My Reality is Stronger

Pulled a face for a baby. Pulled a piece in a taxi. Made him switch the radio station. Made him stop the meter. I’m curious; what do you get delivered to your brand new P.O. box? Cooking the air black. Valentines trying to chew their way through. What’s good for abuse is good for your candour. I know you only feel it after a chest infection. After undercooked shellfish. Wrapped in a blanket, weeping at adverts. Crying at Roger Waters; Holophonics. Wrapped in a blanket, weeping at adverts. All of a sudden the mysteries unfold. Carnal O.O.B.E. E-Meter Tamagochi. You discogoth. Tootsie on Laserdisc. Join the queue for a one frame per minute showing of Stalker at the Barbican, dressed up like the L-piece from Tetris. That gets you three points. Terrified, sweating through the small hours. I’ve been awake for as long as you for four points on the nose – no runner up. Five points for panic about panic. Six points for bloody underwear. Seven points for destroying Liberty’s Lady’s khazi. Endoscopic fluorescent dye expose of your candida albicans which you print up in a laminated magic-eye poster. Eight points and a free subscription to ‘The Wire’. Keep discussing your research into outsider music. There’s no shortage of funny wreckage. We can all laugh hysterically while we’re getting baked. It’s an absolutely sure preamble to naked twister. What’s good for abuse is good for your candour. Your reference NLP and Gnostic Christianity, provoke discussion, 10 points, growing a psilocybin cubensis crop in your god-son’s fishtank. Where’s Goldie gone? Don’t talk to me. I’m running from Tezcatlipoca! Unsure if it’s feathers or fists, ‘til having quetzals kicked out of you by Tooting hookers. Wrapped in a blanket, weeping at adverts. My reality is stronger. 11 points.

The Drill

Maps are all you ever need to know. I wanna get out and feel it on my hand out of the window while I stand still. Get a map of where they hid a map and hide it. Ha-ha only serious look your boy is getting pretty larval. Eat it if it’s good enough-a-tongue. A lover is vice for sunshine drill a pinhole camera in your head you got me. You’re re-written as a comedy. Your stable kick-a-full of burning horses drag a smile outside. Let me think. Let me think - when I’m smiling so hard. Breaking in spaces that you built me that I won’t remember. Maps are all you need. Digging up the ink road. Maps are all that you need. Maps are all you’ll know.Get a map of where they hid the map. A lover is spicular inside your gut I smell a match that you can swallow. They start shouting so we pressure up the cooker. For those who like to scrape the low, the metapanic is a sparky. Let me think. Let me think - when I’m smiling so hard. Breaking in spaces that you built me that I will not remember. Draw your map to his map and then. You gotta draw your map to her map and then eat the map. Two lesbian communards, a cloned manatee, a scientologist, a raffle of turkeys, a dyspraxic stealth bomber pilot, Noam Chomsky and a paediatrician, along with a self harming a nun, a man who just received a pig heart xeno-transplant, an albino luddite and Alex Chiu walk into a bar. You know the drill. You know the drill. You know the drill. You know the drill. Sky becomes alien skin. Vincent Price is gonna win. On every television every television glowing tonight. Each coin I throw is dropping like a bomb. Throw an explosion, it’s glitter, blossoming, it’s confetti. I’m gonna draw your map to his map and then burn the map. We’re gonna draw your map to her map and then eat the map. Draw your map to her map and then burn the map. Come on sparky: Come on and bring your love like a ball in the throat and a gag. Just because it’s coming to you in dreams doesn’t mean it’s a prophecy. I got the hacker humour tight as a nut. Working the terror in my holiday gut. You can’t win - you’re stuck with the joke you’re in, and stuck with three jokers that you met in the bar.

Asymptote

Safe while you are sinking, diving down so low. You’ll never ever hit the bottom at all. Apprentice hookers got to ripen up. Thumb dug in the apple. Keep sucking your Phencyclidine cocktail. Dive down here and glass me. Neuf Du Pape from daddy. The teenage police just make you cheeky. Teach the boys a new game. Scrabble with my eye teeth. I’m no better.

Schrödinger's Cat Lives!

I watch you flirt with the guys who work in the human resources department but they're just paid to act like they care. They don't care at all. Sometimes I think about touching your legs maybe you are better than pornography. I'd like to call you pet names, but you might conclude I'm a freak, or worse you'll think that I'm gay. Bugs. Paper butterflies in my belly. Sometimes I think about buying you lunch maybe it is better when just imagined. Richard, Judy, Richard. I saw you reading a popular science book about physics. Photocopy, open up my mouth. Schrödinger's Cat, but I got it wrong. Sometimes I think about baking you bread I hope we will get married and have children.

Slug City

Just like whispers, baby you’re only going to hear this when you’re asleep. As sharp as the pin, as bright as tiny sparks that live in the bone. It’s still a one time deal. This is the loneliest part of your brain tucked in the loneliest fast asleep, until your days draw in. Bring me sun for breakfast. Have you given birth to somebody else’s dogs? Yesterday is just skin passing the baton along. That flesh against flesh grew up and shed across the floor years ago. It’s still a one time deal. This is the loneliest part of your brain; why are you trying to stay awake until its 4.00am? Now they manifesto. Crawling out of your television set. The garden is ours tonight. Sucking on the alcohol trap. It will be so good while it lasts; tiny sparks that live in the bone. It’s still a one time deal. This is the loneliest part of your brain tucked in the loneliest fast asleep, until your days draw in. Leave space for your gnaborretni in every sentence. ‘Cos everything that you don’t know the answer to is a big deal. Hummingbird in your left ear at night sings with ease. But the morning will reveal it as Esperanto TV. I don’t got much time left to baptise the loneliest part of your brain tucked in the loneliest fast asleep until your days draw in.