A Sunny Day

I love a park bench
On a sunny day
There's so little bullshit
On a park bench
On a sunny day





I love the sea side
On a sunny day
There's so little bullshit
From people in trunks
On a sunny day





I love a pub
On a sunny day
There's so much bullshit
From tiresome drunks
At the end of a sunny day

Time To Go Apache on The Gig - Vidpoem by Eamonn Crudden

Love You Long Time

Water boiled

Tar dissolved

Vacuum filled

Boy 

Did that vacuum fill

Plunge

We're going in

We're going down

Mayday mayday mayday

Napalm noon

No forgiveness

No coordinates

My lie 

Your lie

Endless lies

Jacked up deceit

Huey Bell Apache

Door gunner dreams

Of milky sap

Tap me tap me

Rat a tat tat

Look at the peasants run

Take me up the mountains

Take me out of here

Hit the target

Kill the child

Find a vein

We're going in

We're going down

Blood bath

Massacre

Wasted

Can't go on

I won't go on

But listen to monkey chatter

Masturbating up trees

Then she turned to me and said

'Don't you just love the smell of spring?'

Fuck me did the vacuum fill

Give me a sec to goof

Fuck me did the vacuum fill

Give me a sec to goof

Here come the corpses

The corpses 

Keep coming

Don't you see?

I need

Out of here

Bang

Pull the trigger

Bang

Push the plunger

Bang

You're dead

Dead

Did you hear me?

DEAD

Stay the fuck down

But they keep coming

Again and again and again

Human waves

Basra marshes

Poison gasses

Jihadi hordes

Hitching

To paradise

The mission's never accomplished

Look look look

The towel head is still moving

Hit him again

Waste the mutha

Raze the gaffe

Free fire zone

The whole shop's a shooting gallery

Push the plunger

Pull the trigger 

Drop the load

Light up the horizon

God I miss Saigon

Monsoon steamy pavements

Laughing Cow

'Double uo globe' brand

Float me up the Mekong

Love me long time

Pure shock, pure awe, pure shock, pure aww

It's a curse it's a joy it's a curse it's a joy 

It's a cursed fucking joy

Love you long time

Be the death of me

Shoot up, mount up, move out

On the march on the move on the hustle

Soon as you're up you're down

Soon as you're up you're down

Pull the trigger

Push the plunger

Fuck Art

Fuck Religion

Fuck You

Feel sick

Feel dirty

More dead

Than alive

I'm

Right

The
Fuck
Out

Of

Here

Pouting and shouting in Paris

There's the guff on the Paris gig. Please tell anyone you know in Paris who might enjoy it to come along. Should be fun.


Poetry and jazz. Jesus man I have a become a hipster inadvertently in my old age. Time for a beard.

Scratch them kids.

Genocide Is My Man United - A new collection in print

Starting work on the new book - and saying this in public to up the pressure on myself to get my act to together. The plan is to incorporate the best of the current e-book with a host of new works, most already written. 'Genocide is my Man United' is the planned title. It's going to be another Politicalworld.org publication with Cass Flower back again as editor and publisher. Bruce Ryder and Michael will once again be the main men on visuals. Herman will be back bringing some design discipline to the anarchic show. There will also be new artists coming on board with superb work from Conor Ferguson and Gary already in. And there's a great recent shot of me from Conor Horgan. Mark Shanley,Syra and Rock Archive will no doubt feature again. Several others are also most likely to be involved, either again or making their debut - though I am not sure if they all know it yet. Ivan once again will be offering advice and guidance. Frank may produce the audio side of things and also write an intro. There's no money, needless to say, so once again it will all have to be done with love, hustle and hassle. Warning: I'll be out bugging people for favours. I Love the Internet by Kevin Barrington has sold some 350 copies which isn't bad given it's an e-book of poetry and the debut publication from Political World. Hopefully we will sell many times that in print. With a bit of luck Genocide Is My Man United will be out in the early summer. Here's a reading of the title poem

A PEEP OF THE SHOW

A friend just sent this to me. Cheered up a shit day.
I look like I am having a ball.
It's from November.
Funny, cos I am kind of blank on the affair.
It was just three months after my medical treatment ended and there was emerging normal energy to take the edge off the toxic meds madness.
It's more performance than the assault of previous outings.
But it was all shrouded in that Interferon brain fog.
Also being new to the game, you don't really have a vivid picture of how you look.
So it's good to see the show.
And in a nice little package too.
Ta Rick/Anne

Shelter

Under Spar awning
We stood
And talked
Vicious rain

By Battambang paddy
We smoked dope
And spoke
Many mines

Behind Bangkok wall
We ducked
Zing
Bullet oblivious

In Ivory Coast
We smiled desperate
Searching smiles
Where the eyes
In warpaint faces?

And
Always
We sucked in
Brittle
Sexual
Thrill.
Strangers
-combatant or non -
Smoking
Nodding
Talking
Quietly
Together
Of
The very very many
Dangers
Hellbent
On
Stopping
You
Making it
Safe
Home