Feeding the Clock (Song)

1. Clock

In my mouth

the bit is

Block the pain

From whips and pins

As it rides me

Rides me to win

2. South


Clock men, all on our backs

Tick tock

None of us win

They all, get the Champaign

We get scars, and a carrot if we win


3. Bull

All to the bull god

The mighty horn and throb

A line to go up for no real reason

We’re dead even though we’re living


4. Straw

How can the clouds save us?

Sounds like a lie to placate us

Subdued in a short mess

Mother tells us eat our cress



Feeding the clock

Pushing the gears and stock

For one more goddam hour

Never get no time to rock

We are just feeding

Feeding the clock

Chicken in my pocket

Trilogy of course a song at a pause, a tinkle in the sky due

Arrange all that arrangements within the arrearage that Providence was supplemented

A chicken in my pocket, a trinket in my socket, a heart in my song, along along

Spider and besides her hair, a beak of the finest pear, my gods it is a simple wrote

Why the goat?

Why the goat?

Tore at the towers gate, a distance from the salty lake that sits upon the midnight haste’s a moon above and beyond its gate

Dark castle waits with a vampires touch, a sociologist at heart he wants to study, the way in which the bite does flurry, flurry in the hearts of men

A dock full of rockets, a paladin and a robber, sit uneasy in truce to catch the brute, whom wilt above the town

And all the while the fool does sing, songs of pockets, chicken and men, a happily known life of Blissfull ignorance of the terror that awaits them…

Caution, please stand clear: autumn opens inwards

The first frost closes in on my flesh like a falling leaf, dying in its orange light. Pattering sighs of ice melting towards a harsh stream. Rotting pumpkins sit being slowly nibbled by rabbits, getting hungry and trying to eat as much as they can for a long cold winter.

I open the frost inwardly, hearing crackling thunder of the last summer storms across the plains. Dark bark, scraped off trees defeated by another encore of the days.

Slippery streets, full of black ice, steering carts and buggies around gets dangerous for the livery. Most of them have tasted the new grapes, thinking of them on long trips as the city is emptied out of suites. Green velvet cake and fresh iced coffee greets them in the tea room, to remind them of the snakes who will not be seen in the winters haze.

Roadworks start in ernest as none may know they need to keep from doing such things when they suited can see them. Orange hatted daisies are but only paid slaves to the white ghost gums, whom keep them under close eye.

Penitent lighthouse 

On the coast

I don’t like to boast

Is the most 

Penitent lighthouse to ever fog horned 
I’ve got to tell you

I’m not trying to sell you

I can ring a bell for you

About this lighthouse so adorned 
I’ve crossed many seas

I’ve broken to many a ocean breeze 

I beg you on my knees 

The lighthouse is the sight for captains forlorn 
I’m eating the last

Of the salty crusted bass

And at the tip of the mast 

My lookout shouts for spotting the glalore’n 

Part and marshal 

Purple sky darkens 

I cannot apologize for this present marking 

Sealed with my lonely life

Peeled like a bone thife 

Marshal right

Why I’m so cold, distant from plight 

Partly my thoughts, partly my fright 

Scared like I am 

Of all these thing that can and have

Traumatized by their shouts and fights 

Mind anexity going at the speed of light 

Part and marshal, white distance frightful

Will any grass grow in my barren mind?

Salted as it is by hate, cold, hard, fire and brimstone that isn’t even real

It’s my birth of the color 

Caution, doors open outside your head but inside your mind

And mine were shut such a long time ago 

You were the only one who ever opened them 

Charters to the Kingdom of Dark Pain

On top of a skeletal steed I am ridden into the dark land beyond

Clouds clip the sky with clasping suffocating dreads

Many of the the folk here do not take kindly to strangers, but they know me

My skin takes on a translucent almost bubble like glimmer, but it’s not a positive thing

It makes me stand out, be called summoned by the king of this land

A not unkind King, in a way. He treats his subjects well.

I’m approaching his thrown of bones, his knights and dames surrounding him

Like every little detail I remember, they are always slightly different, like a beach on a new day

Grey concrete 

The grounds of the places

Walking lonely like a lost little sole

Unsure of myself and others

I’m a wanderer really

Lost in this great grey game

Bricks and metals cold and icy rain

Grey trees, bear leaf

I’m not in grief 

Implying I have lost

How can you loose what your never sure you had

The past is a dream 


Gray and lonely, slowly slowly going mad

Then that hate

Red and stright 

First and fists

Down and smelt

The fire won’t start

I’m given a chance 

I pick up a bit of your broken pieces 

I’m armed 

Fighting for my life

Then escape

Grey concrete, never seemed so full of color 


work reflects / inside / surface 

Enough to bleed / candid self / barron beuty 

Forbidden sea / eye lash / watching unsettling birds

Teased wetness / makeup and a day : I see this / secreted whistles 

Vision documents : I hate that phase / nose rounded / blisters on my feet

Escape the doldrums / lips focused / rats licking my wounds

Oodles of yellow clouds / cheek blushes / rotting trails bald 


As gauntlets clashed, shrilly 

Treehouse on the hill, freely

Watching worlds below, contentedly 

Flags, falls, staff mash

Potatoes, heavily roared in boars fat hash

Brown knight clambering mud of moars, he flaps

Sanguine feeling flowing from my eyes, he soon departs

He will feed this tree, as he rots, as will we all

Ages will pass and its bark grows grey, smash with yellow hey

Ganda, that’s it’s name

Pushing inside out

Up upon the valley

   ( Soft skin.)       Light taste lack.

Control gone to sleep

            Impulse hillside

    Making.          Instead of the night.

Wanting inside. Wanting inside. 

        Tougher was the strength.

Demands.           / Anger. /  Regrets.

Change and change and change.


Holding together in the answers.



    ///feeling loss///  of the time///

Black noises. 

New time. Is it good? When, when?

Hiding from the same thing. 

      ///! Petal /// 

Orange juice. 

Plastic bear

Down on the coaster roasters roasting mostly hazardous crab like toasties.

The sinister shore sure is sinfully scurrying waves of sickly salmon.

A plastic bear is right there on the table top cropping hair and knocking the rocking chair and getting some egregious glares.

Alone at the subset of the collection of dubstep in the heave of beautiful beats. Awash in the heat of this cantaloupes jeep a flourish of a Hammond organ bleets.

Bees knees set in trees to pounce on unsuspecting flowers who rest in the bower of the shower of rain coming from a cloud so vain it looks like venisons cower.

Clocks are to chime on every rhyme and give a little ditty too, as in this land the time, the time, is given to those who have few.

Absurd it may seem that I do gleem that my land is better than reality. It’s a rugged as such to be as much as any insactifactorally quoth does the book of mirth from which we do quirth:

that’s a different verse that I has read

And find that indeed so it does seem on a mirror of a twinkle of a dragons eye in the night that is fine and the hate that’s divine and everything is equal to zero. The hero of this tale is a very small snail whose name isn’t even on page one.

The tape of gate and the mate who is late and finally demands that we are poets. Gives a present of letters from a far away settler made entirely of broken TVs. A thought does arrive that we are not surprised and do decide…

that’s just a load of lies

So on we put out hat and shout to no one in particular, that it’s a fine day on the beach and despite the presence of plastic bears and overcooked crustation and knees and bees and everything else we can see that it’s high time we got on our way please and goodbye to all you who have had the time to read. (Or listen)

Sams diary: Douglas day one, part one

Today was a purple dress day. I love purple. I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s something from Earth. Maybe it’s from when I was on Mars at some point, but I remember most of that. I was 5 when Dad and I moved to Mars. It’s another day I wore purple. I like to keep purple for special things, new things, things that only happen once in a while. Purple is lovely, happy, powerful and above all I like it.

I put some little purple bangles in my long hair and even my purple wrist computer. I don’t seem to need it anymore since I started to get these Darkcaster powers, but I don’t want what happened on Mars to happen here. I didn’t know I was doing it back then, now I do and know how to stop it if I want to. I decided that today I would go put my feet forward and explore. So I did.

It wasn’t long before I found a park. It’s pretty easy to find one because everything is signed here. Not like Mars at all. I let myself wounder the garden. Feel the breeze in my dress. Watch the flowers get pollinated by real bees!
Not Mars bees, but real ones! I almost got stung! I was so shocked.
Later on,
I threw myself on the ground and looked at the blue sky. Douglas has of course no real sky. The sky is a roof made of LEDs that can project any image. In an Emergancy it will display information, as long as there is power of course. Generally it’s sky, clouds, stars. All from Earth. The sky is from near Islington, or so the local network told me when I thought about the question.
That’s getting a little annoying, actually. I would think something in the past and look it up. Now it just appears in my head like magic. I can’t get everything though. Some things need pass codes, genetic locks, or even really difficult formulas with DNA codes and Jobs equations in them.

The Fox

They called Adam the fox.
When they told him this he took it on as his own DarkNet persona. A fox was a poet, a planner, a schemer, a cunning and odd but wise friend to some. He was a trickster, a pest, a thing to be hunted, a shadow, to others. It was a lovely persona to have. Sometimes when he was bored he would search for images and books, knowledge to do with fox. That’s how he discovered Sam. On Mars long before he discovered a way to make Douglas look like the best place for her Dad to take the new DarkCaster. Adam knew he had to make a profile of a agency that helped DatkCasters, so he naturally called it DarkFox Unlimited.
He was lost in thought as he got into the slightly late 56 transport to East Quarter. He didn’t notice a dark cloaked person sit four seats away from him. In retrospect a lot of this story would be blank had he taken the to time to step away from his own DarkNet centered world and looked around the transport. Some of you right now might think its a good idea to do the same.

Adam worked at the Central Processing Plant in East Quarter. As he got off his transport, he searched for the new standards he would need to apply today, making sure he didn’t leave his mind open to attack. Thankfully he wasn’t quite that stupid.
The dark cloaked person had to tail him all the way to the Terminal at his station in the Central Processing Plant before he used his skills in a way that could be traced. The Dark Cloaked person placed a trace bug, then slowly set about the way back to the station. Adam didn’t notice the bug at work in his mind for some time.
“Today’s job; process iron ore and gold from Venus five. Transport gold to Zurich station Luna, transport steal to Saturn 7, transport slag to reclaimer 43z”
Adam said aloud. “Ok. A normal day.”
He let his mind work on setting up the last bits of his DarkFox unlimited for Sams arrival on Wednesday. His body did the now automatic process of pulling the leavers and buttons of the processing terminal and transport program.


Spirals swirled above as Sam sat looking out towards the stars. Not blinking, just moving slowly, effortlessly above her head making her effortlessly dizzy. Acrid smoke filled her lungs. Any second now another explosion would happen and Sam would die. The Vacuum of space took no prisoners.

The movement of muscles now impossible due to what little strength she had bringing bare another breath of oxygen. The vapors grew stronger.


A spotted sleek and heavy skirt fitted neatly on her waist. The first day aboard a new station. So good they called it Douglas the song had said. So good they had no real activities for a eight year old. Yet Sam would not complain. Douglas was big, although dirty and it might be fun to explore its vastness. They had yet to really cater for younger people. Douglas was new, mostly empty save for the space port and the internal structure. It was a hollowed out metal based asteroid, used by many as a way station between the Earth, Mars, the asteroids and the stations beyond. Replaced the old station, called Keynes. A horrid construction left from the last system war.
Douglas was hopefully better than living on Mars. No more hiding under meters of rock at the Messa or feeling like your always being followed by natives in Catacarras. The station Douglas was filled with Earthings, like her. A few Martians, a couple of Cyborgs and Androids, and now her. Her Dad had told her she had a wonderful gift, and he knew those on Douglas who could help her learn to use it.
Mars had turned conservative and backwards over the last few decades. There were whispers that people like Sam had been hunted in parts. They talked of it, her father had protected her. His position made it possible, they moved from the Messa to the city of Catacarras when one like her had been found dead on the streets.
A new species some said, but the scientist that dad had consulted told her that it was an old gift. One that had been hidden in her bloodline, or just happened. To those without the gift it was magic. Technology seemed as good as magic when it was sufficiently advanced. Those whom could access the darknet without a junction box or a cyborgs implants? The Japanese had a name for it, but Sam had not heard it said aloud. She preferred her name, the Darkcaster.

The darknet, so called is and was a system wide network of machines. All cyborgs and implant wearers could access it, all with a terminal had access. It was full of old and new technology. Things from Earth where Sam had been born, things that had been invented. There were free AI on the darknet, some friendly, others dangerous, kept in check with technology and by those cyborgs who had the fastest skills. Darkcasters like Sam could access it without a terminal, a ability that would appear unnatural. She didn’t know how she did it, but she could access books, information, data, programs, everything she could imagine. Her dad had taught her to control it, somewhat when it had first emerged on Mars a whole year ago.
She remembered it starting. Dreams of fantastical things, places on Earth, Mars, beyond she had never seen.
She knew the answers to her teachers questions as soon as they where asked. She knew her way round every house and place, never got lost. She knew secrets of people she met, and sometimes she accidentally let them out. Dad had found out when she quoted all the different elements in the periodic table there ions, and even a new one whose discovery was only just confirmed.