Bloody Drips

Bloody Drips

There's something warm as bloody drips

When we are touching fingertips

And running through Dunedin ways

With burning neon for the day,

Where all about is whirling light

I think I've drunk enough tonight

To be my own self undilute

And tell you that you're more than cute

But that's just bloody drips and booze

'Cus being horny's never news

For all the chemicals we buzz

We're little more than monkey fuzz

And though this night is going well

I know I'll wake up in a smell

That makes me want to grimly boke

And so I'm glad we've never poked

For life is nauseous twisting mass

And we're reflections in a glass

Of moulding faces leaking spores

And that's why I won't taste your ichor.

Rationality Makes Me Sick

Rationality Makes Me Sick

Well you're so fucking organized

Rationality makes me sick

You trust your brain and trust and your eyes

On good days I throw bricks

You're not concerned

About lows and highs

When you're unhappy

The worst you do is cry

Well you're so fucking sensible

Rationality makes me puke

You can break me down in a crucible

Look me up in a book

You're so concerned

About what is right

Without distraction

You march into the light

Well you're so fucking delighted

Rationality makes me vom

It's types like you who get knighted

Types like you lead the prom

You're so concerned

About your prestige

Why don't you make a motion

To produce more grease

Well you're so fucking disciplined

Rationality makes me chunder

I can feel this primal land

Speaking through its thunder

You will never

Embrace the chaos

I follow the prophet

The saint of death and loss

The saint of death and loss

The saint of death and loss!

The Hallucinations of J.K. Rowling

The Hallucinations of J.K. Rowling

A play in one scene

written by

John Morrice

CAST

J.K., alcoholic schizophrenic beat period novelist.

Charli, J.K.'s abusive friend.

Potter, J.K.'s sadistic hallucination.

                  J.K'S DIRTY FLAT. J.K. LIES IN BED, DUVET  
                  COVERING HER LEGS. SHE WEARS A WIFE-BEATER 
                  VEST. HARRY POTTER IS SEATED.
                  CHARLI IS HEARD FROM OFF-STAGE

CHARLI: Hello? Hello? Hello? (ENTER CHARLI)
        (QUIETLY) Oh. (PAUSE) Hi.

J.K.: Fuck! (PAUSE) What time is it?

CHARLI: (DISAPPROVING) Uhhhhhh it's after ten.

J.K.: (DISAPPOINTED) Fuck.

POTTER: Fuck.

J.K.: I was gonna get some drink at the shop.

CHARLI: You're such a fucking jakie.

J.K.: Chuck us one of those tinnies, please.

CHARLI: Nuh.

J.K.: What? How?

CHARLI: I thought you needed to buy drink?

J.K.: Need more for writing later.

CHARLI: What the fuck? I thought we were going to the cinema!

J.K.: What?

CHARLI: You said you wanted to see Titanic with us!

J.K.: Oh yeah. (PAUSE) It looks a bit shit though.

CHARLI: It's amazing! I've seen it four times!

J.K.: Go chuck us a beer.

CHARLI: You don't care about me!

J.K.: (CLUTCHES OWN HEAD) GAAAAAAAAH

CHARLI: For fuck's sake. Here's your fucking beer then.

                    CHARLI THROWS BEER CAN AT J.K. IT FALLS 
                    SHORT. J.K. GETS OUT OF BED TO PICK IT 
                    UP. SHE IS NAKED BELOW WAIST.

CHARLI: That's fucking disgusting. (PAUSE) Oh my god. 
        I'm going.

                    EXIT CHARLIE

                    J.K. DRINKS BEER, GLUGGING QUICKLY.

POTTER: That's better, isn't it?

                    J.K. BEGINS TO CRY

Shut your ugly fucking mouth and get some paper.

J.K.: Okay Harry.

                    J.K. WRITES AS POTTER NARRATES

POTTER: Oh Potter, you rotter, oh what have you done. You're 
        killing off students, you think it's good fun.

                    CURTAIN

I Get Erased

I wrote this song blind drunk, while my now-ex-girlfriend was fucking a better guitarist.

 When you're strangled with guilt,

do you put it on your tongue and let it melt?
I know some folks like their pills at night,

but what I like to do is drink Jäger in pints!

I get erased, erased, but the memories stay,

like bones drying out when the flesh has decayed.

Destroyed, destroyed; my personality switch,

that's somebody else lying there in the ditch.

When you feel like you want to die,

do you ever consider getting really, really, fucking high?
Or does the thought fill you with tears?

Well, hold me please sweetie, I've been doing that for years.

 I get erased, erased, but the memories stay,

like bones drying out when the flesh has decayed.

Destroyed, destroyed; forever more I will burn.

Yet I yearn for your turning like the spin of the world.

Wetware

I wrote this for a friend a long while ago!

[CHORUS:]
I'm gonna short circuit, my wires crossed,
I've been disconnected, my memories have been lost.
Don't wanna wait for Masamune's solid state shell.
Just pass me that fucking scalpel, I'll do it all by myself.

Society is a charade,
it's our parade of the laws we've made
and the souls we've saved.

I augment my cranium so I can feel.
I got neodymiums and modules of steel.
Though my flesh may be torn, or my senses depressed,
I'm implanted babylon!

[CHORUS]

My world became a maze of metal plates
and logic gates and opiates.

I insert an armature of silicon di,
so I can know my temperature when I'm high.
I despise the sanctified, faith and pride.
You're beings of meat, brains, bone and hide.

[CHORUS]

The Ballad of D. Crombie

This is a tribute to a friend of mine who writes songs and does everything real quick.

If you go out into the scene
you'll meet a man called D. Crombie.
It's inevitable see, 'cus his strange addiction
means he must play shows, or he lies there twitchin'.
He'll gig your house,
he'll gig your kitchen,
supporting cover bands who think they're bitchin'.
I'd say he's good, but he won't care if he sounds shite:
all that really matters is he plays again tonight.