Archive for the ‘Squat Poetry’ Category


The Soundtrack To To To To

May 4, 2011

Check it.



January 10, 2011


I got the ADD from the TV, and ADHD from HDTV,

All them CDs, DVDs MP3s and LPs
And maybe smoking PCP, THC, DMT and taking LSD
Or maybe all that Phenylalanine and aspartme
ADDADD now I can’t think

It’s stuck to me like an STD, mental herpee-pees
Like gonoherpasypyhlaids this ADD
What has bin done to me travesty travesty this ADD
Can I have Ritalin and amphetamin to help treat my strange feelin’
Think i’d like to try heroin but i can’t i’m diabetic i’m on insulin

How bout that ketamin and mescalin ting?

BBC3 did a docko on the TVV spreading like the VDD
ADD maybe manmade like HIV, arguably
If you believe the conspiracy
Causing some controversy
Personally think that fallacy
Who I am though to tell you what to believe cuz I got

I haffi done tried the
Nicotin marijuana vicodin ecstasy and alcohol
But still got the ADD ADD got the ADD from watching too much TV

NEWSFLASH – click click channel hop
Find a fix gotta cop
Mainline jackknife paddywagon dogtripe
New and improved
Flick flick channel hop next fix gotta cop
What? What? What

ADD ADD got the ADD now I can’t think
ADD I can’t think
I can’t think
Can I shorten that to an acronym?
I can’t think better have a drink what’s that stink tastey wet pink
ADD I can’t think
Got distracted what was i spelling


The Pastor & The Prostitute

January 10, 2011

On the floor of the basement

The pastor kneels

Tears streaming off his cheeks to splash in the puddle of piss

Grown about him

Drool runs from his mouth

From the gap between his teeth

Wedged open by the barrel of the pistol

Held in the prostitute’s hand

She clicks her heels three times

*klik* *klik* *klik*



Acoustic Insurgency – Sunday 28th!

March 26, 2010


Poems Written Whilst Obviously Under The Influence, (part 3)

January 29, 2010


What words to speak to consecrate transformation

The bread into Christ is the mundane into the supreme

In mind only

What we believe to be we are

There is no reality only perception

So discipline that perception

Conception dream awakening frenzy amok in mind body and soul

I have torn a tempest across my life

These blinding screens have warped me

I have involuted

Seize power of the mind through complete gnosis and abandonment

Realise there is no mind to grip

Only filters that can be unleashed

We are the microcosm and the macrocosm

Our perceptions of depth are false


There is no in and out up down

There is emptiness.

Let it flow.

Seek old lands with new eyes, do not seek new lands

Did Proust say it, or was it invented for my needs


The drug is strong is tearing at my

My shamanic ways are developing

Technofage delirium

Yet within without my transformation is inescapable.

I believe all religions are true

I am a Muslim. A Buddhist. A Christian. A Pagan. A Jew. A Satanist.

I am a Nihilist.

I am left and right wing. I believe everything is true.

But I live not by what I believe.

But what I feel to be of most benefit.


Poems Written Whilst Obviously Under The Influence, Part 2

January 29, 2010

Everything is going to be alright forever.

I wrote that underlined

Because that’s important

It’s important to remember

Death is not the end

Death is a wonderful thing

To be anticipated with excitement

When we die

We shall be ready

When our planet consumes us

It will be because

We have served our purpose

We will have progressed forward

Do not slow evolution

Do not fear the end

Do not seek anything other

Than evolution of the self

Which is everybody

Together the ants will conquer the elephant.


Poems Written Whilst Obviously Under The Influence

January 29, 2010

The recurring conundrum of a spiritual minded drug user.

It would have answered the question

It would have squeegeed the third eye blind

It would have folded reality up into a corcertina and played Balkan gypsy love with your heart and soul

It would have illumined too soon

It would have graced us, emancipated, coagulated us

Into one awesome body of light

The poem I wrote last night.

It would have extrapolated your mind baggage and conveyored it right through Heathrow to your awaiting plane to Salvador, Bahia

It would have sprouted Malagasy baobab tress in your quantum mechanics

Backed-rubbed you Bangkok style in the alley

Hot rocked your clit-cock on the tick-tock

If I hadn’t been so stoned

I would have saved the poem

That I wrote whilst really high last night.

The recurring conundrum of a spiritual minded drug user

Is how to hold on

To revelation

To live eternally

In the opening of one’s mind’s eye

To remember

To press save

When you write a poem that could have changed everything.

Just one more then.

Just one more poem

Just one more line

Just one more word

Just one.

Feed me. Clothe me. House me. Love me.

Be my vent my gateway my portal

Through this consciousness




To give birth to myself

First I have to disappear up my own arse

If I can appear in just one more magazine

One more photo

One more movie

Then I know

I’ll know I exist

I’ll no that when I look into the cold


Eyes on my own photograph

I’ll see the glimmer of a soul I can’t find inside me