Welcome To Insomnia

I am a writer, passionate about championing the underclasses and misunderstood through my poetry, lyrics, short stories and comics that challenge views by taking them to the edge of acceptablility.
I welcome any constructive comments on my work;
e-mail me at poetic-insomnia[at]gmx.co.uk
,I am currently working on my first book titaled The Edinburgh Kronik-Ales, which should be ready by summer, for promotion at the 2010 Edinburgh fringe., When my writings are ready to go they'll appear on this blog. I performed as part of the 2009 bristol poetry festeval, which was held at the Arnolfini, on 5th september. This is my first blog, and I'll try to feed it as often as posible (so it doesn't die). Also new for 2010,you can get an insite into how these lyrics/poeims came to be, while I get some more insporation for new work.
If it survives, there should be other blogs to follow, in the near future. Now I'm also on facebook
Latest visitor count passes 17300!!!!!!!!
Brilliant, thanx to every one who visits my blog, you're all starz!

20 Seconds from Boredom

When you live in your bed,

On 2^nd Avenue,

Looking up into space.

The world is all yours , and nothing else matters.

But the existence filling your head.

None of life’s problems are real,

Just inventions to fill up your life.

Enjoying the days stumble forwards,

Laughing at some privet joke.

All you have’s right before you,

Just you, yourself and the sky.

When you focus on death,

And you count every breath,

Your seconds away from boredom

Yeah 20 seconds away.

Day time or night time,

Seasons don’t mater

Only the voice in your head,

That’s miss understood,

With no real value ,

No vote,

And no fixed abode.

 I watch as the ants crawl below me,

Existing but no sense of why.

Going around these patterns

Pretending they have a life

 When you focus on death,

And you count every breath,

Your seconds away from boredom

Yeah 20 seconds away.

Hundreds and thousands,

Stuck to a doughnut,

Floating around, lost on space.

While on 2^nd Avenue,

It’s breakfast from dustbins,

Heat from a barrel,

And company all by yourself.

Existence, is like dust from a fairy,

Seeping right into my head,

Life isn’t life

Nothing means something

And all  thoughts are just worthless.

 When you focus on death,

And you count every breath

 Your seconds away from boredom

Yeah 20 seconds away. 

Funky Monkey

Funky Monkey.

A monkey in a tux

Chained to an organ

Dancing like a electrocuted man

While the sound of music

Delights the tourists

In a land as hot as the sun

I would find it funky

If I wasn’t the monkey

Chained up to an organ

In the sun

Nature in a cage

To save it from us

Seems like cause and effect

And how do bats

Not shit on themselves

As they hang upside down?

Nature in cages

Always amazes

But who actually

Watches who?

I chopped down the trees

To build me a home

But now there’s no air to breath

I caught all the fish

So I wouldn’t starve

Now there’s nothing to eat

I drank all the water

Then I pissed it out

Now there’s nothing to drink.

So we as a species

Will drown in our faeces

While animals rot in a cage

And the dead organ monkey

Never found it funky

Being some bastards slave

              

The return 

I think this new world is crap,
  Every-thing’s cheap nasty tat.
 All put together by mongs,
 One use and it’s broken.
I want to stand on a mountain,
And shout.
 There’s no air so nothing comes out,
Just quiet contemplation,
Of all the loved ones long gone.
 Exhaling regret ,
And all I’ve done wrong.
    
I just want to see the good shit return,
 Not this cheap imitation poem.
 But as I stand in this tiny room…

 People walk around like machines,
 With their faces glued to theses screens.
 Ignoring the world as it turns,
 And the plight of the masses.
I look at them like they are fly’s,
They bounce off my car,
And then die.
More food for the badgers to eat.
As the cull brings them closer.
The separate worlds will collide.
 And only one will survive.

 They want to see their planate returned,
Before they’re all gassed and burned.
And all the students run,
And fuck off to mummy.
With their washing and designer rags.
Fixxy bikes and hand rolled fags.
As I stand here alone,  I love every second.

 I think I’m plane out of luck,
You cut up my card now I’m fucked.
 On a blind date with no way to pay.
I stand here in silence.
The fear keeps me pinned to the spot,
 I see nothing but pain and loss.
Of a life revolving round cash,
 Fails to win and then dies on its ass.

 They want to see thatcher’s return,
 But she’s senile in a funny farm.
Waiting to be hexed and burned,
With time not on our side,
I’m counting the seconds Until the return.

Yerrrrrr Nicked

I’m buzzin my nuts off,
I can’t feel where my face iz.
Not even eyes to see you through,
Except shades of red and blue.
I shouldn’t be driving,
I’m surprised I’m still breathing.

Fuzzy light,
Cozy sound,
Here come the Blakelock machine.
What does yerrrrrr nicked mean?

Some days I’m monged out,
In some pretty monged places.
These days are blissful,
So happy and peaceful.
With nothing more to do,
Than let it float away.

Fuzzy light and,
Cozy sound,
Here come the Blakelock machine.
What does yerrrrrr nicked mean?

Well I know that it hurts,
Where it hurts,
And what’s this red shit, now!
When I try to feel,
I can’t feel,
I don’t feel alright.

Emotions are wasteful,
Except when you’re wasted.
You know my love for you,
Is based on a special brew.
Of mellowed out torment,
And a need for the truth.

Who turned out the lights?
Who turned up the sound?
Here come the Blakelock machine.
What does yerrrrrr nicked mean?

©Alex Kyriacou Thursday, 15 December 2011

Tony and Guy

I know this guy Tony,
Who thinks he’s a pimp,
He can’t get a girl,
Coz his dicks always limp.
He thinks pigs can’t catch him,
In his Golf GTI,
But the badge is a stick on,
It’s a cheap nasty lie.
He gets blow-jobs from meth heads,
And thinks he’s the man,
As he sinks in diseases,
With Viagra in hand.
But ignorance is blinding,
And arrogance is bliss,
When all you are left with,
Is a bag full of piss.

In the midst of depression
You just want to die
And that’s when you need
Tony and Guy

You run out of friends
Coz you can’t stop lying
Then you hit the meds
To stop you dyeing
But the sad truth is
There’s no silver lining

There’s some bloke called Guy
With a fake bubble perm
An Audi TT
And a bird on each arm.
But they ain’t his girlfriends
They’re his sister and mum
Coming to save him
From the thing he’s just done.
No body’s discovered
But the questions remain
As he hides in the basement
Away from the shame.
His victims want answers,
But silence is pure
As he sweeps up the dreams
Lying smashed on the floor.

I shed a tear when
Bin-Ladin had dyed
And that’s why I need
Tony and Guy




Now Guy’s lost his job
And his prospects are bleak
The world isn’t kind
To the poor and the weak
It takes your respect
And you beg in the street
There are no acts of kindness
And nothing to eat
So you fall prey to schemes’
And the kind words they speak
Now Tony’s a chancer
With his eye on the prize
He’ll get what he wants
And he’ll get it with lies
You want see it coming
‘Till you’re covered in flies

When no-one loves you
You curl up and die
And that’s when you’ll need
Tony and Guy

It’s mid-July
But there’s no sun shining
And all the night time brings,
Is the smell of burning
Accusations fly
But no one’s learning

When chaos engulfs
The cops stand round and cry
And that’s why the world needs
Tony and Guy


©Alex Kyriacou Friday, 11 November 2011

Nothing I want

I don’t look at you
I look right through you
To me you don’t exist
No body, no brain, no sex
No- thing.

You have nothing
Nothing that I want

In my work suit
I don’t do nothing
I just stand there
Waiting for something
Nothing

My job makes me
Want to self-harm
My job makes me
Want to self-harm

It has nothing
Nothing that I want

No money no problem
I can see you
Look right through me
No future no prospects
4 walls and a microwave

My life makes me
Want to self-harm
Your face makes me
Want to self-harm

This has nothing
Nothing we want

©Alex Kyriacou Thursday, 14 July 2011