Last Orders

Floating up the ladder of insobriety
We climb to all-time lows.
Or the peaks of depravity?
Carelessly we tread the thin blue carpet
In tight-knit slippers,
And never stray the beaten track.
Not much.
Under the influence of all their Buds
The company of fools set sail their vessels,
Though the ship is parked outside.
Heavy curtains of Best Bitterness
Impair our already bloodshot distinction
Of left from right
From wrong,
As full-to-brim with foolhardy Courage
Like sheep we flock from the field of play,
And gaily we gambol
With life and death. The stakes?
A CHOICE OF TWO PRESTIGIOUS DESTINATIONS !
A long-stay return at Her Majesty’s pleasure;
Or a one-way ticket to an early grave.

HAIKU

High upon my star,
I watch the constellations
Twisting from afar.

They’re circulating
Fast, now slow. Now fast again
In spirals of time.

The web of threads of
Jewels of light and dark and bright,
Pin-point-punctures night.

A lone moon shines pale
Its lunar luminescence,
And somehow I’m sad.

But I smile in thought
As the galaxies revolve;
Memories I have.

Uncomfortably Glum

A: Hello? Is there anybody in here?

Just grunt if you can hear me. Tell me I'm not alone.

Come on out. No need to look around.

If I could help you cease the rain, get back on the road again...

Relax, you need a resolution first.

A baseball bat or axe.

Show 'em what it means to hurt.


B: There is no pain, only the reeling
The distant ripsaws of the horizon
They are only drumming through the rain
Their tongues recoil, but I don't fear what they say.

I'm out for a while, for no good reason
My mind melts just like a blue lagoon.
Now I'm out of season once again -
I can't refrain, will not be undermined, this is not here and now.

I have become uncomfortably glum.

(A soul-wrenching heartstring interlude ensues, but dissipates anon, paving the way for the emotional holocaust to come)

I have become uncomfortably glum.

A: No way, not such a little prick!
For me no more lah-de-dah
Though you might deem me kinda sick

Take a stand now. You won't believe what's lurking, what broods.

That should get you going with the flow.

Get up, it's time to grow.

B: This is no game! You are concealing
The constant whipstroke, always disguising!
You are hardly cutting through the haze.
The drips ooze, but I don't care for dismay.

With eyes of a child, I fought the creeping hints,

Out from dark corners of my life.

I burned the books of shit gone wrong,

I could not pull my finger out in time

The chance is blown, the bleeding's done.

And I have become uncomfortably glum.

(A wailing array of spinal powerstrokes entrances the beholder for several minutes, enticing and inciting to rise to heretofore unimagined levels of spiritual tangibility, culminating in a crescendo of temerity and aplomb, before fading into blue-grey mists of introspect and solemn self-condemnation, leaving only a semi-lucid nebula of silent gloom.)

The Hound, by our resident literary deity, L.P. Hovercraft

And still I am haunted by the distant baleful baying,
The ceaseless patter of tiny paws,
And scratching of claws
As if at the very doors
Of my sanity.
O Heinous Fate!
That daemoniac howling that doth pierce my sleep
(And my waking)
As a rapier traverse my soul.
Would that the cohabitants of my residential abode
Return from their fortnight
Of post-nuptial respite,
That I may be free of this canine crooner!

Quote of the Day

"And what charnel horrors will lurk
In the dank recesses of the Mind?
What fell Daemons shall gnaw and gnash and claw their way
From the recondite morasses of stagnant Memory,
And into our Waking Fear?"

- L.P. Hovercraft