Outsider Poetry, Music & Art

2009-06-28T04:25:00.000+10:00

Twelve guitars that failed to teach me enlightenment,
milk-crate furniture that failed to make me cool or edgy,
(but nonetheless has been very practical so far)
encircles my reflection, that serene surrendered moment,
and ah, 12 photographs that remind me where I've been -
lately my identity seems to have been slipping.

Laughter sounds in another's rooms
whose doors have erections at crotch-level.
In their hemispheres of shit, they seek love,
or pass the time pretending to.
I live out a lie: repositioning my posture in pathetic mimicry,
while I attend to the grace of falling.

In the uneasiness of alone, I ride large the storm
electrifying myself with a science of scienceless aesthetic!
This, I have elevated to the status of a god-concept, sacrosanct.
But neither it nor l can be fulfilled,
or have not yet figured out how, or why.
Under whose will do we leave the womb?
Perhaps I was born to fight things, for some people.

A number of books I have not yet read
point at me and laugh from up high,
depicting the portrait of my failures coming closer.
I take it all in my stride,
and make a decision to decide to defeat them.
Have them inside, a deicide, as I eat them.

Short one.

2009-06-08T02:24:00.002+10:00

I'll wash the taste of your lips
away with this gin.
After our last kiss,
yours was the love
I knew I would miss.

2009-06-07T20:41:00.004+10:00

Wars.

Shin stabbing, rip apart
the pieces of the flesh.
A rough-headed roustabout
who's sure to leave a mess.

What you could do wasn't good enough -
you left it half-finished, now it's ended.
Broken in two like a cigarette, alone
with the torment you have tendered

I mistook pity for love -
love for myself, not another.
Washed away in my own blood,
I stopped accepting the other.

Welding on the steel to the bone:
the strap came and made me quite stroppy.
Answering, these ten questions of hurt
the voice that answers seems to be choppy.

Girl, you can put anything you want there
as long as the feeling is right
Stick in some scissors and tear it apart
so you can see the wound in my light.

I couldn't walk for a year or two...

I couldn't see...

Yes, I am still publishing.

2009-06-03T22:16:00.003+10:00

6 months in the making, I bring to you a poem that is over two years old.

Nothing, Nowhere.

Nothing: as in nowhere.
Bleeding in your underwear.
Coming through the fucking front door,
forged in absolute bliss,
was the ever-permeating kiss.

No, I don't feel it,
I can't see it,
I cannot hear it,
yet I can be near it.
Let me just lick it up -
but won't it just fuck me up?

Let's do it all day long;
sit on my face, get to my sweet place.
I'm so fucked up,
I don't even care:
I'm still bleeding
in your underwear.

I'm spaced out, darling,
and I want something to eat.
Well, I know of a food
that's sweeter than sweet.
Do you want to get drunk with me?
Or do you not have the stones?
I got a feelin',
you've been waiting to jump my bones.

I'm so fucked up,
it's morning,
and I know I shouldn't feel this way
when it's late
in the evening -
but the sunlight is my disarray.

You bent over
and I climbed up on your back
(we had a little yack,
about that,
about this.
OH! About that ever-permeating kiss)

You are like a terrible joke,
but where there's fire there might be smoke,
and you treated me like a garbage bin -
I'm just something for you to throw things in.

Waiting (anxious grief)

2008-12-31T04:32:00.002+11:00

Sometimes the only thing to do is throw up your hands and say "fuck it! I am a little bit nervous about screwing this up, because this girl is just that special" - even if you don't necessarily want to feel that way about anyone.

"Waiting anxious Grief"

Waiting, in my anxious grief,
you had the nerve to steal me like a thief.
I wonder if I'll get less nervous in time
as I walk this burnt and broken line.

These girls (who want to sleep with me)
I can only hope they'll set me free,
because a worry fills my lonely cell.
Yeah, love has come and sent my head to hell

In gold an in brown my stomach heaves -
Emergency: we'll burn these dying leaves.
What should I say to who I should ring?
Self esteem lost touches ev'ry thing.

And I am outside, all the time
brandishing a stupid, empty rhyme.
Wherein no truth or tact is found
and hope lies bleeding, helpless, on the ground.

Perspective

2008-12-31T04:26:00.002+11:00

A song from a dream.

Perspective.

Getting some perspective on perspective (from a distance).
Giving good time a run / a break from your money.
Chasing up cloud dreams / a storm for your body.
Exhaling perpendicular to parallel and all there is in between

I was never born to float this bubble
I was never born to float this dream
I was never born to feel this troubled
I could never muster enough steam.

Retro-compiling consciousness in an exegesis of psychology.
Multiple divergency: the error of the psychonaut.
Undefined consequence - cororarily cancelled on a mis-fired synapse
I am one, am all, am one, am all, am one, am naught.

I was never born to float this bubble
I was never born to float this dream
I was never born to feel this troubled
I could never muster enough steam.

Wandering with a wanderlust that's carving out a sermon.
Breathing in the shadows that flitter through the time-crawl.
Far away, on a distant star, a cosmos sighs relief
and fills a honeycomb with a wonderment that beggars all belief.

I was never born to float this bubble
I was never born to float this dream
I was never born to feel this troubled
I could never muster enough steam.

Experiential insight (now you're in for the whole enchilada),
drawing close the things you know and people have said to you.
I wonder through the misty haze (that burns a shadow on my brain)
whether all is one, or one is all, or if I've misbehaved.

I was never born to float this bubble
I was never born to whip this cream
I was never born to feel this troubled
I was floating lost within a dream.

Obfuscation

2008-12-12T23:21:00.003+11:00

After all we went through, you left me, and the only recourse I had was to write this stupid poem. I remember the good times we had together, and they make me hope you're going to be happy.

Obfuscation.
A journey through a broken love.

We're all guilty of loving you:
of having brushed our hands
against the litheness of your back.
All we'll be guilty of afterwards...

I'm guilty of having liked you;
of having had you; of holding you.
Guilty thoughts: "I love you",
"I await you", "I destroy you".

Whilst the obfuscation syndrome
(that shadow from beneath my skull),
crawl'd across the floor
through the dust and the mud.

We're all guilty of loving you -
of dreaming you, exploring you.
Setting search by starlight
for the intimate delight.

The promise of your politeness
and perky, chocolate nipples -
enough to send me mad, quite mad!
For joy is rare occasion'd.

Empirically we think we search for obfuscation:
yours within the word (and smell), with mine beneath the eyes.
Yet I miss you, and I'm begging you,
return to me at once!

Of this, I must (Confessed, and flow allowed under the sky).
All you'll be guilty of afterwards...
All we'll be guilty of afterwards...
All I'll be guilty of afterwards...

is letting you walk by.

For weal
or woe -
Goodbye.

Waved Good-bye

2008-11-22T19:41:00.004+11:00

Another song post.

Waved Good-bye.

As usual, tonight
I am there,
With casual fingers coursin' through
my casual hair.

With nails being buried
beneath my spine
Oh the blackness is sublime
(and it's all mine).

And I wonder
just where you were,
when the blackness in my head
turned upside down.
Oh the ceilings,
became the floor
(waved goodbye),
and nothing has been the same since then.

I see you turn
away from me,
and I bear the curse.
I bathe my head in treachery
to wash away the sin of my pride
my silent silence
(inside).

And I wonder
(with longing hands on my longing head)
of what it's like
to be
a little more together in the head
I find myself as a supplement,
a sacrifice for a sacrament.
But what my soul was found lacking in
that was bountiful in you.

A little chord prog experiment
(that in the lab bcame intelligent)
turned out to be heaven sent -
I foolishyly fell in love with you.

Haddad on High

2008-11-22T01:50:00.003+11:00

Cool kisses,
beneath my skin.
I spread my wings,
you sink within
the storm that rages
between my thighs -
The black then bleeds
from out my eyes.

Because I settle
on the beast
I find
in you,
my dark
and brooding
monster.

Thieves (in silence,
that shell my harbour)
feel so turgid
in lustful ardour.
A raunchy, burlesque
cabaret:
I take them home
I fuck all day.

I fuck the florrid flurry assembled,
In an ocean of organic consequence.
I fuck the ocean, the sky, the earth,
And with my quickening breath give birth

Oh! To the stars! To the moons and the planets!
The liquid cosmos, pulsing alive!
The micro and macrocosm, entwined from the start,
(but all to myself, and all in my heart).

Jars 2.0

2008-11-13T01:52:00.004+11:00

Jars is still in progress. A singer I currently work with (shoutouts to K. Taylor!) has helped in the creation of this revision. I call it 2.0. Jars is the only pure-song* that has yet been posted on this site.

*Meaning that it is purely meant to be a song, not a poem.

Jars

I covered my foot with mud
the other day.
It discordantly took me
away,

To the time when i played in the soil -
a little girl
(just a little girl) -
encasing things in jars.

My remorse hangs a horse
it's the bookie's odds that'll kill you.
Like a race-track nose-bleed,
this is a drug that will still you

in my belly ( sharp and poison'd,
deep inside me, poisoned stars).
How'd I earn these empty shoes i walk in?
by putting things in jars

What do we think we keep in the jars then?
Spiders, or a sharp.
What do we think we keep in the jars then?
The losers of our heart.
What do we think we keep in the jars then?
Those that simply aren't.
What do we think we keep in the jars then?
All with which we start:

black, pagan concepts.

The coccoon ( or shell )
might fall apart
from the start,
and will never grow in this place.

But you can't kill a
a dreamer's dream
(it's in his skull).
The infertile decay
saps my strength all away.

One day at a time
is all it'll take
(with these snakes).
They just want to tell me so
I just want to go (far away).

Imaginary photographs
on a plastic shine.
Well my god's got his,
but I still don't got mine.

What do you think we call those in jars then?
The poisons of our heart.
Where do you think we keep all those jars then?
Furthest from our heart.
What do you think we keep in the jars then?
Jars in jars in jars.
What do you think the jars keep in jars then?
That of which they're part:

black, pagan concepts.

Enki Wandered South Of Nan

2008-03-20T22:31:00.001+11:00

In disgusting profusity you grow me here a tree
Of illegitimate abundance - the bastard son of a crow.
And Mithras was nailed to a tree by Mithras,
By Mithras, the tree has been stolen.

In lies enveloping Gilgamesh
(enveloping Enki and Ishtar)
Dragging to earth the heavenly bull:
Parading it in nightly paroxysm.

So what would we know from it's bleeding, this crow?
Do we eat it's crow eyes for our insight?
More wisdom than learnt in its cawing, it's birdsong
Is sunburnt by billowing ragtime. We'll dig on this day for it's bones

In a copse of cold cryptomeria,
an antiquity, a black gulf of time.
Petrified pan-spermotopia -
the retributivist roles of our gods!

Outsider Poetry, Music & Art: On the appropriateness of metaphors...

2008-03-04T19:38:00.000+11:00

Outsider Poetry, Music & Art: On the appropriateness of metaphors...

http://goprairie.blogspot.com/2008/03/things-in-jars.html

On the appropriateness of metaphors...

2008-01-28T03:50:00.001+11:00

JARS.

As spider closes in,
and wheels turn square.
The death of my hope:
My body's crazy dreams.

Turn the tap
to drain the cask
but do not take
is all I ask.

Can you
deny me
Fulfillment
of this task?

In my belly,
sharp and poison.
In my belly,
poison'd stars.
How'd I earn these
empty shoes I walk in?
By putting things
in Jars.

Glass room (watching denial)
nobody's watching me now
Noone, then, is laughing
at mother nature's clown.

I'm a loser, I'm a guy
with a want to succumb
To an un-ending, lovely dream
of being bored and dumb.

In running away, you altered me,
like a refugee fleeing
Your love was like a burning blurry thing
that's just beyond my seeing.

In my BELLY
sharp and poison
Deep beneath (these)
burning stars.
All I've learnt
are empty lessons
from things I've kept
in JARS.

My knife is my psyche
(whispers in my secret inner ear)
Two ways of departing
all I've collected here.

All the stars have burnt up,
All the hate, relieved.
The sky of my stomach -
ablaze no more -
for all have disbelieved...

In my infamous Jars.

"There's shoes in your bloodstream! (so now I know where to find your drugs...)

2008-01-28T03:32:00.000+11:00

Lotus shrink fabien or Teapots

Spasming plasma
(the red home of rage)
Oh the myopic miasma
deceiving my age.

A species of feline
With teeth infinite or none
Crouch'd beyond treeline
A deadlier heroism ne'er undone.

Leaf
To love you
I LEAF
to love you
shrinkbackpissed/toosober

It is you! With fine roman mien
set ablaze to fiery, fiery fire!
"There's shoes in your blood stream"
("In your veins" I do say)
So now I know where you've been hiding your drugs
(You dumb, blonde, fuck)

Can you shudder in disgust
at the ghost of a fat, festered kiss?
Or is it quiver with lust
you, for my hot, bitter piss?

Turning, Burn,
these misty fields, I run
This pink wetness (oh, tongue! yearn)
To have the shrinking searing city on my tongue.

Slide in daggers
one after another.
Those disappearing:
Another, Another.
Up several slimy messy holes they go.
go away.

And GO CAT, GO!
With claws over your eyes.
BITE! Lapping the dream-milk from my brain.

Let me make love to your corpse,
sweetheart.
Oh that this refuse was human.

The final solution.

2008-01-05T00:42:00.000+11:00

The only truth in suicide's age.

Bitter blackness, boiling brew
My victory: Myself I slew.
And yet, to finish, raised the knife
I found that I could not go through.

Tore down walls instead with rage
on instinct - acting half my age.
I was built to breed this hatred,
I was born to burn my own page.

Plaque, some envy and a tooth decaying
found my demon, got to slaying
A raunchy burlesque cabaret
My self, My enemy, My own betraying.

Scattered

2008-01-05T00:34:00.000+11:00

SCATT'RED

I have never been elected
I have served but a throne.
Empty when I ask for care.

TAUTOPHONIC SCREAM
humid lucid dream
SHOUT AWAKE SCIENCE
burst through the seam.

And yes? I attacked on weakness?
But I do not share that view
Fermentinfatuation
By the relentless strength in you.

Silent waves crashing sea-ward caves -
The infinity of your defense.
But I can draw no prize from here
for I am an offence.

Here I hate this absence of old
repeating the fiction of hurt.

I was stuck halfway
between scattered
and stoned.

Deceiter

2008-01-05T00:28:00.000+11:00

Deceiter.

So here I am, writing lies
for LOVE of leaving nothing else,
As poetry ambiguous
clouds neither brain nor body.

Damn you, Gravestone,
and the coldness here interned.
You don't share that secret
which I alone would die for.

Pagan-godless heathen, jew,
Alphabets within Alphabets
Idiosyncryptic contexts
and nervousness.

I kill three men a year
one, a baby
one, a bore
one (who used to guide me)
can dead guide me no more.

Turnaway in time
Runaway in tears
What did you expect of me?
I'm constructed from your fears.

From a girl

2008-01-04T03:00:00.001+11:00

OF ALL THE PEOPLE
in the world, why would you choose to appear to me?
to see you was to lose half of my senses. not to have seen
you would be more unbearable still. I saw you just standing
there - your soul seemed to radiate
from beneath your skin. I
wondered that your body could contain such a spirit. Could any vessel
really hold you for long?

- Anonymous

2008-01-04T02:52:00.000+11:00

There's the smell of gin,
that takes me back
(and I feel this, write this,
just for you)

You used to say you'd come over
And I would wait around
in my back yard
But you would never show up.

I was ready to love you
But some nights you didn't show up.
I'd call you and ask where you were
And be here, you'd say you would, "Soon."

And then I even thought the hurt was gone,
it lurked around some time-dark corner.
Puppy-Jungle Monkey-Love
or Puppy Love Puppy-Love
Don't you ever end or leave

2008-01-04T02:25:00.000+11:00

#@$#!$#

Whisper quiet brown
secrets witnessed;
since collapse of starfall, time
the brown paper bag of eternity,
or the day you were crowned
with a toilet-roll tiara.

Hymns of the elderly
(secrets) we are witnessed
Hitler to today
kissed me only
on my
spine.

Whispet BROWN to EARTH (am I boring you?)
tell her compassion from weakness.
Tell her you thought you loved her,
but you don't care for fucking kindness.
Like this laughing during the middle
of a race-track nose-bleed.
Blank stare absorbed in the geometricity of the universe
the blind doom of the empty cubicle next to yours.
Such arcanity surges from commonplace
to fill you with the enormity of singuler, disconnected existence.
The human race, of old was known, to draw within it's shell.
Concrete molestation sable bard manifold.

Re-affirm denial
the shell-shock horror
in my sweaty palms.
The alligned and sorrow'd foot, a
shadow striking stalking burning blisters in the night.
And struck, shock struck terror - shock,
a sordid dagger in suicide's chest.

Clean and savvy parliament
witnessed
(Doing whisper to the trees)
The things you told their cousins
sprucewood elder and the ash;

and the crumpled paper bag
brown
paper bag
begs me for eternity.

Dawn (Before Sleep) Drawn Deep (The Way To Go)

2008-01-04T02:12:00.000+11:00

Dawn (Before Sleep) Drawn Deep (The Way To Go)

Teutron T. NEUTRON... discovr'r of the bomb.
Scientific FACTS and stimuli
- my word!

So was it you? That sent me here?!
On starvation & loathing
dressed in women's clothing
I slipped between the quantum phase.

`I thought The Way To Go
WAS TO GO NOWHERE AT ALL.'
It was like floating on the sun
and all I'd ever done
was to go no where

So I made my 5am booty-call
to a frigid lobster-shrimp virgin
And pleaded and begged;
probably she frowned,
having not seen me
in this mood before.

The very next day at 6am I had an appointment to get a blood test,
but I needed to see a shrink.

I was brought a bible
by my favourite T.V. Programs.
Never wanted to receive a punch in eye.
Blackened, laddered heartthrob stockings,
double-barrelled-mental-lockings;
and ALL I'D EVER DONE
WAS TO SHARE MY STUPID SECRETS,
and go,
nowhere,
nowhere at all.
could this all be a dream?

Riding The Incest Worm

2008-01-04T01:33:00.000+11:00

1. Scarlett Promises

I have all my mother gave me
Guilty pretending affection
All kisses love strain
who could know (or guess) A WOMAN.

The emptiness doesn't hurt
pain is a struggle for fullness.
Emotionlessness a gene (like good skin)
that I protection faulted.

I land arse-first
like a blunt, drunk robot.
I had promised to be good
but only ever to myself.

AND I always was selfish:
never showed my love,
never shared myself.
and I became quite small.

2. Black Self-Knowledge

Prone-positional pain,
that lump in my throat again.
Ragged disdain
my own mould of temperament.

AND ALL NIGHT I TALKED ABOUT MYSELF
in the uninsightful hope of someone liking me.
I read a poem and sang then songs
and MISTOOK MYSELF FOR A FUCKING ART SHOW
again.

I was inwards of illusion.

"I am a problematic, pretentious social plebian,
and that doesn't begin or end!"
(That there were no solutions, I could not see yet)

Deeper down I dislike my dad.
Now malign my mother as well.
And TIME undoes these ragged stays,
that we lock into position with sweat,
and keys of ribosomes and nucleotides...
and the BLACK kisses
of blood kinship.