and the new sporadic Moon

On Sporadic free mind nights, I glean hope
and listful wish for merriment and the melting innovative
wash
of inevitable crisis overcome
by intelligent design fantastical
and moral awakened ’man of the dirt

On erratic scream in the coming dark days I curse
evolution
creating this beast
and what sociopathic greed malevolent stare into extinction and laugh
with bursting paper green eyes
and wish it never envisaged

On habitual sunken eyes of the afternoon rise
I sit idly slouching by
and watch madness curtail madness uncoil
within our blackened hearts
and frostbitten toes of the retreating soul
and stupefy the mind
with unfathomable awe at my impossible present... Being

And the New Moon sets the eternal cycle in motion once more

Defense Rations

I'm addicted
                                                  to doing nothing
or flushing my life away into the plastic ocean                   to swim with cigarette ends
                                                                                                                                         and endless bottle caps
and a corked archipelago
stained the colour of ethanol blood
                                                                                  all the while telling myself                     that it'll work out
living your dreams in your imagination               
                                                                                                                                is ok
when it's as vivid as mine
                                                                                                                                                             or yours.

                                                                                   I once read
that Einstein worked 4 hours                                                                                            a day
                                                      and he was a frizzy geinus
        so why shouldn't that be true
of me                                                                                                                                                     or you
           i ask myself
                                                                                    though i know i know sure, i know
it's all conciliatory lies
                                           comforting shameful delusionary conciliatory lies
                                                                                                                                and yet it still remains
the rational defense of a lazy beanpole
                                                                 trapped for a quarter century
                                                                                                 in what if's and drowning imaginary possibilities
and christ       
                               what if you actually make it?

Fuck you

sip on my watermelon nectar
sit down and watch me
make a fool of myself
singing to JT you cringe while
I'm in my element element basic 00's element
you know you feel it
nodding your head in a secret ashamed guilty groove
my homeless hair swaying
prancing through the fairy air
as we sip gay gordons
through llama and cactus straws
sometimes you cry
and I cry too but we do it together
shut out the backwards falling backwards criminally insane indoctrination nuthouse world
pretend it's not there
for a moment
we exist in this outrageous space
multi-faceted as joseph's coat we pass
through
screaming haemorrhaging gacking fracking
deep the buried joy we'll find
love and joy and togetherness and not giving a shit
we'll know forevermore
because fuck you
depressive black beast always
we'll get you
and shove you deep up your own hollow vacuous rectum
never to return
motherfucker fuck you

The Devil’s Work

How often do you think
a Devil doth lie
and greet you as an angel
just to squeeze into
a soulful pantie
and twist it awful wedgie tight
whilst you holla righteous holy purpose

and how many once courteous
are now finished broken
at the hands of a monster
so belligerent and coy
it's forlorn to tell the difference

it happens so often
by earthen hands
whose aren't so always kniving dastardly
thieving
as monsters proposing as angels
that it must
though you'd never know for sure

Ode to YOU

There are millions of writers

who are better than me

wittier and more expressive than me

almost all of them

in fact

and many more

who should be poets

and don’t know it yet.


But

none of that matters

I love this shit

and one day

if just enough people

can feel me

and I’ve lived just slightly enough

to fill that bar of happiness

every single body seeks

I’ll die the gladdest of men

and hopefully too

will all of you.


Always love,

Your dearest degenerate

Dogmatic


In the beginning naught did shine but light and hope and clouds they all had lustre,

Then the Journey snuffed it out.

In the beginning there swam free peace conscious and curious lives we hungered,

Then the Journey snuffed it out.

In the beginning both beast and man sweet harmony sang and we fed them and they fed us our joy,

Then the Journey snuffed it out.

In the beginning O’ heavens they were hallowed and unknown too was hallowed though thy name On High unknown,

Then the Journey snuffed it out.

In the beginning there was but green and blue and rustle and trickle and crack and splash all over,

Then the Journey snuffed it out.

In the beginning connected all did feel and balance all knew well,

And then the Journey snuffed it out.


In the end all was bleak exhaust flew through the cracks and poisoned,

The Cycle shall reset you.

In the end there was no peace and wonder was survival dead,

The Cycle shall reset you.

In the end the beasts lay caged or worse and  mania-amaranthine so long beset them,

The Cycle shall reset you.

In the end the heavens all had clogged with hopeless quests to conquer,

Thy name unknown endured.

In the end there was no green or blue just black and endless thunder,

The Cycle shall reset you.

In the end the link it severed and all life fell asunder,

The Cycle shall reset you.

Dogmatic.


 

Courage


When the curtain falls, where will you be?

Probably roasting in the fire with everyone else.

Go on, Give me a nice internal scream,

Maybe the camera will pick up your hopeless twisted despair.

I’ll post an emoji on there that cries with laughter, just to lighten the mood.

There.

Now off it goes to my closest friend.

Oblivion.

 

Turn yourself around, Subject.

Watch your creations disassemble the irrational ambitionism you gave them. Isn’t it beautiful?

For one to return to that from which it was hedonistically ripped. That, is art.

What you’ve done, subconsciously and with robust naivety,

to foster fake meaning and concoct a great poisonous grey matter purpose

in order to get a continuous hit of its alluring fake-peace high.

 

Folly                                                            Folly                                                            Folly

 

The deed is almost complete,

and only when it is shall you see the depths of your own misdirection.

Maybe then you will be worthy of life.

Not that you’ll have enough left to act.


Grunge Is Not Dead.

An angel quivers in the doorway, unable to breach the threshold. The band, so twisted backwards, dares her to take a step – tentatively she complies, difting into grunge. She’s all alone, save the air of suicide and a raucous riff that bounces against her silent self-conciousness.

A demon in flowery disguise catches her eye to beckon her to him with an upside down smile and the promise of euphoric intoxication. She stutters, yet a mad glint lingers on the periphery of his amazing aura. It’s too much to resist. In a second he’s commanding her conciousness, convincing her of the plight of existence, the futility of resistance and the purity of punk rock.

It works.

The night is young yet darkness is ancient and tonight its cacophany swirls an angel through its timeless tyranny, exalting in its ultimate conquest over society and the spirits of the damned. Where did it all go wrong?

Who says it ever did.