Destroyed By The Box

WWBT

AC Slater and Christian Slater

lay roof tiles and compare biceps together

after

they'll watch Interview with the Vampire

on a DVD player.

Destroyed By The Box

WWBT

Zack Morris meanders through Morrisons

on a shopping trolley

being pushed by Borris Johnson

and Borris Becker's grandson.

He never buys anything.

Destroyed By The Box

WWBT

Lisa Turtle with only a skirt on

wins a terrapin after beating

a terrified Terry Wogan

at ten pin bowling.

Delirious. Minds. Transcend. Liquefactive. Social. Dreams.

Dear closet zen

our jukebox spirit guide, with golden companion,

we have ascertained light

and voluptuous creeds from rich men,

but there aren't nearly enough bridges

for where we are heading.

Syntropy moves everything, bathed in vibrant colour melt downs,

rays of saccharine elucidation, warms all fluid motions, screw the idea of unattainable moon!

For we resemble these foundations, warmed like yolk, and each of these thoughts

become a transient colour that retains the fish-like quality of you.

Ceaselessly we walk through seeds

of shifting social membranes,

where speech between dogs with gradients and humans with fades remains until,

we find our flowery Neptune gaze,

esoterically placed

within platonic leaves.

We welcome you, to our infantile progression.

Become submerged within your thought canal with flashes of brilliant garden mothers and

mist arises until delightful birds read literature in fantastic postcard realism

And Love!

Love is no more than symbolised metallic bursts

swathes of airbrushed waterfalls becoming punctual

and drinkable

like adjectives of pure thirst.

We laugh so hard we see in spiral colours.

Everything is instantly charming.

Everything

ridiculous.

Poem : Two Stiff Knees

One set

of amazonian patterns

breathing

now delicately frozen

by the cold skin

of a soft

January morning.

One gleaming yellow dish

that spills it's liquid

twenty centimetres

above the tree

to the beat of dream machines.

One cigarette and

another

cigarette.

One bench

for observing the twists of branches

some

stopping short

like conversations.

One bike chain

conjugating verbs.

One lung

that dances in the footsteps of carbon monoxide.

One lung

that's out of breath.

One shoe lace symphony

tapping out

the staccato anagrams

of silence.

One cold finger

with it's twin lingering

in December.

Uneaten pigs

in unmade beds.

One brief stroll

over the fallen constellations

of previous pavements.

One tree

whistling the theme tune

of nine o'clock.

One thousand suspended

cobwebs

introducing themselves

to the honest stare of a still breeze

like acrobats.

100 Years of Solitude

Recollecting Remnants of Penumbras, Posthumously.

Lautreamont, water front, my mind is a balcony

where songs of alchemy and diaphragms are carved from otherworldly verse.

We find ourselves with ancient Inca masses and inexpensive curves

rushing waves of pre-existence breathing

flooding over birth mark water tones.

I ask these astral corridors questions; "Where is being? Why is light?"

I've spent my lifetime looking for the moon

when all I needed to do

was flip the cerebral trigger.

It all went film noir horoscopic introspective

analogy emit the involuntary frequency green.

Impressions of directional movements

of words and rhythm

tic tac

tragic magic

blue chocolate increase

Hubba

Bubba Other

The self,

the self,

the shelf.

Stuff can move! / Albert Camus!

and all these Freudian-throwing-things.

Big cyan singing, split syntax of night

the air is the thigh of receptiveness.

We charm the snakes of eloquent technologies

to the extent of inevitable ineffability,

and semantic lamp shade twilights.

Impenetrable smoke rings

expansive undertones blinking

hysterical hysteresis expounding

the unpronounceable palimpsests of negatives.

The God of the gaps

repeating full fat dreams;

A knife.

A knife!

A substrate!

The edible liquid plant that so often perverts the Ultra Mega.

We place noise upon noise upon noise upon noise upon,

dismantling the contents of our bodies onto sofas.

Erecting linear slow motion galloping

alongside logic evoking

60% suicide

whilst the rest

is unimaginable.

Susceptible over harp.

Sound castles, I support all of these conventions!

No one has ever seen so clearly as I,

this blind, grinding whiteness.

The corridor speaks, as tranquil as bird and fever, astronomy

and upwards current,

independent ceiling heartbeat,

the earth

unmasked.

We bathe in the astral delinquencies of florescent belief and phantasms of poetry.

By 11 o'clock

we are reincarnated

detached

with wings that can't be grasped.

New Ventral store open.

......................................................................................................

......................................................................................................

......................................................................................................

......................................................................................................

......................................................................................................

▲

BUY NEW COLLAGE PRINTS

▲ BUY NEW ILLUSTRATION PRINTS

Stretched canvases

Digital prints

Ipod & laptop skins

Iphone & Ipad covers

tees & hoodies.

Buffalo '66

One of the best films I've seen for a long time.

Written by, directed by, and starring Vincent Gallo.

Gallo also performed in a post-punk band, GRAY, in 1980's New York at the age of sixteen, that also included band member

Jean Michel Basquiat.

The band also recorded some of the soundtrack for Edo Bertoglio's NY Beat film, 'Downtown '81, starring Basquiat and chronicling his influential graffiti art under the pseudonym, SAMO.