Category: Vincent

Scared leaves, shaking

(to the tune of Creep by Radiohead)

I can’t hear you breathing. I can’t hear my thoughts. I am close to panic. It’s all out of sorts. The poison on the water, and flames in the sky. A crane hanging dangerously, one day it will fly.

I can’t hear my heartbeat. I can’t hear your sigh. Square cogs in my engine. The hell of reality, the heaven of the night. A sunset of a civiliation, one day it will die.

It’s all a dream. A horrible nightmare. Tell me I’m going to wake soon. Tell me I’ve already died! It’s just to much to bear. This ignores all the facts. We aren’t the only ones here, but we will take them with us when we go. Go. Go. On.

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Cloudblades

Cutting edges of the sky. Ishmael flies his pigskin blimp high. Drinking brandy, and some handyman takes the hammer wheel. Antichrist, the redeemer, or is he just a dreamer? Limited to dreams of living rooms?

Boost June of the markets, and harsh republic darkness, we can ensure the commissary looms. Flying over forests of eucalyptus, listing to Rick from The Band sing Holy Cow. Eating some cheese and doing nothing else now, except float along.

Wetlands forming where once were roads, greasy warthogs eating roots in an abandoned carpark. Wet silky grass growing out from this marsh, ghosting building aching from times past. Mikes dropping down the street, potatoes growing under his feet, have you heard the news?

Ishmael continues to deepen their search and steal all that girths, floating again by the sea. Still, there are plastic shells, creatures dying yells, the marks from little wars. No one thinks this is fantastic, the night that seems elastic, and a fortress full of ghosts.

Outgoing kiss

Blissfull darkness

Comes with grey sky’s above

We fight among ourselves

Our money not worth the cost

By the time its to late we still have not stopped

Kissing us kindly death says goodnight

Walrus falling to their deaths

Seas empty of fish, full of nets

Angry boys yelling at us to stop shoving it down their necks

They are already choking too their deaths

Kissing us kindly death says goodnight

Diswasher is working

Harsh have the meals been

Plastic simple working memes

Water keys keep us tidy

The beige wall I hate so much

Fire guns and eat mush

All times materials hushed

Oh tea, glorious tea

Cold and wet and stuck in mud

No tanks or even armoured drunk

Ducks in vees, so bend our knees

Hair full of nits and fleas

Dust waves like the sea

P’hore

In the darkness, they are waiting

those thoughts

Cycles and rhythms

Tether that has reached its end

Reaper of the sameness

They are full of mindless fury

each day to fight and fight again

For what?

To fight again

This pointless samsara

I am but a performance

Combined of the thousands of deaths

I became the end

They are still waiting

Anticipation for a long war

Rampant growth and angers

I get up and fight again

I cannot be killed

flames lick me

Lava falls upon my shadows

Stars exploding from my depression

Paths close

it will be again that this happens

The purity of that again

I fight against

Which just adds to it

Pop up people

Poppin and rocking out with the shocking news of people not along

Are they digging dirt, shifting mirth, Eating in a pop-up park

Booking from, a booking dot prom

Glass slippers rented cheep

Angry ground tilted into the surrounds, lark heated pool

Nazareth and his bloody teeth seem almost like heaven now

As sold becomes double the rent, triple the whalebone spoons

Dead dogfish, read a wrong east

Now how do you do?

Resident Animal

I’m tempted not to state my interest

Moons sky brings me back to reality

Barren buildings and owned killings

Faces swapped so none can see

Masks are commonplace and I know them more by this icon than a so called real face

Mulling over my inability to make my way

Yoga music playing on the railway

I have a mask as seen by you

No one else knew that my mask was so true to my real face

Brilliance from the knife spliced into silver flesh, flesh of the new

Splashed on the rocks and a darker rotting core-flute, blue blood, red blood, all mix

We all woke, mention ash falling on asleep birds

Climbing stairs is my new pastime

Aquasoliverium

Milk of the talisman has dripped

Dripping / sudden wet

Splashed with dark red

Blood / essence warm

I blow on it once

Then you twice

Sprinkle the salt and sugar

Crystals of / cubiform California

Then we set

Clasp the way

Horse and the hay

It’s a Thursday

Week day / am I insane?

I start to see the new

And death the old

Cold mountains fold

Hooves heavy and thunder

Storms plunders

Juxtapositions a sundered

Boutique / Monique

Neigh whiny

I am now your Philly

Specks (But I do)

Freaked with pink specks above the wing, oh Pegasus

Length of your abroad sailing on that rack

I struck by saturnism, a soiled being of mirth

Naught, uncle verily sold unto me a fandangle disposition

Oh mooncalf I hear you spake, the numbing cheat would but be a faster expiry

Fain I am, I call

Gods acer, you be in amount regardless

Such day, yea I drink from young blood of ye?

Neigh, it be but ague to your conistution

Slipshod my night, soon but I do.

Far inside and around here 

decorum forum this autumn festival praxis for that rat flesh underminer 

bourgeois terrine poisoned with benzene 

on muddy moss rest us all 

soul diviner I arrived here

fear this social fetish or is that all we have left to cherish 

Madam Bovary 

every treasury is a menacing menagerie 

factory thunder blinders 

hanger allotment, down the street

information forgot that, oh how it reeks 

Lacertae 

Ducks. Snow. Tamed memories.

Little things I remember. 

Your presence. Essence. The place in the world your had. 

Eclipse. Moonshine. 

Pentagram, in a logical place.

Never, ever, even being. 

Your words that saved me. And these little things I do. 

Pain gone. That’s a comfort.

I’m trying. Trying to be worthwhile. 

Desolation the empty. Insidious clouds empty snow. But they are fleeting. 

Worthwhile? What is that to a tiny snowflake? To a duck on the lake waiting out the rain? 

The world, the essence of it, comes from our little bits of time. 

Yours, to breif. 

Arrowheads, falling asleep 

Black wheatgrass is the dark blue storm

Sleeping arrowheads longing to morn

Juice of the corpses 

mortuary sorted 

Standing at the camp

Humors, bile and can’t 

It’s hard to see the souls of dead

Trying and waiting bled

Juice of the corpses 

loose faithful mortals 

Black wheatgrass wearing the hailstorm 

A dress from a maelstrom 

A wasted crop for all

Blue walls, wood doors, shouldn’t call

Shuffling blank space 

Filled out my mind

Maze and stars gaped

Fluid acrid staples 

Bodies fell on Naples 

I’m done trying for empty beds

I’m sure they’ll heat the songs 

Pallid gentle gongs

Such blue walls

I’m sinking in wooden doors

I’m drinking my day 

Winning lace

Crumble the craze

Apples drowned in plague 

Ringing ringing gongs

Shouldn’t call 

Reckless 

Full house 

Ace of clubs

In the streets and on the bus

Lightning fired from hearts

Speed frothing at the mouth

Rooted in the deepest pit of the minds 

My word are they crazy?

Hitting, smashing, raging 

Expending dangers like apples thrown against you

One might hurt

They have hillsides full of this 

Rage filled apples

To throw 

Arrived by their inhumanity 

Furiously battled 

Curing all down 

Like helpless cattle

Hated by 

Thinking gone

Nothing but rage 

Till the moment they stop 

Sadness then comes like a 

full stop

Grasshoppers flags 

Down by the course dirt lane

The hard presence of the pebbles 

Cutting the hot sun baked grasses 

It’s grasshopper, working to raise the littlest flags 

His tiny little empty empire has hard times

Drought and floods,  growth and death 

They both come as a hash brown 

Sand wasps and birds seek him out

Each with a different evil agenda 

If either are successful his empire ends

Nothing left but his little flags

To be rotted out next flood

Or burned by a forever sun 

Grasshopper has to raise his flags

To bring a mate

Will his family be a reality?

City Ant

Straw sipping ice tea

Forget my feelings, please 

Simple sugars, trembling and fuller
Buy more and search again

Just a city ant

In among many 

Scrabbling every day 
Off-peak vulnerability 

Searching my own, fragile abilities 

Consume my thoughts, actions and associated teas 

Acrid lonelyness insisted 

I’m

Bathed

In a statement 

The acrid 

Stink

The acid lonelyness

I’m not like that 

I’m not sure what I am

Bells toll on your words

Acrid days 

On the insisted distance 

I’m lonely. Not one of each of the nine.

I’m not even one of those who have

Or haven’t

Where do I belong? 

Called. Cast. Culled. Places like a spit.

Fires on my skin

The acrid

Arid days

Insidious minds

They, tell, me, to….

Survive.

My acrid lonelyness is insisted

Like a ghostly connection 

I’m not going to be meeting perfection

Misreable kingdom of sticky things that hit

Turning a blind

I’m loneliness

So I wander

Wander and call

Forme kind to answer 

Their are none. None here. 

My acrid lonelyness insisted 



Black letter day

In my infamy 

I neglected my corespondence

I’m not sure if that makes me a bad person 

I’m replying to you, oh black one, for your letter doth take a certain amount of vile. 

I’m not sure, of the trials you have been through. Know that as a wizard I do now only see things as I can get to them. 

Though your quest, and questions are likely to be arduous. I’m sure if you, Vincent, are clear of your intentions. The best may come. Hear are the answers I found. I hope if you find them in good stead:

Fine comes arfter a whole 

White rocks on the seaside

Every unicorn is a blue whale

Chicken feet hurt, as much the Hawks 

Foxes dig, hide their tresures

A smile is worth only your hope

Justice eats her own heart

A katabisis does not need to go downwards

Hate is my favorite song 

Warm bodies were recovered in the fourth forest

Letters sent by air, are not going anywhere 

Ducklings reflections in a lake

Nb: this is not about me. It is my feelings though.

In the day.

It’s spring. They come out at night. Flowering.

The hate from them is like pollen. Like a stench of the past. Because it is death.

Watching these ducklings on the lake I can’t help it. Towering.

Above us it sits. The useless skyline. Technology can’t do it. It’s just keeping a sense of the real life. Clever it was meant.

Those ducklings are happy. Quacking along. Mother keeping them in toe. I think of how many more springs that are coming for me. Cowering.

These nights. These days. The mostly white flowers here are to some pure. Really they are a lot of metaphors. Lies. Pretty lies in my mind. Lament.

In the night.

Is that night? A little sky full of stars? The ducklings are asleep in my hands. Mother on my lap. How can I keep them safe? From the dark? From the monsters? Questions. 

I feed the mouth. This visceral tooth holding flesh attached to me. Sickness in. I’m not going to be hear next spring. I can hear the monsters in my mind. They are close. So close. They. Can try and eat me. But I fight. For my ducklings. For their mother. I’m going to be here as long as I can. For as many of the best things. 

The night. I know they are scratching me as I sleep. I see the scars. I smell them on my clothes. My ducking share safe. Their mother is safe. I will probably eat something more soon. Better food. They will play again. On the lakes surface. Never know that they are on the surface of my mind. Reflecting what is good. Those blessed things.

The sun.

The morning. 

I’m alive still. Monsters gone. How much longer? I’m going to find out. I’m going to know. The ducklings will they miss me? I’m not sure. Even when I’m dead I’m sure to miss them. Like a bells ring.

Spiders, birds, books, wombats, nerds

Riding the noises in the forest fae

Spiders, birds, books, wombats, nerds

Strange library, evergreen, oh don’t mind me

Pinky promises flowering essence, cool Ghostly presence

Little strange new dreams of machines, none of them clean 

Rocky colors, shook the duller capture 

Fresh kill to the bones of the Trill, they’re after the carrion fill 

Hot cups, gimlet luck, blue blood, true mud

Flicking others, shadows like cothered muffeled mussel 

Dripping with spite their is the spike, and the hill of the place of the armsted respite 

Besides that their it is, a spokesman for the next new species 

A fairy and a robot, a gathering thought, waves

It’s hand is up, sucking on the teat

Newborn, but not a newcomer

How quickly will it learn? 

Of the spiders, birds, books and nerds? 

Endures, the Perl

Well that wasn’t even the justice of the curls in the system 

I’m sore as a whole bunch of petitions 

Piles of cheats and gassing hermits in leering metal boxes

so I hear they melted down the ox’s

Great beanie islands, sitting in a million times their volume of views

Ques, cues

I anguished. I stepped. I swore are you doing not the right sight. That true box of things that weels it’s place, seems to know more about your directions 

Curly, your just like them 

Grenadine, mixed in tears of a virgin

Lonely, like a oyster 

You will blame the system then the others

Never see the ocean of muck you are in

Is that your fualt? Your future?

I’m just a pearl

I’ve got no cleavage to cut with

I’m anguish, I’m hatred, down into the salty sand I will fall when your gone but a memory in the heart of the ocean.

I’m part of a potion

Coming into the second hands higher than thou attitude 

I’m just dirt. I’m not nothing, but it’s how some will see me. 

Two white buildings

Like a old friend who’s seen the sights

Sitting in a cafe to talk

Winter chills, from the right 

Coats thick and the sanguine coffee strong. Lark at the magpies preparing their best nests.

Some of the paint has crumbled, like that old face you know so well. 

Mossy hair, growing in defiance to the years, spitefully grey.

Clasping the the cup, like a trickle of a stream in a long dry winters night.

Busking death away, his songs are old and full of ttr memories of the places his been. 

It’s a place you go, a place you chat, a place you would call the heart. A city like this, beats like a old trackers farts. It would trundle along, keep going, keep fighting. 

This man is old and cold though. I’m not sure if he will survive the next summers fires. They come all the time now.

I stare at the cup and think how much he’s enjoying it. It’s the last month of winter, and he knows it all to well.

That sanguine coffee is a sign of things to come

  

Ode, to a long lost icy wound

‘Tis true that deemed of scientific melodramas, dictate thine canonization be infact, dubious.

To their swollen pride, and empty scratches of ink, do I cast out such thoughtless tomfoolery.

Thine cosmic muse take thine hand and seek to whisper in thine ear, astrological tendrils of thy alchemists ways.

Thus from formed the hammer and the nail, forming ones knife cutting thine cheese and bread, pouring the blue wine forthcoming of thine like and thine presence in the circle of delights do brought the eldrich extacy that was fortolled in laborious toam. 

Gavelkind doth it comes upon me this harteous gift of thin father, and yet the space to perform this mentorious ritual placates thines spittletos angers and bituminous rage at having to wait until the seventh season of the sun to inherit it.

Only the itch of praises to you give me alibli and the ability to cast such a graven spell, to witch thine is of course  humbly to serve.

And this a spake the words to thine:

East, south, west, north

From land, to port

Free In mind and in spirit

Thank the for all the gifts, I hath been given in this life, but to you I now pray

Cast from me my sins be given a thousand more times their worth

I’d let you seek to send me to the darkest pits of hell if you so wish

But I only wish for the sight of wich you cast from me in my first year of life

From port to land

North, west, south, east 

Three times I say, and three times more, thus I spake it, so it be