Nailed up for nothing

Lennon, Manson, Jesus…gods or elitists? It never used to be like this, it never can again, like a loner on a nowhere trip, just wishing he had friends, there’s no point, no justice, no success, no reason, you think you’ve found thee ultimate nirvana, then you reflect, regress, re-align your situation, beautiful things have been tainted with mankind’s sins, Jesus died for it once, who pays thee price now? Thee children ov thee revolution, thee nuclear generation, plastic kisses and cleaning dishes, nice-land, happy? Suburban bliss, boredom, frustration, bum trip city! What about me? Myself, what E am about? Am E supposed to cover it up with varnish and sell it in a sticky gleam backed world ov falseness and lies? E can’t relate to this, to that, to that world ov lies and fate, a world E hate. Togetherness-gone, awareness-gone, peace-gone, love-gone, life-gone, sold down thee river, another wasted generation, not me, no E don’t need your mother-fucking clean, white, stark reality hell world. E choose, was born to live in a sewer like a rat, but have yet to find my pack, thee hunger and savage ov an angry elitist! (1989)

Thee spyganic bible

In thee beginning there was mud, and Bryan said, “let there be cannabis” and there was, because Bryan was fucking great. And from thee cannabis came true thought, who bore a daughter called truly, trulee thoughtful, your trulee trulee thoughtful, and Bryan did shag trulee, while they were under thee influence ov cannabis, and during thee ritual they neither knew who was thee man and who was thee woman, or if they were in fact both one and thee same. And from this they bore thee children ov thee evolution, wise, stoned, tripping and bondage, who indeed bore children ov their own, namely, magick, bestiality, dreams and reality, and reality bore a mutant son named Satanism, who was a fine and upstanding young person, unlike his child who was a real cunt and was named Christianity. (Lost timezone)

Sombre alleys

All thee bakers are chemists, all thee chemists are bakers, that’s what happens when you’re addicted to bread, food is drugs and drugs is food and Jesus is a black postman, sniffing bread is sexual and sex is sniffing bread, and mansons loaf is quenching, thee toaster in my head, and a joint is toasted soldiers, and an army’s called a slice, so E have fallen for a baker, but bakers bread is nice. That’s what psychedelic bread is about man! With love thee psychedelic loaf. Sukit Supit, a musical Indian, you can sing it in all there songs, not many, cheap and tacky that’s thee cracky, paradots a place ov ox, that’s a please, rose on a shoulder, whip it out thee window, you cant say a place like that, again and again and again and a game? Insane? Smoke that….cunt! tunon, tuna, drop out, drop it, stopped, stop thee wind and thee wind stops jelly, take more wind, wind is drugs, drugs is bed head. He set light to thee flag and burnt thee American dream….anarchy….and E came! Revolution, E have got thee snotties and that’s for sure, fucking amazing man, sixty nine, bad sex androids, my cigarettes a reality, my dreams are caked with smear, padded cell, were in thee nowhere direction, a nullness dimension, going round, on a roll, a sausage roll is bread again, a Morrison gulp, thee big Jim baby, Walters drinky drink, drinky daughters junked, seven junk seven junk seven, chew it in your head man, black negro choir, Harlem cross, udo parfum. It had an L shape and Elvis is everywhere, she made me me mine, robin hood has Jesus, you lose it in thee canal, robbing Jesus’ blindness and Lennon had a scowl, Jesus’ blindness is LSD, less ov me, lysergics tea, its gotta be a city, four hours he’s known it, locked in vaginas, moorna schtudel, like some obscure Bavarian dialect, bavariarian, Aryan helter skelter race, class war, on thee wall, off thee lamppost, and in thee wall, oh no, thee picture, thee picture, thee red in thee Pepsi is sticking out…..spike Milligan used to say that. Elvis is thee black messiah xmas cause Elvis is everywhere, bun-detherapy, thee electric chair, Lydia lunch, bread Elvis is everywhere, driving milkshake, E feel Morrissey and forestry, E am amped, my arms gone to dead, god, thee pictures springing, thee ticking ov thee tock, oh god, thee tocco god, another room, why is thee other room Japanese? Ponies and onion and chips (a surrealist joke ha!) Romans didn’t have keyboards, now, wow, E have just got this fucking like thing, you haven’t seen thee bread bloody trail yet, E ain’t got anything, E just got this fucking like thing, December evenings, black nephews and thee negro messiah, lead ‘em out thee pit, where has it gone? Where has thee ghetto gone? plaid your licence, Archie and hutch and thee big blue plaw, surreal sir ov thee SS, where is our chicken? Writhing like an obscene chicken, a sexual fowl, E cant read it please come back, Nazi gerbils, that’s thee one, what ov chunkey, Nero but further, Burundi time, E am not an exhibit, Elvis is a fix, it feels like an echo, its not disabled, E have got a Disney artwork and E have not even seen it, springtime barbecue burning, all his daughters, 1812 on thee door, black gay Satanists on a backwards Elvis kick, (abducted by bread) early, why? White, there’s a razor blade in my pants, your bottoms on fire and you didn’t know what to do with your nuts last night, john lydon dine, Bavarian intro, Dudley Moore means good morning in Dutch, where is Dudley moor? Gloucester perhaps? (1989)

Kicks

A throbbing at my temple, like my brain is on fire, E never had thee courage to tell you, you’re a liar, and now you infect me, mutating my thoughts, there’s no solution to thee problem, our instincts at fault, but isn’t it funny how it all turns out, now we both live in a world ruled by doubt, has it gotten any easier to understand man? Or are we just after all thee kicks we can, while we can still, get our kicks, while we can still, get our kicks, while we can still, get our kicks, E can’t yet see a time, that E will give up on this, but E will, and as thee days draw close, and thee night gets thin, and contact is inevitable, like chaos can bring, thee differences between us, just individuality, and grows shorter thee day that we both can see, because E will never forget thee way we faced thee war, E wont forget thee way that our minds opened their doors, E wont forget thee sharing, what we were dreaming to do, E will never forget what E have learned, so how about you? While we can still, get our kicks, while we can still, get our kicks, while we can still, get our kicks, E can’t yet see a time E will give up on this, but E will, if you will. (1991)