Sunday, May 10, 2015

Post Traumatic Special Delivery

Billy ripped the page from Phoebe's notebook, let’s face it, he thought, nobody’s ever gonna know; it’s not like anyone gives a shit anyway.
The thumb-start on his faux-retro maglev Hyundai Sinner worked eventually; whacking crackle into the alleyway like some zombie bad lung trauma, and he cranked it into the high street as if he hadn’t already used up eight of his nine lives.
The bipolar traffic honked resentment at his door-handle-testicle-tangling progress through the unsynchronised mind-fuck that posed itself as progress (a political viewpoint that proclaims anyone arguing with its singular premise can go fuck themselves with their left-wing anarcho-socialist values).
Billy ripped the last of his credit from the slipstream of the late-running 5:37 from Hell as it side-swiped its comatose commuter cargo into a sad resemblance of awareness, hoping that the sling-shot momentum thus gained would serve to deliver the message Phoebe’d so recently, and so desperately, scrawled upon the feint of her jealously guarded, preciously teetering-on–the-brink-of-extinction, notebook.

Tales for the attention-span deficit reader

Wednesday, May 06, 2015

Life swarms with innocent monsters

Downtown Ulsan 5th May 2015 ~ photo by Pisces Iscariot

G said it looked like cartoon city and I couldn’t argue with that.
Walking through its streets, however, I found it impossible to argue with its vibrant reality, marvelling at its unassuming acceptance of foreign objects in its bloodstream.

“What strange phenomena we find in a great city, all we need do is stroll about with our eyes open.
Life swarms with innocent monsters.” ― Charles Baudelaire

Saturday, April 25, 2015

Waiting for a Plane

Gimpo Airport, Seoul, South Korea, 21 April 2015 ~ Photo by Pisces Iscariot

Monday, March 09, 2015

Friday, February 27, 2015

Success: the bastard son of Integrity

To climb the ladder rungs of shadow cast
By floodlight through sanctuary’s fence
As if to reach that plateau fast
Would still the voices calling hence
To all the pieces missing
From the jigsaw of your past

Ladder rungs of smoke and dust
Your foot falls flat upon illusion
The plateau bitter returns unjust
Your corporate ambition a blue contusion
In the shape of pieces missing
From the jigsaw of your past

From the jigsaw of your past
The space where pieces are missing
Won’t hold fast fists to rails of mist
Won’t hold fast skin to suture
Cuts that by hand-me-down logic twist
The inevitability of your future

From the jigsaw of your past
You’ll fill the spaces missing
Not by the ladder shadow cast
Nor acquisitions hollow empty-hearted
But by sails hoist to a different mast
To journey upon waters uncharted