I'm not much of a journalist, but I've gotta have somewhere to put my stupid poems and folklore knowledge where other folk can see, I guess. The story the title is from is some African country (and I use that the same as some European country, I genuinely can't remember if it's France or Ethiopia, I'm really sorry if that's problematic): One day a man was out hunting and came across a human skull, half buried in the dirt. Mostly to himself, he said outloud, "Well, how did you get here, my friend?" To his astonishment, the skull replied. "Talking brought me here." The man was excited! A talking skull, a great wonder! So he ran back to his village and told everyone, including his headman/chief. So the chief came back with him to the half-buried skull, and demanded, "Speak!" The dead man stayed dead, and did not speak. The chief was not a forgiving man, and in retribution for being made a fool, struck off the hunter's head and left him and his body there with the skull. And then he rode away, and left them silent in the dust. After a while, the skull spoke. "Oh, well, how did you get here, my friend?" And the freshly dead man replied - "Talking brought me here."
Our Green Apocalypse I wished us all to watch Each withe and twine Each leaf and vine Of the quiet green apocalypse I wisht for us to while Through the deserts and the trial As green as waters of the nile Our emerald birdsong epilogue No more cars and no more streets Just crackling cold and baking heats Only tree-shot pavements in the dust Of saplings growing set in rust Where forests boom and cities bust In our quiet green apocalypse
Pain is Pain is an iron bar Leaves me thrashing A bird in a cage A beast in a snare A mindless thing all agony Pain is a great leviathan Drowning and breathless With no sight of land Turns a fin and you drown again Pain is a pair of jaws Pain is a rusted knife Pain is an open grave The pain is stronger than you Pills build a ladder, a liferaft, a crowbar Get above it, float to breathe, break the trap Pain is hard concrete on a winter's day Pain is too much good work on a flawed joint Pain is Pain is Pain is Pressure Ache Indignity Nerves screaming into madness And then again you're trapped And then again the wave rolls over Pain is a pack of hungry orcas The pills are a fragile iceberg It hurts It hurts It hurts Pain robs your mind of sense, your heart of courage Animal panic, senseless grasping Involuntary sounds, meaningless curse words Never be without it, truly, never be free It hurts
The Party's Over Just turn off the lights And take me home I'm worn so tired I don't care to roam The lights are so bright On this sycophantic street I can't hear myself Or feel my staggered feet Oh and it rolls you over Oh and it rolls you over and over And over again The smell of salt Is it sweat or sea The hum of lights Have they come for me Oh and it rolls you over Oh and it rolls you over and over And over again I've had enough With this song and dance I know it's over There's no second chance I've lost my shoes I've been left to walk The streets are dark There's no need to talk So just turn off the lights And take me home.
