toiletpaper BOLLOCKS TO THAT

i found your bag
and i want to give it
back.
linguistics blah blah!
blah blah linguistics!
that's he breaking
out of meaning, the
breaking through the
concept of and
communicating to
another. No no, its
not the tree falling,
it's me communicating
to you, a fellow
dasein; blah blah
hypothetical, blah
blah presentation of
linguistics; just at
a singular level
a concept, devoid
of time and context, in a
context of time and
space. But you
cant. That Bollocks.
yes. yes. you can. Thats
bullshit. That's denying
that there's anything
outside of us,


he took my photo
and mistook me
for someone else
could've
been a Rembrant
i saw a pitcher
and a witch so,
could've been a
TIME magazine
but the colours
run.
the picture faded
another background
track in the bar
i want to be a
craftsman i want
to be a craftsman


found some clever
writing on the
wall put it in
my bag
they took
it away
won't give
it back
couldn't find the
street.
some u-turn
don that
one-way
so they took
it away that
bag
full of ideas
the people and
my peers
they seem not
to care that they
emptied it onto
the street
turned hose things
into litter
and now that
these fill the
streets the apathy
the apathy
they took my
bag
empty and bitter
numbers
from 0 to 9
but now there
is only the two
of us
and they
took my bag
away
used to carry it
around
under my arm
and in my hand
i used to carry it around
everyone could
see those things
that filled and
spilled
from my
bag but
they took it
away and emptied
it on the st.
where queens
form in their
sleep and the
rain tears at the
pavement
- streets.


those fucking bastards
put their country
into another scheme
of economic
rationalism.
i some times forget
those motives of
monetary movement
from the hands
of the many to
the hands of the
few.
those precious
representations of
human worth.
Here is the death
of your God. Fight
in his name and
seek your wealth
in this world.
The revolt, the victory,
the slave.


you got me burnt
in every corner
pony tail in a
knot. i shy away
farther - darker,
corner - see me
knot. not.

THAT STUPID FUCK

THOSE FUCKIN' CRONIES

RESPONSIBLE FOR ACTIONS

LOST ON WORDS

ON YOUR ARSE

I DON'T AGREE



nearly burnt my
wings
'cause i flew
too high
shouldn't dive
shouldn't dive
shouldn't dive


those hopes and
dreams that
went begging
at the supermarket
somewhere between
aisle twelve and
sixteen.
the system never
educated but left
him without control
and only a choice.
So anything that followed
came down to the
day lightning
rain cloudy day.
Grab that sun and
find a bottle to take
it home.
Wrap it up in your
finest threads of
silk and polyester.
Those warm places
and empty spaces
comfy spaces
of choice.
Where you find
yourself retuned
through all your
changes.
Something universal
all inherently internal.
All struggle under
the same great sun
whether of the lowly
the father or of
the regina's son.
Covered in the same
dull earth, dulled
dulled by turps or sold on
worth. The maker
finds not what
is made the satisfaction
of the deed.  ¶ 7:14 pm