Atomised Amnesia

Mental Meanderings....

Monday, 7 June 2010


In theory these crippling scenes
should manoeuvre an undisturbed
void into an obscene, private,
nihilistic orgy of commandments...
Commanding melancholic abstinence
shall induce implausible necromancies
tedious in their puerile conformity,
intangible in their linear consequences.
Riddled with prejudice. Maudlin...

Commanding a visceral immature culture,
anxious with exhausted protocols of vicarious sacrifice.
Speeding lights, glitter and tarnished glamour
each more vacuously superficial than the last.
Haltingly hollow, damning debate as alien
artifice in a genuine democracy. Rain and concrete in
sublimating sewers. Rinsed and refreshed. Reset....

Commanding virtues be symmetrical with the banality
of Art and artist conflated in signified strings of
medicinal machinations. Of meaning and veracity.
Commodities with a half-life of unique expression.
Caustic yet uncritical when disinclined to explore the
interior of neon veins vita contemplativa.
Relinquished via mea culpa. Verisimilitude.


Monday, 10 May 2010

There Were Words Like Ventricle:

There were words like ventricle:
An imperceptible experience lapses,
bound to duration and
short term memory. Sixty.
Within intervals there’s motion.
Ever-present & eternal now. Vivid.
Bound together homogenised
the past is the place to hang now
and sprinkle resonance on perception.
Commencement and cessation.
Decaying and instantaneous. No.
The non-existent have no properties.


Sunday, 9 May 2010

Humour Me

Humour Me;

1. Humour me until it is all over and we're washed up on the beach
Our emaciated faces are withdrawn, they are neutralised by the mystery, they are confronted by innate ideals and the hedonistic supine trances of a festival for the blessed who can dream before they sleep.

2.Human remains are becoming debris, an inconvenience as in life
for religions of regret. Forming heroes from silhouettes in a self-censored panoptican and conceding we are just here to decay as transparently predictable examples of impure thought.

3.Islands of blue solitude are breeding new frequencies
into the cynical sneer of organic and plastic walking cliches. We are victims of our vanity, an ugly flower a vacant smile with a vapour of occurences for memory which are distilled into one intimate thought...

4.Humour me until it is all over and we're washed up on the beach