untitled (Tercet)

The Darkness came down and the Moon came out

Who the fuck am I to be miserable?

She said

ALIGNMENT - pencil on paper, 2010

Painterly poetry

Painterly poetry feed unfolding of sound & information seed beholding

A constant continuum of unfathomable flow:

It’s ok to not everything know.

We’ll get it right.  It doesn’t have to be a fight.

No shadows are cast in a world without light. 

pen & pencil on paper

What the ocean might see

The speck of a woman bends over

Sunhatted & Transvaal sandal-footed

With her little phone camera

To shoot & kill & keep

Some insignificant yet

Monumentous moment in time

On the desert-vast sandiness of your shoreline.

Fat speck of a woman,

With her three fat Ayrshires

Choking at the ends of their designer leashes

On the gargantuan freedom of your emptiness.

Lost!

-You laugh

pencil sketch 

The sound of the ocean at night

A constant crashing, a numberless number

Of everything that ever was and

Ever will be thrashing, turning and tumbling

Revolving, curling,

Foaming, mumbling, murmuring,

Voluminously involuting inside

Out, under and over and under

And under and under, ancient and always

Giant fluid plasma thunder creature, finding

Peace through continuous rapture and seizure,

Roaring gushing fight flushing glory fury,

Oh nameless Name of boundlessness and seeking

pencil sketch

untitled (Tercet)

I learned my movements from the cartoons

I was taking notes when they kissed in the movies.

I no longer wish to impose myself on the night sky when I go out for a cigarette.

sketch for a painting

ARMAGEDDON BOX (Symbolic violence) Pt. 5

Storm on my cheek, cigarettes and wine for company

Oh we need this cold come again

Whoop whoop! Homi

Dancing young skirts up High sexy & holy

Enter left fantasy

Sans comedie oder tragedie

And words!  Oh fine

Company and the signs,

Sigils for nature’s remedy

Where is my bride, tucked away at

My found home tight, too tight

Alphas & Romeos, no song for you tonight

Competition on the telly, just in case

Folks, just in case you might

Need some tennis, racing, or other shallow

Delight. Fuck off.

Come hither & let me lick you

Wide open.  Give me your creamy insight

some snow on the TV

ARMAGEDDON BOX (Symbolic violence) Pt. 4

Pt. 4

Oh but to exhale

                clear lungs once & for All

                of cheap sex humour tugging

                incessantly & invitingly

                sickly once more, alluring

          in its Purity

Animal my animal must               

                meat your animal unashamed

                bring it & let’s do it finally

                let’s have an affair

                & pray that you don’t tell, that

          no one in this small town has eyes to see

And so, you see I’ve only faint ideas

                of why they always find me:

                mysterious liaisons, non-existent as

                they may be, chronically related to

                my trying so hard & working so hard 

         at this in mind, garden & notebook

ARMAGEDDON BOX (Symbolic violence) Pt.3

Pt. 3

Incite: Minds be blown open wide!

Exhort: Blinds be folded up & dusted clear

Come here!  Sit in my lap & fold your arms round

My newly muscled neck, share if you care

I’m almost mad, take me there?

Or do I go too far.

Do words I have lead me astray.

Does imagination fail me as it holds me upright

Butter on my buns, and I need gumboots

Stop me from slipping or twisting ankle

So energy be ready for tapping

New designs, new fortune set loose

Quiver full, strings tight.

Nemesis met & shame nearly vanquished

Just this now.  Whiteboards aplenty, stationery

Held, ink dripping from the quill &

Space to be harnessed & gently destroyed

(employed)

Go get rescue none for me.  Need to

Walk this alone: hum bass drum

Come you mofo’s come

Time to refine humour & sense of sanity

Realms gush & pour freely, make a river

So accessible,

Drink from & replenish

Souls hold a banquet please

I want not Home but to walk

This path.  Walk, tread, stare, envision

Dig & rake & remake Love

Heavenly bodies

Addicted to ideas & got this

Way to carve

Spit ‘n sizzle, I live in a Garden

Earthly delights, indeed

Lose speed & torture, breathe in

Total, obliterating Okayness

Sumptuous

Missing

Nothing.

Ready. Bitches be hungry

ARMAGEDDON BOX (Symbolic violence) Pt. 2

Pt.2

Still sit

Here wondering

About all the wondrous women I could

Run away with for the night safe &

Trust hidden away & some taken with

Spirit away & curl up warm & wet

For sweet salvation

Sweet and lovely safe

Warm

Fun & silly passionate & waking

Never-ending, enveloping twisting

Rolling touching

Finding

Gun ships. War. God’s own commandoes

Shoot selves in backs of helicopters

There’s a first time to fire a gun for each guy

Spill beans ‘n guts from army ration tins

Collected on memorabilia walls

Along with bayonets & helmets, cartridges of

Pain despair fear glory & irony.  Wrong

Would I if right now a woman

Should come along

ARMAGEDDON BOX (Symbolic violence) Pt. 1

Pt. 1

Fall in love

with me again

she says.  What?

Invitation away to sing my silliness into something Her

But restless bed instead is there

Feel Young Time slipping and no decisions I’d like to make

just to talk.  To talk and bitch & moan & describe

debate, explore

create, discuss & search out

A quest   ion  .

            S

            E

Anger is short-lived E       these days

                             M

                             L

                             E

                       CROSS

Not                        S       feeling you.

Feeling Me.  Ravenous & kinky blue

Bruised & holy, uninfected

Infused instead by earthlife, select

& mind erect!!

& cold returns once more to reawaken

Acheing lonely bones

Someone grabbed a slice of life (and that’s why there’s a hole in your paper)

Shit.  We miss.  Indeed we forget

And we’re re-learning

Arranging the signs as we walk

With these very random thoughts

We try tweak ‘em, add zero

And derive root advice off talk strange

Faces proud yet understanding

Want, share individual miraculous & magical knowing

Without ways of truly showing

We express try

Try take figments make memory

Try. Behave. Try share. Be merry

Facebook Make You Feel Like No One (2009)

Aye, bizarre be the word

In this transit terminal

So stand next to your best man

Look up look eyes find the othamuthafuckaz

Amazing, truly incredible don’t you think

The longevity of things

Elusive emanences of the consciousness in

And between the space and awareness of happenings

I give to you glyphs of rhyme and brave tellings

Sweet offerings, fruits of silence sown, peace grown

To drown out or to face being ground down by Bab'lon machine realm

- Blessings to us all, whatever the case

Listen (2009)

2047

Imagined

I did > image

blurred came forth

and then silver-armed flew through the flow

along the rivers of air

wind. pipes. harmonica alive in the honey

blow mouth organ

BLOW: BLEW BLUES

up from down, play your G

so I can tune in with my G 

design from 2009

will send images on the morrow

it might not be rain, but it’s moisture

come on?! at the very least…

boy’s night out.

and yes, it’s better like this.

transcribe the parallels, then

pull up socks, tighten ego

and begin the walk

right in

like the movies you like to watch

again and again because

they take you back to those

sacred soft places

Electroelocution

c

Can’t

can Can not

If want

I be

needs

need be

electrocute

away from me 

(from 2008)

write right again

flow ink right pen-

wards

deflect

by this pen

elect

elocute

kaleidoskopik

konsertina

ha!

there

again

got you

yes. admit

it: I did

Heaven

Cigarette buttes get swallowed up by the earth

So quickly, actually they do

But lift up the handle, even if there’s a bathroom note

To that effect, do you think they do?

Boys will be boys oh really Toy Boys,

Boys with toys, boys and their toys

Har har beer belly furry fury ‘n hands in pockets calm collective

Solid statue effect stare at screen mock

a sylph dug up from a 2005 sketchbook

Look the other way strangely calm coolly 

Begin new conversation suddenly

With you there                     

In the middle of your story

There

Holy

Embalmed.

Such good energy

Swallow the dreams from the blood of the flesh...

'Infinitesimal' - white ink and black koki on A4 black card, 2014

Swallow the dreams from the blood of the flesh

Of the meat of the creature I ate all weekend,

Study the images, smoke the grime from fields

Of dripping vines of perception

As I pick up my pen and play Russian roulette

Staying up late listening to my friends

Crushing the jewel cells of discontent, so juicy and

So succulent to separate semantics from the senses

While the lives of silverscreen stars speed up disproportionately

Wrinkles forming grey hair receding perhaps from the years of

Channelled alter characters they feed us, the gaping

Mouths of transfixed, fascinated fans and would-be zombies

Empty out and forget, their dumbed lethargy and

Stupification silencing the last sigil as it falls off the pre-historic temple doors,

The last symbol as it fades from the stela twixt the Sphinx’s paws.

His Story is completely indifferent, apparently

Corroding everything, everything away, we’re getting

Cut off, finally, from our thread, our link with

Bloodhuman past, the meaning of our existence

The sound of antiquity and legacy, all language, vision,

Hypogeum of legend & myth & intrigue is heard no more

Eroding & sinking, melting into the desertifying sands above:

Do we do them injustice after all these carefully complex aeons

Of evolution and do they leave us to drown in our own selfie,

The vicious roar of contemporaneity this 24 hour State

Of emergency, convinced of its own hyperprogressed modernity

And its academic authority - a set of confused experts vying

For the ultimage ego glory: the sole monopoly on

The Truth of this particular Story and the real secrets

lay buried forever or recycled into new dunes swept into

Cheap souvenir hourglasses of the current deluge, our 5^th Atlantis, woooo!

How exciting to finally be set free from Karma into Post History

Oh, Precession of the Equinoxes, what have you in store

For us, our 20/20 vision ‘snot enough anymore perhaps was never

Enough. The meridian slowly moves up the sky

How hauntingly thrilling, bone-numbingly chilling to witness

The rapid count back of your numbers over horizons projected

Computer screen configurations, because we truly can’t see, can’t see

How lonely and exasperating to have a taste of this vision

To feel the urge to and actually walk lightly on the earth,

Our lover, friend, our motherfather place o’birth.

So culture dampened and unpracticed

This underdeveloped inkling of an impulse

That it can only be now in these deathly dark ages

Fear of our natures

Epoch reveal where do we come from

__________________________

It takes an ever younger set of newer brains

To review and remove and renew things

And acceptance that only the strong survive

(o’er a long period of time?  What bullshit if

Apprehended outside of original context

‘tmay be I inspire with my scribbling of notes

That I do indeed plan to take over the world

Economically

And thereby incite thoughts of being quieter, kinder,

Smarter and wiser back home b’hind closed doors) as

I walk back ‘cross the beach to escape the south sun.

That’s why Sundays are the best surf days perhaps

And when if ever we don’t feel good it's

Only ever because we’re prevented from

Forbidden to do so and then still

Proceed to get run down

And the weak

Choose to keep at it

The continuously delightful earthbodily loop

Of repeated lives lived on the surface of this planetary Purgatory

For, the longer one’s away from the water, the more

One forgets to replenish, to quench one’s thirst

One’s own loss of hydroelectric power

And things then tend to start getting hectic around ‘round here

And suddenly it’s time to dance things out of the way

Every time something black, for you, comes out of nowhere

Things that have become things you carry about you

Things that travel around with you, invade all thought,

You begin to wither up, die under the gaze of

The airport security badge, the embarrassment of

Your own foolish assumption of inscrutable purity,

The delusion of the human right to authority

In vain you run run run as your entire luminously

Continual experience is reined into the iron vice grip of

This hellish now’s Common Cultural Headcold

Or learn to read the code in between

Faked security, systems of power and control

Which, though ineffectual & incompatible with

any love or feeling,

And formed in retaliation to loss and rejection

Do in fact, in their own little way,

Attempt to deal with the uncertainty of Everything;

And true knowing that the only thing you can truly know

Is that you don’t know the effect you’re having on someone else

That and the inalienable truth of the matter that

There’s nothing you can actually make anyone do.

How to live an honest life

Rearrange the room for others in the morning and take only what’s yours

A Busy Lizzy on the young window silly once

There are always excuses for bad marks

But are we celebrating the good ones enough?

Hibernate down at the highway with inner city friends

Fight the fight of uncertainty and enjoy the fine things

The truly joyous fruits of this Garden of Delights

Sure, the world may be getting increasingly insane

But that’s what ellipses are for, apparently

Be blessed in the way, the pathless path seen clearly, and treasure

Especially

Sad moments of realising no one’s shoulder is available

To cry on currently.

Then comes chocolate, and learning

To have more faith in your own species.

Verbatim

Honourable Rasta Brother brings up the sinner in me

You know, my sister? You feel me

You were born with an overstanding but societee

Teaches you to blinde yourself…

Dit was amper ‘n elmboog da, in die oog, ja

As I lean on the door frame and take in

His teachings on soul shame & malnutrition,

He preaches the focus of vision & our purpose here on earth…

He says he sees we are activists, aren’t we?

I say shhhhh…and shush up my argument mush-up

To just listen this Prince of Wisdom,

Blessed rastaman of Muizenberg mind-bliksem

Sure

So sure of yourself, sidewalk headshop speakerman,

To shout us all down.  Friend, is this how

The Jesusman sounded way back when

You know what, my brother? Hear me:

You joining ranks with all them who wana free

My mind while, left-field, give me a cage of similar kind,

Great Cum-load of old School White Guilt, maybe?

Or some other kultcha-conscious shizzle to complete

The holier-than-thou yet brudda frum anudda

muthafukka jizzle you drizzles onme

As you tries to Queen me to ya King,

Assuming I’m confused about great many a thing,

Telling me about good an’evil all over again:

You’re just a different version of the righteous Christ perversions and

the Churchly back-stabbers my sweet childhood was immersed in.

Brother, dig this: me and the silence of the afternoon don’t think

Man overstands challenge of bringing Vagina to a room

Already so full of Holy-Him-Up-High verbatim.

Pure

Rastintentions, that’s what he chatters

With his fish-and-loaves mouth, as we converse on two levels ,

Does he know I can pierce through that he conspires

To catch my eye as he shares nightmares of Bab’lon empire?

Feel I must protect third eye/fur pie, I’m fierce too,

For I perceive his form, true: New

masculinity breaking surface,

(easier perhaps cuz his ego is so thin,)

and right on time, cue: men you’ve been breaking up the world,

heavy thinking arrogant footsteps, sure it looks

Different from your vantage point.  No matter

What your colour skin, everything, every girl’s been at your whim.

But if you are truly Rasta, I say Blessed Be

And do not take this personally.  I just got to say

Queens: where are your Kings - could ya stand up please?

Six sigma error proof

Nice:

Seated high in the shaded canopy of my hoodie, poised and perched,

Parked snugly in this vacuum consciousness, I’m ponderous,

Silent witness and conduit to this strangerous procedure,

Mass message relayed along my alien ancestor-embedded DNA.

Following and exploring the case of a life set free during the last

Mass extinction, a cascade of early thoughts that raped my mind,

Shaped by kind, friends and family, are calling for

A mass extinguishing. 

The Holocene’s horror scene hollowing me and

With scant tools for filtering but sheds filled for nit-picking

I struggle along, try my best to answer

The unmeant questions of the everyday, like

How I Am Doing or What Do I Do For A Living

And in between the interruptions actually get some real work done.

It’s like a game of Ching-Chong-Cha, or an arm-wrestle with God,

And if I win I won’t have to live the life of a human satellite dish.

I’m bound to lose.  Continually.

The Presence of Minds - acrylic on canvas, 910mm x 760mm
See this and other works in my latest exhibit here