Does it matter if I stop breathing and smiling inanely With thoughts that can cut veins ever so insanely? I don’t know how deep is the grand Canyon I have never been there, nor have I carried on Any desire to meet Stanley Livingstone alone In an African jungle worrying about his pension What are we doing wading through streams Of information that have no meaning but seems To occupy even the smallest minds inside heads, I’m steeped in memory but then that is my age Where memory takes the place of reality, on my page Anything goes and it usually does, and it returns But that is hardly my fault I was only looking to relearn A lesson no one had taught me so the laughing begins My head on the arms whilst sleeping in class wins My praise because the lessons are full of horse manure And teachers need to be culled for the biggest cure that humans have ever known, then we start again swimming every ocean climbing every mountain. There are dots all over my page where a universe sits And I can see the people inside, they want a real fix I smoked weed, spoke to the caterpillar on a mushroom he was half way to coming back again, so very soon but had missed every bus put out by Transport of London. I left my heart in an English Gardener said Christian Barnard I gave him the wrong blue pills and he swore revenge. Did I drive a Triumph Toledo in the raging cold snow I think about it but honestly I don’t really know, In café bars, sleazy saloons I feel the cheap perfume With smudged lipstick red faces and failing mascara The ladies of the night settled for the usual routine Even on days when they wanted to be never seen Walking that street devoid of humanity and so mean wrenched out their hearts, now it’s like a money machine. Does it matter that Mickey Mouse may have been a girl, Some say so, but then they have the tolerance of Goering, His sandwiches were wet because his wife liked tomatoes, His face looked like he’d eaten a ton of lemons though. Then I met this guy standing at a bus stop and he told me Buses I want are going in the opposite direction you see, He knew he was standing at the wrong bus stop and boasted about it, I thought he’d been watching the BBC that fucks up the brain rearranges logic and vomits garbage into my lap so that I stank of corrupted news, I could not listen to the smiling faces nor their biased views, I knew they suffered from withered cocks without juices But you try interviewing one of them, you need a banana Each time you try, for they ape reality without knowing. Allen Ginsberg was going to move in next door so I was told I said but he died years ago – I was trashed for being bold Never a Howl was heard so I knew he hadn’t moved near, It doesn't matter, really?
Cool subjective looks go deep The languishing desert – so bleak With time like a dagger in the hand, This moment makes impressions in the sand.
The ridiculous smile inside a tomb The laughing – coming into this room And the look – rapidly ageing The minute – watching, not sleeping
II
The cool look buried in the sand The lively legs, moving too grand The lying sun, giving without measure As the tomb moves to the edge, closer, closer
A door opens and a fraction of light enters The window shuts and the wind gentles The cool looks go deeper, deeper But the impressions fade slower, slower
Being close to the edge, into a winter Where the air is gentle and thinner Looking over into a slowing tomb, I’m listening, to the falling snow, in my room
III
Closer, come closer the edge ever closer Look down the outlook forever Subject the moment in time, to a smile Impress the desert sands to new time Measure the sun’s giving .. closer, closer. Closer to the edge – listen for the words! Close to the edge – giving back the clouds!
(C18 Is Combat 18 a neo-Nazi terrorist organisation that was founded in 1992) Written by me after watching World In Action ITV programme
The iron fist that dismantles membranes From blood vessels, ideas dismantled, To leave them in a pool of incomprehension Igniting the porch mats of radical bookshops Blazing the homes of Hindus and Muslims: Not hiding the pleasure of hatred The Iron Fist of C18 bludgeons the senses Sends tremors throughout activists everywhere.
The Nazi creed is a shield For their love of violence Their dedication to spreading fear Is the terror weapon that neutralises dissent
Threatening phone calls to lonely women Beating up pacifists, liking the sound of crunching bones Organising extreme actions Leaving the dead and dying like stones.
Epitaph: To do nothing to say nothing never to oppose Is like supporting violence and terror of those Who want a return of Adolf Hitler I suppose
I was dragged down like a stone Deep into an ocean full of horror And kept a prisoner of other’s wants. But I bounced back up again, no error.
I was punched and bullied into a pulp Humiliated into silent self-loathing And kept down in the mud like a dog. But as always I bounced back again.
I was buried inside a family of murderers Who wanted revenge for things I did not do, And used the excuse of ignorance, so sly! But I would not lie down, I bounced back.
I was seduced to have sex by my sister Who kissed my lips when I was only thirteen, I learned much about her warped desires And became attracted to cold looking women.
I was crushed under the feet of teachers Who enjoyed hitting little boys bottoms. I had to keep smiling so no one would know. But I bounced back again, sometimes smiling.
I was deserted by reason and was tortured And denied the pleasure of being touched; For decades I lived in a desert of thorns. But, as usual, I bounced back again in tears.
I was used by people who laugh behind masks, who destroyed my reputation and honour For their own amusement and fulfilment. But did I bounce back again, cold faced?
I am prepared for any assault on my person For I have learned about abuse at first hand Never will I stand and take the blows again, Can I say for sure that I bounced back again?
I’ll take the same direction everyday I’ll make the present despite what you say I’ll take a combination of what’s true I’ll make the next condition truly blue
I wrote the puzzle in only 3 tries But the message hadn’t arrived For the condition is blue You’ll see the moon in my eyes You’ll find a smile upon a rise Upon a hill, upon a golden day.
Condition blue blue Is drifting out of you, you ‘n’ me see it all the way ‘n’ when you want to smile again You won’t think of blue just then.
Blue moon in June Can never really be too soon Speak your opinions Make the day last until the present For it was ever so deeply blue You won’t want another colour, this hue You’ll find your lover and friend on cue You won’t remember the condition called blue.
Video my long standing sides The prides In as I’m on the box with smiles Video my day and turn the mirror around Video the head heap .. now listen to the sound
“Walking down the staircase 1950’s glasses glint in terror and lace The bodies are piled high The garden has overflowed The killing, many years past, shown”.
Video my daydreams Play it all through the night
“ .. rain cascaded in torrents The roads are almost blocked Sheets of water crashing down”. The lonely motel where no one goes His mother is reincarnate in his body His hands grip the blade of a knife The gaunt house upon the hill Amplifies that all is ill For a mother couldn’t Couldn’t really kill!
Change the video wash out the black and white Cream the screen, splash the colour in….
“flitting back over the throttled throats The disgraced policeman played the gas joke Many women became famous victims And timothy hung in the air for the crows.
Video the backdrop Lance the casting Prepare the next few hours of….
“like the taut guitar string That’s ready to snap, real things Go bump in the night So, shit, where’s the damn light? You draw the stake up over your head Ready to plunge into the coldest heart, To seal the fate of the undead To destroy his every part.”
“ … for a damsel so sweet so fair What would she want of me A creature with lop sided frame A curled face Deaf through living with the bells A ghost of the monsters that live in hell I should perish here as the fires lap The famed hunchback shall welcome the trap”.
Record the latest video Try the instant replay, Look out for the blips, the snow, the haze….
Waving hills, home to the blue antelope, shimmered like disturbed still water, The reflections turn into fragmented pieces of glass like images, after The disturbance has died away, light thrown from the sun bounces forward, Trying to capture the rays, given the speed, they rush crazily toward The hills where the original drama first occurred, home to the blue antelopes.
As they say waving not drowning, but are we in time to save the sinking body? Standing on the river bank, watching a flailing arm reach up towards the sun Body sinking fast amidst bubbles of confusion, pretty much, with this world, done. But water was not their friend, it was the killer, although unwittingly, The hills stood by, continued to wave, and the blue antelope sat down and wept.
There was a strange fence at the bottom of my garden that I was forbidden to go near, But people being what they are, I could not resist a short peak over there, It yielded no real answers apart from re-running old dreams, on worn out film. It showed a man on his knees trying to clean the broken tiles outside a church, He was bothered that the millions of cracks would hold some nasty germs.
I was invited to supply information about the white hot ants invading my arm, I dropped the needle on the floor as the soft clouds carried me away from harm, I was in Grand Central Station like commotion in the eyes and the mind, not relaxed I journeyed down into the mud flats of the Thames Estuary, not really facts That would disturb anyone, nor make waves, but it happened anyway.
There are patterns expressed as distant clouds, they are not easy to realise, But dismiss them at your peril, make sure you know what you’re doing and why. Take a page from your latest book and eat it, try not to vomit it back again, There is mileage in watching the blue antelope look so crest fallen and in pain; Water is the giver of life to all plants, animals and people, but it also kills.
No real comfort for the grieving blue creature, no one said much, we all kept quiet, A hand was placed upon the back of the antelope to sooth its shaking from tears; The smile of a blue antelope regained its position upon its very beautiful face, The day was marked in tragedy, it kept people asking all the wrong questions, What were people doing swimming across a river that had claimed so many lives?
DISSENTERS VOICE 