Category Archives: mental health

Peter Green, first Fleetwood Mac guitarist, dies in his sleep. Music-wise, a sad sad loss; But it was a tragic loss fifty years ago when first he lost himself. (Sometimes you don’t do acid. Acid does you.)

Not Of This World.

I’ll say a sadly late farewell to Peter Green,
He’s gone from the dark place he’s long been,
This man who put his soul into Fleetwood Mac
Then went off on his detour, never to come back.

Peter took a little trip on the Cosmic Cab,
A one-way trip that deals out a heavy tab.

He yearned to soar high to that mystical place
Where the bound to Earth might see Gods face,
So, with enquiring open mind Lysergicly expanded
Pete saw Heaven knows what before he crash-landed.

So if its blissful enlightenment you’re tempted to find
Please- think of how poor lost Peter changed his mind.

 

©Obbverse

Controlling the covid by keeping everyone at home has meant housing for the homeless is happening at last. Some, however, feel more at home back out on the street.

Parked Up, Off Street.

Call me one crazy cat
Or crazy as a shit-house rat,
Or a footloose lush and loser.

I’m a surly solitary soul,
An unsociable drunk, on the whole,
Happy alone, I don’t think.

Back outside here I’m sat,
Back in my natural habitat,
Tipplin’ back ‘nother Vodka Cruiser.*

Life keeps taking a spiritual toll
So I keep filling the empty hole
With every drop I can drink.

 

*Cheap and nasty Kiwi alcopop.

 

©Obbverse

Donald guilessly says, when talking up his unemployment numbers, ‘Hopefully George Floyd is looking down right now and saying “this is a great thing that’s happening for our country.” ‘ Huh?

The Usual Pigs Ear.

I used to think Don was a proper moron
But he’s proved me wrong, sad to admit,
As his latest speech ramblingly wore on
His words confirm he’s the complete half-wit.

After George Floyd’s life was thuggishly taken
By some swine misrepresenting the police,
Wouldn’t any prescient President worth his bacon
Speak less of unemployment and more of peace?

To say George is up there, agreeably beaming
Shows Donald’s both tone deaf and color blind,
At best, let’s just say Don’s delusionlly dreaming,
At worst, he’s simply out of his tiny freaking mind.
 

Ladies(?) coming to blows over buying toilet tissue in stores in Australia? Coronavirus madness has gone from mad to viral on YouTube. Watch and weep.

Number Two On The Shi Shopping List.

Whatever happened to sisterly love?
Why all this pissy push and shove?
Why all this bog-roll bulk buying?
All I see is a wee bit of human dignity dying.

Why this unseemly need to snatch and push?
What’s so important about your precious tush?
Why denude the shelves of all the toilet rolls?
All it proves is dinkum Aussies can be real assholes.

 

©Obbverse

Another Wild West-like shooting in sweet sober and genteel Milwaukee. We must all be getting numb to all this because it barely raises an echo on the airwaves these days. And isn’t that sad?

A Case Of Making Lite,

Down at the Ol’ Molson brewery
Somebody got pissed and agitated,
First, drunkeness in the first degree,
Now a killer hangover, and terminated.

Soon he turned to drinking,
Tossing back the beers,
Sitting alone, spirits sinking,
Dark eyes drip with hoppy tears.

Since they repealed Prohibition
It’s his legal and constitutional Right,
His amended defended Rightful position-
Barkeep, you’re bound to serve him till he’s tight.

We’re free to get totally trashed
In a pub, a private club, like, say the NRA?
But expect to get completely smashed
If you try to take their licences away.

When it comes to being a defendant
Of all the rights that keep us free
The importantest is our Second Amendment
Says the NRA to its blind unblinking army.

How much Dutch courage does it take
To spur a mad man into action?
To drunkenly lash out and make
A tragedy out at his dissatisfaction?

When a mans mind is corroded
With a case of the devils brew,
If the ol’ circuits get overloaded,
May he not pop off a shot or two?

No, we no longer roam the range,
We don’t- usually- shoot up the saloon,
But if’n the ol’ NRAs position don’t ever change
We’re gunna keep playing that ol’ funereal tune.

Why not  pick up that six-pack?
 Forget about work, and going back…

It’s all too easy to wipe the foam
Away from a well inebriated lip,
And return to work, and not go home,
Packing a loaded pistol on your hip.

 

©Obbverse

Getting to know the people in the neighborhood. Not your average Sesame Street meeting, one suspects. Do I see some recognition in the eyes of one or two souls I pass on the street? Nah, I must be imagining things. I keep walking.

Lost In The Cosmos.

Oh, where did you go to, my lady fair?,
Why, wherever I look why are you there?
In the library, outside Walgreen’s, everywhere,
You haunt my dreams, you poor living nightmare.

Just how did you develop that st-st-st-stutter?
Why do you shuffle along and ceaselessly mutter?
Why do those faded blue eyes peer into the gutter?
What shocking treatment made you our resident nutter?

No cast away dog-end ever escapes your gaze
Despite you wandering ’round in a perpetual daze,
Were you once smoking hot back in your glory days?
Did acid or pipe leave this smoldering testament of user pays?

She looks all too ready for a last trip in a black limousine.
You say I’m a cold callous prick, evil nasty and mean?
No, I am seeing all too clearly what might have been,
Counting my lucky stars and damn glad to be clean.

 

©Obbverse

Forty-nine people- people, not numbers, but people – dead in a mosque shooting in NZ and an Aussie raving loony politician has the answer! It’s all due to those migrants ?! Back under your rock, Fraser Anning.

Too Right, Cobber.

Thank you for your deep thoughts, Fraser Anning,
No thanks, for the Right wing flames you’re fanning,
He condemns all violence, yet his dry eye darkly gleams,
For him it’s only the Right who can be left to go to extremes.

He’s saddened by Mosque shootings but
It’s not time to keep his diplomatic gob shut,
He’ll illuminate us of what we’ve been blind to;
Words Fraser has long had half a mind to.

First his ‘final solution’ speech brought screeches of indignation
From even Pauline Hanson and her all-inclusive One Nation,
But stating the victims of a Mosque shooting are to blame
Guarantees Fraser strolls straight into the Hall of Shame.

 

©Obbverse

In times of Emergency desperate times require desperate measures, even if it means fiddling for funds for pis- piddling away on a wall.

Insecurities.

Donald is off on his latest low-down undertaking,
He needs money to fix a crisis, of his own making,
The Army of law’n’order fans of his border wall
Will now see Don pillaging Peter to pay Paul.

Building walls up was easy to say in an election run
But getting Mexico to pay is easier said that done,
He keeps calling about the millions of dollars they owe,
Not one ‘Hola’ has he got from the President of Mexico.

It matters not to Don that the funds are misappropriated
Or that real Democracy has been truly desecrated,
What do you expect when the megalomaniac you elect
Injudiciously, sadly, madly must get his vanity project?

 

©Obbverse

When you’re feeling sad and low, go see the Doc, he might just cheer you up. Or not.

Severe To Mild.

I have my good days, I have my bad,
Sadly, what a depressing month I’ve had.

I’d not seen my Doc for a while-
Perhaps he had new meds on phial?

So the good Doctor changed my medication
And my mind went off on a three-week vacation.

I’m happy to know my moods have improved
But throughout the trial my mind felt… removed.

So I asked the Doc to halve the dose
Knowing it would leave us both morose.

It pains me, but being human means being able to feel
And a half-life spent numbly fogged up holds no appeal.

Sliding towards the edge, and things are getting flaky at the edge. The hope is to try to hold on and get to the other side, not slip over the edge.

The Man In The Mirror.

It’s winter and I’m of melancholy air,
Summer, months away leaves me in despair,
Cold indifference abounds, no-one seems to care,
Yes, I know, no-one said life was fair.

The Good Book leaves me painfully aware
That God doesn’t think I’m worth a prayer,
Every night is a dark sleepless nightmare,
A sunny morning countenance, all too rare.

I stand before the bathroom mirror and stare,
Reflecting back is a madman’s maniacal glare,
See the troubled eyes, the twisted tousled hair-
Don’t we two make an unprepossesing pair?

Yet our problems are mine alone to share,
And that depressing bastard isn’t going anywhere,
My fear is if he stays I’ll go completely spare-
Please change the mirror, I don’t care to see him there.

 

 

©Obbverse