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Wednesday, 30 July 2008
Wednesday, 5 March 2008
What's True
What’s true – is this a dream – it is so real, was it real or just another vivid dream. I was looking for people, but could not find anyone. I wanted to chop their heads off, but the street was empty. No one around.
It was not quite dark, yet still some blue in the sky, but no stars. I could imagine a cat jumping over the moon but there was no moon or moonlight.
There was still no one to be seen, the crack on the pavement left signs of people gathering, smoking, just a pile of butt ends in the gutter. Space between empty buildings waiting to come alive between the hours of 9 to 5pm.
The rain making round by eddies as it washes down the drain, the sound of emptying sinks – 100 emptying all at once. Still no one to be seen. The axe I have is the type for cutting down trees, no trees to be seen.
I run up the road, it’s silent. The moon’s come out now, it is dark now. I run down the road. I can compare it to 4am on London Bridge in the morning. It reminds me of the stillness of early morning when nobody is to be seen.
Who’s head can I chop off, the only head is mine? I spin the axe this way and that but it’s impossible to chop my head with it.
Still no early morning noise, I throw the axe up in the air, there’s no clouds to pass, only the night sky.
The axe disappears, I lie down on the street face down, shaped like an X – head out, neck stretched out 20 feet like a giraffe.
I turn over, I can see no axe, hear no axe, only the stillness of early morning. I turn back, the axe has gone from view, disappeared into the night sky.
On all fours, face down I start to get up, seconds feel like hours as I rise – a thud from my top left shoulder, the axe hit and made it’s way to bottom right waist – a diagonal cut.
I stand up trying to look over my shoulder turning my neck but just not seeing what has happened.
My feet are frozen to the pavement, not moving I pull my belt up (it is not too bad, I can still use both hands), under my arm, up to my arm pit. The belt comes down but this time it goes round my shoulder pulling me together.
Still my legs won’t move, I feel a knife plunge deep into my back, cutting from shoulder to waist, making an X.
Fear inside me starts to bubble, but no sweat, I cannot move not even my neck will turn.
Thud, my head drops out of my back and hits the ground followed by hundreds of little heads covered in something. Eyes like dead fishes, bloodstained with bits of neck, shouting words I can’t hear.
Rolling heads with dead eyes, eyes that roll like toy dollies, all calling something I can not hear or understand. I’m on a treadmill going nowhere. Is this just a nightmare to be repeated?
At this point the camera pulls back and you see me in a padded cell with just a ant of a smile. Who next?
It was not quite dark, yet still some blue in the sky, but no stars. I could imagine a cat jumping over the moon but there was no moon or moonlight.
There was still no one to be seen, the crack on the pavement left signs of people gathering, smoking, just a pile of butt ends in the gutter. Space between empty buildings waiting to come alive between the hours of 9 to 5pm.
The rain making round by eddies as it washes down the drain, the sound of emptying sinks – 100 emptying all at once. Still no one to be seen. The axe I have is the type for cutting down trees, no trees to be seen.
I run up the road, it’s silent. The moon’s come out now, it is dark now. I run down the road. I can compare it to 4am on London Bridge in the morning. It reminds me of the stillness of early morning when nobody is to be seen.
Who’s head can I chop off, the only head is mine? I spin the axe this way and that but it’s impossible to chop my head with it.
Still no early morning noise, I throw the axe up in the air, there’s no clouds to pass, only the night sky.
The axe disappears, I lie down on the street face down, shaped like an X – head out, neck stretched out 20 feet like a giraffe.
I turn over, I can see no axe, hear no axe, only the stillness of early morning. I turn back, the axe has gone from view, disappeared into the night sky.
On all fours, face down I start to get up, seconds feel like hours as I rise – a thud from my top left shoulder, the axe hit and made it’s way to bottom right waist – a diagonal cut.
I stand up trying to look over my shoulder turning my neck but just not seeing what has happened.
My feet are frozen to the pavement, not moving I pull my belt up (it is not too bad, I can still use both hands), under my arm, up to my arm pit. The belt comes down but this time it goes round my shoulder pulling me together.
Still my legs won’t move, I feel a knife plunge deep into my back, cutting from shoulder to waist, making an X.
Fear inside me starts to bubble, but no sweat, I cannot move not even my neck will turn.
Thud, my head drops out of my back and hits the ground followed by hundreds of little heads covered in something. Eyes like dead fishes, bloodstained with bits of neck, shouting words I can’t hear.
Rolling heads with dead eyes, eyes that roll like toy dollies, all calling something I can not hear or understand. I’m on a treadmill going nowhere. Is this just a nightmare to be repeated?
At this point the camera pulls back and you see me in a padded cell with just a ant of a smile. Who next?
Tuesday, 4 December 2007
The END of the Lie
(Suicide the lie)
History teach many thing, like when depression come to call, it creep in round the back it never knock on the front door it know I am wear, so it Waite in silence
Just when your at your lowest point it start it war cry: no one love you , everybody hate you. Your no good. The Constance lies.
Suicide it like an old friend calling but that another lie, it know your down it pull no punches it want you .The big sleep is what it offer a resting place for all to see. Fool by the lie of despair
The family would miss you, that what said but I have no family and friend there all gone
Dysfunctional that what I am. I know it tell lie. I am a lone and no friend but still I know I need help now, the help come in the form of experience I know death is not the friend it pretend to be
Only death need no food, no rent, no heat, no company the silence of the grave call, give me peace
When it call the loudest that when you need to fight the hardest remember the thing you like the best. What would you miss I just think it time to go now there nothing I would miss. The lover I don’t love. It all a miss. Is there anything I would miss. I told people in this place, change your mind before it to late. I’ve never hear a dead man enjoy that last pint in fact the dead don’t talk drink eat or do anything but go off
There no joy in the eyes of the dead. No sound it a lie, it not an old friend coming to call.. It a thief in the night to steal your time. Make the best of it when it gone there no coming back
Make new friends. look where you can sever and be of use and the true will come, company ship and a new respea will come, new joy and challenges will make a difference your life will once again be meaning full don’t listen to the lie of suicide.
Jason J
History teach many thing, like when depression come to call, it creep in round the back it never knock on the front door it know I am wear, so it Waite in silence
Just when your at your lowest point it start it war cry: no one love you , everybody hate you. Your no good. The Constance lies.
Suicide it like an old friend calling but that another lie, it know your down it pull no punches it want you .The big sleep is what it offer a resting place for all to see. Fool by the lie of despair
The family would miss you, that what said but I have no family and friend there all gone
Dysfunctional that what I am. I know it tell lie. I am a lone and no friend but still I know I need help now, the help come in the form of experience I know death is not the friend it pretend to be
Only death need no food, no rent, no heat, no company the silence of the grave call, give me peace
When it call the loudest that when you need to fight the hardest remember the thing you like the best. What would you miss I just think it time to go now there nothing I would miss. The lover I don’t love. It all a miss. Is there anything I would miss. I told people in this place, change your mind before it to late. I’ve never hear a dead man enjoy that last pint in fact the dead don’t talk drink eat or do anything but go off
There no joy in the eyes of the dead. No sound it a lie, it not an old friend coming to call.. It a thief in the night to steal your time. Make the best of it when it gone there no coming back
Make new friends. look where you can sever and be of use and the true will come, company ship and a new respea will come, new joy and challenges will make a difference your life will once again be meaning full don’t listen to the lie of suicide.
Jason J
Tuesday, 20 November 2007
Savagery
Savagery
To celebrate Blake’s anniversary I’ve written this poem, titled Savafree means:
beyond savagery. to be perform 28 NOVEMBER 2007 AT TATE BRITAN:
EVANT TIME 13:00 -18:00
Slavery. What a word. It sounds to me like sla ver free- free slave irony. Who made this word sound such a party word. I can imagine someone shouting “come on, let’s get the game on”. I’d no idea what’s waiting for me.
A boat cram- packed to breaking. Space comes at a cost, over they go. Some time food for thought.
Chains rattle clink sound that send shiver all over Wooden shapes made a smooth furrow were once there were splinters that killed, no medicines no remorse only the smell of dying no screaming strange the sound of death is silence
Body parts festering maturing like a good bottle of wine but in this case ready to be removed and the rest of the body shredded for the pot giving new meaning to they look better than they tasted.
\
There no nicety about being conned
There no nicety of being owned,
There no nicety of being sold,
There no dignity, ONLY despair. Can you imagine there’s no light just like when you were kids your big brother put you in the dark, cover you with a blanket or pillow but you screams “let me go”; Fear with no ending continues fright. How terrible that must have been.
And here we are two hundred fifty years on- still trapped, sold out but still slaves. If you did but know what government got up to? Master or slaves to oil. Which one are you? Most say both but only one chose.
Jason
To celebrate Blake’s anniversary I’ve written this poem, titled Savafree means:
beyond savagery. to be perform 28 NOVEMBER 2007 AT TATE BRITAN:
EVANT TIME 13:00 -18:00
Slavery. What a word. It sounds to me like sla ver free- free slave irony. Who made this word sound such a party word. I can imagine someone shouting “come on, let’s get the game on”. I’d no idea what’s waiting for me.
A boat cram- packed to breaking. Space comes at a cost, over they go. Some time food for thought.
Chains rattle clink sound that send shiver all over Wooden shapes made a smooth furrow were once there were splinters that killed, no medicines no remorse only the smell of dying no screaming strange the sound of death is silence
Body parts festering maturing like a good bottle of wine but in this case ready to be removed and the rest of the body shredded for the pot giving new meaning to they look better than they tasted.
\
There no nicety about being conned
There no nicety of being owned,
There no nicety of being sold,
There no dignity, ONLY despair. Can you imagine there’s no light just like when you were kids your big brother put you in the dark, cover you with a blanket or pillow but you screams “let me go”; Fear with no ending continues fright. How terrible that must have been.
And here we are two hundred fifty years on- still trapped, sold out but still slaves. If you did but know what government got up to? Master or slaves to oil. Which one are you? Most say both but only one chose.
Jason
Siren maids
SIREN MAIDS
Just lately all I can think about is death. It seems like an old friend calling. it says come to me, reminds me of siren maids calling all is safe, then when you think it all safe you hit the rocks.
The beauty has two faces the one you trust like a mother hen and the other, that wreck lives.
Which one do I feel today, it does not matter for what ever you feel the out come is the same, mark the area well, stay clear. Be sure to be round friends, but I don't have any, my grip loosens.
The first bash leaves me vacant and into my mind comes delight of crispy duck a joyous taste but there’s no duck only the shredding of my body. Huge strip torn away but at the end of the strip it won’t let go and still no pain it’s like a elastic band pulling and stretching.
On rocks I watch the blood run down the cracks in the rocks, the blood flow like the tails light on a flowing motorway at night. Red remind me of Christmas but there only despair biff bash once again no dash just sorrows
That final call it has me like elastic it hangs on to another strip dashing and basing like tenderizing meat, but there’s no love.
I still hear the call just like kids playing. The call is come to me, come to me the saltwater does not miss any part of me and from inside out there no pains just despair we past pain at this point
How low do you have to go, when will it be over, once again the sirens call but this time I know the lie, strange as fast as I pull away I find myself back at rock bottom
The call get louder the lights flash the noisy rumble, all the time I’m calling, stay away that all I can think - shout loud, but it makes no difference.
The rock comes near, but I move to fast, the dream end but I am I still here.
There’s no rock, no sea, no siren maids only the fear of death. But death has the last word
Jason j
Just lately all I can think about is death. It seems like an old friend calling. it says come to me, reminds me of siren maids calling all is safe, then when you think it all safe you hit the rocks.
The beauty has two faces the one you trust like a mother hen and the other, that wreck lives.
Which one do I feel today, it does not matter for what ever you feel the out come is the same, mark the area well, stay clear. Be sure to be round friends, but I don't have any, my grip loosens.
The first bash leaves me vacant and into my mind comes delight of crispy duck a joyous taste but there’s no duck only the shredding of my body. Huge strip torn away but at the end of the strip it won’t let go and still no pain it’s like a elastic band pulling and stretching.
On rocks I watch the blood run down the cracks in the rocks, the blood flow like the tails light on a flowing motorway at night. Red remind me of Christmas but there only despair biff bash once again no dash just sorrows
That final call it has me like elastic it hangs on to another strip dashing and basing like tenderizing meat, but there’s no love.
I still hear the call just like kids playing. The call is come to me, come to me the saltwater does not miss any part of me and from inside out there no pains just despair we past pain at this point
How low do you have to go, when will it be over, once again the sirens call but this time I know the lie, strange as fast as I pull away I find myself back at rock bottom
The call get louder the lights flash the noisy rumble, all the time I’m calling, stay away that all I can think - shout loud, but it makes no difference.
The rock comes near, but I move to fast, the dream end but I am I still here.
There’s no rock, no sea, no siren maids only the fear of death. But death has the last word
Jason j
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