Cloud nein emcees

*Inspired by the quote*

‘be nice to those on your way to the top, don’t believe your own hype, you never know who you are going to meet on your way back down’

Today, I rant about those who sit on cloud tufted pedestals

self righteous

Judging others they deem have morals lacking by half and a few.

A pack of dogs who  bitch more than  females could ever stir up in a stew.

Pre made, customised idol awards-ready to export from china-engraved names for the lot  of the little who mew mew .

Talk like a woo fang man — skillz and talents

Big upped up by  their mates.

Could  you stand without your prop ups.

Really ? Even you?

 mixed bred, British bull terriers ending the night in multiple  lock jaw — fatalities .

Take you imported  ciders, your  low suspension  alpha Romeo    idea mentalities

Get back to banter.

Not discussing  events or ideas but   foreign people unlike  your garbled, stiff upper lips , sipping pints of Bloody Sunday.

There’s a lucky clover . A rainbow that ends with a holiday in Dover.

 Go back to milking your 5 minutes of arrogance

waking the neighbours in a condescending dialect.

Sounds like  every other  branded cattle breed that goes Moo.

Go on, size each other up and go who the fuck are you?

Uttering words about actions you could never lower yourself to do.

Dare take a peek behind you

I see an out line of  X-rayed, wannabe Bruce lees

Heads fucked up with inside battles

Wasted winnings gambled on a  fight with their own inner D,J.  shadows-

Naive thoughts  plant a flag thinking they’ve conquered the art of rhetoric kung fu

Here’s   a curve ball

 Bounce to lyrics of Mc masters — obey to tasting your words with Salt n Peppa.

Female goddess emcees  rule .

Shag your generic  Sia  sheep who keep their mouths shut.

Listen to your eloquent bullshit — the stench left over makes dissidents mouths open

Writhing  incredulous,

these open minded soldiers

Look on

Barely keeping down their own  spew.

These boys never compromise their morals-

Make a mistake

 wake up next to  a Lancashire blow up Doll  from last nights sexist shenanigans-

Supping the remnants of their 2 for 1 cocktails of diluted pitchers of woo woo .

Imagined a girl shouting Woo hoo.

Keep up this rhyming — dilly day and strive to look out for Hissen

Congregate  in a penniless free style masonry , boy scout coven.

Listen to the cult and obey to the commandant  of looking out for you Sen.

Knives ready to back stab  stray wildlings of  independent thought

And the balls to disagree with your collective A-(lpha) mens.

I’m standing here-

A free bird-wild and crazy.

 laughing.

these dawgs gave up their wings to live in a prison

Dispair.

Injustice

Submissive Howling at  the cycles of the moon-

YMCA  village people — cutting verses   to ward off open mouthed females — pouring out lyrics in a new shade of crimson.

They get to fly-

soar

tumble

 Kiss the sky-travel to new notions on a whim.

 Watch  the pack follow who they think is their leader for getting one, witty joke in.

Do the hokey  pokey

Turn around

Point a nicotine stained, skeletal finger ,

At the lass who refuses to  stay lowkey.

Light up a roll up ,  Climax on giving your brethren’s  token blow job.

Exhale the bullshit — macho man hype , leave the women to battle  the heat in the kitchen — we know how to turn down a knob.

Don’t forget yo mama’s rule

blow to cool

let the butter melt before you take a bite of that  corn on your  cob.

Yellow pissheads aint never  done no wrong.

Eat snow —

times up  — stamina let you down with your pelvic thrusts .

Premature ejaculation  interrupted your flow.

Are you  still hard ?

Can you carry on  ?

 ladling  out  soft serves of  ice cream .

Even the ladies trailing round the dog pound

Fake their orgasms when they scream.

It’s out of pity — you mad Heads –

Christmas is coming 

wrap up  warm in your  knitted  wu hoo  woolly jumper

Don’t forget  your gloves   after your  hump her .

Cordoned off crime  scene

she’s dead behind eyes.

Just cos you  got  blue ball syndrome

Don’t make it  right

to dig up a corpse-to pleasure your Sen with taunts.

Making  out.

Yeah, making out

that

you’re   perfect gentleman is easy

when you’re signed up to   the inner dating necrophilia brand  groupie fan website

The big issue is:

you’re a sell out.

Cry on with lies , look to the misfits

the Others  to despise-

Lose the disguise.

We see through the fist bumps,

Dry stained tear streaks .—

Read between the lines — cut your teeth on kiwi limes

Hey diddle diddles!

A round of applause for the  next  free faller who can muster out a few riddles.

Watch  out for when the clouds disperse

 and you land up

 back at the  bottom-

ass hitting cobblestones –

Here’s a pound for a pack of  Kleenex  tissues to wipe away those little dribbles .

We’ve all got  urban dictionary ,Grinch behaviour  issues.

*for all the ladies who get a bad rap and have listen to their local  men attempt to  big up    their own Woo (pie) Clan

Just a bit of fun 😀

And a bit of the true Wu tang

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Even Lunatics must break fast

The calm before the storm.

I break my fast musing over my odds of being crazier than the norm.

Booming shutters  smash – open and close.

Muttering ,stuttering

— Brain  sensory over load — the cranium structure is deceiving in its form.

The third eye lazily flickers in a state of REM.

Here I am attempting to channel my inner  chakra.

I’ve resorted to stick-on Goggly  eyes to play the part of spiritualist guru ,sipping on high tea, to awaken my  inner rapture.

Dear Goddess Kali  can you save me?

from the howling winds,

The mooing cows spinning around me,  moaning  gutturally for  their new  fateful flight as fledgelings  ?

Glass

My house shatters into  a myriad of snow flaked, razor sharp,jaggered  pieces.

broken ,

unable to repair  the damage .

Take a searing hot iron to my face to smooth  out the grimace in my features .

Sacerdotal screams in the night — a  man stolen from his  lullaby.

Distant but not too far off – I keep my inner warrior on stand by.

In truth, it’s the time of the creatives .

Out come the freaks

Sleepless ideas

patrol ,

brazen in their efforts to destroy,

 my favourite playlist titled: sweet dreams.

I wonder who I will be in 12 months from this very hour ?

Where will all the thousands of words I’ve ploughed through with oars

Will I have sailed?

will I capsize?

Will I have ability to walk or be a cripple, dragging myself by the elbows  under a storm pelted bleached ,grainy beach?

– Will I carry  any legitimate power?

The Temptations won’t knock

They will saunter in .

Oh, it’s to be expected.

I refuse to fall to my knees,

swear my allegiance to make another man’s family richer

Than see mine indicted.

I’d sooner sit on a floor , covered in colours of paint and corners lit with the smiles of my loves.

I’d sooner watch paint dry or read a screenplay loosely based on what I know about when life comes to rouse me with rough pushes or shoves.

Fire ,

water ,

earth ,

and air

Elements balance my kinetic ,

dynamic ,

complex feelings of despair.

Change comes with promise.

Fear comes with very little solace.

Motion  to a new position –

don’t cower from success

It might even suit my  current attire  and my inner prowess .

My time to deliver.

Get my due.

Affection,

laughter,

love,

and living

For me and my few.

My kind words are  still here and my support?

I have some to  spare.

I won’t waste it on those who don’t reciprocate

The err is but their own.

Chosen to remain  frozen-staring down a hall of , pale, mirrored self reflections.

unable to see

they are not the only ones

Who need encouragement and care.

I swill down the remnants of this blessed meal with the rest of my cuppa charr .

I clamour to suppress my applause.

I  catch out the dawn  rising with a yawn  unashamed ,gloriously

naked.

I’m no longer afraid to be the lunatic. I’ve seen the powers of nature.

Forces of rage.

still waters run deep

 This insanity is something I hold dear to me-

The great  mother gave it to me-

I will set with the  sun

It’s my duty  to  consummate  all that is sacred.

Revised stream of consciousness — border line poetry.

*feeling nervous and excited for year two of my Masters , moving home and shizzle like that 😉 ha ha*

Rebirth

Every body’s got to hear the shit on FM willows call!  😉

Stumped hand makes it arduous to know to what to write  about.

I made a statement!

Not the  one above — but to the men in blue.

finally the thugs who beat me

 multiple colours in hue

At least one will, hopefully,  get his due.

Option one-refused-

Throw acid his face!

I cant  live,  peacefully, knowing I consented to such an act-

diminish my integrity to a perilous few.

Revenge is emotional – it seeks to possess a person to extract bits of poison vials to sell to the human race.

Justice is what I seek.

I don’t know if he will get a record .

If he does does,

Justice would be one that doesn’t  allow him to hit random buttons and turn knobs up and down.

Sending out a musical strumpet to hypnostise his  disarrayed ideas, of how to treat the feminine race.

Feeling yellow-overly bloomed — in need of fresh water.

My petals are dying.

I need to wilt a bit more , give in to the yawn ,allow nightshade dream’s jaws to lull me into a warm breath.

Give myself some love,

then grow mighty for the the new beginning .

The next chapter .

Hell no,

the new book!

Moving to pastures new – time to wake to a fresh view of natures graphic portfolio.

Stay away from  the Richter scale  quakes in the roads.

The winds mighty disgruntled

at the idea that climate change is denied — to  the Americas they indignantly blow.

Poseidon strikes his trident, sends more after- shocks rippling- undistilled.

  Down the hatch —

hold your breath

Deny the world is in decay?

Deny the  world is not afraid?

Yield.

conform.

Get in line.

No more  violence , no more drama.

Stop taking the law into your own hands.

Stop the meritless beatings.

Respect what the elders have taught for centuries.

Find a lesson learnt when you see a tree weeping.

Justice for all.

Senseless violence against humans , non humans

All life breathers.

Respect that we all have our problems,

But there is no excuse to violate other Life , because we are crippled ,floating in pints of bitter ale,

at a loss at how  to even this score.

Drink yourself to death.

Snort yourself into a blizzard.

Guzzle petrol until you look as slick as the ocean /

Muzzle your words and think about your devious ideas-that awry ,flittering notion.

I rage for justice.

Justice for all.

Don’t blame another  for signing up to this card.

Roar  for Justice .

Bleat for Justice.

Scuttle for Justice.

Hey you, little, long neck! 

Don’t stick your head into the sand.

Waiting for  unsuspecting victims, before you sense you can bite off  another hand.

Dastardly cowards

Mutinous Muttley.

What about me ? i need my fill. 

Grab a hand , jack yourself  off.

 G—et a rabbit –

Let the artificial  vibrations  shake off your pious habit.

Made  a statement in more ways than one.

I start my new life soon.    I won’t look  into the eyes of the sun.

Folly? yes.

Fool?

not for long.

Justice is why i’m still standing .

My place in this world is not to hang with vomitious,

 gut heaving,

 mort fragranced ,

strung up bodies.

 Half eaten by wolves,fettered with flys.

  Eyes and flesh  pecked out by ravens  and deceiving magpies.

 My purpose is to move on.

*Revised stream of consciousness *

 

at liberty to choose

Charlie met Esther on abortionist roe.

Hedges neatly trimmed – enough to disheval a bearded vagabond to weep after his latest woe.

No coat hangers to gut the newborn sac.

Charlie stood for hours until her number came up.

Raging

rouge screen screams with a tremulous beep.

Surreal,

Conceal;

Unable

to strike the star lead role in a Bolly wood film deal.

unsullied arrived in a cumulous cloud,

stricken by a thunderous compulsion to wail.

Esther didn’t hear the bond lust, lilted scream.

memory hazed -by two fat ladies at gate number 8.

Efforts disarmed – inability to count down to the primal odd.

nebulous chlorophyll masked her mouth.

Envy immoblised to an unrecalled dream.

Innocents smile;

swinging on tyres.

Freddie Kruger caught in a static slumber loses night mare credibility to a sterile clinic;

Action paralysing every unconscious scene.

Strathem , London-night defends to keep watch.

Both stumble upon a tidy little room – 1970’s style. No disco defiblerater harmonizing jolts to the beat of

‘ Staying alive ‘

Old granny hoovered up flowers chocked in ivy a patterned carpet ,

Mist of lavender lingers. This bitch knows how to spray.

Dont mess with the O.G.

Peppered,seasoned hair, non linear lines carve out a facial narrative.

Don’t be fooled by this kungfu hoe.

inebriated illiterates

desensitized to her strategy in a game of cruel cluedo.

It’s all so normal. It’s life, you know..

Scissors ready to stab a beating heart,

Positioned in foetal

Sucked out the uterus.

Pro choice.

Pro voice .

Pro life.

Pro midwife.

Tall walled wars.

Bricks bolster the Illusion of affairs in order.

Nobody is scrutinized so fiercely as the woman who maps out her own destiny – navigates the boundaries that her ideals can afford her.

Qality control.

The NHS paid for a private eye.

Two signatures deemed sufficiant to see her through the hours of her sobering silence.

Shame less in her flowered disguise.

Ginger nuts ,un savoury tufts.

No, this wasn’t her nine month due – no ice cubes for killing in the name of freedom to govern her own vessel.

No need for pro life stepford wives lies.

Sins annoint.

Sins accumulate.

Where would our saints stand without a dissident at hand?

Society sit down, protest proudly.

Part the veil of clouds

Peer piously downwards,

ready to strike thunder bolts of judgement.

Rain down booming terror tactics .

Esther cares not for their gospel band

Society sips, exhalingg wafts of fair trade, Ivory coast coffee beans.

Privilege smells of a modern holocaust of starving babies in bony mothers arms.

Who said any of these women consented to consummate?

Penatrative obedience to the phallic statues erected in morning glory psalms.

Civilized society!

What if God was one of us?

a scripture in the making.-

Touch and kiss the sky .

Would he become the true reflection we see ,when we catch ourselves about to exhale the final breathe ,before we die?

Fantasies always signed off with a silver lining and promises of a rainbow.

Reality is cold,

winter serves a plateau of ice .

Frigid flowers frozen in angst,

Shatter

like glass.

Rebel against their reproductive nature.

Air,

breathe.

One full gasp.

If only a mere raspy rant leaves on its depart.

It’s either them or an urban jungle of homo sapians collecting another free day ride .

Ready to infect ignorance on every global ocean that has shores that go out at low tide.

pycho phantic heathen

Write to recover is what I always say.

I’ve discovered,

Is  few of my words  leave me whirling with  – I’m proud to park,  pay and display.

Deals are made,

devils I summon.

People are abused, Charity leaps to a new order of Coven.

I write this way, with careless affray

to not lose a sense that words are tangible,

if  I work my fingers to imprint my genetic copyright

Confirming my DNA.

Some might say,

I try too hard

To write for better days .

Left to my own devices. I would live in clouds wrapped up in  grey hues-

a cemetery for all the left over  fillings

Thrown away, because of corrosive mouth decay.

In yer face!

Borderline – on the rocks.

I write to prove I’m far removed from serving  more time, in a straight jacket in New  Jack City.

Gangsters running around with silver bullet signed glocks.

I’v’e spent my better days basking in  previous glory .

Like butter it melts away the fear  of sleeping dormant .

One wrong box and I’d have been mistaken for a Tory.

Liberal with my words, eager to serve and love all my friends with creative pulses .

Tic tacs, I guzzle-colours textured in obscure.

I fight these escapism ,  inauthentic, paradise bomber  impulses;

To get high with — to lose track of time.

To think

I need a  potion of artificial wired, chemistry alternatives.

Usually these act as a placebo.

Serve to knock off my crown of  free willed determinism.

Courage lives in a mane,

a city  near Massachusetts

Puritans might discover I’m Freud in a ghostly slip.

I’ll be hung ,

Hands lie limp by my side.

Bled feathers  will tickle  the crowd-

Show I  bluffed my way into the inner circle of creatives who have a grasp of the

same

sane

 mundane

chain.

Heads up!

Forever chasing  the dragon of stream  of consciousness .

My thoughts fail me,

I’m beginning to think,

I’ve become presumptuous.

The kindness in others  words — to allay my anxieties,

Overwhelms me .

I tie my own tubes.

Disgraced.

I refuse to give birth to a dancer  with stubs for toes, phalanges pimped out to strike a  quivering echo-like ,   Margot  Fontaine pose.

Inner fear corroborate with the sinner without a legitimate C.V.

Write nonsense-

The Lakers swan to the crowd

I’m a nutter.

I’d   crack a prince just to see a picture  of  a colourful scene.

Abstract,

Mindful – in  the lines.

It’s not important.

Just a visual spray of shamanic chakras to impregnate the rainbow-I foresee.

Leprechaun leave my latin beats to breathe.

Mouth the words of soft brie , camembert and  wild boar.

Grant me a baguette —    riddle away, and I’ll gather my thoughts to satisfy thee.

Goddess Luna grants a cycle to merge with my  rites in fertility.

Thoughts exiled to Siberia-paid to be alone.

My government  saves me.

My soul

I will put down-

Though I know I won’t gamble it all away.

I win back my losses

Trust me, I know there is always another day.

Write, write , write.

Each word is a  middle finger at the writers academia  establishment .

I don’t want to be even  almost famous.

I don’t need a book with my name on it.

I blog merely to pour my inner most thoughts out — free up my world.

It’s about as poetic as I can get.

How about I insert the word fragrant?

I’m not academic.

My passion is not systemic .

Always in a position to sky dive.

Risks thought about

After I land in the hornets hive.

Stings heal .

It reminds me I feel.

I live by my words ‘cos I’m irksome and caustic within.

I was born walking into  webs of contradiction

and, now,

All I beg is for  is a hint  of credit

For expressing myself in this audacious fashion.

I’m not here to chat ’bout literary success.-

I’m already thinking about my post party dressed as myself-

the bodacious writer ,

Who is in fact a sycophantic heathen.

*INSPIRED BY A COMPLETE MELT DOWN IN MY ABILITY TO WRITE AND FINISH MY MASTERS*

 

Punch and Judy -sober edition

Intolerant society.

We live in a belly fighting off bacteria

Begging other intelligence to disembowel us.

Before

a tsumanima of hate floods our irrigation system of morals.

No lives matter.

Nazi’s aren’t the only few crazier than Mercuries Mad Hatter.

Everyone has an opinion.

Every Judy thinks they are entitled to a Punch – no need to be drunk.

No justice,

infuriating that we can’t learn violence is a domino effect.

Cause and effect

ripples from thrown stones.

Balance in humanity

artifially insemitated tinnitus

is the reality.

We look to archaic verse in the Testament that

‘ an eye for an eye’

is as natural as two beasts being violated while they are in active fornication.

Instinct and emotions show us we are alive.

We feel, we must feel — we have to feel to carry a vigil of hope

Some divine sign,

god, goddess installed a program of free will.

Divine sign?

Why not take back this privilege?

Why make a world perfect and full of sublime, lure us out with the promise of sunshine?

Caters to the needs of every breather, every ecosystem.

No need for uadulterated theft.

God is a Narcissist.

why would someone with such power sit back and watch us destroy one another?

Fuck the lies, the parables,

Jesus dying for our sins!

His resurrection has risen along with centuries a blasphemeous leaders chanting idolific hymn.

In the name of ignoratious barkus dogma

Religion – organised to control the masses

Opium now smells of it’s true odour-terrorisim .

Bombs, nuclear weapons, fists connecting with human bodies, unlicenced rifles blasting into chunks of animals flesh .

Rights?

Who is right?

This game has found us lost in a maze and the goblins haven’t the eduction to translate to us

cuts to every department,

land.

Division.

Revison .

This is prison.

Suicide seems an answer to a man’s motive to rise to heaven and receive a reprisal.

That is a given.

God is a narcissist .

Jesus-is a shoddy carpenter.

Mary Magdelane -the whore,is the only tangible part of this story I find plausible.

Create a world – destroyed by nations.

Give me a sign!

suffering to this extent is for an entity pantomime.

Enlightened gods, sit on Mount Olympus ,never miss an episode of planet earth.

The screen darkens to reveal

another dismal form of the masses , pupils— dilated, babbling words of freedom to.

freedom to insult ,

freedom to obliterate ,

freedom

to disfigure,

freedom to impregnate,

Freedom to do anything.

A society bloated, heaving up piles of excess.

Anarchy doesn’t mean terrorisation

Revolution is for the mighty of heart.

Ones who wish to see change from inequality for the many in parts.

Race,

Gender,

Sex,

We all deserve to be on the earth offender register

Why do we have laws ?

when we take our grievances into our own hands.

How can there be justice?

-when justice fails us with a well practiced pose of inverted corruption?

Trust in humanity.

Live by your true North, moral compass .

Born in navigation mode,

even if life serves you a sentence of physical deformity;

Don’t look to the sky for an answer.

Don’t look to a man with free words dribbling down his jumper.

Don’t tear down statues that can’t fight back.

There is no sense in joining hands with this vicious pack.

We all have it wrong.

Every. Single. One. Of. Us.

Think the death penalty teaches people to stop being immoral?

Tears cause waves, I’m hiding between the reeds and the coral.

Every face has that stoic sense of entitlement

Knitted together,from years of oppressive governments taking our God-given birth sight to see what a plight this truly is.

We all need to hang.

Hang our heads in shame.

Enough .

Cut out my heart

See it bleed

Let it bleed –

examine the appearance of your own and understand there is no difference –

we come into the world

We all rely on another hand for our first feed.

I’ve always been taught to have a plan B

I find myself alone; ready to denounce my mammalian side and take my chances, swim against the tide of oil sickened oceans, in one last effort to truly be free

from;

Not for.

From.

Free from hate,

, free from words spoken with a lingering scent of horse manure,

I denounce my own and seek a new home on the basis-I don’t recognize my own kind.

I don’t see a common interest,

goal –

all I see is another foe.

I choke on these words.

Why can’t we learn!?

I could go on, but we have unread history books, in abundance.

Nothing is censored.

The age of enlightmenent has turned into the birth of disallusionment.

Kalinda

When my Kalinda peers into his reflection he see’s jagged, ragged parts of a body

discombobulate

Staggered yet separate. -body parts sewn together haphazardly.

The truth is stranger than fiction.

How can it be!

his soul mate doesn’t mirror the effort in his deeds.

ffinger nails claw and pierce at skin -prolong hanging flesh separated from bone

VIP’s seated , assume an opinionated speculation into the art of this self destruct –

The blown up bags come from the baldy eagle, wearing a t-shirt that says ‘corrupt -will sell poison to feed my ego.’

Skullbones crossed.

Point in rage to pandora’s obsessive flirtation with suicide.

Maidenhead Hymen annuls her delusional animas.

Make her believe!

it helps her to inhale insecticides.

What is wrong with all that is her?

doesnt she get that her life can be more than a bargain plea?

why does every stonewalled chamber gather breathe from disjointed words,

instead of radiating from true love’s scribbled scribes in blank verse.

Write to recover. Recover to write.

Perform this pantmine on las ramblas , in the hope the days will turn bright.

Supportive cups hold up the excess mounds.

‘damn you look good, healthy, put some weight on’

Must she hear this now? or indeed ever!

It’s too avant garde even for Gaudy.

Face swollen from a sting with an arbitrary drone.

Monthly luna flickers up sheds of decrepit blood clots;

compund that to a portrait that makes her face plump–fits of

dis – ease

– please,

stop with the back handed compliments, hun.

Hands hesitate over arms once scrawny, cheek bones sliced inwards.,

She’s rather own her shame and reach every gaze at her in a state of lean chronic thigh gap syndrome

spongy Food floats

expands

-drowns all sign of hope.

enough self loathing to remedy it with a calibre of a gun.

Date with Russian roulette –

6 chance distractions from this body, this mind ,every part called forward into existence.

five rounds until she lands in the seat of a crash test dummy.

Grief , guilt ,

unpleasant to the taste.

fret bursts in beads of sweat – her few will revolt into petulant demonstrations of

why?

again?

how?

and when?

Get by on hope and luck and a fine mother hen

A good sized egg , pair of irises that delude her into feeling all her sins have been revoked.