Billy Knocked Back a Bitter

Billy knocked back a bitter
Looked me in the eye
‘It was all a lie’ he declared
‘What was?’ I tentatively inquired
‘MDMA, when were young, taking it at the clubs’
‘Aye, you’re not 19 forever’
‘You’d be there, buzzing off your tits
A shy, awkward geek chatting all night with one of the cool kids
Fuckboy 101
You’d talk about life, death, your fears, and hopes
The meaning of the universe
Then you part ways with a sweaty hug, like you’ve bonded
The barriers betwixt nerd and lad lay in ruins’
‘How beautiful a thing’
Billy gestured to the barkeep to refill his pint glass
‘Except’ he continued ‘you see the cunt on campus 2 days later
You wave and say ‘hi’ wearing a daft grin
And they storm right past you
Showing you up in front of your course mates
They pause to look your way with an expression of contempt
Which conveys they hold you in lower esteem
Than the shit on the bottom of their shoe’
‘The Great British night out’ I chime in sardonically
‘It was all a lie, all that MDMA’
‘Where’s the truth to be found?’
‘I don’t know’ Billy shook his head ‘bloody tap water maybe’
‘It’s a shame the Brits are like that, everyone needs music and dance
You see a tribe in a Bruce Parry doc
They know how to share something like that
Without the British style of casual cruelty tainting it
Why do our lot find it impossible to have something like that?’
‘The Vikings came, took all the pretty women
And killed the men brave enough to defend them
The skulking cowards left behind to reproduce are our ancestors
So we’re stuck in this mess’
Billy’s sixth bitter arrived
He downed it in two between drags on a fag
I was quite impressed

One Last Lazy Sunday

By Thomas Caterer

Our Earth’s entangled in a cosmic web
I mean that quite literally
Bill read about in the morning paper
a spider the size of a sun
a planet eater
she laid a trap for us
awaiting our arrival
at the point in our orbit
where her web lay in wait

She tugs at the web to draw us in ever closer
unable to shake free
we are inevitably drawn into the gaping chasm
of her eager, hungry mouth

Bill sighed with exasperation
he pulled out sports and tossed me the rest
he shook his head, incredulous
‘you seen the keeper United signed?
What an overspend!
Rovers had them over a barrel!’ Bill tutted, and the spider’s eyes widened with ravenous lust
so in the end, this is the end of us
I had rather hoped to decompose on solid ground and turn to dust
rather than break down in the acids of this gigantic arachnid

To Kill a Frog by Mistake, and Befriend a Tortoise on Purpose

By Thomas Caterer

‘You’ll get what you deserve when you die
rest assured of that!’
the tortoise said this to me, just after I stomped on a frog
by mistake mind you, and he did die instantly
I cleaned the guck from the bottom of my shoe
and yet not the guilt from my heart

‘It was an accident!’ I protested
yet the tortoise showed me no sympathy
he walked across the sand, his expression severe
‘you rush about carelessly, not looking where you’re going,
not paying attention to your surroundings,
now poor Mr. Frog is as dead as disco!’

I have often thought of this as years have flown by
the karmic consequences of our actions
are destined to catch up to us eventually
I should have paid more attention this I can admit

Tortoise and I eventually became friends,
putting our differences aside
one night as he poured me a fine whiskey,
taken from an oak cabinet
I asked; ‘is it ever frustrating to move so slow?’

‘Moving so slow… it means you see less in life, and yet more clearly’
his eyes welled up a little as his flippers gripped his tumbler of Scotch
‘you do not need to rush, you see the fine details in what you do see’
I replied, ‘you don’t step on any frogs, I suppose?’
‘Well ape, no I guess not, not that I remember from this life anyway’ he said
with a kind smile on his old face

I remembered again his first words to me;
‘You’ll get what you deserve when you die
rest assured of that!’
I don’t know if justice is all that quick,
as we all die so soon
but eventually I’m sure he’s proved right

Philosophy on a Monday Night for a Carbon-based Ape

By Thomas Caterer

It’s some kind of joke
that so much despair stems from the idea
that value is found in permanence
but that value is found in transience
the perfect offence faces off against
the perfect defence, and how then to judge
the outcome of the contest?

A perfect little moment in time; a child’s laugh
their smile as they play with you

time marches on, and they will grow so fast
we’ll all die, the universe too
so then transience wins
but it always goes on, life goes on, love continues to flow
an eternal sea, its waves lapping against a shore
waning then waxing, relenting, then taking back ground
so then permanence wins

They remain entwined
perhaps things can be trusted to change when they must
and come back when they should
and you, a shaved ape, need not worry yourself to death

There is No Answer

There is no specific answer
it’s not at the bottom of a bottle
or at the end of a joint
it’s not in pussy
or in any of your life’s dreams

There is no absolute solution
not in the right-left games, or god games, or death games
the dare to yourself to stare down
the precipice
denying all gods or talk of souls
shouting ‘take me black infinite!’
and then pulling yourself back from the brink
to laugh ecstatically at your heartrate

There is no answer
not in the legacy you could have
not in statues built, books written, records broken
not in your personal progress, fears overcome, grudges let go off
not even in the things you know most profound;
the people you love, your respect for living things, the clarity of orgasm,
the tranquil quiet of a lake, not in REM sleep, the euphoria of a perfect chord change,
the smiles and laughs of the innocent, the striking vibrant colours of art

There is no answer
and yet as you search still
for a thing that doesn’t exist
you can almost hear
wise jesters laughing at you
anger rises for fear they’re mocking you

But maybe they laugh because they can’t find it either
and what a mess we are all in, and they laugh with you not at you
the only answers are as real as fairy tales
or more optimistically;
fairy tales are only as real as the answers

Not Quite Strangers on a Train

Two not quite strangers on the same underground train
hands grab either the pole or loop through the handgrip

It’s an unplanned hook-up, unexpected and not even one
previously fantasied about by either party
after all he might well have a bright future ahead but now he’s
washing dishes, and several years younger, so there’s not
much she would have found interesting until…

Another empty wintry night proves one too many and she’s still waiting
on a married man’s promise, this night is already warmed by the intoxication
of after-work drinks, an informal farewell, as she sets her sights on another blank chapter

The train, the moonlight, the coldness, the dead eyes of the commuters as they pass by,
the cries of animals, somehow it all feels detached from the world they both know
one populated by pressures and ambitions, offices, coffee shops, phone calls from relatives

A moment suspended in time, it doesn’t know of yesterday nor tomorrow nor anything else stretching further out into the void on either side
a unique moment in time exists in its own space carved out and separated from the external continuity of life
it exists as part of the whole but also in its own self-contained atmosphere
and in that there is a mysterious quality, a feeling that in that moment,
I didn’t have to be me, you didn’t have to be you,
we can each be any character we choose in any story we choose When it’s all said and done, the cycle will continue and life will march on
unmoved by whatever we may have to say about it

Cheerful Cynic

The world is too small, we hide the violence and lust in plain sight
the human life is too short, for moments wasted in a labyrinth of thought
there’s no progress made in these false epiphanies
the cheerful cynic has the secret to pain relief

Time crumbles away, a monument so brittle, sensitive like exposed flesh

It’s there somewhere on the horizon, that feeling you’re chasing, that peace you’re reaching for
lonely eyes grow accustomed to the colour of a false dawn
but it’s there, you feel it, the serenity your dreams and fantasies promise

Time crumbles away, broken down like old bones and joints, worn out like the elasticity of the skin

I don’t feel much like forgiving, I’m stubborn enough to ignore all sages and declare I want reparations
you do not feel sorry for a tyrant when they grow old and toothless, you remember the hurt they caused when they had the power to do so
defying all the sages in holding grudges tight
and yet it’s true that pain etches itself in the memory, an aging bully or abuser is not cute nor an object of sympathy

Time crumbles away, and the outer layers of your retreating ego dissolve, exposing a wounded spirit
now able to breathe, to grow, discover and spread wings, find a purpose
shedding your dead skin clears a path, lightens your burden

It’s somewhere out there, in the distance, outside of the animal mind illusions
somewhere, that glory, that greatness, that peace, that love
just beyond all the trappings of the organic life game
whether it’s zen, whether it’s biocentric, whether it’s religious, spiritual or transcendent and emotional, either way it’s freedom

Time crumbles away, it cannot be reconstructed from those broken shards, they will only form something new, there is no restoring that sticks, kid

This Temple’s Not Too Bad

One monk had been here for years
living in the temple, meditating,
after all that still angry, bitter, jealous

A new young buck shows up
after a few months the cunt’s levitating,
having 1 hour orgasms, the whole 9 yards

I didn’t know whether I wanted to hit him or fuck him
I mean the monk didn’t know whether he wanted to
hit him or fuck him

I, no the monk, he throws a rock into the still waters
with petulance
the waters ripple and he sighs, thinking to himself
‘this isn’t too bad, it’s no hell-scape, you’re out of the wars for now’

Can’t Halt

By T. Caterer

I finally left, bags packed, soul on charge on the way
there were spiders there too, ah well, they’re in the basements
and in the wild places, they’re possible to avoid

The smiles of the young; I feel a protective love for them
should I be sad, melancholic, that I can’t halt all the pain that comes
later on?

But I know from my own sorrows, that the attempt to halt
the natural progression, the march of time,
that breeds the darker pain

So just celebrate their wonder now,
they’re fresh from the other side
they’re so close to the gods
their time now in that space is fleeting
and it’s wonderful

The pains that come will birth strange new beauties
our world’s god is an artist
they have mingled shadows in the mix
to make the brighter joys and the deeper peace
they knew how to construct their palette

It’s a good thing we can halt nothing
enjoy this time now
it is fleeting, that is its gift
the tears are not from sorrow
it’s a stranger game than that
I’m grateful for it

The Bird in the Cage

By Thomas Caterer

The bird in the cage does not sing
The gaoler’s claws scrape the bars
they want to elicit a tune
their anger rises, for they see the bird
as a possession, a thing
not a living being

The gaoler know others have heard its song
when it flew from tree to tree
The gaoler is full of anger and envy
they reach for the scissors
they’ll teach that ungrateful bird a lesson
that little shit will pay

The cage door opens
The claws reach in
The bird shoots out to freedom
The claws swipe uselessly
slashing at air

The uncaged bird flies free
it’s overjoyed to find its wings are unclipped
despite the gaoler’s attempts
it takes to the skies
it sings its song
which the gaoler will never hear