Unreleased notion from my collection called 'We Are Constellations' - this is a work in progress, I suppose. It's been in the drawer for a while and I've not been in the mood again to get back to it. There was a lot I was going through at the time. For what it is, I'd like to share it anyhow.

Drowning Together

VOIDER

Waves apart
spines of silk
hollow me of mild and mean
start spilling out of the seams
light is timeless in sweet and shallow fields
your own mind is dangerous 
by slight of hand pulling wings off courageous things
you howl and slobber in the face of lust with no teeth -
don’t pull out your tongue for these cold and rotting husks,
these shopping bag cunts without slight or daggered hearts

Lays apart - touch the smooth stones -
their weeping hands in wait
tell me why - one good way - I never could find you there
Never give too much for naught,
don’t just pull out your guts every time they want your blood

A day eclipsed by waterfalls & lightning
void and black hollow heads 
catch what moves 
slow and mighty 
fades and drowns and fades
entangled by lines 
every book she steals and feeds
you wait here to hunt the raging weather
sleeping with death on a
page of old good byes

Every time they want you gone,
why did you wait so long?

Slow and mighty 
fade and drown and fade
cold wet stones
will not be washed away
sleepers weaving waves, 
hummingbird breath, no more suicide
don’t just pull out your guts every time these vampires
want your blood


Photo credits from the incredible artist Amy Goh: https://www.facebook.com/inkyapocalypse

Voider

https://dariusgreene.bandcamp.com/track/bitter-sea
For Mareike

          Bitter Sea


You are the wild wild waves.
An endless wraith.
My seaweed heart aches.
I'm just a monstrous craving.
A fish eyed thing, face turned blue.
I am just a nameless shadow.
Lost upon the wild wild waves.
Spit up in this black blue dream.
I am just a monstrous thing
I'm a drowning man.
I'm a drowning man.
I'm an aching monstrous thing.
I'm a drowning man for sure.
You are the wild wild seas
Endless waves of ocean heart ache.
I'm just an animal raving.
Drowning crashing howling sounds.
I'm a wild wild thing.
With a monster's face.
I'm a monster.
I'm a monster.
I'm a monstrous thing.
I'm a monster.
A monster.
I'm a drowning fish eyed thing.
With a monstrous shape.
All I want is this.

Bitter Sea

Every year, back comes Spring, with nasty little birds yapping their fool heads off and the ground all mucked up with plants. - Dorothy Parker

April's Shower

something you never get back

I'm a terrible thing in pain
I'm a terrible thing that burns
I'm a terrible that loves
I'm a terrible thing that wants
something you never get back
something you never get back

It will break every bone in your blood
it will drown every bone in your back
I'm a terrible thing that loves
I'm a terrible wreckage of 
something you never get back
something you never get back

it will break every bone in your blood
it will drown every bone in your back
I'm a terrible thing that loves
I'm a terrible thing that wants
something you never get back
something you never get back

Something You Never Get Back

-
-
-
-
Kinda still a bit of wip but Ill replace it maybe when I return from the other side of the planet.

Wild Sugar

Leaves Around Their Eyes

Your face it blooms as your roots grow down and drowns your mouth with an ocean sound;
honey lightning mud on your lips, can’t hear a word from the noise of your hips,
you leave a streak of wild creepers and crooked thorns where you weep and moan -
oh how we shake when the small words say what big words only think.

Break this wall of teeth -
they will gnash and cleave and pull your head apart like it was flower meat

Surround the brutes with your tendril throne no one screams till their heads are gone
honey lightning mud on your breasts  - can’t feel a word from the thump in my chest;
you leave a streak of wild fingers and crooked heads in the  blades of grass,
oh what we make when the small words say what big words never grasp

Gamma Flower

I don't come in peace, 
I wanna hit the floors and sheets 
and dance away the pain completely
with my little green feets

Martian

And there's a possum that comes by...

Old stuffs from many years ago, maybe not the best recording and all but yeaaah. 

Dreaming while those lotus blossoms blink, blink, blink. Lulling in the river where we sink, sink, sink. Down to that bright and weary ivy sea, under soma fountains, with a banjo on my knee, singing 
Yippie Ki Yay Yay Om! 

All them Texas girls like to swing, roll, and sway, their third eye's open wide like sapphires all ablaze. All the dancing legions, like the wings of manta rays, or the scintillating rhinestones in mandala braided lace. 
Yippie Ki Yay Yay Om! 

All them Texas girls like to swing, roll, and sway Spinning for their queens on a kiss of moonlit beams do-sie-do with Kitesvara's thousand arms of light, through the veil of Maya as it’s brushed with ease aside 

There ain’t no place to find you love, I’ve searched down low and everywhere all above Dance like Shiva the flames of love arise , and crush the heads of babes the ignorance of mind out of mountains, steam dragon trains haul away illusion’s pain Yee-hare!! 

On a tiny seahorse there’s a cowboy that rides with shiny sitar pistols, and a pearl of mother’s smile A flask of old amrita, with a taste you can’t ignore and boots of Naga scales, from the waves of Meru’s shore, singing Yippey-Ki-Yay-Yay-Om, Yippey-Ki-Yay-Yay-Om 

This Kali Yuga’s coming round the round, down the path the breath of incarnations in the waving prairie grass, the sheafs of grain a gathered by the swinging of the scythe, neither waste of tugging early at the shoots which give it life 

All them Texas boys like to punch, shoot, and dip countless universes in their black tobacco spit the flowers from their navels, on an ocean milk and cream in a blinking eye, a dream, in the back of Vishnu’s jeans 

There ain’t no place I can find you love, I’ve searched down low and everywhere all above Dance like Shiva the flames of love arise, and crush the heads of babes the ignorance of mind out of mountains, steam dragon trains haul away illusion’s pain. 

Yee-hare! Yee-hare-hare!

Yippie Ki Om

"Pull the skin over cold steel
blackened lungs won’t breathe but fire will!
Satiate my tongue with battery acid,
sign on the hill says NO ONE DANCES,
but white flags are waltzing on the oil stains,
on the blisters of hearth, rain, and bone;
animal skulls flower on clusters of speaker cones
that cry and wail and moan like cats in holes.

She drew her lips into a bullet kiss,
pumping black bellows spit and hiss
a jagged bit key goes into her breast -
with a sigh she spilled her guts and confessed,
there were red moths and butterflies inside her,
they flowed out in flaming streams into the rusted world,
we hollowed out the fair of spoiled grounds
and that old hungry grave ate our wounds.

They drew a circle around her iron feet, oh
how she’d loved the sweetness of honey teeth
we raised our dead anthems to burning fields
and gave up all we gathered, just bits of peels,
out where the slaves pumped and craved,
the howls of pain of their chains and broken wheels.
She made that old machine baby cry and squeal!
And sang the wastes to sleep with a tongue of steel!“

Sing the Wastes to Sleep

LYRICS:
"Plastic hearts and thimble heads all wrapped up with rubber bands
hunted by toy buffalo kings, bad dreams poison everything
shoot their arrows - pop their guns;
you lose yourself in ghost radio. In a signal made of smoke.

Our feet are lost in the willow trees. Sound alarms. Frost bite comes to eat
You shove em out in the quaking light, their shining breasts bend the light
in velvet crumbs they die and tower, where all the hours go.

They say they love you but only they need, like hummingbirds come to feed;
boys and girls on mounting pins, under a glass in a dusty bin; with worn limbs tattered at their seams, 
on empty beds, unbuttoned eyes and heads;
would you look at all the mess!
Don’t recognize them. Melted and burned, by the wrath of ray gun baby feels.
Mouth glum. Hearts of power. Warm to the bone, the bandages on fingertips hold the little ones 
hold the hands that shake!


Crooked eyed queens and fat little kings. Sucking on flowers. Fucking on dreams. Their nibs and stoles on pillow trees, drinking of reek and smoking bees. And I'm afraid their apple brains had all grown roots, unglued the stars from their beds, knotted limbs from wooden heads "



Artwork: 'Madame McAllister and the Twin Sippers' used with permission of the voraciously talented Kristian Adam

https://www.facebook.com/kristian.adam.art?fref=ts
http://www.kristianadam.com
BUY PRINTS HERE: 
http://kristianadam.bigcartel.com

Unbuttoned Eyes

I don’t mind the negative space.
Falling endlessly with no face. 
If the stars are in the wrong place how’d I know or care.
I’d be the whisper of a rose vein even if it feeds the worms face; that violet shimmer in our rib cage, howls and howls then dies—but who could you blame? 
You’re looking for the culprit for the pain?

What little bit we see up on the screen, is a frozen scene. 
An x ray of the space between.
I wanted to know so much more but all I want is you.

I don’t mind the endless black space. Coils of ribboned smoke in motion, a burning paper  of an ocean.
But love is not unmade—there’s already bright hues underneath your skin - vibrating bones electric surging in flaming currents up your everything, and it will rain out from your eyes and stream out of your fingertips and explode from your head in waves of colors in waves in waves in waves and waves in waves and waves.

The light we have is the light you are. 
The light I have is the light you are

The Light I Have Is The Light You Are

a bridge for the birds 

I’m the only words this song can hear. 
A bridge built for the birds - by thousands
I’m the motion of the wheels that slip their gears 
before a crash is heard.

Bring your Hearts to war on lightning legs and thrones,
if they strip you down - I’ll put you back on bones
I’ll tape you back together with strings and rocks and sticks,
the shapes of spoons and weather - and hope with all it fits;

but I’m the glass that breaks under the rushing broom,
the helpful words that got you down,
I’m the bus fare that sends you the wrong way home,
there’s nothing there but wilds and gloaming ones

Pins and needles in the pines will spark her fires 
hunters roving in the blooms with bloodshot thighs
Bring your ribbons. bring your robin’s eggs, and keys,
we’ll have a party with the bread ties and the bees.

I’m the rooftop that lets everyone reign in, a snail shell made for bullet slugs,
I’m the clogging of the bathtub in the rain-graveyard of bugs and mossy pails.

I saw the sailboats in their rocking waves. 
Wild and beating for their harbor trains.
I saw the streets with windows I would keep
fences kissing sidewalks with their teeth

but I’m the light that blinds you while you’re in the shade,
a plastic bag of crumbs. a hole inside in a lake.
my cherry teeth fangs sink deep then fade into the dust of
sidewalk chalk and not so dandy lion muck

and I know you’re never at my side
the broken records songs all play, 
are truer than lies.

So bring your Hearts to war on lightning legs,
and when they cut you down I’ll put you back on pegs;
I’ll string you back together with tape and rocks and sticks,
and forks of angry weather and hope with all, it fits.



art lifted from supremely talented illustrator/painter Ellis Nadler
https://www.flickr.com/photos/ellis-nadler/

a bridge for the birds

A little song to praise that special someone in your life...

Not One Good Thing

Pollywog

She keeps the sun inside a box
though she knows it’s ashes and locks.
Neptune rests where birds made nests,
in the broken tail lights of that ghost Buick 6.
She draws diamonds with sticks and tells mother sun, don’t fear, 
she won’t let him near.
Mad bees float where poets would drown.
She sleeps with hymns on gold grass downs,
she has a dream a dark storm comes and
 washes away all her windows and pains-
opens her doors and lets the wind blow in,
then everything blows away.
———
They might look like the stars. Moon-bit scimitars.
But she knows, its only nails in boards. 
A frayed electric cord. Peels of paint on the shelves
that look like coves of caves and bells, but she knows.
When the lights go down, who knows?
———
She keeps her rings and Saturn’s wings deep below 
in a useless heavy coat. A worm in a jar with 
soil from afar, the flowers are dried. it never rains outside. 
How is it wind that blows the seas can
never bring their waves back here? 

Pollywog

A slow march - for want of light in dark places.

Artwork created by me

Deep Skin

7-BIT HORSE
A river rusted the heavy metal under my skin
I got a magnet heart and its stuck with every nail and pin
I got 20 eye balls and 19 are blind, a rubber tongue that reeks of insecticide.
I got nobody close but I wish 
I had a creepy post-terrestrial lover of mine own

Mah’ fuzzy brain buzzes like the flies up in the attic
My voice is like a busted TV that’s haunted with the static
my face slumps like a seven-bit horse a’thrice mangled by a tractor off course -
and all the squirrels have left holes where the bugs n’ the beetles
like to munch down on my circuit boards.

I want a lover like a dreadful halloween bride. 
we’ll get a married in the ruby orange mellow of night 
and make the love underneath the big blood moons 
drippin’ down the mountain hide of June
we’ll roast fat raccoons on an iron spit. 
and suck anti-freeze from the tire pits.

The rain it rusted the copper gums under my fangs. 
I got one good back but the other’s got inscrutable pain 
I got 25 arms and 19 are shot, a rubber tongue that reeks of lichen and rot.
I don’t got nobody close but I wish 
I had a creepy preternatural lover of my own

I want a grisly abominable valentine
we’ll get hitched in the blood hot eventide
we’ll do the jelly underneath the bent scuff moon
inside a crevice full of eyebolts and screws 
and we’ll boil up a dead skunk in wiper fluid
and sip a little turpentine

Deathcrux

7-bit Horse

(Tales for) Feral Beds 

Brush the witch moss from your face and storm his lips. 
Sew the black clouds to the sleeves of bulging ships. 
Why teach the crickets how to shoot their bows, 
they won the War before we were even born. 
Don’t count the graves by rusted rakes who cross the glooms. 
The terrible clocks know their hands far more than you. 
No one wants the crowing of your sad glow, 
just bring them the soft hiss of the rain and snow. 
I’d rather hear a lions tree with roaring bees. 
I’d rather lay in feral beds of sticks and leaves. 
I’ll cut the eye out of a summer moon, 
from an oily puddle sick with the rainbow bloom— 
so you will never starve for color and light 
when you find yourself drowned at the bottom of the world. 
You will grow a baby star from out your loving head, 
swimming deep and deep and deeper 
down and make your way on. 

Catch the red sun on a muddy hook of snail. 
Break the chimes or be impaled on wedding nails. 
Why teach the creeper vines to strangle what they climb, 
they won the War long before we were born. 
Don’t count the waves of silver grass as each one gleams , 
the ghastly meadows know the way far more than we. 
No one wants the crowing of your rank or fame, 
just bring them a wild kiss of the lighting flames. 
You’d rather hear the ghost owl cry where beetles stir, 
you’d rather lay in feral beds of wheat and fur 
You will run from nightmare houses hunting the plains 
on raving legs and starved for names. 
I’d rather let them eat your bleeding heart 
than keep you in a hole so deep you’d never grow one at all.

Feral Beds

(I had this tune hidden away for some time, bringing it back out for a spell)

BARE THORNS

Your black heart survived the fall,
then moved like an unnatural thing.
A bleak mist that slid and crawled,
 a shadow behind everything.

When the window’s a door, taken by the memory,
of creepers and vines; a scrambled moon, in the night like breath,
naked, and growing roots down into the needle’s pines.

Don’t just sit there and neigh, it’s a new day,
in the rows, see the garden it grows?
Don’t worry about the Sun in the gloom, 
it’s a knight for when light is doom.

The floor is unswept, strewn with the memories of photographs and toys; 
in the greenish noon, the calm noise of a world without girls or boys

Don’t fray it away, it’s a new day;
in the rows, see the garden, it grows!
Don’t worry about the hand of gloom,
bare your thorns, for when might is doom.

Don’t waste your breath.




art: 'thorn bush'  by Geraldine Pomeroy at http://geraldinepomeroy.blogspot.com/2009/08/thorn-bush.html

Bare Thorns

My Personal Demons

Everytime I go outside all their wings will swing and fight
they carry my thoughts of you and twist my days into a blight. I feel them tapping my shoulders and I feel them tugging the hem of my sleeve, and crawling up under my legs as, im kicking them into the leaves, then I run to the room and duck for the broom while their swinging their pitchforks and burning the tips of my ears  Im tired of fear!
I’m tired of running I’ve got to fight dear!
while they’re spinning and flying and flapping
 and twirling and laughing and taunting and poking and haunting and twirling and whirling and bouncing and turning and turning some of them freezing and some of them burning
I have my mind set that I’m going to get them, swinging this broom and i’m going to hit them! I’ve got one to squish him but then they all rush in
I’ve got to let go and
I fall to the ground and they hack at my ankles, then grab my shoulders
and pull me by my hair

and here we go again....

They carry me off to their lair day by day
and torture me memories of *you* in every way
they’re never gonna let me be, they’ll always bring me pain
and do such wicked things they’ve planned in every little way

Like biting and spitting and scratching and wrenching;
pinching and stretching and ripping and cutting; tearing and pulling
they pluck out my eyes, pull of my hands and then sever my thighs,
devils and lemures and demons and goblins and things without eyes;
singing and burning with pitchforks and dancing and laughing and fire!
, turning big cranks they lower me down, crushing my bones, mulching my spine, stretching me out like a torn bit of twine

why won’t the memories of you go away!!!! 

Slicing and poking and stinging and ripping and tearing and cutting
and breaking and splitting, they pluck out my arms and then suck out my spine,
then shatter my ribs with a hammer of spikes,
pull out my guts from my stomach below
and burn out my heart with a torch  and hot coals
wrenching and ripping my knees and my toes, then
sticking my parts on the head on a pole!

They carry me off, through their lair day by day
and toture me with memories of you in every way
they’re never gonna let me be, they’ll always bring me pain
and do such wicked things they’ve planned in every little way

Why do you torture me?
Do you think you might can let me go?
She’s coming back you know, she’s coming back.
She’s coming back.
She’s never coming back?
She’s never coming back??

She’s never coming back.

We carry him off through our lair day by day
and torture him with memories of her in every way
we’re never gonna let him be we’ll always bring him pain
and do such wicked things we plan in every little way

She’s never coming back.
Go away.

We’ll never go away.

My Personal Demons

A notion from the ocean of works in progress

Spinning a Force Field Against the Shadows

Tearing Through the Surface and Diving Into the World Inside the World

For no particular why or where, here is a cover of 'The Hanging Garden' by The Cure, which I took a stab at yesterday. I don't do many covers but this was a lot of fun to work on. It may need more work but here's the first real incarnation. 

The Hanging Garden - (The Cure - Cover)

Here is my first collaboration with Kelly Haigh, an incredible artist, musician, hair dresser, taxidermist, philanthropic comedian, proud dog owner and lover of green matcha tea.
Her music is here:http://soundcloud.com/kelly-haigh
And check out her incredible artwork here:
http://www.facebook.com/pages/Kelly-Haigh/40778625903
And her pearls of twitter wisdom here:
https://twitter.com/#!/kelly_haigh

I'll Bury You (Kelly Haigh & Darius Greene)

All improvised. I've wanted to write some real lyrics for this but haven't got around to it yet, so I thought I'd share something more on the rough end of things...enjoy..

Dark River

Everything's Eventual

from the upcoming album, whose working title is "The Devil and the Moon"

Illusions of Beauty

Oh what a sight in the old sun's stead was Mandarin's whirring angel heads

Captain Mandarin's Whirring Whirling Angel Heads

Time is just a place that moves around a bit.

Granny Warlox

Another song from my lunarscape cantina album, The Devil and the Moon.  

Lake of Sorrow

She is delusioned and hypnotized, 
by the glitter of rings and spiral eyes.
She counts every star one by one by one and still hasn’t found her own sun;
she grew thin as paper roses, as faint as a last kiss of steam,
there’s nothing left but pictures of poses, a tango of corpses in weeds.
She’s the lost of Lucifer’s saviors, 
the waxed of the damned and the scorned,
those creatures who bottle up their lovers undone, 
drink and drown when they’re broken and worn.
Down in the fires of the bongos playing, among the demons of their own waste,
flames dancing cheek to cheek, scorched mouths, chalkboard screech,
dead voices and razor tongues, bleed the lipstick, mascara runs, oh she
lies empty and burns.
In that vast bed of sorrow, nothing is what it seems,
hung up by the thistles, entangled by your dreams, 
lies pour from soft kisses promised with teeth,
poisoned by favors to feed.
She’s the spite of the flares, oh their smoke and greed,
oh, a burnt bleeding ocean of libertines,
their broken soft spines, skulls bloomed on vines,
frothing with fear by design.
down in the fires of the bongos playing, among the demons of their own waste,
flames dancing cheek to cheek, scorched mouths like chalkboard screech,
dead voices and razor tongues, bleeding lipstick, mascara runs, oh
everyone’s empty and burns

Lake of Sorrow

Songster, Composer, & Sound Mangler

Warbling sea harbored melodies - rhythmic tintinnabulary cabalettas inside soft baked fairy tale threnodies - lilting moontouched theramins and/or psychic lithographs of balloons, barns, and braided banana leaves - sleeping during dogwatch in the crosstrees by the languid moans of threadbare weatherboards - gritty euphonic lo-fi transmissions from long dead moon farms - invocations from antique radios short circuiting in cool spring rain.

This is for the anchors which bind the sugar to the orange.
For summoning unseasonal titans to storm the calamity of drab hours, out of ether,
the cloud throned dumplings who give suck to fat breasted delight and unabashed waking -
the blimpy sprites who gratify each naked fig by imbibing their mistaken turns
into the cotton headed sighs of unloved mouse trap music. 



My work has been featured on various Netlabels, film experiments, and worldwide radio shows, including BBC6's "Introducing".

Darius Greene

Pinned to spotlight

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