THE LAWS OF NATURE

There is a me that exists, a rumour of sorts
More metaphor than man, ideas and retorts
In colourful desolate waste land hues
Leftover from some horrific experiment

Not even clouds can form above here
The war of values, erase time and meaning
All solids collide, whilst nature is not recognised
Body and spirit become something else squared

If I am matter, does anti-matter, matter?
My slightly aware masquerade has become the latter
Meaning drives head first towards the quantum self
I react only through instinct and a poetic post mortem

Stop, the world is mere reflection, misdirecting
Paralysed from eyes tired from wisdom tickling
I see pity and affection huddled, reformed by fear
Anxious, roaming, tired with heavy footed steps

Drop facade, before a yard takes a yard of Artic shelf
My love, music slaves of lard you are bizarre retards
I eschew on hubba bubba death gum to subdue me
Bubbles inside of me, bubbles inside of me, infinite

Gently quiet, pop popping without rhyme nor prose
I draw breath from inter stellar Odyssey and such events
Big bangs or not I assume no vendetta or hidden agenda
I quiet to listen, not to the laws of man, but to the laws of nature


to the laws of nature

A version of truth

Weathered
and utterly worn
like trying to attach a scab
to an open wound
flakes of reference
build a wall of crumbs.


Don't stop your falling,
only you are emotionally attached
to the nuances of your quiet failures.
Broken and ice cold whatever is time, is looped.
Again and again I hear a nothing, syn-phonetically
replicating a pathetic resurrection of fragmented recollection.

It's me or some new age diplomat,
who is for some reason, beyond subjectivity,
waiting for a whoever you are once more, again.
For whatever meaning other than, that's that and
the glossy cover story of my own, post, post history
I am unsightly overseeing as an indiscreet boredom.

The never ending story becomes strangely remixed.
A new versions stands proud with arrogant aggression,
lot's of different scenario's pave a road towards possibility
until the big bad wolf makes a costume from the batman.
All that is possible becomes a secondary commercial revolution
re-invented or repenting, either way the never end, is never ending.

Looking 4 troubl;e

I remember trying to figure out
How to sound clever forever
Something got in the way, yet again
Self destruction has an unquenchable thirst

Violent resonating deja vu
Break off the ice caps
Humanity can await the pleasure
Of consequence and all her new friends

Third, fourth and Fifth updates, menstruate
There is nothing left, that can alleviate
This sense of utter frustration, tenfold
Mania is nothing without action

I am either way, evolving or devolving
\\\\\\\both are equally unsatisfactory
Whatever happens, someone let an animal loose
I am trying to determine that it isn't me

Two parties own my decisions
Yet I am the (inner) voice some call God
Confusion runs inconsequentially
Rampant and rabid, spreading disease


Post modern, existential philosophical fashions
Break apart any hope of survival for the ego
A triumphant fair trade alternative relieves guilt
Organic design mechanics, re-invent doctrinal pacifiers

We are
\\\\I am
Just another

VICTIM

INCOHERENT STATIC

A low pressure in the atmosphere
Makes a personal assault on my mood
Clouds of melancholy gather with purpose
Suggestively ominous and pregnant with rain
I feel exposed, unsheltered and slightly odd

I cannot sleep (sleep) but that is all I wish to do
There has been a secret shift my mind hasn't yet disclosed
I am taunted by uncontrollable shifts of emotions oceans
Tidal and unrelenting the need to vent is never ending

What silent assassin poison's my h20 into vengeful currents?

Twisted disfigured jigsaw complete an incoherent static discharge
Second hand, second guessed jumble booty, cheap, clean, yet discarded
End up faded and chipped, gathering dust in someone else's psyche
A step ladder to my step Dad and all other forms of monstrosity collide
Distorted discords and major fifths harmonise, the story of self pity unfolds

UMBILICAL CONVERSATION

O
Oh
Can
You
See it
A speck
A glimmer
A fragment of light
Illuminating the way
In the chasm of self doubt
Seemingly small perhaps
(But not insignificant)
Despite the infinite darkness
Encompassing, encircling
Waiting with violent breath
To smother a flame
That is perfect
Fragile
Pure

No
It cannot
Extinguish
This hope
Never
No

Remains

Fragmented solace
Reconstructed artificially
A ca·coph·o·nous jigsaw
of dilated memories
Glued together with bias
on the fabric of recollection

Here, there, sporadically
is where we remain, iconically
Collated epitome most fondly
lubricating loss at our wake
After thought, after death, after life
In between Hors d'œuvres