Mel From Melbourne - Music & Words

  Moon Sonnet   2 days till the full moon & my condition flares I get astronomically wild What did the postman say To his dog When he got home? We planned to dance On the full moon But we’re both unlocatable A civilized ending As ending’s invariably are     Published & Copyright Malachi Doyle 2024.  

  I used to be funny Meditating on what went wrong I used to be funny That kind of surface riding that the middle class Melbournians enjoyed In the 90s Was it 9/11? That had the state & media farting in our faces 24/7 No that wasn’t it Even living in the town with the highest murder rate in the UK Couldn’t dampen it The full psychotic breakdown & the resultant heavy psych meds Definitely slowed things But I was still a sik kunt Deaths of loved ones sobered me too But I was still an idiot No it was becoming a school teacher Where I had to mute Youthful enthusiasm & be controlled all the while I had to ‘be the adult’ Whereas I woulda rather smoked pot With the troublemakers Up the back of the room I became a fuckin misery guts Marriage & being a carer for a seriously ill person Added to the mix But really Teaching The horror! As depressing As when I went to school as a kid Surrounded by disciplinarians School marms Even now As I’ve left

    Tech Kunts   The idea that a computer program makes one more creative is absurd Creativity is either in the person or not Tech is making us more distracted Unable to create on a large scale like a Beethoven or a Michelangelo Because we clearly can’t locate the dance at the still point of the universe   Apparently Silicon Valley is one of the major political donors/lobbies now & so all the tech giant transgressions & hazards are overlooked by governments & no one questions whether tech is operating in the interests of humanity or not This is prose not a poem Though the line breaks are ordered like one   I just don’t find technology very interesting Nor do I find writing about politics I really think it is a fait accompli I think Democracy is dead Its illusions might make us feel better But really it’s just pantomime Corporations control the world This is a well established fact Governments are powerless against them We are po

  Early Lunch   Wouldn’t have a clue what yesterday’s panic was about Today everything feels calm & yet yesterday I could barely breathe See severe anxiety’s chemical not meaningful It will be often triggered by meaning But in no way is it like the red hare lying dead by the side of the road Wanting to get away from rhetoric It got hit by a truck following the laws of physics Now I don’t know if the truck driver Said the hypocritical settler statement “got ya, ya bastard!”? (about so called 'invasive species') Or whether he just didn’t see the hare in the dark? Some people have strange attitudes to life & death Actually no doubt we all do A meat eater like me Or a vegan in favour of, at all costs, biodiversity A soldier in the field A surgeon or a palliative nurse A son or daughter of a dying person A morner, “what are we eating at the wake?” & then like Chagall I like this painting the best Because it has layered multip

  That losing combination of Catholic guilt & anxiety   That losing combination of Catholic guilt & anxiety fucks me up when it comes to women. I wind up in relationships because I think I ought to. So not to hurt the other's feelings. That I should do 'the right thing'. The number of bad roots with kind of pity sex. I’m 53 & still not through that shit. I tell myself stories so I can put up with my bad decisions. & I always end up looking stupid. Egg on my face. Man when I lived in S.E. London the guys tried to teach me. They were so much cooler. “Just get the pussy wet.” It’s that Mozart in the wig shop in the film Amadeus, “they’re all so beautiful, I wish I had 10 heads.” Only then my guilt kicks in & I have an anxiety attack & ruin them all & still no doubt wind up with the one I don’t want & spoil things with the one I do. If it weren’t so sad it’d be hilarious. Actually, it is hilarious. All I want to say to all the women I’ve know

  Brain Fog   I’ve started my exercise come back, after a year & half of drinking to excess & sitting on my fat arse. Day 4, like day 3: brain fog. Apparently the brain re-maps & the brain fog is expected. Of course I get my information secondhand from artists, so yunno I guess a grain of salt? What do I know of the brain, I’m melonhead & a poet, schooled in metaphysics & all that classical gas. I’ve been napping a lot since this started. I don’t know if that feels like I’m wasting the living years by sleeping. What drivel does a permed Jon Bon Jovi cough? “Stay awake while I’m alive & sleep when I’m dead.” Some might say, in fact I might say, one would be wise not the follow the advice of hair metal pop, but I had some Lithuanian housemates once, who drank bottles of vodka each night. They were living in the last 80s revisited. I guess they saw wisdom in Vidal Sassoon? Anyway, I digress, which is quite pleasant I must say. When I commence an exercise comeba