Writes Alone

My musings & struggles with the blank page…


It is naked lust that

moves continents.

Earthy Orgasms.

Sentient beings flutter

like dirty, plastic bags

upon the undulating self

of Mother Earth.

Crevasses gashed open,

swallow and crush.

Succumb to

the Goddess

be prepared

to end.

The sweet, good

woman pants heavily,

giving birth to a now

landscaped of change.

Finding your voice

I have struggled to find my voice for years and the other day it dawned on me I should just accept it. Writing is about uncovering and sharing what is within, there’s nothing to “find”, but there is everything to accept. To somehow come to a place where what is and has been waiting inside is enough. I think it takes it great honesty to be a writer.

Did you know that?

My teenage daughter said,

Did you know there is so

much plastic in the world,

we’re not only eating it,

drinking it, absorbing it

through our skin,

we’re breathing it too?

I just can’t take fresh air

seriously anymore.

Well I didn’t know that

and I was sad, she knew

that, and nothing could

be done about it. We are

turning into giant

credit cards, maxed out

to the worldly limit.

Made in China

Licking words from pages

a mother cat mourns

the loss of her unwanted litter

drowned at the hands of her mistress

Suburbia has taken over the city

A tragic, plastic state of emergency

Made in China

Not suitable for the blue box

Perfect depravity

Raving debauchery

of thundering Ether Gods

Celebrities of reality

making us new perfumes

Scented tampons that vibrate

Rainbow coloured needles

stamped with feel good cliches

So when we inject venom

into our souls

we feel good about ourselves.

Sadly I woke up

This morning Douglas Coupland

graced my dream with his presence

He did not look to happy to be there

Bearded and brooding

This hip Generation X Lenin

regarded the grimy,industrial

waste of my skull with the

practiced contempt of an artist

He wanted to tell me to shut up

that much was clear

but I wasn’t saying anything

Only chewing gum

Sadly I woke up before

I could stick it on his beard.

Making Love

Love is no guarantee

of protection,

a blissful eternity,

like some Saint’s homily.

I doubt seriously

love’s veracity.

Love is biology

dependent on chemistry,

an individual’s pyschology.

Still should we not

accept the responsibility

to live kindly and honestly,

making love that is all it can be.

The last thing you wanted…

As long as I don’t cry

you’re alive.

Simple logic of mine.

It’s not because I don’t

see, quite the opposite

my dear girl.

You always led the charge

always the first one there.

Aware and weakening

at any

moment I will lose faith

and slay your memory.

Forgive reality

Dead to now

So damn unjust and cruel

the last thing you wanted…

I don’t trust myself

I feel I should be doing some writing right now, but I’m so tired I don’t trust myself not to screw it up. I can’t count the number of times I’ve wearily turned on the computer to do “a little work” and blown weeks, months, sometimes years of work with a careless slip of the finger or rewritten stuff only to discover I forgot to keep some kind of copy of the original and the changes I thought so brilliant at the time are shockingly horrible and I can’t salvage anything. Yeah, that’s where I am right now, so I’m blogging instead of writing. Some people may not distinguish between the two, but I do. I’ve always had a problem with duality, I’m just too western I guess. Anyway at least I can feel like I’m doing something constructive and maybe these words aren’t brilliant in any post modern sense of things, but they’re words.

Today I read an interview between a Norwegian author and The New Yorker Critic James Woods. Woods was praising the man for his wonderful description of taking a shit in the woods and then describing it in great detail after it came out. Woods felt like he’d been transported back to childhood. The author freely admitted it wasn’t well written, but apparently that was the risk taking genius of it. I’m still thinking about this and wondering what the hell is going on? The interview is in the newest Paris Review. I don’t think it’s satire, but it seems like a lot shit to me or maybe I’m just overtired and don’t get it. Actually I’m probably in the best headspace for writing something like that right now. So what am I doing blogging then?

A New Age

Resting on the

7th day amidst the


God’s reign

is over.

A new age

has dawned

under the

infernal sun.



space not


Each atom

a universe,




into a


Heavy, Sweet, and Still

The chill in the night air

was corpse like

heavy, sweet, and still.

I waited for the pug

to find the perfect

place to pee,

and thought how

much darker life seemed


The moon though

full, was like

an eye blinded by cataracts

giving nothing back

as it took nothing

in from the world

below. My isolation was

self imposed, and I reveled

in the simplicity

of it. The pug now

empty, was ready to

return inside.


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