and we went down in the valley, to pray

and the distant ships come rolling in.   Their masts are bare and their rotten sails litter the decks strewn with ruin.  not a soul come to throw in the bowlines.  Not a soul greets the smiling eyes.  Not a soul catches the last disapearing rays of sun before the darkness runs across the stones to the quay.  Beneath the ships the water ever and after stirs.  the wood creaks and groans and speaks of its own in a tongue thrice forgotten.  The beggar laughs and the crowd looks and he points to the moon, a sliver in the sky, being devoured by a hungry beast.

a mountain in reign leans down into a valley of black water

high up there in the shrouded peaks lurks a dark beast, its hair is matted with the guilty souls that have dared to tread past its keep, up there, high in the hidden, away in the russet grasses and the cold windy barren lands, where rocks are ever cold and the sun is a distant friend whose rare smile is but an echo upon this hungry face.  a thousand steps lead to here and a thousand further still upward into the blackness and the ice beyond.  But here, here waits Sikel, the barren one, the leering sleeper all slumbering in an empty land.  There are not even bones simply shale, crushed up and sucked dry, little splinters of what once held flesh and sinew in place and now, ha-ha tasty sweet flesh, suck it from the brittle bones and grind them down to gain the moist marrow.  Such feasts had Sikel had, times of old where marauding armies came and never left and time when pilgrimages to the old palaces came and never left, ha-ha, such excess.  But time were growing on and Sikel was grey now and its own bones began to creak and bemoan the cold and the wind.  Catechu was the first to get past Sikel since Sikel had taken root here, and to be worse Catechu had laughed and mocked as it fired past and up the step into the mist and darknesssss above.  Sikel began to live of the fat slime fish that inhabited the stagnant marsh pond and after a while realised the humans do not like being chewed.

slowly at first like a crocus in spring breaks the ice

it shatters the land's surface and inhabits that spot where there was only days ago the white coveted earth.
the petals are shut but the suns lengthening gaze warms it to the pistol.
the silver life in its veins charges like a geyser and the sublime shivers.
there is a grove of beech beyond the rocky field and beyond is mountains snowy and distant.
there is a steely blue sky above and beyond there are clouds wispy with a grey weight that drags them across the craggy rocks and down into the valley below.

endloss sleep on the turbid waters neath clouded moon

fragile baby dreaming with little clenches as the dreams ripple through from neverwhere into the physical plane of now.   Ripples echo the halls and river caverns and the roots of the trees soak up the tiny threads of life.  winds restless and growing push in and swirl around and the colours of the street outside tremour with the mottled sun.  satan in inside with me and waits by the window smoking a cigar and drinking cheap cognac.  The smoke curls up and tugs at the blind before being snatched out the window into the glassless boundary.  the wall is a little white and tape appears at the edges where draughts taper into the permanent matt finish of melbourne, of melbourne, of melbourne, of melbourne, of melbourne, of melbourne, of melbourne.  living la vida loca
joi de vie

caetechu and the island of souls

crush in the ancient gallery as the faces peer up from the stone and wall around and dusty light flickers and cascades from a hole in the distant ceiling.  the faces lidless keep watch and every footfall echoes down and along the corridor.  In the distance there is a dreadful drumming, a monotonous throb that rolls the sand beneath me.  waves of the sound echo and shimmer around me bound by the earth and the stagnant air.
I push on into the darkness and follow a winding staircase down, into the belly of the mountain, following the drum and its hypnotic snare, bound around my spirit and walking me, into the valley below.

tired eyes in the holow scul

the flesh is still peeling out at the kiss of the lime slaked and raking fangs across the folicles.  All music is broken and re-assembled before me and the black and white memory is an italian passer by.  Pedestrons on a sidewalk that seem to know me better than i know me and know me from a passers by opinion and their little thoughts and words and that it passes back to me makes me nauseaous and changes my opinion of my opinion of my grace and my race onto the train goin my way.


al i really care about it the silence in the space between my heart beats where all illusion drops to the sides and where the bass drop in some of these tracks.  Death the surreal skeleton hunched in my slit eyes and chasing my shadow to get close to where i am still.

still.

christmas in michigan

an island of a kind forever
and ever into the night
upon a lazy afternoon
we set out to the light

with a broken back and shoes
with holes right through
the patchwork quilt
authentic enough for two

the light changes too quick to hold
and the stars take over
the mould of the dusty sky
is forever in my eyes

where the distant winter is already
kissing anothers cheeks
i'll see you again so soon
always before i am steady

the beat of fives is a harder glass
filled with a with a wine
more for me than you
but sometimes its itch will pass

and it was gone.

galloway befriends the yellow ghost

the beach was pure and white despite the frightfully grey and sleety rain with clouds
grounds still squeeled under foot and paw and the shadows of the dunelands there were definitions
i looked up towards the running water rolling towards me in three's then it leaves
back down the beach towards its mother the weight behind the sprawling fingers
and the prints again, swirling behind me one two and thee, the three none on bended knee
it's a forever kind of beach and the island out there we'll never reach and never care to
reef rings it and throws back towards land and the distant waves break over that
can you taste the salty air like when you visit the windy beach in winter the one time that you always recall
when the wind was full of ocean spray and the foamy waves smash into each other with chaos
a desert of water further than you can see and deeper still into the black and crooked floor with all its animals
old tire marks gasp for breath as they are drowned by rolling sand and little white shells mosaic the floor
the seabirds are used to it though the gulls look pissed and their usually sneering eyes sneer with vigor
and a single breath is enough to fill the body with all its magic and the mind doesn't work so hard at all                  

blessed are the pure of heart

green is the grass and blue is the sky before the night is close, a grey cloud takes a breath from the sun and then the golden light touches me again.  The death is all around me and it has my blood on its insect wings.  A steel grate lines the dirt and the grass leads to here in a gentle slope.  Trees and things bend and move and little bark takes up root in my hand, my wings unfold and shimmer behind me and then stretch out and blow the dust from the webs and all the animals turn around and the ground is soft with pine needles and the air is cleaner than the air in the grey and black and white city.  windows outside my window reflect the trees' outside my window and their fresh greenery.  it is black and orange in the night and moves ever.  god is in my empty mind and satan rests on either hand, humans will be extinct before the last tree is gone from the earth and i must be getting somewhere, because it's taking less and less effort to appreciate the beauty of life.

all the glitter and cold cannot bring back the soul you sold

the sheep leave off and take way for the green dales that lie on yonder, through the deep forest, the ravine and onto the other side.  where the wolf waits within.
it's not dark yet
but it's getin there

Northcote Street Party 2011

At the top of the hill is where it begins, there were a lot of people in West Garth and I believe this was from the plethora of humans either going to or from the street party.  Some police in fluorescent colour waited at the entrance.  there was a lot of people now no shit, they were everywhere crawling up the walls and slithering down the cracks in the pathways where the tree's had grates to breathe in the street air.  Many scents purveyed the matt blue sky day and most of them were from street meat and bread made from dry rubbish crusts.  many ferals were gnawing at the remains of a carcass and in a pen some baby boguns were slavering and growling at passers by.  Some band were playing reggae stuff at the top entrance and i got off my bike and welded it to a solid wall flower and then wandered in as the road made its slight incline over the crown and down into the north.  people flowed like water down a mirror dodging things even other beings at times and generally behaving well.  There was a bit of sun and it was warm and tobacco and spilt beer changed the scents for now.
  I followed two police down the road and got deeper into the beating heart of the festival.  girls and guys like little platelets raced past and faded into the past and still deeper i went.  Another band played now and i don't even remember what they were like, anyway further down nearly to the end i walked up to someone i knew and walked down to the end then back, people everwhere, listless drunk, revelers, stoned, fried, deep fried, toasted, baked, sauteed and poached.  some danced in the street and many had red faces and a lot of homemade clothes.  all the pretty flowers were dancing it out up here.  the mood was good and people were happy for now.  most carried knives and guns for later when the bloodshed would begin.  I wasn't thirsty or hungry so i wasn't going to wait around until then.  I listened to a gypsy bands set and then walked back up through the crowds, josteling good humourdly acting like happy bastards because they had a nice day and everything was great and wonderfull.  some band fllawlessly improvised, like me and it sounded nice not me and eventaully i reached the top unhinged my wings and jumped from the hill and the warm setting sun air carried my down through the tagged streets and over the painted walls and bound earth, back to collingwood where i sit alone.

eternity in the hour

                                                                            .
                                                                     

now you hear your master sing

and the hills we will lay bare of tree's and make the wood into canoes and from here we will travel and into another ocean and from there we will find more land for us to take on, for we have not enough here and we must grow into that great size that we have dreamed, so go now and take the tree's down.  we will leave only the guardians we have prayed to for this long and we will go forth and not look back, in time for the western winds that will carry us away into the sunrise.  let nothing slow us for we are a great people and our time now is come and all the lands afar will be ours.  ours beneath these different feet which from such greatness forms and takes boundless infinity into its final shape.

someone without love is like a empty seashell, you can hear ocean but there is nothing in there

dark dark sky, and the night decendeth, cold wind whispers and then blows out its cheeks and the spring blossoms shake and shiver and the streets are wet.  the stone glistens and the earth soaks in the water.  they are wondering about me too much and their  lives are begining to revolve around me and i must be free of this.  they must be free of this, to keep their minds guarded against thoughts that take on my hues and my grace and damnation.  these are my burdens and i wish them upon no-one and no-one shall have them and i   will take my life with these morsels of proof of life and time immemorial.  there is no shortcut to heavan it is relatively long but not in the sense of time.  i call up to the winds to blow down on this place and push out the vapours that are clogging the minds of these people and twining them onto my being like magnets to a steel wheel.  i am shaking anyway and ever moving so be sure little magnets, that you know where you are going and keep eye to know where you've been when you tumble off and back onto the solid ground where your seeds can sprout and flower and die and

cross your heart and dot your eyes

a steady flow, its leaking is like a sick nose, all i think of is the cold stormy ocean and shrinking into a warm jacket.  the dark blue is dirty with foam and the pounding sounds surround like distant tracks played on key from memory.  the subtle unconcious and its streaming podcast.  no ocean here though, a white desk thats gathering dust as i think and a lot of other stuff that covers its rectangle.  a hate pushing for words when they despise me, when they hide away and when i have other amusements lying in wait.  To distract and pull my attention away.  but there is ever rising a current and i feel like swimming in the flooded waters, with a canoe perhaps, did you think i was a swimmer ?  i am but thats another tale for another time.  when the buildings down come and the streets run into the sea and the black clouds strike out at the hard city surface, the sour dark dark ground beneath screams out and tears out and takes a breath and then smashes back down and the ripples spread around like rings elliptic.  the water tumbles off behind me, down into the valley below where the ground is all saturated with a giant cover of wet that is thicker and longer than europe.  all but resilient and collapsing eternally into rebirth.  here is el dios.