Free Codine

wrote this in a flurry of similar activity on Thursday evening...

The Jagged Edge – or – this is what White Line Fever is about, if not cocaine

Ride the wind

Or the rails

Or whatever

There’s some strange sort of

Balance

Or tension

Or something

From sailing close

To the jagged edge

Especially

When you sail too close

And the jagged edge

looms out

from the murk of fiction

and reminds you

of your own, crashing

mortality

and if you survive

well enough to lick your wounds;

to taste the burn

and the dirt

of the jagged edge

you’ll smile

a strange sideways smile

knowing you can never go back

and if you don’t

then you’re already there

the jagged edge don’t care

and with any luck

will get you in the end

better than a care home

and spiraling debt

and someone else

who doesn’t want to be there

wiping your arse

and stealing your watch

-----

then this happened mid-dayish Friday

 

thank fuck for the NHS & free Codine! 12 hours in A&E, 5 x-rays, a bit of concussion and a sore neck and not one thing broken...bloody poetic premonitions!
So it goes.

Expand the Possibilities

I've just made a new zine - Broken Freedom Song - 6000-odd words about 3000-odd miles on a borrowed motorbike, starting in Tucson, AZ and passing through weird and wonderful places such as The Centre of the World, Salton Sea, Salvation Mountain, Slab City, The Joshua Tree, Mt. Baldy, LA, Big Sur & SF amongst others... my mate and cosmic rebbi, Jeru Price said it reads like a Hemmingway letter, if he was into motorbikes and chilling instead of bloodsports and booze, which I'm pretty fuckin' stoked with if I'm honest.

(color photocopied on the sly at various places)

hit us up here - beastmangoat@hotmail.com if you'd like a copy...3 quid posted in the UK, and a bit more elsewhere...cheers.

(Lemmy's critique is that she couldn't step over it fast enough...so it goes.)

Outlaw Scum Fucks

Me & Andy, SF, 2014. (photo by some Chinese mechanic who was standing by smoking a fag)

some shite I wrote about twat-planking and SF scum fucks can be found - here

Breaking Down Walls

When we were kids

I used to go to my friend Johnny’s

In order to lose ourselves amongst his mother’s meadow-like garden

Round the back of the house

That the university let them live in

As long as Johnny’s mam worked

On the campus there.

Endless days spilt into weeks spilt into months

Spent in the abandonment which summer and childhood

Can afford

And I ceased to think of that house, with its great,

Green expanse on all sides

As anything other than my own.

One particularly sickly-sweet, sweaty day

Andy (Johnny’s brother) came running, telling tales of

An ancient brick wall that he’d found

Behind some bushes, in a far-flung,

Lesser-explored corner of the meadow

Which looked like, with a little persuasion

Would probably just fucking fall o’er

Which, of course, was all the information we needed.

Streaking across the long grass,

in usual formation (Johnny first/ me/ Andy trailing a little behind)

Leaping over logs and through tangleweed

Andy shouting clipped directions from behind

We arrived, breathless, at the decrepit, redbrick antiquity

Sagging and bowing under its own weight

And decades worth of weathered, crumbling mortar.

Stopping only to draw breath and take in

The potential for juvenile destruction, then

Grabbing a fallen tree limb

Between the three of us

And, wielding that rudimentary battering ram

Joyously and dementedly, aiming that sucker

Into the heart of the most prominent bulge

And pounding her in

Over and over again

Whooping with exhaustion, splinters, blisters

And brick dust rising up

All around our ears.

We didn’t hear the shouts from beyond the wall

Over the racket we were busy making

The shrieks increasing with each fallen brick

A cacophony of abandonment and destruction

As the swelling cement finally gave up

and we went spilling through the fresh hole

Battering ram and all

A shower of splintering wood, broken stone and young limbs

Clattering in upon a well-to-do looking family

Sitting round a picnic table

Staring aghast at the point of commotion

And the place where 
their garden wall used to be.    

    

A Rainy Night in Oakland (seems like it's raining all over the world)

One rainy night in East Oakland I called in unannounced on the East Bay Dragons MC.
One frosty night in Nottingham, I wrote some hokum & jive all about it.
One drizzly day in rural Yorkshire, Guy whacked the prattle in his glorious Magazine.
One sunny morning in Nottingham, it fell through my door...cheers Guy, stoked! (grab it here if ya so inclined...)

High, Low and In Between

collage I made sometime ago, and can't remember why?

Only Him or Me

Townes & Richie Brautigan are good dudes.