Saturday, December 26, 2009

shapeless blasphemers - the one with the best tits is invariably satanic.

bracket phrases lost in a strobe-light conversation - i distinctly remember laying there on the couch, wired out on bromo-dragonfly and watching tank girl while the words started to click

like a typewriter eating tinfoil; in my ears (in my head) they jangled and stood out - sharp idioms or moments of well put-together malcontent that really, in all due justification, deserved an entire page devoted to what led up to - and how the reader was supposed to recover from such pithy insight

and pithy it was, because they stuck in my teeth (& in my craw) but i could never hold them long enough to [i]write the bastards down[/i]

only i know i had them god damn it, you blasphemous pigs

what was i thinking

what am i thinking

what have i become? the same nail in wave after wave of board

different paint same rotten woodplanks
glistening, blistering white woodplanks
which danced like fireflies in the dark, and slowly they came

the young, the needy, the bored

a cultured pageantry of self-obsession and rounded off sentences

that; moments after being handed their engineer's cap and set in charge of their very own steam engine

chose to plow headlong into the nearest embankment and tried, vainly, to see who amongst them could shout for help the loudest and be uniquely burnt out the fastest

this is not who you want to be. i am not who you want to be. put away the powders and the pills - i'm going to stop playing doctor, and you're all going to get better.

... right?

Friday, December 25, 2009

i am somewhat concerned

i think i am overdosing


Thursday, December 24, 2009

graves and christmas cognac

You would not believe your eyes
If ten million fireflies
Light up the world as i fell asleep
Cause they fill the open air
And leave teardrops everywhere
You'd think me rude
But i wouuld just stand and stare
I'd like to make myself believe that planet earth turns slowly
It's hard to say that i'd rather stay awake when i'm asleep
Cause everything is never as it seems

Cause i'd get a thousand hugs
From ten thousand lightning bugs
As they tried to teach me how to dance
A foxtrot above my head
A sockhop beneath my bed
A disco ball is just hanging by a thread
I'd like to make myself believe that planet earth turns slowly
It's hard to say that i'd rather stay awake when i'm asleep
Cause everything is never as it seems
When i fall asleep
Leave my door open just a crack
Please take me away from here
Cause i feel like such an insomniac
Please take me away from here
Why do i tire of counting sheep
Please take me away from here
When i'm far too tired to fall asleep
To ten million fireflies
I'm weird cause i hate goodbyes
I got misty eyes as they said farewell
But i'll know where several are
If my dreams get real bizzare
Cause i saved a few and i keep them in a jar

I'd like to make myself believe that planet earth turns slowly
It's hard to say that i'd rather stay awake when i'm asleep

Cause everything is never as it seems
When i fall asleep
I'd like to make myself believe that planet earth turns slowly
It's hard to say that i'd rather stay awake when i'm asleep
Cause everything is never as it seems
When i fall asleep
I'd like to make myself believe that planet earth turns slowly
It's hard to say i'd rather stay awake when i'm asleep
Because my dreams are bursting at the seams

Wednesday, December 23, 2009

who am i?

somebody asked me that today; and i found myself at a total loss for a coherent answer that really gave you the whole picture - so i'm going to try now. feel free to give me feedback and suggestions for additions or removals.

i'm a freelance journalist and musician with a taste for sadomasochism, firearms and exotic narcotics. i smoke too much, speak too loudly and fuck too little. the only thing i hate more then myself is almost everybody around me; but I cannot turn down a good party. music is a massive part of my life - aside from producing and mixing psychedelic trance i draw massive personal influence and direction from the gigsbytes of pirated tunes clusterfucking my hard drive.

I have the standards of a drunk new yorker in thailand, and the morals of the bar staff serving him. I am a developing amphetamine addict, former member of the armed forces and I touch up nuns to even the score with the catholic church.

I'll babysit your kids for the price of a bottle of gin and a handful of seconal.

be my friend?

be my friend?

red rover; blue falcon

they say love is blind, but i think it just keeps overlooking me deliberately.

do i exist? please prove to me i'm real

surely you know what i mean - you spend enough time walking away from someone or watching them walk away from you that you start to question that this isn't just the mad fantasy of an emotional sadist with a typewriter and a head full of bad acid?

a sick parody, a weird pageant of heartbreak and disappointment.

you start to ask yourself; no way could this be chance - but you know you don't deserve it, so there's no logical reason for all the heartwrench and gutclench.

you look real - lonely, but real.

i just wanted to try and connect with a pixel ghost - someone i know nothing about except a picture, and see what came out of the datastream.

one way or another this will answer my questions.

What DAW is right for you?

FL is for n00bs.
GarageBand is for n00bs with Macs.
Logic is for the wealthy elite. And nobody likes the wealthy elite.
Sonar is for people who want Cubase, but can't find a torrent for it.
Cubase is for people who want Sonar, but also want people to know they paid for it.
ProTools is for studio snobs.
ReNoise is for people afraid to abandon old technology.
Live is for DJ's who think they can produce.
Acid is for people too lazy to learn anything else.
Reaper is for poor people. (after 30 days it's for poor people who like stealing software)
Reason is for people who refuse to think outside the box.
Energy XT is for people who aren't hung up on making "good music".
Microsoft Sound Recorder is's pretty awesome actually.

in other news, you ALL need to go check out THE MOLLUSK and buy his latest record... off the chains organic semisynthetic CHUNK AND FUNK fresh out of melbourne. sticky and sloppy bass with wireline synths and biorhythmic syncopation. DIG YA HEELS IN AND BOOGIE

Tuesday, December 22, 2009


Are you hungry?
Are you sick?
Are you begging for a break?

Step into the parlour, children - Line right up, eyeball the weird and wonderful dope fiends for only a fistful of dollars and the risk of your sanity. They're caged with bars, skinny white rails that bind like holy salt on a monastery floor.

You want to play the game - because it's a game to you people. Funtime friday, hit the couch and babble. Drop a tab or five, pass out before sun up and burn out before eighteen.

Are you sweet?
Are you fresh?
Are you strung up by the wrists?
We want the young blood!

I can smell fresh dollars in your bones, boy. I know why you're here. Morbid curiousity, and a fatalistic desire to stand out in a sullen parade of septum piercings and dynamite bangs. We are your Hell's Angel, wiry and tired with bitter, electric tongues. We sit and we smoke in a strange nuptial hymn of the hivemind, constantly prowling for another square scalp to add to our collection - They line our beds and we cling to them for warmth, every scrap of memory of those times we faced down with high society and came away, smelling of ganja, sweat and triumph.

You long to trace every jackboot scar on my spine with your lips, and revel in every night I spend sobbing myself to sleep, flashed and trapped in the memories of mind-riots past.

God, those were the days. You'd wake up in the morning, pick at the scabs your clawed raw the night before and infect yourself with something good and contagious then go out and spit on cops and bus drivers till the seconal kicked in.

Shit, was that me just saying that? None of that shit is me. Don't listen to this raving madman, he's an alien here - The big bad pusher man, in your scene, RUINING your party by 'commercialising'... some months after, mind you, we all started paying twenty bucks at the door apiece to dance on public, ungated property.

Are you fracturing?
Are you torn at the seams?
Would you do anything?
Fleabitten, motheaten?

You don't want a part of this. The rivets are splitting and spokes fraying - Somewhere I can smell insulation cooking off, a pungent brown smell. I'm sure one of the pistons rings is cracked and the boiler leaks steam. Anyday now the MOSFETs will start popping like cherry bombs and this whole transmetal riot machine will come crashing to a hard, knifing over an abutment and gearing great tracts of tarmac up like a gathered rug on the floorboards as your secret lover beats a hasty retreat out the back.

The numbers are piling up - and someday soon it's gonna blow. we're on a doomed helltrain and my fingers are burning.

We suck young blood
We suck young blood

with all the maternal spirit and warmth of a woodchipper we eagerly welcome the newcomers - line up, pay the man and roll in the dirt pretending to be enlightened. sucking that inky media dollar, fondling that glass tit.

Won’t let them creep in on me
Won’t let the nervous bury me
Our veins are thin
Our rivers poisoned

that's the only answer you ever find at the bottom of a trip, at the end of your wits.

there are no answers

all you have are more questions

like when the hell will this soldier have the peace of mind to sleep at night

without a mouthful of reds and gin?

Tuesday, December 8, 2009

writing by the firelight of a charred, embrous monk

again; again -

i find myself aswept in a field of dreams and darkness

straight, wet pathways in a clouded room

I think I found my eyes on the floor

madness of the fourth orb

Next day, the dawn was a brilliant, fiery red and I wandered through the weird and lurid landscape of another planet, for the vegetation that gives Mars its red appearance had taken root on earth. As man had succumbed to the Martians, so our land now succumbed to the red weed.

Wherever there was a stream the red weed clung and grew with frightening voraciousness, its claw-like fronds choking the movement of the water. And then it began to creep like a slimy red animal across the land covering field and ditch and tree and hedgerow with living scarlet feelers, crawling, crawling...

plague carrier

"Drug misuse is not a disease, it is a decision, like the decision to step out in front of a moving car. You would call that not a disease but an error in judgement. When a bunch of people begin to do it, it is a social error, a life-style. In this particular life-style the motto is "Be happy now because tomorrow you are dying," but the dying begins almost at once, and the happiness is a memory.

We need to choose that life, not for want of a better option, not to numb the pain, and not to cultivate an image. We need to choose that life because it is better then the alternative."

live - love - learn
these are the principles of light

on the precipice of noetic wisdom

Of war and peace the truth just twists
Its curfew gull just glides
Upon four-legged forest clouds
The cowboy angel rides
With his candle lit into the sun
Though its glow is waxed in black
All except when 'neath the trees of Eden...

so I've recently been invited to attend an ayahuasca ceremony in early january. i'll be honest. i am scared out of my mind at the prospect of seeing my mind stripped bare for the universe to poke and prod - the last time I felt this was at board games, when everything was just starting to go haywire.

there's no way i'm going to let this chance go by, though. i think i'm ready - but then again, that probably means i'm not.

not only that...

Paranormal Activity is a steaming plate of bullshit and chips. Honestly, one of the worst films I've ever seen, and i've seen 'Hologram man'

Monday, December 7, 2009

When the going get wierd...

Well, my ticket for Rainbow Serpent 2010 has been purchased and is currently winging it's way throguh the mail system, express platinum delivery. So it should be here by tomorrow or the day after. To celebrate, I went out and bought a new CD hardcase (clamshell black like my old one, but about twice the capacity) and some blank CDs, so I've spent the past 24 hours reorganising my colelction into DARK - FULLON - PROG - MISC sections and downloading or burning as much brutal new tunes as I can find.

Over in melbourne there's a gig waiting for me, drugs of the highest calibre and a position at an audio school for a course in Ableton production and performance.

All I need now is to stay out of jail, and make sure I've got the money to get me there.

This is where it all gets real.

Sunday, December 6, 2009

So, uh...

The Cleveland Show is pretty fucking awful.

Saturday, December 5, 2009

heart shaped scar

Truly i marvel at the power of these chemicals we so casually toy with. A pile of powder that could fit on my thumbnail, would be enough to send a hundred men mad for life. A little stamped tablet, half the size of a cigarette filter - Inspires laughter, love and imagination in a world of despair and regret.

but more then i marvel at the drugs, i marvel at the boundless incredibilities of the people I surround myself with. each and every person's different reactions, their own unique psychopharmacological profile and complex warm spectrum of emotion and vocal presence...

brilliant, blissful moments of truth and genuine wonder.

i love my friends.

i love ecstasy.

i love life.

Thursday, December 3, 2009


"... No one will believe you!"

"I hoped you would..."

How many of us lie prisoner to our own minds - Jackbooted uncertainty and social paranoia stamping dreams flat, crippling us, condemning our entire existence to the mundane and certain - the 'safe' choice. Fuck your conventions. Never again will I let fear run my life.

My life is driven by the pursuit of one-ness and contentment - Zen hedonism through euphoria and misery, a dichotomy and contrast equilibrium of come up, come down and dance around.

I identify three primary conduits of positive energy in my life - And no, I'm not going batshit chi crystal crazy on you - I just mean a net force of change and directed focus in my chosen pursuits.


the unity and mastery of these three factors is my goal - to be able to totally and utterly know where I stand with someone, to be wired to a subwoofer and pump wave after wave of pure stomp doof out of my eyes, and to be able to derive the intricate chemical mechanisms which can aid be in these tasks - enactogens, empathogens, traditional psychedelics...

humanity is in the details. and through this multifacet scanner, I shall see clearer then any man has ever dreamt of.

"None of this is real... What is real is you have a drug problem! You overdosed on heroin!"

Sunday, November 29, 2009

ups downs and all-arounds

the ups are mostly about ten minutes long and consist of static silence, drowning out the world with the sound of crisp tobacco burning.

All them backstabbing foes
Standing in my way, always stepping on my toes
Stealing my style even wearing my clothes
Fuck all them haters, fuck all them hoes

work smarter, not harder. I can't force this issue because it will only push it further away. i need to entice, make a comfortable spot for the plan to slip into and let the chips fall where they're going to

i've got no cash - no product - no cards up my sleeve. All I've got is wit and bluff and the balls to do whatever I have to, to make it...

SN, you have always been one of my guiding influences. Thankyou for helping me wake up to myself.

Saturday, November 28, 2009

this is really nowhere near as easy as you might think.

what's in the money?

a lie and a long sleep, a broken promise.... soundbites from my day, rife with hostility - shaped against the outside world

this is not what was supposed to happen.

Tuesday, November 24, 2009

Game over.

This will be the last self-involved wank for a while; I promise.

But I've always tried to be a good person. Do the right thing. Sure, i might be an asshole, but I've never been a bad person.

But I am fucked, time and time again by the bad people. And I can tell myself 'yeah, don't worry, they'll get theirs'

but I don't have the patience to wait anymore.

I try not to hate people - But they make it so fucking hard.

I've put my friends through stress and struggle, financial debt because further down the chain, some shitheel crackhead has fucked me. And I could otherwise have covered that trouble on my own - Except that I have blown all my profits on taxis, nice clothes, drugs, drugs, MORE DRUGS and only about a third of that has been for myself

because i have so little self fucking confidence that I jsut throw money and pills at people just so that they'll pay attention to me long enough to actually take an interest in something Ia ctually have to say

they don't, they never do. They just get caught up in the whirlwind - basslines, strobelights, acid trips and nitrous comas - And I still go home, empty handed, no money, nobody to talk to.

I'd talk to my real friends, but I owe them all money.

Not anymore. This is going to stop now. I'm done. being the good guy hasn't worked. I have to be the bad guy. I'm going to go and get my money, and then it's over.

XX = it's the doublecrosser chromosone

I'm through wasting my life.

Sunday, November 22, 2009

raw wires

It's a strange, sad kind of social convulsion - Like a cramp in my leg every time I see her, I stumble mid-step and try and shake it off. But, wordless - she smiles, and I find myself silently thinking about how there's no price I wouldn't pay to keep that smile there forever.

She's a hypnotist collector, You are a walking antique...

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

i'm glad she's leaving

and i think i'll follow her

60mg temazepam
20mg diazepam
5mg lorazepam

several glasses of cheap red wine, and Jim Croce playing on repeat.

i hope this time

i won't remember the last sunrise

Sunday, November 15, 2009


i wish i could like, pet an octopus :/ but theyre like ohai imma live in the depths of the ocean bc im stuuupidd

so i buyed an octopus


"You're fuck damn right that was the best party ever!"

I love everything.

Thursday, November 12, 2009

raise your hand if you think my brother is a total tool

he's just so fucking jealous that despite all his musical aspirations and attempts - you know, like failing tafe and never getting anything published or any paying gigs or anything - I got into electronic music production and performance maybe six months ago? As opposed to his three or four years, professional coaching at how to write and compose, use DAWs and that - And I'm already touring to melbourne in two months, play regular paid gigs at clubs, raves and doofs - and he had to pay out of his own pocket to get 500 copies of his album stamped and burnt commercially and he can't even give them away. because they're shit.

being a 'musician' was all he had - all that made him 'special', it was how he defined himself. Because his personality certainly wasn't the drawing factor - He's an arrogant, overopinionated underinformed dickpot with a shitty job and no class or culture despite his attempts to dress like a victorian gentleman.

NEWSFLASH - velvet overcoats in summer just make you look retarded, you cockholster.

he seems to think that jsut because my life is better then his, that it is his god given right to fuck with it, just so i can be equally unhappy. he has the nerve to ask me to go to forestfield to pick up my leather jacket from a friend i lent it to so he can wear it out that night, when he won't even leave his chair for fifteen seconds so i can copy some files onto my external hdd.

i've listened to his 'friends' have forty-five minute bitch sessions about him

his ex girlfriends lamenting that they dated him and telling me how I should have been a few years older so they could have gotten with the cool brother

he has the nerve to call me the most selfish person he's ever met, and claim that i've done nothing for him

when every time he's ever needed me, I've been there.

he's the main reason I can't fucking stand living at home. he's a pathetic, two-faced, shallow human being who spends all his time a) working a dead end job, or b) on the computer.

i find it endlessly amusing

that every person who has spent time with us both, even his old, old friends he used to rave and party with and shit back in centrals

say exactly the same fucking thing

"you're like your brother, except I actually enjoy hanging out with you"

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

i love ketamine

it's like being hit over the head with the 'I'm really fucked up' stick.

ain't no rest for the wicked

dripwave lines of india ink are trickling down my cheeks - royal blue, and with the curiously pearlescent consistency of cold mercury, they trace and stain a roadmap like collapsed veins on pallor.

lying, flat on tarmac with soft roots crawling through the warm black to writhe around my ankles and wrists - pinned in place for the oncoming storm that waits just beyond the fog of war clouding my common sense and disposition.

we are all dead men, waiting for something to cut our chains to this mortal existence - we all long to fly, to float, to melt away and evaporate into the next reality. briefly, reality flashes through the clouds like dark lightning, stunning us into silence

sometimes i wonder who built me. and why. there has to be a reason - i am not wandering blindly down the garden path, there must be a reason why i seem to be force-fed so many life lessons and emotional trepanations this early on - I have so many friends, peers and colleagues who are simply content, naive and well-heeled with their existence of school, university, work or religion - unable to fathom how easily everything can fall apart in your hands

after my party on saturday, i'm off drugs again. going to make a serious, concerted effort this time and not use them to cushion the blow the first time something fucks up for me

because, let's face it - something always fucks up for me, and to be honest, it's usually my fault. i need to develop better coping mechanisms then a handful of pills or the cold end of a crackpipe and a few hours of self-pity.

wake up, neo. you are needed on the dancefloor.

Thursday, November 5, 2009

grave of the dragonflies

I was walking down the street,
When out the corner of my eye
I saw a pretty little thing approaching me.
She said “I’ve never seen a man
Who looks so all alone,
Could you use a little company?
If you pay the right price
Your evening will be nice,
And you can go and send me on my way.”
I said “You’re such a sweet young thing
Why you do this to yourself?”
She looked at me and this is what she said...

Wednesday, November 4, 2009

hemlock and leather

Any delusions of Free Will he harbored now must be merely the prisoner rattling his cage.
His curse lay in the fact that he saw the cage;
He saw it!

Monday, November 2, 2009

when I cough...

... I can feel pieces of lungmeat rattling around loose.

think i'm ready to die hey

no loss. i've kind of wasted this life anyway. ninteen years of oxygen consumed, and what do I have to show for it? apparently I'm losing my mind according to those around me.

I don't think I'm so much losing my mind as the real world is losing it's grip on me

the ground falls away

replaced with blackness that creeps up my boots

and tugs at my laces

notsomuch swallowing or sinking as simply... reclaiming

von neumann's regret

it's gotten to the point whether I don't know if I should 'flush with milk' or 'induce vomiting' - daypoison twitches inside my monitor, a kind of viral haemorrhagic rhythm that I can feel burrowing into my bones and pissing protein toxins all over my hope for the future.

systems failure - please reinstall optimism with patch 1.1 Morphine Drip and sublethal pancuronium spinal pump.

disconnect brainstem; free thought no longer necessary - every option, every choice, every failure of chance and reason winds up in the same empty fucking bed.

trackmarks, backtrack your way down the breadcrumb trail of scars and rough keloid expression to pure, perfect, beige happiness

rememebr the warmth? yeah, yeah

remember the itch? the nausea? remember the quiet?

no, you don't remember anything. you don't remember pissing yourself on the couch. don't remember how the coffee table got broken, or your hand - but you think they're probably somehow connected.

valium bible, opana pillow

heroin headlock

filling your lungs

with sand.

i punched a dolphin, once

while swimming in the river. thought it was a shark.

i'm fairly convinced the past three years of my life has been bad karma stemming from that incident.

two fifty

i hate the man in the mirror

i can't remember his name

but I think he has another scotch for me.

he always played that song, and she always sang along...

progress, resolution, and emotional retribution

i am small inside

talk with a big voice that echoes around these hollow bones of mine

drowning out the little boy

sitting in the corner

playing twelve-bar blues on his wrists with a twist of old iron

living on the edge of dissonance

nineteen years dead - consistent locations but fresh faces a year later

no thick stacks of red buddhism and alien head wisdom; but fat chunks of ecstastic transemotional compassion, unconditional love in the space of an hour and then, the morning's discourse. selfish highs in the thin veneer of generosity and the small minded, small bodied - Smiles to the face, knives to the kidney - branding cows as cowards, MOOOOOOOOOOOOO

even cigarettes pale in the noonday sun, fresh regret drying in the wind and leaving a thin salty residue on your cheeks - You gotta smile, you're at the doof, and nothing else matters, and there's al;ways more smokes, and there's always more jokes...

get on the dancefloor, i'll see you in the future.

Tuesday, October 27, 2009

bleary oils and swollen boils

suddenly trapped in a fragrant cannabinoid delerium

a pleasant fog; euphoric and relaxing

but befuddling all at once - every now and then a flash of flavour as the tongue finds a prior-unabsorbed pocket of the oil, dribbled sublingually an hour hence

it's like trying to cross the street, at night, on an empty country road, with your eyes closed

you know you're in no possible danger

but you can't help that finger of fear in the back of your head that says

"maybe you won't make it back this time..."


lifeache, heartwarm
nightloud and bedscold
simplicity is divine, but complexity irresistible

we love the chase
and sleep in graves
we dug with tooth and nail

hardwired to the brain, an IV drip of vitriol and dragonfly wings

i want a drug to give me the vision of a shaman

the touch of a god

and all the compassion of a syphilis-maddened komodo dragon

Monday, October 26, 2009

i had a dream i was a werewolf

begging for change, but I have plenty of shrapnel

plenty of money, plenty of sunny friends with open arms, open hands and closed ears

does she even really care about me? it's hard to tell. i think so. i hope so.

mainly because i don't allow any of my real feelings to show on the surface - happy mask, smiles for the camera - and all the teeth and matches in the keyboard

but, every now and then, around her - the mask slips and I feel a cold fingernail push into my heart

freezing the breath in my chest

and brittle bones creak under the pressure as I struggle, vainly, to draw air into these tired lungs

and even then i get nothing other then a mouthful of ash

it's so quiet I can hear my cigarette burning as I bring it to my mouth

crisp, still heat that sears my lips as i drag away to the butt

eager for that finality, that satisfying stab as i crush it to a hard coal in the ashtray

if only everything else was so easy

Saturday, October 24, 2009

sarah, settle down
put your helmet on
walk these streets of gold
with cigarettes you hand rolled
i don't know you
and i don't owe you a thing
you smile so hard it hurts
just when things get worse
you said you've woken from a dream
abandoned by your mother

... could this be?

i don't know you
and i don't owe you a thing
but the children lose their minds
in such uncertain times
and i'm woken from a dream
surrounded by my lovers
oh, woe is me!

between my last entry and now? 48 or so hours of near-constant running around, late piperazine nights and too-hot days

but, now, I lay here - listening to Margot, reading Transmetropolitan and carefully masturbating over six thousand dollars in cold cash.

Time to relax. Things are finally coming up roses...

Thursday, October 22, 2009

We will have peace, or we will have a motherfucking problem.

Railroad bones and desert roads
Boiling silicone on the stove
Glasswhite ice and severed toes
Upon our grave, a wilted rose

The time has come, the walrus said, to get your fucking act together. The amount of money that flows through your hands is like jew's ash under the nails of a thousand jackbooted policemen - You need to stop pouring this bittersharp pain-sweetened chemical haze into your synapses.

Drowning out the signal of the real world with the noise of drugs doesn't make the real world go away. It just pushes you further into this moebical stupor-cycle, trapped loops and halftwists of fate that endlessly roll under the waves of novelty and beauty that you are awash in - But you're in far, far over your head. You don't take the time to reflect on what we create, what we live in - Who we live with, and why.

No more drugs. not until you have something to show for all your hard work. If by my nineteenth birthday I have in excess of fifteen hundred dollars that is MY profit and not owed, then I shall consume ONE tab.

For every cigarette I smoke on any given day, I will make up for it by performing either a) ten push-ups, b) A 500m run or c) fifteen reps on the benchpress. Given that I usually smoke in excess of fifteen to twenty cigarettes a day, this will both cut down my carcinogen intake and also help me regain some semblance of a semi-attractive body.

[ Doctor 2.0 ]
rev a

Tuesday, October 20, 2009

i can't even lie to myself anymore.

scotch o'clock.

numb lungs and dead drugs

solvent emotion, ash in the aorta

and the ends of nerves, dipped in hot solder

to better conduct

the noise

my corporal used to call me 'sparky'

because he enjoyed lighting matches off my neck during the long patrols.

it's gotten to the point where I drink about a bottle of wine a night now, and I'm okay with that. one day, though, I want to be able to shut my eyes without having to pretend i'm going to be someone else when I wake up.

confusion and black sand

oh children, broadripple is burning
and the girls are gettin sick
off huffing glue up in the bathroom
while their boyfriends pick up chicks
and darling i'm lost

i heard you whispering
that night in fountain square
trashed the streets
made you wish that i'd go home
there was love?
inside the basement
way back home we used to lie
in a sleeping bag we shared upon
the floor for almost every night

oh darling i'm drunk
everything that i had loved has turned to stone
so pack your bags and come back home

yeah i'm wasted
you can taste it
don't look at me that way
cause i'll be hanging from a rope
i'll be hangin from a rope

if my woman was a fire
she'd burn out before i wake
and be replaced by pints of whiskey
cigarettes and outer space
then somebody moves

and everything you thought you had has gone to shit

we've got a lot
don't ever forget that
and i wrote this on airplane where the people look like ants

and when a woman that you love is gone
she was bombing east japan

don't fucking move

cause everything you think you have will go to shit

we've got a lot
don't ever forget that
yeah i'm wasted
you can taste it
don't look at me that way

cause i'll be hanging from a rope
i'll be hangin from a rope
yeah i'm wasted
you can taste it
don't look at me that way
cause i'll be hanging from a rope

i'll be hangin from a rope

Saturday, October 17, 2009

Phoenix Song

Hotel rooms and lazy summer days in the pool. New faces, fresh voices and lsd on the side. Hot drugs, hot nights, hot girls. Motherfucking good therapy.

it's like that first cup of tea in the morning as day breaks, after the long night awake chain smoking and masturbating. Crisp, astringent and dark, the taste melts away the dust and cuts through the scabs in your throat and rinses the flesh clean.

and that's exactly what I feel right now. Rinsed clean.

Like, nothing happened. i didn't fall in love, I didn't get laid, I didn't get in a fight - There were no life altering or reaffirming twists of fate.

But then again, I'm starting to feel like there never were. Like I've been making a big deal out of fuck-all actually happening in my life. Like I've been tearing myself up and tying myself up in knots because I'm 'alone' - But this weekend I was still just as 'alone', there wasn't anyone hanging off my dick, or my words - There were just good people and better times.

I'm so far past this whole 'tortured soul' bullshit it's not even funny. Open apology to everyone in my life or that reads my blog - I'm sorry I've been such an emo faggot, and I'm declaring right now that I no longer give a shit about who you're dating or fucking or whatever so long as you're still a part of my life and you're still a friend and we can just get messy and let our hair down every now and then. Love is a myth, cut away the bullshit. Set yourself free and just smile more.

After all, it's free.

Thursday, October 15, 2009

Nothing is okay.

Where did the love go? From my business, from this scene, from my life? This... numb corruption threatens to overwhelm us all, a disheartening facade that smells like money and tastes like iodine. It's a bone sickness. A dry sickness. Our vibrations turned nasty some time ago, but now they take root, shaking us to the core of our very being.

I weep for tomorrow, because the new young want nothing more then INSTANT GRATIFICATION, and they don't care what's in the pill as long as it fucks them up, and they don't care who's selling it or how much they charge because if they can't afford it, they'll just steal to get the money, or rip someone off... I hate this fucking city. I want to take the maybe two dozen worthwhile people and take them with me to melbourne, or toronto...

Wednesday, October 14, 2009

stress less

with every gauge pushed deep into the red - overpressure, o-rings bursting and membranes rotting. insulation melting on the wires, threatening to catch as it smoulders and drips polyvinyl agony onto my joints, the ferroceramic grating with carbon buildup. the heat is too much to deal with, i can hear rivets popping out of their housing as they expand and split the seams, spreading swarf into the circuits that line my gut. That's where this feeling is coming from - This dull, dry loathing that is spreading like dust in my lungs. Played against the sharp electric desire sparkling in my heart, the short-circuit falsefeeling that i KNOW is useless to feel, but fuck that I'm going to feel it anyway.

I hate myself. It is the only logical explanation for why I would continue to put myself through this time and time again.

Elektra came back into my life suddenly, and just as suddenly, I pushed her away. Why? This girl, this beautiful, clever, unique girl who wants nothing more then to be there for me and have a good time with no strings attached. I pushed her away. Why?

Well, there's the answer again. In my head I tell myself a string of reasons, from that I don't have the headspace for a girlfriend with all this business shit going down, or that we just don't 'connect', but that isn't true. It's because of the princess, and because of my own self loathing. I found something Ic an't have, so naturally, I must destroy myself trying to get it. it is strange - To be able to clinically analyse this reasoning, understand it, and yet be completely unable to do anything about it. I need to get over her, because it's obviously not going to happen any time soon and my fucking emo bullshit isn't going to make this fun for anyone.

Saturday, October 10, 2009

mashed and scattered

clarified and etherised, i wanna take you to this party and breathe

life into your lungs


. . .

you can't stop the beat

lick a shot, teenybopper!

oh my god, what a ridiculously fucking hectic night. i don't think i've been that destroyed in a very long time.

it was like drowning in a sea of supre...

Friday, October 9, 2009

Welcome to the apocalypse.

Crashing realities from an unexpected source - You are being used, and you are loving it because you hate yourself.

The drugs are only half the problem. Instead of just stopping taking them, why not try and stop what makes you take them?

systems check;; on point at a hundred percent

atomic batteries to power. turbines full ahead; attack wombs ready.

headcleanse, w-w-w-w-ipeout!

moving out of home, finally. see how it goes. will probably be back in less then a month... who knows...

Sunday, October 4, 2009

rising son

I seen you go down to a cold mirror
It was never clearer in my error
So you lick a shine upon your forehead or
Check it by the signs in the corridor
You light my ways through the club maze
We would struggle through the dub daze

I sink myself in hair upon my lover
It's how you go down to the men's room sink
Sad we talk if how madmen think
I sink myself in hair upon my lover
I don't know her from another miss
I don't know you from another
See me run now you're gone...dream on

Why you want to take me to this party and breathe
I'm dying to leave
Every time we grind you know we sever lines
Where have all those flowers gone
Long time passing
Why you keep me testing, keep me tasking
You keep on asking

Toy-like people make me boy-like
Toy-like people make me boy-like
They're invisible, when the trip it flips
They get physical, way below my lips
And everything you got hoi-poloi like
Now you're lost and you're lethal
And now's about atomic you gotta leave all
These good people...dream on

Nicer than the bird up in the tree top
Cheaper than the chip inside my lap top
All the variations you could do with me
Nicer than the girl up in your mind you're free

Automatic crystal remote control,
We come to move your soul

You kinda fade into the background
Like a better smoke'll bring you back round
Like a man slide inside you my dear
Your cheap beer's filled with crocodile tears
See 'em run now you're gone...dream on

I found something to do...

Dream on

dopesick and gorefiending

five pills seventeen tabs and a half weight of meth later


Thursday, October 1, 2009


That was so much fucking fun. Scenies are awesome, and are fun toc orrupt.

I need to lay off the narcotics for a while, though... I think that brings me to a total of twenty plus pills and well in excess of thirty-five trips in one week. and a few handfuls of ritalin, five bottles of passion pop, a gram of k and about a hundred anf fifty grams of port royal preium rolling tobacco... arghhhhhhh

in other nwes, my hair looks fucking awesome when straightened

Wednesday, September 30, 2009

bucket cunt

it is one of my goals to use a live armadillo as a condom before I die. Armadillos are prolific diggers. Many species use their sharp claws to dig for food, such as insects, and to dig dens. The Nine-banded Armadillo prefers to build burrows in moist concrete and rachel's vagina.

The moar you know...!

sometimes you eat the acid... sometimes the acid eats you

six months, life lessons but nothing learnt. nothing lasts but nothing is lost, and the big wheel turns - you see the problem, you KNOW the solution, but through some kind of masochistic emotional inertia you push yourself through that bitter hell anyway

peel in the sun - skittish kitten, paranoid and selfconcious. hiding in the heat, yellow shade and purple-blue electric rifts that gape at me from the dancing earth. sand bounces, vibrates - it reminds me of seashells, but with more spiders

Well shes walking through the clouds
With a circus mind thats running round
Butterflies and zebras
And moonbeams and fairy tales
Thats all she ever thinks about
Riding with the wind.

thankfully, the hot sawtooth edge of the day is quenched by purple passion, and fat bass nights. there really is no better way to work out frustration and depression then ketamine, cheap liquor and a pretty girl to dance with.

When Im sad, she comes to me
With a thousand smiles, she gives to me
Its alright, she says
its alright
Take anything you want from me, anything

back in the real world, the girl confuses me - which is probably my fault, if you try and hold onto something for too long it will only struggle harder to be free, but sometimes you're too damn scared of losing it to recognise that. I need to start taking my own adice. Just fucking relax, heyy... We're all here to have fun, and getting caught up reading meaning into something that probably has the simplest of explanations ain't gonna help.

I'm not gonna fight no more, not gonna push, not gonna pull. Seeds are sown, everybody knows the score. I can't control her and I'm not gonna try to - just gonna take a deep breath, be there when she needs me and not expect anything, not pretend anything. Not gonna work myself up just for the sake of it. i need to stop feeding off drama. Life is good right now. Enjoy it. We are young, we are free.

Fly on little wing,
Yeah yeah, yeah, little wing

gypsy moths and teardrops

"‘We get bored with routine and crave beauty and excitement. Fire is beautiful, and we know that if we get too close it will kill us, but what does that matter? It is better to be happy for a moment and burned up with beauty than to live a long time and be bored all the while.

We wad all our life up into one little roll, and then we shoot the roll. It is better to be a part of beauty for one instant and then cease to exist than it is to exist forever and never be a part of beauty. We are like human beings used to be before they became too civilized to enjoy themselves."

Sunday, September 27, 2009

Special K

heartbreaker girl with cat's eyes
and a tongue that lies
watch the earth dance
and the sun burn

i can't feel my face

but there's a girl.

and I can't get her out of my head

or the taste of her off my lips

Can the savior be for real?
Or are you just my seventh seal?

k e x i m a n e

i think i've finally found a drug worthy of a serious addiction

Monday, September 21, 2009

chango luchador

for some months now, I often i have bad dreams like I'm falling, and i wake up scared

sometimes it takes me a while to remember where I am - it's dark, and it's cold, and it's empty. every time I open my mouth to scream, dry sand pours in - fills me up from the inside out and sets hard like concrete. I can't move - can't breathe

can't die

standing now, on the verge of something beautiful - my hand is on the doorknob, I can see light shining under the door - But I don't know it's source. is it the unsteady, flickering flame that could consume me again, run through my spine and leave ash trickling from my ear; or the warm diffuse glow of a heart beating in time with mine?

it's too early to tell. but is it ever too late?

she has lips that dance with red mischief, sweet wine that when i lay awake at nights - I can almost taste them, a whisper on the palate of warmth and shade and safety.

but i'm not half the man i should be. and i think people know it.

and that's got people worried

hell, it's got me worried.

i don't want to hurt her; but more then that, I don't want to get hurt. if I let her in; i run that risk.

but if I keep her out... I'll never have the chance.

fuck. it's been over a month since I last ate acid. I can't write for shit. I just spew tired cliche after cliche, I can't fucking THINK, I am DULL and fucking DEAD INSIDE

i want to fucking breathe again. feel again. love again

i'm ready for my heart to start beating now

will you put the air back in my lungs? the colour in my day?

the love in my life?

earthdance incoming

like the sound of a great sheet of paper, wide as a city block, slowly settling towards the ground

comes one of the biggest parties this year, three days of psy bliss and ground pounding

so far i have:

100 drops california silver acid
20 drops cali sunshine acid
50 mandala tabs (approx 75ug each, very clean)
10 C.O.S.M tabs (approx 2.5mg DOI each)
10 st albert tabs (approx 100ug each)
5 crop circle tabs (approx 50ug each)
1g pure s-isomer ketamine (usp grade xtal)
2g lovely yellow DMT

i'm planning to eat all the sunshine acid, probably the cosms, at slberts and the crop circles

most of the k

and a little bit of the dmt

it's going to be one hell of a weekend. pictures promised.

Sunday, September 20, 2009

blue eyes, glass pipe

this is a; red lace day

impossible to leave a fingerprint on the cat's paws, but, with hands wrapped around each other - i can feel every twitch of her fingertip, every pulse in her thumb with her skin pressed against mine.

and my heart races

my mouth runs dry and it takes every ounce of my will not to lean over and press my lips to hers

and the train pulls into the station

moment broken -

but never forgotten.

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

clowning around on craigslist

I am looking for someone to dress up like a Clown and hang out with me. I would cook you diner – or we could BBQ something. I’m interested in making my neighbor lady wonder. I have already had a man in a panda costume last month – and also had a heard of sheep come in for the day to cut the grass. (sheep do a good job by the way). A clown would be something.
Maybe you could bring some balloons – or make balloon animals to hang in my tree. I’d like to have this done some evening between 6pm and dark. The longer you can stay the better (like if you could stay for the whole 3 hours). Do you have any tricks you could do?
Like I said – I could cook diner and get you drunk – I’d even be willing to pay your cab fare to and from. I don’t have much to offer – and my neighbor lady is driving me nuts – so I want to drive her nuts. If you had a Mime friend – it would be cool to see you two chase each other around the yard or do relay races while I time you.

Let me know your thoughts – open to Men and Women Clowns.

Thursday, September 10, 2009

lost in the woods again

You ain't lost, pal. You're where you are, and you have to make the best of it. It's all you can do.

Where to go from here? upstairs, ... hidden in the attic, a shoebox stash with the little girl's bones who lived across the road when you were a kid

amphetamine of the masses, the vilification and uprising, public dissent


of unrest;

and holy coincidence.

let slip the cravings of chemistry
and man's money-bag

Wednesday, September 9, 2009

When it comes to man vs machine; the machine wins every time

(except in a haiku writing competition)

do not punch your screen
despite how much meth you've smoked
it will not forgive

Tuesday, September 8, 2009


a recent experiment of mine has come to, if you will pardon the pun, 'fruition'

equipped with a sadistic genius and a bioengineering lab to put most universities to shame

naga jolokia chilli peppers were expressed with fn-556 genes taken from psilocybe subcubensis in order to develop phosphorylating tryptophanic enzymes in the inner flesh

by then growing these peppers in a semi-hydroponic set-up containing ground argyreia nervosa inner mill substrate and polyurethane husks and the appropriate nutrient constitute

we are given violently red chilli peppers with a scoville heat rating of approximately 900,000 (approximately ten times as spicy as nandos 'extra hot' piri piri) that also contain approximately 78mg/g of pure psilocybin...

ladies and gentleman - we have now developed the guatemalan insanity pepper. if the plants hold out I will be growing these in bulk and preparing them for sale online.

subwoofers at dawn

polytone reverberations or the appropriate dynamic frequency induce catastrophic vibrations in the cell walls of organic tissue;
resultant in the generation of self-contained microcavitation, and massive extralimbic transmission of celluar fluid

suffice to say, big speaker = big mess

concurrence is imminent

concurrence is critical - supraposition of concurrent waves is the principle on which polytone oscillators act in order to cause physical damage - three oscillators being independently tuned vis microcontroller until two of three waves are detected to be sufficiently within phase - their frequencies are locked and then the third oscillator tuned manually by an operator, carefully brought onto frequency and headphones applied before full power is directed to the voice coils.


i am
the doctor oscillator
with vinyl fingerprints
and gold-plated nerve endings

tune in;
this vibe is infectious
it's like...

it's like nothing at all you've ever heard in your life

macroscopic rhythm reflected in the dancing drink; basslines smooth like oil in your spine - the beat divine, of ageless rhyme

polished wax shines in the laserlight, feet bleed on the concrete with jazz tap steppin' to the razors edge

who are we? we are squarepushing.

pushing the envelope, knobjockeys and attack the gates

with experimental audio weapons systems

Sunday, September 6, 2009

china grey dawn, black mexican sunset

deposition rhythm, re-written. sidetracked by the inevitable, and railroaded by the pettiness of selfish men

whose eyes lied? and what's in the money? i stare with childlike wonder as people shout and scream, bay for blood and throw their credit cards at the television

it's electric, this feeling of submissive superiority - A warm voiced, ambergris answer to the quiet murmurs of dissent at petrol prices and how late the pizza guy was.

"i can be better then you because I don't care..."

where does it all go? cashflow, into the crook of your elbow - hundred dollars buys an armful, cheaper then a girlfriend and more reliable.

i guess what i'm really trying to say is that if you're finding society hard to deal with then heroin is a pretty good alternative to consider.

self-obsession and the massaged ego

so it was recently brought to my attention that quite a few people actually lurk this blog, people I've never met, or never talked to...

Even if you don't really feel like a leaving a comment, I'd love to hear from my readership, just to get an idea of how wide I've managed to fling off my filthy poison seed.

So please - Add me on mspace, or MSN, or send me an email. Drop me a line and if you live in perth, let's go for coffee and mescaline sometime.

Especially if you're a cute girl who likes narcisisstic, self-destructive substance abusers with a penchant for havoc.
7.62fullmetaljacket [AT] gmail [DOT] com


Saturday, September 5, 2009

I haven't slept for a few days...

welcome to uncle touchy's naked puzzle basement!

i've got orange juice

and xanax laced cupcakes

and you're gonna lose your shirt

right about now.

i'm so sick and tired of being alone

i just need somebody i can open up to

and hold

and rely on

i don't know how much longer I can hold on without somebody helping me up

in a world of predators, the lion doesn't fear the jackal

i like acid because it's challenging.

it's electric, fluid dynamic in colour and the warped gelpane that slithers up and down

melting into the cracks of your brain, filling your every neuropore and synaptic follice

that drives and builds, teaches and sings

a many-eyed song

of unimaginible fidelity

and harmony

Things I only heard when I had a girlfriend and now never hear now that I'm single.

"Oh my god, you have acid? I don't have any money... but I always get really horny when I trip..."

"Does being a DJ make you really good in bed, cos you understand body music and rhythm?"

"Do you have any party favors? We totally put out..."


Thursday, September 3, 2009

bassn e c t a r :: [dripping__down your//chin]

squeeze my subwoofer baby, juice runs down my legs
it's like fucking a mango hooked up to a car battery
sitting the deck of an aicraft carrier with a cruise missile
strapped to your spinal cord
smell the jet fuel, taste the anti-fouling paint
corrosion rivet rust
and a twist of gunmetal time

i find that life became a whole lot easier when I came to the crumbling realisation that god has forgotten about us. We were the sea monkeys he got for his twelfth birthday, put on a shelf, fed twice and then tried to ignore once we invented the AK-47 and started butchering each other

once the sound of gunfire and anthrax cluster bomblets got too much to bear he put us in his drawer and hosed the whole thing with raid - but that's still a few years yet to come

20/20 hindsight; an audible precession of the future through some kind of grave pandimensional prism - split infinities boldy splashed in visible spectra on the fabric of reality, my mind playing out the same scene, stuck in the groove, stuck in the groove...

needle to wax, to flesh, to bone... tattoo ink and veinline black, spiderwrapped and cinched tight like a tourniquet... words are bonds and molecules a poem... and they reverberate in my ears for years to come, my eyes burn like I've been staring at the sunnn....

Tuesday, September 1, 2009

Fuck your favourite DJ.

At the first moment I'm not recording.

I'm not on tour and I've never had a song go to number one on Beatport

I've never been featured on Juno Download or Track it Down, I've never released twice, but what I do know is that I've been listening to electronica for many years and I have every right to speak my mind against the fabricated music that is being released on a daily basis.

It's absolutely appalling!

All these people think that if you're on the Beatport Top Ten you're making something out of yourself, well you're making a mockery out of electronic music.

I'm a producer and I come from the underground and I'm... Quite frankly, I'm sick and tired and I'm here to go on these rants on message boards because I know I will never amount to anything and I need to make myself feel better.

So when I'm not high on cocaine, I will sit in front of this computer 'till the cows come home and continue ranting and raving about artists that are actually living out their dream.

'cause I never wïll.

I actually rather like Deadmau5

but the fact remains that when I go out to a club i hear nothing but the same boring fucking mainstream electronic music

to be perfectly frank, most of the shit I listen to and play (I actually am a DJ and producer) is quite underground, indie psychedelic trance and that kinda shit, and I don't expect to hear it at a club

but I'd still like to hear something at least a little bit fucking new or interesting - is that so much to ask for?

like, I get it - Deadmau5, Armin van Buren, Underworld, etc... They're good artists. For sure. But even when i'm playing at parties or clubs full of preps, normals and people would would never in their LIFE have heard of somebody like Shpongle, or Paranormal Attack, or Switch... It's still fucking good music and the crowd fucking loves it

so why does nobody play it out and about?

dear world: Do you only dance to songs that you know? or are you just about a good beat?


Monday, August 31, 2009

Every time I take ecstasy I come out of it a little bit moar gay... :/

such is the burden of cheap love and abundant cuddles; c'est la vie

good mdma has been hard to come by the past year but it's really flooding the streets now - the vibes are up and the beats dropped

between friday night and sunday morning I got through about 8,000ug of good acid, a gram and a half of coke and ten beige euros - The the end of that I was so fucking mashed I could barely mix; and for a brief period was convinced I had developed magical powers. Two close friends and two epic fucking parties; and a couple of important lessons:

1. Coke ain't worth the price
2. Never leave the decks unattended
3. I am a drug god, worship and fuck me

I am now closer with several people then I ever thought possible - The wonderful Miss bailey and the Vision of innocence Anastasia - Not to mention taking the time to explore who I really in in greater depth with Jimmy and Sam. I am yet again reminded at how much better off the world would be if, instead of (what I estimate to be) roughly 40% of the population going out on a friday night, getting drunk and looking for a rumble; they stayed home or went to a friend's place with a little clean acid, or ecstasy, or just some mull. Think of the savings in medical support from the government - How much cash is poured into hospitals to deal with alcohol-related injuries every year?

Srsly, put down the goon and buy some pills. The worst you'll ever really do while eccied up is maybe strip naked and start grinding onto a lightpole - Embarassing, but hardly fatal.

select frequency;
direct subsonic basswave tightbeam to the spleen
the drug persephone, step up and roll with me
pancreatic symphony in endocrine harmony

Sunday, August 30, 2009


Hosted By:
Sonic Circus

Friday, 16 October 2009

Brown Alley
Corner King & Londsale Streets


Featuring: THE CONTROL ZEDS – Live (Highly Evolved Music/Voice of Cod), HEFTY OUTPUT (Doof Records), THIAGO MIRANDA (Brazil/Melbourne), KidTrip, Glacial, Generator + More.

Venue: Brown Alley downstairs, corner of King & Lonsdale streets, Melbourne. Price: $5.

Killer artists for next to nothing. Be there.

Click Here To View Event

Saturday, August 29, 2009


text me to remind me to tell you about Sonic Circus.

i'm going to bed. what a hectic fucking weekend :)

moar to come when I wake up and can figure out where the fuck all that acid and cocaine went

Thursday, August 27, 2009

gravely grieving griffin

i have a dream.

that one day; the air will be thick with the bitter grey ashes of fallen empires

a million hearts and minds; cut short of voice and spread to the wind

sown into the incinerators

and reaped from the sky in tactile, greasy clouds

the lurking fear

But there's no way that I could know what you've experienced, right? I couldn't possibly feel that need. Like a thousand hiding voices whispering "this is who you are". And you fight the pressure. The growing need rising like a wave. Prickling and teasing and prodding to be fed. But the whispering gets louder, until they're screaming "now!" And it's the only voice you hear. The only voice you want to hear. And you belong to it. To this... shadow self. To this... Dark Passenger.

i'm scared of what I'm becoming. no drug; no addiction; no touch of a woman could ever come close. No rush, no balls, no fear. No crying, no emotion.

no fear. no fear at all.

that's why I need yours.

and one way or another; i'm going to draw it out of you.

Wednesday, August 26, 2009

Tuesday, August 25, 2009

concurrent connection and disconnection;

the noetic lightning rod of blinding electric truth.

it's an organic crystalline substance used as a focusing matrix for trans-resonating dimensional flux patterns; specifically with regard to the precession and oscillation of our three dimensions and their intersection at right angles to the remaining eighteen; allowing their inhabitants to be visualised and interacted with on our plane.

the precise nature of it's crystalline strucure is highly variable, and very difficult to directly divine and define... if we could; we could slowly grow a focusing array on macroscale; large enough in fact for us to to follow them back to the machine world.

if you want to say something to my face

please do so.

additionally: if I no longer write about the colour in my life; it's because it had long since bled out and left grey; ragged cloth where the emporer's silk once wrapped my memory

and shielded it from the cold and bitter wind that now creeps about my mind.

Saturday, August 22, 2009

a brief flash of enlightenment

and a month's lessons come crashing down

Friday, August 21, 2009

i don't think i take enough time to acknowledge

the people in my life other then myself and those who hurt me.

I just wanted to say how much I love Jimmeh and Sam, I just had the best night out with them. They're people who I've been friends with, tripping with, partying with for about two years now and they've always been here for me when I needed it. They're also probably the two people who've been reading my blog regularly the longest.

Jamie - You're the best; man - You're somebody i can talk to about music, games, drugs, computers... Almost anything. We need to have a LAN somtime, and i hope your traineeship stays going as well as it did your first week

Sam - Love you so much doll; you're such fun to party with and i can always count on you to make jamie wait around while we have a cigarette :) Love your new hair; you know how I feel about scene girls ^^ -melts-

don't ever go anywhere guys; and don't eve hesitate to ask if you ever need anything.

fucking ecstasy making me all mushy and woman feelings.

Thursday, August 20, 2009


i am sharpening my fish hooks; polishing my boots

the fires of the war machine are being stoked, uruk-hai are growing in the concrete embryo of the city

waiting for tarmac vagina to split and tear, spewing molten hate into my city, OUR city

red-hot glowing shards of glass; hot on my tongue and in my lungs. feel it bubble and boil, blood giggling with anticipation

i have been given purpose

by the vixen, a goddess scorned

i will be the instrument of her divine wrath

scalpel insurgency at ninety miles an hour

I am precisely the kind of bastard you don't want directed agaisnt you

to be explicitly honest; I'm not tremendously fussed either way

but she asked me

so i will kill for her.


take back the streets

be afraid; be very afraid.

Wednesday, August 19, 2009

I'm sick of all you narrowminded racist cunts.

If you honestly consider that some random slice of genetic encoding which primarily affects a) melanin count

and b) the presence or lack of an epicanthic structure

has ANYTHING to do with an individuals intelligence or worth as a human being

then you need to shoot yourself right in the fucking face and stop diluting all the worthwhile sperm (i.e, mine) from fertilising your girlfriend's ova.

Race is irrelevant.

culture, on the other hand...

There are a lot of foreign countries who bring up their children to me narrow minded unimagianative religious zealots; or in ethnic subcentres (particualrly in western cities) aka 'ghettos' that teach kids that yeah, it's all good to fucking bottle that cunt with an empty 40oz so you can buy some dope with his lunch money.

he wasn't showin you RESPECK, FOO'.

Where am i going with this?

Your RACE is irrelevant. Your CULTURE is the problem. Your RELIGION is the problem.

Don't hate on someone for being black; hate on them for being a nigger.

know what I'm saying?

if you are an african american, productive member of society who behaves rationally and within the grounds of moral law (i.e; you don't know around raping and shooting everyone you see) then we have no problem.

if you are a nigger who likes to wear four troy ounces of fake gold around his neck and carry a glock concealed in his anal sphincter

then you should probably also be shot so i can cotninue fucking your girlfriend as well.

discuss: the implications of race vs religion, perception and association. if you are a man of middle-eastern descent, are you a muslim? Do you beat your wife and haet democracy and apple pie and the white woman's freedom?

i don't know, go ask them yourself.

Just because something can be filmed, does not mean you should put it on youtube

Can you imagine the sheer mass of data of CRAP that people upload to youtube that will get maybe five or ten views over three years?

or even, just the inane crap which gets millions of views but is just utter gobshite?

Youtube is pretty cool, but fuck me dead I cannot for the life of me divine the logical thought train that made this cunt think this was a good idea to film and upload.


Oh, who booked the flights this early?
(it was you Tim!)
I don't know, I point the finger at the shoestring.
Cop a red eye all night, oh that's not a new thing
its all part of the fun, the lose sleep touring

its amusing in retrospect

don't forget to check what state were playing
is it daylight savings?
Now the airports in Queensland, the sociocom?

oh man were we wrong?

Yeah, we're supposed to be on.

Oh messed up north
but not the straight out of Brizzie gig
you know the one?
yeah right I recall that night
that almost got us electrified
the water level flowing
round the wires and the leads yet the show kept going!

that reminds me of the toilets overflowing at the Cambridge
not enough security
they understocked the bar fridge
a step away from carnage, we rocked it with lights?
Then I stepped to the manager to see how we got paid and he said

(it's a charity event tonight that's Shelley behind the bar...)
(you know the bar staffs not getting paid n neither r u)

I'll tell you a story
when your ears ring in the morning,
some parts of my head are hurting
i've been woken up too early
and we'll sail off on the same routine
onto another night running on diminished steam
We gotta pay the devil or we could lose everything

Do you remember the prosthetic leg?
(man how can I forget?)
she took it off and wanted us to sign it
she was fresh from the UK on a drum and bass odyssey
she said she had another one
signed by the prodigy
oh shit that takes me to pyramid
(you got legless!)
yeah I popped my knee mid-set
Oh well we couldn't get a chair
so I hobbled to the end and got some medicine
(you mean the warm beer that they sent?)

When activists
acid trips
teepees in Tassie
oh your talking bout the forest festival?
(Yeah exactly!)
we lost our minds and found them in time to play
at roughly 6 in the morning
and that was a Monday!

what about the sunny coast ghost?
all the kids that we saw by the side of the road
motionless with the glow
like the village of the damned up in Coolham
maybe they think we are here to school them

I'll tell you a story
when your ears ring in the morning,
some parts of my head are hurting
i've been woken up too early
and we'll sail off on the same routine
onto another night running on diminished steam
We gotta pay the devil or we could lose everything

I don't even have the stomach for the same old
I don't even have the legs for the same old
I don't even have the head for the same old for the same old, for the same old
I don't even have the bread for the same old, for the same old, for the same old

Monday, August 17, 2009


i have a driving need to sleep with as many triple-breasted whores dripping in their own pan-galatic lube as I can fit into my bed.

I want miniskirts, fishnet stockings on tentacles and unspeakably tiny tops.

and also a robot blowjob machine.

and lots of ecstasy.


-dripping noises-

maybe it's just the moonlight; but you're looking awful good for a corpse

doctor of trance and the red carpet earth
where dead girls dance on the mud-soaked plain
ecstasy angels spit blood in the dark
here in the garden of earthly remains

a dozen dope fiends hypnotised in the rain
listen, bass hammers nail into eardrum tree
go for your guns; turntables aflame
and scratch records till the vinyl bleeds

Friday, August 14, 2009

Chaos in Metropila

It takes a special brand of bastard to pull on a pair of steel-toed boots every morning and then go to work, saying, in all effect "I am a willing foot soldier for small minded religious imperialism and xenophobia and I think that people who smoke marijuana deserve to go to jail."

I am talking, of course, about the police.

Now, I'm not saying they should be abolished. They provide a critical service - Junkyard bulldogs and tame monsters; kept on society's leash and released onto the murderers, rapists and thieves - Sent to tear a softball-sized chunk of hamstring out of the legs of madmen and scum.

But you gotta keep em on their toes. A complacent society is a society ripe for overthrow by communists, dogfuckers, or the japanese. The solution? Test their limits.

Go out tonight and head to the pub. Buy a packet of cigarettes and a scotch. Finish them both in less then an hour and go wander around a darker part of town. Not dark enough that you're going to get mugged for your bus pass and iPod, but bad enough that the cops regularly roll through.

Then, first one you see. Walk up to him. Look him in the eyes and stare him down. State, in no uncertain terms:

"I want to fight you."

The pig's instinct will be to reach for his pepper spray (or gun, depending on how fucking insane you look).

Slap his hand away and say again.

"I want to fight you. not your gun, not your mace. Don't try and pull that pussy fucking escalation of force bullshit. This a level playing field. I want to fight you. No belt, no shoes. just you and me in the gutter."

Give him about thirty seconds to think this through before spear tackling him into a lamp post.

This will, I feel, be a great benefit to society. If there was a legal oppurtunity to contest parking tickets and civil torts in a gladitorial arena rather then a court of law, I think we'd all be a lot happier. You wouldn't have to pay for a lawyer, and you could put a trident through that jupped up scrap of frogshit who wrote you up for being drunk and disorderly. The cases would move through a lot faster as well. A father could eke out reveenge on his daughters rapist/killer with a ball-peen hammer or pin him to a wall with a javelin.

Thursday, August 13, 2009

this is my soapbox

i can feel current backed up in the diodes down my left-hand side

silicone popping, mucles twitching in the shortcircuit fury - signals, sparks in my eyes flickering to the music

sine waves trace on the far side of my brain

i am wired incorrectly

waking state. Dream world? real noise

the deviant flux lines of my reality skew my already fundemantelly skewed
sliver of broken needle

floating in a magnetic moral puddle

of indignation


and bitter, ugly ego duels.

so i think i've come to the conclusion

that sometimes i say things just because i thing it's a beautiful turn of phrase

even I only mean it in the moment

because I wanted to hear it said aloud;

or see it written down

and that i don't think I know what's real anymore

and what is imagined, complex constructions of an ugly mind

sorry, scratch that

I know what is real.

i just don't know who is real


or others

Tuesday, August 11, 2009

Asheru and the Irish Sinners.

I am the stone that builder refused
I am the visual
The inspiration
That made lady sing the blues

I'm the spark that makes your idea bright
The same spark
that lights the dark
So that you can know your left from your right

I am the ballot in your box
The bullet in your gun
The inner glow that lets you know
To call your brother son
The story that just begun
The promise of what's to come
And I'm 'a remain a soldier till the war is won


was certainly not a dog on acid
(lol what's up patches ^^)

like if all drugs had a colour

acid would be an electric purple with green dendritic sparks

ectasy would be a glowing, humming pastel pink

and psilocybin mushrooms would be a royal, warm blue melting into ochre - smooth and deep and slow


I like scene girls. I dunno. it's a horrible affliction of mine. I mean, their music is shitful to tears but they just make me melt.

They look like a whole bucket of drug fucked guttercrazy

and i can't help but find that attractive.

Monday, August 10, 2009

ecstasy mingling with marshmallows in my mug of hot cocoa

these suicide attempts have to stop.
we all know you're too selfish to ever actually hurt yourself.


beast of burden with the little intricacies
beat the warden, written incoherencies

drawing my attention;; grab and grasp
moan and gasp

will she ever really be free?

will she ever run to me?

my mouth dries to think of her
and, and
with every blistered gum
with every swollen joint

i lie in bed awake and wait

grinding my teeth
to this joke of fate

~don't call me a junkie,
I'm no man's monkey

~don't call me a junkie,
I'm no man's monkey

Sunday, August 9, 2009

tokyo neon orgasms

i have run out of energy with which to hate people with

no more heavy drugs for a while. no more anger and mind games.

no more being 'that guy'.

i need to sort my shit out already; fuck.

Saturday, August 8, 2009

I miss highschool. When did I stop wanting to be a punk rock star? Fuck...

The band has stopped the night is young...
This bar is closed but there'll be more to come...
She whispered softly. "I don't wanna be alone...
Can me and all my friends come back for cones?

I called ahead I felt so cheap
Just to make sure my grandma's sound asleep
I shoulda noticed that her look was kinda smug
She only wants me coz I got the drugs

My mouth was dry my knees were weak
She held my hand as we walked down the street
I didn't give a shit she got my first name wrong
She only wants me for my Bucket Bong
She only wants me for my Bucket Bong

And when we're at home I'm feeling scared
Coz there's no bucket, sink or (vessel?) anywhere
And if she wants a bucket I'll have the last laugh
And she'll hafta have it with me in the bath
She'll hafta have it with me in the bath
She only wants me coz I got the drugs....

Friday, August 7, 2009

i think I'm a little odd

one of my favourite activities these days

is getting thoroughly torched on ecstasy at home

puking violently

listening to dubstep and reading crime novels.

^^ love life.

penrith mood organ

unstoppable basslines for the fresh faced raver
quaver, waver sine wave flavour
can't stop the wriggle the wobble wobble saviour
dubchunk step off and melt down,
rebound and resound
project mental subwoofer like charles xavier
mutant live driver; teflon and paper
copper wrap coil and current to save ya

who's got a cigarette, I quit splitting shit
is this really the crux of it?

Thursday, August 6, 2009



the hunt is on.

at last, worthy prey.

Sunday, August 2, 2009

our weapons were our instruments; made from timber and steel

terahertz eyes
wobble flies, high as a kite
heart flutter - beat touch
jaw bounce and tongue writhe

she has the lips that lie, they say "never"
but you can hear her heart beat "maybe"
the smile, the smile

the smile that lies
the legs that quiver at her very sight

she says I have the face of a jazz saxophonist
and she loves me.

Thursday, July 30, 2009

Visions of Kate Blanchett

Amelia, when asked "Was it awesome, your stay in Australia?"
Said, "Sort of, but short, this land must be God's favourite failure
I left after finding out that even here, even here there is daily a
Dawn, I could just as well choose
Vancouver or the Ivory Coast"
I said "Yes, but in places like those
There are no kangaroos."
A Maya with gloves, once said "Love is like cacao beans"
Well, these visions of Johanna are the darkest pralines.

4, 3, 2, 1 - Go out fighting

embracing digitoxin - with a APC power streak
fuck me dead, freestyling in bed.

little boy blue gotta have that beat
gotta roll gotta dance gotta move his feet
tongue hate the word, lash a whip breaker
but he call hisself a raver
and little girl pink was an ex princess
pretty glow pretty shoes pretty puke
on her pretty pink dress
pretty slow to recognise
the pipez in his eyes
but the beat in his heart
beat true
so little boy blue and the pink princess
danced alone in a warehouse despite the mess
of a hundred fucked kids of the night
rain, hail snow sleet shine and glow
emotions so real smoke wet and smoke slow
gotta move with the flow
roll with the blows like yo' creased with crisco
take you pedal off the floor, you ain't got to go
and just chill to the sound of the L-F-O
wrapped/rapt by the claws that grab
snap your fingers, clap your hands
never surrender to the man's demands
cos the man make money money
never give it to the woman
gotta make you love me, honey
and i gotta keep on trippin

these fools think my skill is slippin.

Tuesday, July 28, 2009

don't play me fo a sucker, bro you know i'm hustler

to the kids and the players
to Mixtapes and arm robbin cassettes:

Dope told me Weed was a crack fiend
but Crack told me Dope was a base head
Hi-hats told police he was just a soldier
he did what the Bass said
The Snare and the Kick didn't make it out alive
The Sample made it out with some money but he died in the ride
The 808 got caught wit some work (He ain't never comin' home)
So the MPC's and the MP3's is fightin over his turf

word - synth war, get up in it? bounce. toke. reverb, redux

revisit the streets, brotha.

Sometimes I disgust even myself.

I just spent an hour jacking off to girls getting raped by dogs.


Tomorrow I shall seek professional help.

Professional help with getting my own trained rape attack dog!

Sunday, July 26, 2009


for breakfast this morning I had three cigarettes and a couple lines of ritalin, then puked blood for a while and washed it down with a red bull.

i fucking hate my life, but I wouldn't have it any other way.

What? you wanted something warm and cuddling?

well, you should have hired someone else to do it then, shouldn't you? I told you to get an actor or a singer or someone else with mental problems. Fuck all of you.

Every day since I've been back in this endless shithole has been like being repeatedly hit over the head with a ball-peen hammer. Every single day, I wake up in the morning and can feel my brain swelling, bulging up against the thin parts of my skull.

If I look in the mirror really closely, I can see where my skin gets sucked in through the tiny cracks in my skull.

One day, big chunks of my head are going to burst off and blood and poison will geyser out of my skull into your faces and you'll all choke on my bile and exploded brain-meat.

Before I am done here, you will all taste my brain meat.

Get off me, you dogfuckers. I'm on a roll, no god dammit don't take away my inhaler you bastard


anyway, an anecdote that may or may not have occured in this reality.

I was in new south wales for a week or so, but by the time I got back, it was like an entire epoch had come and gone.

there are whole chunks of ambient culture I do not recognise.

Yesterday, for instance, a guy offered me a hit of this funky new designer psychomimetic called 'alter'. I didn't have time to run it through the NMR, the marquis gave an innocuous enough result and it seemed optically pure.

No fucker told me that the drug induces a temporary bout of multiple personality disorder.

So I spent ninety minutes completely naked in the cafe/club area of northbridge with my brain trapped in the death grip of Einarr, a syphilis-maddened norse tribal lawman from a circa-1450 scandenevian ghetto.

No, let's get specific here. I spent ninety minutes dispensing ancient wisdom and savage law up and down the street, the alter only wearing off after I brutally beat a ten year old boy. He had been pissing in his little sister's pram while mommy was off down the alleyway buying a touch of discreet oral sex from an out-of-work voice actor named Giles.

These unemployed voice actors gone bad are the worst. When they're not whoring on streetcorners, or trying to look menacing as they loiter around the drama sections of second-hand bookstores, they form gangs that relentlessly try to attach themselves to stylish homosexuals and break all the noise laws by bitching about pretty girls and people with talent.

The bastards.

My MPD faltered just as I was about to dispense viking justice to Gile's tender bits. I settled for branding him and the woman, kicking the ten year old into passing traffic and putting the little girl up for adoption as my only daughter.

You have no idea how much I hate it here.

crank ramble

heart of gold, white line fever
rack it up then crack your back
business cards and fifties either
track your arms, the skin popped black

late night highways and the crystal palace
glass onion and the iron dart
winter dawn and the red wine chalice
handful of valium for the end of the start.

meth benders are good for the soul.

lady Gonzo, wherforeart thou lady gonzo?

she had eyes the colour of 6AM streetlamps in winter
and hand-rolled her cigarettes
shared my love for cheap red wine
and chinese amphetamine

i met her in a bar in Santiago
she was drinking gin and lemon
with a mescal chaser -
we talked of huxley and stevie wonder

we stepped outside to share a cigarette
and briefly - a kiss,
warm and dry like the gin
and never quite enough, like the mescal

then she was gone
and only once I hailed a taxi
to take me back to my hotel
did I realise

that fucking bitch had stolen my lighter!

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

the scratching in the walls

spinnegeist, call me-
click clack, paperback
paperbark? watch them scurry in the dark
peel back the shadows and the skin
i wonder what they're hiding in?
an ever present itch to scratch
the cobwebs in the corner
gutters over run with legs
a tangled joke of order

look left, look right
see them flashing in the night
see the running, clutching claws
that grab and tear and bind
see the spider on the moors
that spin darkness in my mind

smoking is onf those things you do when you hate yourself

like skateboarding, or joining the army.

I like to think of my life as a grand superhighway, suspended in space, coursing through reality.

And I need the extra tar to fill in the potholes and bumps every one of you shitheels puts in my way.

north korea will never nuke the US, quit bitching

Even if they managed to get a couple of missiles off, odds are they would be intercepted by the united state's ridiculous anti-missile budget

like, obama would stand on the giant pile of money they invested in missile defence

and swat nukes out of the sky with a club made of $100 bills.

and about fifteen seconds later korea would be converted to a fine puddle of radiactive glass and ash while every member of the united state's armed forces masturbated to the sight of a midnight sunrise over the ocean and the smell of the world's biggest Korean barbecue restaurant opening on the trans-asian shelf.

if Kim Jong Il actually gave the order to FIRE ZE MISSILES, one of his top generals would be like "What the fuck? The US is going to annihilate us. I enjoy beating up faggots and yoga teachers and molesting my kids WAYYYY too much to let this troll baby get us all killed' and fucking bust a cap in his ass.

and that's why nuclear profileration works. MAD, motherfuckers.

Monday, July 20, 2009


I'm trying to put together a new project, combining elements of psytrance, industrial, dubstep and hip hop for a really neo-urban cybergrime vibe.

I'm looking for anyone who's had experience writing these genres to help me out - I'm not a terribly competent producer, much better DJ. I have Ableton 7, Reason, and a handful of other bits and bobs. You can hear some of my work on my myspace.

Also, I'll be needing a decent MC.


and then the sun shone from below

I was down to my very last song
Didn’t even know which way to go
Couldn’t believe that this was happening
I said God please don’t put me back
I didn’t even see there was blood on the tracks
I was still compromising

And then the rain came and the sun went down below
And the city arose from the water it was off the shore
And I realized what was happening; I had to pay the toll
It’s true that you lose your mind when you gain control

But I was a fool to think I could play this game with you
Cause I was born to walk this higher road forever
There’s no understanding all the things that people do

Cause when this higher road comes down we'll be born together
I said
When this higher road comes down we'll be born forever

I was down to my very last friend
I was on highway seven again
Tell me why it’s so hard to stay
In your place in the arms of the one
Seems I got to close to the sun
I was burning
Burning, burning burning…

And then the rain came and the sun went down below
And the city arose from the water and the water flowed
And then I realized what was happening; You have to pay the toll
It’s true that you gain your soul when you lose control

Fool to think I could play this game with you
Cause I was born to walk this higher road forever
See there’s no understanding all the things that people do

But when this higher road comes down we'll be born together
I said
When this higher road comes down we'll be born forever

At night I toss and turn, cause it seems that I haven’t learned
That the more that you fight and the more that you try
That’s the way that you making the storm
If I had my way, I would bring you back to stay
But you’re gone
All I got is the crown that your wore
Is the crown that you wore