King of my Grains

borrowed and twisted

conflation of things that both look so

real, palpable, touchable almost,

and yet are in a state of disillusion.

Things that normally would be hard, are

draped, oozing, soft.

I wasn't satisfied at twenty-five or twenty-three will you let me find it, how much faster can it be? I'm telling everybody but advice is all I find oh babe I'm paralyzed just let me find some kind of life

but baby if you let me I'll do anything for you but baby if you let me I'll do anything for you but baby if you let me I'll do anything for you

Am I happy with who I am? Am I happy with the people around me? Am I happy with what I'm doing? Am I happy with the way my life is going? Do I have a life? Or am I just living?

I'm rebranding this blog to what you see it as now because what it was called before is simply not what it was but the url shall remain as reminder of what it never was nor intended to be

this is King of my Grains, a trove of stolen words distorted, uncredited interpreted for my head shoved up, spewed out published again this time to fade away

Just say you feel the way that I feel that everything is sex except sex which is power you know power is just sex you screw me and I'll screw you too

I feel like I've forgotten something like something from inside I feel like a man in the morning but just like a woman at night.

I don't realise it's all just nothing, tell me if that's the coldest lie I think I believed in something and I never even questioned why.

I feel like I've forgotten something and that I've been left behind like I'm running, running from it all the while running out of time.

It's something I need quite badly It's something I need right now I'll never have enough in a lifetime Can I have it all, and all now?

This is the story of Micheal The loneliest boy in the town Ugly and weak They called him a freak So he lived on his own underground He lived on his own underground He lived on his own underground...

Me, arriving at work at 9.01:

And, yeah, I'm sorry I was late But I missed the train And then the traffic was a state And I can't be arsed to carry on in this debate That reoccurs

My boss:


I was made alone And I take my natural road From the pull of the rock From the weight of the sky

We're at points On the tracks we ride I think about mine Just staying back

And I find myself Banging my head on a wall And I ask myself What is that beautiful wall?

And I find myself In the same part of the world And I find myself Letting the days go by And I ask myself How did I get here? And I ask myself

How do I work this? And I ask myself Where does that trainline go to? And I ask myself Am I right? Am I wrong? And I say to myself “My God! What have I done?”

Same as it, ever was Look where my hand was Time isn't holding up Time isn't after us