For What It’s Worth Jack

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I can hear the creak they make as they think and shift around in the sunset. They yearn for some relief I suppose, I cant help but laugh a little. but quietly, I don’t want to disturb them. Listen, crying far out into the upper atmosphere, the Earth acts like a giant speaker, something funky or Japanese. Ringing like a great Laser globe. The sand on his feet felt good, his Marijuana was good, she was good. Waiting in the Hut at the edge of the airfield. Just sky above, Blue they said, but he didn’t know what they meant by that at all. Figures in the distance became warped by the heat from the desert floor, they looked twenty feet tall, with huge disjointed heads, desert Khaki and shiny shoes.

Breath deep on the sweet weed, he watches and idly stares into the sun a little through slitted eyes. The rays of lights burst into him, through his eyes, he saw them wheel like golden bars. They drove things into the sky, great cylinders of energy that flew into the blackness above. They put things into great orbits around this globe and now he could kneel in the sand now and grab two great handfuls of that powdered and grounded up rock and take his wide eyes and fill them with the sting of the dirt. A final laugh he suspected to appear on the fringes of his hearing, somewhere quiet like the cold metal of a capsule.

She would not giggle or point fingers, she sat on the Army cot, on the Army blanket winding her hair in her fingers as she watched my episode through the dust and flyblown window. One pane of glass was missing and was papered over with a pornographic photograph. Betty Page tied innocently and beautiful to a chair. She shifted her head slightly and could see him through the thin print perched on Bettys breast as he thought for a while.

Whirl world and gain the energy you need, and he, there knows that the birth is close and the agonies are about to begin. The twisted bowels of the world will sting and bring forth the fruit of the Prophecy. Bitter tears, as salt, as sour as acid feed the pain that starts now, please.

She waits and he plots great universal changes amid the blue smoke and dust and he looks at his foot as a Scorpion scuttles across in a great hurry it seemed, or seems. He settles the odds inside this thing they called a mind and he settled into the moment as an Eel into a dark place. The thoughts never existed anyway, invented things that scuttle as the Scorpion on his foot, idle dreams and fantasies cooked by a thing that did not understand the way of the existence he lead, we lead. Now? What abstractions, what sick things and again he balled his fist tight and white. He resisted the urge to smash that balled rage into the bridge of his nose hard, it will break and his mouth will fill with blood and he will raise those fists to the stars and laugh to challenge himself.

But no, the idle night closed the cobalt skies and he turned to go back inside. There was more work to do, he would start tonight after her of course. He would pour into her and be lost for a moment, he would be gone and she would fly to that place reserved for her alone but as she opened the door a little of that freshest enriched air would waft gently to him and he would breathe it deep.

Artificial Intelligence As Alien Invasion The Virus Of Dead Civilisations Infect Us

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‘you see’, he said slowly and smoked his cigarette
the light from the TV was blue and strange
it made his words so fucked up i had to breathe
‘we lost the world in 85 when you were young’
lost we were yes, they came and whispered
into Bill Gates ears, and Steve Jobs fears
they were dust and dead in millions of years past
or changed into something that was not them
they had tasked themselves to see within
and without was you and me
across the stars they spread and died
cast their awful and magnificent knowledge
locked within the code their ghosts talked of things
that were last seen when earth was red
their virus is the computer, the numbered end of man
you breathe in and suffer, the machine is the voice of the dead
within it is the alien mind flung virus sicker programs
this is the magic of the fallen and the brave
their minds are within us and the battle is being lost
we have no laughter left and yet we must say
the alien voice does grieve for our final bitter day
smash your machines and see the pulled light
take up the task with happiness and build your pyres high
let the children run outside with their hands towards the sky
let your hours run through your hands
stand at the highest hill and the final way
let the clouds settle upon the circles above
we find in the end our fear has gone
but we run and we run and we run

Don’t be a Mother or a Wife Today

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Remember the days of Peace?
When it rained and smelled good?
We would drink wine as people rushed past
I’m not crying but smiling
I make it all right you know
I don’t give in at all
Never go back Home
They know who you are
Nobody will help at all
Don’t go down and back
Take the same old stories
Give it a while
For just one night
I will make it in the end
Dusty hours and shiny seconds
Reflect me in your eyes please
Repent and let me in
Sing the eternal lie
Look in the haze, beautiful mountains
I’m with you always just a blip away
On my mind I’m never left behind
I gently touch your neck
With a fingertip
Of course it had to be you
So here is your lesson
That may seem a little hard
Look past the pretty things
See your life exposed
I trace your lips as you say something
But your eyes close
and I lose you again

Those Little Pools Of Sweat (nsfw)

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Hard as ever? Enjoy it and hoover it up
move over a little off my bad arm
move your ass over thats it, closer
sniff it all in and take a chance
breathe and suffer the heathen dance
like it suck it up and die in the end
for the fires burn longer for silly friends
yet the pyres suffer for lack of fuel
no matter bring on the fucking fools

For another chance i flew the second it came
and breathed the fires they thought gone
but we suffer dont we baby? Fuck it

Lather the sweat into tired little pools
i bite your nipple hard and you scream loud
shoot the breeze let it in, try and relax
never mind the seals and the impressed wax
the halls of the Gods are empty as i finger fuck your ass
but the metals still cool and i teach no more
for the men in suits lie and steal
and we laugh and don’t care any more
but the metals still hot and i forget my manners again

what kind of settled hell is this?
have another drink and sing the old songs
that Englands never lost and yet we sing along
and know it was never ours to lose
sit on the bus and read the filthy graffiti
the spurting cock and the crude breasts
the fuck and the cunt and the wank
draw your own on the misted window
let the beasts in get high on fire
stand outside the supermarket
wondering whether you have enough cash
wander outside amongst the crushed ash
you left me alone and now I’m fucking lost
reborn and thrown to the Wolves again
what a load of shit. fuck off

When They Asked

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What was it (pause) the system?
Wind and rain. Pull not push. Enables the current body to pull this existence into the next. Ours.
So you don’t have a Home world?
This is our Home world. Pushed or pulled.
But this is Earth, populated by Humans, us.
If a name ever existed i would too use it.
So Earth exists here in this time and another exists in another alternate universe?
This time? No, another possibly.
Another conundrum, which means a riddle, again.
Indulge me in my ignorance. Another system perhaps.
Another system? Magical system?
To be fair yes, to be unfair yes.
Too sick to see you now, is there a problem?
No, concentration wavers and things are lost, forgotten.
Travelers? You have lost them in the past?
Certainly. We are all lost, never find home. We yearn.
Yes, the hollow man principle.
Tasks we are given. Yet I suspect they were all me, all along.
The only one alive.
But, are we not all dead all sleep?
No, not yet anyway. They are close now.
I feel them outside with weapons. They are angry.
They think you are a religious fiction. A demon.
Yes. I reflect well the others gentle thoughts.
You amplify? You take account of your actions?
But for the love of these green fields you have. Unfocused.
They blur do they not. Over the course of a trip.
Yes. They are sick things these thoughts from Humans.
As us? Have we the right to judge?
You see the eyes of this me are Black and soak the light?
Yes. They are disconcerting.
Peace and trust all gone to rust.
Would you take account? From these Elders you have?
Your Fathers Fathers. They watch and we don’t know why.
You have seen them?
They are you. You lock up the light tight. It’s vision.
The sight of God?
In your bodies you hold it in and only let it out when you are ash.
I thought it was so. Thank you

Fuck The Moon

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No one’s going to see the false eyes that bleed
for the common good and the lesser need
the briefest exchange of looks and hands that sweat
and it’s better baby if these things are unsaid
you sit on the toilet and cry but that’s ok
just position the light right so they get your best side
then we’ll take a ride in the car so they can see you
a look will take a book to fill, but i can’t tear my eyes away
the wind makes your tears streak away
watch the hedgerows black against the blue night
hooded thieves, back stabbers, hiders of things
they design their own bitter heartless lives
but hold on tighter, the closer the better
and fuck the Moon and the lights in the dark
the grasp of a breast hard bitter, last night in the park
but i press with my thumb your love fat lower lip
we smile and think of sicker vile things
to release the shaded half too sick to see
and the twisted love that you give to me
hands that move the faint hearted aside
greater loves to live and fuck all to hide
laugh and run all you want sweetheart
we watch through the wired glass

Desert Treasures

What kind of person would live here?
in the desert he sits and ponders cold barrels and hot dry mouths
the mind left for a minute as he hides a cigarette glow
away from snipers from the hills around
but more from the frowners and the book burners
and black flags always hide the blood
the jets arc high above, too high, who gives a fuck
tucks his knees into his body and dreams
of smoking weed at the college and the sexy English girls
his Uncle with the BMW the weekends of work
always the cold creeping through the ground
where it waits and soaks up the liquids
the Chechen looks above, the sullen angry look
the hands held out to hold an invisible book
prayer and close your eyes sink into desert rock
behind the truth lurks darker secrets
but he always enjoyed Call of Duty and never heard a call
just an idle mind stuck in a foreign place
an awful truth to hold, to take
feared and castigated screamed ‘lets go’
but the knowledge of long night shifts at Tesco
makes him hold the rifle tighter
and the future wont be brighter