Retroviral Country

I've tried nitroglycerin

And pesticide

Tried listening to

The monkey you hide.

I've tried red water:

Painting sacred marks.
Nothing stops your face

Appearing in the dark.

The hokey writer's babylon:

The phantom train;

The whisper in your terminal;

The barcode on your brain;

Are all as temporary as

The teeth of a shark.

Nothing stops your face
Appearing in the dark.

Through retroviral

Exchange of DNA

You left something

The day your needle

Broke away.

You can break me down

Into my constituent parts:

Disconnect the valves

From the pistons in my heart.

Vaporise till molecules

Phase into quarks.

Nothing stops your face

Appearing in the dark.

And all the queen's destroyers

And all the queen's tanks

And all the queen's soldiers

Arrayed in murder ranks
And every single policeman

Every smirking nark

Couldn't stop your face

Appearing in the dark.

Through retroviral

Exchange of DNA

You left something

The day your needle

Broke away.

Roll Forth You Stormy Tide

Roll Forth You Stormy Tide

Roll forth you stormy tide

And wash my mind

Clean the pollution

From my stinking life

How many pink pills

Must it take?

Before my rapid

Torrent reaches a lake

How many days off
Need I lose?

I'm working solely

For my rent and booze

The foamy waters rise

Above my sinking eyes

Soon I'll be diamond

Or vodka

Clear as oxygen

A stream rolls down the glen

Carrying my love
Whatever

Roll forth you stormy tide

And wash my mind

Clean the pollution

From my stinking life

How many friends will leave

Before it's done?

They all pack up and

Walk into the sun

How long will I reflect

On misery?

Till I accept the

Blessings of the sea

The foamy waters rise

Above my sinking eyes

Soon I'll be diamond

Or vodka

Clear as oxygen

A stream rolls down the glen

Carrying my love
Whatever

Roll forth you stormy tide

And wash my mind

Clean the pollution

From my stinking life

Four Bloody Hands

Four Bloody Hands

Let's become romantic

You can pet my nervous ticks

Let's salt each other's sores

Four bloody hands coated with gore

Let's become

Let's become

Let's become

Let's become

Let's become a coupling

Please think of me as a thing

Let's spike each other's drinks

Four bloody hands washed in one sink

Let's become

Let's become

Let's become

Let's become

How can you be so cynical

Don't you remember your past?

When the slightest touch of hers

Gave you a dopamine blast

How can you be so cynical

Don't you remember your life?
Before you shacked up with the bottle

Before you took on the knife

How can you be so cynical?
Well fuck you, that's how.

I did not choose chastity

I did not make a vow

Sinkhole

Sinkhole

Memory's as dark as pitch

With a sinkhole for a head

Well I try to fill it up
The bottles crowd my bed

People come and go as dreams

Or nightmares to be drowned

And drinking alone through the day

Is the only peace I've found

In my dreams you're still wriggling

But my human being has died

And in the place of myself

This toxic dump abides

People come and go as dreams

Or nightmares to be drowned

And drinking alone through the day

Is the only peace I've found

Let me sleep an alchie's sleep

Bring me the pill-head's crown

Let me fall into the world

For evermore down

Opioid Receptor

Opioid Receptor

I feel those endorphins exploding now

Roaring up my spine

The blackened sea dividing right before my bow

Now the ocean's mine

My skin is falling off like a banana peel

In this caustic tank

The rush that follows suffering on its heel

Spins my cogs and cranks

We all try to touch them in so many ways

Some of us take drugs

Your brain produces chemicals every day

We're living as bugs

You can stop the paranoia hammering in

As you grab the knife

Write yourself a love poem in your skin
Seduce yourself with life

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!

Death Will Have Something To Chew

Death Will Have Something To Chew

The cliff that is thrashed by the waves
The rope that holds taut although it has frayed
The fire in the heather that cleanses the land
You were baptised with a knife in your hand

You painted a rhapsody blue
Death will have something to chew

Your vein was torn on that day
Your strong blood was born the caesarean way
A new will flowed out on the ebb of the tide
The red of the sun was glowing inside

You painted a rhapsody blue
Death will have something to chew

You're older than you thought you'd be
Another ring grown in the trunk of the tree

Though you might be wishing for rest
First you'll have to take off that crown and your crest

You painted a rhapsody blue
Death will have something to chew

The Universe Rolls On

The Universe Rolls On

You prayed for time to stop its wheels

As if you knew there were a god

The parts of you I see are of bone and real

But in your mind there's something odd

Something

Hazy, fading

With the moment gone

Conscious surrenders

To the dryad's song

Mystics, physics

Wave the magic wand

Atma forever

The universe rolls on

You stay in bed and close your eyes

Wishing that you'd disappear
Until your flesh breathes out a sigh

And you admit that you're still here

You're still

Hazy, fading

With the moment gone

Conscious surrenders

To the dryad's song

Mystics, physics

Wave the magic wand

Atma forever

The universe rolls on

No matter how deep you hurt

Or how profoundly you feel numb

I'll love this animated dirt
Your being that becomes

Something

Hazy, fading

With the moment gone

Conscious surrenders

To the dryad's song

Mystics, physics

Wave the magic wand

Atma forever

The universe rolls on

My Body Again Disagreed With My Head

My Body Again Disagreed With My Head

I told myself that I'm happy alone

Then dreamt of limbs wrapped together in bed

Thus when I found that I woke on my own

My body again disagreed with my head

In older days it would be a haunting

They'd call the priest in low tones of dread

To silence the devil his daemonic taunting

A crucifix pressed against me till it fled

Crop

Crop

A crop has grown within my brain

The harvest of a neural strain

It bears the rotting of our faith

I pluck the fruit to fill a space

To crowd the horror of the void

That nectar drowns my empty hive -

Pour those weepings in a cup

Drink up, drink up

Here's a drink for every wasted hour

That you spent with me

Lap it up and don't be sober

Drink that crop of misery

I wear my own mammalian skin

It feels like I'm an alien

An insect crawling in the sun

Beneath my conscious light I run
From brightness to the dark alone

To safety in the closing gloam -

Pour your madness in a cup

Drink up, drink up

Here's a drink for every wasted hour

That you spent with me

Lap it up and don't be sober

Drink that crop of misery

That sheaf feels rough held in your hand

You've grown the crop of this bleak land

And though the mill stone grinding is

The only music left for us

We will never leave this hated

Plot dried out emaciated -

Pour your struggle in a cup

Drunk up, drink up

Here's a drink for every wasted hour

That you spent with me

Lap it up and don't be sober

Drink that crop of misery

Napowrimo 3 - Blinker

Blinker

Five hours awake

                                         Scope of my vision

Our needs are met

                                         Healthcare decisions

Professional services

                                         Hiring now

Dribbling milk

                                         Cult of the cow

Thought for the day

                                         Tariff is empty

Charging my mood

                                         Your heat is plenty

Thought would be safer

                                         Bodies are weak

The landslide will settle

                                         Nuzzling cheeks

Like flint in your hand

                                         Scoring a groove

Divined upon bones

                                         On abacus moved

Forever the saint

                                         A small effigy

Electrical lights

                                         Will never be free

Smells Like Booze And Fags Again

Smells Like Booze And Fags Again

Alcohol,

Seed of my father Morayshire

Sewn with barley and the

Wrecks of drunken drivers

Loneliness drove us insane

The land itself led us astray

Darkest ethanol, we pray

Bring us to decay

Smells like booze and fags again...

Smells like

Home

Within the crooked wood

The shithole of Lhanbryde
I had a drink for solitude
A teenage crush on wine

The children drink until they're gone

Till blood has leaked out from the dawn

Darkest ethanol, our thane

Drown us in your rain

Smells like booze and fags again...

Country lane

Tak me hame

Tae the place

I belaing

Sweet Morayshire

Malt whisky mether

Country lane

Tak me hame

Smells like booze and fags again...

Drunken Poem

Drunken Poem

gleaming shards form
polished lines upon sheets sewn
with hazy mist
dark raingathers
awaiting purpose:
the tumult
slashes, flows
slips the realisation.
the storm
blasts apart humanity
denying their grip on meaning
like a confused kid
with a razor blade
praying to the deity
for creation's end

Re-Emerge The Exact Same As You Are

Light shines upon that river free,
And incandescently bright;
A Moravian forest scene
Trapped within my head at night.
We used to hide, smoking weed,
In the transcendental day;
There was no festered evil bleed,
Youth was a tourniquet.

That waterway's a tributary
Only for my dreams.
Were those years too, fantasy?
Crooked memory, buckled overhead beams.
Those sunny banks are lost to doubt,
Though you may trek through country far,
You'll never find that river-mouth,
Re-emerge the exact same as you are.

I remember your post-coital banter,
You said it didn't make you cute,
It just meant you were a massive spanner;
I still disagree with you.
Can you imagine how distraught I'd be
If you did yourself harm?
Don't bide beneath that river free,
Re-emerge the exact same as you are.

On Horrible People

Friendship groups are in constant threat of destruction by utterly terrible motherfuckers. These specimens are invariably interesting and complicated people. They may be charismatic; they may be handsome; they may just be doggedly determined. A horrid person can't be defined in generic terms. Everyone – evil, fucked-up bitches included – has their own eccentricities. But bilious, walking-mind-fucks conform to a general pattern when invading the company of others, and there are some specific strategies that friends use to remove their poisonous, faecal presence.

The horrible person will mould the social structure of your group to better achieve their aims.  A core aim of a bastard is to cement their place within the group. The fucker needs to create dependence amongst the group members on their own continued membership of the group. With drugs, this is achieved through their connections to the underworld. The friends need them – and will be very obliging to see that they remain a part of the collective, in spite of their assholery. There are other ways of achieving this power: sex is a classic; money is another; someone influential in the local art scene is in a niche position, but it can suffice for being a complete asshat.

Smaller groups are easier to manipulate (we're dealing with local shit-heads, not Rupert Murdoch). People might realise that their new pal is a total douchebag. Evil misanthropes will address this problem by sewing discord. A common misconception is that discord will blind the victims to the evils of the perpetrator. Not so: being a known arsehole spreads more discord than being an unknown arsehole. No-one will be able to prevent the cunt from being a chronic shite-lord, because they have no choice but to react to the awful milieu.

Discord is created by bruising and breaking existing ties of affection. The smeg-bearer need not invoke a clandestine strategy. A common approach is that the parasite will refuse to socialise with one particular individual. Such an action causes an immediate schism. People will be forced to evaluate their loyalties. The arse will prefer to test close bonds: siblings and lovers are favourites. Wrecking close relationships affects an amplification of tension within the group: other people are upset to witness good relationships turn to shit.

These rackets mirror human interactions conducted in good faith: we all have small groups of friends, and we do prefer the company of some people to others. The important difference is that the black-hole-of-a-person we are dealing with has no concern for genuine participation: ideally, they want only to achieve their narrow goals.

Horrible people always inhabit a web of co-manipulation. They will introduce you to others. It is difficult to know your position within this scheme. The highly intelligent wanker is dangerous in this respect, for they will place their sluggish brethren tactically. This is the general method by which one becomes acquainted with people who are both dim and awful, for they otherwise won't find you. Horrid people who are slow on the uptake can ruin otherwise good company, merely by the unpleasant state of themselves. These people are exemplified by diazepam addicts who slur and cannot think.

Nasty personages can be identified by conversing with those whom you still trust. Manipulative cocks will be discovered in this manner, because they will impart different untruths to different people. But even a blatant pile-of-discharge must be identified in this socially forensic manner, because your friends may not be as brave (or sober) as you are.

Once a complete cunt has been identified, an intervention will inevitably occur. The friends may present a combined front to the offending gobshite. Formally announcing this new-found solidarity to the fucker can be an effective tactic: they will realise the game is up. Crucially, there will be a rule that no-one may speak to the turd. This is more difficult for drug-users, for everyone will most likely attend the same dealer's flat.

The strategy of rejection is not effective when facing an evil, psychopathic, bitch. The peril is that he will not be driven off, and will instead turn up at your place of work and cause a scene. A friendship group can deal with such demented freaks by denying them information. The unbalanced abuser will be unable to show up at your child's nursery, because they do not know where it is. This is difficult to implement, because of others known to both the friendship group and to the awful banshee. If the bastard is crazed enough, the friends may be able to convince third parties of the soundness of the plan, as the third party will know all about the craziness. However, if the third party is an arsehole themselves, this will fail. The friends may be forced to excommunicate a large number of people. Always remember that such people may have a genuine medical problem.

As information about everything becomes easier to access, absolutely fucking squamous people will become an increasing hazard everywhere. The core defence against these total cunts is to love your real friends with dearness and devotion, and to rejoice in the unity and trust that you've nurtured together without having all those bastards around.

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