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Goodnight

 

Goodnight my frightened friend
Bright lights upset your heavy head
So just forget the world instead
Sleep tight let nature send
Blissful surrender for a while
A brief escape from fortune’s trial

Goodnight my broken bride
Strange sounds disturb your muddled mind
So just relax leave life behind
Sleep tight let passion ride
A precious tide of potent peace
Where tortured spirits find release

Goodnight my weary one
The party was such fun
Round we run, round we run

Goodnight my drowsy dream
Hard hope destroys your cheerful charm
So just embrace the creeping calm
Sleep tight let reason seem
A magic stream of consciousness
Deeper than mere words can express

Goodnight my sorry soul
The party took its toll
Round we roll, round we roll

Goodnight my languid love
Sleep tightly wrapped in slumber’s velvet glove
While wide awake I blankly stare above
Sleep my love
Keep warm and covered
Sleep tight, goodnight

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Strange Changes

Watching Life’s mystery
Quiver quite clear,
Chasing Love’s ecstasy
Ever so near,
Following Freedom we wander to cease,
Searching for Heaven’s pure peace.

Bringing Faith’s prophecy
Closer each day,
Giving Art’s harmony
Serious play,
Worshipping Reason we suffer to learn,
Praying for Favour’s true turn.

Cherishing Conscience we gather to share,
Conquering Chaos we linger to stare,
Singing Tone’s poetry, Music word born,
Striving for Beauty’s dear dawn.

Holding Hope’s fantasy
over sure Doubt,
Letting Trust’s honesty
Pour it’s Heart out,
Nurturing Nature we prosper to grow,
Waiting for Karma’s fair flow.

The Real Deal

 

As here and now
Appear somehow
Come to inspire, via desire
The entire universe, this beautiful curse
A rehearsal of body and soul, our vanity stroll
Rolling along through the song and dance of chance sanity
A wrong turn yearning mix of fixation, frustration
This celebration of creation

The instruments compare
With each clinical click
The flowers we pluck
TO SUCK THE MUCK
The monuments declare
With each critical brick
The powers we steal
TO FEEL THE REAL DEAL

A spark in the dark did mark this vacumn of gloomy style
A virile smile while futile rank and file thank God for the odd blessing
Digressing from omniscience, proud ignorance loud sings
Of things we dream, redeeming love and life above the strife, a world
Held far beyond of star-struck wonder, clever made to ever fade
A masquerade played out about the cheating defeating beat of doubt
The shout of lost connection, the grim cost of of dim reflection
The flimsy recollection of a sure rapport much more than whimsical affection

The platitudes achieve
With each mystical quip
The shambles we hide
TO RIDE THE TIDE
The multitudes believe
With each magical tip
The gambles we seal
TO FEEL THE REAL
DEAL

The instruments compare
With each clinical click
The flowers we pluck
TO SUCK THE MUCK
The monuments declare
With each critical brick
The powers we steal
TO FEEL THE REAL
The platitudes achieve
With each mystical quip
The shambles we hide
TO RIDE THE TIDE
The multitudes believe
With each magical tip
The gambles we seal
TO FEEL THE REAL
DEAL

The Revenge Of The Innocent

 

At first the worst did fall, amid riddle that burst all vitality, stall the hidden forbidden wonder beyond the wall of rude crude intruding reality. Yet upset regret yearned, burned, turned fear to clear idea, here, now, somehow to come from humble diligence, the omnipresence of those brave, grave, chosen saviours,,,,

Shall we dare to care, play fair, smell the spell of Hell, stay well aware, or spill a pop-a-pill thrill to kill our will, stop proper skill still fine to teach each sign, reach the line of shining spirit, fit the bitter fight to ignite the right despite?

The revenge of the innocent, a most excellent boast! A toast to the government deciding, deriding the ultimate trip, the delicate grip of blunt power devouring its tail, the stunted hate-of-the-State failing to steal the proud crowd, appealing aloud to justice remiss, hailing the healing kiss of “Live To Forgive”, the hunted hour of its fatal flower,,,,

Through seductive memes, instructive dreams and destructive schemes you who led the tread of dreaded Dionysian dance hewed dead chance, survived to thrive, driving silent evolution to striving violent revolution, a magic tragic war, the Law a whore no more.

The Devil spoke, awoke the next level of desire, an extra fire to inspire, to start the heartfelt meltdown, drown the empire entire, the broken crown a jagged antique streak, a haggard staggering mouldy old slag. Evil believed achieved the cross of dross, the loss of faith to atheistic histrionics, drastic tonics tossed back-to-the-rap of wacky tacky crap.

While in the street I cheat deceit, begin my kinky beat by the neat neighbourhoods, defeat the “Goods”, the “Shoulds”, the “Woulds If Coulds”, deny the lie, fly high past dry persuasion, fast evasion slyly cast to own the zone, the jealous moan of blame, the smile of shame, the game of style, the zealous trial of precious paradise, the sacrifice of God to an odd archetypal form, the normal ripe rich hype of reason’s trickery, the quick slick wicked kick-of-the-stick,,,,

And so the masquerade must show its trust lost, the dust of frosty word, the musty serenade half heard below the laughing bird of love, ever above the clever shove of quaint restraint, the dainty dazzle of frazzled control held over our roving World Soul,,,,

Like Oedipus one pleads the curse, shocks the universe to strike the wretched drama undone, mocks the star-stretched, scar-sketched Karma thus far run, bleeds the deeds of naked man, the sacred plan with us begun, the dithering, slithering fantasia of crazy what not got gone, the consequential, accidental mess of essential success.

New Future Fantasy – Too Tight

 

Am I who must gladly do
Struggle through new nuances of sorrow
For tomorrow climb
On borrowed time and karmic crime
Quick to go from slick to slow
Lose the flow of potent inspiration
On frustration cold can I keep hold
With every big bold bite
A proud pathetic plight
To suffer love in spite
Of squeezing me too tight, tight, tight

Am I what I’ve barely got
A little lot of nothing
To string along and sing my song
Get it wrong before once more I’m sure again
Only when such power fills my flower
Will the hour fall that answers all
Conscience call beyond the wall of strain
My proud pathetic pain
I suffer love in vain
To make my meaning plain

To chase the fleeting face of changing chance
The dancing glance of strange desire
Walk the wire
Feed the fire
Bleed each seed away
Embrace the race of dire destiny
Plead the creed each desperate day
Wait for fate long gone astray
Shine divine to colour grey
Live to give in passion’s play
Hey-ya!

Am I where I care to be
Free to feel the real reveal much mystery
A crazy key of sneaky freaky fantasy
There to share with those that dare
This fun affair of understood confusion
Should illusion turn amusement mad
With every big bad bite
A proud pathetic plight
To suffer love in spite
Of squeezing me too tight
With every big bad bite
A proud pathetic plight
To suffer love in spite
Of squeezing me too tight, tight, tight

New Future Fantasy – Tripping

 

Life’s prim picture soon chances to play
Nubile nature will ever sweet sway
Fantasy accept and convey
Only if we go tripping

Love’s fresh flower soon dances to share
Pregnant power will ever soft care
Harmony receive and declare
Only if we go

Flipping that zip-zapping magic
Splat slick atavistic appeal
Dripping with dithering pleasure surreal

Life’s weird wiggle soon quivers to soar
Gallant giggle will ever quiet roar
Mystery excite and implore
Only if we go tripping

Love’s pure passion soon shivers to bloom
Fatal fashion will ever quick plume
Ecstasy arrive and resume
Only if we go

Slipping through pip-popping music
New ripe archetypal design
Ripping round ground breaking earth shaking
Free re-birth divine

Only if we go
Only if we go
Only if we go tripping, skipping, tripping on yon wonderblur place
Tripping, skipping, tripping by nigh psychoflow space
Tripping, skipping, tripping on yon wonderblur place
Tripping, skipping, tripping by nigh psychoflow space
Go trip a mazy motion, skip a hazy notion, trip a crazy potion, skip a lazy ocean, go
Trip a dizzy measure, skip a fizzy pleasure, trip a busy leisure, skip a whizzy treasure, go
Tripping, skipping, tripping on yon wonderblur place
Tripping, skipping, tripping by nigh psychoflow, sky plateau
Psychoflow, tightened bow
Psychoflow, vital show
Psychoflow, sly hello
Psychoflow, spry tiptoe
Psychoflow, flighty row
Psychoflow, diamond glow
Psychoflow, I nouveau.

My Divided Self

 

I am occupying a small private room in a medieval tavern. This windowless space forms a perfect cube, within which stands a heavy square wooden table, mounted lectern like on a thick box shaped support, both of which are perfectly aligned and centred to the sides of the chamber. Two low stools are placed on the floor, each by an opposite edge of the board, upon one of which I grimly sit, my forearms, laying on the desk, supporting my heavily slumping torso, my fists clenched and my features anxious.
I stare fixedly straight ahead at the single doorless entrance, placed precisely in the middle of the side facing me. The dark apartment is lit by a couple of high braziers, mounted halfway along each of the flanking walls. Their flickering flames cause a dramatic chiaroscuro, in which rich golds and warm rusty hues fantastically weave and mingle with the oak shades of the furnishings, and the inexorable opaques of nothingness.
I patiently await my guest. Who he is, when he will appear, where he comes from, what this encounter means, and how this meeting has been made to pass, I know not. Yet I’m certain that I must stay, until my fateful friend arrives and takes his seat across from me.
Suddenly the scene changes. I am walking through a maze of dim, narrow, low ceilinged corridors. I’m lost, yet compelled to go on, to reach the end, the conclusion of this confusion, as there appears to be no way back. I know not how I got here, where this is, why I’m here, and when I started stumbling through this bizarre labyrinth. Every attempt to return, to what I know not, takes me through frustrating circles or to dull dead ends. As I move forward, as much as anything is progression in this crazy place, the passageways get gradually thinner and lower, and I struggle more and more to restrain my simmering feelings of terrifying claustrophobia.
Then, almost at the moment of complete psychosis, I reach an exit, which leads into an open room. In the sombre shadows of this refreshing, liberating space I see a table, at which a man sits facing me, patiently waiting. As we look at each other, we instantly recognise that I am the one he’s been expecting, and that this is the place for which I’ve been searching, my escape, my release. As I take my seat opposite it seems that now I am both my own guest, and my own host.
And then the setting changes, to a large, chandeliered ballroom, with its many wide, tall, ornate windows letting in a bright, clear daylight. In this cool, echoey hall I am having a sword fight with another man. I’m dressed as adashing swashbuckler, with my half opened, baggy, white lace ruffle frill shirt gathered into my trimly belted, tight black trousers. These are tucked into my stylish, knee high black riding boots, while my long, straight, shiny jet hair is slickly tied back into a ponytail.
As we combat with verve and panache, I all at once notice that my assailant is a perfect doppelganger of myself, as well as being dressed exactly the same as me. Immediately upon this revelation he doubles, so now I’m fencing with two identical fellows, both indistinguishable from myself, forcing me to increase my efforts to hold them at bay. Again, upon this realisation the pair duplicate, so now I must struggle even more rapidly to parry four familiar ruffians.
This magically matrixed metamorphosis repeats twice more, until I am manically contending with sixteen attackers. Completely overwhelmed by these odds I desperately retire while they form a semi-circle around me, slowly edging in for the kill, as I frantically twist and turn in a last ditch effort to defend myself. Then, as they are almost close enough to strike, I deftly deliver a slick stroke to the right leading hand of the scoundrel at the left end of the arc. This disables his grip, while simultaneously causing his riposte to glance awry, and instead strike, in a similar fashion to my adroit thrust, the right hand of the next man in the row. A chain reaction occurs, as this second aggressor suffers the same fate, his injured hand similarly unwittingly assaulting the next man in the row, and so on down to the end of the line, with the speed and rhythm of a domino topple.
In a short time all my antagonists stand defeated, nursing their wounded paws while their weapons lay useless on the floor, and I flamboyantly raise my rapier on high in victory, boldly announcing “Touche”.

New Future Fantasy – Riddle Love

 

Riddle (RIDDLE), Riddle (RIDDLE), Riddle (RIDDLE), Riddle (RIDDLE),

Time to juggle is not (JUGGLE IS NOT)
Time to juggle sure what (JUGGLE SURE WHAT)
Time to juggle gone got (JUGGLE GONE GOT)
Time to juggle cold hot (JUGGLE COLD HOT)

Time to come
Come naughty numb
Come naughty numb CAUGHT MID
Come naughty numb
Come naughty numb CAUGHT MID
Come naughty numb CAUGHT MID thought hid we riddle (RIDDLE), riddle (RIDDLE),

How you quibble this that (QUIBBLE THIS THAT)
How you quibble where at (QUIBBLE WHERE AT)
How you quibble sharp flat (QUIBBLE SHARP FLAT)
How you quibble dog cat (QUIBBLE DOG CAT)

How you come naughty numb
Come naughty numb CAUGHT MID
Come naughty numb CAUGHT MID thought hid we riddle (RIDDLE), riddle (RIDDLE),
Come naughty numb CAUGHT MID
Come naughty numb CAUGHT MID thought hid we riddle (RIDDLE), riddle (RIDDLE),
Come naughty numb CAUGHT MID thought hid we riddle (RIDDLE), riddle (RIDDLE), riddle love,

Riddle (RIDDLE), Riddle (RIDDLE),

Us who shuffle will might (SHUFFLE WILL MIGHT)
Us who shuffle sweet spite (SHUFFLE SWEET SPITE)
Us who shuffle left right (SHUFFLE LEFT RIGHT)
Us who shuffle day night (SHUFFLE DAY NIGHT)

Us who come naughty numb CAUGHT MID
Come naughty numb CAUGHT MID thought hid we riddle (RIDDLE), riddle (RIDDLE),
Come naughty numb CAUGHT MID thought hid we riddle (RIDDLE), riddle (RIDDLE), riddle love,

Come naughty numb CAUGHT MID thought hid we riddle (RIDDLE), riddle (RIDDLE),
Come naughty numb CAUGHT MID thought hid we riddle (RIDDLE), riddle (RIDDLE), riddle love,

Come naughty numb CAUGHT MID thought hid we riddle (RIDDLE), riddle (RIDDLE), riddle love,

Indian Constellations

My friends and I were ripe with wanderlust. Flushed with our successful A level results we were full of eager optimism, savouring the first bloom of independent adulthood. We determined to go on a tour of exotic locations, exploring the strange lands of the mystical East. With a keen spirit of earnest camaraderie we were soon on the magic bus, tripping through the weird dream regions of our bizarre itinerary.

After many adventures on our transcendental travellings we all felt the call of home. As we were soon passing an international Japanese airport we decided that we would stop there, leave our cosy coach, and catch a flight straight back to our normal lives. In the meantime I curled up on my cramped seat to get some sleep, as all this excitement had left me exhausted.

But I slept too long, as when I awoke all my companions were gone and my flight home was far behind. It seems that my so-called comrades had thoughtlessly disembarked without waking me. I was hurt and disappointed at their apparent selfishness, and the lack of that fellowship so evident at our journey’s start.

Then I became aware of new passengers who had replaced my old colleagues, fresh explorers on this mystery tour. As they chatted in their familiar cliques I felt somewhat alone, although these fledgling tourists were in no way hostile or alien to me, most of them seeming to be well mannered young Americans.

By now night had fallen and our extraordinary excursion had reached the ancient pagan panoramas of India. I looked out of the windows to see vast black-green plains passing by, seemingly stretching forever in awesome vistas of rich sombre shadow. Then my sight was brilliantly distracted by the sky, which glittered bursting with a prodigious array of the most fantastical stellar constellations. It was as if all the stars had moved that much closer to Earth, and multiplied into celestial formations of dazzling esoteric abundance. Despite the uncomfortable ride in this battered old vehicle on a bumpy dirt road, I was totally captivated at the pure beauty and spectacular wonder of this exquisite vision.

I knew that synchronicity had favoured me by misfortune, leaving me deserted in this secret scene of cosmic consciousness. It appeared that the universal striving for self knowledge had come a giant step closer, and was using my perception and understanding as a means to its realisation. I recognised the yogic wisdom of the way things are and always will be, which now illuminated my very soul. I felt blessed to be observing this most precious picture, and sorry for my fleeting friends who will never witness such an incredible wonder. For me life would never be the same again.

EGO WHORE

 

EGO WHORE

 

“Until we dream of life and life becomes a dream” – Stevie Wonder.

One midwinter’s evening I was at home, deep in mindful meditations, completely detached from the weird-wild-world. Suddenly my regal reveries were rudely interrupted by violent bangs. These appeared to be happening simultaneously at both my outer door and window. They were accompanied by urgent shouting.

I recovered my composure and, barely suppressing my fuming indignation, opened the door. I was confronted by two uniformed police offices, whom I later learnt were PC Andy Bland and PC Becky Junket. Holding me in a steady stare the tall, heavily built male officer attempted to adopt a mien of civility, and started to explain himself. He articulated that on the previous evening they had received a telephone call, purportedly from someone passing by my house. Apparently this prying busybody had reported hearing the words “Die, die, die.” being roared from my room. A short time later they had responded to this allegation by visiting my dwelling, but they failed to gain my attention, so they left.

Returning the constable’s slightly pathetic glare I calmly informed him that this was probably a misunderstanding. I recounted how I was singing my song “Ego War” during the time in question. As this voice part requires a forceful, aggressive delivery, this could have been misconstrued by my nosey neighbour. I pointed out that this composition did not, however, contain the words in question.

It was clear that the suspiciously disposed State bully did not believe me. In a feigned manner he casually asked me if it was alright if his colleague and himself came in to my flat to look around, to check that everything was alright. I resolutely refused his request. Immediately his attitude changed to outright hostility. He declared that my demeanour was grounds for suspicion, stating that I was nervous and anxious. I retorted by spelling out that any unusual behaviour on my account was obviously a direct consequence of these sudden and unexpected circumstances, and was therefore no reason to violate the sanctity of my personal space. But the fool had already made up his mind. He quoted section 17 of the Police and Criminal Evidence Act 1984 as giving him the legal power to enter my property, forcefully if necessary. Then, after a cowardly radio call to his station for backup he ,together with his partner, stepped across my holy threshold and did a cursory search of my abode, making sure that they poked their snouts into every apartment. Of course they discovered no evidence of any unlawful activity. Indeed PC Bland unsuccessfully tried to hide his embarrassment when he found clear confirmation of my veracity, seeing my vocal microphone ready on its stand and plugged into my music studio. Then, without even the common decency to apologise, they summarily left.

The actions of the police were clearly unlawful. The legislation they relied upon, specifically PACE section 17(1)e, only allows for entry when there is a critical need for prompt action to protect life or property. If this was the case then they should have obtained access on their first visit. They never directly witnessed or observed any cause for reasonable suspicion or alarm. If they wanted access after their initial visit they should have obtained a search warrant. Their spurious justification that my demeanour was evidence of wrongdoing is a dishonest trick, regularly used by the police when they bully innocent suspects into a state of fear and agitation.

Subsequently I repeatedly tried to obtain an account of this event and the names of the officers involved from my local police, but they ignored my many requests. Eventually I had to get the help of my MP Frank Weasel, who obtained the following report;

POLICE ACCOUNT

Good afternoon,

Police were called on the 11th January at 1915 by a passer by who could

hear ‘DIE, DIE, DIE’ being shouted from an address. Officers attended at

the time and having investigated believed noise may have come from the

ground floor flat. They were unable to gain access to the flat.

 

Officers attempted to retry the address the following day. At 1827 hours we

arrived at the address and tried ringing the doorbell to no answer. We

could hear voices from the address and lights were on. Having knocked on

the door and window multiple times, eventually the subject answered.

 

The subject was sweating, shaking and raising his voice. He was shouting

about how we couldn’t come in to his flat. Due to the ‘DIE,DIE,DIE’ remarks

and his demeanour I informed him that I would be gaining entry under powers

conferred on me under S17 of PACE to ensure that there was no one hurt or

injured in the property. No force was used but subject continued shouting

throughout.

 

I offered to give my details and explain things in more detail multiple

times but Mr FANTASY continued shouting. I remember that I explained clearly

who I was and what I was doing throughout the call.

 

To Clarify Myself and PC Becky Junket from the Deep State Central Police Force entered Mr Fantasy’s address under section 17 PACE.

Please let me know if I can be of any further assistance,

Regards PC Andy Bland.

 

Although this account contains the usual police inaccuracies, exaggerations, omissions and outright lies, it is still by itself evidence enough to show that their entry was illegal. Meanwhile semi-anarchy looms throughout our so-called society, seemingly to the indifference of the State and its so-called Police Service.

 

I am now suing the police for their unlawful action.

This account is the copyright of New Future Fantasy 2018.

It is a work of fact and fiction. Names, characters, places, events and incidents are either the products of the Mr Fantasy’s imagination or happened for real. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events could be coincidental.

Am I a threat to the State? Am I bad for the neighbourhood? Am I a cause for reasonable suspicion? Is my voice and poetry criminal? You can judge for yourself here,,,,

 

 

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