Idiots are infinite, thinking men numbered Don’t kid yourself - this isn’t news Let’s start with Tristan Bongo, alone at the race Conscription calling his name One more night of freedom The heiress high up atop the stands And the lines are open That’s Lucky Star, Eye Sore, Doctor Murphy, Sun Tzu, The Clap, Mr Winner, Spot, Wallace, Mrs Gonorrhoea, Perfect P, Deadman Walking and The Company Favourite. A son hands dad’s hard earned cash to the clerk And she laughs at the gall of the small guido lips: “Put it all on Spot, the kid’s already won” John-tiles smeared with last nights beer Reflect vomiting Chris who dreams his dream is near In the form of Mrs Gonorrhoea Reporter reporting the state of affairs Inwardly asks of his prime time hair Why it can’t quite rival the manes on these mares The smoothness can’t compare Gleaming appliances attract attention The raffle prizes too many to mention Displayed all over the stadium entrance Hypodermic needles, hidden under coat sleeves Of sweaty wise-guy money earning men In search of the horse to apprehend The race is about to begin The race is about to begin Blondie locked in 4 eyes arms Squirming like a dying fish That’s the last I can recall The race was ran Someone lost someone won I came and I stayed and the same ever since - Outside - The freaks of the wilderness, open in spring The time before time was the time to sing Unidentified song surges through the brush Transcription futile, let alone the rush You miss when hunched and scribbling notes Here no journalism is ever in vogue Despite the attempts of doctors and saints None have recorded its heavenly grace But I stayed, I stayed, I stayed That race was ran 30 years back And each day since the same - Peel back the witness of a million catastrophes To see the spotty remnants each has left I forget in which cups I’ve pissed From which I can still drink Tonight Its so cold my feet are shrinking Groping around for the sides of my boot It’s no night for the blind With all these sirens I envy the deaf mutes Some killer on the loose again Some idiot at large Some Chinese moose again An excuse for the sarge No sirens, all silent The log cabin’s silent No killer either No creaks in the floor Log cabin, what cabin? A shack’s all I have Yes my cubbyhole’s stuffed with skeletons But my neighbours is stuffed with anthrax Where does that leave us? I came 30 years back From Salafessien, via South Schlagenheim To Sunterun and Sunterime The late Sun Sugar’s home town Buried not far from here My only friend Neighbour, what neighbour? My shack is alone This pen, changing lives One line at a time Blindness? What blindness? Sweet blindness a little laughter a little silence A little magic a little kindness a little all over me. Yes me. The first, the last, the everything. No trace of anything No life no sin no fun no time no anyfuckingthing no one no yes no house no shack no a no b no c no etc no 1 no 2 no etc no school no life no work no time no book no art no point no truth no use no friend no know no knot no hole no birth no end no real no fake No king of this useless nameless non-land No end to this nothing nonsense non-song No day set for my saviours arrival, to carry me far Across green waters, above the sky or below the depths Among the white cloud or red steppe Or to fly forever in-between ends, or in-between in-betweens, Or in-between no-between, or no nothing no saviour no journey no end. 1000 years of no nothing hiding from nothing. No reason to hide sins. No reason not to sin. No reason to pretend. No reason to pretend there is not no reason. Oh yes Blondie ran on the track Four eyes got stuck in the rail The reporter was caught getting sweaty in the stable Blondie and brunettie and redheadie all already gone Yes gone never came never stayed Blondie gone. 4 Eyes gone. Guidos gone. Clerk gone. Chris gone. Tristan Bongo the man who never left. Tristan Bongo never left. Still here. I stayed. The clown can be a martyr The whore can be an angel The hack becomes a master The crass becomes divine The infinite, infinitesimal All sins irrepressible No use digging holes to hide The rupture comes and leaves no stone unturned So don’t wish for anything