1. These Dark Nights

    it’s raining and i’m the only one
    home (and dark, and cold„)

    cigarettes&&WiNe
    cigarettes&&WiNe cigarettes&&WiNe
    cigarettes&&WiNecigarettes&&WiNe
    cigarettes&&WiNecigarettes&&WiNecigarettes&&WiNe
    cigarettes&&WiNe

    shoot
    out random rays maybe
    there’s someone on my #frequency
    #here’s #hoping

    play the probabilities
    we’re all right for each other
    under the right conditions

    my left hand is nicotine-scented
    maybe this musk
    is the answer.

    people wander into and out&of
    each other’s lives so easily

    on these dark nights
    streetlights and wet brickwork
    on these dark nights
    winter is upon you

  2. Mass Consumption

    Mostly filler; some new
    material (but not
    much).

    Rinse repeat. Don’t
    expect to be
    challenged.

    Read things that
    say what you
    think already.

    An arm feeding
    a mouth feeding
    a soul that never
    grows but is always
    consuming always
    reaching out for more
    of the same.

  3. Extinction Event

    apparently someone you will never
    meet doesn’t like this picture
    and some people are trying to get it
    removed from the internet and then
    deleted from all our memories using
    a special ray gun made out of tin
    foil and some rocks brought back from
    the last human mission to mars. oh,
    didn’t you hear? yeah people have
    been to mars for years it’s all a
    big conspiracy from the people who
    don’t like you sharing embarrasssing
    photos of celebrities along with the
    government and probably some guy at
    the gym take one tablet three times
    a day while drinking and driving and
    then leave to cool by an open window.

  4. Liner Notes

    we’re ready for callers.
    yeah, we’re open to
    oh-yes-no-pinions;

    tread the fine line, lost
    perched fallen on a spider’s
    thread.

    the finest dew drop can
    bring it all down into the
    dirt.

    you lookses sunny outside but
    there’s an electric storm
    between your temples;

    collect up your ideas on
    post-it notes and imperfect
    tenses, crouched by the door
    waiting for change to burst
    in
    but it never does
    but it never does
    but it never does
    but it never does
    but it never does
    but it never does
    but it never does
    (fade)

  5. Following Mr X

     

    On the side of my twitter timeline, in a box labelled ‘Who to follow’, the face of a man looms at me. He has a goatee now but didn’t used to, and I recognise him immediately. Let’s call him Mr X.

    I went to school with Mr X, but didn’t really know him then; he was in the year above me, and knew some of the people that I was good friends with. I don’t know if I’ve even had one conversation with him, and I certainly couldn’t tell you anything about his existence, save for the fact that he is (1) alive, (2) male and (3) has a name. I haven’t seen him in person for at least fourteen years.

    I browse through his tweets, opening a new tab in Chrome to take a look. He has tweeted five times, and the last time he said anything was in 2012. He has less than twenty followers, and follows only about fifty people. I love twitter accounts like this. In the ever-flowing river of information on social media, these graveyard accounts fascinate me; they are the stagnant pools in the river, the divergent streams that go nowhere, the still waters that may well run deep.

    Human memory is strange. I’ve not thought about Mr X for longer than I can remember, yet when I see his face and his name, I immediately recognise him. I wonder what he is doing now. I wonder who he is now. I’d say that we have grown apart but we were never really together in the first place, yet, here, on the Internet, here is is, his face looking at me, and me staring him in the eyes. He is here with me, in my room, in my home, part of my life again.

    The weirdest thing of all this is that he doesn’t even know it. He’s not even aware that I’m staring him in the eyes, let alone the fact that I’m writing about him. I’m connecting with him but he is off away somewhere. He may be sitting in the house next door to me. He may be a thousand miles away. I don’t think it makes a difference either way.

    I close the tab with his dormant twitter feed that is before me, and refresh my twitter timeline. A new set of faces are presented in the ‘Who to follow’ box.

    And so it begins again…

  6. teaberrybee replied to your post “Following Mr X”

    <3 This:)

    Thank you kindly!

  7. get down to 8-bit remixes on a sunday night

  8. Following Mr X

    On the side of my twitter timeline, in a box labelled ‘Who to follow’, the face of a man looms at me. He has a goatee now but didn’t used to, and I recognise him immediately. Let’s call him Mr X.

    I went to school with Mr X, but didn’t really know him then; he was in the year above me, and knew some of the people that I was good friends with. I don’t know if I’ve even had one conversation with him, and I certainly couldn’t tell you anything about his existence, save for the fact that he is (1) alive, (2) male and (3) has a name. I haven’t seen him in person for at least fourteen years.

    I browse through his tweets, opening a new tab in Chrome to take a look. He has tweeted five times, and the last time he said anything was in 2012. He has less than twenty followers, and follows only about fifty people. I love twitter accounts like this. In the ever-flowing river of information on social media, these graveyard accounts fascinate me; they are the stagnant pools in the river, the divergent streams that go nowhere, the still waters that may well run deep.

    Human memory is strange. I’ve not thought about Mr X for longer than I can remember, yet when I see his face and his name, I immediately recognise him. I wonder what he is doing now. I wonder who he is now. I’d say that we have grown apart but we were never really together in the first place, yet, here, on the Internet, here is is, his face looking at me, and me staring him in the eyes. He is here with me, in my room, in my home, part of my life again.

    The weirdest thing of all this is that he doesn’t even know it. He’s not even aware that I’m staring him in the eyes, let alone the fact that I’m writing about him. I’m connecting with him but he is off away somewhere. He may be sitting in the house next door to me. He may be a thousand miles away. I don’t think it makes a difference either way.

    I close the tab with his dormant twitter feed that is before me, and refresh my twitter timeline. A new set of faces are presented in the ‘Who to follow’ box.

    And so it begins again…

  9. Course Correction

    i don’t know if we
    will be together
    forever

    i was kinda hoping
    we would be

    but now you’re
    not so sure who
    you are or where
    you want to go
    or who you want
    to be with

    everyone goes off
    course, from time
    to time

    i only hope that
    when you get back
    on track, that
    you’ll want to
    keep travelling
    with me.

  10. Diagram

     

    ink-tipped, splashed resin dashed across
    all the walls of your house. a life soaked
    in a vague sense of hope that is never
    realised that is never fulfilled that is
    never ever, never never

    a deep and measured breath. let us start again.

    an old piano plays. floorboards creak and
    soft sunlight sprinkles across dusty books
    purchased but never read. outside the flowers
    are growing but inside the people have not,
    save for the slow shrivelling of the skin
    that comes with age. they become prunes.

    days come and go, vapor-clouds and memory,
    runes etched in arcane calendars for time
    immemorial. sunday lunches. amateur
    home improvement. clutter, clutter, hold
    me close forever. in these endless to-do
    lists i find myself.

  11. Live! Tonight! Sold Out!

    next week in your home town that
    band you used to love are playing.

    they used to fill stadiums but now
    they can barely fill a dive with broken
    toilets.

    you lost track of them maybe in
    your late teens or early twenties.
    since then, the band have aged
    into an irrelevance.

    no longer do they release anthem
    after anthem decrying the horrors
    and injustice of the world. now
    they worry about their mortgages,
    they worry about their eyesight,
    they worry about picking the kids
    up from school.

    it’s a shame that they haven’t
    recorded a decent song in years.

    but what does it say about you,
    that you’re only into a band when
    they were unhappy with themselves
    and with the world? did their misery
    entertain you? did it comfort
    you? did it make you feel that you
    were not alone? or did they change
    for the better? maybe they wanted to
    change the world but realised that
    they could not. maybe they decided
    on focusing on family and friends,
    wanting to create beauty rather than
    chaos. maybe they have changed and
    you - you have not.

  12. Diagram

    ink-tipped, splashed resin dashed across
    all the walls of your house. a life soaked
    in a vague sense of hope that is never
    realised that is never fulfilled that is
    never ever, never never

    a deep and measured breath. let us start again.

    an old piano plays. floorboards creak and
    soft sunlight sprinkles across dusty books
    purchased but never read. outside the flowers
    are growing but inside the people have not,
    save for the slow shrivelling of the skin
    that comes with age. they become prunes.

    days come and go, vapor-clouds and memory,
    runes etched in arcane calendars for time
    immemorial. sunday lunches. amateur
    home improvement. clutter, clutter, hold
    me close forever. in these endless to-do
    lists i find myself.

About me

All about the maintenance, of all the little things - Prose/Poetry.