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Cat Train Feet Brain: Issue Seventeen - May 2011 (The Money Issue)
Cat Train Feet Brain: Issue Seventeen - May 2011 (The Money Issue)
FEET BRAIN
The drawings in this issue are of, (in order), the thirty one
richest people in the world, Bill Gates no longer being number
one it would seem, (at least on the first day of May 2011, when
I collected my reference pictures for these portraits). The
writing as always veers from the subject sometimes but I think I
managed to at least reference money in some way in very
nearly all of the poems.
Feel free to pay me nothing and keep reading the zine for no
charge however, just if you feel like supporting me or really
want some of my art then go ahead and do that, and have
some.
2-40 Footer.
You need at least a 40 footer,
Something wide and loud,
Substantial evidence of your bulging wealth.
2-Direct DI.
Direct DI,
Pre-amplifier with seventy knobs,
Vestal virgins burning lamps,
The blast of a heat wave from cars made of steam and
sunshine melting tar,
The rubber gloves of a shifty glue monster,
Pouring out his gluey heart on weighty volumes,
Bound in leather,
Drowning in a well.
05/05/11
1-Break Your Toes.
Guilty as sin,
Under-provision of tasks that are worth being fed your sweet
time,
Treating life like a short song for flies who live longer as
maggots and have got no ears,
Treating all your allies as the stones with texta faces that
they are,
Occasionally a goggle eye or painted lips in blue or red.
2-Worm Cat.
Leave me in the locked bag like a toad with a post code for
being so fat,
Like a picket fence around a cat with eyes that bulge for
Satan.
With contorted paws that claw the grass for worms who
scream for heaven,
"I believe!" they squeak,
They wail for Christ to save them from the cat.
06/05/11
1-Liquid Liars.
The tacks are pinned,
He's bleeding a leaky bride that shrieks her dress a white
water raft that burns like liars in a cage.
2-Four.
There's a huge sum of predestined money flushing itself
down the walls,
I can hear the stained reverberations bouncing and blinking,
The flannelette checked shirt flames leaping high like a face
eating dog.
Pay the listless checkout kid with ancient jacket stolen from
his gramps with brown patch shoulders,
Pay him for his trouble,
Give him your imaginary love.
10/05/11
1-Maisy Days & Money.
Slow dragging standard,
The air is untied from your guts,
It has fallen out blurting a massive gas creature of pain,
A creature that will scream at random objects until one of
them reacts,
A creature that scream forever,
Vacuum pack your maisy days and money.
2-Time With.
I won't pay for your reverse psychology,
I will read it on my own and apply said information to myself,
These dinosaurs,
These ugly cats and turtles,
They are lions in a hessian sack which will be intermingled
and combine to be a spider lion man with clanking stink.
2-Furry Fangs.
These right standing soldiers,
The laughter of ghosts in their ears like the screeching of
brakes,
Waiting for a twenty six dollar windfall,
With which to hang a tidal flow of toilet paper,
Crunching furry fangs.
12/05/11
1-Money Is A Vacuum.
Money is a vacuum,
It drills a tiny hole in you,
A mole man in a miniature mining machine.
Less of what you know is great and more of what will sink
you,
May your couch and television follow you to hell.
13/05/12/05/11
1-More Of What You Want.
The brain says they knew from the very beginning,
Those English hearts with grand visions of steam powered
robots who serve up your lunch on the coal powered train,
Those white moths turning black to hide,
They knew they were destroying you.
The eye says that the empty cause of funding lust will bury
every single man and woman,
Every child in mountains made from ash and dirt,
Like the old man refusing to leave his tiny shack,
Right underneath the active volcano.
2-Fair Pay.
Fair pay is subjective,
The old couple who hitler the kitchen complain of high prices,
Their freezer is full of dead cows and lambs,
Their gas plates are gold plated,
They're car is a jeep that could crush kangaroos,
They live in a palace of shit.
2-Sport.
His is a face that peers out between shoulders like valley
walls,
Hunched high and with a forehead thick as a concrete block,
That not even the mojo of Bruce Lee himself could break
through,
His pockets are lined with bitter pills,
For handing out to strangers.
His is the face which protrudes from the pile and is bearing
down hard with an angle iron shoulder,
His is the black car with blue light disco under's and a new
electric sheen.
15/05/11
1-Pay Three Times.
State your name and birth date,
Wear your collar tight,
Protruding Adam's and a vanishing nasally grin that will
change from rot to living flesh and burn down houses.
Line up with the other solid folk who know their names and
birth dates,
Who collect their prison issue gifts and smile a venom free
regret-less smile of virtue and "escape is not an option".
2-Loveland.
Tuesday is a long glaring headache,
Wednesday wants a shackle on it's ankle and an understated
residue of slime,
She is bewilderingly lost in grey hurrah's and she is a rare
beast of smiles and ice-cream on a Wednesday night.
Muddy spillage,
Vikings pillage road wrecks and hover cars,
Armed forces walk the night with green goggles and a sandy
skull,
Delivering the impatience of one nation to another.
2-Giant Eye.
Giant contact lens upon the table,
Left by giant eye that hovers sometimes by the office door,
Sometimes by the playground watching Martian children
gather for a fight at 3am.
I remember when you made me implode in the back row and the
laughs were delicious,
And you could still look me in the eye without laughing.
2-Joyous Delay.
Interpersonal relations,
These are robotic time share activities that carve their days from
deciding on never deciding,
This is a woman whose life had led miniature horses to Jesus,
Whose square jaw will never drop,
As she has seen everything.
But if she would tell you with more than a little remorse,
That she is truly sorry,
And would speak to you like civil rights had meaning and
were written on her palm,
You could tell your gathered army to disperse,
That war is done.
2-Devils Tongue.
My men are good and true,
You are a hundred years my senior in your walk to padded
hell,
To Satan's tongue become a flight of stairs,
His skull a ballroom packed with ragged man sized rats and
women made from blood clots.
Even on a weekend,
Far away from satellite statistics on the journey of the monk
and barrel chested ape,
Not at all the spirit in an egg that you were once,
But still the flickered reel and cosmic rays.
29/05/11
1-One Man Leaves.
Why brutality draws cheers is beyond my understanding,
Though I find my voice is cheering too,
My head is squeezed so hard by my two hands that just like
Mr sane beside me,
Chunks of hair are popping out.
2-Only If I Can Rewrite The Whole Thing So That I'm The Main
Character.
Sit singed and over confident that next time you'll do fine,
He's speaking in his sleep about his mother on the drugs she
stole from grandma,
He's belly chuckled all the anthems he should never know at
only three,
He's wrecked like Kirk Douglas,
He's holy like a nameless horse with a tiny window cut into
its side.
30/05/11
1-Better Than You Are.
After what seemed like an eternity,
He rose from his chair like leavened bread and spat his charts
and tables,
These dice are loaded he said,
Took off his cape and rimless floating glasses and left the
room to the rest of us,
Play on?
I asked,
Nah...
Said the mousey one with tiny little hands,
He's better at it than you are.
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
the link to anyone you think might like to read my zine.
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.