Thursday, January 27, 2011

The joys of internet spam/junk mail aka FailMail

I just got an email with the heading

I am Mrs Eli.E.Frank,A devoted Servant of God. I have a very inportant massage for you

The body of the message was

please reply back for more detials:

Dear Mrs. Eli.
I'm glad to hear of your piousness but I must pass as I'm not interested in your "very inportant massage". You also misspelled details and ended your one sentence with a colon. While I do applaud your religious fervor, and creative punctuation, I'm somewhat doubtful as to the benevolence of your intent.

Please no hard feelings:

Friday, January 21, 2011

Held hearts in hands

Life does not unfold the way we say it should
Hearts cautiously carried
Held out in hope, held close in fear
Held hearts in hands
that caress cradle constrict and crush
no more no more and never again
until next time

Hope; the blessing and curse of our joy and despair
held hearts in hands.

Dreams and lies illusions of truth
allusions of life's bitter allure
Promises of growth that never speak of pain
sore tired feed have walked many a mile
meander a moment and rest a time
ponder the subliminal and the sublime
before the path calls you again
to tear afresh your scab not yet a scar

Drift asleep on your side as hard hip holds the floor
See smiles in your sleep that turn sour in the light
Hold out heart in hands bruised broken but pumping still
As it will as it will

Thursday, January 20, 2011


A caged dragon will die, quickly
for it feeds on life.

To capture them is not the problem.
You cannot keep them alive.

You cannot watch them die
without dying yourself
a bit each time.

He had caught many dragons.
He had watched many die.

The more he had caught, the better he'd got
at catching them. More fame and fortune came
as stories of his prowess grew and spread.
Inside he was, more and more, dead.
Dead with dragons caged.
Dead heart in his ribs caged.
How can one stop his fame, his name, his path to the grave?
Each step passed past and forwards,
before and behind,
connected and etched in pain.

Wealth beyond count or measure
in room after room, in vaults,
in castle and keep,
in banks and warehouses.

Empty heart, walking corpse on verge of collapse.
Only the hint of a gasp of a spark of the glory
in a dream soon to be extinguished
as the last and oldest of the dragons
laid down amidst his treasures and fortune,
having caught all the others,
having won all the glory,
having doomed and destroyed all he
knew, valued, and loved.

He won his loss fully.

His fight done, his heart battered and broke,
he ascended his rightful throne.

Thoughts of May 24th, 2010

Where to start where to start
Pen on paper where's the heart
distraught straights out of sorts
visions sight in the dark

Foundering in the sludge
sunk in the foul frame of mind
leech thoughts linger latched onto life
why, what now, how

Cry and rage inside our cages corpses caught
bloated dogged devices ambling shambling on
knowing not moving seeding discontent till death

Life runs away like a runaway train
circling round round the drain
to gurgle and slurp a last time
then gone

Bloated content grins removed from reality
Happily dying and rotting within
Building and supporting their prison safety walls
Walled in safely to die

They are happy, enough. I am not.
The lullabye of deceit and lies not fully
descended and therfore seen through as
they bray like donkeys and line up for their pills.
Self-medicate by work or TV. By play or

Alone. Lonely alone together in the lie of

Anger and resentment build and build as
some would rather see it burn to destruction
than dissolve and fade away; a pointless obscurity.
The self importance and entitlement invested
and created which will one day be revealed
as fruitless fancy, an ignorant excess of
system's design unknown.

Rant and rage, slather spite and malice, to no
effect. As the birds blather on and on and on.
Squawking platitudes and shit to satiate the masses
in their foetid death beds long lived.
Many died for this. Many die for this.
If we are merely content to be here
their deaths are in vain.

Rise up, awake, move, breathe, or die
I cry again and again to my heart.

But it doesn't listen, yet, or move, yet.

If it doesn't, I will die.
I will die without life.

Yet I am trapped;
in a device I suspect I support.