Skip to main content

Fever dream!

Jeremy Corbyn asking the British prime minister question which he fails to answer. Cameron's head and that of a few others resemble that of a pig. "You've still not answered my question?" "Well what do you expect? What do you want us to do?" A lady MP with a glass of wine in her hand walks to the side. One MP is fast asleep. They motion to him and put two fingers at his throat. Suddenly smoke appears from his suit which has then turned into pyjamas. His eyes are wide awake now. The smoke intensifies. Everyone around him is motionless in shock. The smoke moves away from him for one brief second and then viciously attacks him and disappears inside him. He's dead.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Ruins of a Faded Life

Along the echoes, past the icy shores. Dreams of a longing going unrequited. You made your bets and came up short. Here he is, the golden child. Seeking bitterness out of the ruins of a faded life. Bowing to the music from another temple. He dreams of iconic nights in a sheen of paper dust. Watch the film roll and watch it all burn. Anxiety forms in the secret shadows, the faucet drips of a secret amnesia etching out familiar words to the former sacred mind. Disintegrating memories of compassion in a lifeless world. Business comes, business calls. Tomorrow's vendetta is last week's sense of dread. But hop in to think out for solutions in the week ahead. If death was the answer, it would have been too good. After all, how fortunate it is for me to want anything at all.
Post a Comment
Read more

Kill Me In The Strawberry Fields

Kill me in the strawberry fields where no one may seem to notice. I bring the curtains and the veils, you can drink the wine sweetened with elderflower. Intoxicated on certain lusts which break the mould on growing old. It's here that we fed you, it's here that we led you down garden paths. Quick, dear, we're getting old. Gorging on demise, a secret network - a disguise. I want to follow, I want to get lost in the image. To dream impossible things stuck on a level that's never giving, never yielding to the mistakes that have always been. I only escape in my dreams and even they start to suffocate. Kill me in the strawberry fields where no one may seem to notice. I bring the curtains and veils, you can drink the wine sweetened with elderflower. I fear that talking may make an enemy out of me.
1 comment
Read more

Shifting Politics of Stupidity

I felt like a wreck trying to walk to the bus. My body's in pieces and I'm told that I hope to get better. Meanwhile I fall apart. There's no sinking ships here - just empty vessels. There's no use in florid language when I describe what's really happening. Physio appointments, subjects of pain. Moments of wondering if this is real or just another example of a photogenic death. No one reads you anyway, it's all just for show. But the part that wins is the part that dies. Bone structure and muscle tightness. Linking the two together so that they become stones. The rest become like glass. Rehabilitation of destruction. Seismic shifts in disintegration. And we build our laws on shifting politics of stupidity. Hip to hip Heart to heart Who knows that we're all Just fallling apart And in these silent moments, I feel so stupid that I only wish it would end. A pill, a cream or something stronger. Tomorrow's another day. Another day to repeat the same...
Post a Comment
Read more