The Colours Will Erase Us

A new noise/experimental/minimalist project I'm working on.

Myspace

Last FM

Childish

Bears sitting in trees
living in threes.
Eating all the pears

Funeral

As the hearse goes by
the wind stings my eye.
Should I cry?

...andtheywilldeceiveus

My new book available now.

Cancer

How hard could it be? Every morning wake up at 6am, have breakfast and a shower. Then sit in a car for an hour. Followed by 9 hours of hell. Arrive home, watch TV. Go to bed. Repeat for 50 years, unless you are lucky and get cancer before then.

Twitter

I'm posting an entire novel of cut and splice grindcore writing on Twitter.

Lace

He was lying in bed. She walked wearing little black lace panties. She bent down and kissed him. Climbing on top of him she started to rub herself against him. He felt her panties getting wet, then they slid and he entered her. Listening to her moaning and grunting on top of him he wondered if he should have told her he had Aids.

Love is Many Faceted

Her lips like jewels in the night. Closing in around my mouth. I had no escape. I felt myself surrender to her every whim and desire. Locking my own will away. I was hers to do as she pleased. No disobedience would be accepted. This was my life and will always be my life. Complete servitude.

Ted

Ted walked down the pavement, carefully avoiding the cracks. Listening to the birds singing in the pre-dawn light; he realised that today was gong to be a good day. Spring was just starting to show, the new flowers were just beginning to push up, reaching for the sky. He took his place at his desk. Turned on his computer,then went and made a coffee. Sitting back down he realised how lucky he was, a loving wife, doting children and a fairly well paid job. His life was going well. Before he knew it he was heading home. His wife asked how his day was, wordlessly he picked up a pot and caved her head in and then cried.

The Word

Another small eBook thing I have out. Not as much a book as a short story dealing with the truth and the end of a moral society. Each chapter is meant to stand by itself as a small easily read tale and in the end they all make up the story. I have written it as my attempt at a "cover album" of William S Burroughs, I've added my own style to his cut and spliced style. In a way I'm comparing it to a grindcore album, I've mixed up alot of styles and cut them together in a short sharp burst. Enjoy

Life

Finish work.
Come home.
TV on.
Repeat.

A Love Story

She was still lying beside me in the morning. I wondered how much more she would put up with? I got up and went to brush my teeth, I was sure I could feel even the bacteria in my mouth dieing. I got back into bed. No need to get up yet. She rolled over and asked 'Do you love me', I wanted to reply 'Of course not', instead I replied 'Of course'. She smiled, that sickly sweet smile of death she had. I marvelled at the way the light shined off her pale blue eyes, eyes you could drown in, big puppy eyes. She straddled me. I gave it my best shot, I could tell she was disappointed. I don't know what she wanted or expected though.
I hoped she would go out, all I wanted to do was sit in the bath and read. I knew if I started to run a bath she would want to get in beside me. I needed to be alone but she followed me everywhere, I was slowly suffocating in her web. I wanted to go to a bar and meet more interesting women, that would just lead to a fight.
I told her I was going for a walk, 'I'll come too it'll be nice and romantic'. 'Its only to the shop'. 'That's ok'. This was going to be a long day.

The Nihilistic Blues

I've put a small ebook up on Lulu for sale, its a nice little mix of poetry and prose. Click on the button at the top of the page.

Defeat

How hard could it be? Every morning wake up at 6am, have breakfast and a shower. Then go sit in a car for an hour. Followed by nine hours of hell. Arrive home, watch TV. Go to bed. Repeat for fifty years, unless you were lucky and cancer got you before then.

Lazyness

Well I've been really lazy on updating this and finishing my book. For now here is some psychedelic drone. Only seems to work on Internet Explorer though, damn Bill Gates.

Physics

The 1965 Nobel Prize winning Physicist, Richard Feyman once said
'Poets say science takes away from the beauty of stars - mere globs of gas atoms. Nothing is "mere". I too see the stars on a desert night, and feel them. But do I see less or more?... What is the pattern, or the meaning, or the why? It does not do harm to the mystery to know a little more about it. For far more marvellous is the truth than any artists of the past imagined it. Why do poets of the present not speak of it?'
Well Richard

Humanity

Hu-man-ity,
is nothing but,
rem-nents,
of Nu-Klear
fall-out.

Neil Young

The bottle touched my lips. The liquid, finally being released from its brown glass tomb. The coolness of the liquid soothing my parched mouth. I fell back on the bed, dust billowing up in the air. The particles dancing in the sun light, toing and froing across the room. Dancing their waltz, entrancing me, surrounding me in their dance. I looked out of the window, down and along the street. I looked back around the room. Wallpaper pulling itself off the wall, the out-dated floral pattern fading and yellowing. The window sill cracked and covered in a layer of dust. The radio singing to itself in the corner, the TV sitting blank and vacant in the opposite corner. Still I had a bottle of wine left and the remains of the beer.
I picked myself up. Using string pulled the cords tight around my waist. Picking up my tattered satchel, I made my way out. Squinting against the light I made my way down the street. The glare off the pavement was making me feel sick. I tried to shade my eyes with my hand. Looking at the cracks, the weeds reaching up and heading for the heavens. The weeds trying to make the best of a hard world. I sat on the bench at the bus-stop.
Then coming off the bus came the finest pair of legs I ever saw. So smooth and perfectly proportioned, the sun shining on this little bit of heaven. She looked down and directly towards me, disappointment crossed her face. Goodbye to my cinnamon girl.

The start...

I'm going to start posting all the little things that I'm crrently working on here.

A little song that I've had floating around for a while, made using found recordings.
Here is a little poem that I have been floating around on some sites such as Poetry Circle. A very pertinent question that I still don't know the answer to.

Decor

The hall
paint is fading,
chipped and scratched.
Perhaps
it should be fixed?
Would I feel better, if
the paint is not fading,
chipped and scratched?