The Real World at One


Leap off the balcony

With an noose around my neck


Disappointed leers from below

Not for the noose 

But for the boom of BBC Radio 4

For which I was once fond of.


My face purples 

As I dangle between 7 & 8

The Real World at One. 


I told you, I’m not an ordinary son

But now I’m done.

My class duality on a feverent run,

The Real World at One. 


Mushroom Clouds

Image by Jonathan Ducruix

The Quiet New Born

“His name was Alexei”

They mourned


Under a silent sigh and a cobalt streaked sky

(no stimuli)

The lights of every city run away

(no laughs)

On the last train out

(no cries)

The inconsequence  of 100 Billion Lies


Under a treacly black dome

Tracks should rattle 

Where a vacuum inhabits


The space and time 

Where fleeting fits 

of joy

Loved and boomed

Lived and bloomed


Now button-pressers prattle 

Hush: Ignore the reasons.

It blooms.

Anti-Erudite: Another abhorrent poem

Looks like self-loathing or a least a very solipsistic interpretation of said loathing is going to become this blog’s defining thematic hallmark. To be completely honest, the aforementioned and the things accompanied closely by with it (too numerous to mention, practically every attribute/fear/desires that maketh man and woman for that matter) are highly interesting to me (and who isn’t interested in human behaviour?), so I’m going to run very far with them…


Circumventing and searching,


What I am looking for?

Acclaim and nothing more, comes to mind.


Been here before: Can’t create new light

Just an absence, a vacuum, It’s very, very trite

Stop reading, I mean it


Prevailing false notions that I am ever so bright.

No, that’s reserved for those who create truth

ex nihilo from deceit

 (the dominant elite)


Stop reading, it’s a fucking fallacy

Knowledge  is a travesty

(and so am I)


Persona non grata

You’re probably smarter


Learn to read

and repeat

Read and repeat

Education: merely a propagation of

(Shudder and sigh)



Constructing a cognitive prison of misinformation and mortar

Words are my warden

Lethargy from my lexicon


Hard to express myself

Nothing is something that cannot be seen
Intellect is obscene

What do I mean?

Where the the unconsicous and the conscious converge

That’s where you’ll find me

Crushed inbetween  a cognitive chasm



It’s Unambiguous and I know nothing

Are you still reading?