Excuse me:

Would you mind calling me a star
I’ve got a fucking bad skin
I play a lousy bit of guitar
I can’t write any fucking two lines
which make sense to each other

Poetry is a dream
Life in the gutter?
Ha laugh at the bitch
I’m the man
I’m the hand under Mona’s skirt
And love is a Joke
Don’t believe in peace
Chaos is on the brink
How fucking charming
Isn’t it? And I feel good
Freedom is my life, you know,
The cuffs can’t help

The eve of collapse
Can’t help enjoying it haha
Between brackets
(Why God Why is AL.P. so fucking cool)

Red wine und nicotine
Können phonetic abholen
Ha ik geloof het zelf ook niet
20 % fat oh yeah diet butter
diet coke and light ciggies
No green no brown but straight Phillip Morris

What is our best toothbrush by the way
And back to them lawyers

How cheap is a lighter anyway; out ruled
by fucking matches?
Who’s that man on the corner?
Devil in disguise, god naked or just
life being the ever recognized bitch

Something is not that clear.
Anger building bricks, but not ready
to destroy windows
Not a big knife pretending to be a gun
A little naked child tries to call me
back on earth

Fake it break it. Ask for a mum
If it’s true it can’t be a dream
Scary thought, isn’t it.

The madman can’t wait to see
the wicked doctor.
Medical emergencies are prayed away.
Cause god is heaven.

I can’t hear a thing, see nothing but mud.
No time to contemplate, but
enjoying jazz.
And Ginsberg’s best men?
They tried, they’re legends.
Made a difference?
Off course but not for society itself,
not for you or me, maybe they gave
their selves a cure.
(But off course for no such thing as sickness.)
And I love them for it.
Although they starved so said “hysterically naked”.

And you’re longing for an end of this
pretentious shit, but no, one more
page please.
T.O.P



















And I like it now.
Never to say (“check the future”)
Fist fuck IT !!!

No down town, no central fucking park
Testimonials are useless
It will take just two burned fingers
And a match to destroy it all

No one will ever know, but if they do,
Hoho, big surprise;
Is it our son? Haha, we never knew.

Another bottle hitting the carpet,
not funny but on the other hand not too bad either

Subway trains are a nice, maybe even
a lovely, way of convenience

I’ve got greasy hair. Naturally smoked.
Check my blood, check my lungs, but
never ever forget to check the mind
I’m quite confident about the end.
A breakdown is dying to show itself.
Who am I to reject?
I don’t even am !!!

All love & more madness


May 11th 2002