These images are seared into my mind
Friday, 8 December 2023
Wednesday, 22 November 2023
Tuesday, 22 August 2023
Sunday, 20 August 2023
COPY PASTE
AND HOPE
The internet was down
for a day. I realized my broken mind had no Cling on to memory, lost without Photo- graphs and Internet.
PROPER PIC
There Was nothing on my mind, blank.
I always knew memory was mor-photo-
genetic, the net gave me stimulation. I tried
to conjure up something in my mind but no
remembrance.
I cant even think up a con-no-clue-sion,
wordplay is my depth. I want to say more
and roll poetic of my tongue but it’s like
when I woke from stroke.
I seen the word in my mind but nothing
came out. I am like internet my network
is down. I can only write of the moment
I am in no past and future intense.
I tried to
save this Word document
But just
like me, there is nothing on
Its mind,
copy-paste and hope.
Am I just a
blog on the write
Hemisphere,
waiting to be put
In the virtual-reality wastepaper bin..
Wednesday, 16 August 2023
PESSIMYSTIC
SHAMANIC-
BEING
These are the words of a broken human being.
Being broken how?
Is so hard to put my finger
On that pulse: Stroke-long-term memory loss-
Aphasia-aphantasia, a veil of black behind eyes.
Marguerite Dumas said of her studies on mel-
oncholy when you find yourself in a blackhole
at the bottom of a hole, you realize only writing
can save you, the write hemisphere blog.
I haven’t dreamed in twenty years but last night
The snapshot of a fox in a grey multistorey-Car-
park. The fox slept on the soft-top roof of a car
it was daylight colour road signs and bunker grey.
Just days ago I watched a shamanic journey he
spoke of your animal symbol, ticking my boxes
Of shamanistic, Pagen, animal skin drum beat
I went on my url and found a poem, pagen poet.
I don’t do that new-age mystic shit if I don’t
See touch or feel I don’t believe the stroke
Put me in a confusing default mode. The snap-
shot pierced black fabric of life just a shutter
speed flicker of fox.
As close I could almost touch, said hey there
mister aphantastic fox. Nonchalantly he raised
his head to fall as if I wasn't even there was this
the animal symbol of myself caring not to care?
or a sham-manistic being of my broken self.
I flicked my computer of poe-artry memory as
My human hard drive was wiped clean, I was
amazed how often the fox appeared. There is
Hope after all in my hopeless hope, flicker foxy-
Foxy like the back of my hand, a morphoto
genetic flashed up Johnny the Fox alias Jim
(father's name) before my eyes. A Fox looking
at a fox by a fox mantra-shaman. I lived with
Dad when I saw the fox
I don't remember.
Sunday, 6 August 2023
HYPHEN-ATE ME REPETITIVE REPEAT
Black-
Hole,
this is a melancholy study
Its
black and bleak down here.
No
emotional engineering, just
A .dot-wired up al-chem muck
T-OO- GOLD
I
look inside my black face mask
To
see what is in me, no dream-
Scape
psych a trip, tripped up M-
Ore-mining,
how far down can-u
I’m
in a black underearth a black-
Hole,
this is a melancholy study
Its
black and bleak down here.
No
emotional engineering, just
A .dot-wired up al-chem muck
To gold-Neitzschian. He knew
How to suffer- Will and will to
Power-no x-mas or birth day
Cell-leb its just pure Dubh-bla
Bla-black. I know the world is
Out there I hear them drive-
By-shooting. On my per-if-
Eerie is a dis-able room dis-
Abled bed and the curtains
Blacked out allergic to sun-
Light red around the head.
A native Irish/English man
with nowhere to go Shop-
pen-Will is my time my-
hour pess-I-mytic hope.
No green/orange- red/blue shot by
Both sides we were wired up, some
Of will get creedmore-electro- shock
You can kill your sons,music was like
A Kill city-round and round abot city
But we took the mushtoom hit.
Cows were alien force we tripped
Nothing the lawonly works dried
out. We were dole hoppers hop-
ping on the mi-cell-ian socal net-
work Fun-guy 2.
HYPH
To gold-Neitzschian. He knew
Power-no x-mas or birth day
Cell-leb its just pure Dubh-bla
Bla-black. I know the world is
Out there I hear them drive-
By-shooting. On my per-if-
Eerie is a dis-able room dis-
Abled bed and the curtains
Blacked out allergic to sun-
Light red around the head.
A native Irish/English man
with nowhere to go Shop-
pen-Will is my time my-
hour pess-I-mytic hope.
No-go black path,
I knew like the back
of my back of my
hand ta-too-foxy was ere.
Fuck queen and the pope this was my-
Well- fare state,me and Rab-king we
Walked on the wild side-Lou-Read.
No green/orange- red/blue shot by
Both sides we were wired up, some
Of will get creedmore-electro- shock
You can kill your sons, music was like
A Kill city-round and round abot city
But we took the mushrooms hit.
Cows were alien force we tripped
Nothing the lawonly works dried
out. We were dole hoppers hop-
ping on the mi-cell-ian socal net-
work Fun-guy 2.
Saturday, 5 August 2023
POE ART IS FREE PEN-SEE ME
(Poe art like sun-shine is free)
Why do we need meaning and not feeling
me and me and me? What snobbery cruci-
fiction. Nietzsche -N.I.hilism told us God was
dead; his writing was his inner belief.
Active optimistic N.I.hilism. This is mine;
I don't think he went mad. I think he had
a stroke, had aphasia, and lost all memory
and no mind's eye.
Marguerite Dumas in her studies
of melancholy.' When you find yourself
in a hole, only writing can save you.
I live in a year moment on a 24-hour
loop. I have a lock-in with no future, no
past writing a bleak blog. Absurd, my only
worth is in myself. I have been writing this
moment pomement.
Camus also had a touch of aphantasia,
unable to grieve his mother, but took that
as a guilt trip. ? You don't have to join the club.
I loved his nonchalant way. Aphant helps me
deal with this trauma and grief.
N.I.hilism has a strange feedback loop
of optimistic niehilism pessimistic hope.
Will and will to power, art is feeling.
I sat on the fence for thirty years I watched
hate hate in God's name.We will never get
over the man-made wall until we are done
with a manmade religion.We created
and killed him; revenge and hate live on.
I grew up in this, but I saw peace; my sister
killed herself because of hate revenge.
Just like my art, a feeling of black hope-
lessness it turns my muck to gold in the words
of an actual human being, Nietzsche, I woke
up in a verbal line of 1967 gutterance.
A morphic nature memory, Zoetrope in
a bodhran rhythmic sham-manic beat.
Drumming up cobblestone streets outside
loos and B-specials kicking a man into
the gutters.
Drenched in blood begets blood lit by
a cruci-fiction. Gutterance insight
and this manmade religion are seared
into my mind.
What is this place with evil fleas, where adults
tell you stories of banshees and death and a man
hangs on a cross drenched in blood? Where is
humanity in that? The picture of cruci-fiction.
She slept in the same room as that picture
I'm not sure this went down, but take my
word. I wrote before my stroke broken mind.
I can't get this image out of my head, but Aphan-
Tasia helps me deal with grief and trauma.
I was six, watching police kick a man into
the gutter, just like the man on the cross, even
then I knew I couldn't hate like that, barbaric.
In a widescreen high-definition, full-
Moonglow. A two up two down
warped window view. All from morphic
nature's memory. There are no visuals in my
mind, but the hate I saw seared into my mind.
Mind spinning like vertigo, I threw up on
the floor, peas lino. The greengrocers smelt
of the sea, Dolce and the earthy potato, a bag
of broken biscuits to take away blood memory
but I lived my truth.
I checked the gutter to make sure I wasn't
just dreaming; the blood was bleached white.
Children should be seen and not heard, but
one told me what to do, the norm for thirty
years, locked-in decades, God's name.
War and blackhole blemished accept-
ance unemotional engineering a warped
con-cave hill and Napoleon's nose. Feeling
trying to remember for-Get, you just can't
beat the truth.
In the book of Dreaming, a poet is alive.
Fernando Pessoa
wrote:' 'It's not.
Necessary just to live but To feel.'
There are so many great writers with
a pessimistic optimistic N.I.hilism.
MANGLED OBJECT/SUBJECT
On the elevator going up from I.C.U.
where they gave me a stroke boost
declared me dead for seconds. I have
no sense of time/space, so don't take
my word.
The piston thrust of life sat me bolt up-
right in the bed. Just a grey ashen dust
of flimsy hologram like a victim of holo--
cast. I saw my reflection in my son's
eye; I looked like a skeleton.
My hard drive of forty-five years erased
of long-term memory, there was nothing on/
in my mind. I thought the nurses were out to
kill me; no concept took me days to tell
the difference between fantasy and reality.
The drugs they gave me to keep me alive, I took
M.D.M.A. and acid, but this was a trip like nothing
else on earth.Like my own patch gaming a play-
station Silent Hill in a Stephen King hospital. All
I could do was grip the blankets like a seat belt
and take the trip between life and death, a trip
and a half.
Hallucinating a man behind my bed, cutting my body
Parts with a chainsaw tossing them into a skip
And I was following. Or a group of consultants add-
ministering the drugs of death just before
The needle pierced the skin. I woke in a cold
Sweat, my head was up my black hole.
.
Drifting life/death for 48 or 72 hours, I was lost
Hanging on by the skin of my teeth. The con-
Sultans whispered their truth, not knowing what
Category life/death: I was drifting. Realized or un-
Realized. Self-determination is a beautiful re-
Source: was I an object or subject mangled by
Tween both. All my balance was broken. A girl
A yellow top gestured to me water, a simple cup
Of water means so much from a cleaner with
Very little English but humanity. I wanted to say
Thank you. The words fell through my mind, but no-
The thing came out of my mouth.
My memory was gone. I was paralyzed down
my right, my balance was broken, I had no speech.
There was nothing
in my mind to compare to
even writing these twenty years later, I still have
nothing to declare compare to my past tense.
HERE NOW AND NOW MUCKER I can't remember a moment by the half-door, it is etched into my broken mind. A verbal memory, A Fox skulk...
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NO THE G WORD HEAR YE HEAR YE! for GG Dharma bum, watching MOATS- mother of all talk shows. I felt GGsvibration, frustration ring...
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I know I am rewriting this magic moment over and over in a different form but this is all I have. EVERY TIME I REMEMBER A LITTLE MORE T...