Sunday, May 31, 2009

Collected Writings - 04


i play/i hunt
i laugh/i rage
i write/i kill
i feel/i deny
i sleep/i scream
i dream/i rot
i skin/i fur
i live/i die



gold-leaf moth wings watch them flutter - so fragile
touch it (touch her)
the surface flakes away
she (he) cannot stray far
cannot stay on course
disturbed wings cannot support
brushing the mantle
dodged the flames for ten minutes
then touches - ends
narrowly avoiding contact


"Phucked Up"

The girl in the photograph
Never knew what hit her
Had never heard of benzene
or polystyrene
Had never thought that
One day, her world would be ashes
Had never tasted burning hair, meat, and rubber
Before today
And never knew herself
Until the shutter snapped for a instant
Frozen fire
And then, everybody knew her.


"Two Acetyl Groups doth not a Killer make"

Saline with pheno-barbital
Intravenous pentothal
Shots of grain Alcohol
All to inhibitons quell
The new religion hydrolysed
To time-release the terrorised
Their prescriptions subsidised
So they won't think to open eyes
Running with diazepam
From factories in Pakistan
Methadone, Mirtazapine
To keep you home, to keep you clean
The wild child of thalidomide
Fluoxetine for the times you tried
To end your life, to end your strife
With ibuprofen, china white
Birch reduction turns the pill
That treats the cold, and minor ills
To “killer dope” - Please check his file!
Hypocritic Oath reeks of denial
This is the drug to focus child!
A pill for itch, a pill for scratch
- But they have yet to trace the batch
That caused those growths inside the rats
Insufflated, sublingual youth
All the toys of poisoned youth
Taken with food (three times a day)
Oh, god bless the FDA.

Collected Writings - 03

"Weeping Wheel"

Final night
I see the stars
Suprising, for the noise of cars
And highways lit by iron light

Silent dark so broken now
By cries remiss of shotgunned cows
What is this truth? I doubt it's real
Fall asleep to stealer's wheel

I know that when I wake I'll weep
I wish i had some fucking weed.


"Chi'ins Begets"

Roam the streets
Of green and gold
Till blood runs thick
And wind blows cold
The simple things
like fish and chips
A buttered ring
A sheet of trips
To make you sing
A quiet trick
To turn or two
My brain is slick
My aim is true
The city lights are coming down
With muddy tweak and reptile frown
I cannot speak to save my soul
Ketamine begets my hole


"Finite Incantantum"

The solvent cunt
The gasoline
The bloody shirt
The muffled scream
The dripping skirt
The sodden rag
The deepest cut
The burning flag
I cannot taste my copper tongue
This party isn't very fun
The iron tooth
The keratin
I'd rather die
Then live in sin
Of burning truth
Considerate art
The lights are cut
And so it starts

Collected Writings - 02

"Pale Horse"

blood is drawn - with pencil or with razor?
art is torn - from flesh or from the paper?
the woken dream
the silent scream
the eye that cannot see
the god-forsaken claws that clutch
at him, and her, and me.
the pale horse rides across the sky
round jupiter and mars
it's rider dragging lariat souls
to sow amongst the stars


"psychoactive ramblings"

breakfast in bed
of drippings and dark rye
the wet red curtains
that rim a grown man's eye
the crypto-fascist tryptych
god's eleusian lie
i lay my tendons down to rest
and fall into the sky


"Four O'Clock Chess"

sheltered lines behind wood scales
despite the rolling glimpse of sails
the churning sea has washed the port
with charcoal

and cigarettes with filters pale
smoulder laughter in the mail
which the mailman fails to deliver
on time

the whispered truth of carbon steel
nailed to the karmic wheel
the monkey king has signed
the buddha's fingers

The ground awash with falling hail
Denotes anachronistic trails
And yellow bastards creep like shadowed

The foghorn lights the albatross
While councilmen all double-cross
The mariner, who catches them
their staples

Collected Writings - 01

This begins a short series of spacefiller blog entries where I dig through my old deviantart and notebooks and dig up some f my older creative works. I haven't written poetry in quite some time. I really should again.

"Poe M"

once upon a midnight dreary
walked a man who, worn and weary
stopped and smiled
with the moon above

weeks ago he, drunk and bleary
left his heart with a girl named mary
she took him in
and made a fool of love

neath his tongue the fruit of leary
he waits, debating quantum theory
hoping one day
his words she will be proud of


"Renaissance Men"

the condemned man
asked for a cigarette
denied the blindfold
and stared down the firing squad

the damned man
took off his trousers
used his belt to bind his daughter
and fucked a pathto hell

the lost man
sat in the cubicle
loosened his tie
looked out his window
and dove into the sun


"City Life"

ikiss your concrete cheek
and grip your rusted bone
slick the coal ash
from your tarmac skin
taste the diesel tears
on your glass eyes
brush your razor hair
and fuck your sweaty sky
i can hear the parasites
they lurk and creep
in your gritty corner aisles
my city sleeps
i lay beside her
and quietly, I cry.

Tuesday, May 26, 2009


Crack your lips, suck the marrow from her bones. Bend over backwards and listen to your spine pop. We are the lotus eaters, we are the hollow men. We are awash in a land of great fury and white lightning - But can you see through this purple haze? Great clouds of white fluff, silver needles streaking from above, striking us, turning us on and forcing us to crane out necks upwards, feeling vertebra grumble and complain until, finally, we can see the face of bears staring down at us, eating our bile and spitting acid rain in return.

Microfilaments of copper wire spool around my bones, my heart is pumping, leaping up out of my chestr and into my throat - I can feel this strange fluid burning in my aorta, splashing over and into my lungs every second moment, a quaint blend of ethanol, water and shard reality.


Cannulate this brief segment of humanity, drain what little resistance I have left and bottle it, put it in the fridge in an amber vial with a grain of dry ice - My hollow veins will then remember what it feels like to be alone in the world, for those endless minutes before the thumb plunges and prints, pushes and spikes forcing a thick stream of orange sunshine into my frontal lobe, irreversible, undying and ceaseless run-on sentences...

In the land of the needle-eaters.

Let us pray for the Brotherhood, for their infinite compassion, and for their understanding of the sufferings of us unawakened individuals. May they realize that there are many who could benefit from their understanding here and now. We could only hope that they will recognize the need amongst us and they will respond out of their compassionate grace to help us in these dark times. We must generate the loving consciousness that has been lost in this decade... We must develop loving-kindness for all of our brothers and sisters, and we must share these qualities with everyone at all times. The time has come, my dear Brothers, for a reawakening of the values, of which you hold so dear, let us continue what you have started. We wait with patience for your response... And we shall continue to wait for as long as it takes.

Breathe deep - Seek Peace. Understanding is just around the corner, in a 24-hour carpark near you.

Hunab Ku, the search for glass and crystal, and an eternal mire.

I sit here, endless evenings passing in the dim glow of my computer monitor.

I go out in the day, do what I must, and will at some point invariably wind up discussing some form of chemical poetry with one colleague or another. But I am hampered - By the small-mindedness of government officials, the secretive seclusion of those 'in the know', hampered because I cannot for the life of me seem to obtain even the most rudimentary of glassware required for organic synthesis. I have been piecing together, for the past six months or so, and have endured losses, breakages by the untrained and foolish, raid scares and authoritarian interference. I still have not even managed to obtain a condenser, RBF, or stirrer.

This, as one might imagine, vexes me. I can tell you, almost to a tee, how to manufacture highly effective amphetamine analogues from over the counter precursors, I can intimitely describe the poetry in watching phases seperate as you titrate a nonpolar straight to base wash of longifolia bark, but SWEET FUCKING GODS ABOVE I simply cannot place my sweaty fucking nitrile wrapped fingers on a goddamn distillation kit.

I'll find away around this. I need to get the ball rolling, get out of this debt-hole I'm sinking into and FUCKING DO SOMETHING WITH MY LIFE.

Sunday, May 24, 2009

I just won the game.

Realisation came suddenly, with the biting edge like the winter wind that descended so swiftly on this little city - So unexpected, so shocking and almost painful, and yet, so welcomed.

I broke the loop, you see. How is it often said? You can't win, you can't break even, and you can't stop playing. Well, I won the game. I'd dug myself a hole five miles deep and two feet wide, and I was staring up at a pinhole - But now, I beat the punchline to the punch, pulled myself out and found an amber spyglass at the top, through which I can see, clearly - The scanner is not reflecting myself, I thought I saw purity but really I saw asymmetrical perfection. The interpretation of a reality so close to mine, so close to where I want mine to be that I thought it was mine, but no, this is a future far more fulfilling and healthy, for that matter.

She made me realise, you see, that there are no loops on acid. You don't run in circles. you simply start a thought, and, partway through, get distracted by some shiny flying fractal and derail your train of thought. Then, once back on track, you need to start all over again. You get distracted again, and the cycle repeats - Never to reach conclusions, and it feels like you're just chasing your tail. So you're not stuck in the 'loop', white rabbit, you're just starting over and over again - And with the right application of concetration and peacefullness, one can eventually get to the end of that pathway, that mind track, and reach a conclusion.

And conclusions I have wrought. As you say, you still wants to be friends - Regrets come swiftly, it seems, but such suggestions decry an intense emotional naivety, the theme of our relationship pageant - Wrought out down the main streets, loud, brash and colourful for the whole world to see as we pulled each other to bits. I'm not saying I hate her, quite the opposite - But to assume that everything can be peachy-keen after still barely a fortnight, that I can return and all will be well, that we can all hang out and have super-awesome sessions and sit around dribbling shit... To suggest such actions is either naivety to the nth, or it means that all is not as well as she hoped it would be.

Either way, I have no time for it. I have, in a word, found my Elektron (It's all greek to me, do you understand? haha!) and we orbit each other, for now indefinetly.

She likes escalators, cheap red wine and wants to learn to cook speed. She is real - She is human. She is true compassion, not this face-on facade of peace and spirituality, corrupted to allow you to do whatever you wish in the name of God. Debate all you will - You have the right intentions but the wrong implementation. it is never about the final destination, it's about the journey and who you walk beside along the way. You might end up in the 'right' place, but you have taken the wrong path and eventually you will again walk alone. When you do, remember my words. I'll always be here when (and not if) you need to connect with someone again, but it will not, and cannot be in the same way hence. love is a powerful word - One I don't bandy around without truly meaning it - And I meant it every time. I do love you, Angie. But the part of me that loves you, you have consumed. You keep it in a jar on your shelf, whether you mean to or not. I think one day you will let it out, or even bring it to my yourself...

But when that time comes... Will I accept your gift? I know that in the six months we were in love, I grew so much and yet so little. I am, now, who I need to be - And it is time for me to do what I need to do.

Here comes the chemistry - Debate insipid reality against inspired fantasy - try and figure out which world you're living in.

Thursday, May 21, 2009

The Great Shark Hunt

I cannot, for the life of me, understand why i tolerated this for so long. I am a psyentist. I approach my world with open arms and open mind, but I do not subscribe to baseless specualation, I do not act on whims and them blame it on fate. To play games with the heart is the domain of children, and to then patronise those you toy with - As if they somehow cannot comprehend the mysterious workings of your god - Is downright insulting.

I never have been content to spend my life working in a tireless, thankless, meaningless job, nor to fill my lungs with cone after lungwrenching cone of greenish cannabinoid haze - I've always hough of myself as something of a social shark. Not in the predatory, hidden-fear kinda way, not because I feel like I have ice hiding in my pupils and you can see the colour of space somewhere behind them - But because I need to keep moving or I will die. Stagnation and complacemency is the bane of evolution - When you are happy you want to stay happy. You will not want to change anything, to explore your life.

I revel in this misery, as I force the future across my gills.

I have reached astonishing clarity in my life, though a mindbending combination of megadosing certain water-soluble vitamins, intelligence enhancers, neurotransmitter analogues and essential amino acids. Also a large amount of amphetamines.

I can't be too angry, really. Humans will be so painfully human, and children will be so painfully childish. I can't let myself get caught up, dragged down and torn to pieces in the feeding frenzy.

I embrace love, and light, and colour. I know what these words mean. I breathe deep and seek peace, I smoke until my throat bleeds and drop capsule after capsule of exotic enzyme modulators, the kind of things the military experimented with for a while until it was determined that they were irreversibly searing the corpus callosum of their test subjects - But, I feel, that with the appropriate neuroprotective regimen of antioxidants and biogenic polyphenols, such as I am presently undertaking, I should be more then fine.

I can feel the subwoofer in my chest, keeping the beat while the thereman in my frontal lobe warps time and space.

I can taste my thoughts.

Bring me the party. Throw me a bone. Get on board the almighty steamboat as we chug merrily towards oblivion.

In a week or two, once I can see how this regimen is going to treat me, I think I shall start dabbling in megadose psychedelics, just for funsies. About twenty-two hundred mikes should be a good start, probably with some cimetidine and harmala alkaloids. A little magnesium to taste and with any luck, I should be able to see through time.

Long live the istigkeit!

Monday, May 18, 2009

ForceWA is a fucking joke

For those of you who don't understand why doofers take such pains to ensure that we are not lumped in the same group as ravers, I suggest you attend a 'Bush Rave' some day.

The location was not too hard to find, despite the best efforts of the simplistic directions - There was no gate, no directions on where to park, or for that matter, any lighting along the way. i am astonished nobody was struck by a car during the night.

The night, though, was a lot of fun. I really enjoyed it. I was sober, roaming about between dance floor, fire, and the various clusters of cars purveying fine chemicals and chatting with those I knew, and meeting a lot of those I didn't. It was cool.

It was when you looked closer, though, that things started to come apart at the seams. A doof's sound system is usually extremely well thought-out, in terms of placement, specifications and quality. ForceWA had a large pile of black boxes on a trailer off to one side, pointing over the dancefloor, with no visible regard to superposition, constructive interference, etc... No to mention that they were totally exposed to the elements, and had a sudden shower come from nowhere they would have been quite thoroughly ruined. The generator was only a few metres behind the DJ booth - Now, of course you should keep it as close as possible to avoid losses over long cable runs, but this was ridiculous, as the genny was drowning out all possibility of speech back there, as well as most of the music.

Just before the sun rose, I decided it was about time I got resoundingly high. Having previously dosed well in excess of 1500ugs (10+ drop doses are my usual preference) I did not think there would be any issue having a five-drop. Truth be told, I had not slept in more then five days, and I didn not know what effect (if any) it would have on the experience.

Either not sleeping magnifies LSD or this is the strongest batch yet, but within forty five minutes of dancing to some very enjoyable D&B I found myself having to sit down, struggling to roll a cigarette and trying to hold back tears. My saviour appeared, rolled my smoke for me and sat and talked for a while. Then, more dancing. I was having a great time. Then, the sun began to rise, the DJ changed, and the whole world went to hell.

I'm not sure whose idea it was that Gabber and Terrorcore were to be the tunes for the morning, but it was a downright fucking retarded one. To be perfectly frank, I don't even consider them music after that episode - Angie and I had to walk for some distance until we were far enough away that the screaming and 180bpm bass beat (which is about all most of the tracks consisted of) were no longer physically assaulting my brain. We watched the scene unfolding, people yelling, some angry, some just enjoying themselves, bottles and cigarette butts everywhere.

I like heavy, intense music -At the right time. Fast-paced nightpsy, gabber, dark D&B, the whole darker side of dance music is most definetly a 'night time' theme - Morning are for funky tunes, when your pills have worn off and all you want to do is funk around and chill and smile at everyone.

The area this event was held in was something of curious beauty, once. It had obviously been strip-forested, for the ground was mostly gravel with the occasional large pile of felled trees, before fading into bushland. By the morning, it looked like dresden, with cars crushing the new foliage struggling to grow, people clambering over it all, pulling it up to fuel the fire. It looked and sounded like a riot was about to break out, as dozens of angry, drunk ravers up to their eyeballs in speed stomped out to an amateurish combination of Anal Cunt-esque vocals and a rhythm section that sounded like a bag of hammers being dropped into a rainwater tank and kicked down he stairs.

This is not just me complaining about the music because it's not my thing - Hell, I'm not a big fan of anything much over 150bpm usually, but there was some really excellent tunes being played that night which I got thoroughly stuck into. But the shit being played from sun-up simply highlighted the failings of this scene.

I watched a beautiful area of bushland torn apart by selfishness, indulgences of violence. I watched ugly people expressing themselves in base, primitive fashion - it all boiled down to simple gratification of their animal instincts - Eat, fuck, get high. If that's wat they want to do, more power to them. If they're not interested in developing their conciousness, so be it.

I like to party - I'm not here to shit on you because I'm some uptight 35y/o square who doesn't 'understand the music', and I'm not here to take some nancy reagan-esque judgement on drug use, because, shit. I like to get high, too. But that's kind of the whole point. We all like to party. We all like to get high. But we're all human beings, and that means showing respect for each other, and our environment.

If you want to act like animals, do so. By all means, enjoy yourself. But don't go out and destroy our bushland to do so.

ForceWA, stay in the city. You clearly don't understand how to run an event in the bush and your patrons are nowhere near mature enough to party there responsibly.

Saturday, May 16, 2009

Love poem for my neurons.

The speed to eat your sense away
Drink to keep it all so fluid
Angel for a sweeter sorrow
And the street to hold the axe.
How far you've come, to do it now,
and what grotesque props
Playgrounds hung in space, castles hermetically sealed
The rarest rots of old Europa, dead men sealed in little boxes,
magic out of china.

Tuesday, May 12, 2009

A warped sense of satisfaction

Reflexive psychology creates a cyberstatic equilibrium - We are the Sprawl.

Denoting emotion with word is useless, feelings surge and rush like data, like blood - Like light on a grey pavement. Puddles of truth that you can see yourself in - At least, you hope that's you. And it's not something on the other side staring back.

What is bitterness? The finality, the frustration, the resentment of being passed over? irrelevant. Recompense. Relax. Evolve and understand - You are the neon chrysanthemum, the terrible red wash that swoops through the world at the speed of dark. You are the harbringer of peace and the foreshadow of destruction. You are... You.

Evolve. Force this evolution. Get past the pettiness - Present the truth and allow those who need it to be happy together. Your tendons are meat, mine are steel - My teeth are ferrocerium and my brain is hardwired. I am above this and I won't be decieved again.

I see the world through a constantly rotating prism, the full spectrum of pain and light played out on the wall I face, every morning when I wake up. The sun always rises at the same angle but the diffraction patterns tell me, every morning, that something has changed and evolved. I watch ribbons of light curling out of my fingertips as I taste lysergic chaos sweeping into my synapses, melting into every neural pore.

Electrify your senses. Overclock your soul. Stick your goddamn in this metaphysical light socket we call psychedelia and let your spirit blossom. Transcend your mortal bounds - Find your frequency. Harmonise. Revel in the beauty you create but never let the flashing neo-Tokyo arcade games and empty syringes distract you from the details. God is in the details.  The problem, and the solution, is in the details.

Wander freely - Stay untethered and keep your head above the emotional plimsoll line. Cut the flux lines and drop the bullshit - Welcome to the future.

Sunday, May 10, 2009

Welcome to tonight's concert.

Slash and burn tactics cleanse pain from memory, the good times contrasted against the bad times, reflected in a puddle of crocodile tears and pseudoemotion. I see through a scanner, clearly, but the lense is cracked and every day the fissure changes its place. It seems like every twelve hours my life backflips and everything is plunged into shit. I'll spend fifteen minutes huddled in the foetal position sobbing, I'll chainsmoke until I cough blood, and then I'm on top of the world for most of the day.

Unless someone mentions her name.

but y'know, I'm not going to get too stuck into it all. This is not the place.

What this is the place for is to demonstrate, explain and try to imagine the future. Things in my life have taken a definite turn - I couldn't say for the worse, though they have - Because for every major downturn there's a major upturn. I stand now, alone, relishing the cold and bitter night because I goddamn refuse to put a sweater on, just to spite my mother. I like it. it reminds me I'm alive.

So on the whole, my life is just turning. Corners, hairpins, and hopefully not rolling into a ditch.

I'm not going to tell you everything about why my life is shitty right now - I already did to someone once today and I reaised how goddamn pathetic I sounded, and realised that if I could talk to myself six months ago, past-Dr. would slap me in the face and tell me to harden the fuck up. Conversely I'm not going to tell you why my life is awesome right now - it might ruin things that are still slowly clicking into place and growing to motion.

It's time to capitalise on this - I think I hate myself, so I'm willing to take stupid risks and engage in self destructive behaviour. I'm emotionally vulnerable, so it's easy to pick up on the emotions of those plants and beings around me. And i'm resolved to take my music into the public eye, break into the scene. I'm just going to be the best goddamn Me I can be, maximise the oppurtunities that lay in front of me without having to dwell on insecurities or perpetually complain about emotive issues.

Who knows? maybe two or three or fifteen years down the track we'll meet up again and things might work better. I'm not holding my breath though. In the past six months I have evolved more then i have in the prior eighteeen years. I cannot for the life of me imagine where I will be in six months time from now, but I have some basic points I know I want to enforce -

1. Be playing regular sets at doofs
2. For the project to be well and truly underway
3. Have saved enough cash for Rainbow Serpent 2010.

These aims, I do not think, are very far out of my reach. Onwards, then. Into the istigkeit.