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Photography by yours truly

it was supposed to be a simple search
a no-frills romp through the cloud
in and out of the mantle’s storage
i clearly underestimated everything
i underestimated the depth
as I found myself gasping for air
flicking from pic to pic
never thought a trip down memory lane
would require holding your breath
before you take that first step
i underestimated the breadth
of the spectrum
your phantom hook moving urgently
up and down the fretboards
of my brain
my left hand applying the pressure to
my heartstrings
my right hand, the plectrum
play one we know, mate
play one we forgot about but we’ll
vividly remember the moment
those divine melodies
caress our eardrums, mate
i underestimated how hard it truly is
to capture eternal sunshine
and make one’s mind truly spotless
i’m not joel
you might as well be clementine
my eyes holding back a
tidal wave of bitter tears
ironically prompted by a cache
of sweet reminicence
i underestimated the power of you
your impact
your influence
your ability to envoke something happy
within me
even though
it was only temporary
because nothing gold ever stays
or is resistant to rust
vis a vis life’s meandering pathways
i pray you are happy now
i pray you are content
pardon me while i silently protest
with myself
before I delete these photos
fascinating how ‘always and forever’
becomes ‘never meant.’
it was supposed to be a simple search
a straightforward task

(photography by yours truly)




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the cunning lingers
particularly when the art of cunnilingus
is performed
je t’adore adorning your body
with oral symphonies
and sonnets
i harbour ruthless intent to storm
your front & centre
with passion and pride
prejudice reserved for those
who’d discourage me from doing so
tonight’s forecast of Torrential swirling
My saliva saturated tongue curling
hugging every chicane your labia
confide in my ability
to blaze a slippery trail to your
southern hemisphere
a debaucherous playground
my real life San Andreas
and there’s no fault I can find
with my mouth’s muscle
lovingly spelunking your
anatomical love cavern
earnestly engaging your g-spot
hot secretions of
your floral essense adorn my
beard glistening
the morning’s dew ain’t got shit
on my visage
fearlessly and feverishly
devouring every
of your vulnerable vulva
your trembling naval
i’m clutching my quavering member
for leverage
simultaneous climax
your flesh covered wonderland
becomes a refreshing beverage
O, teardrops of sheer joy
attack massively
baptise me
in the name of
the Goddess
the gateway to
heaven was never meant
to be walked through
rather, it’s supposed to be tasted
and you



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look me in the eyes and swear
the lies you spoke

are truths.

because originally,
your actions
disturbing yet humorous
have left me clueless

now that the sun has shed light
on your 

dark ambitions.
I don’t doubt your Christian lineage.
it just seems to me
your skeleton has joined the others in that abyssal closet
prepared by your mother, father, sisters, and brother
so I dare you to come clean;
bathe in my waters of honesty,
for yours are filthy and hazardous;
more potent than the strongest strain of cannabis,
this conservative, selfish, love-hungry, cannibalistic lie

you’ve created is now a havoc-wreaking demon
and now, that self-proclaimed beauty growing
inside you is nothing more than a hideous attempt
to form our love into an icepick and plunge
it into my back;
what did i lack something in my eternal quest
for your happiness?
i continue to wonder
sifting through the cloud of a cigarette
searching for answers within the blue
battling the side of me that wants 

vengeance against you
desperately trying to revive
the part of me that loves you

but don’t look away just yet.
because if this bullet means victory for me…

you’d better duck.

originally written on 9 May 2005
image created by hyena reality, courtesy of

The Beaten Path



“No pain, no gain,” I hear them say…

much to my dismay, I’m forced to feel
it despite my nerve endings being frayed
I pray… and then I stop because
in my mind’s eye, I’ve recited this prayer
a billion times and the deity I submit requests to
has far too many people ahead of me in the pecking order
to get through.

…and I’m not selfish enough to jump the queue.

Believe me, I want to.
Fuck, I want to stop the damn world and tell everyone to bore off.
I want to uncurl from this forsaken foetal position
I want to wash these miserable sheets that
blanket my brain
guess you can say I’m mentally bed-ridden
Best bit is that there’s no cure for the
ailment I’ve been given
just temporary reprieves via a frantic liquid siege
drowning my psyche as my liver cries out “Are you doing this to spite me?!!”
I reply “Shut up, asshole…” and recommence my search
for momentary solace
the kind you can only find at the bottom
of pint glasses; tumblers of whiskey; and cognac bottles

…and I’m supposed to give a toss about the war outside?

I’m not blind but I can’t see
anything outside of the struggle within me
an acrid invisible smoke threatening
to withdraw my ability to breathe normally
my deep limbic system is a bullet riddled trench
while you see me as calm as an undetonated bomb
beneath it all, I’m anxious for whatever’s next
this life is hardly liberating when
the pursuit for happiness is this draining

but on and on, I tread…

feeling a lot less than one
never mind one hundred percent
as distant as that light at the end of the tunnel is
on and on, I tread…
the myriad of times I’ve had my faith
replaced with immeasurable dread
still on and on, I tread…

because despite every brick on this path
shouting out about how much I’ve failed and whom,
this tunnel will not be my tomb
yes, I’m that hell bent to slay these monsters
only then can I revel in my success.

On and on, I tread…
on and on, I tread…

Image(photography by yours truly)




if I bit my lip any harder, I could draw
a picture of you nude using the blood
as my oil pastel
I don’t want to waste time with clichéd
rhymes of ‘ooh baby baby, u drive me
crazy.’ no, my desire is stoke the fire
and reside inside your tunnel for a while.
I yearn for you to burn me with
the Greek fire secreting
from the scalding pot betwixt your
I won’t beg but the thought of
my taste buds not being granted
access to indulge on your sriracha
flavoured labia fills me with dread
the world within
the tunnel
is exactly where I want to be
I won’t fail you, fair maiden
I don’t mean to be brazen
allow me to graffiti
your walls with a type of
krylon that will forever live
In the weave of your vintage nylon
bed sheets
cleanse me with your
passionate flames
the world within
your tunnel
est tellement magnifique




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the caged bird leaps…
and simultaneously weeps for ones left behind.

tears are the petrol for each flap of the wings
the bird propels itself to a place and time
where the colour of its plumage wasn’t considered a crime.
and so the bird flies… flies with gusto and conviction
no gust or cross wind would dare inhibit such a flight.
what passionate precision! what emotional release!
no more sleepless nights in the belly of the beast…

yet while the free bird flies, it weeps for the ones it left behind.

the horizon is no longer a naive dream.
motivational speeches are no longer countered with thoughts so obscene.
as liberation and vindication course the pardoned fowl’s veins, it soars over the nearby stream and swoops down to rinse away the stains of incarceration.

even now as the free bird bathes, it prays for the ones it could not save.

away, away! the acquitted climbs to a loftier height
the apex is near, the end is in sight
our getaway fowl slaloms through the clouds
darting as if it were being actively pursued
gliding over the canopies and crowds
drinking in the intoxicating views
divine visual nectar soothing the searing heat
emitted from every feather

so this is what freedom is…
yet the plumaged one had no one to share it with
she said she knows why the caged bird sings
i replied i know why the free bird cries

photo by yours truly (edited w/ Brushstroke)

Freedom Is Only A Button Push Away…


i wish i could push that red button… just once.
just so i could give the world the
self-fulfilling apocalypse the
prophets, the Christianists,
the radical Islamists, the Manson family,
the warmongerers and the fear-conjurers
won’t shut the fuck up about.

i want to live in a real-life Fallout
where even the radiated soil would cry out
in anguish and woe…
where the toughest of the tough and
the baddest of the bad would shrivel up
and die with a [insert weapon of choice here]
in their cold, dead hands

i want to see the world’s most prestigious monuments,
mankind’s testament to creativity and artistry,
morph into a shell of their former glorious selves
i want to see first, second and third-world
countries reduced to nothing more than
a vat of atomic waste and debris

i want to stave off mutated threats and
do battle with psychopaths over a
tin of beans and a bottle of purified water.
i want dust storms to be as life-threatening
as a bullet storm spawned from the barrels of an
array of machine guns.
i want to go days without food, a hot bath
and a warm bed to sleep in
i want to live in the most treacherous of conditions,
where the water is poisonous and the air
is damn near fatal to breathe into
my now decrepit, blackened lungs.

i want the foundations of faith to buckle
and collapse on the head of every single,
surviving inhabitant, whether they believe in
a higher power for most of their lives or only
adopted a certain sect of faith during their seemingly
final hour.

i want chaos. i want hell on earth.
i want death without a single chance of rebirth.
and when the unfriendly bombs fall, i want
everyone to realize how good we had it
and how callus and coarse we were to our
fellow man and our planet.

with that said… if you think i TRULY
want this for humanity,
you’re as foolish as you are naive
you are as dense as the air we need to breathe
because these words will have as much impact
on the world as a pebble would when it’s
tossed into the sea

so you gluttons, you thieves, you that
constantly and consistently deceive:
go right ahead! try to make an example out
of little ol’ me…

we all know i am not the enemy…
my personal heaven is having a grand opening
and the suffrage i have paid here,
in spite of you, is the admission fee

so come, unfriendly bombs! come and fall…
set me free.


(image courtesy of Total Wallpapers)

The Alter


the colour of love today is a mixture of
white & grey
navy blue & beige
generations past, present, and future congregate
on the green grass amongst the playful laughter of children
amongst the smiles of parents proud
amongst our mutual friends in the crowd
my lips crash into yours
like the dancing seas into the rock of Gibraltar
in that moment, I’m reminded why
I’m so happy you decided to meet me at the alter

I solemnly swear, my blushing bride,
that our love will always prosper
the fortitude of my love for you will never falter
in that, you will not find fault
my very existence was to break your heart’s resistance
from day one
the strength we possess was made manifest in the birth
of our beautiful son

passion burns like sulphur to naked skin
there is no greater win than the day
that legendary wind swept you off your feet
and encouraged you to meet me at the alter

i pine, i perish…
our love, i cherish
in that fact, you won’t ever find fault
don’t ever expect my love for you to falter
not since our child was born did a more
joyous day in my life occur
never have I been more sincere like I am right now, my dear
i implore you to cast aside all doubt
accept this as the absolute truth, for I would never palter

thank you so much for saying “yes”
thank you for agreeing to meet me here
at the alter.


(photo courtesy of Naz Malik)



This city I call home was founded by Romans, repeatedly attacked by Vikings,
survived by Anglo-Saxons, dramatised by Shakespeare,
blitzed by Nazis, and personified by every modern-day Briton the far-right nationalists don’t want here.

This city was built on a foundation of ashes and bathed again in great flames, where corporate skyscrapers are erected on top of pauper graves
that contain casualties claimed by bubonic plague.

This city I call home was built on rock and the Rolling Stones,
where today’s youth fight stars & politicians just to get themselves in a decent enough position to make an honest living.

The city’s suburbia does battle on green fields on a typical weekend afternoon
or dark alleys on weekday nights; people swear allegiance to factions
that crave ultimate glory or immediate wealth… or both…
nevertheless, the demise of a traitor to either side is preceded only
with a blood-curdling plea for mercy.

This city is an artistic mecca; where actors from all over the Globe
follow this city’s subterranean rainbow-coloured brick railroad,
living out their dreams re-enacting stories of old;
where Primrose and Notting hills are alive with the sound of music;
where Camden is a bohemian rhapsody,
proclaiming itself as the most eclectic place in the galaxy.

This city is a fortress.
Many have tried to destroy it, what with explosive rucksacks
blitzkrieg bops, or even an infamous gunpowder treasonous plot;
even when civil anarchy strikes, the city unites
armed with dustpan and broom to fight the good fight.

Though political rats in bespoke suits and tie
pillage, loot, and gentrify every borough
and every council estate, forcing it to equate with middle-class tastes,
every working-class citizen can proudly proclaim:

“We built this city!”

The city where damn near 8 million call it ‘home.’
The co-founder of the Industrial Revolution
that gave this nation it’s proverbial backbone.

So enjoy your public-access WiFi from Platform 10…
just remember who built this city formally known as Londinium.

Coin from the Londinium mint

Are You Watching Closely?


“The end is nigh,” I hear them cry
but we’ve only just begun.
We all continue to ignore the outcry.
“The end is nigh,” I hear them cry
yet trouble still abounds and folks continue to calcify.
Parliament – not the battlefield – is where the war on terror will be won.
“The end is nigh,” I hear them cry
but we’ve only just begun.


(photo courtesy of Amy Stein Photography)