Monthly Archives: Apr 2020

Inksters Milking it

Dedicated to the gangsters inksters of the writing world.
A lifetime member of sudden death writer collective.
Butter them up to increase traffic
 then render them defective.
Noble people not saying what they do. It’s a performance of sorts.
It screams out – this scene has been played out far too many times.
Fucking over a person should be seen in the outdated queue.
What people do to advance their station.
Dishonest injustice.
I hold a person to their words – hence this unforeseen faction.
Beware of compliments paid by rubber silicone lips.
Not everyone understands that stars like Mick jagger don’t screw over those just for kicks.
I’m out of your game.
I am sharper and know your words scream dissident whore.
Sell yourself out to whoever seems to make more of a racket.
What happened to good ole fashioned honesty?
You fit well into the conglomeration Trump bracket.
Direct devices – mouthpiece – save your screams for another.
Fraudsters and clear ass wipers.
Bleached out.
 your ink will never see the light of day. Offended is the weed who loathes the fickleness of the collective of neigh
Sayers
sleuth
Take your numbers and deduce the ifs and the buts,
when all will recognize your true form.
The traitors to writers –  don’t teach our youth this  malpractice – unethical abuse
Power does not come in numbers -it comes from your convictions.
Surround yourself with rats jumping ship as soon as a comet brightens  Haley’s rights.
I say raise your words. This is just what I have done.
I am not a springboard to increase you, smite tribe.
I leave you to  unravel  your cohorts when you have  exhausted their  ink and deemed them a humdrum
I am not yours to use.
 

 

Her bloody stalker

https://youtu.be/VhCmyMpWeXc

The red army draws collective breath whistles it out in a  howling gust of wind snarling.

She stands tall – her long  tresses raised to the heavens

A subtle message from Hell’s dwellers:  it was back to attack.

Every month,  they stalk her just as night follows day, full-mooned. Hairy palms, yellow slit eyes – she would rather die of an internal haemorrhage than be demeaned.

They see the blood trickling down her legs.

Draw in closer –  metallic scented pack.

Pro-choice in an era where science can make the dead come to life – yet still she must bleed whether she carries life inside her or expels the botanist’s seed.

Condemn her to a life in pro.  Micheal Jordan had space jam. A notorious – well-received flow. She blushes every time her breasts swells – nature twists in a  smile. Nipples points straight at the mouths of the hungry -ready for their feed.

To be Anonymous in a WikiLeaks world. Memes, social media information convulsing out  statements of change:

 Did you know?

 Think about how brainwashed – your mind is!

She knows she still rolls in her own shit.

Unfit for a carry one movie with Benny hill and the league of justice.

Dead pool eyes.

She knows this world is too abrasive

Her skin smooth

Her passion unhinged

One straight jacket away from having the whole collection of brand unfit.

‘It’s a happening, baby ‘-throwback to Allan Kaprow.

 

Everyone is crazy. Everyone has issues.

Everyone stand and link arms at the toll bridge

show solidarity for your fallen foes.

 

The ones who fell 20 feet from the building or overdosed on legal high drugs brought from some hoodie called  Jack Wills.

 

How to be seen and have her privacy in a cyberbully surveillance world?

Charity matters.

Throwdown your sticks allow overgrowth to infect the anti-stigma hedges trimmed neatly in a row.

She screams out in shrill

Ears sharp enough to raise the dead.

How is it possible no one sees or hears of her ills.

 

Despicable matters in the eyes of the living dead.

An out or an in.

 

A place that stirs broth from her blood flow  waits until her insulin levels drop to an all-time grave

So shallow.

Sugar-coated words nauseate her.

 

Her duty to be human and keep her heart on the ticker – inside she knows the hurricane won’t stop swaying the palm trees until she is torn from her roots

 below.

Mr Big has an acute perspective unable to see she is drowning with every weapon she draws.

It doesn’t take a hostage negotiation expert to know that eventually, even the savviest terrorist can be worn down to drop its ammunition.

 

Stockholm! Place of the cordial juiced up paedophiles.

Intensive herbal essence conditioning treatment is their only hope of showing her how to be free.

A Jesus embellished slice of toast to honour her first Butter valley communion.

She thinks she is free.

She knows it’s part of her syndrome.

Her mind is her prison. She has the padlock and the pin number.

She sits up to 24 hours a day punching in the password, unlocking the clunk of metal chains – on a loop.

An exercise in futile persistence.

The ending is found in her very beginnings  born out of blood, stained, crying

Pulled out with forceps the white coats defined her form from the moment they beat her into breathy life.

 

Smiling jokester with  broad shoulders fighting all corners of the globe

Her last breath will be when she lets go-

Stops giving.

 

In her state of   cocoon  expose her true misery to the world – look at her in  her strife

 

Don’t worry, folks

Blood will flow.

You will get your show.

 

Just know that she put up one hell of a fight

In order to finally see her vision of light.

 

Icke Dreams

Generation of memes and meh.
No to negative – yes to positive,
change the bulbs and glow iridescently, no fear in being one light -solo- informative.
Skulking around caves in the fashion of  Scylla -drinking whirlwind pools of Charybdis
Not her usual Pret a porter a  la mode – turn away from the crowd guffawing Helter-skelter splitting glees.
Did she vote for  UN Born children?
What about those who are already suffering on this earth?
Religious fanatic family members – An atheist for president with a crab claw and a wry, outlook streaked with mirth.
Cut the cord from the past – hold it up -prop yourself up –
cheer yourself on – scream your message into a bottled glass.
Insist on declaring your right to say: I am not who you say.
List- notes, prompt references. You need not -unless these very people are the ones sending funds into your bank account, every payday.
Draw a line across the sand – Peripheral eye view – hawk soaring above a sand dune.
Marathon race – testing survival of the fittest – hottest month in the arid desert – sub-Saharan- month? not that of June.
Mighty ants group as a collective. Never for one moment allowing one obstacle to waiver them from their duty.
Poppies raining down – bloody thumb- well-read. Two-minute silence – she still texts -how dare you not honour the dead.  
Two minutes is not a political thread -laughing my ass off comments chav teeth, who forgot to take his healing muti and shine a light of intelligence into that skull in the head.
Vulnerable -always strong – try and break her down with sticks and stones – rain and the wind.
Horrific people – full of hatred and dark sunken, mercury-filled irises -enough to drive a sheep to self-flagellate and undo himself  – unpicking his very own skin.
Cry for our beloved world. Hear the chimes of a new era.
Revolt. We don’t need heads on a pike – listen to Icke and let’s do this in stages, don’t panic in terror and make another century filled with a book titled the great error.
Existence is futile if we don’t sing and make our voice heard.
Delicate and polite -always touches the heart of an old veteran hobbling in the dark.
Two minutes and then forgotten until another year reaches the pinnacle of its calendar date – aim that dart – hit the mark.
Remember 09/11
Years pass, yet terror still reigns.
Remember year  09/11
Nostradamus escaped on horseback – he never escaped his visions quick enough – did he reach the star north of Devon?
Unearthed relics of Bob Marley preserved in a jam made from  onions and clams.
Ethiopian coffee smells better when one has a fridge full of out of date, uneaten food – leave it for the dishevelled courtesan.
 Too small-minded, to make a leap of faith into the ocean.
Better to feel safe and stay in your  council estate fishbowl – causing waves of drunken commotion
Bid me this moment where I am tempted to salute the majority with a middle finger.
Childlike taunts – sit and swivel – yeah screw you dark Lord of ale so bitter.
This is exactly what the system wants. Nothing –  the same – no change –  it’s too tiring to find the TV remote.
Anarchist holds up two fingers in the name of peace -scowling -punk dragged on skid row.
 God save all Queens!
an attempted coup on her blood – don’t spew constricting germanic denunciations into one’s penetrable throat.
One must not gloat.
Yes to positive – Negative to know.
No, that’s not right we know negative should always be followed with a No.