UNTIL THE STARS COME DOWN (quite possibly the worst thing I’ve ever written)

An odd concept: A poem incongruously dedicated to feminism and equal gender rights (fiercely anti-misogyny, anti-patriarchy etc.)  and the indifference of the cosmos as well as something of an unashamed tribute to Wittgenstein too (I’m over reaching here) all compounded into one virtuoso (or not) poem. Stanley Kubrick in a 1968 interview (ironically with a surprisingly philosophical Playboy magazine, no less) once spoke this of the seeming Nietzschean nihilism of the universe: ‘The most terrifying fact about the universe is not that it is hostile but that it is indifferent; but if we can come to terms with this indifference and accept the challenges of life within the boundaries of death – however mutable man may be able to make them – our existence as a species can have genuine meaning and fulfilment. However vast the darkness, we must supply our own light.’

This could potentially be the worst poem I’ve written, particularly the ‘supernova sacks’ line. Anyway enjoy, it’s poorly saturated with unnecessary references to psychoanalysis, philosophy, neuroscience and all that. Enjoy. 




Screaming lullabies 

Punch and kick



Brown Goodbyes.

Midas more

Golden Black 

The Lacanian abyss 

Bearing these supernova sacks

Let’s have some more.

She swings from the  Event Horizon


 Kitschy sycophancy

And collective infancy (of the hedge funders)  


about thinking

about thinking

about real emotion

Meta-layers of madness 

Across a cognitive Kingdom 


The circumstance of brain drain 

Rhizomatic  and Emblematic 

Demystify every sign 

Multiplicity and  emphatic 

Until the heart ceases 

Eighths and quarters  benign

Remember  when you sought her 

Object Petit a

And found nothing but inky darkness?


Cosmic Justice

A grand jury of Stars watching 

Bearing this leering injustice with patience 

Until the Stars come down


Mushroom Clouds (VIDEO)


Verses can be found here

[Shameful quantity of typos amended]

I’ve taken the liberty of using and editing some Soviet H-bomb test footage found here as well as a quiet sampling of Joy Division’s “New Dawn Fades” (unintentionally ironic, yes?) for its atmospheric qualities in addition to a foreboding BBC transmission standby card.

The poem itself, is up to you.

Topography of the mind

I’ll leave this entirely to you. Note the upper-cases.

Topography of the Mind

Boat rides on a Midnight River

Lost on the particulars and the purgatorial

Fall resides on what we cannot deliver


The Hinterland; within and outside it

A cognitive exile


Growing in a grassroot Desert

Ploughing for many zealots


Eroding the fortitude

And the forted Citadels of the Unconscious too


In the mirror of the Factory line

Two odd arcs

Up through the Spine

A discordant harmony

Pushing parallel

Up and up

Toward their disconnected epiphanies


And it was almost harmonic



Almost meaningful


Now the factory is dead

It was organic after all


Cockroaches crawl triumphant.