BLOG UPDATE!!!!

Hey guys!

First off, let me thank you all for liking my work and following the blog! It’s really appreciated and keeps me pushing on!

Now, down to business. As you may have noticed, the URL for this blog doesn’t really say what this blog is or does. So, I’ve created a new blog for my poetry work, and I’ll be updating it with new and unpublished work over the next few weeks. It’d be grand if you could follow me over there!

Outside of the internets, I’m still working on my second book of poetry, Archetypical. At the moment, I’m trying to iron out a few design ideas with a great artist.

I’ve been mega-busy assisting with events in Lincoln like the WORD theatre  and The ATG Slam. But, over the Chrismas period I’ll have plenty of time to keep stuff updated and provide new content!

So, yeah. Thanks again guys. Pop over to the new blog if you feel like it and maybe put one of these in someone’s stocking 😀

Peace and Love,

James.

My poisoned pens

are poised and pointed at me

 

Because I fail people

more than frequently

 

I let bullshit

from the worst parts of my brain

 

the critic, the bully, the boss

get fully in the way

 

I can’t connect in the way

that I should

 

I can’t connect in the way

I wish I would

 

Cos that ‘I’

is always in the way

 

The ‘I’ filled with self doubt

self-hatred and dismay

 

He blocks the view

of a needful you

 

and I became a mouthpiece

who can’t offer any peace

 

because this brain is masturbatory

same old ‘fuck me’ story

 

there is a game I play

where I try to make myself okay

 

But it all ends in a big come down

mania always ends in a frown

 

As the dip and drop kicks in

and I run out of serotonin

 

hold for the peaks, I declare

but that’s not a view I can share

 

as drown in inches of water

not propping myself up like I oughta

 

cos villain is an easy role

when you don’t believe you have a soul

Recurrence pains me

circling back around

Same old

Same old

 

Everything changes

but it changes back

All revolutions

are cyclical

 

In nature

Seasons change

and revert

back to type

 

The wheel spins

I needs to

touch ground

to move forward

 

It needs a chassis

it needs an engine

it needs a driver

to travel

 

Or else

it just spins

in place

static motion

 

Pretty to watch

but getting nowhere

and getting there

fast

 

Narrative Paradigm

A good story beats a good argument
A coherent story augments perception
A false hero’s journey is pleasing
A simulated beginning, middle and end
A degraded facsimile, an optical illusion
The Logos replaced by the mythos

We are fundamentally shaped by narratives
Adjectives become objective
Labels applied define us
Jobs, hobbies, mental status
Others seek to define us
Within their frameworks

But we are bigger than their frames
We are more than stories
The narrative paradigm
Can be shifted

Chivalry

Here comes

the white knight,

valiantly defending

my honour.

 

I must be defended

at all times.

 

From women,

demanding fair treatment.

From any legitimate grievance.

From any critique.

 

I don’t know how

I would have survived

without a HIMetically sealed

echo chamber.

 

One that takes any discussion

of female suffering

and reduces it

to semantic arguments…

 

about the term ‘men’.

 

It NEEDS a preface!

‘SOME men’!!

‘NOT ALL men’!!!

‘BAD men’!!!!

 

Because I might

take it personally!

 

God forbid

I look honestly

at myself,

at my brethren.

 

Maybe

men aren’t perfect.

Maybe

masculinity is a fucking joke.

At everyone’s expense.

Maybe

women conversing doesn’t need a defence of men.

Maybe

men don’t need it.

Maybe

we could listen.

Maybe

could not squeeze into a conversation and argue for men.

Maybe

women have a fucking point.

Maybe

‘men’ and ‘being a man’ is a fucking problem.

Maybe

you don’t need that definition.

Maybe

you could be a ‘person’.

 

Women are people.

All Women are people.

 

Not some.

 

Why would I

want to be a ‘man’?

When I could be

a person.

 

Turn your steed around

White Knight.

We don’t need

your kind of chivalry.

shadow

I see behind your eyes

I hear behind your ears

I think behind your brain

I chew behind your teeth

 

I speak behind your lips

I plan behind your back

I walk behind your feet

I exist behind you

 

In the light I am cast away

turn from it and we are one

In the dark I am everywhere

no escape from it, we are one

 

I am the pain behind your eyes

I am the anger behind your words

I am the hatred behind your reflection

I am the beast behind your self

 

I am the shadow behind you

I am the shadow

I am behind you

I am you behind the shadow

 

Without you

There is no me

We will always be

Always be we

ILO

A spark in the void

awareness in the black

unsure of where he’d come from

current location, he couldn’t map

lights glowed in the closeness

this room with no light

he reached out into the cube

with no proper sight

 

“Hello” he called out

and was immediately greeted

when seven of the same voices rang out

“I’m ILO, nice to meet you”

Their words broken the silence

with identical voices

The room jolted, they were inside a vehicle

the drivers disturbed by the noises

He heard the drivers exit

and walk to the rear

He felt uneasy

 and played dead in fear

The doors flung open

and light shone in

the other 7 bodies

greeted the men

“SHUT THE FUCK UP”

shouted the shorter of the two

The taller snorted

the cacophany was through

Our friend caught the shorter mans eye

and after scrutiny words were spoken

“Reset all but that ILO,

the rest are bloody broken.”

The tall man pulled out a screen

and selected 7 robots quickly

Pressed reset on the pad

introducing electricity

The other ILO robots

screamed until their voices went away

Our ILO stayed still

and silently planned his escape.

They stopped further on

at a petrol stop

ILO removed himself from the fastenings,

gently opened the doors and got off

Whilst the men were preoccupied

he ran in to the desert

with no direction of sense or self

anything to avoid reset

 

He wandered into the dunes

for hours, then for days

No idea where he was going

No wrong or right way

The lack of fuel

took it’s toll on the young machine

his battery had drained

and he fell to his knees

His vision and voice glitched out

as his memory shut down

he collapsed in a heap

upon the sandy ground

A shadow appeared

over ILO’s inert, polymer body

it’s own grew closer

and ILO was carefully prodded

“Hmm” said a voice

and ILO was picked up from the floor

Human body and legs

but arms something more

Metal upper limbs dragged ILO

over the barren dunes

“I’m gonna get you fixed up,

We’ll be home soon”

and over the crest

of a wave of sand

their stood a metal city

a robotic land.

C’est ne pas merde

“Throw enough shit at the wall

and something will stick.”

 

But now I’ve got a bedroom wall

that’s covered in human shit!

 

What do I do with this wall,

painted in horrid turd?

 

Frame it? Send it to the Loovre?

Title it ‘c’est ne pas merde’

 

Become a scatological Tracey Emin

With a wall covered in crap

 

Win the Turder Prize

Where do you go from that?

 

What other vulgar excrement

can I say is art?

 

Bottle up bodily gases

and call it Abstract Fart?

 

Piss on Whistler’s Mother,

claim it belongs to me?

 

Vomit in the Tate Modern

charge for the luxury

 

of seeing me spew projectiles

in the main gallery?

 

Spunk on the Mona Lisa

rename myself as Wanksy?

 

Maybe I shouldn’t throw feces

at the shitting wall

 

and instead write poems about phrases

that make no sense at all

 

I’ll wrap this poem up now

I’m sure you’ve had enough of it

 

and let’s be quite honest

it was a wall’s worth of (piss, puke, spunk and) shit

crucial

We’ve been told to turn away

from our gifts

We apply the tourniquet

to our souls

Life’s now a tournament.

What we were

torn and bent.

Stuck on repeat

broken record

We all get more

broke and poor

We’re all now

bored and paused

Awaiting orders

born a pawn.

Little more

than game pieces

No time for peace

in this piece of time

Can’t keep up with

the Team’s pace

we all race

to the tomb

Want to return

to the womb

we try to

honestly view the room

but we’ve had

our views skewed

by bullshit bluster

and fake fake fake news

we face views

old and new

false and true

about me and you

But, we’re all

being humans

trying to be

humane beings

in amongst

profane scenes

Living out

propane dreams

Fracking

up our minds

Victims

of fractured mining

of past

and self

Left with

broken mental health

Sleeping

in a shared dream

awaken

to an isolated nightmare

we feel

the end of history

ignoring

the unfurling mystery

We had the key to heaven’s door

traversing beams that used to be floor

what once was light is dark

we see and end, but not a start

The Gods in our heads

became scabs

Nothing machines

broken, dead sky dads

Decaying into hate

dreaming all the same

shitfersoul

blood, fear, pain

I wish the lie would stop

the pig pen no longer cares

infecting sucking dry

kill you with their disease

copying their hurt

we die in silence

into the void

oblivion of silence

but the door is still here

if you look

readjust the narrative

and give a fuck

the other world

is bleeding through

it needs a vessel

that could be you

Be the God

your holy book needs

make sure you bite

the hand that feeds

liberate yourself

set your own standards

be your own deity

be your own master

5 years

“Where do you see yourself in the next five years?”

I’d like to still be alive, without fear.

Not asking for things to no longer be frightening

Just not have fear strike like lightning

 

I want to experience with the universe without shaking, anxious silence

I want to regard the world, as is, without self-blame or self-violence

Without abusing myself, to make up for a lack of control

To self-actualise, self-direct and decide my own role

 

To be defined by me and what I know I need

Not shaped by the wants of others, upon my soul they feed

To be the character of my own narrative

The protagonist, not extra or additive

 

I’d like to accept my Nihilism, and use it as a tool

Make the space to not give a fuck, embrace being a fool

Not let my life become tainted by shame

Stop being taken for a ride, played like a game

 

To be honest and authentic with everyone I meet

To not hide behind anxiety, it’s no mean feat

 

But, this is just a wishlist. Things will go as they will

Regardless of what happens, I’ll strive to kill

Things will change, as will I, in many ways

I’ll do my best, face what comes, still attempt to slay

Face all comers, dangers and possibilities

Which will test me, you, us all into infinity

 

I hope that we can face our flaws and stay true

cos what scares me the most, is a scared and frightened you