Not A Very Nice Man Blues

Woke up this morning, wasn't a classic.
Woke up this morning: anticlimactic.
Disappointment, my worst habit.
Desire is a hologrammatic carrot.
Happiness, I just can't hack it!
The diem, I just can't grabbit!
The deities are 
toys in the attic.
Deuteronomy: shinplaster in the desert.
Deutschland,vote AfD and go 
for the apocalypse hattrick. 
Attaboche!
Drastic? When you want it all to be over,
you're overdramatic.
The good and the dead are a match, 
it's axiomatic
that the day the earth is finally inherited
by shiny happy gay spastics,
it'll be just our luck 
then land the aphids intergalactic.
But I for one will not be more ecstatic.

I was otiose in Acapalco, 
fingering my teeth with Vlad's toothpicks, 
when I saw the news of the latest 
piddling anthropocideshow. 
Yawn, GEOCIDE's the doomy doozy for me 
when the world really gets on my wick.
Diva-ry Thanos, I won't get out of bed
for less than the oceans running red,
and I don't mean when they just reflect 
blood welkin
medieval medicine in Heaven lets.
Heaven is a leach.
Got dem ' Das Is Blut' Red Sky blues again.

2 

Woke up this morning for some steamy role reversal,
woke up this morning and got turned on by the kettle.
Woke up this morning, the usual applied, 
heard one of my own corny gags and died inside.
Woke up this morning, it isn't spawny to be me,
us scorny weavers don't get our faces hugged off
and we have to make our own sodding morning coff-
ee.
Woke up this morning, today
Sol Invictus the Living Light Intelligence,
a.k.a. Satan's Ancient Counterfeit,
has got his hat on, hip hip hip hooray.
Or as we say up my way, big fucking woo.
Woke up this morning
to a small, mentally ill world.
Overkilled dawns and sunsets
- yawn, I'm not tired,
it's just isn't the sun still a runofthemill star?
I didn't like to ask...
Under conditions of constant overkill,
nothing good and simple 
is just allowed to be.

Woke up this morning, mauvais quarte d'heure,
and now I wonder what I got up for.
Woke up this morning with this moaning sickness.
Woke up this morning to a 90s Nokia ringtone.
I've got seven rightthinking shrinks
on speeddial, to a man all sympathetic cynics
too depressed to update their phones. 
Some of my best friends 
are the Facebook Pages of the Deceased.
They were twinkle twinkle smolbean freckles
but Death was Travis the chimp.
Got dem 'Das Is Blut' Red Sky Blues again.

3

Woke up this morning, which is my worst habit.
Dosh? Gosh, I spent a bundle on psycho rabbit.
Who appointed me judge, jury
and blythe jexecutioner of myself?
My jiminny critic, inner cricket's
an injustice collector who knows guilt starts at home,
more mortal parasitoid than mellow parasite.
Woke up this morning, Jiminny Cricket's 
been indicted as an agent of the intergalactic aphids.

Woke up this morning, skyped my seventh shrink 
who himself sees seven shrinks.
He's the alienist Sith Lords seek 
when the Dark Side has dark knockon 
effect on office harmony.
He mediates between Master and Apprentice
should the lobster plasma of keen mentorship 
cool into an anaemic cathode, 
and they keep crossing the beams 
(I know that's Ghostbusters, 
but sometimes the wrong line flows). 

4

Woke up this morning, 
reflections jeered and echoes heckled.
Heal thyself, Dr.Jekyll. 
O I'm jonesing for my jekyll!
I've got a moral jones 
to atone for my jackal,
crunching characteristically on carrion.
Carrioneating is my character armour.

and I hate surprises.
I hated David Gest's
Hollywhoops butchered boat
and I hate Liza's.
(They were nipt 'n' tucked up alright,
by a master of misguises, Doctor Travis T.Chimp,
whose surgical muse for his knuckletip ops
was Louis Tussauds' woeful House of Wax.
Let the Tinseltown swollen catfaces
slip on their bananapeel chequebooks
and to Great Yarco, great ape, great ruser,
begin the swim back.)

I hate 50 Shades Of Grey 
and I hate whites and I hate blacks
and I hate that I'm not attractive enough
to relax and contract
an STD offa Anastacia Beale. I hate 50 Shades Darker 
and I hate Jitler and I hate Jebus.
I hate the spider monkey and I hate the rhesus.
I hate your species and guess what I hate your genus.
I hate 50 Shades Freed
and I hate you if you say 'tomarto'
or if you say 'tomater'.
I hate Ivan the Terrible and I hate the wine-waiter
- if his name was Ivan, he'd be Ivan the terrible wine-waiter.
I hate coming across as veritable cliche 
of a whiny creative.
I hate 50 Shades the movie
and I hate the endless shades of grey of history.
But what do I hate most? There's only way to find out...
I hate Harry Hill
- it's hard to walk up after you've had a gillful
at the Wagbo Arms. I hate black
and I hate white, let's never again speak of
150 million copies sold 
of the midway point between their tones.  
I hate literary shifty shades of bonkbuster tomes. 

I still hate the whites and I still hate the blacks.
I hate the whales and I hate the aged.
I hate the Reds and I hate the Sky-blues.
I hate the way you don't hate me for hating you,
when you wear your Hater Blockers (and the Goblet of Fire),
your Hater Blockers (and the Halfblood Prince). 

I'm an equal opportunities misanthrope, since
I hate you if you're a divorcee amputee 
émigré from Bucharest, badgered by a 
rash from your prosthetic head, 
and I hate you the same 
if you're the next stage 
of human evolution and your name is Stuart.

I'm an ecumenical misanthrope:
I hate the secular sphere and I hate the insincere 
kafir emir.
I hate multifaith, multicharity, multihope.

I'm a misanthrope into political consensus:
I hate Lib-Lab-Reform-Tory,
tho' I hate the Tories morey.
Got them mudblood The Red Flag 
Hasn't Been Flying Here For A Lifetime blues again.

5  

I hated waking up this morning,
so I got wasted which I hated.
But I hate the facades and I hate the cracks
and I hate bluetack and I hate whitetack (and blacktack).
I hate the friends I have gathered together 
on this thin raft, we have constructed
pyramids in honour of our hatred.
But when you hate the whites 
and you hate the blacks, 
you're checkmated by hate, 
which I hate. What I love

is a good damn goddamn crackerjack
hoots mon ruddy monster
muddy funster
of a good old bad seed rant!
A crackanory sparklehorse
invective obstaclecourse
for bleeding eardrums
or glory or bust or glory glory bust
rantosaurus rex of a raptor rant!
A fist at the sky why
must even Optimus rust
I'm gonna turn my back on humans and robots
for an age with a capital'A' 
and transform hurt to hate
tirade of a rant. A wanderoff into the desert
to perfect my Wednesday wolfchild 
huff 'n' puff with such a fervour for complaining
I would be dubbed 'the 'Ateful Dodger' 
in Farsi by any passing Persian Fagin
of a rant.

A stand back whilst I let rip 
with an embittered elerantine
battering rant to fuck up the cult 
of the stiff upper lip of a rant.
A twat the ratty portcullis of knots 
you and millions of pollyanna mugginses 
like you have hopelessly, mindlessly,
deafdumbblindingly tied yourselves up in 
to deny the blinking obvious universal truth 
of malism of a rant. 

I'll rant
like the roidraging wrestler in a restaurant
who found a flying clothesline in his soup
and felt duped.
You could grill a steak on the heel heat,
pigliver stink I kick up, 
because hatred spewed 
is hatred spurred on.
The crowd goes wild
for the reviled.

Red sky at night, shepherds are full of hate.
I had some thoughts that were thinking
of forming a group, let's recap:
with a hey sparky hey chuckles
blisterin' fucking barnacles
rantoholic rantophile ranter's relish
for demolishing your blissful ignorance
of how I'm feeling rant. 
Like rant of the litter 
runt of the letter
rantfusspot rantfarceplot 
rantfink in the rantshade
of a rant.

Woke up this morning and smelt
my catharsis light up your arse.
My cuntzone fuddy munster
massive attacker
macapaca
spinal cracker
kurtjacker
rendition of rantbunctious Red Sky Blues, 
mooverthanker!
Available at Scorn.com, turn right at the scorn deluge.
Woke up this morning,
macfuckedidoo.
Or as we say round my way,
big fucking woo.
We Red Sky Bluesmen would rather throw shite
out da pram dan swallow yo' citalopram, 
mooverthanker!

Tho' it's true that most of all 
I despise the human condition,
my bark kicks sand in the eyes, in the face of my bite,
because I hate the way love isn't always enough and I hate that that makes me hate love.
Please forgive me these 'Das Is Blut' Red Sky Blues again
because I don't know if I can.
I hate myself but still want to 
wake up tomorrow because 
I love the way I hate the way I love 
the smell of la belle haine 
in the morning.
Got dat hate discharges me 
from the thankless duty of showing a little humanity
cure for the blues again.