Monster

There's a living, breathing
monster inside of me.
It's growing and choking
Just dying to kill me.
The manifestation
Of that self destruction
The conscious decision
To limit my life span.

So you, monster, appeared
To fulfil my prophesy
That I would be dead by thirty
And I'm running out of time.

But

Have you counted the number of drags
On a cigarette?
Have you counted how many breaths
Before you fall asleep?

Hong Kong

Smell of sweet sulphur. Mega city one. A race to escape poverty. Education, religion, a big deal. Crumbling facades and a red brick church. Holy crap. There's people here who live in extreme poverty. No room to build out, so build up. A single room width apartment block. My mouth is actually hanging wide open as we drive through downtown. Fluorescent neon signs flash in store fronts below crumbling dwellings. "You raise me up" plays on the cab radio the couple behind me share a kiss. Ironic? No, probably not. It's cut after one chorus to make way for the news, a sense of humour or just plain in a rush?

Arrived at the hotel, what a marble polished palace! The girl at the desk writes my details on a slip. Her pen pauses before each word and the nib fast rotates as if it's thinking before proceeding.

Stepping out of the glacially preserved hotel into the oppressive afternoon heat is like jumping into a pool. It hits you, totally consumes you from all directions outside and in. It sucks your energy, rips it from you, and instantly you are sticky with sweat.

Awake early, but not so early as suspected. Up to top floor, swimming pool. Feeling groggy, lie on lounger in weak morning haze. There's that smell again, salty like the sea, faint sulphurous like volcano, drifts like sick jasmine on the dense breeze of the young day.

Dragonflies, more dragon than fly, fly soundlessly overhead. I didn't think such delicate life could be supported here. Not so delicate. A cruise ship rolls into the harbour. No-one on deck to see it arrive in Hong Kong. If that's not interesting for the happy cruisers, then what is?

At buffet breakfast, two ship officers sit together. Crew cut and in standard issue crisp white shirts, dark ties, pressed black trousers, they look like upper middle class British mormons, echoes of their colonial past. One looks like the lost brother of Piers Morgan, made of ham, and with bigger hair. An elderly chinese millionaire businessman enters with a glamorous much younger woman and they sit to my left. He is shorter than,her, crisply dressed, old fashioned, a pair of large weakly tinted bifocals on his motionless deeply pockmarked face. His hair is thin, black, shiny with hair gel. His face too, shines in the reflected light from the harbour in front of us. It's almost like he used a single procedure to gel his hair and wax his face in a simple front to back motion. His face doesn't move, they don't speak. The lady collects her healthy meal, the man sits, waits, for what? Finally he puts down his awful cup of tea and gets himself an orange juice.

Sound like kissing from the table to my right. Strange, only a moment before the man there was bellowing in chinese into his mobile. Glance across and the noise is the gentleman slurping vigorously on an unidentified purple food. The foods doesn't entirely clear his lips and ends up back on his plate. The man clears the (evidently quite large) frog from his throat with a loud phlegmy cough. Ends with a spit.

Ah, good. Millionaire businessman has finally got some breakfast. His wife (?) must be quite relieved.

Outside the hotel front a groom party (12 in total) is having their photos taken. Uniform: white shirt, black tie, black trousers, manga hair and converse blue star shoes. The chubby kid in the group wears a pink shirt. The bride waits inside watching through the glass wall, occasionally nervously tapping on her iphone. I go back inside and Rear Admiral Piers Morgan leaves the hotel with his ship mates, teenage son and numerous blonde floozies.

New room, high up, harbour view. I rest my hands on the window frame and look out into the falling dusk. Any view that might have been apparent is obscured by a red cloud of pollutants. Beneath me in the water bobs a Watsons Water bottle. It's neon green cap visible from this distance? Fat men jog along the seafront, no top on, shining sweaty boob blobs. Admiration though, how people can run in this environment, a miracle. What an oppressive, sweaty, horrible stinking hole of a place.

I feel something wrong in my guts. Joints ache, head fuzzy. Illness creeps into my bed with me and I am laid low. What a fucking shithole. A modern day heart of darkness, all commerce, aggression, capitalism. No compassion, no humour, no humanity.

Paralysis

My apathy, appears to be,
A surrounding factor, destroying me.
Procrastinate, paralysis;
A productive, constructive antithesis.
Rules, process, functionality,
Leave me now devoid of pity.
If I don't care about money,
What is here to motivate me?
"In your place, and stay there please",
Emotionlessness is here a disease.

Verse - The Bitter Bastard

Glorious

I will not be your plot
point charted on a map.
Your tight tongue slipped today
the words left me changed.

You

But courage grows again
every time I see him.
His face, his curling lip,
the way his chin points
up, so down his nose he
looks, so condescending.

remind me

These scum are nothing
compared with what I have
to unload, to draw with breath,
to paint with thought, to express

my mind

suffers the rigours of
suppression, the individual
is lost in a world
competent, yet absent.

defines me

The time is near to show
these cunts just what
is possible with
the personality glorious.

The great north road - Stale food, staler minds

This has to be
one of the most
depressing places
on earth.

White lines gridded
on slabbed tarmac,
the King, the Chef,
and the Travelodge
watch over a
stopping place,
a brief respite,
a breathless gasp
from the thundering
highway passing
beside. Traffic
heads forward and back,
tunnel vision, blind
to either side.

Pounding onward,
don't stop, lest think.
And this is the stop!
The place to draw relief,
consider my direction,
or make a decision?

No surprise then jump
back on the road
and think nothing
more of it.

Empty inside
but the tanks full.
The road was freedom
and now it is slavery.

Keep driving!
Keep driving!
and don't think
any more of it.

The great north road - Manhood

Am I even a man?
My knob in hand,
dislocated.

Everything's taken from me.
My heart, my free mind.
I can't even wank anymore.

The shell that remains
is a fit machine:
Impressive!

Ambitious, driven,
success at work:
Anaesthetic!

I fail myself
in the most basic sense:
What a great businessman!

The great north road - The Bitter Bastard

Angry, getting angrier.
I won't congratulate you -
does that make me bitter?
I will ignore you in the car park.
Did you see me return to check my handbrake?

Of all the hate in my heart,
of it I reserve the greatest part,
for thee, you creep, you towering
stench of selfishness, you smile glowering.

I apparent, dominate, intimidate - not friendly?
With me it gets heavy. Quickly.

The Valley Aire

With a long calm breath
I fix a warm hard stare
'cross amber lights, shadowed gaps.
Sunset draws down the valley Aire.

Cloud dark 'gainst fading pale sky,
an orange glow threatens, explode.
My mind is turmoil, anger. Why
does it calm, upon gentle hills erode?

So much terror, torment, confusion
beheld. I wake in my sleep
and dream in my days.

But wait, do I sense some relief?
Can I feel again, fill my lungs
with soft air, burgeoning my belief.
My debt not repaid, but my future begun.

Meursault

Lying on an overcast summer morning,
just towel draped over me. Warm air
dries my skin, pale light shimmers in.
I'm feeling quite calm, hoping things'll
get better. Knowing that they won't.

Quite the most exquisite music plays
and I realise what has always been true.
The great gift my parents gave me
is music is my salvation, and I
hope to pass it on. It fuels my love.

Choose Freedom - Thanks Camel!

The air here is sweeter
than the cigarette I am smoking.
The light night sky
hovers over the world I am re-entering.

The met line rumbles past,
bubbles through the stillness.
Nerves in my stomach,
the beginning of some hopefulness.

Now I must prepare myself,
or can I really influence
the path I'm taking here?
Choose freedom. Have confidence.

Fragments recalled from a wedding

Fragments recalled from a wedding

Memory hazy, through wine glasses see,

something between humanity and me.

Such parts I recall, somewhat poignant,

to remind me I feel so damned fortunate.

Groom party beside church, top hats in the air,

the scene sudden jolts under the Sun's glare.

Old friends together, in secure tradition

instantly distance my present condition.

Now inside God's house, respect I do show.

Hymns, prayers, sealed lips, no belief: now they know.

I feel a burden to sing, to join in,

hypocrite I'm not, though respect I don't win.

So gathered outside, bride to groom is wed.

I've tried to dress cool, a fat prick instead.

Colleagues together and nearest the car,

no photo's of us, lets head for the bar.

Back to the house and reception begins,

"We're spare parts here", so best not to fit in.

When one is apart, unnoticed you go,

to observe mankind and to know her woe.

Sat at our table, introductions made;

I quickly offend, through politics wade.

Said "Leeds has no soul" "how dare you" she cried,

"stimulate debate, opinions divide".

The band strikes up and the first dance is shared;

the romance is alive and nothing compared

in life so far to this, your moment, now

stand in the spotlight, then return to the crowd.

The night grows old and I'm warm dancing drunk,

busting my moves she smiles, inside she's sunk.

Outside she's hard, but her hands soft and warm;

so tough for the single, they dance on toward dawn.

More Misc.

Lads Night Out

You go out
on your lads night out,
and I will
stay at home tonight,
and be myself
in the cold and distant light.

In the awful solitude
that I must lone endure
to be myself
in this dead and dying town.

I can smell the beer
from in the attic here,
and you are much
better without me.

You sniff the air tonight
and in your gut it slightly
hits you that you
are alone like me.

Decide not alive

The mist off the hills,
thunder clap slap back,
eye socket pain pills.

Sodden wood beaming,
shit job lazy sod,
rain like tears streaming.

Favour the artist?
business man,
or the worker drone?

Just a cod piece,
nervous man,
comfy life so alone.

Steamy breath hang air,
gutters drain late rain,
road smell rising there.

Three ways to turn here,
decide not alive,
unless choice of fear.

One shot two kills

One shot, two kills,
stop gut, feel ill,
breed Death, gone soul,
short breath, not old,
shell bang, eat dust,
chip fang, clik thrust.

Feel Brand New

With beats like rock
and higher places,
I can see your
different faces,
and I feel brand new.

Whats the point in
making excuses,
I just love your
flowing juices,
and I feel brand new.

Baggy, baggy pants
wander round the house,
the flames in me
only you can douse,
and I feel brand new.

Look out now
here comes my chance
to prove that really
I can dance,
and feel brand new.

Die is be alone

Last night I
stood atop a cliff
and looked I think
further out than
I did before.

All was black
sky was dark
and I was empty
sea terrified me
light was deathly gone.

So turned I
round to face you
have to touch you
knew that instant
to die is be alone.

In darkness
fear took me
loneliness winded me
I saw no light
and then I saw you.

Secrets of my Book

Secrets I love to keep,
in parts of me you don't seek.
Pages of this book,
characters I took.
I live them out alone,
in spare moments when I'm home.

The sum
of all
I am
is here
with you.

I simply cannot perform
these melodies so warm.
And words or tunes of mine,
will fade in shades of time.
No-one will know
the thoughts from my lips that flowed.

Some old verse:

The Reason:

There were times
when I said I'd give it
my best shot.
I recall now
that sadly I did not.

Quietness of mind
and fire in my heart,
I died inside
to wait for the moment
to fight with pride.

My talent I give you,
sacrifice freedom,
expression, thought, art;
there's a debt I owe
these streets I only start.

With the hope
of a hopeless boy,
and none of the money
happiness can buy,
I slog on filled with joy.

Friday:

I rub my palm against the smooth sandstone
on my way out the door past the building.
We spent the afternoon out and about,
conversation was brief, reached out alone.
I'd planned it all out in my head; we'd share
anecdotes, amusing jokes, business plans,
but you held back, distant, listening to
my love of music, closeness to other.
I should have asked about you family,
instead I mouthed off my manifesto.
It's startling just how detached I feel,
but really I shouldn't be surprised.
Obsessed with individuality
this is the world I have created.

A warm hollow glow, self pity and pride,
I know what I know, understanding wide,
not meant to get on, outside in the cold,
the week is now gone, I shake feeling bold.

Br'tf'd?

Someone was shot in bradford today,
it didn't even make the news.
The people I work with are all racist,
but keep it under wraps.
The whole country regards with dismay
a city with startling truths.
I'm too pathetic to wake up and face it,
not backbone, or spine, I'm trapped.

What fumes fuel this disregard?
A filthy fury blows through these streets.
"Don't be so P.C., it's only a laff"
The Obama jokes come through thick and fast.
A city of Outsiders, inward, looking outward,
so much violence lately, hope lies, bleeds.
I don't stand and say 'Enough',
of those with a conscience I am the last.

City with no hope, citizens hang by a rope.
They know it's wrong, I laugh along,
and die a bit more inside.

Silent Howl:

"I saw the best minds of my generation
destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked."

You shrieked out a howl
that silenced the crowd
and made them take note
and listen.

The torrent of pain you felt,
dead folks beside whom you knelt
breaks my heart when I read
your words aloud.

Our world here is numb
sensational, hysterical,
meaningless, spouting meaningless
so...so...dull.

I envy you Allen because
you knew
minds who dared
think, shout, pushed themselves,
pulsated towards madness.

Where are our minds?
Madmen starving hysterical naked?
Their sadness was bitter,
but left a sweet aftertaste on the tongue.

Are there no more boundaries to break?
Bare your soul.
Is there nothing more to provoke?
Sacrifice your self.
Is there no enlightenment left?

Radicals, Revolutionaries
take up your arms!
Dreamers, lovers
push yourselves forward!
We're stuck in the mire,
and this shit stinks.

We stopped moving forward
because we stopped speaking out.
Regret and madness
are sacrifices
we none of us
are prepared
to make
alone.


Sympathy for a lost father:

Window open on both sides,
let the breeze blow on through.
Sun sinks down behind the hill,
but leaves its light for hours.

Sun shines on the righteous
but it's beautiful at night.
Pain can't become you,
even once you lost the fight;
in the dark moonlight.

Your sad eyes crack me,
but your grim silence subdues thee.

Our hearts bleed for you,
we cry hidden tears away.
We despise ourselves,
but we're glad that we're ok.
Live another day.

Be strong my lad,
and remember good times had.

Catch a mouthful of the air,
and remember he is there,
holding on to you.
I never met the man, and I hardly know you,
but I can tell,
he was so proud of you.