Locked in dismissal

lost in everyday besides today
and any reality outside my own
diving into silence, assuming they
would hate to hear me moan
if they do, they simply want known –
my undressed frailty.
locked beneath the compressed
knowledge of must do’s
can’t stand, can’t roll over,
can only squirm, approaching the exit
handle out of reach
can only gaze in hoping manner
that maybe another will know how
to grapple through my rejection
of their attempts
and cure me.

Inward leaning

collecting pots in my room once more
letting traces of sickly sour tastes remain stagnent
holding the door open to passers by
as they wade through my perception of their ignorance
as in sorrow, all I wish to be is myself
horizontally suffering
feels good to be here.
tomorrow – another day to cleanse
the dutiful sores on the rear
of my inward leaning shoulders
the smouldering haze shan’t get me
this time, I’ll be better by then.

Pseudo Artists

I’ve been piecing this together over the past few days. It’s directed particularly towards artists who use their craft solely for themselves when they have potential to impact cultural attitudes and social/political movements. Art is pleasure for some – including myself – and in many ways it should be, however I feel that now to direct 100% of our attention on our own comfort, perpetuates an apathetic view and therefore, the global issues of today. Anyway…here’s a rap about it:

(last minute performance of it below)

Pseudo artist, you know, your art is

Pleasant for someone who sells to  lethargic target markets

Your distraction’s where your heart is

Message vague, or just simply never started?

You’re a smart kid, but fuck, come on, just part with

The void, that clearly has you caught up in a hard fit

World’s a hard hit, we’re fossilising plastic

Your force, exhausted on nothing, just a dark pit

Chart it, you have a body to impart,

The drive to survive won’t stand amongst your tarnish.

 

Find some meaning, forget about deceiving

Yourself that your input’s simply for your pleasured dreaming

It’s demeaning, your denial has me screaming,

Art ain’t a fucking business, but for its intervening

You’re still breathing , our time on earth is fleeting

Epicureanism ain’t a patch on our healing

Why silk-screening only for self-streaming?

What’s the feeling you get? Passion’s all I am receiving

To express ourselves is expression of our bleeding

We unite in pain, don’t let it be a demon.

 

Channel the collective, gain some more perspective

You’re satisfied now, but looked back in retrospect this

Time you’ll regret your esoteric cryptic

Limiting yourself to the walls of the domestic.

I suggest this, keep your cast realistic

Cheer can be fatal like living pessimistic

No going back now, but we can’t not address this.

It’s up to us, don’t keep yourself restricted

Your mind’s not for what the media’s depicted

Nor thee anxiety that you’ve manifested

 

Pick up compulsively your neuroplasticity,

Direct it towards a coherent simplicity

Of here, the now, and I mean this realistically

Our earth is tortured by our own toxicity

Let pessimism grow, and we’ll count it’s synchronicity

Let your consciousness show and feel your electricity

 

(8 BEATS)

 

We don’t think we have resistance, that I’m rather rude

We don’t think we have recourses when they’re spunked on mood

We don’t think we have the time, that aimless work is due

We don’t think we have the knowledge but we fucking do

We don’t think we have the passion, lost in TV’s drool

We don’t think we have the strength when we survived through school

We don’t think we have the care because we think it’s cool

We don’t think we have the power but we have been fooled.

 

When the artefacts are mystery, we repeat our very history

Not letting awareness expand over our periphery

Put some of your publicity, on victims living desperately

Your skill ain’t your accessory, it acts as a trajectory

Act on sensitivity, given universally

Living through our spirit rather than hostilely,

Quickly watch your misery metabolise to liberty

Your injury into another’s victory

That’s who we really are, despite cultural trickery

Cos we’re the same, not divided by ethnicity

 

(Poem – 

So the world’s eight richest people own the same amount of wealth as the poorest 50 percent;

Is trickle-down-economics actually practical when our people continue to die on the streets?

They’re stigmatised for what they may use to cope with the danger they’re exposed to, nights of no sleep

And the hierarchy we delude ourselves with, rather than accepting our own vulnerability.

Mentally ill systems create mentally ill people and that ain’t deep, it’s reality.

You think that’s steep? We have already rolled past the tipping point of global warming;

The best possible outcome now would be

The earth becoming comparatively warmer before cooling back down – that’s if we act instantly.

Those in power prefer to distract us from this because it contradicts their global-economic stance,

With their friends in big-business, who’re leading the way in carbon emissions.

We’re already experiencing climate change refugees

Air on their arrival more hostile than the man-marked nature they fled from

Because we’ve been convinced that problems lie in the most vulnerable

To distract us from the actual causation.

This is the capitalist system, not inherently evil but easy to misuse

But we can refuse it’s malice through art;

That’s how we choose to come close to living outside it, smart

Because those who drive capitalism thrive on our disconnections from one another

And the deficit they’ve convinced us that we are.)

 

When escape means engagement, and activity spent

On art of resentment, aggravating descent

It ain’t just recent, but ain’t decent, causing mass repent

Man…you’re just a fetish for the one percent.

 

We don’t think we have resistance, that I’m rather rude

We don’t think we have recourses when they’re spunked on mood

We don’t think we have the time, that aimless work is due

We don’t think we have the knowledge but we fucking do

We don’t think we have the passion, lost in TV’s drool

We don’t think we have the strength when we survived through school

We don’t think we have the care because we think it’s cool

We don’t think we have the power but we have been fooled.

We don’t think we have the power but we have been fooled.

We have been fooled

We have been fooled

We have been fooled

We have been fooled.

Magma

We are volcanoes.

Tap into the place of love

And feel your anger erupt

In the form of passion

Our bodies are the earth

Our emotions, magma

But we’ve misplaced ejected

Desperation and anger,

Directing it at each other

Instead of harnessing it for solution.

A revolution is happening

Slowly, comfort zone exposed as

Elite’s imposing regime

And that our crystalline fixtures are temporary,

We can use them for substance, not substances

Erotic, narcotic headrushes

Are nothing

Compared to the clarity of creative adrenaline.

Anger, misplaced

Pleasure, misplaced

Longing, misplaced

Will power, misplaced

Our planet, disgraced

By the rat-race

Most are convinced as the only possible reality;

A totality of dog-eat-dog

Terror-based strategy –

Fucking travesty.

The pursuit to survive is killing us tragically.

If we can’t accept our vulnerability

We can’t accept our responsibility

And the only thing we can register

Is success in excess

Whilst bottling a throttling life-stess

Toppling our blessed worth

Futher into the earth’s chasm.

Eventually her, our repressed

Strife for peace will organism

Messy in our words, will adrenalise.

In anger, we’re heard

But analyse, read and verse

And we’ll direct it where it’s worth.

The world is our turf,

What? Why? When?

What the fuck are we doing leaching it?

Why do we choose to be a virus

When we can be the cure?

No more, no more

The revolution is here

No more, nore more

The revolution is here

Don’t store, don’t store

Your passion in fear

You’re more,  you’re more

Than what you see clear

No more, no more

The revolution is here

You’re for, you’re for

A collective tear.

Communities grow from pain

Art, oppression to piercing expression

And shapes the cultural values

Today, in our name.

It’s a natural progression

To law transgression

Before we become the ones who change them.

So fuck the monuments of slavery,

They’re no longer apt art

Unless we want them to be,

This is democracy.

As long as we are living through ourselves

As opposed to insecurity

We’ll stand in dialectic.

No matter how hectic,

We are here

And we are here together.

We are the earth

Our bodies, volcanoes

Tap into the place of love

And feel your anger erupt

In the form of passion.

Narcotic

I lean further than permitted isolation means

Only to feel the distance of your cheek.

Dawning pastel skies stream to silence

Before I let sorrow speak.

Beautiful narcotic melancholy,

Truth – bitter-sweet

Too, so fleeting

Before unconscious numb seeps

Into perspective once more.

Til then, I hope to weep,

Deep frays healing

With every step on naked feat.

 

Crescent in the Murk

I’m sexually confused,
Infused with the feeling
To my pain I’m revealing
A melancholic indulgence
With you.

The suffering’s appealing
Though insight tis so few.
I’m not new to the weight
Of your vulnerable excess,
A crescent traced behind
The trespassed fervour
Heavy on your shoulders
Like your words for this world.

A verve for spirited dispirit curdled
Deep in my stomach
Interwoven with the whirl
Of our childlike purity
When we were last involved.

My romance shan’t dissolve easily
For not who,
But for what I be around
Crescents like you.
A pensive naivety
In I, soaks through
The claustrophobic cotton wool pillows
Comforting blind certainty.

You turn in me
A beauty worth being,
A beauty worth fleeing
From her own tendencies,
Amending straightforward trails
To an off road confidence,
A ‘fuck you’ providence.

I hide letting pillows suffocate
The unaccepted affection for the curious,
Yet I know wisdom lies beneath
The rehearsed line of desire and hurt
Impressionable naivety succumbs.

I’m exhausted of regret
For your own wound’s attention
Closed, then undone with every conversation.
My sensitivity invades the dance of your misery
Until claustrophobic dormant is where I follow it
Once again.

Selfie-Destructive Tendencies

 

I’m pacing down Glasgow’s Sauchiehall street
And all I can think about is my previous shell
And how well she fits into this tale
Of individualism to dispel
The dismal future
With the temporary smell
Of 2 for 1 Jagerbombs and leather
Shoes, 80% reduced on sale.
Out of body, out of mind
Unkind to myself for unwinding
Through sane reactions to an insane world
But doing nothing to solve it
Laying stagnent in torment.
Shouting in the night,
My dad runs in, frightened
By what I am not
Cos I’ve forgotton
Where this robot begins
And where I stop.
We live in a system designed
To keep us fond
Of what we’ve not got
And that we’re the items
Of distracted thought.
You think you’re fighting the man
When you’re showing off your shell
Your false sense of self
Sorry to tell but your swelling
Narcissism is just self-loathing misspelt.

Imagine where we’ll be
when the energy
You lend to Buzzfeed
And changing your boyfriend
Ends and instead tended
To inspiring actions
Through your creative lense
They say, don’t pretend
That you’re worth more
Until you’ve exhausted
Every possible resource you have
On subjective material cachet
Your cash is shit
Don’t catch it like it’s the lost part of you
It’s untrue, you know this
As you eventually notice
Your misery
When the hangover hits,
That you’ve wasted your days
Blazed and distracted
From what your own worth is.
Genius lives inside all of us
Pay attention to it,
Let it erupt
Surround yourself with those
Who don’t corrupt you
Cos they’re distracted too.
Hijack Instagram
Or what you can
With a new
Arnarchistic mood
And forget defining yourself through
Your crude jokes and your taste
It’s waste, post-haste, debase.
Feed the fuse inside you
And use it wisely
Let it improve
And fuck selfies cos they ain’t you.

Lending self-discipline to an eating disorder,
And knowledge letting saturate in the mind of the horder
Is murder,
We let surface the appearance of order
When we’re screaming in narcissism’s delusive border

I’m bored with this narrative
We all deserve a clarity
My usual state I guantee
Ain’t the natural mentality
I ain’t alone in this I see
It’s seen as a normality
Forming clouds over sanity
Of knowing actuality

They say we only serve well as cancer cells
Part of a tumour on this spherical hell, swell
Well, I say that truth will prevail
Shed your selfie-driven chasm of material shell.

Yell…

I’m not a fucking commodity

I’m not a fucking commodity

My mind is not your property

Not a mother-fucking monetising commodity

Each one of our compulsive consumerist whims
Will nudge the door closed to the cage we’re living in
We haven’t sinned
Nor at a win
Forgive our thoughts
As they begin
At birth
On home turf
When surroundings have investment in our long lasting worth
A curse, but will worsen
If rehearsed as identity
Let ourselves be propensity
Despite our intensity
Serving Thatcher-istic wet dreams of a consensual slavery

We are useless commodites
Or that’s what we are told to be
Express ourselves through vanity
In expense of our humanity
This egocentric fantasy’s
A modern Christianity
Art seen as profanity
And reality, mundanity

They say we only serve well as cancer cells
Part of a tumour on this spherical hell, swell
Well, I say that truth will prevail
Shed your selfie-driven chasm of material shell.

Yell…

I’m not a fucking commodity

I’m not a fucking commodity

My mind is not your property

Not a mother-fucking monetising commodity

Our social ingenuity
Will cause for needed munity
Prepare for insecurity
And misdirected scrutiny
But we’ll strengthen in immunity
As we live as community
In a space for uncongruity
We’ll find solace in our unity

Transcend

A poem/rap/song about the oral-sex gap and how it highlights the need to transcend to a divine-feminine energy of nurture, compassion, intuition and imagination (something all genders have access to). I’ll be performing this on Thursday at Extra Second, the theme being sexuality.

Mend me, defend me 

Wear me, tear me 

If you must 

I trust my self-worth  

In us 

Or you, 

The robust, lack-lust  

Paying your field of vision 

To the thankless 

Picking up from born, or when born 

Women wank less 

Mixing up your crude definitions  

With a frankness, distress 

That I’m feeling guilt from the spilt 

Words that I confess 

But when I’m gyrate-insane 

Met with blankness, thankless 

Think my clits a nuke button that you can’t press? 

Fuck this. 

That I’m yours when the door’s 

Closed and I’m undressed 

Nah, I’m just a vessel in this wrestle 

For your fuck-mess, I guess. 

Lay down, as I drown 

In your excess life stress, repressed 

Then boom, as you ingress 

Huh…huuh…done, lifeless 

My ever pending turn as I yearn 

For your address 

I’m guessing from your face  

That it’s a rather nice process. 

Wait, just one second…fuck yes! 

Right there, success 

Oh you’re bored, well that’s progress 

I’ll caress, time-compressed, in darkness 

I know you find my self-pleasure hard, bless. 

My vagina’s complex, yes  

Does that not add to the fun of our sex? 

That I don’t blow my load one minute or less 

Over something as little as your fucking arm flex 

NO 

 
(Lifeless pursuit in the root of lust 

Looking for spirit it your pelvic-thrust 

Don’t respect my limits, I’ll learn to adjust 

For you’re the absent piece in my soul I trust) 

 

Now, I don’t wish to sound  

Like a compound of ungrounded, unfounded 

Hate, amongst the well-rounded  

Poems sexuality generates 

But mate, come on, let me slate 

The fact my turn is up for debate  

Whilst yours is seen as straight 

Contract in our contact  

‘But I’m not good, at that’,  

Communication’s hot

I’ll reinstate that at non-negotiable rate 

Until the gates of pleasure are opened.  

Your trait of cunnilingus hate, 

You can, like most, choose to transcend  

At any moment.  

For this shall propagate  

A revolutionary state  

Based on the compassionate weight, 

Inside us, and babe, 

Shall compensate for your total of eight  

Thrusts before your lifeforce dissipates. 

The divine-feminine future 

I advocate, is fate   

By that, I mean we’ll amputate  

Our hyper-masculine, Donald Trump-esque spate

That needlessly say, alienate  

Fixate on, dissociate from and dictate  

Females, gays, straight, minorities great 

Though this is learned and love innate  

This realisation’s fucking late 

But don’t wait to deflate  

Your ego, oh no 

Just take some time to penetrate.

rith-4_800

A twee shorty

Like most days, I binged today,
I love myself anyway.
And stayed so clear from wisdom’s way,
I love myself anyway.
This state of fear may never fray,
I love myself anyway.
And sorrow moulds me, such like clay,
I love myself anyway.
Led by thoughts by which astray,
I love myself anyway.
Succumbed to lust’s sultry display,
I love myself anyway.
And this to me’s beyond conveyed
I love myself anyway.
Much in constant disarray,
I love myself anyway.
And through this fact my hopes delay,
I love myself anyway.
And left too long they shall decay,
I love myself anyway.
My demons could be here to stay,
I love myself anyway.
This chance, myself I will betray,
I love myself anyway.
Though in tenderness, I’ll pray,
To love myself anyway.
In recurring air, to I, I’ll say,
To love myself anyway.
My inmost child I must repay,

To love myself anyway.
And to rancour, it shall outweigh,
To love myself anyway,
Will be of aid to I, to they,
To love ourselves anyway.
So humankind forgive today,
Lets love ourselves anyway.

Rejected, Lost Infants

Do you see the soul in me

Beyond all of the misery

Held between the both of us

Distracting from the vigorous

Fire, continuous

Beyond the fond

Cling to paper thin grins

Illusive shell, too well

Concealing us within

You, the soul

I, the soul

Precious little things.

Who marked the moment vulnerability halts

When our legs bolt

Upwards and exemptions moult.

Forgive the faults

Of the rejected, lost infants

Cleanse the salt

From the wound

Not let jolt

Us into attuned

Inhibitions, loomed

For which we bask in

Assumed lead to covert doom.

We hurt, weary, wary goons

Spoon fed our shame

As though we’re immune.

The healing continues

Our suffering undone

Whence returned to the ocean

Our waves lay upon.

We’ll dance beneath the moon and sun

For love for all begins with one