.

 i believed in you, small light lover, old memory attacher.

so much so that i gave my all and only in the eternal hope of some campfire song

but the darkness had claws and crept along the walls of this shanty house, blues singer occupied, waiting for a knock

i believed in all the magic of possibility and the future strung out like a golden thread, needle like towards my heart.

i touched upon beautiful tense, i wove my hands around some wooden tables in a kitchen i remember from a far off childhood friend,

back when i used to eat meat, when i literally ate the meat and left the fat, my beloved closed caption life (never that which was returner true, always that moment of happiness that escaped me when the tires squeeled out of their driveway)

i took us as all and moved into the caverns. i took our everything and hid behind as trains ran past. i giggled in retrospect behind bushes, the night clinging to my being with thorns. i watched my breath go in and out despite me not knowing how, there is a magic to pure seconds that we are not suposed to fathom.

but lo there are daggers where men lay, there are snakes in their smiles and poison running through the purest hearts. i have given everything to a vampire god and recieved nothing but tax letters in return. i have cut for blood dripping into your mouth, only to fall, silent.

woke up a thousand miles away in a town ive never known, on a dusty road.

i gagged myself into consciousness, tried to find my bearings but clutched at my chest.

never knowing a pain that could infect every single sickle sickly cell.

im worthless before your eyes. and i cannot fathom how ive gotten here, i, alone on a plinth of solid stone, always the looker outer, never thought id end up under someone so heavy. in my own arrogance i presumed that i would continually break hearts forever and always be exempt from the tangled talk of being on the recieving end of not-really-caring-after-all.  im all of a death with you in my system. im clawing at walls dressed in hope, but in reality im a monk sat burning.

i miss the sea, i miss the sound of waves.

i havent seen the ocean since december, since i flung myself around a city crying for answers, my father dying proposed to watch the same programs on repeat because he cant remember anything.

we spent christmas day removed of all magic, listless around an imaginary fire. i couldnt understand why i was alive.

so i let loose amongst the traintracks (searching for bunkers to drop burners on) i lay myself on them all old movie style, i couldnt tie the ropes so i waited for the dawn to come and whistled a tune id heard a conductor sing in a movie once.

i lived a few lives in that moment that ive never known the origin of.

my mother wrote once that she went to sea for answers, because it always knew what to say.

i miss both.

more than a simple superficial murmur, death runs deep and long erasing all it can in sequence.

my eyes hold heavy, long mountains sigh. ive climbed too many times to keep awake.

distract the dawn, sully the sun into setting again, my body burns for acceptance but rots in quietude.

we'll swap notes amongst the destitute levels of industry that pave their way through long roads all kicking up petrol dust

ill cough and youll look at me, in that desperate way ill smile back and crack open some teeth about the mysteries of lighting systems in the great void

shadows, always shadows sloping down solid roofs, tall humming songs about their collective stasis

grandfather like machines keeping beams upin their  backs

why so heavy

why so heavy, low light life, stood backwards from it all

hid clenched to the wall, fngers sneakingalong the cracks.

but what does it do, what does it all do? where are the keys?

we chatter back and forth like rats in a sewer are supposed to do.

the silence hits you, brings black back to the center of the heart

beat betters, sneak peekers.

chimney heads all filled with rotten

cough smoke cough, on and on, all the stuts of a powerful machine show no signs of age

drunk: post Malarky

we all hate each others daylight

all the hues of personality drift from golden to brown, from brown to rotten like we never existed in each others arms

we never had as much as we were, in each of our parts.

like woah what the fuck who's this, touchy feeling man of the month never been full frontal with this mentioned

but we all clapped in the synchronicity of time

trying to dig out some semblance of sentence, semblence of minutes not ticking by the wayside.

i loved you like never before

but those arms dont reach for me no more

those arms dont like leave behind a solid memory

i wish you could of met my parents

i wish you could of held your head between the gallows

just to shallow prove that it was what i said it was

that it wasnt what we imagined

but nothing ever is.

i wish you could of seen the light shine from her eyes

but never, no more, death stole the sun from her glasses

that doesnt deserve a rats respect

we all tried

stand up straight reciters

stand up straight for those tragic lifers.

My heart ain't holy
just another bag of tricks for some thing to be sick up on.
devil horned houses down streets, i'm a hider
contempt hid the rats beneath the plow
all sly, stooped in music mountain man but who you gonna climb to ease the quicksand?

The house opposite is cooking at 2am
my ignorance says Indian but the world ain't got no time for categories
flowers don't sing sweet land solitude
we gather together and whisper, huddling secrets across the borders catching guards out slipping taking selfies for women.

Ruffling feathers since '89 i've begged in the counting houses and kissed all the feet of swine
like pearls before a dead sod, casting teeth all ridden with rot.
i've ridden devils down to Mexico, hollering madness like sideways waving arms.
They shot a fair few though, and I roared, toasted the sun all blazing about this and that.

Love for the moments, love for the wasteland wanderers and Go-Kart specialists.
set a fire and we'll dig a pit to toast to.
Set a fire and we can sleep in the shallow pews, later praying to a dead moon
drunken slumber suffers in the best of us, whilst the rats take tales of cunning from the murmurs we eschew.
All feeble foetal, embers of people.
Promised a bag of gold, receiving broken fortune cookies with futures already sold
double dealers, dreaming currency could manufacture explicitly.

There are no single stories I could tell to place my station in a concrete stasis.
Never stop running, on last lights forever.
Fence hopper moves, shadow puppet players dance silent like and talk eternal muse. 

That sinking ship of rats cold tapped the shutters of destruction in the shadow of an overpass

woke up that monster, fresh again, thought he might've stayed up slumped slowly sipping sin.

slipped all silky past him down the stairs hands clasped in hidden prayer 

snake stumbled drunk punched the clock again. 

now the nodded heads are rotten

mind your manners cadaver 

that death from above has not forgotten

those snails have set a steady pace, in the all for one & blind rat jailbreak

sent me spinning in abysmal deliverance because the sows who reap have done nought but take. 

thoughts ain't birthed in grace, they spur the heart to malcontent and attatch it to a face.

death from above is the preferred silence, non of that stoop into sleepy slipping eyelids. 

your pestilence is impressive 

oh whatre we to do, the rapture stole the stereo 

the murders in the brew

the sheeps have turned wolf again now the skies have gone gone all killing moon

those business men were baphomets yelling culture was just a poor excuse. 

oh whatre we to happen

the collapse that starts the habit has crushed all of manhattan

the bats are in the belfry, the dark has gotten loose. 

the pubs have got a following, empty eyes all boneless singing wishes that the guilt was not so hollowing. 

the fascinations whose grip on life is skeletal 

the last laughters whose march on habit was spiritual

thought tunnel historians lynching funds for the sake of the vision locked in the looseness of a rum punch.

cutting the heads of statues under the noise of the golden rule

settled with all the vices that were virtuous no more 

to lay golden in the rainy days following the howling from the chase

the birth and death, the dogs of war. 

sloppy seconds on that sick fix pale face

that gives to spitting prophesies whilst steadily losing weight

and if i know you, which i think i do

We'll be falling under passing in & out besides the howling of a full moon. 

I miss you like the dark misses the night, how the half misses the whole.

how death misses life when its not too tongue tied trying to explain itself against all the hollers screeching at it about the facts & figures, as if that could delay decay.

we never bent enough runways to shoot through the boundary line, transcendental misanthropy is all it amounts to. 

I cast you in my bones now i cant escape, i locked you in tombs against the possibility of future heartbreak. 

My clause was one of cause, because need ain't not noxious in it's opposite.

All the roundabouts led round and out of my skull proved worthless against the natter of time.

We were doomed from the start, pretty little death, held love in its eyes like it does from time to time

I could see through the future to the incalculable past. 

Holding your hand was an act of defiance against that which throes the reapers reasons into the mix, i stood firm like cliff castle but knew the stones were too embedded.

I'd sunk you deep enough to never be replaced

my heart belongs to you dear beater

Littler smiles pulling over my jawline, however much my eyes don't want to.

And i close up for the night, resigned to reside among the empty spaces of forgotten physiology. 

Romance ruined, future looming heavy though it is

my hands still bear the stigmata of our actions, every golden flicker towards the sun, every little bicker.

Down every alleyway her ghost runs ahead of me. 

I am mostly not myself. 

If i can remember who that is or was before the great fall, i've been meaning to write to tell you. 

But my words don't fit our new diction.

our severance acts out it's own accord & all i can do is attempt to hum along to the dissonance. 

If you ever read this, i've missed you. 

she said love is something icky, sickly close to death

that divined almighty righteous sin which trusts the beast as worthy of duty & jury 

to be given further unto that passion that comes flaming with knowing. 

hold your hope, little rowing boat and steady that off deep shade

note that rope, brittle charm & joke

you may need it for a neck race. 

heavy handed reprobates, the effort inherent that envelopes your skeleton does nothing but hide the cost of your everest

dont worry now the futures not a whore, not that creepy slime thats clocking on your wall

but more silver lined, angelhead thats hiding in the hall. 

hazy eyed discussing how the roads to rome were never fair

tongue percussion questioning the depths of mans affair with the abyss

like we were never meant to be, 

but we are what we is. 

I watched a hundred loafers nod their heads in a backwards rhythm towards some heavy death beds. 

"i've killed gods for less than this" he said

anger all over, like some sort of shoulder boulder rode him.

throughout nights the feeling never calmed

like man theres something eternal in street spotlights

like those nighthawks howl in silence with some secret sadness that i aint never seen in nothing before

their tongues waggling in sweat saliva, sweet juicy mouths of damocles.

we swing udders, white long lines in promise.

pssh, promises aint peaceful

secret wars and barricades.

hands twitching between thumbs, snarls all over.

never heard a sigh so heavy as that from a breddah garbed up in that loss like sentence penance.

never seen no eyes all coloured with guilt like that from those which hymns dont sing about.

snarling all over.

kevin and perry style.

we aint eating tonight, nor any other, just crawl around the city on our stomachs yearning. drawing in the blood of the moons, let the stars light the way. beautiful dots to criss cross in hopes of a secret pattern, connect the dots to your beauty marks, i've missed you every day since march.

but thats the price we pay for progress right boys? thats the price we pay for the populace.

we never beat the drones, however much paint we through from place to place. we just live among the louder ones.

karmas charmeleons, changing face.

it all rings true, but no-one has ears for this sort of voice. ive beaten dead friends to a pulp. i've cradled cold fingers, just to linger around a bit of love for a few seconds more.

like that aint my house no more. no-one lives here any longer

just ghosts slow roasting nuts over garbage can fires, siren singers solemn all alone.

me and my friends breathe nothing but death

you and your friends breathe nothing but death.

the 'whatve you done todays' 

ive tried my best not to relinquish everything, forever battling stasis. 

forcing myself from step to step to take into the account the fact that there is a sun above it all

oh, your sister is starving 

your father is broken

you sing, unsung, towards a moon & a sun. with just deceit, and need. 

warm welcomed home, singing the bitterest truths, oh ashford street blues its hard not to die with you. 

no-on wishes to know about mans struggle with mans fate, now mans making moves towards several golden gates

theyre all about the vegetables and less than sufferables. green alleyway mindsets, aint no love for the swinging man clock face. aint no love foe the ticking hands rib plates. 

just heart above the cowardice that keeps the nose afloat. hark above the cowardice. 

i aint no no believer in self-seldom seen recipes, im just some stone dragger, nomader with bereft breath and scratched knees

still wobbling from port to port, 24 days old, like i aint seen nothing but useless. 

he writes the quell the storm, pen pad sculptured norms. with train rides through countryside, smiling towards the long days i spent with single seconds, that twitch and deliver from time to time in the expanse of tunnel sight vision.

i can see for miles, and thats the problem. 

hey nihilism whats the best a guy can do? 

in the face of all the severed teeth 

i've muddled in form to loose cannons of constant disbelief. 

Racing a faded image.
Sleep Well

spray paint is a notoriously unforgiving medium, and the unpracticed are far too easy to spot in their novice ways. from the casual drips of overspray & weak lines that come with the terrible, terrible misunderstanding in use of stock caps our beginners are not hard to root out amongst the bushes. 

but we were all toys once, we were all those eager eyed train yard hoppers whose lazy hands put us to shame in the glare of the veteran writer. 

spray paint in its very nature will try its best to not go where you put it. 

entropy has a way of making our art escape us. 

but we have learnt this the hard way, we have learnt this on those windy days, with the cold biting at our blistering fingertips. whilst stood in some god forsaken, dimly lit part of the wilderness trying to share a masterful piece with a duck & cover mentality. 

a friend balanced on your shoulders in a rusty freight yard becomes self-taught style lessons for the open eyed who keeps their open ears towards the ever encroaching darkness. 

our art is fought for, our art is war. And every step is a battle won, a continent conquered in constant compromise. 

i remember exactly where i was when i found out, my sister rung me up whilst i was in the kitchen and simply said "ben, listen, mums dead"

“Ideally, what should be said to every child, repeatedly, throughout his or her school life is something like this: ‘You are in the process of being indoctrinated. We have not yet evolved a system of education that is not a system of indoctrination. We are sorry, but it is the best we can do. What you are being taught here is an amalgam of current prejudice and the choices of this particular culture. The slightest look at history will show how impermanent these must be. You are being taught by people who have been able to accommodate themselves to a regime of thought laid down by their predecessors. It is a self-perpetuating system. Those of you who are more robust and individual than others will be encouraged to leave and find ways of educating yourself — educating your own judgements. Those that stay must remember, always, and all the time, that they are being moulded and patterned to fit into the narrow and particular needs of this particular society.”

Doris Lessing, The Golden Notebook

I forgot how much I love gigs, how the atmosphere is something tinged with ego 

but who's actual heart beats the purest gold intentions.

Because cathartic interests can never look down upon you, they release outwards with an application to stasis not dominance. 

There may be all the posturing in the world but those who's goal is hierarchy are quickly sniffed out, sneered upon & rejected.

But, of course a stage where you are literally among the bare bones of peoples more red stained spectrum of emotion is bound to lead to some looks, but its a mask that hides the vulnerable centre that is exposed as soon as the note splits, or the rhythm hits the dead pan in the heart. 

I got the words wrong to one of my favourite bands and felt the sting of retreat, but he wont remember me past 5 minutes ago so i can fade into the corners and nod my head all quiet like, rest easy in the social reciprocity that basement dwellers communicate. 

Here it all makes sense, here the clothes and the attitude are born, baby faced kids with chips on their shoulder stalk poetic across a stage, directing cubs whose movements not yet their own swing arms like kettlebells and legs all eleven in the hopes, hopefully romantic at that, of mimicing forefathers so greatly respected. 

Respect here is tantamount because we're against heroes and that dizzying, obnoxious air that that celebritism holds. Here Terror stand like stalwarts to the tired eyed & secretly lonely

"there is no us & you, there is only us. We're just some fucked up kids"

community ideals & a love that's carved out stone like ethics, that you may be the one but together we are the all.