i have a new verse out today – the text was previously published in edge of humanity magazine, so please check that out if you haven’t already (see link below). now live on youtube, spotify, etc.
every coincidental couple share or will share a day (assuming all live lives that lap over and aside) when one is either twice or half as old as their partner. we only live in relation to each other: brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers, children we are all in second place again, lo siento, i feel your pain then a vow: to talk much more on the telephone hazy jane mountain range and a mouthful of blood the chip shop salt and vinegar on the edge of the breeze decline is the consequence of a millennium without conquest bring all ye visigoths, only the sack of london can save us now sometimes perspective illuminates sunny convalescence; can i modify my betrayed reaction? is there space for love without condition between event and response? the universe is comprised of information thoughts are but ephemeral forms deleted from the records for eternity, locked within an evanescent system but are some things unforgivable? let’s hope good souls can hold a grudge with compassion.
chorus
have you tried the toblerone, feckless bairn? it’s abysmally pricey, but so is everything else i have a theory that brexit is the effective sack of london, by hitler different, but the same
this bipolar love hurts so much round infatuated hertz bevvy bivouac, coke and jack in the sack i read about his suicide on teletext in the 90s a poet tortured, bill teller of the apple orchard never socrates unsatisfied nor pig in shit: we are socrates in pig shit, always and 4 real. i cut a lana del rey tattoo into my arm, is that self harm? each generation must make the material their own smell tomato paste and cheddar, my da’s cooking, my home a feeling of disconnection between body and homunculus post-prandial down-dumpsy meek remainderman rain run ink on scar tissue, perineum to the sun this isn’t a cover up, the red rose, the guerilla’s fist i am a loaf of bread, origami, a process in purgatory every pain and every pleasure you caused will be inflicted back and you will judge yourself getting there—a tired prayer to monotony four goes on the playstation then i eat the whole bloody toblerone all that’s left is our dismal materiel we all rely on the good souls who forgive us
chorus
have you tried the toblerone, feckless bairn? it’s abysmally pricey, but so is everything else i have a theory that brexit is the sack of london, by hitler different, but the same
from snowy summits are mountained limbs of venomous frogspawn here is to the life pudendal blessedly unaffected by format rigidity. going home, i see the most expensive chocolate bar i’ve ever seen, heard of or read about and in a fog of lousy vibes await an operative positive.
i eek out my whole being in the dance from blue to green a witching hour meltdown throws her halo from my bed post an irrepressible exhibit from the sex museum the smell of our first kiss flutters by, a primal sense datum
i turn my snout at regret—the danger made it meaningful while my teenaged self-destruction echoes on (and on) a storm steals my ride so we climb pint eat and breeze (and on, and on) it’s better to be generous to the best of your means (and on, and on) (and on and on and on and on and on)
an intractable issue that we must address, and i guess the time is nowish how can you not trust me after all we have been through? is this the end for me and you? no and today is so much better than yesterday infinitely, nice things are nicer than nasty ones so i push through the pain in warm air for a buzz later savour the flavour of copper coins on dry tongue screw a shelf on, climb the wall, nacho un [] upable then a day indoors with the bug and drive a lurgy day in bed with that sunk feeling but the incessant mind plays the hits as usual. and the bin’s full / again i rely on a well meaning soul and forgive myself.
ineluctable loggerheads with events diaristic i wrestle you onto a future plane style glistens on surf with the setting sun and we act like we what we do is demonstrably normative but life as it is now only exists as it does now and the future and the past are a million moral universes
laser quest pivot to armpit sweat and nervous stutters give a dude a fish and you’ll win favour and patronage teach him angling and your monopoly will be lost forever
you advise your charge by bringing her advice you license your obsession by granting it licence “i was sat” means to sit, you were sitting badia brand tears in the box kitchen i was sleeping when the rascal slipped in on a bonnie mission you give notice, it’s official, the last issue i’m doing my homework so you can take me with you but the poison in the fang must be expunged or the course will be hellenic, terminal, explosive let’s not let bearable be the enemy of good if you don’t keep a diary, today is a good day to start
we borderline roll with the blows and try to process you can’t control your body, but we hope we can live with it repeat my mantra: i’m working so i don’t have to try so hard jump through the hoop, dont look, and stoop under the loop are two bunnies a good omen? or was it just a dusky lamb? i scuttle home sick in the night, not ready to be seen like this here and an astral month ends, mess everywhere, a solemn verdict awaited please god let all the good souls revel in forgiveness
i saw an episode of the jerry seinfeld car programme were he said he knew a lot of comedians who smoked weed – a lot of broke comedians. it’s a good enough line for me to steal it anyway. i was listening to a lot of the streets at the time. original pirate material. come rain or snow the buddha flows. lock down your aerial.
are you an unsuccessful comedian? have you considered sobriety?
it was never part of the plan, but on one of my many diversions around life i happened to learn double entry bookkeeping. it took an afternoon or so with a textbook. i was on holiday, sitting by the pool. credit this, debit that. i remember wondering: if there is a debit for every credit, how does anyone make a profit or a loss? well. i read the textbook. so now i know. and there are lots of ‘timing differences’ in accountancy. i definitely prefer poetry to accountancy, but there is a poetry about numbers too. i quite enjoy bookkeeping once i get going. but the inertia is hard to overcome.
when i was younger, all my friends were my age. we shared a frame of reference. same teachers, food, tv shows. as you get older, you start to recognise differences that passed you by. different types of parent. differing wealth. different trajectories.
now i have friends of all ages and it has really struck me – everyone’s experience is unique. there are generational flavours of course. but in a way, we are trapped solitarily in our experience, knowing the things we know, being the people we are.
volcanic shores and gales of fearsome solitude mapped out like a navigable carthaginian, i was not so, a stoic, i mourn each day a day lost and think a blushing thought of soft skinned twins of twins just a finger’s pinch, a shallow bite, a nibble not a repast but the popped french cork starter pistol for a glorious wedding breakfast.
the wind cools and we race to the ferry and over the hill comfortable in the air between fiction and essay— a soul impressed by power and wealth is not worth impressing: momento mori and more is yet to come. i’ll be home soon, waiting for you i’m skylarking back with the new month’s tunes and there is an elder geezer in louis vuitton shoes his amex was in a stolen purse has 1000 euro cash money and wants a chicken wrap pours his heiney to a flexy tumbler, up to the brim thanks the kindly lass across the aisle for a short term loan and i listen to cohen again and wonder if i’m obsessive in the wet, warm drink i sip the spirit water, and ponder i react first with emotion, the weight takes a while to settle i’m let down and i let down there is no reasoning with the passions. sometimes i feel like i’m not a real person—a lack i’ve sought in others credit for debit, the difference solo temporal evolve the revolving door, better round than in any task, i’ll find a way to do it my first instinct may be wrong but given infinite time…
our reunion was a salty affair, trolling agents and sellers ebitdata scientists don’t budget for trauma: cutting teeth. immersed in the pain pearlescent I wonder if being kidnapped by my mum‘s best friend as a child had a lasting effect? unrelated: the knot in my chest will spring from my mouth and rip out my guts leaving a slugabed trapped in a pole vaulter’s libido territorial, barking at my next door neighbour on the landing, hello stand up for yourself, for [] sake ah, woof! we all rely on the good souls who forgive us
all stoned poets think they are funny—well i am funny or unusual anyway shilling for a limited europe, my identity fading, delaminated not drunk, just exuberant. and well nourished cycling down a road like the dream where i find another room in my house moist stroll, jelly tower shuffle, cheesing postbox, very cruel charge another hour to diary management you simply must believe the story you tell yourself (excuse me for hoping to feature so prominently in it a big and empty feeling filling a sad gap why do i act like ive found the one true way of being when it doesn’t me happy?
but then bliss is in my life and the doldrums abate we extend the family table, aware the ides of march once again i chop chillies then piss and my dick burns i count the first lambs of spring and dig a few hills fitments suitable for various screws, but none of this massivity a sombre lover, indolent turbo, fresh strain spring clean shower interrupter a plan for mouth and fingers, mutuality of idyll desire a hotbed of fervour, preachers on manic street indigent, indignant and surplus to requirements always leaving, never gone, tomorrow never will crystallise the turncoat, former scapegoat, grasping for a banknote but there is no antidote. we hereby shall rely (on the good souls who forgive us)
chorus 3 – march
have you tried the toblerone, stupid child? i have a theory my anti car philosophy is not strictly environmental but because i was in two major car crashes before i was 10 different, but the same
ah well. so it’s a year i’ve had these airpods now. returning from an early morning climbing session, my airpod escaped the ear canal and went for the drain instead. i presume anyway. i looked for a while then went to argos and bought new ones. can’t live an adequate life without headphones.
in the 90s i used to take long coach trips. to france, italy, spain. one year, i must have been 7 or 8, for entertainment we got a documentary about elvis pressley. i was instantly obsessed. and then suddenly bereaved – my hero was dead before i even knew him. i cried. i listened to elvis tapes. i got a leather jacket. quite autistic, in retrospect.
i don’t listen to as much elvis these days. but i will always love the king. and if suspicious minds comes on the radio, i will give it my full attention every time.
the love epochal. n.n. benn 