All Hail Adam Smith

We will all be millionaires one day

We will look at each other

With wide eyes

And stupid grins

And know that we have made it

Our secret is simple

Not Lotto

Not Gambling

Hell, not even hard work

The secret

Is to sit on that bony bum of yours

And wait

For Inflation

A rise in the general price of goods and services

An erosion in the purchasing power of money

This is the plan

Born out of Adam Smith's acolytes

Upon the altar of Mainstream Economics

It's a good plan

If you have your head in the sand

Or up your own arse

Moronic in its simplicity

But simple things always are

In 1967

The year New Zealand decimalised it's currency

A $30 crate of beer

Would have cost $1.92

A 93.6% erosion of purchasing power

Thanks to our friend Inflation

But

Think of how much closer we are today

To that elusive million

An increase in the price

Of the only legal drug we have left

Is a small price to pay

On our journey to the Country Club

In another forty-three years

I will be 67

And that $30 crate of beer

Will only cost $440

Assuming a constant rate of inflation

That's almost as much money

As I make every week now

But don't forget

In the year 2053

I will be earning

$8500 dollars every week

If I start saving now

I'll have a million

In the bank

In no time

The future is bright my friends

The economy will provide us

With happiness and joy

We will revel

In our six figure bank accounts

More than just numbers

A score sheet

Of national satisfaction

We will bathe

In bathtubs of gold

Scrubbing ourselves

With $100 bills

All we have to do

Is sit

And wait

For the second coming

All hail

Our Lord and saviour

The prophet Adam Smith

An Ode To Cleanliness

The grouting is caked in grime

The pipes are full of slime

And rust

Which bubbles up

From bottom to top

Steam heated

The terror splits hydrogen from oxygen

Like skin from flesh

Cracking, an elemental whip

But this is no place to swing a cat

Nor a space to bring a pussy

This is where I wash myself

In the Korean Bath-house

(This was written while working on a Korean Squid Trawler in Sub-Antarctic New Zealand)

Pukeke

You are rock
I am water

You are solid
I am fluid

You stay the same
And yet I am always changing

You are dogma
And I am truth

I will wear you down

It may take a long time

But I will break you down

And then
You will be nothing
But a memory

And I will still be changing
I will still be fluid
I will still be water

The Good Years

I'm walking into town

To get drunk

I look in a window

There stands a middle aged man

Middle aged, middle life, middle class, middle everything

Exceptional nothing

He sands the window frames in the spare bedroom

Just worked a forty-five hour week

At a job he pretends not to hate

And this is how he spends his Friday night

But you know

As they say

He's 'living the dream'

'Good job', 'good kids', 'good wife', 'good life'

It's all shit

And that's where I'm expected to be

In fifteen years

When I 'make it'

No one tells you at high school

That this is what it feels like to be twenty-four

Is this really it?

Is this really why I spent four years at university?

Am I supposed to feel like this?

Like shit

Prozac nation

Addicted to everything that dulls existence

The futility is crushing

As are their fucking lies

I want my money back

Because dollars and cents

Are the only worthy thing I've invested in this world

Apparently

We were told things were meant to be good

It's a fucking rort

The bullies don't grow up

They just get older

And if they get rich

We can't line up quick enough

To get shat on

Keep up with Mr and Mrs Jones

Or die a miserable death

Surrounded by last years appliances

I'm standing at the lights

By the highway now

Cuba and Karo

Three cars pass

Every second

The thought crosses my mind

To just step out

Into the light

Just to feel something

Some kind of emotion

Like hope

It's all shit

I have become

Uncomfortably numb

Working Bee

I am in the garden

On a mission of death and destruction

The trees scream as I cut them

But I pretend not to hear

It is easier to kill

When your victims are silent

They shriek and moan

As their limbs crack and groan

Until they let go

And fall

To the ground that once gave them life

They are no match

For my high-grade steel blade

Expertly notched

To sever as I push forward

And remove the flesh as I pull it back

Perhaps

They will forgive me one day

Or perhaps

They will never forgive the day

I cut them down

Like objects

The Seagull Tavern

There once was a pub

Down by the port

Full of sailors and drunkards

That kind of sort

There was gambling and brawling

And drinking and stories

The old fishermans tale

In all its glory

And late in the the night

When no one could talk

They would start singing

Until throats were coarse

Yargh hah the sea!

And Yo ho the ocean!

Wherever I should be

Id rather be out boatin'

As soon as we get

Our boots on the land

We'll go straight to the pub

Nurse a pint in our hands

We'll fuck and we'll fight

Till the day that we die

With wind in our sails

And a glint in our eyes

We'll yarn and we'll boast

Till the hours of morn

Till our eyes start to droop

And our voices are worn

An hour of sleep

That's all we need

Then back on the boat

Headin to sea

That is the life

Of sea going men

The pub and the sea

Again and again!

The Lonely Sea

Just another day
On the blue
When a storm whips up
And runs me through

The waves they crash
The wind it tears
The banshees howl
And draw my fear

My mast it snaps
Gone are the sails
I bail water
The rudder fails

I hold on
For dear life
Rain stings my face
A thousand knives

Through the night
Don't sleep a bit
Think to myself
This could be it

I scream at the gulls
They scream back at me
Not quite all alone
On the lonely sea

Headcase

Head case

Head space

The space between my ears

Is empty

And bursting

Try not to think

Just to exist

Is an effort

Sleep is refuge

But refuge is hard to find

When you're battling

Questioning

Why I do this to myself

Drinking

Drinking

Drinking

Last night was meant to be 'quiet'

But I woke up this morning in a park

Drunk

And stoned

And delirious

I got up

And ran

From the demons in the park

But they're hard to escape

When you carry them in your mind

I saw Pan

And his ilk

I would have stopped

And conversed

But I had to get away

From the chasers

So I ran

And I looked over my shoulder

And I could see them coming

So I ran faster

I ran home

To my bed

To sleep

To refuge

I slept

Until I woke up

And I looked out the window

And they were still coming

They are coming

They are coming

They are coming for me

Rogue States

Pick up your guns, start your own war

Go away wealthy, return more than poor.
Come back dead, one way or another
Dead to your country, dead to each other.
Loss of limb, loss of life
Little difference in this time of strife
Irony deep in who were once friends
A mortal enemy is how it ends.
Shooting hostiles in lands far away
Just following orders, nothing to say.
Children who die, bullet in head
No parents to mourn they’re already dead.
For money, for greed, for the glory of war
The same reasons again as the reasons before.

The Pianist

See fingers dance on the black and whites,

Like ten tiny magicians each performing
separate magic tricks, combining as one ultimate force.
Watch feet tap the pedals flawlessly,
Such exquisite workmanship never seen before.
Feel the body, twitching and convulsing,
half raised off the stool.
Eager to move, to be lost in the music, one
small molecule of life in a deep abyss of sound.
Then look - at the face, eyes closed, dark
hair wild and untamed, sweat dripping from
every pore.
The intense concentration.
A man in another world, a world of
catastrophic cacophonies and superlative sound.
Experience the work of a prodigious mad man.
This is...
The Pianist

Snake River

Valley of dreams

Of hope
Of joy
Of laughter

Summer sun sets behind jagged snowy peaks
Summer snow melts and joins the lazy river
Summer river flows through lush green trees
Summer trees cast long shadows under the orange clouds
Summer clouds frame the landscape in its entire untouched beauty.

Valley of dreams
Words too humble to describe such a magical wonder
Heaven on earth
I wish
I could be there
Now

http://www.webshots.com/pro/photo/3158247

We Are All One

We are the same

You and me
We both have eyes
We both have ears
We both have mouths
We are the same
You and me
Whoever you are

Prisoner of Consequence

Heavy dew under my feet,

Black night sky half broken by night clouds and where not,
The roofless cave is sprinkled with sparkling blue glow worms.
The dark night seems empty at first,
But my ears are soon filled with the silent sounds of the night.
Crickets chirp endlessly all around,
The still night air broken by a few lonely gusts of wind.
Suddenly,
A dog barks and cars can be heard on the motorway over the valley,
Breaking my chain of thought,
Wiping out my moment of peace and tranquility,
Smashing it into a million pieces.
What was so wonderfully peaceful is ruined forever, by ourselves.

Waiting For Your Return

We sit at your house

Wondering when you will come home.
We look past each other to pass the time.
The house is cold,
Because you're not here.
The house is empty,
Because you're not here.
We sit.
And we wait.
We read two week old newspapers.
We listen to the ticking
And the tocking of the clock.
We close our eyes and we remember the good times,
There are many.
We sit and we wait,
For you to come home,
But you never will.