ego

Defeat, my Defeat - my solitude and my aloofness.
You are dearer to me than a thousand triumphs,
and sweeter to my heart than all world glory.

Defeat, my Defeat - my self-knowledge and my defiance.
Through you, I know that I am yet young and swift of foot
and not to be trapped by withering laurels.
And in you, I have found aloneness
and the joy of being shunned and scorned.

Defeat, my Defeat - my shining sword and shield.
In your eyes, I have read that to be enthroned is to be enslaved,
and to be understood is to be levelled down,
and to be grasped is but to reach one's fullness
and like a ripe fruit, to fall and be consumed.

Defeat, my Defeat - my bold companion,
you shall hear my songs and my cries and my silences,
and none but you shall speak to me of the beating of wings,
and urging of seas, and of mountains that burn in the night,
and you alone shall climb my steep and rocky soul.

Defeat, my Defeat - my deathless courage,
you and I shall laugh together with the storm,
and together we shall dig graves for all that die in us,
and we shall stand in the sun with a will,
and we shall be dangerous.

- Kahlil Gibran

Or as Mr. Poe Ballantine would have it:

"Thank you, God, I know I'm a fool."

Salvation

I met a man from Winter Haven;
He showed me all my devils inside.
I answered: "I do not need saving."
He shrugged and rolled on his side.

And when I woke up, he was gone.


The fiery chasm, choking up the corpes's ashes in my head. Don't steer me wrong.

regrets

the clock hands move with inelegant precision
desperate the hours that spend the minutes
making them race oblivious to their final destination.

a lifetime gone in a matter of ticks and chimes.



words by cocaine jesus

The Sidewalk

The neatly laid out sidewalk
from being carefully laid out
with layers of sand and gravel and slabs.
has seen many a ghastly sight.

Splotches of blood, shrilly shrieks,
torn pieces of that little dress and paraphernalia
scattered around its dingy corners,
ever so often a distant horn is sounded.

Blood, More Blood.

As i step outside the music den,
out on to the sidewalk,
after feasting my senses,
the familiar smell hits my nose again,
a gush of strong wind, blows away
any remains of the toke.

Puff, Blow away.

Small whispers in a distant corner,
a twitch in the eye, as the lonely light stands,
with a solitary gaze of puff and mist,
"The sidewalk is laid out so precisely and beautifully"
Its something that you would never say.
seeing the things the sidewalk sees.

Run away, Get back.

Double exposure

ou























(Taken 26th August. Partick, Glasgow.)

fatwah my far arse

let's slaughter a christian
let's kill a sikh
fill the pocket of islam
with some plastique.
let's murder a hindu
let's maime a jew
massacre all rasta's
(well, maybe a few)
let's build a temple
with pews and a spire
and with all relgion
let's start a big fire.
let's stop blaming god
for all the spilt blood,
let not man condemn
when only god can judge
just who is wrong and
just who is right
let's start a new faith
and pray this time
we get it right.



words by cocaine jesus

Heard tomorrow...

the world's been forgiven
the heart removed
the thought is dead
freedom is mine

there is satisfaction
happiness is not a word
money doesnt matter
and no one needs anything

all can float and fly
no one needs to move
being born is optional
and it doesnt matter anyway

there is no hate.. no sorrow
but nothing else either
love hasnt existed
and smiling requires muscles

no beauty...what's that?
it creates divisions
and even if there was
how would you see it?

the perfect world
perfect..so that it couldnt be more
life and death lost meaning
what's left to care?

Elton Derbyshire

Michael's House

Michael's House


It's good and solid,
built of fresh-scented wood with tough brick,
all multicolored, warm to the touch like a glass of mulled wine.
He cries: "Michael's house" every time we enter.
But it's nobody's house.
No one lives there.
They come and go, a way-station for the severed.

I think of the hospital, cool and bright,
forced smiles, nurses waving bye-bye,
off to half-way houses, group homes.
Michael doesn't want to live there.
His eyes beg me: "Let me heal!"

The doctor says no.

Can you feel the shivery wind,
blowing through the empty house,
like the silent breath of the bleeding Lord?


(This was one of the first poems I put on CV-I wanted it here as well after a few tweaks.)

My colleague, the critic [sonnet]

Not willing to suffer fools gladly
he's keen to protect the tradition
at times our exchanges go badly
thank god that he's not my physician!
my heart he would willingly jettison
for a new (far-superior) model
my liver'd go the way of all venison
and when he'd encountered the muddle
I'm pleased to describe as my brain
I'm sure he would weep at the sight
one look would convey all the pain
of agronomists faced with a blight
    but our literary chat doesn't scar
    just as long as he's safely afar

dream of me

don't dream

of me

drifting down

dusty

corridors

cobweb covered

and

sheathed in shadow

with

silent shapes

shifting below

the moons

hollow gaze.

dream of me

beneath

silver stars

that scatter

sterling shafts

in

shattered shards

to guide my

faithless feet.

words by cocaine jesus

Reformation

My husband did the collage in bright red, but I changed it to cool tones and reemphasized the smaller figures. For some reason, I think of Martin Luther when I see this.

dance with me?

dance with me
on the sweet scented briar wind
around magnolia trees,
forest floors awash with bluebells,
where the stain of time runs deep
and the musty decay of ages past
lodges in tumble down leaf mold
that betrays the footfall
of those who stray
through this ageless church
canopied by oak and elm.
dance with me
to the sounds of a willow violin
that haunts the ear
and flaunts my soul.
dance with me.
somebody dance with me
dance with me
held in somebodies arms.
just anyones arms.

won't somebody dance with me?



words by cocaine jesus

Taking leave and an offer of hankies

(Taken 18th August, Merchant City - Glasgow, assuming the role of Paparazzo.)

Please... Come in...

and so the bread lies bleeding in the corner while
your heart lies passive on the cutting board.
.
.
posted by doriandra
.
.
eventually, even nice, happy, smiley people have to eat shit
.
.
posted by cocaine jesus
.
.
.
















Rabbit or Rat?
.
.
posted by stickleback2.
.
.
Find me a burning cinder
I can hold in my hand
Till it turns your
heart black.

And I will not
.
.
posted by inkblot
.
.
.
speak to the dark angels on discharge

More War With Javascript

I switched templates and it looks better, but I am working on getting our sidebar up and getting rid of that July 12th thing. Once I get the Google groups thing going, all this communication will be easier. Anyone want to vote on a color for background besides white?

War With Javascript

  

Guys, I'm trying to make our template more interesting without allowing obnoxiousness to rule. I'm also starting a Spilled to Bloodlessness Google Group for all of us, as soon Blogger will be forcing us to use Google directly to access our blogs. I also want to know your ideas and input on creating a kick ass blog. I love what we do here. So let's talk.

This is a collage by my husband; I played around with the tints again. He's really into violent reds; I like things on the cool colour side. I can publish the original if you want. Hopefully, he will join the blog and share his work. He has been asked. But you all know how artists can be!

The Savage Desert - Continued.

SCENE 19. EXT. DESERT. MID-AFTERNOON

THIS SCENE IS SHOT THROUGH TERRY’S CAMCORDER. THE DIRECTOR, BOB THE CAMERAMAN, WILMOT THE SOUND ENGINEER AND SARAH THE RESEARCH ASSISTANT AT THE VAN. THE WINNIBAGO HAS TWO FLAT TYRES. SHOT OF THE VAN. IT’S THE FIRST TIME WE’VE SEEN IT. BEHIND IT WE CAN ALSO SEE THE DIRECTOR’S LAND ROVER.

CLOSE UP OF BOB:

DIR:
(Off camera) Hmmm. That’s bad luck. Two flat tyres and only one spare.

CAMERA PANS TO DIRECTOR. TOO LATE - AS BOB SPEAKS. IN THIS SCENE TERRY IS UNSUCCESSFUL IN TRYING TO TRAIN HIS CAMERA ON THE PERSON ACTUALLY SPEAKING. HE IS ALWAYS ONE STEP BEHIND.

BOB:
(Also off camera) Well, that’s it. I’m not going any further.

PAN TO BOB:

DIR:
(Off camera)You can’t back out. There’s no point doing this if it’s not on film.

PAN TO DIR:

BOB:
(Off camera) But I’m not part of the expedition. I’m the cameraman.

CAMERA ZOOMS OUT TO FIT BOTH THE DIRECTOR AND BOB IN SHOT.

WILMOT:
(Also off camera and out of shot) That goes for me too. We stay with the van.

ZOOM IN ON WILMOT:

DIR:
(Off camera) Look. The important thing is to capture this on film.

PAN TO DIR:

WILMOT:
(Off camera) The important thing is…

PAN QUICKLY TO WILMOT:

BOB:
(Off camera) (INTERRUPTING) Look. No van. No sound. No vision. Okay?

PAN TO BOB:

DIR:
(Off camera) I’ll double your fee.

PAN TO DIR:

BOB:
(Off camera) And the producer will go for that, will he? We stay with the van.

PAN TO BOB:

SARAH:
(Also off camera) And the water. The water’s in the van.

CAMERA ZOOMS OUT TO INCLUDE ALL FOUR SPEAKERS. NOW THEY ARE ALL IN THE FRAME.

CDT:
(Off camera) What’s the problem?

CAMERA PANS TO CDT:

DIR:
(Off camera) Nothing. Can we camp here for the night?

PAN AND ZOOM IN ON DIR:

CDT:
(Off camera) It’s still the middle of the afternoon.

PAN TO CDT:

DIR:
(Off camera) Look. I’ve radioed base. They can send new tyres tomorrow in the chopper. But I think the party should stay here with the van.

PAN TO DIR:

CDT:
(Off camera) Okay. I guess… if we must. You haven’t got any tweezers have you?

PAN TO CDT:

SARAH:
(Off camera) I’ve got some in the van.

THE CAMERA ZOOMS RIGHT OUT AS SARAH GOES INTO VAN. ALL FOUR PEOPLE ARE IN FRAME – LOOKING AT THE VAN, WAITING FOR SARAH TO RE-APPEAR WITH TWEEZERS. THERE’S ABOUT TEN SECONDS OR SO OF SILENCE.

CUT TO:

SCENE 20. EXT. DESERT. EARLY EVENING. IT’S STILL LIGHT.

FRED AND JUNE TALKING TO CAMERA:

FRED:
We’re all a bit worried, obviously. We can’t go on without the back-up van.

DIR:
(Off camera) Well, you could. It’s a test of how you survive in such a hostile climate, isn’t it? The Winnibago is for the crew.

FRED:
I guess so. But… well. There doesn’t seem any point in taking any chances.

JUNE:
Poor old Liam’s knackered, aren’t you boy? (TO DOG) Yes you are. Yes. Yes. Yes. You’re a boy. You are. You’re Mummy’s boy. You’re a big strong boy…

DIR:
But we’ve only gone two kilometres. You’re not giving up already are you?

FRED:
No. Of course not. But… well… There is something…

DIR:
Yes?

FRED:
I’ve not been entirely honest with you. I should have told you before. You see…

WILMOT:
(Off camera) LOUD SNEEZE
I’m sorry. It’s hay fever I think.

DIR:
(Off camera) Hay fever? You’re supposed to record the sound. Not make it.

BOB:
(Off camera) Sorry.

JUNE:
We’d have probably got further if we hadn’t had to keep waiting for Beverley to catch up. She had to keep stopping for her oxygen.

FRED:
That’s right.

JUNE:
She let me try it. It gives you quite a buzz you know, pure oxygen.

DIR:
(TO FRED) You were saying about being honest…

FRED:
Yes, I…

WILMOT:
(SNEEZES SEVERAL TIMES)

DIR:
For goodness sake. Now… you were saying…

WILMOT
We’ll have to stop I’m afraid. My nose is running.

CUT TO:

RON AND BEVERLEY:
RON: (TO CAMERA) (LIGHTS CIGARETTE)
Quite a nice bunch of people, really.

BEV:
That Daniella. She’s very nice. And Terry. He’s ever so clever. He knows ever such a lot about cameras.
Reminds me of our Sam. That’s my sister’s boy. Trish. He’s got a nice camera.

RON:
Sam’s a bit taller, mind. He was so tiny when he was small. Then he just shot up. It was quite startling.

BEV:
Not sure about Fred and June, tho’. Bit uncommunal. Keep themselves to themselves. And I thought June was a bit rude to be brutal.

DIR:
(Off camera) How was that?

BEV:
Saying how we was slowing everyone down. It’s not my fault I have to have this oxygen. How would she like it?

RON:
She tried it actually, didn’t she love?

BEV:
Yeah.

RON:
And she did like it.

BEV:
I suppose so.

RON:
I like that pop star, Zeph. Seems like a nice bloke. He was big in the Eighties. Not really my favourite period. Though I like that advert. (SINGS BADLY) Don’t you want me baby. Don’t you want me.. ooh oo oo oo

BEV:
Yeah. He’s okay. She’s a slut, though. Give us a ciggie.

(RON OBLIGES)

I hope we don’t have to drink anyone’s urine.

CUT TO:

ZEPH AND JIZZ TALKING TO CAMERA:
ZEPH’S GUITAR IS CLOSE AT HAND.

ZEPH:
We haven’t really come very far, have we?

JIZZ:
You’re pleased we’ve stopped though.

ZEPH:
Not at all. We could have gone much further.

JIZZ:
Your actual words were – I’m knackered. I’ve fucking had it. I’m fucking handing in my fucking notice.

ZEPH:
(IN CLOSE UP) All right. All right. I was knackered and I did say those things. But that’s part of it, isn’t it? Like making a million-selling album. After recording the first track you think – That’s it! That was bloody hard work. Sod the album I’ll put it out as a single. But then you record the drums and bass for the next track, and the synthesisers, and before you know it you’ve finished the album.
(LOOKS ROUND FOR JIZZ. SHE’S GONE)
I expect she’s gone to the loo. (PAUSE) Isn’t she lovely? You know, the music business is so full of selfish, shallow, artificial people. Jizz is a breath of fresh air. She’s an innocent, really. She makes it all worthwhile.

DIR:
(Off camera) You’re still optimistic about the expedition, then?

ZEPH:
As long as I’ve got my baby.
(ZEPH PICKS UP HIS GUITAR. STRUMS A COUPLE OF CHORDS)
Beautiful isn’t it? It’s a Gibson 69 Les Paul custom. I thought I was going to have to leave it behind. Then Sarah said I could keep it in the van.

DIR:
Well, you can’t actually. The van is strictly for the crew. You have to carry everything on your person.

ZEPH:
I tried that. It was just too heavy. Did you know Sarah could play the guitar?

DIR:
No, I didn’t.

ZEPH:
She’s lovely isn’t she? (PAUSE) I’d be lost without my guitar. I’m going to write a song about being in the desert. Maybe you could use it for the soundtrack. Or the opening credits or something. I might write a song-cycle. Use it on my new album.
(PAUSE)
This is a fantastic experience, isn’t it?

CUT TO:

DANIELLA-JAYNE AND TERENCE:

THEY ARE SITTING ON CHAIRS, BENEATH A PARASOL, BEHIND THE WINNIBAGO. THEY ARE SIPPING LONG DRINKS AND DANIELLA IS EATING CHOCOLATES.

DANIELLA:
(TO CAMERA) Isn’t it super? We’ve walked two miles today, which is an awful lot.

TERRY:
Kilometres, actually.

DANIELLA:
Is that more than miles or less?

TERRY:
A mile is 1.6 kilometres.

DANIELLA:
Don’t confuse me. You’re always doing that.

TERRY:
I’m not.

DANIELLA:
You are. And don’t argue. You’re always arguing lately.

DIR:
(Off camera) You two aren’t allowed on those chairs.

DANIELLA:
(TO DIR. ) Would you like a chocolate? There are a few left. They’ve got a fridge in the van you know. These are Belgian which, at the end of the day, I have to say are my favourite. Swiss are good but…

DIR:
Those chairs belong to the crew.

DANIELLA:
The helicopter is bringing some more chocolates out. That’s the main thing. Bob sorted it for me. Now that we can keep them in the fridge I can have a proper supply.

DIR:
You two will have to vacate those chairs.

DANIELLA:
What? Why?

DIR:
You’re part of the expedition. Not the crew. You can only use the equipment you’ve brought with you. In your back pack.

DANIELLA:
You can’t fit chairs in a back pack.

DIR:
I don’t care about that. That chair is mine. It’s got my name on the back. That means it’s for me to sit on. I’m sorry, but there it is.

DANIELLA STANDS AND EXAMINES CHAIR

DANIELLA:
It says B and Q?

DIR:
You’ll have to move.

TERRY:
Are your names Bernard and Quentin, then?

DIR:
No.

DANIELLA:
Where do we sit then?

DIR:
Well… you could sit on a rock.

DANIELLA:
In this outfit? You’re pulling my leg.

TERRY:
How about Brian and Quintus?

the summer scents of jasmine

drift through my open window,

my mint tea resonates

to the clink of a silverspoon.

if only all my sorrows could be so easily dismissed.

words by cocaine jesus

Watching

{Taken 12th August. My back garden.}

parchment blossom

A Recipe for the LIT ORIENTED (CHAPTER 2)

CHAPTER 2
(Originally uploaded here)


My thoughts on paper.
Ancient.
Older than the Oceans,
And the Garden of Sin.

New Age
And DRIVENNNNN...
Like a painter's messy canvas.
J U D G E M E N T A L.

My thoughts on paper -
AGNOSTIC.
Insensitive.
BAD-ass.
Unethical.
GOD-less.
Or God-like.

My thoughts on paper -
NEVER DEAD.
S C R E A M S.
Shouts.
Makes a POINT.

F R E E E E....
Unlike YOU...
Who reads this?

(Preacher know that this isn't due till the 15th of august, still, HAPPY INDEPENDENCE DAY. To ALL INDIANS. And also all those who seek FREEDOM. ANY FREEDOM.)

PEACE..!!
\m/

white birds on a black sky.

the infant dawn sighs

a hushed whisper of a blush

that scatters light like

rose petal fillaments

words by cocaine jesus

Hunt?

(Click the pic for a better view. Taken 6th August - Blackwood Estate)

A Recipe for the LIT ORIENTED

CHAPTER 1.



My thoughts on paper.
Anguished.
Decadent - yet not.
Staccato.
Like crisp noodles on break-FAST.
UN-straight and...
Mellow, mllow, mellow, mellow..


Stale.
Like a mouthfull of...
BAD breath in the morning.
Like a standing SYRINGE on my veins
Stuck.
and VIRILE.


Found?
Yeah found.
Not in pages.
But B-E-T-W-E-E-N sheets.
Sexual?
Not quite.
And MAYBE.

Dystopia contd...

Made with Wings 3D and Bryce.

Madonna

I am breakfast
Squeeze me like an orange
Let my sticky, sweet juice
Run between your fingers.

Your nipples wink at me
In that summer dress.
You are an origami crown,
I hold you to the sky in wonder.

We were children folding days
With deep creases in summer,
Naked in that precise heat.
I wear you always.

We are bodies, liquid, bruised by love
On the handrails of the river.

Veni Domine

I thought, when you say "La di da",

Does it really mean you mean "La Di da"?
Or something like "Obladi Da"?
Wish I could figure out,
Because you never let me.
You always said, "Go figure."

He/She

the music of a minute
racing through time
the sounds of a second
trying to unwind
the purple of the air
and the dew drops
soaking the despair

there he was
the boy in blue
the boy who loved
everything i do
~
the magic of a myriad
thoughts in my head
the speed of the subtle
eyes that met
the street at night
the silhouette and the light

there she was
the woman in green
the woman who loved
all my dreams

Rusty barb

{Taken 30th July, en route to Strathaven.}

Hi.

A new beginning can be a lotta things.
Like a new haircut.
A new red circle on the time-table.
Or like a new CD ..
A new mark on the bark of a tree by a passing wanderer.
New chapter of the yellowed classic you couldn’t finish...
Like a great new dress.
A new room for your first child. A nursery. Small. Careful. And baby pink.
Something like a new paint on your wall. Hesitating. Indecisive.
Maybe like a new toy gun?
Or perhaps the real thing. For the ones from the other sides of the darkened cul de sac.
Or maybe, just a new shoe.
A new beginning.
Like a new blog, with a new post?
Ah. Now we’re talkin’.