ghost of a feeling

i
wake with a
fug in my back
brain

i sat
up last night, smoking
drugs and watching
music

i ate
sheets of salmon flesh drank
gallons &
glutted

i kept slipping
under, slouching my eyes
lolling into the back of my
skull

i now drink
black coffee and attempt
becoming
centered

something like a
ghost of paranoia is
licking at my
edges

(blue tongues)

sitting outside the air
reminds me of
simpler, happier
times

(do we not
remember how we
want?)

alone

mixing with the
race, that is the
human is
necessary

my
darkest days were spent in
isolation

the absurdity is
streatham common
streatham hill
forced laughter

perhaps
'people' don't
realize

or
they're
smarter than
me and

accept what they
need/ after
all where does
sophistical reflexion leave

one?
lopsided (alone)
f'k'd

when the close

i'm
up
alive
smelling the delicious spring
air undercut with
new-mown grass

all is
quite
delightful/ but for how
long? how long will i
survive
living the way i
do?/ i am a
chronic
alcoholic/ i drink
all
day, wine whiskey white star
till
i
collapse/ when i wake i
can't
recall
much/ i get
maudlin when i
mix
too
much/ and the bitch-cunt of it is
i
can't
stop/ alot of
freaks write about their
addictions as if they're
proud
of
them/ oooh i was shooting in my
groin
oooh well i had to get a rupturing
leper to shoot it in my
neck cause i sold my
hands / fucking
morons/ junkies are the most
tiresome people, as dull as
trainspotters but a
whole
lot
smellier

party time

when the
Rave
Ended i sat for
years
alone in my
room. i now get
nervous around
people, so before i
mingle i take
pills. they make me
strong
untouchable
gregarious
fun. i can
smoke without
anxiety. i can
talk and not feel my
words
hanging
lifeless and
heavy in the
void between
me and
them. i can
be...

f'n' g'd man/ jus' been out for a russett apple juice at my local and now sit typing listening to the bird song from without/

f'n' g'd/ easy jour yester. post impromptu party tues. n'g't/ procured rx twain for the bank holiday period, did some work and made supper, drinking only one can stella (500mls, 5.2%) and retiring 1905, rising ce matain 0755/ thus feeling pretty well restored/ about to construct cafe schwartz and ecoute to some songs/ must procure m today and 've a docs app. this post-noon/ fun fun fun/ then weekend off to choose my b'day present (a dog!)/

to be a poet is to cut passions in verse for a sick people. read on....

a blog a day

keeps inertia away and it
works
temporarily

even if i've
nothing to write i'll
write

every
being needs
something

without
activity spirit
ceases, body
rots

restless movement between
moments is what keeps spirit
alive

frustration, therefore is
central to the
human condition

true
satiety is
death

life is ever
moving, devoid of
satisfaction

till the
absolute
rest