10 April 2009

water corp

sandalwood sun
cracked boots freestylin threads off acacia saligna
whisty sheoak songlines
sweatin april dust in scattered patterns across baked mounds
a cooked mind in cream paddock bliss,
hot water swiggers off the steel tray
the shape of battered cats
the 7am bushfire haze
a thousand nuts rattle-bounce like battle-cries for pig-melon
double G spots melts like cancer
at seventy bucks a hec
no weekends

06 April 2009

Antipoet Band!

Check out the ANTIPOET BAND's first performance at the Hyde Park Hotel - Saturday 11th April...


04 April 2009

this is the construct

relax brothers, sisters
so I'm standing here in the black black light of this respirated room
this court of stonewalled rainbow pride - a razor cult
not a stolen cushion amongst you
this is a spoken saturday tragedy

question: but should i drop the blue pill

the tainted red of a sunset billionaire
a capital traffic-jam - a gridlock mindfuck
am i such a pissback-coded n fully stunted fringe
all in for the stunt-kilted mullet
a blitzkrieg of carnal spasticity
do I need a specific singular linguistic geography

right - so do i imply - allude - suggest - recommend
demand this, your collective adverbial fascism
an online zeitgeist continent

that we're licking the corporeal shine off the rigid midnight shaft
a pulsing throb of sleek exit signs and signifiers

the twitter-hit of a sub-literary militias mormonism
the twilight agenda - a drug-infused recovery
a spray-on skin grant applicator

do these shopping centre remedies poke or bend
a quantum mouthfuck, an empty bed of hedge-fund toxicity
as if I were a snare skin junkie in the crumpled sheets
i’d still sell at the best price - seek the best leather

she said this in sleek dental glass tone
the steel between her bloodied fingers, the latex sheen
this is the core, man, an old skool vs gnu skool stoker

where we smash it up yeah – push light like lipstick in bits
the broadcast of our unique pirate signal
and hack, swallow each other’s lolly

i’m sure all here get the drum, cobbers - you, yeah you

that your appearance now is what we call residual self image
it is the mental projection of your digital self

so, should you drop the blue pill

hey am i this pixilated concrete canvas?
talking about what you can feel, yet what you can smell
that which you can taste and see
then this real is simply electrical signals interpreted by your brain
this is the world that you know
it exists now only as part of a neural-interactive
some post-anarchist simulation
a simulacra of ecosystems, producers and consumers
of decaying text, a virus of agents upon the biosphere
chapter by chapter - a genesis to revelation

so, should you drop the blue pill

welcome comrades to the desert of the real
we have only bits and pieces of wiki-information
but what we know for certain is
early 21st century mankind united in celebration

marvelling at our own magnificent insignificance
our bastardised singular consciousness
spawning an entire race of machines to shout at

never knowing who struck first like a face slap trade
it was us that scorched the sky in a free based orgy
an alcoholic's last ideological beer, a recycled sharp
dependent upon our machines to survive in the rusty oceans
the sticky fate not without a sense of pig-irony
perversions of a basic reality
medicine and the army - favoured terrains of simulation

yet we liquefy the dead fed intravenously to the living
while we boil the bilious roads and roads and roads
all leading to here to this moment
this stand-up simulation - an economic packet

should you drop the blue pill

and my inner-neo says:
i thought I should call and let you know how things stand
I know you're real proud of this world you've built
the way it works, all the nice little rules and such,
but I've got some bad news. i've decided to make a few changes

and they sprout like arum lillies at the front-lines
human definition a reality of suffering and misery at the barricades
the perfect magazine world, this dream that
your primitive cerebrum kept trying to wake up
from a clusterfuck viral civilisation

a morpheus evolution, a classical trinity, a spoon-bent oracle
an agent for change - a placard - a slogan - a clown suit
at the G20 - the suits pressed against my bleeding face

should you drop the blue pill

me, trained to accept only what is rational and logical
yet unable to separate the possible from the impossible
the younger mind easier to free, he says from the script

all around us, here even in this room
you can see it out your window - or on your television
you feel it when you go to work - or go to church - or pay your taxes

the brochure world pulled over your eyes to blind you from the
born-into-bondage truth - kept inside a prison that you
cannot smell, taste, or touch - this prison for your mind.

you take the blue pill and the story ends - you wake in your bed
and you believe whatever you want to believe - you take the red pill
and you stay in wonderland and I show you how
deep the rabbit-hole goes

you take the red pill
you take the blue pill

this is the construct


Performed at the Perth Poetry Club, 4th April 2009

Matrix Script: www.imsdb.com/scripts/Matrix,-The.html