fucking musos…

October 29, 2011

Jess and I go back a long way…She is already familiar with my wierdness, and seems not just okay with it, but often, to enjoy it. Ever since the first time we met, and she made the fatal mistake of asking me ‘hows it going’ and I responded…something along the lines of…
‘well…a close mate from the motherland has moved in. the fucker turned up with 20 gold nuggets in his pocket and a big goofy smile on his face…now this man can kill…has killed…for a living…so i must be careful with him…know what i mean???…perhaps not, but nevermind…back to the story…he is driving me fucking insane…not one moment of peace he affords me…constant singing…constant impressions of characters from TV series which i find atrocious…i meet his attempts at humour, with a straight face, turning away, only when i am sure he has noted my lack of joy at his efforts to colour the air pretty…i am fond of him, but truly, i need this vodka, which i do not see as an admission of a serious drinking problem, moreover, its a gesture of kindness on my part for if i remain stone sober under such a constant barrage of bothersome efforts to…to…i dont know his aim…but sober, i will be harsh…drunk, i can perhaps at least fall over, then pass out whilst laughing at myself…’
her only response was…’do you want a receipt’. Clearly, I was IN.
‘well…nice talking to you…enjoy your night, my dear’
yes…i felt it instantly and strongly. our soul roots are clearly entangled under the topsoil…
this evening she seemed actually keen to know me more, despite my serious apology for addressing her with such a rude tone…she reacted to my story with glee…
‘i am in a foul mood, jess…no use for anyone wishing for an easy ride’
‘so why are you foul???’
‘fucking Musos…fucking musos…i will end them all’
‘ahhhh…a woman! do you want big jess to beat them up for you?’
now frowning…’well…i had not yet considered it…but fuck it…why the hell not…you meet anyone who calls themselves a muso, gouge out their eyes, do me proud…enjoy your evening’….
she laughed, smiled her pretty eyes at me, i thought of stripping, showing her that i mean business…but decided against it…

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chase happiness

October 29, 2011

We are all going to die.
there are no two ways about that.
so where does that leave us?????

follow your instincts,
is my best advice.
but many choose a different path…
and many egos choose a different path.

you are born,
you enjoy the innocence of youth,
and then…
you come to realize that everyone dies,
that everyone ends…
and all, at best(?), they leave,
is their legacy…

i read once that ‘writers never die’
and maybe thats true,
for spirit can be continued in verse,
and as the scientists say,
energy is always conserved,
converted from one form to another…
but then what of a brilliant work by Burroughs,
which affects hundreds,
maybe thousands?

words, life, energy put into words,
of a long dead man,
magnified,
never dimishined in core root…

that shits in the face of the scientists.

from the christians,
the hindus,
the buddhists,
the muslims…
my only conclusion,
is…
worry about ther afterlife,
only when we enter that unknown to ALL who still live realm.
until then,
persist free and wild,
chase happiness,
for yourself and those closest to you,
for bringing joy onto your loved ones
brings joy onto you…


extremes of emotion and sensation…a cruel carictature of what i once was.

October 29, 2011

I have so many beginnings of wonderful lines to write, but something is stopping me. The brightest light of suspicion falls upon a lack of connected enough loved ones, with whom to share my vital expressions of pure feeling and frantic thought. After beginning to wade into Steppenwolfe, I began, all too quickly to relate to the main character, mainly in terms of his sensation/conclusion of a natural distance between whatever he perceives himself to be, and the others which look like they are of the same species. Connected enough, in my diction, means – people i can lock eyes and hearts with often. I have moved around like a flea on a hot tin roof, since infancy. Even deep into adolescence, with a secondary school set of shackles around my feett for 8 years, as soon as the opportunity to flee arose, even as a brief idea, i grabbed it and moved on, not based on some long held yearning to move on, but seemingly, just because it felt normal. Since moving to Manchester, 12 years ago, I have not remained even in the same country, for more than 3 years at a time, let alone houses and towns…Infancy sets up so many blueprints, which if not noticed and very seriously scrutinized for value and reason, remain…somehow natural and easy, long into adulthood. I am coming up to the 3 year mark for this city and country. Houses have been moved four times in that period. A female who came here with me has long since left. I have embraced, or allowed myself to degenerate into, a creature who chases extremes of emotion and sensation…


we all die

October 29, 2011

I don’t wish to merely survive…i need to thrive…to make my mark, for good or ill. to seek out the dreamers, the believers, the righteous. They are those, with whom I need and want to connect. Its simple and pointless, to present to the world around you, the outline. The substance comes from hardship, from turmoil. So for those fucking fools who cover themselves in ink, gain attention and are appreciated and accommodated as COOL without showing any substance; fuck you. I prefer a colourful beggar, groomed through suffering, to a dickish fool, with big muscles and the Right colours covering their skin,,,

I care little if you steer well clear of politics, of literary classic consumption. For I am interested solely in soul and more so, in Spirit.

We all die…its not our beginnings or our endings which forge in stone our input to history. Its what we do in between…

So chase your dreams, be righteous, protect and encourage the weak, crush, with every opportunity, the strong cunts…and chase happiness, at all costs. seek out, then surround yourself with, the creatures which bring you the most joy…


Tyrant – valerio massimo manfredi

October 29, 2011

I first read Manfredi’s work a decade ago, when for my 22nd birthday, a close friend of mine, Mario…the ex-gangster of Naples, philosopher, sage, hedonist, traveler, world class chef, talented footballer…presented me with the Alexander trilogy. Those books enticed me into an ancient world where the ideals of Valour, Bravery and Loyalty were actually valuable and revered, unlike the world of Today. They changed me. Validated core yearnings, encouraged parts of my fervour to continue, to dive deeper, to travel further and wider, and to always chase a Dream.

Many years have passed since I read those three books, and the increased harabouring of my own aspirational want for literal endeavour has precluded a return to Manfredi. But recently, after finding Bukowski’s letters compliation, too depressing, too horrifying, too eager to darken my spirit and kill the innocence of my heart; I returned to Manfredi, with this book…Tyrant.

Admittedly, I have more natural interest in the story of a syracusan leader than those who have zero link, bloodwise, to such a city, and country. But still…this story is historically accurate, involves huge upheavals of the ancient realm, beautifully rendered, poetic, brutal…and a companion I could not put down. I have made myself sick from perservering with my afterwork hour or three in the front garden following Dionysius, through rain and wind and wooden splinters in my gumline.

I have been inspired, delighted, brought to tears…and more proud than ever before, of my 50% syracusan blood, merely for the hint of any connection to such a special character, whose moves, however vicious, however horrifying, I could not once fault.

Highly reccomended.
Animal Rating 9/10


between the thighs

October 29, 2011

these people,
they don’t know me,
for what i truly am…

for i have relented,
aquiesced,
to walking a line,
to talking in time,
to a set of beats,
i find ugly,
lifeless,
a constant encouragement to avoid any hint of SOUL,
any recognition of SPIRIT…

its time,
to say FUCK YOU…

its time,
to reveal myself,
for what i deeply am,
for good or ill.

aesop roars ‘none shall pass’
whilst looking like me,
aiming an arrow out of the projects…

this aint a poem, but its neither proper prose…so how i present it, is beyond me, so lets scrap the form, and stick with the meaning, with the meat and the bones…YES, i consider myself intelligent, far from wise, and insanely emotively open. There is zero arrogance in my stance, but also zero joy…for in a blind world, the one eyed man is depressed, not King…for they cannot see what i see, and therefore, not feel what i feel…i spend too much time embodying my spirit, via my filthy loins, too much time showing myself as a seal pup to sharks…i need to go home. as that is where the heart is, as always…but i cannot do so yet, due to my love for this growling, vicious hellhound behind me, my baby boy, the apple of my heart’s eye…nobody comes before him, or near to him, in terms of my Feelings, which as always, wherever i am, are ALL that matters…

I enjoy my working hours, as i am not just allowed, but constantly encouraged, to play the volatile, ‘knowledgable’, sex pest, haggard fool…which makes me smile, but…leaves me cold. leaves me, wanton to head home, to be poor as a street fighter, without the muscle or hustle, to survive, in more vibrant realms…

maybe you, anyone reading this far into an obvious rant of Self, can feel, or suspect, these are the words of a man undone,….by his own long held, but now dead, desire for that enchanting myth of finding the most glorious of glories, not just between the thighs of, but inside the heart and soul of, a nubile minx.

what the majority of strangers dont seem to have the mental and more importantly, emotional, capacity to realize, that when they ask to see my wordsmithery, then comment, or avoid me for all days after…that my WRITING is not fiction, it is not contrived, it is not how I wish to be seen…my ONLY talent with words is, as dangerous as it is valuable to the few wicked heads who feel me, an expression of the darkest, deepest parts of my very essence…i assumed that was obvious…but i was wrong…or maybe i wasn’t…and so, those who ask me to show them such raw, vital expressions of DANIEL, and then react with silence, or…’you should try fiction’…to me…that feels like a huge FUCK YOU.


william burroughs – the wild boys

October 29, 2011

the wild boys book cover

William Burroughs is one of my educators, one of my major inspirations as a haphazard wordsmith. Without any doubt, his mind was exceptional, mainly in terms of the journeys it could make and bring back to Reality, and thankfully, into written word record. With Hunter S Thompson, Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Charles Bukowski, he is a King to me, when it comes to the Way of the Written Word…Naked Lunch, Junky, The PLace of Dead Roads, The Western Lands…all rank as some of the finest, most inspiring literature I have ever had the pleasure and good fortune to come across…As for The WIld Boys…despite the promotional spiel on the rear cover, with such praise as ‘more lucid than Naked Lunch. An ethereally beautiful book'(rolling stone)…and ‘the wild boys is certainly Burroughs’ most accesible book since Naked Lunch! It’s also his boldest experiment and, perhaps, finest achievement, the work of a brilliant mind that has mellowed but remained very much in tune with the crackle of the universe’ (los angeles time)…those words smack of total duplicity. For as a man who has read all of his work, this book seems, at best, littered with truly wonderful passages, but swamped by homosexual erotica of a definitely foul flavour, and much closer, in huge dollops, to his cut-up lunacy, than his gorgeous, often electrifying prose…

The book can be as stunning as…
their eyes light up inside like a cat’s and their hair stands on end. And they charge down the slope with incredible speed leaping from side to side. We open up with everything we have and they still keep coming. They aren’t human at all more like vicious little ghosts. They carry eighteen-inch bowie knives with knuckle-duster handles pouring into the river bed above and below us leaping down swinging their knives in the air. When one is killed a body is dragged aside and another takes his place. The regiment formed a square and it lasted about thirty seconds.

and as pointlessly awful as this…
I lay down with my legs up to Xolotl. He slides the fish inside me and everything was blue swimming away into the sky and I did it to him sometimes he is Xolotl grabbed from behind head back whining in his throat could hear myself whimpering face in his out into the night stars glow there with soft blue fire when I squirted my river of running water and vines.

Valdez Rating…5/10