rinse tundra special (extracts)

Welcome in. A new journey and a new guise: meet me, Filthy Bastard, in my mid-phase, Soaking Wet Princes. A musician that doesn’t make any music but writes books, or an author who doesn’t write and just makes music. Here’s the diary of my debut single/novella/concept – FB’s and Professor Tiny Cat’s journey East, to Polska, to Never-Never Land.

pale timbre

icetouch disappearing
the barbed wire of trees
lanterned white over blush
frostbite filthy jilting away
spacehoppers in unreal times
bomb-beacons smiling silent through flesh.

The omelette mornings

I’d better fill in you in on the purpose. There has to be a purpose. Filthy Bastard and Professor Tiny Cat bobsleighing across the continent for no good reason except to redefine the borders of the Smash. Lost tribesmen, alone. But something else as well. To truly create ourselves. Bigger, faster, fatter European monsters of ourselves. To crack the giant albatross Prague and make it history. To move on from that. To clasp the myths we need to grab. Go deeper. And bring home a crucifix made out of salt. Europe’s forgotten death.

out of the dark


whispers of heart, in trees

and it made me smile almost in snowshade

future tense where the iceberg estuary melts

the arch of this arctic-sandblasted shelf

bloodlost shivery monoliths across dampened shores

vacant friends plastered by white talcum flurries

a worried heartbeat stretches beyond beams

the crisp past-present message from a better grace

where I smell frosting laughs and pure untouched joys

where we move slowly out the shade

found in the fading solace

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