Gord

2014-08-26 12:00 am

Let god know I denounced.
Have it be first word of mouth.
So his command can cast doubt,
Provide shelter, sans house.

Let angels know I pray ascension,
Prithee be the small good remaining,
Ironically the faith of god wains,
His couch no longer provides training,
Only a paper trail of patronizing.

Gord

2014-06-26 12:00 am

I return nothing, 
In return to cost.
I posture a nomenclature,
Fecal mouth needs an orthodontist.

Kodyboi

2014-05-07 12:00 am

You have to swear
Swear to love loving me,
This trailer will last forever,
We must have a story-book ending.
With a happy end game.
I swear to never go away.
I swear to never put aside,
The things I'm gonna say.
To the stagehand,
I will never confide.

Use your eyes only to look at me.
Use your piss-soaked, whore mouth,
Only to kiss my whore lips.
We are branches of the 21st century.
You can laugh only if you laugh at me.
You can cry only if you cry for me.
Forget what you're condemned to be.
Can't you see?
You filthy cur,
You always were,
You always will be.

You used to Willoughby so nice
I should see a doctor,
Who could keep trains from hitting me.
But A jealous woman would suffice,
She makes it easy to see coffers.
She knows I'll defrost to keep pace.
Opinion will change, but at steep cost.
It also may take a while,
So smile for the time being.
I'm feeling poor in the stomach,
My head is spinning and I feel like a fool.
I think it's about time I change the rules.

Kodyboi

2014-04-23 12:00 am

I remember when we broke up the first time.
I remember trying to do nothing.
Saying "this is it", like a Jackson hit.
I remember not seeing you for about a month.
I remember waking up,
I remember remembering a punch in the mouth,
Reminding me to chart future relationships out.

I'm calling it off.
The wedding and the dates you liar.
I'm telling you off this time.

We'll never, ever ever get back together.
Go talk to your friends. Talk to mine.
Waste your time,
Spend your time playing pretend.
End up like Islam on the Balkan Island.

I'm really going to miss writing.
Miss writing is miswriting,
Misleading my idols into the trivial.
Hiding the infinite potential on vinyl.
Throw on the CD, it's more indie than mine.
More John Frusiante than girls from Niandra.
So for another month I'l find peace of mind.

So you called me up,
To talk about like love, but no luck.
Because I was like, and he was like.
and they were like.
Even his parents didn't like him.
So he was like, ugh, boring.
and I'm always touring, so like, fuck him.

We're never, ever, ever, getting back together.
Your friends balk, and my friends bawk.
So the whole thing is pretty complimentary.

Gord

2014-03-24 12:00 am

Peanut butter, outrageous amounts;
Both on my plate, and in my mouth;
Born of a craving, I now need a drink
To wash all of it out, two coke cans,
Dipping with mustard, pretzels and breadsticks:
The best side dish for a sandwich peanut butter.

Gord

2014-03-18 12:00 am

Her fifth incarnation in filth, 
The first tragic Buddhavista.
The last magic singer.
The last female singer to open her mouth
and not eat since after Christina,
The first entertainer to entertain us since
the entertainment era entered the picture.
Pictures need to go back to the silent era. 

Gord

2014-03-18 12:00 am

I dip a dapper super chicken tender;
It's Super Tender !, but whatever;
I'll forget tomorr'a with bongs and reefer;
I'll find myself on a floor 400 dollars poorer.
I'll master this lifestyle by vascect'ing myself;
Then I can curl into a ball and I won't come in my mouth.

Dusti Rodes

2014-03-04 12:00 am

When you go down to the theatre today

 (To the tune of Teddy Bears Picnic)

 When you go down to the theatre today,
 You'd better go in disguise.
 When you go down to the theatre today,
 You're sure to get a surprise.
 'Cos every fear that ever there was,
 Is gathered there because,
 Today is the day that Dusti
 Has his heart operation.

 Big ones, little ones,
 scary ones.
 Oh what fun there'll be.
 Spiders, rats and ghoulies
 Thing that are not really there,
 You'll be sure to see.
 Walls walking, bed bottles talking,
 Through cavern-like mouths.

 When you're back on the ward tonight,
 They'd better not turn on the light.
 When you're back on the ward tonight,
 You're likely to have a fright.
 'Cos every fear that ever there was,
 Are gathered here tonight.
 'Cos today's the day that Dusti
 Had his heart operation.

 Dusti Rodes (2008)

Dusti Rodes

2014-03-04 12:00 am

'A Handful of Seeds'

 With a handful of seeds,
 And just one well,
 We could make the difference.

 Whether it be maize,
 To fill mouths and bellies.
 Or thoughts, to educate,
 And stir minds.

 Irrigated by rivulets of running water
 Or nurtured by the spring of Inspiration.
 Change can be made.
 If we but try.

 Dusti Rodes (2010)

Dusti Rodes

2014-03-04 12:00 am

In the Wind

The lonely nights. They were the worst part. The long hours spent building the bike. Burning the midnight oil until the cold light of dawn took over the illuminations.
He sat, oil-stained mug in his grease-decked ham of a fist. Java's best, steaming, burning his throat raw with every lug. Was this his thirteenth or fourteenth today? He couldn't remember now. The massive doses of caffeine failing in their allotted task of feigning off fatigue; the accumulated grounds covering the mug bottom in a remnant of Mississippi mud, deep, from down in the Deltas. The first finger and thumb of his free hand were deftly putting the finishing touches to the joint he was rolling. It was a little art he'd picked up during his frequent stays at Her Majesty's Pleasure at various establishments around the country. His makings lay strewn over the old table that served as totem-factotum to his needs. Diner, workbench, even pillow on multiple occasions over recent months. He raised the cigarette to his lips, and with a single action that comes with years of practise, sealed it with his saliva. With it now ensconced in his mouth, he reached for the lighter, lit it, and took a deep toke. The sweet smell permeated his flaring nostrils, while he drew down the smoke deep into his lungs. As he exhaled, his heavy eyelids closed momentarily. The necessary effort required to open them again proving too much in his tired state, he allowed his mind to wander.
Where had it all started? When was it now? Pour quoi? The combination of drugs and fatigue was fast inducing sleep, which only served to confuse the thought processes he was desperately trying to assimilate to no avail it seemed.
The auto-jumble sale in Birmingham, that was it!
That's where he'd first seen the bike, and realised its potential. An ex-WD combo. A 1948 six hundred cc, single cylindered side valve, from the Birmingham Small Arms company. With a camouflage green paint job. 'Distinctive', the vendor had called it. Hardly Milwaukee Iron, but beggars can't be choosers, can they? He'd only paid two hundred quid for the lot. And the seller had thrown in set of front suspension springer forks from a 1949, M20. The 500cc model that the dispatch riders normally used in the wartime. They were standard equipment on both the combination and solo set-ups. And they were chromed already! Save him a fortune that would. He'd altered the rake on the steering to an inch and three quarters over stock. That'll give him that low-rider effect he wanted. Just like Peter Fonda's in the film.


Dusti Rodes (2007)

Dusti Rodes

2014-03-04 12:00 am

Runaway

 Staying at the safe house,
 In Leeds.
 Secure from the ponces,
 And the pimps.

 Dressed smartly
 All in black.
 Determined that
 She's never going back.

 It took five whole days
 Before she could even
 Mouth her name.
 Was it through fear?
 Or was it through shame?

 Another seven passed
 Till she could speak,
 About the atrocities
 She had been through.

 And it took another long week
 To pass her by;
 Before she ever found,
 The strength to cry.

 Dusti Rodes (2009)