Chess and the Eternal Sleep

TV sounds coming through the wall, noises of my mother in bed trying to get to sleep, the sound of the TV helping her, but hindering me. I look at the chess set on the table at the end of my bed. It was a wedding gift to my aunt and uncle who divorced before I was even born. She died a few years ago and I took the chess set to remember her by. I have other things of course, the pictures we took together, trinkets and my memories, but this chess set is something I can look at and remember her by.

It actually has an interesting story behind it, concerning a sales man from the middle-ages in Scotland who buried it in the sand out of fear of being mugged, only to never return for it, leaving to be found nearly a thousand years later. The chess set became quite a big deal. Lots of reproductions were made, including for use in the Harry Potter movies, which I remember well because I was watching it when I spent that magical night with Elizabeth. I loved her so much, but I never know what was going to happen next with her. We spent the night together and made love many times. As she slept in my arms, I laid awake and watched Harry Potter on the cheap hotel TV and noted that Harry and Ron were playing chess with the same pieces as the one I had from my aunt. I thought about waking Elizabeth and telling her, but somehow I don't think she would feel that it was that interesting a story. Maybe she was right, maybe I was wrong, but it’s funny how these things turn out. When she did awake, I told her the story of my aunt and Harry, she looked me in the eyes, kissed me hard on the mouth and then went down on me, so perhaps the stories of chess sets and recently deceased aunts is more exciting than I give it credit for. But that was Elizabeth; you never knew what was going to happen with her from one day to the next. She somewhat spoilt one of the best nights of my life though by later accusing me of taking advantage of, even though she was the one who invited me to the hotel. And she wonders why I have no confidence with women.

But my aunt is gone now; the magical pea and ham soup and walnut sponge cake that sustained me through my first 20 odd years of life has now vanished forever. I wish I still had a load in the freezer, waiting to be defrosted and eaten as I have never had soup like that before or since in my life! It’s funny the things you miss most about a person. Sometimes it’s their laugh, other times it’s their bad attitude, and sometimes it’s a steaming hot bowl of pea and ham soup. But she's gone now. Dead, along with my grandfather. Where they go after their body ends is a mystery that I often ponder into the small hours. As much as I would like something special and amazing to be waiting for us after we end our normal lives, deep down I know that there is nothingness. Just a soulless empty void that swallows us whole. A girl I once went out on a first date with asked me about my views on what comes after death once. I told her about my beliefs and how it would be just like falling asleep. Once asleep you remember nothing and you have no concept of time. Sure, occasionally you have vague and fleeting dreams, but for 97% of your sleeping time, you are mentally and physically non-existent. You have no recollection of it, you are not aware you are asleep and essentially you cease to exist for those 7 or 8 hours. People often wonder what happens after you die, and for me this is the most likely answer. No 42 virgins waiting for you; no loved ones from the past waiting to welcome you in to the pearly gates. Just an eternity of peaceful sleep and quiet. In a way I think that has its own beauty, to become one with the stars again and drift off into space. Your body going back to the dusts of space and time as you end your short stay on this planet.

I don't know. I'm making everything up as I go along. For all I know, maybe Zeus will welcome you back to Mount Olympus and give you his well-worn speech on how he has no idea why everyone is worshiping all these false Gods now a days.

I never saw that girl again. She told me she just wanted to be friends. Maybe Elizabeth had told her I was a "sex fiend", or maybe it was because her grandmother had recently died and she held strong beliefs of magic clouds and harps waiting for her after her passing. Or maybe it was because she was a stuck up bitch cunt whore who deserves to get her car smashed up and wrecked. That would teach her to reject me. I don't know where my passive aggressive nature comes from. We went out on a date, she didn't feel anything so decided to move on. But for some reason that pisses me off. I'm a nice guy, I have a good sense of humour, I’m young free and single, so what is this bitch’s problem? I tried asking her in the days, weeks and months that followed, but being one of the beautiful people I guess she has to deal with this all the time and is now an old hand at ignoring losers like me. Still though. Bitch....

Time for bed now. I hope I wake up tomorrow morning. It’s a funny feeling knowing that one day I will most likely go to sleep and then never wake up again. Will I be aware that I am dying? Lots of people seem to have a sixth sense when their time is up. Will I? Will I go to my bed willingly or will I freak out and attempt to out-stay death with lots of Redbull. How long will it be before I leave? 1 day? 100 years? I don't know.

Maybe I’ll play chess with my aunt, or maybe I’ll drift through darkness, oblivious to the silence around me.

Maybe that bitch will change her mind.

 entangled (the physics of love)


there are particles
and there are waves and fields.
there are you, here is i.
sometimes - individual electrons


remember each other, connected forever through the sub-etha        dancing to the same song


but it wasn't that way with us
I don't burn every time you
stir your coffee with your thumb and you don;t
cry every time I think of you:


not faster than light, not two


just one, missing you.




 ©2011 Peter A. Greene.

...And I Don't Feel Fine

On the 21^st September 2011, REM announced that they would be going their separate ways. Coming so soon after the release of their 15^th studio album, this announcement left me distraught and grieving.

As REM would say, perhaps we should begin the begin. At 33 years old, REM have been around since I took my first step and could say my first word. I first became aware of their presence when I was 12 years old and walked into the bedroom I shared with my brother on one idle Sunday afternoon to find him trying to tape a catchy song from the radio onto cassette tape (as was out way in the early 90s). Having never paid much attention to music up until this point in my life, I distinctly remember being moved and hooked on the epic catchy tune that was Losing my Religion.

Throughout the 90s my love affair with the Athens rock Gods grew. I listened to them on Dylan’s car stereo as he seduced Brenda in 90210, I watched their videos ad-nauseum on MTV, VH1 and the raft of new music TV stations that populated satellite TV in the mid-90s.

When I went to college in 97 I remember picking up New Adventures in Hi-Fi while on a class outing in Swansea. It was to be the first of many points where I can relate the big and memorable moments in my life with my beloved REM. When I went to America to work the following year, there was just one CD that I took with me and that was Out of Time. I played that CD a thousand times on the kids’ boom-box. Even though they were from Athens, Georgia, it was a little taste of home that I had brought with me.

In 1998 I finally got the chance to see REM live. Taking the train to London by myself and finding my way to the concert venue was one of those magical moments you have when you’re young. They were my favourite band and this was my first concert. The stars aligned perfectly to give me one of the best nights of my life. An epic three and an hour set resulted in my hurdling crowd protection barriers in order to catch the last tube to my connecting train to South Wales that was leaving in five minutes. A series of frantic running, ticket turnstile avoidance and the prospect of spending the night on a park bench in London resulted in me catching my train with 30 seconds to spare. I had fallen up some stairs, was covered in sweat and had cut my trousers, but as I collapsed on that train seat, almost passing out from dehydration, I could only smile like a grinning idiot as I remembered the amazing night of music and passion I had just experienced.

I remember so much from my time with REM. I remember the time I drove over to the shops with my cousin to pick up the new REM single Imitation of Life, playing it full blast on the way back home, windows down, singing along for all we were worth.

Whenever I listen to music in the car, 90% of the time it’s REM. I have had to purchase several copies of some of their albums as I tend to wear them out from repeated listening and less than stellar storage conditions in my glove box. I remember my brother dropping an entire large coke over my Fables of the Reconstruction album when we were in a McDonalds Drive Thru. I still have that CD and the crinkled coke sodden album sleeve reminds me a time now long gone.

Through thick and thin they were always my favourite band. While some people may change styles and affiliations as they get older, with me it was just the opposite. I became a bigger and bigger fan of the guys. Now working and with a disposable income I quickly purchased their entire back catalogue and began familiarising myself with their earlier IRS years’ work. The only time my faith was ever shaken was during the Once Around the Sun period. I had loved Up and Reveal, and considered them worthy companions to their more commercially and critically well received work. But with Around the Sun, even I, a massive fan and supporter could find very little to recommend or to like. Sure, Leaving New York was a great song, but the rest of the album is best left forgotten and removed from the almost perfect annuls of REM history.

Driving to and from work in the 00s I would have REMs later hit albums constantly on rotation in my car and would anticipate every new release like it was Christmas Morning. I even remember setting up Night Swimming on my car stereo when I quit my job and drove away for the last time, taking one last look in the mirror as I left my old life. It seemed fitting somehow. I also remember singing that song with a drunk Canadian woman in the back of a mini bus coming home from a night out on the town. One way or another, REM always seemed to be part of my life.

I got to see them live again in Cardiff twice; the most recent concert in 2008 was probably the greatest gig I have ever been to. REM were on top form and being right at the front of the stage, the sight of Michael Stipe looking right at me while singing Stand was electrical and for those brief few seconds he made me feel like I was the most important person in the room.

That is how I want to remember REM. Fun, fit and kicking ass. Somehow I always thought that they would just do a Stones and keep going. They have been around for as long as I have been alive and I assumed that they would always be with me. Making new music, coming to town touring and producing their particular brand of alt-rock awesomeness.

When I heard about the news from the official REM Facebook feed, at first I assumed that it was some kind of prank. As my eyes scanned the words… I couldn’t believe what I was reading. I clicked on the link and found further comments from the band members detailing their decision. I don’t mind admitting I was heartbroken. It honestly felt as though someone had died. I suppose in some ways I was having my 13 year old girl/Backstreet Boys breakup moment. There had to be some kind of mistake, REM can’t break up, they’re REM! They invented alt-rock. I quickly posted the news on my Facebook feed, but none of my friends cared. No one commented or “liked”. At that exact moment I felt so down. Why wasn’t there mass posts of their videos? Why were people not talking about this? The greatest band in the world were no more and none of my so called friends gave a damn. That was the hardest part. I just wanted someone to share my loss with, but no one was there and now even the people who I had relied upon to get me through the tough times were leaving. When someone asks me at what point did your youth die, I think this will be it.

You really don’t appreciate what you have till it’s gone, but the sudden and out of nowhere style of the announcement is what really hit me. They should be sorting a tour schedule right now, not going their separate ways. But they made great art and they made my life so much better.      

But REM were that kind of band. They made you feel like every song was written especially for you. No matter what mood I was in, there was an album and song to fit it perfectly. They were my band, they were the soundtrack to my life.

They were my friends.

The Zombie Apocalypse Survival Guide: Part 1

“Damn it! Damn it all to Zombie Hell! You finally did it. You finally unleashed the end of days.”

Who can forget that classic quote from Charlton Russell from the classic motion picture: Rise of the Zombie Apes. Who knew that it would so accurately foreshadow the future apocalypse in which we now potentially find ourselves. Having seen this event coming for so long, I took it upon myself to prepare a Zombie Attack Survival guide for you, my dear reader, cause let’s face facts here, it’s just a matter of when, not if, this guide will be needed.

Please note that much of this guide can also be used in the event of an alien invasion, nuclear war, the Germans having another go or uprising of underground dwelling monster race of Crab-People.

Chapter 1: Preparation

Forearmed is Forearmed. The more armaments you have at your disposal, the better chance you have of coming out of this alive. It’s no good popping down to your local hardware store once the Zombie apocalypse has hit because it's probably going to be clossed. You need to prepare yourself now.

The best weapon in dealing with Zombies is a good old fashioned “lobo”. A lobo is a lobotomising weapon that can be used in combat by just about anybody. It is the only real option when fighting the Zombie hoards. A gun will run out of bullets and quickly attract other Zombies with its noise, and while a bow and arrow or crossbow is a good medium/long distance weapon, it too suffers from the same animation problem as the gun, along with its slow reload time leaving you open to close quarter attack.

There are many different types of lobo you could invest in. This is mine:

I call it "The Re-Deadinator"

It covers all bases. You got the broadsword for your traditional skull cracking. The gun for your close combat head shots, when you got no other choice. And finally a sharp knife that can be used to stab through the eye of a zombie, into the brain in case you run out of bullets.

I highly recommend that you choose something heavy and strong. While a baseball bat might seem an obvious choice, it just has very little weight behind it and you will need a swing like Babe Ruth to destroy a Zombie’s brain with a single swing. The best choice of weapon would be a sledge hammer/pick axe combination deal. This will provide the weight of a heavy hammer, with the brain piercing power of a pick. 

Here are some basic Zombie killing techniques for you to memorise:

The Sword Skull Crack.

The Gun Brain Splat.

The Knife Eye Kebab.

Where to get food?  Your first instinct during a Zombie apocalypse will be to run out to the supermarket and fill up a trolley. DO NOT DO THIS! 

A typical Supermarket 4 minutes after an Apocalypse.

You must avoid large congregations of people at all costs as everyone else will have had the same idea as you, leaving you to battle it out with other healthy humans in a fight for what little resources are available. During the Zombie attack you must start thinking differently. You must forget the “rules” of society and think outside the box.

Hmmmmmm

Old people are easily confused, overpowered and stolen from. You most likely have many elderly neighbours and relatives who will have cupboards chock full of yummy food. 

As old people are pretty much dead anyway, you will be doing them a big favour by taking their food and denying them the curse of Zombification. However, should you wish to end their suffering quickly and humanely, this is a perfect opportunity to kill two birds with one stone and not just get a healthy supply of food, but to also test your lobo Zombie killing skills. Old people are perfect to practice on as they are 80% Zombie anyway. The moan a lot, suffle along like they've been dead for a week and eat things that would make a billy-goat puke. So hack away good reader and be sure to take a moment and acknowledge the sacrifice these elderly people have given you.

Be at peace innocent ones.

Fortification: Having got the jump on many of your competitors for what little resources remain available, it is now time to baton down the hatches and wait out the first wave of Zombie attacks.

A good cushion fort can withstand anything up to a level 3 Cloverfield attack.

You must proceed to your home, lock all doors and windows and bunker down for a minimum of 2 weeks. With careful rationing you will have more than enough food and water to last this time. Make sure to keep curtains and blinds closed at all times as you do not use any lights that can be seen from the street, less you attract Zombies or gangs of marauders.  

There is always time for Disco, but we must all make sacrifices.

Always have an escape plan in case of home invasion however. I highly recommend having a second story window from which you can escape in an emergency situation. Always keep your essential supplies in a bag next to this window should you be forced to flee in a hurry.

Clothing. As the Zombie virus is spread through bites and sylvia, it makes obvious sense to try and protect yourself as much as possible when presented with a Zombie attack. Even basic cotton clothing is enough to protect your limbs from Zombie bites, so be sure to cover up your arms and legs at all times. Another top tip is to wear tough, thick gloves. You will most likely be doing a fair amount of hand to hand combat with Zombies so it makes sense to protect the area of your body that is going to be in closest contact with the Zombie mouth. 

 

Coming in Part 2: The Hoard Arrives.....

The Complete History of the Blast

 Jesse S. Mitchell

The Complete History of the Blast

This is Oppenheimer’s future.  Big city, bright lights America.  Autocrats and laundromats, self-service stations and fireworks.  Liquid cooled patriotism, rows of knees that jerk…all in one direction and then again in another.  Highway miles under the margarita mixers, ugly smells, pretend you’ll smother.

Rattlecage Saltzman was a tenderfoot bluesman

Who every night would play at the guitar,

He would strum up and he would strum down…

He made a helluva sound

But he never did get very far.

Playing through the broken glass

Of broken windows,

He would sing out your name 

Whenever you would speed past

I get so tired of looking this world in the eyes, blink blink, I get so tired of staring back into blurs of someone else‘s passing bys.  And I get so very tired of these words, making them go so neatly together.  When I speak to you, you should know me better.  Boom boom, spider light, drowning out the moonlight.

Kitten Cabochon, the royal heiress,

As a lady she was scarce

But with the rare wave of her hand,

She was a highly approachable princess.

Had the loudest voice in all the land,

Had a sound like gravel, gravel and sand.

This is rocketship radio, rattle and hum, rattle and fuzz.  Rocketship radio transistor hum and buzz.  Space age, arms race, computer face, Artificial this, artificial that, can’t help you if you can’t dance.  This Oppenheimer’s America.  Better to misbehave.  Doesn’t matter, nothing here will be saved.

And when the two got together

It was the biggest ball

Wouldn’t have done no good

At all

If it wasn’t for his southern accent,

Grace notes like chalk split all over the wall,

This is the complete history of 

The blast

And none of it, accident.

DEMINSIONZ

I CALL MY BROTHERS SON,BECAUSE THEY SHINE LIKE

a soul at the gate,

replinished & frightened

night time splices with moments of memoris of those who lived life in a limelight

only to be struck down by visions of those who mean to inject sight

spirit for lack of a better term,love the antethisis OF

spun until the clothes are worn out,fading like the sounds of distant war drums

moments now turn to tourment

,why was I put here for now love?

Lord if I had a gallon of bullets Id pour it into the people I trust

only because of the hardships that are hard to speak of without trouble

new brain bubles burst like bruises and blisters

but somthing is reminescent of my childhood fears

I came for the combustion

Ill stay for the fuck of it

Dead Poets Society 2: The Dead Shall Rise

Please be aware that the following blog entry you are about to read could be very damaging to your health. Those of a nervous disposition and anyone currently taking heart medication are advised to stop read right now and leave this page at once.

During my mid teen years, I occasionally knocked out a free flowing and eloquent poem to better verbalise my teenage frustration and curiosity. Long thought lost forever, it was only recently when clearing out a load of old junk that I happened to come across these lost masterpieces.

Reading them now in the cold light of day some 15 years later, it is clear to me that my teenage years were a festering mind funk of putrid wonderments and gibberish. I hereby present you, dear reader with the full, unedited and complete works of one WG Mullins.

I shall attempt to analysis and uncover the truths in each poem as we process. But be warned, the following words are not for the faint of heart. Together we shall delve deep into a troubled psyche and uncover unexplored emotions and anger. Peeling back the veneer of time and aged wisdom, we shall dissect and ingest all the clever word play, verse structure and symbolism entombed within these long lost masterpieces.

Strap on your Beatnik beret and sit back daddy-o. Things are about to get wild.

Poem 1:

The Night of my Life

I’ve started smiling

But for no reward

They look at me with carrots for cats

Common people.

Drink, for my thumb has a beer

Cool man, I mean really cool.

Walking is a trip of life with empty shells

But where are the cracks?

IN THE BIN!

23-24, why are bats bind?

Owhhh, why are bats blind?

Maybe because I have 9 legs.

I AM BLIND!

I have hurt a tea bag.

His brown blood flows forth from his soggy skin

Why do I treat it so bad?
Ah, ah ahhh, yeeeeeeeeees.

Carrot, cat, kick, kite, car, kill.

Kit Kat?

Has it gone bright black?

Ah “The Night of my Life”. An action packed and energy filled far out trip into a universe of infinite possibilities and dangers. Currently negotiations are on-going for a feature film adaptation.

Let us analyse.

The first verse is a clear indication that I had recently had some sort of good news, which was not shared with my nearest and dearest. Carrots for cats would suggest that I was in combat with some strange, as to yet undiscovered vegetable/house pet hybrid. I can only assume that they were attempting to take over the work and replace the “common people” with “Catots” overlords.

In the second verse things start to get a little clearer. “Drink, for my thumb has a beer” is a clear indication that the writer has supplemented the childhood thumb sucking tradition for consumption of alcohol. A damning indictment of modern parenting standards? I think so.

In verse three we find our protagonist continuing his combat with the catots, “walking is a trip of life with empty shells”.  An obvious reference to the now empty “pods” that the evil hybrid creatures and be born in. An excellent verse for story progression and character development. “But where are the cracks?” he asks. Searching, as are we all for answers in these dark times. “IN THE BIN!”. And the first act draws to a close with realisation that answers cannot be found by looking at the cracks, but through the cracks! Through the holes that we all have within us, allowing us to combat evil in new ways.

Verse four is where the action really starts to crank up. “23-24, why are the bats blind?” is a reference to the power of sonar. Hearing the truth if you will, which can be half the battle when battling something evil. Continued questioning prevails throughout this verse. It is not enough to shout out the truth, you must repeat it and repeat it until the message gets through that we are under attack and something needs to be done. “Maybe because I have 9 legs.” SHOCK! The protagonist has been struck down by the mutating alien virus he has been trying to stop. He doesn’t have much time, he is racing against the clock in order to save the world.

I AM BLIND! The protagonist has lost his way, he is now questioning himself and his ability to lead the fight back against the alien hybrids. A classic third act twist.

Now we get to the big finally action verse. Realising that there is nothing to be done, but wipe them all out, our hero attacks, and attacks hard. He scythes through the evil hybrids, knowing that they are just following their primal instincts and know no better, but he cares no. Blood flows and the body count stacks up. This is a dark day indeed.

“Carrot, cat, kick, kite, care, kill. Kit Kat?” Could there have been a more eloquent and powerful sentence ever written in the English language? If there is then I certainly haven’t read it!

The Catots slowly die, through kicks, kites and kills. All that is left is the metaphorical “Kit Kat”. A symbolic breaking of the two wafers of our different civilisations. Always to be interconnected, but never to be together. Powerful, powerful stuff.

Has it gone bright black? The hero dies I think. Or there’s a power cut or something. Maybe a bulb goes out?

Now onto “We Apologise for the Delay”. A damming and ahead of its time study of the effect of crass consumerism and commercialisation have on a modern society. Read it and weep for the lost generation.

We Apologise for the Delay

Time, it is an eternal struggle.

But for some it is an excuse

The cooperate fat boys

Fat bellies squashing the life from the belly buttons.

(The life of a belly button)

I see it coming towards me

Squashhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

The lie, they lie, why do they lie to me?

Do they think I am scared of bellies?

Nooooooooooooooo.

I AM ANGRY

(The life of a belly)

Shall we? No

Shall we? No

Shall we? No

Shall we? No

Shall we? No

Shall we? Yeeeeeeee… No

HA HA

They think I am a faceless belly button

But no

My belly will make them pay.

Brum Brum

Now let us analyse.

Verse one sets the stage of an epic battle that shall ring throughout the ages. We are not just fighting cooperate greed and callousness, we are fighting for the very future of our souls. The poem starts with a stunningly clever and heart breaking prologue. “Time, it is an eternal struggle.” No matter where I go or what I do, I feel this will always be the most personal and real sentence I have ever written. It just doesn’t get better than that. But if that wasn’t good enough, I then go on to expand from this original opening salvo and continue to blow the readers mind wide open! “But for some it is an excuse, the cooperate fat boys, fat bellies squashing the life from the belly buttons.” WOW! How I was allowed to get away with writing such incendiary and dangerous prose back then I will never know. Taking aim directly at the highest echelons of government and Royalty, I tear down the very building blocks of dogmatic control that enslave the population of this great planet. Is this first verse responsible for the end of Communism? I don’t know, maybe it is, maybe it isn’t? But it’s just a bit funny that they both seemed to occur at the same time isn’t it?

The second verse continues the great tradition of rebel poetry by taking on the target in the most direct and dangerous way possible. Through the metaphorical symbolism of the belly button. “Squashhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh” I said! Yes, I said it! And I meant it!!!! Never let it be said that I am afraid to be controversial and daring. I would carve every letter of that sweet, sweet word into the chambers of Government if they would let me. Forever a statement to the power and fighting spirit of the belly button.

Verse three moves into high gear. The scared foolish power centres of the world combine in an attempt to stop this revolution. Offering pennies for souls and promises for placate people. The constant “Shall we? No”, a verse of a child’s tears as the powerful and strong bring down the full force of the corrupt upon an innocent civilisation.

Thinking they have won, verse 4 gives us a complete 180 as the masses fight back against their evil oppressors. “They think I am a faceless belly button, but no, my belly will make them pay!” represents the collective joining together to no longer be a belly button, but to be the BELLY! In a shocking twist that will leave M. Night Shyamalan crapping himself we discover that the belly buttons are now the bellies. Forever doomed to repeat the cycle of button and belly for the rest of time.

“Brum brum”. Yes, brum brum indeed. Brum brum indeed….

Finally we come to “No Title”. The most heart aching and personal of my poems. Even reading it now brings a tear to my eye.

Or at least it would if I could actually remember what it was about? Honestly, I have no friggin idea. I think I was just randomly writing down words with no real sense of what and where they were going. Maybe it was some kind of spontaneous prose that I was working on, but it’s more likely to be a bunch of random song lyrics jumbled together.

No Title

Why is life such a bitch

Giving you crap and feeding you shit

When all day long all……

What is it that makes me queasy?

You want is to wear pyjamas in the day time.

Doctors gives ohhhh-hhhh-afternoon

Coffee spoons and books to beat the bed with

Playback illness?

Ohhhh-ohhhhh-ohhhhhh

Measured with coffee spoons.

I am shrinking!

Tiny –CRASH –BANG

Child has an accident

No illness, blue or white hair is hard

Hmmm, hmmmm, girl doesn’t belong

Marks make her evilllll

Hmmm, hmmmm, hmm

Church on the road

Don’t understand?

Parents, evil beard, stopping on floor

Hmmm, hmmm, hmm, hmmm, ahhhhhh

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh

Ahhhhhhh, ahhhh

Ahhhhhhhhh

Finish, frogs, fighting on my head an in the tent

Nature is evil

Tools are sharp and fingers look like wilder beasts

Shades of my body are laughing

Don’t get it?

Neither did the animals.

DIE!!!!!!!!!!

Let us analyse.

Uhmmm. Ok. This is where things start to get a bit weird. Did I ever mention that I spent a part of my teens locked up in a mental institution for the criminally insane?

I honestly think this poem may have been the one that cost me put there. I don’t even remember writing it, and bizarrely the original looks like it has been written in human blood. Though not mine… For some reason I remember it isn’t mine.

A rambling and incoherent jumble of “ahhhh” and “hmmmm”, I feel confident that this poem was in fact a statement of intent to be posted to the Police before I began my crime spree.

I even remember buying a hammer, shovel and knee pads after writing this poem. What the knee pads were for remains lost in the fog of time, but I’m pretty sure it had something to do with poisoning the countries water supply. Is that weird? Maybe.

Thankfully I started taking medication after this incident and have not had a problem since. I’m doing so well that I stopped taking the meds last week and now feel completely fine. In fact, I feel so fine that I think I may write a new poem for the first time in 15 years!

Soon

I’m coming people, coming to get you all

I’ve been asleep for a long while, but now I am awake

Awake like the apple in the orchid that knows no pain

Evil seeping into my eyes like a clown into the night

Honk honk honk honk honk honk honk honk honk

Dinky donk?

I look over the hill and sky, my domain, my prison, my wimberry tart

Custard, cream, single or double? No matter, all cream is the heart of a mother

MOTHER! She makes me listen to the sun. No sun, just rays of hats

Tip topping toeing tying tired teach tell tiddle.

Soon the darkness will come

Soon I will speak with the power of a cat on fire

LIFE/LIVE/little Billy don’t know what a toothbrush is

Weep for Billy

Weep for his jaws of death!

I gotta say, I’ve gotten so much better at this down the years.