Nice to see you.

I'm not one of these conservative writers who learnt their trade at university.
Most of my work is gritty and raw and comes from experience.
I could tell you some stories! Then again, it's better if you check out the work.

My best work is yet to be published. Holding out for the traditional path. Foolish?

2014 Pushcart Prize nominee. (more)


A Melange a Moi *

You know that point you reach
Where plenty matters still
Maybe too much
But if they asked you
To kill yourself
You might just do it

There’s an attraction there
A push/pull philosophy
That’s hard to unravel
If only it wasn’t so ‘cemented’
In the finite.

Those who decry ‘big picture’
Insisting on personal responsibility
And what about them
Have no conceptual grasp
Of where you’re at
Which is why you’re here in the first place        
And they so removed
So far from this…
And that’s their unconscious
And unappreciated blessing.

Which leads us to
Tonight’s roll call.

And the number is…

(A mixture or medley of one, Me)

 I wrote this months ago (early '16) but now that it's up , reminds me a little of a short video poem I made five years ago.

All very cheerful. Admittedly, not in a good state of mind at the time.

More reading, Men and suicide. 

More positive material coming soon. Promise. 

Famous After Death - B.S. Johnson

B.S. Johnson, writer, poet and teacher decided in 1973 at the age of forty to slip into a warm bath at the family home while his wife and two children were away, and slit his wrists.

Why did he do it? He had six novels published in the early sixties to early seventies; two collections of poetry and had directed a bunch of short films for the BBC.

Unlike most British writers before or since, Brian was born into a working class family. It’s always made a difference and he certainly felt it. Yet he was smart. He could match wits with any of those stuffy, secular bores. In fact, he could surpass them. His work would not be mainstream or even left of field. His work would be ground-breaking. He would be lauded as a pioneer. He believed a writer should have lived the life that is being written about (unlike many who believe a little second hand research is enough. Times haven’t changed). For his novel, Trawl, Brian joined a fishing expedition on a small boat to the icy Scandinavian waters for three weeks. He paid a price for authenticity. He was horribly sea sick for the entire voyage. The fact that he persevered demonstrates his commitment to his art.

His novel The Unfortunates was based on his dear friend Tony who died of cancer before the age of 30. The death troubled him. His vibrant equal, reduced to a pasty 'pastiche' of a human being. Brian was devastated. 

The novel was presented in a box with the pages in sections, with the notion that it could be read in any order. Thirty years later, others thought they were being original with similar approaches.

Yet he struggled to find an audience. Early reviews were good, but sales low. He thought the public stupid (a thought reiterated by many creative talents for centuries) and the literary circles conservative and elitist. He could not find a foot into any other territories, a fact which caused many arguments with agents and publishers, often ‘firing’ them or creating conflict to vent. He did have a temper, (it often seems born out of frustration) and he could be harsh. 

He found one appreciative soul in Hungary. His talents were recognised and he was invited to Budapest to meet other writers and intellectuals. He went, more than once, and even spent an afternoon discussing film and literature with students, one of the highlights of his professional life. Before he turned to full time writing, he was a teacher and in fact spent a year in Wales later in life in University residence, teaching only a couple of classes a day so that he could write, with agreement from the university, demonstrating their recognition of his ability. His wife Virginia went with him too. He enjoyed his time there, yet it was quite isolating. He loved the outdoors, but it was not enough. He did not wish to hide forever. He wanted the recognition he felt he deserved. The family returned to London. In many ways, nothing was ever the same again.

Brian forever felt like the outsider and never received the recognition he felt he deserved. As he became older, he would pick fights with those in the literary world, often people who were influential, showing no shame or fear. He struggled with it all, though he loved his wife and two children, (it took him years to get over an early relationship). Brian was overly sensitive, which the best ones are, as its their sensitivity to people and life that provides those unique insights. He loved Virginia but believed (perhaps rightly so?) that she had fallen out of love with him. 

Certainly sensitivity comes at a cost, in an almost Faustian way. Their soul is sold to the Devil at birth, it seems, without their consent. There’s an inbuilt compulsion which drives them. It’s not a choice. However they do want to be accepted. And in a world driven by sales (majority rules), that’s never going to happen to true originals like Brian Johnson. Like many with artistic abilities, their gifts are not recognised, (aside from a scant few) until years, sometimes decades later.

Brian knew that his time as a filmmaker and writer was limited, certainly in the style within which he worked. To change is to sell out. To sell out is to be open for success, yet personally it means failure. Some do sell out. Some are able to balance the mainstream and the art. Actors and filmmakers in particularly, (study their filmography and you’ll detect their dance) yet its much harder with artists and novelists. And Brian was no sellout. 

It must be noted that alcohol contributed to his growing bitterness and to his ultimate decision. A coping mechanism for many, alcohol (and drugs) takes more than it gives. A double edged sword is at least fair.

A still from his last film for the BBC Fat Man on a Beach released after his death in 1974

There’s a wonderful, in-depth biography written about him by Jonathan Coe in 2003 called Like a Fiery Elephant, the title coming from a line of one of his poems.

To be in the world is hard enough.

To have talent in the world, the same that comprehends the truth of human beings and of art and not to be recognised accordingly can be insulting to the point where it becomes a soul eating disease. For some, only self-punishment relieves the pain. Yet do not assume suicide is all about misery. It’s also a highly emotional form of protest… and revenge.

Again, sadly the actions and words are wasted on ‘them'. It's only understood, years too late.

RIP Mr Johnson

(Part of) Why Trump Won

I'm not one for commenting on political matters. I have my own views and they're not going to change and you have yours and any debate just turns into pointless arguments and ruins friendships. (Part of the reason I deleted Facebook, a story for another time.)

I wrote this poem a few months ago and wasn't going to publish it but given the outcome of the election, what the hell... I'll follow it up with how it relates to Trump. 

The Foot Soldiers of Political Change


Change is in the Wind, like a stale fart

They took something bad
And made it right
And then repeated the same mistake
Never knowing when to stop
Without observing the flapping faux pas
On their nose
Like a discarded embryo sac
Made buoyant by the hot winds
Of time
Once again solidifying
The corpses of errors
Piled endlessly down throughout history
Reborn and Redressed
For the new school of thought.

Nothing like running that injustice
Into the putrid layers
Of hypocrisy
Tomorrow’s fossil fuel
Still fermenting
Yet if you put your lips to the populous Holy Wall
The stench is obvious
As the silver lining sphincters
From whence superiority flows.


For the record, I'm left wing. I'm pro gay marriage, equal rights for women, pro immigration (with conditions) and I've attended all sort of protests over the years. At the end of the day, I'm a humanist. I care about people. All people. All victims. Not just a particular, trendy cross-section (that just so happens to suit those people heralding those same particular causes.)

Essentially the Far Left has hijacked the populous media to the point where if you are not a feminist, you are sexist (just to make the point). Any sort of discussion on a range of topics, will see you branded as racist, sexist or homophobic. It's black and white thinking. It's hate filled, condescending and judgmental. All it does is eliminates attempts at reasonable debate and creates segregation. 

The irony being that this attitude is extremely intolerant. People are filled with hypocrisy (including me) and they just can't see it. For example, its perfectly acceptable to criticise straight, white males but no one else. That in itself, is sexist and racist. Pathetic really.

Not a great example but many rap lyrics are filled with comments re bitches and ho's. I listen to independent radio, I hear them all the time. This, just this week; 'I threw that bitch from the cliff.' Where's the outrage? Where's the protest? It does not come because no one wants the 'racist' branding. Yet with many legitimate (and idiotic) things to say have been silenced. No one wants to hear them. The working class too, have always felt abandoned, none more so than recent times.

Essentially, the Far Left has allowed the Right to enter and prosper. It's happened here in Australia too. One Nation has risen again after twenty years, far larger than it ever was. The Left are to blame for this. Hilary Clinton's campaign seemed to focus a lot on women's rights. That's great, but policy has to extend beyond one aspect of society. Politicians should represent all the people, and that's what Trump promised. Clinton may have had other policies, I'm not certain, as 80% of the media coverage (in Australia at least) was on Trump. And they're the same ones asking how did this happen. Trump played the media like the fools they are. They have been doling out politically correct haughtiness for years too, while ignoring other important issues. The truth should prevail, not popularity.

See my recent article on suicide, Not enough attention to Men

Post election, we've seen a lot of protests, rage and intolerance. From the people against intolerance. It reminds me of Victorian times, with their stuffy superiority attitudes. (If you want to fit in, do as we do and say. Okaaaayyyy!!)

Look, I'm still Left Wing. I supported Political Correctness (when it was necessary) but not what it's become. I don't support Trump but common sense went out the window years ago. In fact, he could not have won this election a few years ago. 
The Left did this to themselves.

More Poetry

More Satire

Look into my eyes!

For the past two years, I've been working in Recreation at an aged care facility. I've had many experiences I could write about, enough to fill a book (one day?) and a lot of insight into human behaviour that I had not witnessed in such detail before.

To keep it simple for this situation, the body can fail, but that spark can remain. 

Dusty albums

Skin like cake dust
Taut, flawed
Lustre long dimmed
Shrivelled cocoons
Of lives once lived
Gnarled fingers
Fleshless limbs
Decay dominating
The human art
Faded into the dusk
The only remaining constituent
The colour of the past
Written in glass
Gleaming to the last
Taking stock
One final time

The eyes still have it.

More Poetry

Not enough attention to Men

The Hidden Epidemic

It's Mental Health Week and yet there's not a lot of media coverage, particularly in the mainstream. (ABC2 has had some good programming). There's a hidden epidemic, that of suicide, particularly amongst males. Despite much more awareness today, with help at hand, people and the media in particular, barely use the word at all. When I was working in News, it was policy not to report suicide stories. Is this right? Should we be sweeping it under the carpet?

There are approximately 2000 men who commit suicide in Australia every year (2,292 in 2015). With a population as small as ours, its a shocking figure. It's bad for women too, approximately 700. (Overall in 2015 - 8.3 suicides per day). There is a lot of public awareness now regarding the rights of women, domestic violence, breast cancer etc. This is a great thing, yet there's very little said about men at all. Prostrate cancer kills more men than breast cancer does women. Yet there's limited media coverage about it. One in three women suffer domestic violence in their relationships. A terrible statistic and its great to see commercials targeting this issue, and politicians talking about it. Yet, one in every second man is a victim of male instigated violence. One in three is also a victim of domestic violence. There is nothing said about it. (Excluding school yard scraps, I've been assaulted twice as an adult for next to no reason, one put me in hospital for a week).

I feel sorry for young men today. They don't know what they're supposed to be. They certainly know what they're not supposed to be, but there's nothing that says, it's okay to be a man, to be masculine, to express your feelings etc. There's so much man bashing going on in the populous media and social media that even men are joining in simply to be accepted. It's political correctness with half a face.
It's not okay to hate on any race, religion, women, gay, lesbian etc, though its perfectly acceptable to bag males, particularly Caucasian ones. I don't disagree with any campaigns regarding anyone's rights but let's play fair and include everyone. Let's look after all victims of violence. Let's address all sufferers of cancer and disease. Let's not let young boys grow up feeling excluded from society. It's said that 75% of callers to LifeLine are women, yet its the men who are killing themselves. This strongly suggests that men are not reaching out, not talking about their problems, because men are supposed to 'cop it on the chin' and 'get over it.'

"... few preventive efforts or policies specifically targeting male suicide have been developed or evaluated, which further contri­butes to its lack of visibility as a major public health problem."     This is a very good article from a medical journal. Sadly it's five years old, which means nothing has changed.

I'll say it again. Depression and anxiety does not discriminate. Yet men are often demonised for simply being men. They're caught between a rock and a hard place, having to take on gender guilt for the sake of a few bad apples. A lot of change needs to happen in our society. We need to stop referring to the races and sexes and peoples sexual choices as individual areas of concern, and start thinking about the well being of human beings in their entirety, from children to the elderly. This casual discrimination and ignorance must end.


In closing, I wanted to mention that the artistic world lost a great talent on Sunday the 9th of October, ironically during Mental Health Week, the death of 26 year old Fergus Miller from Melbourne. He had depression. He committed suicide. He was the creator of the band Bored Nothing, among other things. What a tragedy.

This is an excerpt from the Triple J website:

On the eve of 2013, Bored Nothing scored a Next Crop acknowledgementfrom triple j and in August 2014, released a second album, Some Songs, (the first in 2012), which we featured for AusMusicMonth that year. 

Richard Kingsmill spoke to Fergus at the time, after he'd finished touring Europe, playing 26 shows in six weeks, discussing his influences and songwriting process.

"When I started writing music I was writing it was a lot more with rhythm than with melody and it took me quite a few years to get over that. I think once I really grew an appreciation for that kind of stuff I went back to my roots and listened to a lot of The Beatles, Velvet Underground & Nico, stuff like that." 

During his career, Fergus toured with internationals like Best Coast, Beach House and JEFF The Brotherhood as well as many locals that he struck up close friendships with, including John Steel Singers, Bleeding Knees Cluband Step-Panther.

RIP Young Man.   13 11 14

One of my best friends committed suicide when he was only 21. 
I'm sure you know someone who has committed suicide too. 
Let's start talking. And let's start caring. 

I don’t want

Want or do not

I don’t want anyone to see
I don’t want anyone to hear
Sometimes I don’t want anyone
Sometimes I need so profoundly
It pains me to admit.

I feel somehow swindled
Without observing all the steps
Of the deception

The embarrassment is mine to own
One of several possessions
I’d rather wished they’d taken.

...and um, yeah, maybe i looked like that at 23, so no... not me...

My Haunting

My ambiguity is my soul mate. My unclasped handshake wrapped around a free for all, anything goes cacophony of feeling in chaos, ordered in its randomness. It is unbridled and undisciplined. It is never quiet. It never leaves me. At least it’s consistent.

It writhes out of its translucent malleable shell in quieter moments, as if to prevent the peace I seek. It slithers a trail of oily tears in a complex pattern that fascinates and annoys. I should be doing more. I should be doing less. This is not what I ordered. I’m in the wrong place.

It bursts from its shell in an explosive panic ridden rage in times of stress. It bites me from behind my eyes. It yearns for me to direct its frustration at those who frustrate me (or is it simply exploiting me?) It is both powerful and pathetic, as no matter how I (it) yearns for violent escape, it suffers and seethes incommunicado.

I continue to conjure solutions, yet as I age, and my familiarity with this nameless foe intensifies, I sense the futility of combatance. It is more than detection. I’ve long grown accustomed to battle fatigue. Perhaps the peak has been crossed and it’s too shrouded in mist (or dusk) to see the down slope. Is this the way of things? How it goes for me? And for all the other me’s before? A laying down of arms. A handing over. A joining of forces. This is the union. For better. For worse. Good night. 

"You need chaos in your soul to give birth to a dancing star." 
~ Friedrich Nietzsche

Clouds of Tomorrow

Something a little different this week. And different than most of the Video Poems I make.
I wouldn't call it a video poem. Simply footage of clouds and nature as filmed by myself edited to obscure indie music.

The original version of this was 15 minutes. This is much more palatable. Hope you find it calming.

I made this around 2013 so alas I cannot remember the tracks or artists.
However I'm certain most of them came from this site:

I paid for the songs, I know that.
If you work it out, please let me know and I'll credit the artists.

An IN-sane New Game from the makers of Pokeman Go! Crazy!!!

Pokeman Go 2!

PokeYourMum Bro!

Follow your mum around and when she's not expecting it, Poke her!

Never too young to play!   Kid's got style!

The More Pokes the More Points!

Bonus Points if you avoid a whack across the head or
be pelted by her flying shoe.

Super Bonus if You Poke her in her sleep
or in the Shower!

Rheeek!! Rheeek!! Rheeek!!

Pokeman Pundits

'Pokeman so cute! Me so horny.' - Kim Jong-Un

Had a Good Score going until this...

I lost my legs but I got a Pikachu!

Pokemon Loser walks into water - 29secs

                                                       'Pokeman GO Blows.' - Ban Ki-moon

Coming soon  - PokeYourSelf Yo!

War? What War? Leave us alone. We've got a game to play.



'Pokeman GO a no-no yo.' - Santa

'Hey can we re-program Pokeman to lead the Mexicans into the ocean? 
Save me building that freaking wall.' - Donald Trump

'If only terrorists were a bit more selective.'  - Obama

'We can dope Pokeman Players. No one will ever know.'  - Putin.


Acerbic Sorcerer

Judgement is swift and brutal
As only the judgmental can deliver
Severing any alternatives
Denying possible rebuttals.

Forked tongues
Do not present
Forks in the road
A mere singularity
Allows concise
And forgone conclusions.

Manipulate results
Until satisfaction reached
Complexities concreted
And cracks consigned
To deepest shadows
Where truth cannot exist
If unseen.

Vacancies in terrorism. WE WANT YOU!

How to be a Muslim terrorist

Preferably born in a Muslim country but not necessary.

Preferably born in a country other than that in which the terrorist act takes place, but not necessary.

You must be religiously fanatical, to the point where you would never have a progressive thought of your own. 
Free thinking is forbidden.

You must have a low IQ.

For those who don’t know what IQ is, you might well be suitable. (ie  you are stupid. Don't worry. This is good).

Must be prepared to die for the cause. Like suicide bombers, you are too dumb for a leadership role and are therefore easily sacrificial.

You must have a small penis. Men with small penises have much more to prove (Hitler, Osama etc) and are often high achievers

Height wise, a great bro to have around. wink-wink

Preferably you must also be small in size (see previous point).

You must not question orders. (see previous points).

You must be inspired by another act (see previous points).

You must have very poor luck with the ladies and preferably a virgin. (Men who score with the babes have more to live for).

Low IQ candidates or in this case, below basement level.

You must feel rejected by society. (You can’t make your way in life because… well... see the low IQ point).

If required, you must be prepared to travel to a war zone to fight.

If in a war zone, you must feel comfortable with rape. (See previous points about picking up women).

If you cannot rise to the occasion in a rape scenario, you may have sex with men. (It’s okay to be the fucker, as long as you are not the fuckee).

In the sand-dunes, no one can hear you scream.

If you rise to the occasion, and don’t even have the decency to give your brother a ‘helping hand’ you may have sex with a goat. Other animals are acceptable. A man is not a desert, but in the desert, it can be hard to find a goat that isn’t already partnered.

Going back one point. Loyalty is expected. You must satisfy your brother if he wishes it. Many Jihadist brothers jerk one another to relieve tension. A tense soldier is a bad soldier. Besides, jerking is fun!

You must aim for maximum impact. No, not in your brother’s bum. We mean with the body count. Therefore you must pick a soft target. We don’t want heroes here. No He-Men. Target unarmed civilians, including old people, women and innocent kiddies. We only want someone with no morals or respect or courage. Some may say you are a gutless pussy. That a blind, deaf, limbless child has more courage than you. This is good. Cowards are good for our business. We want gutless, spineless, wimpy, chicken liver, wuss-bags who would run snivelling into their mamma's fecal-y nappies than have a one to one fist fight.

Prime example of a gutless, spineless pussy. Notice lack of beard. 

War can be boring. Men play games to relieve boredom. Here’s a tip. Grow a beard. Fresh faced soldiers risk bukkake. Do you know how hard it is to remove cum from a beard? Exactly. We’ve all been there but a man with a full brotherhood beard is really saying, I do not like bukkake but I may swallow. Grow one. Stay clean. And enjoy the protein.

Lack of beard. Bukkake King, Hypocrite & Dumbass.

Do you relish the idea of a paradise where all the things you can’t get here will be available, even if it's complete fantasy?  (kinda like heaven except with group sex)

Fantasise about revenge? 

Fantasise about being a martyr? 

Are you a stupid, small, tiny dick loser who can’t get laid but likes to fuck animals? 

Then you’re a prime candidate for becoming a terrorist! 

Congratulations! WE WANT YOU!

Mentality required


(no, not bukkake)

In the desert, love can be found anywhere. 

One hump or two?