Friday, November 30, 2012

bathing in future dreams...

The peaks of perversion are never going to be reached,

don’t worry, children love adventure, your neighbor too,

god calls for massage on Friday, the ocean is your only

escape, women cry rape, men listen,  the aids industry

thrives, so does everyone around it, call the dealer, get

a packet, and fast, my nose is bleeding, so is my head,

so is your heart, everyone is dead, satisfied or do you

need to see a certificate, it’s in the manual sir,

blast!.. !. Harry rubbed his forehead, unable to cope

with the rush, his toes tingling, all the way across his

back, over his shoulders, till his head lifted off

almost, my god he thought, shuddering all over. The joint

quickly died. Stubbing it into the desk, he wondered

if he deserved the resurrection of a fresh one or what

was it that was on his mind so recently. The Palestinian

issue had been dealt with, god should have been in

politics, I hate that, god I’m getting old, we’re all

getting old, but harry was getting older quicker he felt,

as he was forgetting things, the bleddy coffee he sighed

..a he screamed exhibiting a roar that would

terrorize a muslim. Yes, a baptism he thought, why not

both he laughed, thinking out loud, I’ll ban religion and

make it even more popular. You can’t have that. He began

to yawn all of a sudden, his mental state crumbling

apart. His eyes were opening closing, fluttering in

disarray. Rest, was the answer, a bath and he could have

it all, yes, warm foamy liquid, he’d relax, sleep

perhaps, no one ever drowned in a bath. Many were killed

in them though. On his feet, he wobbled over to the edge

of the tub, turning on the hot he winched slightly,

plenty of it he thought, adding some cold. It’d take five

minutes to reach drowning point, six inches deep. Damn it

he thought, just when he was getting organized, he’d

forgot the final ingredient to his afternoon caper, a

bath fellow as he called it, a slender joint, well

rolled, not hard, but robust enough to last the course,

yet loose enough to allow plenty of fresh air. If I was

Cuban I’d roll it on the thigh of a virgin and not get

arrested. The makings were on the table. The bedroom

would be warmer. You can do this he fumed, slapping

himself across the face, shit that hurt he thought, sober

a few moments, his mental determination as acute as a

hard on in a nudist colony. Harry was awake mentally.

He slapped himself hard again, it hurt even more, but it

Shook him even more.

Jesus, what’s going, every where he looked, a window was

open. He couldn’t decide, the best place to make the bath

joint. Going into the bedroom, he sat down on the side of

the bed, his head in his arms, head going down and down.

Will I or won’t I he thought, roll that joint.

"jesus christ" he yelled. He raced into the bathroom. His

heart thumping furiously. The bath water was half full,

the ship hadn’t sunk, and there was plenty of hot water

left. Shock woke him further. Five minutes later, he was

all calm again, lying in it, a smoking joint in one

hand,  a glass of water in the other, Balance he thought,

perfect balance, like the perfect woman, just be he


Each sip of water was followed with a suck, till

all there was left was a butt. Flicking it accurately

into the toilet bowl he began to play with himself. His

manhood though, looked a wet shriveled mesh of hair and

flesh, there was no response. He twiddled with the water

instead, palming it playfully over his chest. He then

began immersing his head in and out of the water as

playfully as a dolphin. Fish he sighed, wondering what it

was like to be a fish these days, very disappointing. To

have your home turned into an international sewage

treatment plant, it’s happening locally, smell the air he

thought sucking it in, the open windows allowing for

endless waves of fuel injected air to enter his space,

lovely he thought, the sweet whiff of chemicals blended

with monoxides, good. But did it matter he wondered, the

water silent, harry still. It mattered to the him that

moment, water quality, getting worse everywhere, full of

shit. But they have tablets for that too he yawned. He

sat up all of a sudden, water cascading down his body,

least your not a fish otherwise, otherwise he smiled

thinking quietly, getting serious with himself. As ever

the phone intervened, like it was trying to disturb him.

Damn it, I'll let it go, they'll call back, everyone is

lonely, The phone kept on ringing though, annoying him

for a good two minutes. It was time to begin a personal

manicure. Two minutes and six dunks later his hair was

washed, and clean of all traces of sud. His hairdresser

recommended conditioner to him the last time he got his

hair trimmed. Now he had a predicament. Feel like a

woman, the bob Dylan song entered his head all of a

sudden. Not that he felt he needed to feel a woman, he’d

have felt the first one available anyway, but he felt

like a woman all the same.

He didn’t have that album in his collection he recalled,

he’d buy it for himself for christmas he promised once he

sorted out the problem starring him in the face,

shopping, choosing was shopping, if not shocking

sometimes. The array of bottles to the side of the bath,

she couldn’t need them all he thought, maybe she mixes

them he sighed shaking his head at the chemical

concoctions, all in very colorful bottles, herbal, ying

yang, normal, everyday use, coloured, must be for black

people, all conditioners, he read the labels, dry hair,

normal, greasy and super greasy to choose from. She must

have had lots of men friends, all bathers too. He

pondered the choices. Just like a woman, he knew what bob

meant now!.

His hair, obviously wasn’t dry, so that was out. Which

one did lainey recommend, but her hair had been dyed so

often he thought, she was a natural what. For a second

he was normal, just his hair. Squirting a creamy blob

into his hand, he began to massage it into his head.

Telesales agents, should be banned he howled, once he

heard the phone come alive, again. Not now he screamed,

I’m not doing interviews. For a moment he thought it

might be her. It stopped then rang again. Down and up,

his head was immersed in the water for a nanosecond.

Leaving a watery trail in his wake, he reached the phone

just as the caller gave up. They'll ring back he sighed

with a shrug of the shoulders, always do. Out of the

bath, there was no point getting back in, condition or

not. Drying himself off, that was a bath he thought, as

if he’d never had one before.

“I bet he’s gone for a walk, he walks then writes, it’s

an inspiration thing!” she told herself. She’d have to

surprise him at home instead, they’d given her a raise

plus a promotion, just as harry said they would. She

wanted to thank him. Holding the phone in her hand,

she pondered. Was he worth it she thought, of course she

assured herself, smacking the phone down. Decision made,

she was going home early, to the man waiting for her!.


Dope makes you dopey he thought. Your thinking, so don’t

worry. He wondered if snow white and dopey, of the seven

dwarfs fame ever smoked. No, he Concluded, that was a

fairy tale, make belief. Besides a good looking woman

would have no time for a dude that only reached her

navel, unless he’d lots of money. Seated on the bed,

felt so comfortable too, but he couldn’t sleep, speech

he thought, speech, she likes me reading her stories in

bed and you like it too he thought, meaning himself. But

sleep, five minute power nap that’s all, his eyes

beginning to dictate to him, five minutes that’s all,

five harry, remember. Crumpling down on the bunch of

pillows, he hooked the loose covers over himself,

five minutes he promised. Should have done this sooner he

sighed, grabbing the duvet tight around him, five minutes

five minutes, have to write it, have to write he thought.

Fully asleep he was free to roam around his dreams

uncontested or disturbed. Grabbing and groping with

thoughts and revelations of every sort, he wandered and

wandered. Perhaps he was always on the verge of a nervous

breakdown. In the asylum, they’d consider that normal. He

shook in the bed, delving, going in and out of scene

after scene, seeking answers to issues that disturbed him

when awake. Millions of darkened bellies, all empty,

what an advertising nightmare for a food company, lots of

hungry people with no money to spend. Food parcels, He

smiled to himself, going further into his dream, they

were all alive, they were just dieting. They could always

ring the yellow pages and get a pizza home delivery. He

wondered if DHL delivered food apart from computer parts.

He muttered words, twisted in the bed. A towel that was

wrapped around his damp head, was now strewn on the

ground. Evil, must first get to know it intimately, he

smiled, smiled big. A Jesus truck had arrived with a

bread van inside it, did the feed the world trick,

without the need for personal appearance money.

Harry laughed, every story had to have a happy

ending. As for Noah, he was really a math professor who

couldn't count beyond two. Harry laughed again, turning

in the bed as he did, still in a state.

She hit him full blast across the face, shattering the

glass dream he was in. He opened one eye, then the other.

The side of his face hurt, why so, he wasn't sure. She

came into focus, the angry expression on her face was all

he saw. What time was it he thought, acting and looking


"you've been at it, you, jesus, can I ever trust

you!”. She wore a heavy scowl too.

Harry rubbed his face very firmly, from the forehead

down, feeling with his fingers, the crevices and sockets,

it was still there.

"jesus I'm alive, you wouldn't believe what happened me".

She lit a cigarette and sat down beside him, rubbing his

cheek with her free hand.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you!” she sighed.

“thanks!” he replied sitting up, sober with shock.

"twisting and turning, I thought you were on LSD

or something, what are you like, and no speech either

I suppose!”.

She passed him her cigarette, he tried his best to

explain. I was just bathing in future dreams he sighed.

Thursday, November 29, 2012

Money Money Money...

Mercy for heavens sake mercy for your child’s mistakes, patience lord for our ways, give us time to part those pearly gates, you've been away awhile, we did the best we can, were still doing it those that did make that stand, charity lord for the souls that bear heavy debt, love us kindly even when we live with doubt, forgive us all we were led astray, the evil one tried all his tricks, no he’s ran, and time is on your side, nations are developing conscience money no longer the man…what do you think asked Peter, reading the prayer list, the best samples he’d got that day. God pondered over his favorite plants, watering them with his smile, they soon came to life, no longer drooping. A long white beard, he looked like santa, apart from the white gown he wore. Can you repeat he asked as peter held the watering can. It’s the last line I can’t understand he said. There’s more wealth in those offshore assets than in the rest of the world, who controls them he asked, as he prepared to trim a few cuttings from the green robust plant in his hand. Hand me the cutters he asked, peter a little worried, unsure to answer, hurry up man shouted God a little tired, unused to such delays. Peter answered, what part do you not understand, can you repeat yourself my Lord. God turned around, blew out a gush of wind, turmoil in the Caymans,  we’ll see what they think now, and grabbed the cutters from St.Peters hand. I know when your holding back dude spoke God, peter a little flustered face red, he understands. Well what’s on your mind, speak speak pleads God a lot on his mind. I was wondering if I could have the evening off I want to watch the new james bond. Okay, decrees the Lord, then peter rambles off, a boyish smile on his face. Shur I knew all along smiles God to himself, he’s still a child that man, meaning St.Peter. Are we not all children, money money money, and we all come running. It used to be sweets.

Wednesday, November 28, 2012

what happened to love!

Children, don’t we love them well, their yours for life so you tell, life is a journey they say, the last step before the final bell, children, I hope you rear them well

Climbing mountains jumping from airplanes, landing on the moon faces full of tears, seven more academy awards this year, it’s too good to be true, our eyes moisten sweetly

Children young girls in particular, great to be wealthy beautiful and young, a disease to be young and beautiful and poor, don’t you love children, can’t we be forever young

Years become centuries memory fades, the sacrifice of so many young, the tragedy that endures and endures, can’t go on forever they say, the war is over as a new one begins

Stricken thought aahs and shock us all, another event another ceiling has caved in, world is in freefall so it looks, what about the children, too late to think about that

An agreement with love eternal in nature, children the byproduct leased for their nurture, so this is the harvest screams the lord, children are all sexualized, they’ll have no more

Egyptian tragedy power was their thing, they repeat the dosage it’s now a global thing, no mention of children or mothers at all, men steal the food and the power, is this what they did to love

Skyscraper rises jets fly faster, two hours to London new york is higher, warnings ignored the signs just a lapse, world dives into an abyss, as the heavens open up, to travelers

Tuesday, November 27, 2012

New World Order

The only hope he saw, was in a total re birth of human religious beliefs. Families that stay together pray together, can be blown apart together too. If the seed of reason can be planted, it can he harvested too. To reason one had to listen, listening, unlike shopping it meant using the brain. Listening to the gods of war, explain themselves on the TV, trying to appear reasoned, each defendant putting on a show, hoping to impress the global jury, all of them well educated, intellectuals of a kind, harry couldn’t see how these men, they were all men, how did they manage to have followers, or were people like sheep, as the bible says. The rules of social engagement, mixed marriages were a non event. A dowry also had to be present. Children were to be brought up in the religion of the husband; the list went on and on. With men so unreliable, it didn’t make sense putting them under pressure. Women had to be shielded from men, would have been a far better excuse to blame global warming for covering their heads. And women were the property of the husband and children too, till all were dead. Education of the woman was considered dangerous. She might learn to think for herself. The list of funny and odd rules the various religions used to control women mainly, made interesting TV too. The program was Swedish made. That explained its clarity. Finding a wife or husband is a matter for the parents explains the narrator. The background image is bleak, of a small village, huddled together rocks; in rags the children laugh and run about. Marrying cousins, half sisters, uncles, there was a clause for every possibility. All religions he concluded, found it necessary to control the woman. When she bled, for whom she bled, by whom she bled, to the last drop, her life was managed for her. Women must be thick concluded harry, for putting up with all these rules.

Friday, November 23, 2012

Get Used to It...

People get used all the time
Women they call it a crime
People get used all the time
We tend to call it compromise
It’s not that we intended it
just happened that way
It’s how they explain it he said
As the coffin was wheeled out of the shed

People get used all the time
From religion to TV it’s fed
To control your outlook and
That’s all it took
People get used in the end
Finance matters god’s our man
Now lets get as much as we possibly can
People get used in the end

Too used to it and afraid to run
No social care no rich friends
People get screwed ALL THE TIME
And it never ends
So god tired of all the listening
He hailed his angels into action
Get them darn vermin he said
People have faith said the man
It’s never too late he said
To get used to get out
In fear or in doubt
No one uses god amen.

Thursday, November 22, 2012

When the morning comes

Morning comes and I’m still on the run
On that road they call your life
I’ve had a few too many broke up with the
Wife –I hate when the morning comes

Every day reminds me of the life I had before
The sun still shines another metaphor
Of what I could have been he said
Don’t you hate the morning when it comes

Wednesday, November 21, 2012


Light, not the light he moaned, wondering what time

Of day had arrived, his eyes yawning, half open and

trying to focus. He covered his head with the duvet,

his eyes closing again, trying to avoid the morning

glare. Still it pierced the bed clothes.

“breakfast will be ready in five minutes!” she shouted.

He heard the bedroom door close seconds later. She

left the drapes open, forcing the morning sun on him,

praising his hangover. Did his head hurt, thumping

his skull and brain, hard swollen from the after

affects of a bottle of wine and a few miserable

whiskeys, never again he swore. Warning labels,

water bottles, help, there has to be a tablet for this

he thought. Oh man, give me something, just ease my pain.

Christ couldn’t she have shown me some mercy, but to

leave the drapes open he thought. It was time to emerge

from his temporary coma. It was pain he felt as soon as

he lifted it off the soft pillow. Lowering it slowly,

he rested it, afraid of movement, just be still he

thought, this too shall pass. He’d read that

phrase in mary’s alcohol book, women and booze, fuck,

he hadn’t time to think. The one bright spot was the

drawer to his left hand side. Your not that drunk

he thought. Slowly, he eased himself to the side,

reaching into it. Heaven had arrived in the form of

an unused joint, which he now held in his hand.

The lighter was in his trousers, but first he had to

get out of the bed. Tip toeing over to the curtain, he

pulled them closed, finding immediate relief. At least

now he could open his eyes properly. Where are they,

they were not on the floor, his movements were slow and

deliberate, no jerking whatsoever. The shower he thought,

they had to be in there. Damn you tom Clancy, damn the

world, damn everyone, oh what a mess he sighed. 

Strewn all over the bathroom floor, socks, shirt, under

pants, even coins, what have I done, help me. This can’t

Be happening he thought, as he picked his favourite

trousers out of the bath, damp wet, what was I doing.

He felt the leg, the seat, before inserting his hand into

the pocket. Damp but not destroyed, the dry cleaners will

sort this out he thought, buoyed up a little, now that he

had his much needed lighter in his hand, and it worked.

I can concentrate on recovery now, his first smile of the

morning wide across his face.