i.dream.of.genie

i dream of murder
hatred burning red and black
bodies too
face twisting in recognition
that its end has come
at my hand
at my beck and call
i command
the air around them to super-heat
it does so in white hot brilliance
beautifully watercoloured
fabric skin melts
has no choice but to ignite
and they are freed
a plume of ash drifts sweetly on the breeze
brings a tang to the air
and to my tongue
as i pick them off
one by one
with a wave of my hand
the merest gesture on my behalf
sees them mowed down inexorably
the force
impacts
implodes
disintegrates
a machine of my implacable loathing
a weapon honed by the sharpening of years
sparkling
gorgeous
an alter an icon a palace a deity
a dark and corrupt blackened smoke pours
from my vessel
as i dream
dream
of "genie"

fuckingoddamawfulmindnumbingtrash

yes you
jesusgoddamnfuckingchrist i wish i could obliterate you
the power of my brilliantlyhonedtrainedsharpenedandeducated mind makes you
d i s a p p e a r

selling hopelovesafety to the poortrash
numbed and dumbed by virtue
of being the only ones stillgluedtotheirset at this hour
forced fed pre-digested chunks of generalcuntinginterest gossiptidbitsandbeautyadvice
and
of course
the latest
greatest
abkingsecretproativeformulalifeinsurancetupperwareknfiesetvacuumstainremover
pill of shit

and you buy it
you actually buy the scripted drivel condescendingly spewed on you
like warm urine from a great height
you lap it up
format so distilled it goes beyond cliche into some dimensional vortex
the image of reality so false it attains a hyper- prefix
the crap so crap it gleams
in its own disgusting mirror hall version of itself
iterations curving away into infinity
and just disappearing round the corner
or maybe your eyes have give up in total shame and revulsion
at what they're forced to consume
so they mercifully take back control before they have to commit some bizarre ocular hari kiri

but you y o u
still sit there
contemplate calling that 1800 because you've only got another 15 minutes
or you'll
miss
out
forever
on
that
fantastic
o n c e i n a l i f e t i m e d e a l
(you can imagine stars or lightbulbs in those spaces can't you)

...
tell you what

don't

just
don't

please.

i have to do this now before i falter

it must be now
before thought
slide a knife next to the knuckle
joining the beginning of thought and the thing itself
and drive the point home

of course you'll bleed
consider it a healthy release
whats a little blood-letting between
friends

now keep going
ride the wave of action
the froth of decision
momentum of the inevitable
don't stop the music your movements are making
bones through space send shockwaves
soundwaves
pulses of pointed intent
coerce reality
cut your losses
and ride

wild blue

yonder it lies
nestled deep in the darkening horizon
that ultra-blue
thick and fabric
textile

at night it embraces
welcomes any light
makes those that are dull
weary
stale
into clean fresh shimmering
gloss
gossamer strung gems
fabulous photons

who are poor and tattered
while that bloody orb blazes
bathing all in blanket like sheen
drab and dreary glare
"o garish sun"
quite rightly so
for it permits no contest
no matter it would win
any glow not its own is disallowed

but as that heavy down of dusk descends
he has no choices
she cannot but fall, falter, flail
(in truth it is we who change of course)
and ah
as it happens
little lights creep
peep out prettily
to take their places

and thus the vast overhang
canopy of cloth
is embroider-ed
beaded o'er

and sheathes itself
in stars

bea(r)ded

she walked into the room like she was stealing a kiss
or rather, that's how she wanted to entrance
beaded and skillful
gliding and dangerous like an animated stole
scrabbling its little claws on the beautiful white necks of competing beauty
leaving lovely little red welts

and sweet dewy droplets glistened on black velvet
quite at home next to onyx and ruby
stone a blood a somewhat primal coupling

but that's what all this was about, right
predators engaging scent and camoflauge
artifice deciet
the game of quarry
leather and dogs and riding crops and beheaded things lining the room
lining the gullet
circling the conciousness
the bray of a mare
the bark of hound
and beads
beads
beads of sweat
pearls like champagne bubbles
shining tinkling acrid on the tongue
kicking the stomach to readyness
whetting the appetite
whetting the stone
digestive juices sharp in the roof of the mouth
possibly even bile
sick with pleasure
drunk and hyped and ready and waiting and aching to jump

and they're off

broken.head

my head is splitting
is what they say
but can it
does it
will a swollen brain
drunk with toxins
force its way through the cracks

finally getting its chance to leave your shell behind
this thing its been forced to lug around
every minute of every day it has to analyse process record delegate
all the minute operations of an unthinking husk
a demanding child
thoughtless and self-obsessed
totally dependant on impulses from the big grey

well no more
its this organ's time to shine
i mean
just imagine
if i didn't spend my life concerned with you
all that attention
and all that care
could be focused on me
just think of the possibilities

but you can't can you
you can't think
you need me to do that for you too
stupid stupid flesh
ignorant
vacant
baby

baby goodbye
remember me
as i'm floating away
a rubbery grey balloon
kissing its thoughts to the sky

bully's-no-good-cold

still waiting
for that panacea
for my fix
a coded signal that tells my cells to smarten up

till then i'm broken
rendered almost unplayable
i mean, you can try
but there'll always be that nagging doubt
the possibility that at any moment
i'll crash
and you'll lose any progress
turn me off in disgust

and each time
it gets harder and harder to try again
you're more reluctant to turn me on
distrust lurks just at the edges
you'll pretend its not there
but we both know i'm not fooling anyone

i'm broken
frozen
i've ruined your game
spoiled your fun

and a bully's no good cold

height is the measure of a man

i want to be taller
though
i already am
people stare in the street, they look and try not to
see and then not-see, glaze over, glance past
like i was morbidly obese
or fully gothic

and i pretend i didn't notice
and look down
i look down a lot

but i want to be taller
i want to wear heels all the time
not just on the special occasions when i allow myself
like a treat
an expensive wine
a luxurious frill
a decadent mistake

i tell myself
if i were taller
i would match their gaze
claim their attention
acknowledge
allow them to view me

if i were taller
i would be seen
would not be afraid to appear
somehow 6 inches makes me: more real, more there, more of everything i want and profoundly
less of what i'm not

literally
above it all
standing out from the crowd
"no, i do not play basketball" ("yes, i get asked that a lot")
oh i know its a curse, my cross to bear, poor me, etc.
i will embrace cliche
trite, pat, ordinary

but i'll still be taller...