Tuesday, February 17, 2026

I Bow To Thee!



High Street De-soulifier Extraordinaire

Oh Gails, symbol of affluence, I worship at the feet of your copy and paste interior decoration and exorbitant pastries. Amongst mummies as yummy as the brownies, amidst bankers as wankery as Farage. The cavorting wealth guffaws at my bank balance, as does the rest of this Thames hugged borough. “£6 million house SOLD” jibes the estate agent window, “get the F**K out my way urchin” says the £100k BMW 4x4s monstrous face, “dripping buckets of smugness” go the beautified, pampered, pure-breed smiles.


Oh dear and holy Gails, your allegiance to the de-soulifcation of the high street is beyond commendable - many golden pats on the back ye Bain Capital Credit - well done on stripping uniqueness from highstreet after highstreet. Who can compete with your industrialised pristine tarts? Who can stand up to your predatory, data-driven tactics, certainly not the family-run bakery cafe I worked for whose love and spirit were no match for the shining emblem of late-stage corporate capitalism that opened up three doors down.







A Triptych Tale Of Valentine’s Days.

Two thousand and Five: Red gold orb soaked sky fills my eyes, bounties bronze-kissed spread on aurum sand. Breathing deep freedom air that you’d swear was laced with cocaine but only with the Pacific. Back in town, mouth and tongue are lime-chilli smacked and fresh-fish flummoxed, the future glowing on the horizon.

Two Thousand and Six: Fish and chips faces and alcohol cheeks pass me by on the cold, rain-drearied street. Grolsch green waves fold miserably on the beige pebble beach, a snide seagull mewls. Back in the cat piss smelling flat a hairless cat moans, a jacket potato browning in the oven. The future smoking on the horizon.

Two Thousand and Seven: Sea waves sing through the balcony window, morning sun warm-bathes heart-attack levels of love-making. Apres-swim al fresco breakfast - freshly squeezed orange juice glints, our eyes speak to each other of this perfect now, splashing its waves of sapphire water over our delighting faces and bare nipples - the future teases so on the horizon.




Saturday, January 24, 2026

Navigation

Deep ruby is gilding my heart, clouds umming and ahhing briefly beautiful. Winds blow them in seven directions, the ship’s compass - where is it? My bearings were lost in the storms of longing, my map is blurring, the supplies are thin, can I make it back to the shore of your embrace by the stars alone? 




Saturday, November 22, 2025

Under Down Land, Up Above Sky



My soul hath drunketh deep to overfloweth rainflorists, beamed sun flummoxed reams of violet sweat, flip-flocked kookabara cackles, broken death dreamed life seams, trammeled treasonous treasures of precocious civilisations.

My sentences soundly slept as my feet became eyes and my hands ears. I swept sweet sea swims, wept revering lake languages, rock crack salt smacks, parakeets, rainbow lorikeet teeming tree trills and butterfly frills.

Dolphin way’ll show'em, Whale we’ll glow’em, wave flocks, beach frocks, flat white shocks’ll swill’em, swell’em, av’em - hella fuckin arvo mate.



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