Starter two, April 2015

Alex glanced up furtively at the last chunk of light as it finally fled from the day. Blinds fully open, there was nothing now between the night inside and that out, save for a pane or two of glass.White double light switch, one on, one off

He sank in defeat to the couch and reached for the remote. He felt the cold blue light of failure bathe the room and muted those flickering morons. Once again his mobile browser found open medical sites which held no hope. He would have to sit it out and wait until Ali got home.

For whatever reason, the insulated switch-stick, which had been designed so recently for Alex, no longer worked. It was no different than if he tried to flick the switch himself. Unknown forces taunted Alex again. Although he was able to turn on and off any of the plethora appliances in one’s life, Alex was incapable of electrifying illumination in any setting! If you were hosted by Alex for an evening, you’d better make a note of where the light switches are cause you’re going to use them.

Around 2 months after his 19th birthday Alex started losing his light. At family homes, he was in constant need of light bulbs and fuses, his own home started the rotary of switch styles, as he tried to find a way through the night. Eventually, of course, doctors had been involved – but what can they do? If you switch on a light and then your patient is unable to make it black, is there a prescription for that? If you ask your capable and well-rounded appearing young patient to pop along and add their sample to a pot; when you have to turn on the light for them, which counseling service do you approach first?

Some bright spark botched up a switch-glove for Alex to have on his person for all eventualities. It worked for 4 days (about 1200 switches – Alex couldn’t help himself!) until the phantoms found their way through the materials.

Weeks of glove enhancement led to the switch-stick: insulated, angled, machined, crafted… researched (based on what?), the best, most recent, one – here we are back at the start – no longer worked.

And thus, inevitably, reluctantly, Alex once again found himself in his lightless nightmare…

Starter one, April 2015

IMG_6246Harry was oblivious to the commotion. The washing up is done, cake sandwich cooling. The kids have 15 minutes left of nap time.

This second coffee is halfway down, as is the crafted cone of bliss slowly smoldering in his left hand.

Deep breath in, little cloud out, and imbibe each puff of the very last crumbs of green in the house. The impending banality, marveling at that thick cloud of pot smoke, collapsing on itself so quickly, as exhaled. Coating our blooming kitchen in that giveaway stink.

Panic is ebbing again, he enjoys several deep tokes.

It stank so good until, as happens now, it gets extinguished. The final flutter of ash on the little sink. Then the roach, rancid with regret, is quenched and then commonly tossed out of the window.

This then is when Harry found life returning to his earth.

Three ominous orbs lined up outside the kitchen got noticed at the same time as the crash and smash of reverie getting and in to a temporarily crinkled mass of shock and awe!

The kids screamed.

The kitchen door disintergrated.

Steven Wright played Marvin singing “What’s going on?“.

And Harry ran cold tap to flush his ash…


Finally managed to have a chat with my future self last week

Adam 2020 told me to follow my heart, live for the day, and other platitudes

Whereupon I pressed him for details

He says I should wank and smoke less, take women seriously – especially my wife – and spend more time with the little B’s

He also encouraged me to make more money as he was tired of being almost poor

After some other literary gems (I promised not to share) he told me I’d always been conceited

I poked him in the eye, kicked him in the nuts and shot his left big toe off

So now I’ve got that to look forward to, too

Damn technology


Sung long and round o hills
How high and vast your tracks
Hang low break slow o hills
Dip your grand hat high sun

White man blues

adam bujons:

From October 2011 (written much earlier), it seems the blog’sphere is populated by godheads, and whilst I admire your tenacity, I can’t shake that belief that god was a creation of a scared and ignorant humanity, looking for answers without the mechanisms (or wit) to fathom any; A humanity with whom we share very little in common today.
I re-blog this blues-inspired poem in the hope that there are other atheists out there, sharing this technology with all the devout..?

Originally posted on bujonswords:

Poor white man got no God
Everyone loses when you ain’t got love

Got no money just got pain
and next time just gonna lose again

Poor white man down on luck
Waking each day though you don’t wake much

Lost that woman took your heart
Gave up feeling when it fell apart

How’s the light in your eyes
Got so lost and burnt to die inside?

Poor white man poor or free
Dragging blues like it’s captivity

Open eyes now open heart
This one life’s waiting for you to start

View original

The Capricious Tales of August Stock


Great news!

Here’s a phantastic pamphlet.Pamphelt Cover

The Capricious Tales of August Stock.

A 12 chapter poem.

You can buy a digital version from Kindle here for £1.99 ($3).

Or you can download a pdf for free here.

It’s the story of a journey of a man.

There are questions, love (sic), community and pain.

August Stock starts out dissatisfied, falls out of love, and then rambles on to new horizons. Will he find his peace? Will anyone let him?

You too can find out here!

I welcome feedback.


I once knew a woman

with a big
and worldly head:
She was ever so exciting
as she took them all to bed!
The tramp and then the scoundrel
and the drunkard
then the thief –
She was always more than welcoming
to poor souls; poor lost sheep.

Her light was spent in luxury;
in a gift crammed flat she lay,
while more people brought her ideas –
how to best avoid the day!
And though the drug-squad
(dressed in riot garb)
would wait outside her door
this life was so exciting
she just could not help want more!

Faithful? True she was not
but that matters hardly here
’cause her life flew by so hot –
If she stayed too long
she’d sear!

Aunty Kaye!