CAT TRAIN FEET BRAIN

ISSUE THIRTEEN - JANUARY 2011

Written and illustrated by Corey Biscoe-Marwick

INTRODUCTION
Hello readers,
it's 2011, that is insane, I remember when I thought it would
always be the eighties, (shame it isn't, video games were much
better then). Hope you all had a good new years eve, (a lot of
people say "how was your new year?", but they really mean
new years eve, you surely can't answer that question until
January of the next year), and Christmas.

This issue I've tried to stick to a theme again, this time anti-
porn and anti-beauty, but I only managed to stick with that one
hundred percent in the art work, the writing did its own thing,
and towards the end of the month so did the drawing to be
honest, ( I realised this when I discovered myself drawing a
portrait of Prince). This issue comes with another tune
however, as I've been promising for a while, bit of a sci-fi dirge
based on my three viewings of the new TRON film and my state
of mind at the time, a little bit of an obvious connection when
you hear it, (if you've seen the film), but it is what it is. It's
called bedtime1-03 because I composed it while playing to my
kids at their bed time and I saved multiple variations of it and
this is the one I stuck with in the end.

Hope you enjoy anyway, and sorry it's a little late, as always,
crazy times.

If this is the first issue of Cat Train Feet Brain you’ve ever
received and you would like to subscribe to this free e-zine
then contact me at: clo5dimly@hotmail.com and let me know. I
can also send through back issues.

c Corey Biscoe-Marwick 2010, all rights reserved.

01/01/11
1-Ilk.
For my first trick,
Let me bleach our insides chlorpromazine white,
No more loss of time,
No more demons,
No camping alone with stolen tinned goods and a revolver.

Your name is no longer a hole in his side,

Small nameless creatures will not pour out of him screaming
curses at you,
His words will come from his mouth,
And be light,
Truth,
Things of this ilk.

2-Skull Diggers.
She has eyes that are skull diggers,
Two round shovels pitching dirt to the air,
Your brain is a sock used for sifting her sand,
It's many holes will let the finer grains escape,
And all the stones and broken bottles stay.

That kid from the libr'y was braver than dumb,

He had hands to reach in and take out.
02/01/11
1-Lens Flare Jaws.
False idols,
Her two bare hands and outspoken qualities,
Boldly displayed on the poster board,
Pinned down like butterflies.

There are no two ways,

But seventy six,
And everyone explored on a daily basis by masses of unknown
quantities,
Some are under five,
Have ignorant folks,
Some are over sixty eight,
Are lonely,
Feel the fan that flings their shit back is unworthy of attending to,
And sink in puerile drives that clap their hands,
Even when the music is bloody awful.

2-Touch And Take.

If she could learn to properly clean herself up,
If he were less elastic,
More a tied down marrying sort,
And the very sight so over underwhelming,

If then,
Then now would be less able to complain,
And more the savage kiss of love that has no need for touch and
take.
03/01/11
1-What Point?
You make me feel ill,
I slink into hell seeking temporary company and find a crowd
of holy singers sung,
And now exhausted from their praising God have taken off
their sacks and forced a bleeding,
Noses run,
Eyes well up their tears to mix with mud,
And paper thin devour seven tiers of utter pain.

We are the cause of my sadness,

I want you to know that I'm missing the point.

2-Bunnies & Sunny Hills.

Her hair is blades of grass and sunny hills with bunny rabbits
glowing on their holy mile skyways,
Leaning into it,
Space elevators and Gloria Jean.

It must be a rare thing,

Product placement in amateur poetry.
04/01/11
1-Satanic Heff.
Heff is Satanic,
His trampoline is embarrassed,
His child brides with their swept eyes are a dime a dozen,
He has the confidence of a man who drugs apes for money,
And drags them in the ring.

Upon waking you will find yourself confronted with the

sonde fact that you are about to be on display on quite the
brutal fight,
And your opponent is bigger,
Stronger,
And less afraid than you are.

2-A Sea Of Green Peas.

Nature is flawed,
Because we staple it shut,
The gut tags and blood bags of wounded soldiers,
A soldering iron to your wiry fingers.

She looks like perfect peace in a sea of green peas,

A green dress and dew faced like flowers,
But she is just as insecure as anybody else.
05/01/11
1-Drag.
Some reference to love,
These the jarring demands of a woman swallowing death,
Whole and unfiltered,
With empty talk and wavering faith.

She takes her men to the edge of hell,

She hits them with a big stick and drags their bodies in.

2-Pack It In.
I apologize and am regarded flatly,
Have been woven into stories that are lies and people wash
away inside them,
Will not talk to me.

I have a set of rules to follow,

A cynic to satisfy,
Nightly bursting rumpled sheets of iron,
Calcium enriched skeletal figures are glowing white on the
night train,

Time to pack it in.

06/01/11
1-Paradise For Leeches.
Some are almost believable,
Two virile souls are eating each other alive and would that
you flake away ashes in air just from watching,
And you do,
And are not ashamed but you are shame itself,
Your wife is lonely,
Your body is a paradise for leeches.

2-New Years Eve.

Bottom of the ugly well,
Respect is rare,
And fingers wave and nonsense flows like blood from
civilians,
Death from above,
The Spartans in their jets and tunnel vision.

She is not present,

Has not punched in and ever out of virtue built from bones
and flesh will offer selfless heaps of burning pain to flags are
falling,
Daytime reigns,
Her drinking noise is high distraction,
Memories of kissing new years eve.
07/01/11
1-The Side Of Your Neck.
You'd be OK,
Get mad or break a brick on me and lie a little more,
You feel like dry sheets with nobody inside,
But hovering moans like a ghost on a clothes line and
speaking in loops about toast and precision.

I will make sure the spread eats the sides and that coffee is
constant,
I will blanket your will with subservient pain,
I will hollow the side of the neck.

2-Overstated.
Complications have arisen which create a sense of doom,
She tells me if she left us it would not be love for me that
made it hurt,
But just her boys,
Her man of pain,
Her wounded man would live she says,
And sitting on a wooden plank that holds in mounds of dirt,
She does not really know me,
I am not overstated.
08/01/11
1-Pterodactyls.
Phone call Phil has rattled of his lines,
Egg face Pat descends like pterodactyl claws,
Susan Sarandon is a fictional character.

Health and well being,

Acceptance of self minus flaws and the place and time
holders you make from old video cards,
Licenses and bus tickets,
Receipts for things you thought would make you happy,
This is what she wants,
An adult man with leaves for fingers,
Dropping stones like pterodactyls.

2-I Want To Be Attached.

Wave goodbye to the words "slut",
"bitch" and "woman",
These are unholy and press you down firm like the cup
floweth over,
And she is not feeling the love in your backhanded spit,
The train is temptation,
I want to be attached to it.
09/01/11
1-Bursting Dogs.
Separation is unwise,
As we will float backwards and fall off the edge,
Full sentences are quite important,
Communication is a severed head away from raw results,
And I remember firing at that screen like I was God,
And all the tiny details burst like dogs gone under cars.

2-Made From Glue.

Hairy soul,
Deciding on a plan to sit and listen,
An hour sticks like stepped in shit from some old dog that
smells of anger,
Munch the shoes of master, friend and enemy,
Eat the soles of women made from glue.
10/01/11
1-Live In Boxes.
Can't stomach the sin,
It is self loathing beasts hurting empty faced men,
And four times,
And three times,
And not even once.

I will fly alone and live in boxes,

You are not my friend.

2-Stab Your Grandma.

Bi-polar teddy bear,
Sole service car yard,
A million mile distant the noise of a car wash,
A man with a hose that is melting and sun warmed hot water
is burning the grass.

Yellow stitches,
Ready jump the wall and stab your grandma.
11/01/11
1-A Sigh That Fills A Suit.
Uncomfortable terrified flood water swamps,
Her voice is a grater of cheese,
You are lonely and stupid,
Flood season grey.

Long grey streaks of uncooked bacon,

The butcher is a sigh that fills a suit.

2-Confess.
Confession is the heart of God exploding,
We are all about to drown in mad decisions to be better
people,
Promises that will hurt us when we notice they have all gone
missing.

Scraping the left over fur and guts into a bucket,

One beloved cat now never to be found,
Nor identified by dental records,
Nor examined on a post mortem bench by a German
biologist.

This is your free sailing salient self speaking,

This is your creationist dogma spinning anti clockwise.
12/01/11
1-Several Country Gardens.
Sleep easy in your well drawn cube,
All aboard are sifting lonely battered dogs,
Into bits of hair and teeth and torture,
Smiling severed headedly,
Like deaths next door neighbour,
Glad to be the shut in.

Sigh deeply and retract,

Your heavy handed statements,
Your whispered hound of a body,
They will bury you,
These antique dealers wives will string you up,
Will cut you into pieces,
And bury you in several country gardens.

2-It's Warm In There.

Flash Gordon-esque,
His red raw forehead squeezing out such minor thoughts as
do they serve fish?
Is it cooked the right way?
As the sky is alarming all chickens the whole earth around,
And the finger and thumb of almighty God are squeezing you
into the core.
13/01/11
1-Good Man.
Good man,
Stunted slightly by the true meaning of Christmas,
By some other street number where the boys are out
dragging their teeth,
Where a bag of broken door handles is probably a good idea.

He seems to fold in,

To hunt the dead with high velocity and completely ignore
the living.

Something awful is coming,

We need to get ready.

2-Broken Bridges.
The end times will hurt,
Will be sudden,
And virtue will lift like the heat leaves the earth,
To some place too high now to reach,
And as people are forced to consider their meaning and
come up with nothing,
That is what they will become.

Reports state that people are helping each other survive,

That they still feel the urge to do so.

In New Orleans there was officiated murder,

Burning cars and broken bridges.
14/01/11
1-Even When The Spider.
She stitches you into a blanket of sin and believes that it's
your fault you're wearing her insides for safety and warmth,
It's not as if you sniff her clothes at night.

She was a working calendar with coloured boxes,

Tissue paper skin and laminated sighs that were blu-tacked
and stung 'cause their corners were sharp,

She is now an alarm that is never raised,

Even when the spider passed his note she didn't blink,
Just handed him the cash that he requested and told him to
have a nice day.

2-Half Wit.
Slay your healthy half-wit brother,
Sting the arm and play the safe reversal,
It is Leon who is beating bad the man with crumpled
shoulders,

Your positivity and friendliness is betrayed by your obvious

lack of enthusiasm,
And suicidal tendencies.
15/01/11
1-Brand New.
He was second hand,
Somewhat underused however,
And she was brand new,
Untouched by fool or genius,
By holy man or saint free sinner plugging all the dogs to
watch them burst.

He was replaced by his former un-self in a vat of unsung

misery,
Once made,
Once fully formed from dust and clay,
From all her backing down and being sold on leaving,
Unable to be broken but by endless doses of anti repellent,
And skin,
And sense memory.

2-Flawed Sometimes.
Flawed maybe,
Dull sometimes,
Steaming and divisive,
Mad constantly,
Brave occasionally,
Skin eating insect at times of great stress,

She has eaten the lines from the road like spaghetti,
They seed themselves again the wrong way 'round.
16/01/11
1-Spanish & Ripped.
Flat spanner,
Headline rust,
Bridges full of pothole sally's baking in the sun,
Picnic blankets,
Bicycles,
French sunshine is deeper yellow and smells like chocolate.

You wish you were Spanish,

And ripped,
Like a fictional character.

2-Backwards Bark.
Wasted space,
Your pudgy face is breaking clouds and raining little boys,
The fluid in your tear ducts is thick and green,
The Westminster abbey man stitches a dog to his back.
17/01/11
1-Cake Face.
She is,
She just is,
Plain as cake on your face and the candles are burning still,
Smoke in your throat,
Ears full of icing and jelly beans,
Beaming like a lighthouse way too far from the sea.

She really is.

2-Zero Point, The Four Who Shake The Many.

Flood lit home front,
Blue sifters quaking their yellow boots dull,
All the ore will shake off from their turning the earth,
And the drill trucks and arms will be silent.

There are creatures burning lights in the fascinating sky,

Even in the day time you can see they have it in for us.
18/01/11
1-Thread.
Deadpan sit the pony,
Glad hands are falling off the ground,
False steps from heavy shoes and lining your guts with the
dregs from old chip shops and rats nests.

Folding blank pages to staple a book,

You are five years old again,
You are drawing the eyes of a fly.

2-Screens.
Drown the mice,
Their tunnels dug are bleaching blood,
To save the goats,
They don't know they're stabbing sheep,
Their bloody horns,
The painful laughing demon guilt.

Younger men are weaker now from leaking vital fluids

through their thumbs.
19/01/11
1-Measured & Applied.
Confused is a useless and torturous word,
You are not confused,
You are decided but afraid to say,
You have enveloped every bleak desire wholly in it's own
brown juices suffocated solid,
You are ready to forgo and stumble in,
The near miss life is better than success,
It produces far more pain,
Which can be measured and applied.

2-Cry Like A Man.

Wherever you went you need some adrenalin shots and a
stick in the face,
Scratch that pretty skin with glutinous blood dripping wholly
unmarred and creating a whirl pool in space that devours our
hands.

You need to see where there's a line that you've crushed

with your *mammothine feet and be sorry,
And cry like a man.

*I realise mammothine is not an actual word, but it should be.

20/01/11
1-Flushing Out Martians.
Limbs forgone for further apparati,
Some hinges and clamps,
A needle and a scalpel,
And a winch.

She looks like someone made by the Swiss army,

Multi purpose mechanized flag waving patriot,
A tank with no gun,
Pilot light for an orange sun that spent it's name on flushing
out the Martians.

2-The Fattest Frowning Cup.

His face is long,
His chin would fill the fattest frowning cup,
She tears at dogs,
They're missing chunks and yowling heavy smack talk at their
man.

Don't change your mind,

Replace it.
21/01/11
1-No Laughs Anymore.
It's only the meat market shining it's skin,
With a rag and glad polish and smirky stale smelling decay.

The good doctor has thrown in his box for a collar,

Nobody wants him for laughs any more.

2-Television Is Skeletal.
Murder She Wrote,
Jonathan Creek,
CS friggin' I,
It's all just Scoobie Doo with less enthusiasm.
22/01/11
1-Not Your Dog.
She tells me I can join her there,
Where she isn't,
And be full,
And wear the grin of idiots and choke the neighbours dog
with foam bricks that smell like sausage.

She lets me kiss her twice,

I want to kill someone.

2-Shackle City In The Rain.

Torture me temperate,
Beat me super friendly,
Cut my fingers keep it to yourself.

A loaf of bread,
A trip to shackle city in the rain.
23/01/11
1-No More Bold.
Auto piloting several sturdy armies of immaculate doubt into
cliff faces plain hard and cold,
Their new resolve to listen to nobody new,
To create their own waves,
And make their own decisions.

Decisions that are no more bold than stepping out of bed and
putting on the kettle,
Drinking a cup of coffee in the morning.

2-Cargo Hold.
Standard size,
Compelling grip,
She twists your manacled arm and spills the grey worn soup
all on your skin.

No Spartacus you,
No lonely man with a chest that could eat a sword,
Not even a man really,
Dumping your clouds from the back of airplane.
24/01/11
1-Fire Proof Donkeys.
It isn't easily done,
Wasn't sure fire true or unable to be reconciled with fictional
glue from the bones of invisible horses.

She told me no love was left there in that hole I did dig with a
fork,
And did plant with high weeds and low lust and call jealousy's
friend.

You lie well low and scream it loud,

These fire proof donkeys will carry your shit through hell.

2-Whore Son.
I'm leaving,
Not sorry,
Nor honest enough to bed sad about sinking it in.

I am tempted to read out his letter to all of the others,

And see what they think,
And hear what they're saying.
25/01/11
1-Weeping With Me.
Don't dribble me insolent smack talk and bar the way blind,
Hers is the skin of a childish man's dreams,
About fire and sailing the sun like a ship.

Eternal and pervasive arc around some other plain that

negates centrality,
That presupposes nothing and can never be discovered
without heavy doses fed and much more blood than any man
can afford to lose.

He is weeping with me,

He is not protecting himself.

2-Three & Zero.

Functioning well enough,
Hiding in still picture sadness,
Entirely unreasonable,

Taking the cake,

And with it making a stain in the restaurant wall that will
have you arrested,
As there is a human head behind it crushed and still.

This year three and zero will unite to call me old,

She may even kiss me with feeling.
26/01/11
1-Universalist.
Be it God,
Or an explosion,
Or Freddy Mercury,
I believe in them all,
And in neither,
(Even though there are three),
Because I am a Universalist.

2-Only Insane.
Weathered by the heavy word,
You cannot stiff salute me hefty planks and have your way,
You cannot over power me,
You will not bend the court's decision.

Decided we the jury will have nothing less than heads on

plates,
And blood in buckets,
We will have justice from hands that are carefully woven
from wire,
To fray and bend with violent use,
To call down fire on ox and man alike.
27/01/11
1-References To Kryptonite.
Fleeing the scene of the crime with blue pants blurring blue
streaks and skin fried by summer,
No shirt,
Long wavy hair that was down to almost here and the
references to kryptonite from several dictionaries stapled in
a fun pad he showed to the cashier.

See,
He said,
Superman is as real as you or I.

2-Clay Cup.
You look worn to shreds,
Torn to shattered mess and blue bills and staples for anyone
blessed with two hands.

She was sick for an entire weekend of that unholy gunge in

the lungs,
And that sweet smelling putrefied junk from the outfielder,
Weighing his words in a cup made from clay.
28/01/11
1-Reasons.
Dark shadows are glooming away,
They hide in the curtains and swing with the light,
And they rustle like water torture,
Papers under bus seats with details of trips outside town.

Technically you don't know why,

But victims have their reasons all the same.

2-The Right To Fear.

Gomez says the weightless war of worlds strung inside out,
The holy panel beaters shaking hands,
Are not to be avoided,
Turned to little things diminishing,
By little people pushing little rhetoric,

Can anyone be certain of a place in the PGA,

Can anyone revoke their right to fear.
29/01/11
1-The Devil In Hiding.
Stacked odds tumble the meek until they explode and create
reverse avalanches,
Knocking all the better climbers off.

Probably tonight I might sit down and fear a little less,

Eat pages from your gift,
And be a man of integrity.

You still take turns like other men,

You think I'm the devil in hiding.

2-Machinery That Runs.

Reverse synchronization,
You had no face,
Could eat my lies like tiny pies brim full of nerves of steel,
And you wore a red jacket and tasted like pheromones.

The drink makes you sick,

Hurts your sides,

The bank is not full of real money,

Only numbers and machinery that runs.
30/01/11
1-Smell The Bricks.
Staple your guts to it,
Scrape those stinky f&@$ers out and paste them up like
come to me,
Like give it up,
Like someone else will see them,
Make them nice and ugly,
Punch some holes.

Four a.m gallery,

Broken standard wall,
The bricks are sunk,
They stale a man from smelling them.

2-Slack Eyed Blanket Chucker.

Her eyes are burning kites,
She's killer stare the stairway push,
The doubtful dog is yowling at his cut up lumpy foot.

Your wig tag has fallen in the yoga pond,

No more the handsome prince with beady eyes.
31/01/11
1-Colors & Sweetness.
Two hundred dollar orchestra,
He sits in an air-conditioned black box with giant screen and
black and whites,
He plays God to pretend you're a man with two eyes,
When you never had one,
When your money is filtered through colours and sweetness.

2-Teach Them To Swim Upside-down.

Slow sad actor,
The singlet he wears holds him barely inside,
And he lives like a ghost in a can.

You look sad,

You play poison in the water,
Drowning fish in a bucket.

His eyes are closed,

His hair slicked back like a new red jacket.
OUTRODUCTION

Thanks for your time, and again, if you want to subscribe, email me
at clo5dimly@hotmail.com and let me know. Also, feel free to pass
copies of this to anyone you think might like to read it.
Direct any comments or questions to that same email address and
let me know if it's OK to publish & answer them on a letters page,
and I'll do that in the next issue, (I'll also answer them to you
directly if you don't want them published, or even if you do).

Thanks again,

Corey Biscoe-Marwick.