The Way the World Ends

I am staring at the secret
where the water meets the sky
and the horizon still believes
in all the clouds that whistle by.
I feel the wind that runs its fingers
through the grasses, through the sky,
wind that blows and glows the embers
of something small to keep me high.


The world is growing softer
-It erodes more every day,
and the rock wears into sand
that melts into the sea
so that all along the jagged coast
the line is giving way
but the tumble of the cliffs and plants
is irrelevant to me.


This is the way the world ends
-in the corrosive tang of spray,
in the actions of white horses,
the only sure thing is decay
while the rock becomes the sand
becomes the glass becomes the pane.
In the secrets of horizons
we are beaten down by rain
while infinite dark forces
are giving birth to stars.


This is the way the world ends
-not with panes but broken shards.

Wizards and Lizards

wizards and lizards

are getting me gizzard

big business buzzards

been taking the biscuit

with secret services

and esoteric substances

serving military industrial purposes

shadowy figures

instilling nervousness

pop another Prozac

contain your complexes

you are free

to be blown up to bits by the terrorists

keep taking the tablets

keep shaking the crucifix

these pyramid schemes

utopian dreams

secret societies

setting the scene

with both sides of the game

pretty much the same

thesis antithesis

synthetic and framed

Hegelian dialectic

goes on in your brain

look it up in Google

if you don't know what I'm saying

drugged up and date raped

a dab hand with ductape

I sit in my shelter

I shiver and shake

an average Joe

on the narrow and straight

caught up in the jaws

and the laws of the state

peddling their poison

piddling their hate

come friendly bomb

burn this planet of apes

Three Cheers for Dear Bear

But I think the best gig I ever got was when I used to entertain a fair few people (the rest would just get irritated) as the mascot for Stratford Upon Avon's local radio station The Bear102FM (I would love to be able to direct you to a live feed, but they closed down years ago). This meant, unsuprisingly, dressing up as a large bear (a dancing version of which is the heraldic symbol of Warwickshire) and doing my bit for the 'troops' (shoppers, really, but it's all part of the war effort, keeping up morale) by standing waving when the mayor cut the ribbon to a new discount shoe warehouse or burger chain.

Sometimes, when the mayor wasn't available, for jumble sales and the like, which his office would consider 'non newsworthy' (even the Stratford Herald has its limits), I got to cut the ribbon myself. This was something I always dreaded- those big bear gloves are a nightmare for handling scissors with, but I think I dealt with it with quiet dignity (it was a non-speaking role). I opened Shoe City and some Londis-type store in Bidford-on-Avon, and no matter how cynical and jaded we may become, that's still got to be a good moment for anyone.

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My Terrist Confession (2004)

I like terra firma

And couldn't be without it

Except on a boat

And even then I doubt it

So maybe I'm a terrist

-I fit the description:

I say up yours! to unjust laws

And keep sharp knives in the kitchen.

I live by a semi-detached 'e' state

In a terrist house

In a terrist street.

I love love, basically,

and hate hate

And am cutting down on meat.

I'm cutting down on shopping, too

-All these things that I don't need

Don't please me like they used to do.

I'd rather smoke some weed.

And I'd rather keep the fruits

Of all I labour at each day

Than have some rich old reptile

Lock it all away.

I'd rather folks took action

And questioned what they're told

Than bow to dodgy factions.

Man, it's getting old.

I'd rather we dropped tools than bombs

Then went outside to play

Or at least went out

For a beer, anyway.

Anyway, I'm a terrist.

My ideas are a poison.

IGNORANCE IS STRENGTH

FREEDOM IS SLAVERY

WAR IS PEACE

Well, enjoy son.

WACKY KRAZYBALLS

CRACK HOUSE ON FOX HILL (2000-2001)

After three years of Leicester, I finally got it together enough to move to my sister's in Bath. She had a good job at the time in publishing and I thought maybe she could help hook me up with something. Besides, after visiting the place on and off for a couple of years, I was falling for its Regency charms.

My sister had insisted in advance that staying at hers would be strictly for as long as it took me to find work and digs and I assured her that I would want to get out of her hair pretty quickly also. Her wrath, when aroused, could be a downright scary thing, and her spare room was already fit to bursting with her boyfriend's records and decks and Star Wars figurines.

My mum and step-dad drove me down with my stuff. We were starting afresh after not talking for over a year due to a letter I had written and posted, whilst on acid, in which I had formally resigned from being her son. 

I had had my reasons. 

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Brizzle

Bristol, England:

It was 12.30am on a dying planet.

The beer had run out and another day of supply loomed on the horizon like a great and ghastly toad.

Something had to give. And it wasn't going to be me.

Or would it?