How

StockSnap_A6LNAZ887ZThe systems mucked up,
your out of true luck,
burnt the last trick,
skin only so thick,
shut it down now,
if I only knew how.

Look In the mirror and realize,
there is no other way to summarize,
it’s all there in your eyes.

The data is stuck backwards,
looking for the forwards,
the centrality’s lost control,
forcing your empty soul,
to shut it down now,
if I only knew how.

Look to the darkened sky and freeze,
nothing left for you do but seize,
the last dying moments of disease.

The constructs screwed for good,
came tumbling like I knew it would,
last black box failed,
no new god will be hailed,
shut it down now,
we all know how.

D 2013

(The world just seems crazy out there if you look at the news to much, this old poem just reminded me that maybe sometimes you just have to switch off.)

Tulpa

girl-1530967_1920Blast my way through this oil slick, your not the only one with a boomstick.
Office towers fall and sink holes open the road, the tyrant is about to explode.
Standing ten stories tall, my tulpa wipes the unclean away, nothing to make it fall.

Yes it could of been done the easy way, but you cast the of finger blame my way,
So now here we are, a city destroyed by its own anger, violence, don’t pander …

… my intention was clear, I want what you stole, seven years of my soul.
Humiliation turns revenge, and in the end, there was no other way for it to be.

D March 2017

Of mice and demons

Whistle down lane,

Welcome the caged insane,

Spare no words for the lame,

Never the same again.

Quivering in their beds,

All the things she said,

Pied Piper who lead,

Into mind valley dead.

Hotel California,

We’re coming for you,

Part of the formula,

Last of few who knew that,

Demons have made their pacts,

And,

This is the madhouse …

… For you to be used like a lab mouse.

D March 2017

On the run

I left for the hills when I smelt your death coming for me, ironic that until then it had been so hard to see.

Two days I traveled by foot through the mountains, disengagement from all the bullshit you’d been spouting.

I camped on the beach with my hand on my knife, to finally know my pursuers, been there all of my life.

Your blacked out sedan drifted on by, I had outrun you and gave out a sigh.

D March 2017

Psyche Bullets

Fox one, fire in the hole, bury those gun shots deeply in your soul. Release now we have you under our control.

Fox run, the hunters in pursuit, killing all the ‘low hanging fruits’, gone now? Here’s a gag across your mouth to keep you mute.

Fox down, to much incoming, can’t be stopped, but if I survive those volley of psyche bullets you shot, it will never be forgot.

Fox escaped, slipped through the nights cracks, running half naked in empty fields, knowledge lent, me a chance to break your seals.

Fox sleeps, in forest embrace, soft moss and dirty ditch, what a fraught battle we pitch, as my wounds I begin to stitch.

One bullet, two … Three … … Four and all the more. Licking my scars forever more.

D March 2017

Memories

weirdSo what to do with a shiny new URL, well how about some of my memories before I upload some more poetry.

My oldest memory is being pushed in my buggy through a field with fighter aircraft either side of me, my mum possibly thought it may be an airshow we went to. Coincidentally my oldest nightmare is being in a aircraft hanger with a British Vulcan bomber as the nuclear payload malfunctions and I wake up with a jolt as the fire burns. This leads to some time spent in the Air Training Corps 285 Squadron much later in life, but I did not stay long. I wanted to fly and my eyesight was to poor so I was relegated to engineering. Obvious a big gap between those two memories but for some reason the shadow of the military has always hung over my life. Even in my civilian life as a motorcycle courier I had to sign the OSA (Official Secrets Act) because of some of the sites I had to visit. I have a memory of my Uncles funeral and the priest mentioning his time in the Korean war. Another of my Grandfathers position in the Air-force during WW2, which we weren’t really allowed to talk about until a few years ago. Memories of books on firearms as a teenager on my book shelf. Shadows of the unsaid and ‘Mums the word!’ attitude. All before my mental health went nuclear in 1998. For some reason this past year I have been gluing together the tapestry of my life with the help of my Councillor. Amazingly what was blocked from my minds eye just a few years ago, I now seem to have fallen into a period of total recall. Including what went down during my 5 admissions to Royal Bethlem Hospital under section.

Why do I mention all this, well throw hyper-manic paranoia and memory like this and it can get very messy. What’s real, what’s a ghost and what’s just a maybe?

So I tuck it all away in corner of my mind. Heavy memory compression in a tight corner of mind and what seeps out around the edges I put into my arts. Really I’m kinda OK with it all but sometimes I just want to disappear, disown my life.

Well I’ll stop boring you for now and get on with living.

Peace D

Aphyx

twistedRun around the underground.

Follow the trails of the sound.

The tiled walls on the floor.

Pass the body of the whore.

Duck from the echoes around the street.

The pitter patter of your feet.

Jump the curb and hit the road.

Dodge the cars in psycho mode.

The adrenaline is running thin.

Take a piss by a bin.

Looking up to cast a stare.

Your bleeding eyes don’t seem to care,

Of what’s all around, it can’t detect.

These other faces contain no threat.

So ask yourself “So where are you?”

Subsonic space is something new.

Deepening black, chemical flak.

You hit the ground and something cracks.

The blackness clears, replaced by fear.

Spurting blood is all you hear.

You’ve hit the floor with your senses wrapped.

Nothingness, your neck has snapped.

Straight off the edge and hit the abyss.

Try and survive, it’s you last wish.

Your heart burst out with infinite guilt.

For all the things you could have built.

The crying minds last thought is flying.

Without these drugs, it would not be dying.

D 2003

Paranoia

modulateLook out the window,
See the van outside,
Is it the monitoring crew?
The illicit undercover few,
Lock the door tight,
and hide under the covers.
Throw away your mobile phone,
Those out there know your alone!

Then in the darkness they will come,
While you pray to see the sun,
The doctors say your paranoid,
But who is to say this isn’t real,
Even if somewhat surreal.

Look out the window,
See the helicopter buzz,
Is it the monitoring crew?
The illicit undercover few.
Lock the door tight,
Throw away your train of thought,
Those out there know your caught!

Then in the darkness they will come,
While you wonder what the hell you have done,
The doctors say your paranoid,
But who is to say this isn’t real,
The devils do their dirty deals.

D 2007

(I get to the point with my blogs when I feel to need to tear it all down, it’s pure paranoia and I’m very prone to it. This time I’m trying to resist the urge. The past months blogging has helped me if no-one else. So I continue … for now.)