The Result Of Too Much Free Time

For this edition of Bloggy Mcblogster update #123, rather than babbling on about what I've been up to (seen as it really has not been much), I've decided to post some really messed/ and/or crappy poems and stuff lying around in my documents - just to put them to some use.

Have fun blowing your mind with my cracked up literature:

S c a p e s

this fragile caravan carries my mind into desert oblivion
into the crooked horizon wind drifts with solitude,
the night a grid of shooting stars and hazy green lacerations
as I grab my slice of watermelancholic frugality.
the air inebriates my senses into a placid sculpture
a sculpture made of trapped bolides frozen at impact,
thoughts shift into migrating echoes,
on a journey to the open ears of a four dimensional kangaroo.

Frosted

it seems I've fallen into the bear trap set for a murderer,
but I haven't done a single thing.
I'm merely a fruit fly that has flown into the light.

weeks pass under a starless sky.

freeze these tears for all eternity,
let the statue-goers see my inevitable pain,
when a heart beneath an icy shell still beats on,
like trout under a pond, as blades slice spirals on the surface.

I am in the perpetual dream of waking up.
chained to a bed I have forgotten existed,
the alarm clocks are all inside out.
my mind---life, is all inside out.

so this is hell after all.
so this is heaven after all.

James' Crap Attempt at Songwriting V.1

yell at the wind,
scream at the sunset,
dream through the window,
laugh at the moon

cry with the sun,
breathe with the air,
whistle about the grass,
die with the night

live in the clouds,
under shades of grey,
over endless horizons,
where stars come to play

mimic the storm,
rattle your bones son,
let loose the stones,
hail it to the ground
hail it to the ground

fight the sea,
wash in its wake,
wake in its wash,
but watch the reef,
the jagged reef
it will not forgive,
never forget
to breathe in light,
exhale in darkness,
or love in sadness
or live in madness

so suck it up soldier,
don't fuck it up they toldya,
cause if you fuck it up they toldya,
then your a dead man soldier
a dead man soldier

James' Crap Attempt at Songwriting V.2

turn it off, yes. that sound.
it frightens the youth, but enlightens the truth.

how can you stand sitting down under the light?
can it really be that bleak - that you cannot speak?

I guess that your messing around with a mess of you,
but that's ok, tommorow is another uneventful day,
in an uneventful way - this will be quite ok.

solidify this boredom, and keep it frozen for another time,
I'd rather not listen to your shouting anymore,
just grab the eighty thousand foot knob, and turn it down,
to low.

enough.

enough.

enough enough enoooooough.

of this ecliptical absantium gormantis labratiacata.

teasetke two.

Garbage poem as a result of listening to garbage 80's Pop

cosmic cyberwaves snip at the various zippers in space and time,
and the waves and locks of cheddar tangles springs bounce to life,
tick tock brain in a lock of 80's music and frozen clock,
leg twitch leg twitch watch and brain,
shadowy figures eating bread,
sadly hark the heralds,
and down they go,
up the drawer,
through,
and out,
of the,
face,
cat,
at,
a.

Poetic De-Composition

Poetic De-Composition

feral pupils crash against the drum-skin of the eyelid,
wet crescent protrusions whip and snap red driplets -
amongst white-washed cavity walls,
venom pools and swirls into catacombs of crumbly pores,
thus the vice squeezes fidgety solids into splashing liquids,
swishing liquids into tepid gases,
and acid-spiced gases into glorious nothing.

Start Of A Slightly Politically Incorrect Rap

suck it up chump, life's a bitch seeking pleasure,
digging into hard ground looking for treasure,
until you strike a landmine not worth your measure,
try keep moving but you remember your dismembered

A Rap I wrote after listening to Beck

deep fried condensation sporadically treed,
lamborghini sunshine itchin on speed,
banana rundown townland clown weed,
golden decievers retrieving receivers' lead

papa johnson egging lady's house,
in this house climbs 1000th yellow mouse,
trowsers like jello on wax waterfalls joust,
weep said tyler the grain-flambé roust,

greedy little bean sprouts doing handstands sideways,
playing twister in one dimensional cube roomplay,
tattered like boontown dog ear sandal shoeshay,
can't stand the heat then hit the ice-covered hay

flax flavoured beer in a tub of soup,
soup made of oiled up gravypoop,
run down the track - OH NO! the loop
she's broken, and this rhyme is spoken....foop?

lady lasers r us, like a canteen full of eau de rust,
man's got a chest, ladies got a bust,
made of vanilla teardrops fill up the lust,
have some more brocoli for the rest of must

cementpounded sanders hitting like no tommorow,
ornate fisherman dip in grotto b, 649 lotto,
candy can can you do the twist on the go,
oh no, oh yes, oh no, no no yes no

end of song, song of end, lets break this beat,
like the man who could bend,
his elbow around his face,
and suffocate his nose like two quarts of mace

terribly sorry, I blew your mind,
I blew up in the sky, like Julie's behind,
radio-dust is all it is, this coke of lime,
I ran so far awayan brother is dead. oh my

flop off.

"Ditched" Chapter 1 - random story I started writing, and have yet to finish:

The lights slowly sting my fatigued eyes. Its venom renders me temporarily blind – I cleanse my thoughts, bathing the dirty things I’ve seen clean, with the help of my hot salty tears. They stream in vines down the ragged curves of my scarred jaw, and meet with rivers of blood on my chin, tracing back from a bloody nose and the craters left from where teeth once resided.

I drain the last ounce of whiskey down the well in my throat. Times like these and I slowly forget that I’m drowning the little boy down there, the little boy who fell down that well twenty years ago, my goddamned soul – just waiting to be boiled by the the devil himself. It shuts him up at least for a while, and I begin to forget the bludgeonings I recieved just hours before I stumbled into this ditch. The streetlights are merely faded haloes now, trapped in utter darkness. An eighteen-wheeler rips straight outta hell - just barely grazing my face, and I tumble back, into the deep mud-crusted snow.

Pass out in this cold you old fart, and your a popsickle by sunrise.

The wind harks its shrill laughter in my direction, flapping my slobbering skin like a fleshy parachute. The outer crust of snow freezes into an icy shell – even my fire-hot blood hardens into nasal stalagmites.

I’m going to die homeless, in a ditch, with my one and only companion: a bottle of Jack.

In what seems to be the last instance of my life, a white sedan pulls over to a stop on my side of the ditch. Vehicular angels were just what I needed.

“You poor devil! Camon, lets get you in the car”

Two blurry female figures lift me by the hands and legs into the back of the car. Then the darkness finally comes.. with warmth.





ANNNNNNND that's all I can fork out right now from this cluttered computer of mine.

More to come in the near future. Woah - this is one of hell of a long entry. Well, t'ill next time.

Peace on out g's
J-severely bored-ames.


P.S. (post any comments you want about this stuff, heh.)