.
.
.
.

it was going to be 5 in the morning
and your fade-black stockinged legs were going to swivel
as your feet became family with the floorboards again

when the pickled penguin said Hold Out
against the knives of time
and the metal gloves that squeeze-crush
and the pale evasive snake sniggering on a bar-stool
and the envelopes melting in sour butter, Hold Out
against every possibility of plastic success
it was going to be 5 in the morning
and the fruit-flies would not move from the rim of the cup

Hold Out in sea- foam meadow green,
against the better side of you being smashed into a brick wall
against tranquilised radiators and sausage-soup and binoculars made of greed
all moralistic diets slipping into the riot-cop ocean
and bedfellows to the tsars
pink vices and purple aftermaths their own timeless rewards
it was going to be 5 in the morning
and there was one other car in the parking-lot

pickled penguin stroking the planetary airwaves with solemnity
muddled wine, imploding farmland, white woolen bears
and vinegar'd moustaches the cardboard cities excavate the roman pillars of vixen-tears, cougar-breath, canine cavities like flashlights beckoning the eternal dead
a calm curtain drifts the camera's boot-laces
and I was about to light your cigarette
when we were children, one of my legs and one of your legs went swimming together
it was going to be 5 in the morning
and your hair was going to be a complete mess

and all the traitors were pouring yesterday into their own ears
the butterflies of despair were organising a protest march
and the anger of older men was considered excessive
and some-one said, what are closed captions?
& disturbing the equinox with it's dubious eyes and rascally top-coat
poverty is something we have to work towards
to splatter joy, like cum, into the face of tomorrow's world
& our hearts had played trampoline together for 2,000 years.

.
.
.
.
.



............................................Goodmorningforeverandthemanymorningswewillwaketogether
g
o
o
m
o
r
n
p
i
c
t
u
r
e I always crawl back to kiss your feet. You are my Goddess, of femininity and fertility.
There is more celtic p0etry in the way you push out your cunt greedily to someone else, than in any poem I have ever written.






.
.
,
,
s


lots of guys in my neighborhood, walking round don't look so good
they say hey baby, take a walk on the wild side

thought he was James Dean for a day
then i guess he had to crash, he fucked his girl but loved his stash
he said, hey baby...

i've got a friend, he disappears, so far out he's never here
he says, hey sugar...

wind or rain, pills or snow
you should've seen him go go go...


and all the dealers go --

and all jailers go --

and all the mothers go --

and all the children go --

and all the lovers go --

and all the friends go --


x
z

s



to feed the rich and starve the poor
well, what else is money for?
they feed the rich and starve the poor
what else are you fighting for?

as the factory turns to rust
and every promise turns to dust
driven by a shaky lust
still it says in god we trust

to feed the rich and starve the poor
well, what else is money for
to feed the rich and starve the poor
well, what else is money for

are you really so insane
to still believe in private gain
as the world goes up in flames
hang your head in bloody shame

they feed the rich and starve the poor
well what else are you fighting for?
to feed the rich and starve the poor
you don't need books to find the cause

to overturn the bosses' table
do it now, while we're still able
to overturn the bosses' table
do it now because we're able

to overturn the bosses' table
do it now for we are able
to recall an ancient fable
to overturn the bosses' table

to overturn the bosses' table
do it now for we are able
the challenge of this generation
the challenge of our generation

they feed the rich and starve the poor
well, what else is money for?
they feed the rich and starve the poor
what else are you fighting for?

to overturn the bosses' table
to overturn the bosses' table
the challenge of our generation
the challenge of our generation

they feed the rich and starve the poor
they feed the rich and starve the poor...


d
xd
X



When I was very young, I was depressed. And I was young for a very long time.

I'd stare at the shelves in my room. Some of them had hardly anything on them, and some of them had nothing on at all. I would stare at those shelves until I could hardly walk.

One day my mom came in from her 3am paper-round, and I knew the game was up, and that it was played with 2 balls. As she was walking out of the house with her hard-hat, she suddenly shouted, "When are you going to get a dog!?"

"Dogs aren't for people like me," I calmly replied, and returned to my nun's habit of not reading the newspaper.

I was much jungian front and back then, and the girl seemed a much simpler place.



x
c

p



pack your bags and find the door
it's a sad bad case of I.D. Fraud
you're not you any more
and I'm not me any more
a suprising case of ID fraud

inside the plastic the same old name
the same old picture, but something's changed
you're not you any more
and we're not we any more
sad lonely case of I.D. fraud

they're laminated, they don't tell lies
unless you're really smart or a foreign spy
plus proves your legal, so step right up
drink a little water from this poisoned cup

they're good for clubs, and they work in shops
might get you outta trouble if you meet the cops
what's does the future have in store
what on earth were we born for
alarming figures, for I.D. fraud

now I don't want to shout about it
but there's no point leaving home without it
if you're on a plane or in a car
they want to know just who you are

I.D., therefore I am, said a man called Sartre
but he got exist-mental, when later he was carded
essential lamination, to locate our liberty
exhibit A, tragic case, in just how free is free

so put on your clothes and find the door
then aliens arrive on a distant shore
give us your masses, your huddled poor
but you're not you any more
the case of ID fraud

i wonder if like me you ever find yourself
blinking and thinking like someone else
you're not you any more
i'm not me any more
a warm collective case of ID fraud

show it to the doorman and lower your eyes
cos everyone's wearing the same disguise
What on this earth are we born for?
a name and a number and not much more
a most regular lower case of ID fraud

use an initial, to stick out from the rest
take pic after pic until you look your best
that's not me,-- I look a mess!
smile at the camera, until you pass the test
willing victim blushing at ID theft

find a little place in a big old crowd
rebel just as much as they'll allow
but you're not you any more
you're not true any more
a slightly tragic case of ID fraud

you tried to talk to you, but you'd already left
i put my arms around me I was so bereft
how the hell did we get into this mess
someone not me knows but we must confess
it's the world's worse case of I.D. theft

i'll tell you what I think, I'll get it off my chest
I think that there's a man sitting at a desk
he's taken lots of us and he wants some more
runs a big business called I.D. fraud

inside the plastic, the same old name
the same old picture, but something's changed
so pack your bags and find the door
aliens arrive on a distant shore
take a big step towards being free
show 'em your card and say, That's not me!

If you're a public servant or a private slave
or if you're just like me and you need a wage
show it to your boss and you might get paid
get a fake one if you're underage
keep it by your genitals unto your grave

I told you what happened and you just looked bored
As if I was sick and you'd been cured
Put on your clothes and find the door
you're not welcome here no more
You've a terminal case of ID fraud

I put a 'missing-person' sign outside my house
attached early pictures of my brains and mouth
(i would have used my dick but it had headed south)
no-one called, then called again, you guess the rest
I was just another victim of ID theft.

Now I don't want to shout about it
But there's no point leaving home without it
Most everyone tries to find themselves
by walking around as someone else
show it to the doorman and lower your eyes
cos everyone's wearing the same disguise
yet for every check on plane or car
they still don't know just who we are
they can't even guess at who we are
cameras pointing at a different star
cameras pointing at a distant star

now I don't want to shout about it
but there's no point leaving home without it
take a big step towards being free
show 'em your card and say "That's not me!"

And if you think I'm full of shit
It just means you've got used to it.



z







z


a
I just wanna pull off your sheet
Oh my monster you're so sweet

I wanna play a hair-guitar
I wanna play YOUR hair guitar
Do you HAVE a hair-guitar?
Do you LIKE your hair-guitar?

I wanna live in a cardboard box
I wanna smell your foxy fox
I want 7-11 socks, you get five pairs they slowly rot
I buy 7-11 socks, you get five pairs they slowly rot

I've got a plan for your vacation
I wanna be the capitol of your nation
I've got ideas above my station
I wanna rise to this occassion
surrender now to my invasion
you play nurse and I'll play patient
you'll enjoy my occupation
take off your clothes, I'm so impatient
I just got a text from Paris Hilton
I'm a greater poet than Keats or Milton

I just wanna pull off your sheet
Oh my monster you're so sweet
I wanna play your hair-guitar
I wanna play your hair-guitar

I'm a stand-up comic that isn't funny
I'm Donald Trump, without the money
Osama Bin Laden without the cave
I'm a Brad Pitt that can't get laid
I'm Stephen Hawkins at a downtown rave

And I buy 7-11 socks
you get 5 pairs they slowly rot
I am innocent, a passer-by
You stun me with your taser eyes
I don't care if our love dies
she left her eyes





she had a best friend, who then left town

drinks on Thursday, I'll see you around



she left her eyes, to stay with me

but her body's on the run in the land of the free


she lives precarious, sixteenth floor

ripped-out cartoons stuck to the door

she lived vicarious, she wants much more


than public housing, and locked-door death

junk-food, magazines, tobacco breath


she wrote poetry, more or less

big and beautiful, I must confess

a Hallmark card, in a flowing dress


she had a best friend, her friend left town

drinks on Thursday, then I'll see you around


remotely controlled by the silver screen

soft eyes smiling on the thin-girl scene


He came at 10, turned out the light

I met a nice guy, but he wasn't nice

and busy men don't come twice

now she writes loves-lines, every night


she fell in love with the idea of feeling

she's madly in love with a popcorn ceiling



z
s





...................bring us your floor, your muddled messes










































s





as
s





.....................................................................The economy is secure
s
z
how would william blake vote?






.............................................................................How would William Blake vote?



z
s





..............................................................................ObamaforAmerica.con
s
s



......................................................................You had to be there
x
s





................................................................................If we stay calm, none of us will get thru this



s


s





............................................................................Giddyup (I am here)





s
s




....................................................................Thee
s
y



.......................................................................................................this isn't finished ...
What

What did you burn a stool today


Teachers, leeches, death-wish preachers

carved their lies into my features

taught me my place, and the ABC

killed my eyes with useless schemes

they never supported any one of my dreams

they took a heart that loved

and gave a mind that screams


no real family, and no true friends

but I know you like me, because I follow trends

what would you like, fives or tens?


You can't return softness to a grown man's face

I can't go back to my state of grace


I follow the colors on traffic-lights

I'm fully agreeable, I'm this polite


because they taught me my place, and my ABC

and the numbers to add up

what they stole from me

I can't see, can't feel, can hardly hear

but I've got my diploma in greed and fear

I'll chew on you, in this damn rat-race

but I'll never return to my state of grace


teachers, leeches, death-wish preachers

carved their lies into my features.










s
f






..................................................Free Will



s
a






....................................................................it's It's all a matter of tryst


z
poem







If cars don't like sugar they can

lick the freeways that gorillas

wearing strapless accordions

fire bullets at

or eat 7 bowls of spaghetti

using someone else's hands

to pry open the closet

the closet which has sat patiently

underground for a thousand years

like a girl's smile

or a store so full of pinatas

that they've spilled out and blocked the street

until the townspeople develop enuf knees

to use tree-trunks as broom handles

then an orange-shaped sound is sure to vibrate

which will cause

brand-new babies to pop out of toasters

the length and breadth of this one-

dimensional continent

& I personally, on that occasion

will not be opposed to taking a late breakfast.



z
april's pic







s
pics begin


....................................................The Dealer








Robot killers, robot wars
robot pimps, robot whores
robot lovers are all the rage
and robot homeless need robot change

robots smile and walk on by
robots talk, and robots try
sleek new ones, and rusty cans
robots feel, they understand
i've seen robots on TV
robots look like you and me

sometimes scruffy, sometimes neat
i've seen robots on the street
i've seen robots in the store
i've seen robots at my door
i've seen robots on TV
robots look like you and me


robots kneel in robot church
robots fear the robot worst
robot hope in robot mind
robots waste their robot time
robots vote for robot change
robots dream of private gain
robots stay their robot same


robot work, robot bed
robotic thought inside my head
am I programmed to see me?

robot pimps and robot whores
robot killers, robot wars
robot lovers are all the rage
and robot homeless need robot change
robot homeless need robot change
robot rabbits, robot snails
robots swop their robot tales

robots kneel in robot church
robots fear the robot worst
happy robots come in first
cheerful robots come in first
cheerful robots come in first

i've seen robots on TV
i've seen robots
robots.


I must avoid an angry android.


z
pics




















a




pics







z
pic






c

Okay.


The roof top's shoulderblade defines a morning star
which has belched coal-dust into its' mother's face
slate and whistle bend the
haymarket tussle of an octopus
the least-known of men
a heavy cul-de-sac tears off its' head
& bright wild flowers of every color
stream up and out
levitational pull decreases
the toppling of a pillar
a tired nose blames poor weather
in a month of July's we built a cake
with a plane riveted to its' skull
that plane was a ribbon of frozen salmon
salmon which is red and circular
the Strongman, chief exhibit at the
zoo which is overgrown and gorgeously deserted
except on days when the tea-pot is laughing hysterically
at the sight of a pair of white stilettos
found lying in dry grass
they are closer than the owner realises
to a medieval coal-mine


c


you



yyyyyyyyyyyyy
oooooooooooooo
uuuuuuuuuuuu




y
y


It had a cool sound-track when I watched it on TV

I did it with a knife, a gun, I used only my bare hands

and I only did to them what they've always done to me

it won lots of enemies and also several fans

I never gave the orders to flatten hiroshima

firebomb dresden, or napalm vietnam

and I got my letters yesterday, some women want to marry me

they understand, you see, plus now I'm a celebrity

I just can't make the chat shows cos i'm about to die

while those who kill many millions wear armani suit and tie

my killings are disgusting, there's are civilised

they get promotion. I am caught and tried

but I only did to others what you're going to do to me

and at least for half an hour I felt well and truly free

so I don't need any last rites, cos I'm not on my knees

I'm the only man alive with a sense of dignity

Isn't that why those women want to marry me?




d
i


I remember all the parties
no parents in the way
walking in with Si and Loz
factory-town seemed far away

And we'd walk up the driveway
of houses with their lights on
and every song was perfect
and every girl was so much fun

and we didn't stand around, we danced
and the lucky ones would fall in pairs
and you'd always see some certain ones
glide slowly up the stairs

I remember all the parties
with nothing set in stone
holding a bottle of cheapo wine
and trading roll-your-owns
and when you asked what their plans were
it was always, "I don't know"

I remember all the parties
no parents in the way
walking in with Si and Loz
factory-town seemed far away
ask someone what their plans are
it's always, I don't know

but the world is a peach, that we'll devour


z
bobland and beach photos





















































d
s


Surrealism is punk in spirit

Without punk there is no surrealism

Andre Breton formed a punk rock band

Van Gogh was a punk

Jonathon Swift was a punk

Antonin Artaud was a punk

Che Guevara was a punk

I am a punk

You are a punk (maybe!)

Punk follows no orders

If something is not punk, it does not exist

Punk is always popular, and always ignored



z



x

*






......................................She's bi-polar, bisexual, and buys shoes
.....................................
....................................She used to be a girlfriend, now she's just a muse.
*




i snagged my sweater on a corner of your star







my rampant heart in the broken tongues of the day















your body unlocks a long river





















body exploding under the weight of what is.





z