Still decades later I get it
"you're him aren't you, you were in that band"
"that was a long time ago now"
"you know my sister don't you"
"not really"

Now some people who had fame but didn't realise the extent of it,
1 became a tattooist
2 I havent seen in years

And Kieran tried to kill himself

Kieran tried to kill himself.

What happened?

Lightless walk. 

Washed in blood

Belly full of god

A perfect little worm feasting on dirt.

We All See You Twitch

It's horrible to see someone else go through death
to be ripped away from that warm and birthed embrace, even those that become theoretical these days.
Because you lose something like a puzzle piece when it gets buried
some old tune so often ignored you forgot how much you enjoyed hearing it.
But that comes roaring back through
How much your body was based on their smallest, slightest inch.
I saw them twitch amongst the ruins of it all.

Some terrible twist of fate conspired for some reason unknown and leaves you layers closer to hell coming apart with the wind all aching your bones
Life in glorious technicolour, darkness in wretched bold
Flowers bloom, shift and move turn bulbous from like decom position
You become your own many  armed god, a thousand eyes staring straight through the veil
beyond events end horizon, melting amongst time.
Whole and mighty, realised and frightening
courageous and decisive.
embittered and fighting.

let us dig, take up spades so we may never be scared again by the face of it
so that we may stare full wide eyed into that grim spectres tar pit.
So that we may live out those promises they placed in their wombs before our atoms were collected.
That we might make something, that we might change something, that we might be all gold full and respected.
Because each of us is our parents saviour, atleast at the beginning, before the fall the loss and dividing of opinion.
A gentle messiah, wrapped in cloth and undecided, born to outlive the night.
Possibility yet unpresent, but ecstatically expected.

We are not the fuck ups death makes us momentarily
We are the new and ever present shining scar it births in us and lined with love and promise
past decaying, present growing, future plotting

Give life to others in celebrations of our dead - give what they can no longer match.
Give love and grace in memory of those who rest their head,

I sit and click my fingers, set a beat to.speak to - spit rhythms dug from dirt and forged deep within the sinews. This mantra is my own, I loose a tongue to testify towards the setting sun that I'll be meditating on the weight of all that glittery gold that's won, to test whether the worth was it, whether sleep can finally come. I sit and click my fingers, set a beat to speak to, and wish peace to all my brothers, sisters trapped deep within the tombs.

Demons are just Ghosts that carry a cross, Christ is a light only lit by the lost, Buddhas the shoulda-woulda-coulda done better, awake at night making the heart strings heavier. 

tongue percussion questioning the depths of mans affair with the abyss

like we were never meant to be, but we are what we is. 

"There is no such thing as artistic graffiti or graffiti art. It is an oxymoron. Graffiti is the crime of freedom. It is the willful disregard for criminal codes not artistic ones. In a society filled with rules and conformity, graffiti writers are a dangerous element. Enjoy the crime of graffiti. Civilization depends on it."