thenatureofdaylight:

I am sorry for those who are offended by this, but it must be said:

• Poetry should not be written like prose.
• A poem should be a poem for a reason, which means it must be a reason that cannot be channeled through prose.
• A poem should be structured in a way that it…

Yep.

SOUNDWAVE! :D 

Tom and I had such an awesome day!

Talking about Soundwave. I really hope there’s some tasteless sod who doesn’t want to stand in the rain all day selling his ticket at the gate.

If you can’t afford the price of belonging, I guess you can never belong.

An impromptu jam my good friend Jack and I had earlier. We make a desperate study in wankery and artness. Please enjoy.

But not too much.
(Btw, I’m the lower part, and he’s the higher part. He never gives me a turn on top)

Clouds gather, pendulous.
Waiting for you to drop me into the ocean. 

Realization breaks slowly over a pale horizon.
Broken egg trickles warmly down the edges of a dead glass.
Dead behind in the night sky I see your star
Egg white bleeds red on the pale edges of enlightenment buried deep within the still yolk of daylight.
Daylight seers nighttime’s images from my skull.
Chicken corpse sees nothing: dead, dribbling down the sides of a glass.
Atmosphere dissolving.
Stillborn chicken cocktail of disappointment gathering in futility.
Mountains begin melting, begging me to die.

See here,
Wayward mice have constructed a Luger;
Infused the barrel with brotherly blood
and visceral stakes
planted in no man’s place
to out the insurgent devils’ mud
And seal the flakes
Where wildcats tug to free their skin
from a barrel trapped in no man’s place,
Sinking in. 

See here, silken dove:
Silent wings have promised love, 
Brushed the beginnings of a beggar’s glove 
And brought him home
To rape,
For no ending is deadlier
And in this world, no death is an end

Visualise a bold, insipid jar of flies
Bottled and
taped to a flagpole 
High above the world.
Silken dove,
Remember the world when you dream away my soul
On a cloud
Remember me when you
Strip the Luger of a brotherly blood,
Wash it away and 
Shudder tears from your face, for
I am not here,

And the clouds deserve you 

As of last night I have all of Deftones’ albums apart from Adrenaline. They’re so amazing :)

Me playing a riff I wrote earlier (quite sloppily).

A sanctioned bathtub of swanning truths
Clawing the fresh flesh-filled consternation of  a mellifluous cuckold dawn 
Booming to his sanctioned chicks,
Eyes grotesque with newborn membrane and tissue,
Rushing the world,
He stutters at the weltering vacuum cliff of a lifetime.
Afraid to jump.

Broken, broken backs
The main attack’s on the seashore
Where folk go to holiday
From the aforementioned sanction,
Our D-day sandflies armoured to the nines
Weave in vague, artistic lines
Around swimming trunks
And serendipitous midday drunks
To French bunkers
Where little men sit on their lives
Eaten by flies
Afraid to jump.
Afraid to die. 

A midday drunk googles back at a monotone sky,
Forward to ravines and chrome barriers lining horizons unimagined:
A subjugated explorer
From whence the whimpering subsides;

Fire slides down
The walls of a cage to a fox with no legs
Hiding inside
From dawn’s gentle, mellifluous eyes,
Burning through a tepid creature.
Mythed upon from the beginning of time
Bundles up and cowers against a dead horizon’s barriers
Forbidden to jump.
Forbidden to die.

In the serendipitous vacuum-clawing web browser of life 
You may only navigate forward as many pages as you have already navigated backwards.