(more to follow soon)
Festival Girls
Stories fueled by acronymically defined groupings of chemicals
Dr. Martens are on so they’ll touch mud and bring with them long-winded stories
Tents lie mildly illuminated huddled together like a camp in a war film that is soon to be raided
Tents coupled and packed with couples with packs and packs of cigarettes
All around you are the children
The middle class whose parents smell well and shop in bulk
Somedaus
Despite what I’ve said in the past
And the things I say now
And the thing I’ll say tomorrow and perhaps the day after
Despite my despites and my despair and my spite
I still love you
And love is a strong word we reserve for too few special occasions
Patience
We lost our Casios in a game of cards
That’s time lost because of patience
Or maybe it was blackjack
Dunno
The dealers were all Asians
Furious meals
Beastly fear me
Since four I have been thrice ruthless
I mix Glen’s finest and then tend to tell the truth less
I’ll leave a corn off the cob
Barren chewed up and toothless
I’m like a pencil
Or a pen in a sword fight
Entirely useless
Paraphazing
I´m a prophylactic writer
I´ll do your work and cover for you
I´ll literally smother for you
Smothered in your lover for you
Or your lover becomes a mother I do
Prevent her from making a child or two
Lest a needle prick a prick on the prick protector my boo
I am a prophylactic writer for you
Cashback
Ah man I haven’t seen you in ages
You look great
What have you been up too?
How’s the wife?
Actually didn’t you owe me money?
Actually didn’t you owe me loads of money?
I almost forgot
I actually completely forgot
Did you know I’d forgotten?
Were you aware of it?
I hope you fucking weren’t
I hope you weren’t fucking aware of it
Did you forget?
I hope you fucking forgot
You best of fucking forgot
I’ll see you next Monday 5pm sharp
Blue Joy
(recording below from Ben’s Voice123 account)
I twist and then turn
And then grit and then gurn
As I speak and spurn on
Your advances
I then sniff whilst I chew
With eyes tight and askew
All I smell now is you
And romances
I am blue joy
The blue joy
Back trickling blue joy
Danube is not one of my dances
In lines I am bitter
Bad bitter and flaked
I am nasally taken for trances
Long Titles and Short
I sit legs extended
Knees straight
Not bended
Or bent
Simply straight
Alone
Without mate
Not the drink but the friend
Knees straight
Minus bend
Training
So then hand jobs are two
And my breakfast is one
And then friendships and love and this romance is none
Which is quite a strange way to rank up your pleasure
But ranking them up is a minor endeavour
Sundown
I am a golden calf
I am completely gold
I have no function other than the material from which I’m made is valuable
Ricky
Ricky walked into his gym class at 3.15.
“You’re late,” said Mr Scott.
“I quote the Dhammapada when I say “All that we are is the result of what we have thought”. But what is thought? I may lack a beard, but barba non facit philosophum, Mr Scott.
All our words from loose using have lost their edge. Plat and Kierkegaard and Woody All…
“Shut up Ricky”, said Mr Scott “Just get changed.”
Whey
Cold undetailed hand
Come to warm and welcome thighs
And two cracked and wind chapped lips,
Meet two small and slanted eyes,
And then cheeks turn upwards slowly,
And two mouths connect with rush
And the cap is closed between the two
The distance now is touch
And they are both both brought
Entirely brought
And felt to full appeal
And then soon they felt
Completely in
And more than simply real
And though now the thoughts have gone away
And ideas don’t sit above her
And now all I know
And all I care
For my love
There is
No other
Ugandanger
So pay a man to kidnap me
And take me to Uganda
For I’ll bound around
All over town
Whilst dressed up like a panda;
And with blackened eyes,
And panda thighs,
I’d be an awful show
On Ugandan news
All day and night
“Bad pandas gotta go”
And all everyone and everyone
Would fear and know my name
‘’Oh that’s panda Ben!’’
‘’He’s fucking mad’’
‘’Oh here he comes again’’
Faggot
I feel a foreign feel
Begin to walk
Atop my pink and closed
Though my mind cannot
Can go elsewhere
Than now where it’s deposited
And Ideas lay
And roll around
Days pass
They hit
They hiss
But now what I need
And want
Is more than only this
We
I’m not good at describing my feelings
But I’m really good at feeling them
Anger and discontent experienced
I have read all there is to read on depression
I’m well versed in matters of disappointment and denial
And I could practically write a book on loneliness
But It wouldn’t be a good book
It would be an awful book
I’m not good at describing my feelings
But I’m really good at feeling them
And isn’t that enough?
Isn’t to feel intensely enough?
Maybe I can’t describe my feelings as well as some
Maybe I can’t express them as powerfully as I feel them
But isn’t that enough?
Isn’t it better to express what genuine feeling you have
Than to express what little feeling you have with words that I don’t know
I could dance
And I could paint
And I could scream at a man on the set of a movie
And tell him he’s ruined everything I’ve ever loved
And weep
Wet his shirt and mine
I could do all this
But what would they say
Would they say they’ve felt what I’ve felt
Will I feel as if they’ve felt what I’ve felt
Will my emotions breathe life
I highly doubt it
None of us are good at describing our feelings
But we’re really good at feeling them
Bump and Grind
I’ve always wanted to touch and grab
To wrap my around
To bring in
To hold relatively tightly
Depending on
Depending on what’s being held
Would I hold a wine glass
I wouldn’t hold a wine glass
I’d hug a home very hard
I wouldn’t stop wrapping at the physical
I’d wrap my arms around September
Grabbing fascisms arm I’d say
“Misunderstood’’
I would never let go of niche
Niche is black, shiny, and leather
He doesn’t look as good as he is
Drenk
The can it sits
It sits and shouts
The sipping always working
Oh the classic drink
To numb the think
Unperky all now perking
And responsible for two sought things
Drunk touch and drunk relating
And the only thing more popular
Than snacks and contemplating
It’s the king of cans
The proper drink
A brew and both the beverage
And at night events
You´ll have a hand
So even out the leverage
Its nine Vodka and Sambuca shots
And sixteen pints of Guinness
And You’ll let it out
And laugh again
Grand fun from start to finish
Pink Salmon Dangers
Travel back to the 90s
and snap chap dick picks to women’s pagers
No one likes me and I’m lonely
Homer J Simpson mate yeah
That’s my only homie
Drink milk for breakfast
And eggs for dinner
Cyran wrap for lunch
My life’s a winner
And my school bag filled with spaghetti and steaks
So back in high school I never took breaks
Cause the wolves and boys always eat me up
Like my eggs
I’m cleaning the fridge
I’d love you more than anything
I´d give you more than everything
In your presence I’d be reveling
If you’d only clean the fridge
I’d stay awake all day and night
And go to sleep without a bite
You know I’d always treat you right
If you’d only clean the fridge
And anytime you needed me
I’d be there oh so speedily
I’d wait for you on hand and knee
If you’d only clean the fridge
Knock Knock on my heart’s door
Loving you is like kissing a hug on the lips
With your entire body
Naked
For days
Loving you is like the opposite
Of a snake with a spider’s body
Riding a millipede
Covered in wasps
Loving you is like waking up in a huge field
Covered in grass
Were we both cows
Who possessed human consciousness
Love is like helping an old woman across the road
And nobody’s around
So no one thinks you’re weird
You’re just a good guy
Smith’s Fishy
There was a man in Cyprus
His beard was as black as Cypress
I asked him if he had any windscreen wipers
That doesn’t rhyme
He said
Fine Wine Today
Fine wine today
Hints of grape
Notes of cork
The slightest touch of glass bottle
And rounded notes of alcohol and Sulphur
I idolize my ability in wine tasting
Bored
If you stuck four wheels on me
And gave me to a teenager
He could grind me
If I was any more bored
You could stick me between North and South Korea
And station troops around me
I’m so bored
Zeus actually
People tell me “Ben”
“Homer ain’t real” or
“Why don´t you grow up?”
“Keep talk from me pal,
For real
Lest I throw up”
Homer throws a duff can
Proper
At your fookin head
Dr Nick going
Hi everybody
But your body body dead
Homer so authentic
Yeah its real
Please don´t try deny it
Don’t tell me
“Yo its just cartoons my man”,
I ain’t gone buy it
People tell me he´s just a cartoon man
Yeah, just I don´t buy it
If Homer isn´t real then how would we make bread and baked goods
Where’d we get the Doh
If Homer isn´t real then who does Marge love?
Cause she really told me so
If Homer isn´t real then why do my tears get wiped from my cheek
Whose is that invisible hand?
If Homer isn’t real then what is the point of life and living,
I just don´t understand
So please let me drop some knowledge on ur weak mind
even tho u don’t deserve this
Watch out what u say about Homer next time bitch nigga
or you gonna die nervous
(blow kiss 2 camera)
Smart Stuff
I’d kiss you hard
Like a grizzly bear with a real erection
I’d never let you down
Like politicians’ promises post-election
Sperky
Your brown skin
You dark hair
Your curvy body
Oh coconut let me have you
Argue
As they say in France
Something-something-something
I don’t speak French
I haven’t even been to France
But who knows what the future may hold for me and my travel experiences
As the French say
I don’t know
I don’t speak French
I haven’t even been
Daddy
Didn’t your mom ever tell you not to talk to strangers?
I have two dads
Oh sorry, didn’t your dads ever tell you not to talk to strangers
One’s a woman
Oh sorry again, didn’t your transgendered mom/dad never tell you not to talk to strangers
They’re both mute
Oh sorry didn’t your transgendered mom/dad never tell you not to sign to strangers
They died before I was born
21st century love
And then I saw her
And an indifference seeped into the thought of every woman I’d ever seen before
Her height?
About 5,6
Maybe 5,7
Definitely no less than 5,2 and no more than 5,10
The perfect height
Her eyes
Probably god-like
I couldn’t tell – it was too dark
But I knew hypothetically they were the only eyes I ever wanted to see again
I was already in love
Her lips?
Incomparable
Indescribable
But I’ll do my best
She was chugging something so I couldn’t see them
Admittedly, I couldn’t see much of her at all
The smoke machines and strobe lights were working against me
Her body?
Average
God how average
The kind of average people write poems about
And then I saw her smile
Curved
Bent
Almost completely symmetrical
I bit my lip
What goddess stood before me
And the weather?
That was irrelevant
We were in a club
I approached her and with each step the sexual tension felt more and more palpable
I took her hand in mine and I told her
‘’I’ve looked for you my entire life’’
I bought us 14 tequilas
We drank them and made love at my mom’s house
In the morning, I woke up and she was gone
They say romance is dead
I say it just needs a couple of drinks
Culture number 13
We matched
‘’Hey, up to much later?’’
‘’Nah, you?’’
‘’Nah, fancy coming over?’’
‘’Yeah, sure’’
And they say romance is dead
Culture number 19
I’m waiting for the day when culture has gone far enough for me to tell someone:
‘’Your only redeeming quality is your name,
Dragonquan’’