22 November 2004


all yr poetry belong to us

he smashes werds into her hed like guitars

we all slept in sweet pockets,
streets of dead-eye open

up high-slice prised-flesh fresh-filled heaven-sent
letters of apathetic willingness to consume her body
golden ramparts of bullets n sand - this galah
stoned on pink n grey smokey-teared magpie

we bought all-colour castles
we smuggled ourselves into the corridors
our smeared waste of deconstructed language
of busted culture-molds broken-cut n shattercore

bible-belt shoes n wardrobe monitors for fun

then they us we them and me i you are we
climb in packs to pregnant lesbian scultures
presidents of those biceps erected her fences

the nozzle traces red, edges like her stencilled lips
depleted uranium metaphors make him wet again
and her spurts of anti-humour
like a un-god

i'm eating this bbq'd strip of her face
all seared skin n facial hair smog

i'm waitin inside her window now
for a reason to do art
to speak to his breath against my thigh
this dripping wax fiasco

i'm a tense representation on a latex fixation
and so they riot hard in the razorwire centre

all cut blood n pasted
wasted up on this deportation alert


17 November 2004

PFW ZINE - perth

SEE: PFW zine for the latest Power From Within Zine

some of my poetry is in this RADICAL Zine outta perth.
comment here if u wanna copy...

09 November 2004

brother_X - blogging: more satisfying than bashing liberal trolls

hi - just a quick note to you cheeky little anarko-browsers with the funky-trousers - hit the link to my other blog if you like brotherX as i'm posting on it every day. its fresh. its neat. its brotherx blabble blah.

fuck - i'm getting addicted to blogging. [as if i have nothing else to do]. and if rabble wants to link the brotherx feed to indyblogs and anarchoblogs - thats sweet too...

blogging: better than bashing liberal trolls


04 November 2004

antipoet - my NEW blog is "BROTHER_X"

hey just wanted to alert people who drop into my antipoet.blog that i have just set up another blog - with an emphasis on radical writings, ramblings and less of the poetry... more journalised things and rants, as opposed to dumping my poetry and other art works - which is the purpose of this blog space. i hope to flesh out some ideas related to anarchism and art and the desecration of indigenous culture, as well as the homogenisation of everything!

at least thats the plan. more blogging for this little duck. yay...

so, welcome, and please let me know what you think by commenting at will... see ya there:


[aka brother_X/antipoet/allan_x]

02 November 2004

not always unknown

as always he dreams her like colours too.
those street stalked waves of east-coast nausea

without bitumen stride and monday night fever
she weeps in consentual flava bliss
her rimmed edges buzzin under my wet fingers
goldcard mommas always undone.

mmmm he remarked in rhyme.

at the pub he drops the next invisible mark,
my blood tasting like stained and polished wood
the bands play muted chords: bass rumblers for her

if i ever were a blonde bimbo glass baby
an unstroked logo for the body, he says
all too many times he kneels under her 3 dollar steel
under her comic entrapments - lack of rod-shaped treaty

we sold her skin. told remedies within,
all lost like mapless hard-ons
nipples speaking his names in empty morning plastic network tests
she seeks lessons of drunken remedy in a circular shell now
as then that day that night that un-night

no front rooms, no beer stains
but he assumes postitions for her, quietly, secretly

s/he still understands the blanket, the teamwork
wishes all the missed drinks were two
or less. and us. oh us. yeah them.

now, in his pink glass, his maths is bent - unravelled
imaginary scenes spark them regurgitated shiny dreams

like some thick throbbing nonchalant calculator
up hilly streets he wept that year
waiting for the next count. our sweet-lipped human.
next time, i said.
my tongue in her cheek.

01 November 2004

anti_poet : th rebirth of meaning

anonymous v.220c

hinge via gruter: whateva - white noise dreams no.4

in the red carpet firelight
she spat at the trip-wax
motivated on bread-skool hands
and trolley-boy tornaments
all brittle shale n wavy-haired excellence
all veins n tendon cream
all drum n bass healing

the stars are pigmentary gods
inanimate carbon bodies - black at times, invisible
we stroked each others balls in the dry light
these coloured chips better than most - i offered.

spastically, yet realistically now
our red-haired minders sleep in well-oiled colour
gentle ease the sphincter - slo-mo ease my muscle open

that bank-licked freeway drone afterglow
in me. yr totally underdeveloped gear.

s/he says:
poor new vaccuum-flavoured "large model tools lack" texture

his: sexuality/meaning/narrative/real-bitumen/colour/torch/signs/

but i gurgle in the empty shower, as he resonates in spice
in speech bubbles now: he stole these beekeepers on roids;
suicide cluster-men; middle-east[er] fencepost graffiti;
head-shaped hearts; traditional-deathstyle-meetups;
she challenges all basketball manufacts. cancer diversity.

- these new tiles collecting mould
in the blue gum shadow
every inexorable penis eaten swift in control groups
matching yr stolen shame; our pressed flag notions

- all drippy n happy-days. we remember the war.
the war. the war. the war.

in stealth-mode he whispered the script:
i've 3 words to say, he says,

1. [bliss/turn]
never boil rudimentary travels
always look before the subtle moss
the bright edged uniform
bite first, he smoked


2. [kiss/leave]
we mustnt leave the mental premises
our feet attached

so, surely

3. [fist/cheek]
poetry: its not a gift

but then, and the whole world bites your back,
thru the crack she sat now

all terror n wet in the halogen wash
the empty show freedom

that moonlit paint
enamel sweet n stencilled
broke n easy. we sit. chill.

alert: unbusted in red pill mantra

gif show from pip starr's:
"through the wire" - oceania indymedia newsreal