CAT

TRAIN
FEET
BRAIN

ISSUE FOUR
APRIL 2010

Written and illustrated by Corey Biscoe-Marwick

INTRODUCTION
Hello reader.
Many thanks to my subscribers, and those who haven't emailed
me back telling me to stop emailing them.
This month on the drawing side of things I've added a hint of
3D sculpting,(I've just started with this so the results are a little
munted, as you can see from the cover image, but it should
add some interest, it does for me anyway, just having a go at
it), I've also added some photo collage and I've been using a
virtual pose able wooden man to draw some people from
different perspectives other than my usual face on with a
horizon line about knee height.

Hope you enjoy anyway and thanks for the feedback I've been
getting, I appreciate it.

If this is the first issue you’ve received and you would like to
subscribe to this free e-zine then contact me at:
[email protected] and let me know. I can also send
through back issues.

c Corey Biscoe-Marwick 2010, all rights reserved.

01/04/10
01/04/10
1-Where Running Is Running.
Gaping wound shut by wire thread in needle needle pushed
into your vein skin bulging blaring stereo speaker stage
taking money from unwise and foolish.

Speak louder,
About louder things that explode in the late night seaside
blue mountain cherry tree bliss,
Disrupting the soldier-less soil of old home,
Where running is running,
And sleep is not ever.

2-Live Animals.
High drama is unwinding your intestines into a grey hole of
murk loving nymphoid creatures,
Grey haired and slick mud covered tiny little bandits,
Eating from your waste,
Pulling on your chain and down you come.

The last day air will shed your inbound sorrows like a
bursting drum,
And live animals will trample your garden.
02/04/10
02/04/10
1-Lazer Saw.
(So many bones,
So many bones picked and all their meat gnawed,
and the blood of dogs spilled on the bed).

We have a golden eyeless man to follow ragged roads,

Scream out the screamers and yell out the bats,
Bang on the doors of the rotting temple,
Bring out the priest with his yawning gob.

What's the fuss he says,

Just before his head comes off,
Laser saw,
Burning tongue,
The end is nigh,
Has been and gone.

2-Remains.
The down lights will set the cieling on fire,
And the whole house will murder us burnt to a black charred mess,
Collective smudge,
Dizzy tremble fingers and a rotting sort of gluey haze.

We will be remembered by the rubble of our lives,

Hints of coloured plastic,
Photo frames and power cords.
03/04/10
03/04/10
1-Clay Soul.
Let me sleep this tree man crazy burning from the lightning,
Let me fight his orcs and muddy fractious manikins,
Cut the fingers from children who bite their nails.

Night stones are a dark shade of orange,

They're lumpy and half buried in a clay soul demon that covers the
ground,
An accidental self cursed monster that moans with your holiday
walking.

2-Tradition.
One Saturday in April Jesus sat and prayed at the fish market,
And was told to never eat the meat of animals with slow brown hair
and cloven hooves.

One fine Easter morning he did sit with the pope,

And drain the blood from a ragged bear,
And stuff it with the meat of a thousand herring.
04/04/10
04/04/10
1-Camo Baby.
All of these small children,
Hung by their chicken necks on ropes from golden rafters,
Your life will be heaven they're told,
If you just hand it over and start in to praying with sore knees and
snuffles.

I know you're low ways are unkind and repetitive,

And lie so pathologically your teeth are falling out,
I know what your about,
Skulking in the grass like a baby soldier.

2-Short Answer.
Fold the man in half and pat his head for being obvious,
There are clean skinned gentlemen gleaming in the hot sun like
sausage rolls on a Thursday,
There are smart machines protecting us from Christmas.
05/04/10
05/04/10
1-Little Ventures.
Don't wear your body out with little ventures off the rails,
People will notice,
You'll lose your job,
Your jaw will snap,
Your eyes will sink back in and your own children will look like
blurry monsters,
Harvesters of marrow soul,
Locked doors and creaking forgeries,
Rain on parades that were never begun.

2-Doors That Are Walls.

As the daylight is binding,
Is night forced to speak for itself,
Are the clean visions tainted,
The pure man will bury himself,
And inside burning houses we lay down and die,
Put our heads low and crawl through the chemical sigh of our
arsenic furniture,
Beating on doors that are walls.
06/04/10
06/04/10
1-Lonely Curse Words.
Technology deserts the deserter,
His roaming armies of insufficient might will strike at the
heart of nothing,
Because they are not there,
And he is not there to lead them into victory,
Which would be what he says,
What would it be?

2-Fix Me.
God will not fix you,
God will help you to accept that you can never be fixed,
And to get on with doing better,
Working harder,
And hating less and less until you are almost love,

And then you will die.*

*This is not as negative as it sounds, I've heard a story recently of a

guy who gave up his faith because God didn't fix him, but I think
that inevitably, until we die, we're always stuck with imperfection.
07/04/10
07/04/10
1-Cripples.
Don't slam the man who lends a hand to cripples and is angry at
the cross,
He will turn a blind eye now and drown himself,
Because it isn't you,
There are too many other people for it to be you.

Even the word of God says that the heathen can tow the line,
Can drag the ship by its rusty chunky chain into the ocean from
the muddy sand and sail it somewhere useful,
While the good Christian man rapes his child and sings hymns on
a Sunday.

Forever the blue earth will rot away like some dying vision,
And always God will be watching.

2-Eight Hours.
Real people sleep for eight hours a night,
They have unclouded eyes and hearts that are gold mesh over
sailors frozen bodies,
They speak clearly,
With unbroken phrase and the full bodied vocabulary of catholic
priests,
They wear the shroud,
They push the cart up hill.
08/04/10
08-04-10
1-Clip Clap Clapping.
Giant clams are clip clap clapping on the beach,
Eating little children,
Unfinished sand castles.

Men in metal diving suits are dragging stones on chains to swing in

sideways,
Attempting to create enormous pearls,
Crushing little children.

2-Taken As Directed.
Your reaction was inverted rage,
Taken as directed,
As offence,
As an old acquaintance with crossed fingers for all of life,
Who uncrosses the cut planks and tears down the Jesus,
Before he has the time to leave.

God watching is no longer a national pastime,

You're more likely to find free runners,
Or people who play scrabble with dementia patients.
09/04/10
09-04-10
1-Torching Houses.
I tried to reverse engineer wakefulness,
But it was a practical impossibility,
And could neither be described as a good idea,
Or a bad decision,
It was only a wreck of a thing,
Crawling back into me late at night,
From a run of torching houses.

2-Sunny Jim's.
Flabby loose leafed old ghost men are face painting in the velvet
bathroom,
There are scaly rabbits shining shoes and doing other things you
couldn't say,
for patrons parking at the rear,
And live bands,
24 hours a day who cannot play or sing,
Or pretend to have any kind of charm,
Are crowding the small corner stage,
In the dim spotlight,
At sunny Jim's on Kill-all street.
10/04/10
10-04-10
1-An Accurate View.
Phone your mum and tell her,
The future is dark edges and a blank stare that can't filter things,
Or differentiate between colours,
So that everything is one bland square pushing forward through
the face of things.

This is an accurate view,

But it does not help you navigate the world.

2-Live Quietly.
Just go to sleep,
Live quietly,
Pour your soul into a sinking model ship,
Direct yourself towards others who have a habit of grabbing at
minor details and ignoring other people to their detriment,
Like that one silent guy in that big fun room who was staring at
the same torn sticker that you were,
And when he said, "yeah, I don't know either",
You knew what he meant.
11/04/10
11-04-10
1-Boy.
He is a boy,
He has a large unruly face that will battle to be silent,
That will push the limits of peaceful obstruction untill all subsidiaries
are willing to quit.

There are men who need support,

And there are men who need scaffolding and a dedicated team of
hard working labourers to stop them from toppling down.

And there is a man who needs nothing,

And a boy who needs no one to tell him.

2-Your Mother's Greasy Brain.

Hell is probably an accurate description,
Your disorder is social,
It is the inability to give a toss about anyone,
Because you can barely understand.

It is the inability to use things more than three times without

breaking them,
And the sound of loud thumping,
And the recycling of other peoples words,
You're "taking every step".

We haven't got your mothers greasy brain,

But we are not immaculate conceptions,
And the train runs sideways down the hill where the tracks have not
been finished.
12/04/10
12/04/10
1-Not Attached.
Awkwardness is like a growth,
Like an odd shaped lump that you carry around in a bag so people won't
see that it's attached to you.

I saw a man on television last night who had a gaping hole in his face,
His awkwardness was hidden under a prosthetic nose and some gold trim
eyebrow hooks,
A little discomfort for a little anonymity,
He can walk in the street now like any other man,
And be ignored.

2-Sleep & Forgiveness.

Far away earth,
All blue circles and pointing fingers,
Gold dipped and ubiquitous,
God like,
Unlikely to retain the faith of their followers,
"What am I going this way for?"

In a shell made of ten inch thick paper m\342ch\351,

A dozen open books and a handful of children,
Red dye and heschen,
Sleep and forgiveness the same.
13/04/10
13/04/10
1-Drill Head.
Forged personality,
Slack face falling off,
Lumpy skin rag,
Red scratches blue,
And all the indigestables regurgitated up out of your faceless hole.

A drill headed ground eating thing with rivets and cogs,

Is churning your way with its eye on the prize,
A new skin for baby,
A clunk and a shattering rumble.

2-True Stories.
True stories will bind the mind,
Inedible evidence will not be digested without first being crushed
into dust,
And added to a mug of super heated railway track.

Is he any good is not a useful or appropriate question,

It is impossible to answer it without sounding like some kind of
down the tube lunatic,
Or an up the chimney pompous little ferret.
14/04/10
14/04/10
1-My Little Economist.
An early night will someday descend from heaven,
With a book and a cup of green tea,
And a pillow so soft that it swallows your head,
In a bed with tendrils tapping in the spinal cord,
Dialling dreams and instilling virtues.

One night my little economist will sleep.

2-Termite People.
Golden door handles and long psychedelic rugs,
Like the vomit of a Greek god captured and woven,
Slender glowing termite people slouching at the shoulders,
Heads bent down so as not to make holes in the ceiling.

One sparsely lit man with his fingers in a bowl of stale porridge,
Glazed eyes despondently scouring a single patch of floor,
Tracing the lines in the tile,
The greyish white grout and the dust.

We are going to eat you,

It is all for the best.
15/04/10
15/04/10
1-Sign Of Love.
You are a ghoul jagged stone at the cliff bottom,
Piercing my face,
You are the ape in the drive in with syphoning hose,
You smell like funerals,
Old sweaty men in their moth eaten uniforms,
Pacing and dragging their names.

You will have no choice but to dissipate,

You will have no sign of love from me.

2-What Have You Got Grunty?

Dirty haggard wreath man,
Carries bones in a bloated sack with miserly grunting at any who
say;
"What have you got grunty?
What are you holding?"

The Australian government will rate my place of work with a black

tick and over complicate the overly simple task of ruining
children,
And I will be the paid exact same amount,
For wasting my time clutching bones to my body.
16/04/10
16/04/10
1-Little Iron Heart.
Statisticians will tell you that numbers can explain most things,
That people are bound in their own specific set of tired numbers,
Their behaviour reflecting a decimal place on a scale in a book
somewhere,
Or an ever changing scale in some malleable machine that will say
what you ask it to.

You don't even have to ask,

You can demand,
And it's little iron heart will pump a number shaped like anything
you like.

2-The Semi Published Man.

Don't pay it any attention,
That whip voiced planet head with voluminous knowledge of all
things pertaining,
It is not a reasonable request that you lay down and die with no
fight,
For no reason,
Other than he is smarter than you,
And you can never understand.

Understanding is the downfall of the semi published man,

He will never see the light of day in his own dusty trail of denials.
17/04/10
17/04/10
1-Presentation Is Nothing.
Presentation is nothing,
A book with no cover can't be judged until you read it,
A man with no skin will scare the crap out of everyone.

2-Just A Singer, (My Mates A Postman).

So play the tune that turns their heads to gaping holes,
Their eyes to poorly drawn fish.

Play the song that plucks their lungs and blows them up like floats for
some parade,
Sing the words that singe their eyebrows,
Pull their poultry farmer plaques from their iron beaten mantles,
Kick their chickens out into the world.
18/04/10
18/04/10
1-Get Right Down To It.
The wind pushes your papery body around like a pile of old notes
for an unpublished, unfinished book,
About nothing particularly interesting,
That took a life time to compile,
And a second to give up on and throw away.

There are bright and shining things with faces like lightning,
With eyes like the fires of hell turning cold,
That will touch their fingers to your lips and raise you up,
And bind you,
If only you would see them.

2-Better Now Than Later.

The word of God will bend a mind to balance,
Before the word will be a tepid lake,
Bloated lifeless gold fish with a coin each in their mouths to give
to Ceaser.

A page of plain observance in a book of living backwards will be

better for you now than later on,
The last few pages,
And a few in the middle,
Have been taken out by vandals who snuck the book to the
library toilets,
And used it to wipe their bums.
19/04/10
19/04/10
1-Improbable.
Ten Twenty One is irreparably late,
I'm a father and I can feel it.

28 is old enough,
But my thirty year old brother is surely never this tired,
Surely is never placing bricks in broken carts and cursing sinister
defiants for their plots to plaque his teeth.

My teeth are glued together,

My children are improbable,
But they exist.

2-Put A Shrub In.

Today I left tonight to brave a whole days work,
I gave my wife the time she gave me and it's a week away for
catching up,
Again,
I'm three weeks behind with a one day rush to pull the curtain,
Or walking dead in the clear.

I need to plant the tree of sinful negligence in some other persons

yard,
Tear it up from mine and put a shrub in.
20/04/10
20/04/10
1-Daily Bruising.
Daily bruising,
There were scars and blind dogs,
Three legged dogs with one eye between them who barked at the
gate incessantly,
Eternal damnation,
And mounds of saliva.

Three small children were destroyed by their father,

Strapped in their car seats,
Asphyxiation,
He was vengeance like Medea,
Like the plot less ruinous halfway madness of her blood soaked
feminist hands,
But we all know that even so,
She was written and played by a man,
And his wife was not a man,
She was uninvolved,
She was not aware.

If I were to take down the sign from the end of your street,
Nobody would be able to find you.

2-Vigilante.
I want to be a vigilante,
Take down the man who's taking down names,
Take down the boys,
The laugh at strangers who don't look the same boys,
The beat the shit out of strangers who don't look the same boys,
Sufferers of social memesis,
All the carbon copy arseholes that defecate on everything,
Those are the people who need and deserve to swallow at least
half of their teeth,
Those are the people who leech and stink,
Who need my fist in their gut,
My smile and my spit in their face.
21/04/10
21/04/10
1-Ace Cine Gold.
Ten minute walk to and from;
Basically nothing,
Ten dollar Tuesday,
Thirteen dollar sugar coated lamb.

I don't like your tone,

Your loveless baby names for everyone,
I've paid to cry,
So make me cry damn it.

2-Disposable Burn Victims.

Sadistic sorry flux man power down,
The full force of deaths blow will hit solid in a second,
Your blue lips will fall off and that nervous pout,
Those droopy eyes,
They'll turn to gold medallions for the one who takes your place.

Two bound is one confused,

It doesn't seem to matter how the conflict was erupted,
Only that the lava should flow,
Creating countless disposable burn victims.
22/04/10
22/04/10
1-Atheism Hell Boat.
Stately star flung gods,
A room full of men and women who believe that it's OK to
disrespect believers,
We agree on so many things,
Except that secularism doesn't have to mean hate,
Except that you are not an immune governing force that can stand
on my neck and say it's right.

It's not right,

It hurts,
And you are the hell ship,
And you are the things you curse in others.

2-Verge Collection.
Climbing walls that plain sail the edge of a suburb,
Looking down on the rough sailing people creating their evil storms,
Pushing themselves and saying that other people are pushing them.

The shove pluckers,

The people who stab with a stick,
Your sewing machine is sewing his skin to his bicycle,
He will writhe in the glad light of drive ways passing by,
People jibing,
Yelling abuse like broken taps and mouldy wardrobes.
23/04/10
23/04/10
1-Atleast You'll Look Important.
If you live a little faster,
Check the arrows with less frequency and point yourself,
Move like you were sent when no one sent you,
Walk the walls and spit the seed,
There'll be profit in it sometime,
Surely.

2-Parting Ways.
I walk like a victim,
But heaven protects me,
Miraculous turning of blood lip and bruises to friends in low
places,
And burning your tongue on the rags set alight that you meant to
throw bottled through windows.

Jesus is alive and well,

And parting ways with millions.
24/04/10
24/04/10
1-Infinite Value.
Life is not a closed subject,
Talk about it,
Other people are also alive,
They have points of latitude and longitude,
Thick black texta,
Words on the matter and matter their own,
People have infinite value,
Are worth far more than you allow.

Take a stone from anyplace and throw it as far as you can,

Take another and swallow.

2-Starving Children.
Fleet foot,
Slow mind,
Place names rot bones break and people die,
And the sanctity of life which we regard so highly in our own
private homes,
We disregard for others.

When you go shopping for groceries,

You are packing starving children into plastic bags.
25/04/10
25/04/10
1-Flies.
God is great and atheism is OK,
God is almighty and Samaritans are breeding like flies,
God is unconcerned,
If we changed our minds about them,
Flies could solve world hunger.

2-Lemom Scented.
Lemon scented melancholy treads on your body like it was a corpse,
And the choly was a soldier,
Assuming you were dead.

Shrunken sour apple taste like faded green pyjamas,

Flannelette,
That you suck on when you're sad and two years old.
26/04/10
26/04/10
1-Eggs That Glowed & Sang.
The turtle in his shell,
The ill man in his bed,
The I'll be home September dog was shot,

I haven't seen the world,

But my back yard is big,
And if my car doesn't run I can walk.

I used to walk a lot,

And spend my brain to bend my body,
Unbruised,
Unused,
I used to be a free range hen,
I used to lay you eggs that glowed and sang.

2-Daily Hits.
With a lion mans inedible resolve,
Taking daily hits from docile strangers,
Plastic syringe,
Pointless pursuit,
You may receive longer life than some,
But the cost will be unbearable.
27/04/10
27/04/10
1-The Nature Of A Hammer.
Glue hands pull faces from,
Disarm gymnastic apes,
Place prose on toilet walls in heaven,
Long and all in tiny writing nobody can read.

Please place your hand up on the wall,

A nail I've got,
And the nature of a hammer.

2-1400 Paper Clips.

Fending off remarks from strangers,
Weakly put,
Proudly strut their weakness like the order of the world.

Speak softer than a half gone cloud to pull them out from in there
where they rot-gut heavy silver lines,
Flashes of insight are stolen and stacked,
700 manila folders,
1400 paper clips.
28/04/10
28/04/10
1-Assasin Clem.
The general's personal guard are smoking around the corner,
Assassin Clem is poised and ready,
Dirty deals are passing and a blunt shell pulls them both to the earth.

The guard stops dead,

Clem is gleaming golden standing over sin and sinner,
One peers round to see him smile and turns back blown to bloody
stumps,
The others charge.

Everything is slow and deliberate,

Every racing heart beat like the bang of a gong,
The guard will fold,
And Clem will reign victorious,
A trail of devils smoke still rising from their lonely cigarettes.

2-Memory Dump.
Every good boy deserves a beating,
Said the Nazi feminist scalp collector,
And every woman a dirty man,
Said the pole vaulting plasticine table of contents.

Each of these fictional beings went on to discuss numerous and

infinitely interesting things that I cannot recall,
Because I've taken a memory dump.
29/04/10
29/04/10
1-Zero Gravity.
A man will hold his very own head aloft,
On balloon string and plant his feet firm in the glue.

Flak jacket freedom stale hand and blue bludgeoning,

Over and over the same old talk.

2-Forgery.
Didn't seem too upset,
His own father's funeral,
Mother weeping,
Children silent,
Didn't seem to see the point.

It takes a heart to culture sadness,

To conjure tears from a dusty cell,
Is forgery.
30/04/10
30/04/10
1-It's All You.
Nothing stings like your own stupidity,
Harry Hausen scorpion large and intricately animated,
No strings,
No hint of a cheat or a scratch or a quick fix blur and a jump cut,
All sequential,
Slow continuity,
Invincibly sung from your large open mouth,
That a big bird could roost in,
And teach you the alphabet.

2-Silver Blood.
Sensible sevens,
Elephant eights,
File a silver blood donation,
Date stamp it orange and squeeze pack the drip tray for later
consumption.

It must've been a robot,

Surely.
OUTRODUCTION

Thanks for your time, and again, if you want to subscribe, email
me at [email protected] and let me know. Also, feel free to
pass copies of this to anyone you think might like to read it.
Direct any comments or questions to that same email address
and let me know if it's OK to publish/answer them on a letters
page, and I'll do that in the next issue.

Thanks again,

Corey Biscoe-Marwick.