for all

I'm sorry I never meant to hurt anyone.

thoughts

Some people think they can steal anything. Even steal one's words,but words have way of turning on the thieves and destroying them. Words have power.

I don't win. I conquer

Words of true power, HOPE, HONESTY and above all LOVE.

MY DAY

I had this door to door salesman knock on my door yesterday. He was selling days. I thought at the time, 'It would be nice to own a day.' I asked him what days he had for sale and what exactly you get when you buy a day. Well, he told me when you buy a day and you decide on what you like the day to be. Well I thought, 'That sounds alright.' So I bought today 27/10/2011 for $17.95. So now I own today and yesterday I had these great dreams of what I'd like to do with today, but now I'm in today I really don't know what sort of day I want. The clock's ticking and I haven't decided. I think I’ll go to toilet and then have a cup of tea, have a cigarette and think about it. Hey, it’s my day I can do that.

I DON’T KNOW

It's a sob sob moment, poor me, poor me. There have been times recently I feel like I've been abused again and not physically, but mentally. I wear my heart on my sleeve and I'm open and upfront. I don't want to hurt anyone. I just want to live my life and do the things I love doing. I might be paranoid, but I have the feeling that there's certain individuals out there hiding the shadows and for some reason they want to do harm to me and I don't know why. I've thought of a few the possible scenarios.

One. I offended certain individuals in the past and they still hold a grudge against me after all these years.
Two. I hurt someone when I was blind drunk and they’re out to get back at me anyway possible. Three. An individual or individuals are plainly and irrationally scared of me.
Four. They hate my guts and will say and do anything to hurt me and drive me away.
Five. They see me as a threat to whom and what they believe defines what a person should be.
Six. They admired who I was before I transitioned and now I’ve changed genders they see it as a betrayal that they can’t accept.
Seven. They fear me because it threatens their concept of themselves.
Eight, I spurned their sexual or romantic advancements towards me somewhere in the past (I am survivor of sexual abuse so I’m very reluctant to have sex unless I’m very drunk or I feel very safe with the individual)
Nine. I was a lousy fuck and they are still ashamed of sleeping with me.
Ten. They did something to me in the past and fear I am planning to get back at them. (Moron or morons I’ve got better things to do with my life than that)
Eleven. They believe I’m the thing that should not be. (Sorry to Metallica for using that song title, but all your albums after the black album were riffing down the shithole)
Twelve. They stole from me and fear I’ll find out about it.
Thirteen. I said things about them that hurt them and they can’t forgive me for say those things.
Fourteen. An ex-lover who despises me.
Fifteen. A control freak that sees me as an uncontrollable rogue that will upset their self deluded concept of how the world should be. In other words a dictator(s)/megalomaniac(s)
Sixteen. Someone or a group of individuals who are jealous of me. (Anyone who is jealous of me has got real psychological problems. I haven’t got much of life to be jealous about.)
Seventeen. They’re just fuckwits.
Eighteen. They’re psychos that enjoy making other people miserable.
Nineteen. I’m really fucked in the head.
Twenty. I’m addicted to conflict and even when there is no conflict my mind will create conflict out of thin air.
Twenty-one. I’m self deluded and mentally ill
Twenty-three. Maybe I've become paranoid to the extreme.
Twenty-four. I blame myself and thus expect people to treat me like shit.
Twenty-five. I wear my heart too much on my sleeve.
Twenty-six. I’m too honest and open for my own good.
Twenty-seven. I’m lonely and isolated, and thus I create factious scenarios to make my life more interesting.
Twenty-eight. I’m too smart for my own good.
Twenty-nine. I’m too stupid for my own good.
Thirty. Someone believes I have strange abilities and they must stop me to save the world
Thirty. I’m a walking talking idiot
Thirty-one. They can remember when I use to do ‘Jesus was a Biker’ and believe I am the anti-Christ or they are just a Christian fundamentalist who hate anyone that does religious themed poems.
Thirty-two. They are stalkers stalking me
Thirty-three. They are child abuses or pedophiles who fear I will see them for what they are and I’d go to the police( If I knew there were pedophiles or child abuser around I’d do whatever it takes to see them removed from society)
Thirty-four. Someone stole my writing and had it published as their own. (They would have to be real sadbags because I can’t get most of my writing published anywhere.)
Thirty-five. I’m an egotist who thinks I’m more than what I really am.
Thirty-six. I somehow fathered child in my distant past and now they are out for revenge against me because they have had a shitty life. (Alright, even I can’t believe that one. Soap opera fodder.)
Thirty-seven. I’m a poet and fiction writer (do I need to say anymore)
Thirty-eight. I’m scared of being liked or loved by others and so I drive them away and hurt them in the process.
Thirty-nine. I like people and love people too easily and hurt them and myself.
Forty- I’m scared and fearful of everything and everyone around, and I don’t know how to trust.
Forty-one. I like creating drama in my life on a subconscious level.
Forty-two. I expect too much of people too soon after only after just returning. So I cause shit for myself
Forty-three. I’m being ostracized for being different.
Forty-four. I alienate people and they feel uncomfortable when I’m around.
Forty-five. Individuals fear I’ll try to turn the clock back to the way things were ten years ago. (Sorry I am not a god of time and I don’t want to return to the past.)
Forty-six. I’m threat to certain individuals’ power bases and they have to remove me (as if)
Forty-seven. There are people out there that are just pieces of shit.
Forty-eight. I’m a piece of shit that needs to be flushed away.
Forty-nine. I really do care about people and there are people out there that like to believe otherwise.
Fifty. I’m being made into a scapegoat for others crimes.
Fifty-one. People don’t like me because they can’t put me in their nice little box with a label.
Fifty-two. I’m a disruptive and corrupting influence on others and there are those that don’t like that.
Fifty-three. I’m just a silly pawn in someone’s game that has created a very minor annoyance.
Fifty-four. It all in my head and should get medical help.
Fifty-five. I don’t wear skirts or dresses enough out in public.
Fifty-six. I reject the whole gender paradigm and there are those who dislike me for being as I am.
Fifty-seven. Underneath the leather and gruff I’m a very decent person who is really quiet shy and thoughtful. There are certain people who are incapable accepting this fact about me. So they do whatever they can to try to disprove who and what I am.
Fifty-eight. I’m survivor of abuse and perpetrators’ see this vulnerability in me and seek to exploit it.
Fifty-nine. I haven’t got a clue about anything.

STUPID WORLD

CEO's like parasitic ticks
Upon a dying beast
Feed and feed
Upon the flesh
Until no blood
Is left

I've been
Hunting dragon bones
Like the myth of
Infinite oil reserves
While saving the world
Becomes an abstraction
I've been
Hunting dragon bones

Defcon five
and all our lies
Lets combat
Global warming
With a nuclear holocaust
I've been hunting
Dragon bones
CEOs' whisper
As tumours grow
Break free

Its, its, its, its
Like
Fear running through
Old brown leaves
Papal smoke rising
Into the blue skies
The death of liberty
With a holy decree
As serpents
Return
To the sea
And you will see
I've been hunting
Dragon bones

Jupiter's rituals
Still being performed
Sonic screams
Streaming out of
Mobile phones
And the Gods
Are now just
Super Heroes
Wearing
New costumes
While bankers
Prey upon
The right
And the left
As suited
Knaves
Walk us
down
Into the depths
The grave of
The final abyss
While Knaves
Keep us
Looking
Staring
Trying
To, to
Keep's me
Hunting dragon bones
As the infrastructure
Grinds away into dust
In the jaws
Of men
Behind the scales
The weather changes
The knaves re-brand it
Suffocated it
To hide their profits
While
The rest of us
Have been hunting
Dragon bones

Withering into ashes
Colouring our faces
Concealing all our
Collective disgraces
As spider's webs
Like community groups
Are wiped away
With a political wave
As castles rise
Into the skies
And farmers
Are forced
To step aside
And all our food
Once from
Our earth
Now comes to us
From supermarket shelves
And I've been hunting
Dragon bones
As dogs groan
from the dark
And how they groan
With a hangman's tone
Swaying in the wind
Dripping life
Down upon
The concrete
Like an explanation mark
At the end of another tale
A tree branch under the weight
As maggot mercantilists gather
Beneath the economic spatter
And there's no Mad Hatter
Or even an Alice
Because we've all been hunting
Dragon bones
Like subprime loans
In a saga that just won't end
They create new paradigms
Like deadmen chimes
Feet before our eyes

They redefine and centralize
Brand and converge
A new painted truth
That's clothed and condemned
In yesterdays
While
We have all been
Hunting
Dragon bones
Dragon bones
Dragon bones
Into the grave.

I KNOW THE TRUTH

Listen, friend I found the darkest truth they will never tell you. In my search for aliens living amongst us I stumbled onto a conspiracy; a campaign of misdirection; a smoke and mirror dance where all of us have been driven like wildebeest into the river’s flow where crocodiles waited, and then they attacked and devoured our reason and self determination. Alive, we stumbled out the other side where the victimizers had transformed into gentle carers speaking of love and forgiveness. Promising heaven, resurrection, paradise and peace, but it’s nothing like that. It’s a spiritual nightmare.
I see in your eyes disbelief, but believe me I have the evidence. It’s all broken fingers and abusing cherubs whipping chain gangs across the skies. It’s a production line of abuse with an angelic smile. It’s a totalitarian regime with love concealing their crimes. There’s secret police wearing wings with little jingles for all the saved to sing.
It’s a dictatorship with a tyrant on a golden seat rubbing cigarette butts into peoples’ flesh. It’s a hell with clouds and evil harps. And did you know in heaven you don’t have any rights. You can’t smoke. You can’t drink. You can’t laugh. You can’t fuck. You can’t do anything. You’d be better off as dust.
Now, listen up I have the answers. The solutions to your growing fears and it isn’t converting to Paganism, Buddhism, Animism or even becoming a Jedi. The answer is my friend is the aliens. When they come it will be in their green renewable flying saucers. And you should see the way their flying saucers float in space. It’s great! The aliens will fly us all to a wonderful afterlife. You might wonder how I know. Well, I shall tell you. The aliens texted me last Tuesday. Isn’t that great? Now all we have to do is wait.

P.S. Oh, before I forget you have to put out the witches hats in a pattern just like you see with a crop circle. It’s all to do with their navigation systems and their great love for really big Ferris wheels. Bye. See you soon.

THE CHILD

A child in a desert
So far from you
So far from me
So lost
Cast adrift
Upon
A sea of sand

Grasping for reasons
Clutching at grains
That tumble away
So far away
They become an echo
An echo
Whispered to the now

The desert breeze
Speaks
Of a child
Lost within
The sands
Lost within time
As it trickles away

So far away
From me
So far away
From you
In a desert
The desert
Of our minds.

THE UNCONSCIOUS CRAP POEM

Cue du sac
Like I care
Bone dry depths
Stiff
Rotary hoe thoughts
Sporting actions
Dinosaur functions
Black tie birdie eye
Round the round tree
Prattle
Cheese
Chocolate doctrine
Mumbler thee
Take two dogs
Scratch if palm trees
Take the overpass
Home
And
Flush away
This poem

NAKED

A warrior waited
He stood naked
Rolling his shoulders
Rippling muscles
Across his torso
As brothers oiled
His flesh
Until it gleamed
With physical dread

A loin cloth tied
An undershirt
Placed and bound
Upon his flesh
Wired blocks
Taped to a vest

A bronze cuirass
Fixed in place
Buckled to
His chest

The God Emperor encased in gold, gleaming, blinding the eyes of his servants, advisors and slaves: all bent down on quivering knees before him. The God Emperor perched on his thrown as his silver talon hands glistened in the midday sun. An explosion erupted, tore apart a pavilion to the right of the God Emperor, shredding, casting body parts and blood upon the winds. The God Emperor screamed, pointed at the butchered scene.
Messengers came scraping, crawling on their bellies before his glaring, growling gloriousness. The messengers groveled and mumbled and wept their information to the advisors
The God Emperor rose and pointed his talon encased finger at the clutch of advisors,
‘WHAT EVIL MAGIC BE THIS? SPEAK!
Advisors as one rolled upon the carpeted ground with their mobiles to their ears while tearing their clothing from their flesh, wailing for forgiveness from their most glorious living being; the God Emperor.
The facts streamed in to the advisors’ mobiles. The information gleamed by the advisors was that the Grand Vizier was no more. The news of the Grand Vizier’s demise arrived upon the God Emperor’s blackberry. And with this knowledge down the steps the he strode. And with his left hand he locked his grip around an advisor’s throat and then he lifted the advisor above the earth. The God Emperor began to choke the advisor until the advisor’s face turned pale black which followed with a neck snap leaving the advisor’s eyes looking as empty as the clear blue sky above.
The God Emperor once more pointed down at his advisors who were now scratching and clawing their flesh, wailing and weeping. Each and every advisors feared they might be next to embrace death’s last kiss. The God emperor looked upon his advisors with contempt upon his lips,
‘SPEAK’
Within the clutch of advisors one weak and quivering voice replied,
‘Sp…artans. It… was… Spartans.’

Radio
Controlled
Trigger
Strapped
To his palm

His
Brother soldiers
Saluted him
His commander
Embraced him
Praised him
Called on Ares
To guide him

Off he marched
Then jogged
And finally
Ran
Into the heart
Of Persian’s
Army
The Spartan
Suicide bomber
Unleashed his
Fury

The 300
Were now
Less one.

TRANSGENDERED BOGAN

I'm a transgendered bogan
The first of my kind
And I don't truck no bullshit
I make bushpigs look divine
So put on the music
Wolf mother, Metallica
SH..Sh..Sh.Sharon
Ozzy Osbourne
And look for me
In pub's carpark
Vomiting
Like a woodpecker
On meth or was that ice
Using me spew
To lubricate my arse

And if yer looking for a fight
I've got me lebo boys
Rocking in the toilets
So you can fuck off
Unless yer buying
Two dozen pots later
Then I'll go skydiving
With me parachute open
And me knickers flying
With yer cock as stiff
As a drag queen's hairdo

We'll hump and bump
While I roll a smoke
I'll text me girlfriends
While yer still inside
'What a lousy fuck'
Then I'll sweetly say
Between my belching
You were great
Pinch yer wallet
Grab a cab
Go to sleep
Till I wake up
Then do it all
Once again
Tomorrow night.

TIDES OF TIME

I die for you
Each and every time
A new day dawns

Spreading its fiery fingers
Across the world
Caressing the darkness
Into shadows

Within those shadows
I must hide
Beware
The noonday light

Fear that blinding eye
That rips and tears
And burns away
The cool of the night

And so I hide
A shade within a shade
Thus I wait
For Twilight

When we will
Embrace once more
You the dusk
And I the dawn

And so I die for you
Each and every time
A new day dawns

BABIES OF FROZEN FAN SOCIETY

They tried to silence me, but no one can silence the truth. Within the confines of the Sircuit's smokers' area I, yes I stumbled upon an insidious cult that worships the unmoving fan. Every Sunday night after the second drag show these cultists gather in a circle directly beneath the fan in the smokers' area. They light cigarettes and skull schooners in a black arts ritualistic manner, and then mumble and laugh in a very sinister way. I got close enough to observe them frothing from their mouths. I pointed this out to a fellow patron but he wouldn't accept the TRUTH. He claimed the froth was from the beer they were drinking. I quickly realized he was a cultist as well I tipped my drink on him making it look like an accident and I swiftly moved to another section of the smokers' area, haha.
I decided to shadow the cultists every movement and action. After hours of drinking in the line of duty I uncovered their aims and their sick dastardly beliefs. They call themselves the 'Babies Of the Frozen Fan Society' or BOFFS which is more convenient and rolls off the tongue far easier I think, don't you? The BOFFS believe that if the fan starts turning a portal will open and demons from the realm of bogan will pour in screaming "Ahhh, hon" and "Mayyyte, spare us a dollar so I get home on the train (sniff)," and the drink specials will cease to exist.
The BOFFS claim they are guarding the fan from devious individuals who will not stop at anything to make the fan spin. BOFFS told me that this group of devious individuals call themselves Quad En Gres. At first I dismissed it, but later I changed my mind began to investigate. I started by asking a fellow traveller whose parents are of Brunswick extraction if he knew what Quad En Gres meant. He didn't know but he told me to speak to a drag queen because drag queens still speak the oldest language on earth and that Quad En Gres sounded very sequinese; the ancient language of drag queens.
After searching high and low I found a drag queen and I confront her and said, "Quad En Gres." and she replied, "Girl," waving her fingers like the old queen mother of England to her butler for another sherry, "you need a makeover, a lobotomy and nine hundred mils of Botox in your lips until they are large sensual and they don't move.' I pleaded with her that the safety of the world depended on me finding out what, Quad En Gres meant. I was in tears and then she whispered into my ear, "The cool breeze through the reeds to the sand bar after the show,' and don't ever speak those words aloud." I asked her if Quad En Gres could be secret society and told me, "Get a life, girl or take a walk up stairs and fucken stop touching my hair." I realized the BOFFS had lied and manipulated me.
I had been used and I needed time to think. After three schooners and giving Buddha a groin and belly rub for good luck ( I didn't know Buddha had so many tattoos on his body) I went to confront the BOFFS. First, I bought schooner from a Mohawk, skirt wearing barman who pointed towards a small bearded man wearing a top hat, snake skin leather vest and cat skin gloves, da da, dada, da da. He was standing next to the stage in most provocative way. (Well I just wanted to make it rhyme at this point in time.)
So I walked up to this top hat wearing guy and he said to me, Nothing! Well, the security escorted him out of the Sircuit because his cat skin gloves were actually a pair of kittens strapped to his hands and patrons had been complaining. They had been complaining that the kittens were too drunk and had started scratching lesbian couples who came within paw reach.
I bought another drink and casually made my way to the smokers' area. After pushing my way through packed bodies and knocking drinks out drinkers hands I saw them. The BOFFS were in their circle beneath the fan, chanting, mumbling and frothing at their mouths. There in the centre of the BOFFS was a table; a round table. In the centre of the table was a black small sacrificial bowl. I had to act. I broke through the BOFFS' circle, leapt onto the table and banged my head against the fan. As I slowly floated back down to the floor I smiled as the fan began to turn. Then darkness.
I woke to hands rummaging through the pocket of my coat and sound of a whining female voice, "Hon, I think the fat freak's waking up (sniffff). I slowly opened my eyes to be confronted by a skinny, semi-toothless guy wearing a Metallica T-shirt and he said to me, "Hey, man, dude, thing I was just looking for your ID. Yerrr were out cold. You look better now. I was gonna call cops. Hey, now your better, spare us couple a coins, see me girl 'ear, she pregnant and we've got to get to the hospital." I looked up at his girlfriend and there she stood with dyed blonde straggly hair with black-roots like weeds in drug dealers front lawn, and a half empty pint of beer in her hand.
I stood up and looked around. The smoker's area was filled with bogans. A woman wearing a workmen's shirt unbuttoned slurred at me, "Yer look at me man again and I'll kick da shit out of yer." I turned away while having a glance at her man (if man is what you could call him. He was shaved bald with cross thatched razor blade marks across his scone. Teeth that would be more at home on an old worn out piano key board.) He was a walking mess.
There I was trapped in bogan heaven and then it started. Chorus of hundreds of voices saying, "Hon, yer slag, yer looking at me maaate, yer a poofter or what skull yer beer yer bastard," on and on it went. I had to do something. Once more I leapt onto the table and punch the fan until it stopped. There were screams and mumbles of spare me a coin as the bogans melted away like Bailey's Irish Cream on hot Sunday afternoon out the front of a suburban milkbar. I blacked out again.
I woke up with two guys helping me to stand up. The Sircuit was back to normal. I tried telling the BOFFS what had happened, but they laughed and one of them bought me drink. I tried telling people what had occurred but no one would believe me. In the end I took my drink and sat on stool next to the open window and I stared out onto Smith Street. There on the other side of the street was a bogan couple. The woman yelled at me, "Yer still looking at me man." DA, DA, DA!

A DAY AT FILM SET

This aint the day to say
I know demons grow in algae
At the bottom of my pond
Swamp gas and donut holes
Questions no one can answer
Batman's hooked on pain
Flashbacks, but this aint Vietnam
It's a sound stage
And the director's having a breakdown
Just like my computer
It can't handle the truth
In this spoof here on planet earth
Truth and buttered nuts
Gathering with black berets
Barking at the stars
Light years from Goldilocks
Far beyond our solar plexus
Hey, this is what happens
When you spend your life pretending
Bending to every little breeze
Down by the sea the crabs debate
Quantum mechanics
And the growing hegemony
Of internet porn