Thank you for checking out Harvey Dog’s Writings website! No new content will be added, but feel free to check out the archives.
The new website with new and old content is located at harveydog.ca. This is the place for Harvey Dog’s writings, music and drawings.
Thank you and hope to see you at the new site or check out Harvey Dog’s Facebook Page for all the latest updates.
hysterical laughter
hyenas in heat,
vibrations in the air
over the top
madness,
8:30 in the morning
bellowing
and quaking
over…nothing…
platitudes
shouted at each other
as I cower
in my office
The weather’s been good
Mrs. Thibeault whispered
to the vibrating witch
casting spells on a prone body
lying on the operating table
“I’m still awake doctor!”
“That’s ok, I’m not”, the doctor replied,
I danced to a cloud &
looked down from above,
“Mrs. Thibeault put on some clothes!”
I looked away in the opposite direction
hung up the phone
& waved goodbye
bye Mrs. Thibeault bye bye
My brain…won’t stop talking
My brain…won’t stop nagging
My brain…won’t stop thinking
My brain…zig zag zagging
My brain…it knows my weakness
My brain…hides in darkness
My brain…never forgets never forgets
My brain…
won’t leave me alone.
The dead don’t celebrate
superficial victories,
the game is over,
it’s time for the real shit
The dead don’t celebrate
arrogant displays of
frivolous competition,
gratuitous accumulation
The dead don’t celebrate
much of anything
I hate the anger
residing within
my inner cage
I release
the anger
but reach out
at the last
second & pull the
bastard
back in
landscapes
dark & bleary,
shadow bats
swoop in
a mad jitterbug
dance of wings
It’s going to be a long night
a long night of the tortured soul
I wish colours were real & everything I touched I could feel as screaming witches dance round the cauldron of my inner horror movie full of worms digging in the dirt looking to get hurt again & again & again a carousel of pain revisited again & again & again…
How are you?
a stutter, a pause,
uncertainty
…fear
a lone voice cries
from deep inside:
“let the tears return
to the clowns,
let the make-up run
down their faces,
sacred is the memory
of Red Skelton crying.”
4 in the morning
submerged in darkness,
brain on fire,
piercing, fragile
memories
flash like
lightning
tears are illusion
everything’s great
My Head Is My Only Home: The 3rd post for the blog.
gracious ladies dance with skeletons
outside my window on a
radioactive lake of decomposing bodies,
I investigate its evil power & looks & charisma
drawn into
inner circle subservience,
submission,
drained, depleted,
strained, wearied,
emptied
I move
I breathe
thoughts
of ruination
of death,
struggling, failing,
despairing, fading
I move
I breathe
