Poor fans pay: travel,
watch, wear shirts with ad's. Teams play,
get rich, chase the sun.
Before being killed at seventeen, I was G C Kite-Powell. Now zombiefied, I have breathed ghostly, fragmented life into this blog. Within, you will find a series of snapshots in the form of corrupted, subjective haiku, intended to enliven.
Breathe deep
The gathering gloom
Watch lights fade
From every room
Bedsitter people
Look back and lament
Another day's useless
Energy spent
from Nights In White Satin (Full Version)
- Moody Blues
Saturday, 27 August 2011
331 Dark-ish: Future Kids
Doubtless, Dad's poison
spread beyond his children. But,
what made him toxic?
Friday, 26 August 2011
330 Light-ish: The Cupboard Opener
I pee, hear "ME-ow!"
Downstairs, we meet and greet-ish.
When fed, she deserts.
329 Neutral-ish: The Art of Herding
Keep sheeple penned,
fearful, docile. To seem warm,
reward the slavish!
fearful, docile. To seem warm,
reward the slavish!
328 Dark-ish: Sewagecide (Pre-Adult)
I comtemplated
my worthless neck. How patient
Dad's window frame.
my worthless neck. How patient
Dad's window frame.
Thursday, 25 August 2011
Wednesday, 24 August 2011
324 Light-ish: Warranty Ended
Mower wheel dropped off.
Stu. said weld it. Garage Man
offered. The grass grows.
offered. The grass grows.
Monday, 22 August 2011
320 Neutral-ish: Mr Straightface
What a hypocrite...
Cameron counselled Libyans:
Observe human rights!
Cameron counselled Libyans:
Observe human rights!
319 Dark-ish: Fury of Condescension
Dad loved raging.
Fault-finding others served as
good reason to rant.
Fault-finding others served as
good reason to rant.
Sunday, 21 August 2011
317 Neutral-ish: Project Blue Beam-ish
The fourth horseman: An
invasion of humanish
and gods from the sky.