This is like a time of the impossible

This is like a time of the impossible
When hatred is exposed to the light
The photo is published in the news syndicate
So people can see how a creature of the night
Slavers over its prey in its dark den

This is a time of the impossible
When selfishness is exposed like woodworm
When the rotten wood is left untreated
And selfishness becomes a pain in the heart

Spring is in the air
The days are lengthening
There are the sounds and colours of nature
And the sun is warm and bright

Yet mankind is in a crisis
We pass on a virus to each other
We die by the handfuls everyday
And we use money like beads

If I live through this crisis
If I survive this plague
How can I learn to understand it?
How can I prepare for the worst?

An epidemic of the blues

In this grand utopia, the posse rides through heaven
Guided by mission control way above the weather
Flying fish and flying bombs and mermaids in the gutter
Running from the tide of war without their bread and butter

There’s gonna be, there’s gonna be
An epidemic of the blues

Down in deepest Darlington
I met my old belief
She was standing by a drain
Trying to get relief
Do you have to live this way?
I hoped that I could help
But the last thing that she wanted was
To be her better self

There’s gonna be, there’s gonna be
An epidemic of the blues

Walking through the market square
The gypsy Romanian fell
She hadn’t had a bit to eat
There was nothing in the well
People just ignored her when
She seemed to grit her teeth
And calling down a curse or two
So we all could feel her grief

There’s gonna be, there’s gonna be
An epidemic of the blues

Now walking in the garden
I saw an ugly ghost
And everyone it breathed upon
Soon began to croak
And laughing like a demon
Its work was easily done
For people had stopped believing
And had taken up the gun

There’s gonna be, there’s gonna be
An epidemic of the blues

There was a man named Baptist John
Who lived in Bethnal Green
And with his broken placard board
He broke into your dream
Why are you following now
Into a cul-de-sac
And even the politician feels
Things are looking black

There’s gonna be, there’s gonna be
An epidemic of the blues

As the coast guard boat was sailing
It came across a child
Swimming across the ocean
It was getting wild
If I go back to my country
I’m sure to be killed
Take me to your leader
I’ll now be self-willed
There’s gonna be, there’s gonna be
An epidemic of the blues

I saw a man of papers
He said let’s all do right
Follow the instructions
It will surely save your life
The protesters soon had gathered
They wanted right of way
Give us our night or else
We’ll take away your day

There’s gonna be, there’s gonna be
An epidemic of the blues

They called for law and order
But just what does that mean
They ate it like spaghetti
Like pond weed in a stream
It’s back to the beginning
If you remember when
Right was right and wrong was how
And there is no golden cow

There’s gonna be, there’s gonna be
An epidemic of the blues

Someone saw a murder
Well isn’t that a shame
Called for an ambulance
To take away the blame
The academic right of way
Kept arguing all the time
That’s the way the world is
A magnet for the crime

EINSTEINS BRAIN

What good is Einstein’s brain without Einstein?
The thoughts are dead – he’s gone to his grave

Einstein’s brain
Kept by Dr Jekell in formaldehyde
Tested for his intelligence by Dr Frankenstein

His genes preserved in a glass case
For the benefit of a master race.

As if his brain will sprout with his theories of space and time
As if a tree of knowledge will grow up from his brain watered by formaldehyde

Oh, Einstein, they’ve placed your brain like a house plant on a windowsill

A Criticism of the Suit

The wearing of a suit usually means you are not allowed to express yourself. You are part of a group managed by a higher authority. You are given your orders and expected to follow them. What do I mean by self-expression? I think it means being able to discuss all things, argue all things and question all things that have put you into a suit. The drawbacks of wearing a suit are that those who require it have put themselves above you and are able to control you. The school uniform means that all children are there to obey the rules, so to the office suit, the military uniform etc. If you discover something new, of benefit to others or a mistake in the thinking of those over you will you be listened to? Will they engage with you in smoothing out and trying to understand your insight your question, your point of view? Sometimes it can seem that only if you wear a suit will you be listened to, so it seems to be the opposite of the uniform thinking, and yet this will isolate outsiders, even to the point of causing harm.
The history of the suit – it seems to have begun with Victorian fashion with a mind to make people fit in with a certain class way of thinking. If you wanted to mix with a certain kind of people you have to dress like them. The Sunday best of the poor people who went to church was more of a way of fitting in than the worship of God. There was a time with ancient Greeks for instance when fashion was limited to how you folded your gown around you, with new folding techniques sweeping across society, while modern clothing is very varied and self-expressive so why are authorities still mildly afraid or critical of people who do now dress like them? Presenters on TV in their suits all the time, come what may. Still, the Sunday best suit prevails in religious communities. Still the uniform, the toe the line and be in order. It makes things easy for those who want to be in command, good or bad, to turn their staff, pupils, etc. into a papier-mache society.
If a person cannot express themselves to those in charge of them what do you end up with? Everything goes flat and a kind of lifelessness enters our existence and w cannot live our lives with any meaning except that which is imposed upon us.

In The Department Of Social Security

In the department of Social Security
With my form for the funeral fund
Filled in using the pen and ink of death

In this department, the air is made of stale crystals
They fit each applicant like a suit of misfortune

The trunk road of alcoholism ends here
The graffiti of an angry society roughens up its theatre

The last stop on the way to the morgue
The eyes of Death are present here

The last line of help before the cruelties of winter take you
Before you become a social outcast living in the street

A department scourged to a minimum parsity
By the bones of the depressed and the lonely

A huddled woman sits here submerged in a sea of worry
An alcoholic pisses against the wall outside

The receptionists are barricaded in for their own safety
Behind the walls with the glass windows

We all hate to set foot in here
This government department border crossing for unconverted pagans

It’s here you must convert or end up alone
Fighting against depression and the elements of your wrecked psyche

This is a shrine to the sins of Adam and Eve
Here the sacred snakes can be heard hissing

There is not the enigma of comforting scripture
There are only lifeboats of paper money under the decaying flesh

When the days begin to seem like years
And the years turn into the days of eternity

Can’t this be left behind?
Like a station left behind on a journey

Rainbows for the hopeless part 2

Having a lovely experience

Having a lovely experience
Without any thought or fear
That borders frame around me
In my hemisphere

With all my grave goods by me
And all my supports so dear

In the drain pipes of survival
Like little mouse I run
Wrapped in earthly colours
Like a black daub of the sun

Evaporating, distilled
Inside a silent drum

It’s amazingly so obvious
How glued my solids are
How all my lonely spirits
Have to travel far

With orders to recapture and contain me
While my heart tries to make sense of it all

It’s nothing, believe me

the physical universe is in nothing
this nothing is not empty
because being empty implies
a container, a place, a shape that is empty
this nothing has no life, has no death
and never can and never will and never has
this nothing cannot be measured
in any way because there is no existence
of any kind to be measured
this nothing gives the illusion of vastness
but it is only an illusion of the confused human mind
that is incapable of understanding nothing
hey space-walking man, tell them the truth
the physical universe floats in nothing

Raindrop

Raindrop running down a window
There’s nothing to control you from within
If you could think you’d see your predicament
And maybe you’d grow wings to fly.

Raindrop running down a window
Running into other raindrops and forming pools of water.
and making one big body of water
you go where it goes without a thought

Rainbows for the hopeless part 1

The cleaner

The cleaner is at work scrubbing hard
His hand is light; his brush is like the wind.
He is scrubbing the blood with his scrubbing brush
He whistles in the basement like a dwarf

The whole day is crisscrossed by cleaners
When the weather is right they start their work
Folding the flesh into neat piles of laundry
Trying hard to remove the stain from the floor

Now, you want them to clean you up
So you sit waiting in the old tin bath by the fire
For their cleansing hands of flame

You don’t escape from it

You don’t escape from it
It’s under your skin all the time
It’s shot into your eyes like sharp harpoons

It’s got a long life; it will only die if you die
So when they send you the summons
Oh man, it’s a joke

When the ice caps have finally melted
Hey will find him – like a golden idol
A 50 ft. tall ancient man roaring with laughter

But you can’t run away from him, anyway
He’s been in you for years somehow
Buried deep like a surgical staple
Keeping your surgery together

You could go to sleep for a thousand years

You could go to sleep for a thousand years
– Or, you could run away forever.

If you tried to undo the thread of sleep
You would unwind like a ball of wool.
But instead, you run away with the key
To everything you see and touch

Then in the street lamps at night!
You study your veins in the mirror glass
How can you separate them one from the other
How can you unwind them – you can’t!

There are invisible lies

There are invisible lies; as translucent as glass following you everywhere with their sticky-note sidekicks
that super-glue themselves into your hair

They are your favourite App of red meat hate as nasty as cannibals crap, anyone can download-apply them, then they fly away like guilty bats.

Lies – once let lose they are like dry skin on your shin applied like a wipe by sensitive dislike and they let their poison sink in.

You’ll never be you and not even the truth can win.

Not even an invoice can buy back what they take and reverse the ruined stone. You’ll walk alone with growing lies sticking to the bone.

My eyelids close shut

My eyelids close shut – now, what have I caught?
The rusty trap has been set off …
I see a rodent’s tail inside whipping about
Hanging down my throat

I see your wooden brown horse statue
That stands on its hind legs beside the open door
Now I see your blue-patch by the dark underground station
Where you stand to hand out the free magazines

The black phone begins ringing …
I see the silver moon in its musical phrases
Crossing the horizon – now I open my eyes again
And I have become the giant who fell asleep in a pond