Ongoing sporadic journal of the overeducated, and underemployed. The title derived from Coupland’s description of cubicle land; the corporate ghetto. Random photos and thoughts. Left the ghetto, never happier. This still a work in progress

25 November 2015

25.11.15-light blue eyes
I look into your light blue eyes
you make  feel so sad
you make feel so glad
lately you just make feel so  me numb
I look into your light blue eyes 
you make feel so dumb
tonight 
you resuscitate me
laying next to me
lying to me
your light blue eyes 
you make me feel so alive




24 November 2015

24.11.15-Words
exploding like a burst from an Uzi
aftershocks’
hang in the air 
now choose
carefully
because
in the end 
the power
to
destroy
is equal
to 
the power 
to
create
your 
words 
will
decide 
what
I
Do
Words are more, than words

24.11.15 rumour’s
take every nasty thing 
you’ve heard
multiply
1010
you’re  
still not close
I am  
The demon
The vampyre
They 
Say
Those who know
Won’t
Or
Can’t say
Your rumours aren’t dark enough

23 November 2015

23.11.15-miracle
paint always on your 
hands 
feet
in your hair
its in your blood
vivid 
colours
passionate
colours
a kiss

an embrace
I realize
Beneath the paint
Vivid
Passionate
Beautiful
miracle

22 November 2015

22.11.15-paint
I awake
Paint 
on me  sheets
on me hands
HER
Me willing prisoner
The  ancient one
Protest
Until 
Silenced
miracle  
with paint
staining
me sheets
me soul
paint




20 November 2015

20.11.15 discarded
born
2 
dots
meant
to
connect
pale blue eyes
your dot
beat to  mine
stronger
as 
one
you
found 
me
discarded
delivered
me 
your dot
called mine
SEX
TRUTH
LOVE
ONE






18 November 2015

18.11.15 holy
Holy holy ecstasy
Holy writhing 
Holy holy
Bed
Holy 
Sacraments
your body s chalice
drunk
it’s sacramental wine
devouring the 
host
that I 
may complete this 
holy 
Communion
with
my 
Holy whore
perfect
immaculate 
grace

17 November 2015

17.11.15 Succubus
underground 
through a gaze filtered 
by gin,  purple smoke
you’re a sirens call
I cannot refuse
all I have
is 
a drink
and smoke
you should be in my 
bed
wanton and shameless
taking and giving  pleasure
dare I presume
love
instead
my bed made up 
in resplendent
clean comfortable smiling like 
a thousand  clowns
secretly sad and empty
missing 
your blue eyes

16 November 2015

Good Morning Good Bye
I awake like Martin Sheen in” Apocalypse Now” staring at the ceiling fan. Wondering where I was, It looks like an inner loop rental. Hardwoods , ancient. The bed is so comfortable I could lay here all day . I need to get out of this bed, but she wrapped around my waist. Long blonde hair across my stomach. I look at her body indeed weapons grade long legs small firm breasts flat stomach leading to a blonde landing strip. An actual natural blonde.   I know she’s a single mother my clothes are laid into a flat bloke. If I lay still she might  not  wake up.
Hazy memories  from last night. The tall, thin, blonde at the bar noticing each other. Noticing each other the ancient contract being invocated. I walked over some wanker who wouldn’t shut the fuck up, then dropping him. Leaving the bar quickly. I will gave to apologise to owner to be let back in. I will work up an act of contrition, “I am sorry, I glassed, that wanker, and promise not to do it again.”  Her place fevered undressing no conversation other than lets try…,  contortions   of petites morts  rolling  across her across her face., some porn star moans. Playing then asleep.
I need to use all my skills to get out of bed. I must get to the bathroom. I slowly slide off the bed onto the floor . I wish I could get my shades from my jacket, it is unreasonably  bright. My head is pounding . I try to quiet as possible brushing my teeth with my finger.
I flush there’s a knock at the door , and she says  Towels under the sink  by, shampoo , soap in the shower,  the way my name is Lyric.”
“Thank you, I am Jay. I am going to pillage your soap and shampoo” I answer I climb into the claw tube and close shower curtain. I get the water right shampooing my hair. I feel something open eyes to see Lyric  in with me.. We wash each other wordlessly, and then towel each other dry. She leads  I go to bedroom I smell coffee. I hold my towel and walk to my clothes. Watching her climb into and hoodie.
I follow her to the table. I  sit and she  goes to counter starts  getting cups
Lyric looks over her shoulder, and says’, “How do you take it?”
“Black and proud”” I answer. I start to rap out a cigarette, and
Lyric said no smoke in here lets go on the porch. I put on shades and follow. Lyric makes small talk. While I smoke. I wait a polite interval, and  say ,”Lyric I have a few things.””
Wait one minute Lyric runs inside comes back.  With a cup hands to me and tucks a slip of [paper into my pocket, and
Says’ “keep the cup” giving me  a small kiss . I walk to my car the number falls’ out. I don’t stop to pick it up.
I get in my car lower window’s and say “Good morning , good bye!” I drive towards my flat, without looking back






15 November 2015

15.11.15- Ride 
you’re not strong enough for 
this
don’t 
come to me 
from the edge 
of 
death
dreaming 
on
his tired old voice
your  slavery 
is not 
freedom
it is 
slavery
weakness 
is just weakness
telling  me you love 
me
begging him
deception
telling me you love 
me
bailing as I bury 
my tovaritch
is
cowardice
telling me you
love me
not acting
weak
que vous me dire
que tu me aimes
penser ce poème est sur vous 
est faible
you’re not strong enough 
for 
this ride



14.11. 15 vandal
in the pub  a mating tango of 
sultry glances breathless whispers
fervent exploration
a kiss that heated up a chilly evening
Scratches down my back
you tagged me
commemorating
a shared night
marking the limits of your territory
I have been attacked
a leggy
love vandal




14 November 2015

14.11.15  ashes
Ashes to ashes 
dust to dust 

hey ignored you in life 
in death 
they 
are erasing you
sticking
in
me 
throat
biting back rage
tossing 
back
gin
feeling you strong
one in 
the 
chamber
on 
the other side
my brother
on the other
side!

13 November 2015

13.11.15under observation
 on refugees
Autistic clowns
Paris is on Fire
Heart sick detox
Heaven and hell
A junkie pagans
Belle de jour OD's
I put needle my neck
Pain bleeds out
Shadows watch every move
Bipolar cyborgs carry the tales
Back to the minders

12 November 2015

13.11.15-moon
staring at the moon
 blowing too much  purple smoke
staring at the moon
too much  gin 
staring at the moon
hating myself
staring at the moon
why did it mean too much to me to mean too little to you
staring at the moon
listening  industrial and blues
too much of this 
too little of you
staring at the moon
stringing together misspelled words
staring at moon
Seeing our  future memories dissolving
Staring at the moon





1.11.15- meditations
I don’t sit cross-legged 
Chanting 
Burning   incense
Anointed in patchouli
Wearing yoga pants
visualize world peace T
I 
Have contemplate
Your pussy
Muse 
on
Your breast
Genuflect
to your 
passions
dream
of coming 
together
meditations’ of 
Love

12.11.15-ritual
the 
ritual 
the
candle 
the
offering
the
body
and 
the blood
music
incense
invocation’s heaven
come to me sweet sweet
shade
Botticelli smile
You’re so light and beautiful
I can carry
you
no
I need to carry
you
Tie off in me teeth 
Speaking in tongues
the ritual
Is to summon 
You sweet
one


12.11.15-cut
casually smashing a
wine glass
in my face
because you heard your master call
love me 
discard me
when your master calls
you met
him
in the desert 
a nameless old man
never once made 
talk
about
who had your trust
who had your  heart  
who  had you in the
 back of gallery
your love 
is no secret in all these 
circles
your love never stops even when your master fails
your love  turns to dust in an old mans cup
now
cut 
I run


10 November 2015

10.11.15 imagine 
let’s stop imagining 
it will 
ruin
us both 
nothing will 
ever 
be the same
it could 
be 
heaven
or 
not
let’s roll the dice 
 let’s stop  imagining


10.11.15 street value 
you give it
AWAY
PURE
UNCUT
mixture 
cooks
I shoot it straight into my neck
instantly in my blood rushing
unknown pleasure’s
visions of heaven 
for this  Vampyric demon 
iIt brings me to my knees
I am
Gone 
Gone
the street value
is 
So 
fucking high
so  am I 




09 November 2015

09.11.15-gone
angel  cries day and night
I am not there
I am
gone
I don’t belong to her
Or
Really anyone
I am not there
I am gone
She calls me
I am not there
Angel is tumbling
down
Forsaken by 
An 
Indifferent god
Angel is falling
Hard
Someone  should
Catch her
I am not there
I am gone