Saturday, 11 December 2010


Wanna get wasted… wanna get high/low, up/down. All the way down babies. All the drugs n’booze are not an escape but a dimension shift. IO Pan, IO Isis… hail Baphomet, the gods are whispering, I feel fuckin’ free man. Unimaginable vistas are opening up. The sound of a black sea rushin’ over a shingle beach. The white sun throwing amazing light on my floor boards. An 18th century clipper being dashed on jagged rocks, looking at myself proudly in my new S.S. uniform, deaths head gleaming… so many lives I have lived, none of them true.

A trip to the elephant’s graveyard, a polite bow, being in the company of the most beautiful gal I ever knew. Still covered in acrylic graffiti: “Rock n’roll nigga” and “Celine woz ‘ere“.
Oh, I feel the presence of someone who is not me. The lush strings of ‘Theme to Thomas Tallinn’ are makin’ me vibrate and shiver. Since I pawned my TV I feel so much freer. I been drawing like a madman, writing volumes of shit, possessed by the divine urge to create, modify, restructure. In the golden glow of valium and cheap cider I’ve found freedom. I wanna, so I do. Is this not the way sweet ones? No self censorship here. My imagination bypasses all restrictions and is free to roam in the multi-verse of half dreamt fantasy and memories so rosy…

Lovers past, present and future… the glow of waking up with someone, bodies all tangled up and to see those bright eyes light up. Put on some tunes. Watch you move like a ballet dancer with those long legs. Oh baby I love you… ah Steve Malkmus now… joy intensifies. Molly cat lies, impossibly balanced on the arm of the sofa… isn’t it strange that cats don’t seem to react at all to music? Had the most eyeball poppin’ sounds on all day but she doesn’t give a shit.

Lawdy, them things is kickin’ in proper. Can hardly see the keys… filled with a golden glow. I am the ark of the covenant, blessed, pure, unsullied by pain or suffering. I don’t care how you get here, mediation, magick, mushrooms… just get here. Second cloud on the right, write?

I was once a little boy. Now I’m all grown up I’m still the very same little dude! I think Blake had this idea in his ‘songs of innocence and experience’… hmmm, er… yeah!

While on the subject of art and poetry and whatnot, I strongly believe that all honestly expressed art is valid. Hence these weird blogs and strange paintings. I used to worry about my lack of talent but now it serves as a badge of honour. Damn right I’m a fuckin’ artist, not a good one, just got the brass balls to TRY!

Missive from front brain: “All basic functions are at 6%, please stop attempting to use brain until the drugs wear off”
Shit, better go then.

If you think this is bad, sign up fer me blog innit. I promise tales that’ll make yer toes curl and blush and possibly vomit.

Goodnight gentle readers,

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