Tuesday, August 31, 2010

He would say anything just to prove that he was sorry

I was six when I first saw kittens drown.
Don Taggart pitched them, 'the scraggy wee shits',
Into a bucket; a frail metal sound,

Soft paws scraping like mad. But their tiny din
Was soon soused. They were slung on the snout
Of the pump and the water pumped in.

'Sure isn't it better for them now?' Dan said.
Like wet gloves they bobbed and shone till he sluiced
Them out on the dunghill, glossy and dead.

Suddenly frightened, for days I sadly hung
Round the yard, watching the three sogged remains
Turn mealy and crisp as old summer dung

Until I forgot them. But the fear came back
When Dan trapped big rats, snared rabbits, shot crows
Or, with a sickening tug, pulled old hens' necks.

Still, living displaces false sentiments
And now, when shrill pups are prodded to drown,
I just shrug, 'Bloody pups'. It makes sense:

'Prevention of cruelty' talk cuts ice in town
Where they consider death unnatural
But on well-run farms pests have to be kept down.

The Early Purges by Seamus Heaney

Saturday, August 28, 2010

As if it wasn't enough just to hear you speak, they had to give you lips like that

We’ve been wasting time
Staring at our laces leaving both untied
We’ve been stuck inside
Either something changes or my parents lied

I said I’d come back
I’m trying to make up for what my friends lack
You were supposed to know
This is one of those things that I won’t let go

That I won't let go
We’ve been wasting time
We've been wasting time
We've been wasting time

I see you’re terrified
Waiting to be buried so you try to hide
You’ll be justified
Taking all you wanted to before you die

When our time is over, we’ll leave as we came
No time for crying, this building’s in flames

I know this wont take too long
The good old days are yet to come
I know this wont take too long
The good old days are yet to come
I know this wont take too long
The good old days are yet to come

My Parents Lied by The Static Jacks

Thursday, August 26, 2010

The most unhappy of all men is he who believes himself to be so.

A discontented person won’t find contentment through any outward change. Put her in a new and bigger house, and she’ll still complain. A discontented man can change wives, but if he doesn’t address the spiritual cancer within, he’ll grow just as weary with the new one. Trying to find contentment in this world without addressing the inner person is no more drastic a change than simply changing cubicles while continuing to work for the same company. Your location may change but the overall environment is exactly the same.

Gary Thomas

It pains me, but I'm sure she's still yours

WHEN we two parted
In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted
To sever for years,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
Colder thy kiss;
Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this.

The dew of the morning
Sunk chill on my brow—
It felt like the warning
Of what I feel now.
Thy vows are all broken,
And light is thy fame:
I hear thy name spoken,
And share in its shame.

They name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear;
A shudder comes o'er me—
Why wert thou so dear?
They know not I knew thee,
Who knew thee too well:
Long, long shall I rue thee,
Too deeply to tell.

In secret we met—
In silence I grieve,
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet thee
After long years,
How should I greet thee?
With silence and tears.

When we Two parted by George Gordon Byron, Lord Byron

Who can say where they're blowing

all the gentle,
fragile ones,
who seem to
break apart
In the random
brutality of living,
I wish
I could find
a soft womb
for you,
where you could
grow again
and find
the strength
to endure
this utter hardness

All the gentle, fragile ones by J.L.Stanley

Friday, August 20, 2010

looking back down the long path I don't believe I would have done anything different.

citizens of the world
I renounce you.

I have
long ago.
but this is a formal
me against
a restraining

fuck off.
dry up.

don't come to
my door
with pizza
or offers of

it's too late.

the music has
frozen in the
castrated by the
absence of your

notice by Charles Bukowski

Alone within myself again

Blanket by Urban species feat. Imogen Heap

This place is terribly remote

Thursday, August 19, 2010

I lay over her like a salvage boat wondering if this is really where we sank or if that place disappeared long ago

After the day you died
I went to a mountain lake
all warm and piney
and as I floated in the gentle water
transfixed between earth and sky
I thought of you dying
just the plain sorrow of it
and of how it would never end

And one day
I was older
than you'd ever be
you would never again
be older than me

Elegy for an Older Sister by J.L.Stanley

Tuesday, August 17, 2010

His situation, insofar as he was a machine, was complex, tragic and laughable. But the sacred part of him, his awareness, remained an unwavering band

I'm the most irresponsible person in the world. The reason I'm like that is because, at 21, you all gave me $50 or $100 million, and I didn't know what to do. I'm from the ghetto. I don't know how to act. One day I'm in a dope house robbing somebody. The next thing I know, 'You're the heavyweight champion of the world.' ... Who am I? What am I? I don't even know who I am. I'm just a dumb child. I'm being abused. I'm being robbed by lawyers. I think I have more money than I do. I'm just a dumb pugnacious fool. I'm just a fool who thinks I'm someone. And you tell me I should be responsible?

Mike Tyson

Sunday, August 15, 2010


Don't fear god,
Don't worry about death;
What is good is easy to get, and
What is terrible is easy to endure

The four-part cure by Epicurus

Friday, August 13, 2010

Lust of limb nor lust of food, mar the lovely solitude; yet there stirreth in my clay, memory of an older day.

His white lips move, whispering, My time is short,
I would be gone.
O Lord, Lord! now let thy servant depart!
I am left alone
an old man with thin hands and a dry heart
sitting in the sun.

I am grown sadder than the gust that shakes
dead leaves in May,
lonelier than the sea that breaks
her heart in spray;
now, O Lord, ere another morrow wakes,
I would away.

For the spring returning moves not as before
this dolorous clay,
love is forgotten, a bright cloak I wore
and cast away;
the stars are dumb, the heavens resound no more
in this dark day;
I am old, I am old: thine ancient peace restore,
O Lord, I pray!

The Old Man by A. R. D. Fairburn

Monday, August 9, 2010

Love need not be a command nor faith a dictum

My name is Fatso and I am eight.
I think I would be better if I lost weight.
The kids at school hate me,
And often make me cry.
I try to tell the teachers
But they say I just lie.

My name is Stupid and I am ten,
I sometimes feel angry and stab my arm with a pen.
I want to be loved
But I want him to go away.
I don’t understand the things he does
And the words I hear him say.

My name is Waste-Of-Space and I am thirteen.
The teachers say I’m naughty, disruptive and mean.
Each day at school I dread
Each night at home I fear
Praying for an exit,
I need way out of here.

My name is Anorexic and I am fifteen.
Their rules and threats, they are obscene.
I’m not ill; I just need to rid of a bit more fat,
Then I promise I’ll leave it at that.
I want to be small, fragile and pure
And food is certainly not the cure.

My name is Attention Seeker and I am eighteen
But my self Injury is not about being seen.
It’s my way of surviving in a world which I fear
It’s a way of crying without my eye shedding a tear
The punishment I deserve and need,
You can’t stop me. I must bleed.

My name is Rachael and I am twenty one.

My Name by Innocent Voices

Sunday, August 8, 2010

My name is Rachael and I am twenty one.

he was 65, his wife was 66, had
Alzheimer's disease.

he had cancer of the
there were
operations, radiation
which decayed the bones in his
which then had to be

daily he put his wife in
rubber diapers
like a

unable to drive in his
he had to take a taxi to
the medical
had difficulty speaking,
had to
write the directions

on his last visit
they informed him
there would be another
operation: a bit more
cheek and a bit more

when he returned
he changed his wife's
put on the tv
dinners, watched the
evening news
then went to the bedroom, got the
gun, put it to her
temple, fired.

she fell to the
left, he sat upon the
put the gun into his
mouth, pulled the

the shots didn't arouse
the neighbors.

the burning tv dinners

somebody arrived, pushed
the door open, saw

the police arrived and
went through their
routine, found
some items:

a closed savings
account and
a checkbook with a
balance of
suicide, they

in three weeks
there were two
new tenants:
a computer engineer
and his wife
who studied

they looked like another
upwardly mobile

hell is a lonely place by Charles Bukowski

Saturday, August 7, 2010

Always with me, always with you by Joe Satriani

Sunday, August 1, 2010

With artillery, you greet your only lasting memory. Am I the monster?

I dreamed that you had ceased to love me—
not that you had come from other beds
back to mine, or gone from mine to others,
just that something in your heart had stopped.

I willed myself awake to find you still
beside me. It was just a dream, I thought,
yet when I turned to kiss you, in your eyes
I saw that you had ceased to love me.

I willed myself awake a second time
to find myself alone, as I have been
these many months, but did not know if it
was terror or relief I felt, and whether

dreams unfold the past or make the future
plain. I dreamed that you had ceased to love me,
and know when I see nothing in your eyes
I can't dream myself awake a third time.

The Dream by David Solway