Passengers

Socrates, the philosopher not the footballer, although I guess they both kicked things around, one on the field of play and one back in the day when philosophy made for a great party. me and ‘crazy horse’ civilisation? tea? but of course and a Garibaldi. Brokers. Carving the dinner every one a winner except for…

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Daisy chains

We could always go fishing, he said, wishing there was something else they could do, but fate had denied him the chance to have pride in an imagination that did not exist. Stretching out like a cat uncurling flexing. I used to do it if you can believe it stretching out like a flag unfurling…

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2019

Looking back on easy is not so hard when things get tough, that shuffle thing I do when largactil’s running through me and I’m not so sure I am me is okay, The cotton wool that fills my brain becomes the wadding to ease my pain and whatever pill comes next is not that bad…

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Tuned in

Feeling it? I am though not a lot just a little bit. Tubes. He looks like him off the TV flat cap and an Emmerdale CV but it’s probably not him at all. Red riding hood looks good I have to admit but there are wolves everywhere so don’t sit over there you’re safer near…

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Last night

I got lost in the best of it you reminded me about the rest of it and now it’s Sunday morning…

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Nibbles at biscuits

Frustration is no pretense when the words that you form barely form into a sentence, but writing is a life sentence, isn’t it? I need to get away, take a holiday, somewhere far away from the paper and pen, but what would I do then? When I am smudged against the sky and all things…

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Talking out loud

Beating myself up and kicking myself when I’m down. I am done with doing it too many self-inflicted wounds, but I understand that some people love it when some people go under, I often wonder about them. Getting on with being John is a fight in itself, I don’t need spectators…

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January the sixty second

It’s a symphony, the pit a pat that’s raining in on me and the silence is an awful blow when I close the bedroom window. The Winter melody makes the melancholy tuneful and she said, ‘…just a spoonful..’ but the sugar never was as sweet as being out there on the street in the rain…

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Washing machines

I am next to nowhere now and somehow it feels quite right, there’s nothing like being savaged or being the salvage of the night. I was the last option, the take it or leave it, she left it and me lonely. But I woke into the sunlight of a novel I was reading which ended…

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Crax in the ceiling

Nobody’s sure anymore about what we felt sure of before we weren’t sure and I am not sure anyway. But we built our houses from straw spit and sawdusted the floor what were we waiting for? absolution? absolutely? well Pan played the pipes like a flute he was a ram of a man, are you…

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Unknown

A consumable, but renewable. waste not what you want not because some ain’t got ‘jack’ and in two shakes of a sparrers tail they’d have the shirt off your back. Energy, though not necessarily efficiency gets me through until I get home and to you. as an afterthought, if I ever get to the top…

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Tango

Wouldn’t you like to do re-writes of those Saturday nights and repair all the wreckage left behind? Memory is the best editor I know, the darkness of yesterday can glow in those dull dusty places to illuminate faces that I almost forget. But I’m kidding no-one not even myself, you can’t re-write a book when…

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When Sunday falls

For the times we’re not sure for the work we endure, is there a cure? will someone assure me will someone insure me against all of these trials…

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When Saturday don’t sit right

You might not want to believe, but forced into the food they feed you are chains of molecules that can only lead you to wanting more, if the proof is in the pudding what more than proof is it you need? Addiction on a grander scale. let’s get ’em hooked suck ’em in and take…

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Jericho

The reaper keeps a place for me in between ‘the agony and the ecstasy’ it’s a book I’ve yet to read. I’m listening for the trumpet call waiting for the walls to fall but hoping he won’t have the gall to say my number’s up. Meanwhile, I’m moseying poking my nose in wondering where do…

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Woke

A suite of dreams sweeter dreams it must be nearly Friday…

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Things that drop off

Minus two degrees in and freezing, so I’m jogging along like a crazy man trying to garner some heat. They say it’ll snow I don’t know if that’s true, but my hands are quite blue because I forgot to take gloves. If I don’t jog I shall shrivel away to become an outline in the…

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The old pier

We could augment it use bricks and cement it, paint it blue and admire it, or just leave it alone. what do you make of it? change for the sake of it or just leave it alone? Eventually if nothing is done it’ll disappear and we can pretend that it was never here, the argument…

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About taste

The poetry came from a dream which in itself was quite obscene and the rhymes reflected that, but times being as they are, anything taken beyond the edge is considered as taking it too far, so the admin’ host removed my post as is his right to do. but life isn’t banal it’s carnal, feral,…

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