns are polished. The tourists are Polish. As the sun rises they pack up camp and stride forth into the darkness. The glow worms guide them downward for weeks. Facial hair grows more quickly in the absence of light, so soon beards trail behind them, soaked by the liquid lapping at their feet. Somehow their cellphones still have reception and they use them as torches, their usually dim glow almost blinding under the circumstances.
Saturday, April 30, 2011
Last Night
I am grinning, teeth terrifying the young children who fill the building. My dentist lectures me. Educates me about everything. The walls are covered in certificates. I read his credentials. He is very well qualified. The chair reclines, rises, rotates. A carousel. There is a knock on the door. Carollers. Carroll, the receptionist, takes down their information. Books them each an appointment. Points to the door. They stampede through the hallways. The building vibrates. My phone vibrates. 27 missed calls. Windows shatter. Glass rains down upon passing pedestrians. Cars crash and I applaud loudly. Music plays in surround sound, drowning out the chaos. Then suddenly our time is up. The music stops and giant bells clang. I giggle my way through the carnage. Camera crews’ tug at cables tangled in rubble which fray and snap. I stop at a massage parlour for a rub down. I partake in hallucinogenic drugs. I don’t pay. The sky clouds over and over. Everyone takes shelter under the bridge. Waterfalls cage us in. Bodies press together and diseases spread. Snot crust clogs everyone’s throats. Children tap-dance toward us, avoiding cracks on the concrete. It begins to begin to rain. We look upward, opening our mouths wide, welcoming the wet spray on our faces. We dance up on each other, rubbing and grinding. We piss into the gutters until the sewers flood gold. I climb up a fire escape. I keep climbing through a gap in the clouds. There is a basketball court on the roof of the building. The building is a courthouse. I scrimmage with the judges. They object to all of my foul calls. “Man up.” They play a zone defence.
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Short Play 16
1: Just keep turning left.
2: Is this a road? I can't tell if this is a road. I can't tell which way is left. I can't see a thing. Can anyone see a thing?
1: I can see a thing
2: Is this a road? I can't tell if this is a road. I can't tell which way is left. I can't see a thing. Can anyone see a thing?
1: I can see a thing
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
It was the kind of thing you didn’t notice until you noticed it but once you noticed it you couldn’t not notice it
By 2008 we’d all had enough
Oh, I see, reverse psychology
I like you
This is a scrapbook
The last 4th of July
You’re a little turned on right now aren’t you
Yes you are
Come on come on come on come on
So that brings us to today
Oh, I see, reverse psychology
I like you
This is a scrapbook
The last 4th of July
You’re a little turned on right now aren’t you
Yes you are
Come on come on come on come on
So that brings us to today
Thursday, April 14, 2011
don't bring negative energy into my positive aura
i have fallen into a deep hole
i am extremely mature and fucked
the fire alarm went off in the library today
i’m feeling good right now
i feel like an empty can crushed in a girls clenched fist
i am extremely mature and fucked
the fire alarm went off in the library today
i’m feeling good right now
i feel like an empty can crushed in a girls clenched fist
Saturday, April 9, 2011
Halt!
Who goes there?
Are you friend?
Or are you faux?
Are ewe rich?
Oar are you pour?
Eye war a Batman suit
And ass kid pee pill
These quest shins.
My grammar watched me
From a safe diss stance,
Hole ding hour packed lunch.
Wee eight sand witches
And drank Jews.
Then we walked threw
Sum bushes and
I found a cool rock
Are you friend?
Or are you faux?
Are ewe rich?
Oar are you pour?
Eye war a Batman suit
And ass kid pee pill
These quest shins.
My grammar watched me
From a safe diss stance,
Hole ding hour packed lunch.
Wee eight sand witches
And drank Jews.
Then we walked threw
Sum bushes and
I found a cool rock
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Poem From 2008
Crash Course
(caveat emptor)
anything core2duo is perfectly fine
Vista Home Premium
dont bother with
ultimate
don't pay extra money for that antivirus shit.
take what comes free.
ill sort that shit out for you.
ram: 2 gigs is plenty
3 gigs is better
4 gigs is a waste
you know the system
bigger the better
(don't get too caught up though
250gb or 320 is fine
if you ever need to upgrade
external HDDs are dirtcheap)
i say 15.4" is good
cause 17" get heavy.
Mouse: dont buy their
overpriced bull.
UPGRADE BATTERY to 9 CELL.
useless having a small battery
sorta defeats the purpose.
as long as it doesnt say the word integrated it should be fine.
use this as a rough guide.
or not at all.
(caveat emptor)
anything core2duo is perfectly fine
Vista Home Premium
dont bother with
ultimate
don't pay extra money for that antivirus shit.
take what comes free.
ill sort that shit out for you.
ram: 2 gigs is plenty
3 gigs is better
4 gigs is a waste
you know the system
bigger the better
(don't get too caught up though
250gb or 320 is fine
if you ever need to upgrade
external HDDs are dirtcheap)
i say 15.4" is good
cause 17" get heavy.
Mouse: dont buy their
overpriced bull.
UPGRADE BATTERY to 9 CELL.
useless having a small battery
sorta defeats the purpose.
as long as it doesnt say the word integrated it should be fine.
use this as a rough guide.
or not at all.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Short Play 15
1: What are you doing today?
2: I've got a board meeting.
1: Oh yeah? I've got an interesting meeting
2: I've got a board meeting.
1: Oh yeah? I've got an interesting meeting
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Don't Forget To Floss!
I like fluffy things, like candyfloss.
I like pink things, like candyfloss.
When I was five I was sick and my mum bought me some candyfloss and I ate it and then I threw up. Since then the thought of candyfloss has made me sick. I fucking hate candyfloss.
I like pink things, like candyfloss.
When I was five I was sick and my mum bought me some candyfloss and I ate it and then I threw up. Since then the thought of candyfloss has made me sick. I fucking hate candyfloss.
Wrote this four years ago
A young boy had a good night. He got drunk, got high, got laid. It was the first time he’d done any of these. He had a good morning: he was hung over so he smoked a pack of newports (found on his brother’s desk) while reading the newspaper (found on his father’s) front to back. This was a new experience. He felt dirty. He took off his dirty clothes and ran himself a bath. The water was grey. He lay in the water and waited to be clean.
The dirty boy walked under the black sky, through the white rain to school. Sitting behind his wooden desk, with its metal legs, on his plastic chair. When asked what was wrong he told his teacher I’m a dirty boy.
As he walked home in his muddy shoes he cycled through what he’d learnt that day. He kept his eyes on the water in the gutter the whole way home while he stepped on every crack. Upon his arrival he found the front door locked and the pocket he kept his key in empty. He stepped around to the other side and walked in the open back door. Soon enough his clothes were on the floor and he was in the grey water.
Nights later he watched spiders abseil the walls from his place in the water. He posed to the shadowed mirror. Exposed his yellowing teeth. Poked his pinkish tongue, licked his smudged skin. Closed his grey eyes. Dilated his pupils.
In class he scratched his arms and pits. Licked his lips with his liquidless tongue. He excused himself to the bathroom, but it only held toilets and taps. He ran up and down flushing and running but the water was withheld, he could only wet his hands and feet. At lunch he left.
The next day he missed school for the first time, preferred to lay in the grey. The day after, he woke up in an empty bath and didn’t know what to do. He turned the taps back and forth to no effect, no drip. He knew he was unclean. Looked down at his hands, grey; his feet, grey. He looked at the mirror with crossed fingers and saw his face. Grey.
The dirty boy walked under the black sky, through the white rain to school. Sitting behind his wooden desk, with its metal legs, on his plastic chair. When asked what was wrong he told his teacher I’m a dirty boy.
As he walked home in his muddy shoes he cycled through what he’d learnt that day. He kept his eyes on the water in the gutter the whole way home while he stepped on every crack. Upon his arrival he found the front door locked and the pocket he kept his key in empty. He stepped around to the other side and walked in the open back door. Soon enough his clothes were on the floor and he was in the grey water.
Nights later he watched spiders abseil the walls from his place in the water. He posed to the shadowed mirror. Exposed his yellowing teeth. Poked his pinkish tongue, licked his smudged skin. Closed his grey eyes. Dilated his pupils.
In class he scratched his arms and pits. Licked his lips with his liquidless tongue. He excused himself to the bathroom, but it only held toilets and taps. He ran up and down flushing and running but the water was withheld, he could only wet his hands and feet. At lunch he left.
The next day he missed school for the first time, preferred to lay in the grey. The day after, he woke up in an empty bath and didn’t know what to do. He turned the taps back and forth to no effect, no drip. He knew he was unclean. Looked down at his hands, grey; his feet, grey. He looked at the mirror with crossed fingers and saw his face. Grey.
Saturday, April 2, 2011
Pills
Our family is a diseased thing. We all have pills. We share them. “Do you want some?” We share everything. Everything looks disgusting. Things ooze inwards. Our disease grows inward. Clutter spreads through the house. I am beginning to smell like my Father. I never leave the house. We are forgetting to speak. “Want some?” There are crusts. There are cracks. There are piles of dust. My Sister has dirt on her face. My Mother is swelling up. The windows are clouded over. There are hand prints. I am never hungry anymore. The lights don’t work anymore. No one goes to work anymore. We are paid not to leave the house. Something is growing from my back. We itch each other. Pills are delivered. We try to communicate. “Want?” “Some.” My Father cannot see. My Father cannot hear. He opens his mouth for pills. Sometimes I don’t give them to him. My Mother cannot walk. My Mother cannot leave her bed. Her sheets are crumbling. My Sister sleepwalks. My Sister does not wake. My Sister does not speak. The doors are locked. I scratch skin off my scalp. The floor is covered. I hear noises. I shake uncontrollably. I can no longer smell. The hairs are peeling off our bodies. My fingernails are black. There are no more mirrors. There is a film over the walls. The towels are disintegrating. My Sister coughs. Cuts no longer heal. There are no more pills. Things are beginning to blur. I breathe.
Friday, April 1, 2011
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