The Milburn Ramblings

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: February 14, 2012

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Submitted: February 14, 2012



Light burns in a hopeless town of flourishing conformity

Crazy beatnik John with twisted face and distorted stare and wild eyes

That fix on anyone and everyone, tells tales that go straight through

Shrugged off morosely


The more you listen to the madman, the more the ramblings make sense

And the more you realise that you too are losing your mind

But listening was a crime, and the traveller was

Just a great dirty big fire of truth blazing in ignorant winter


True knowledge only comes through shooting up!

It takes the mind off all those creatures rattling in empty heads

 Rig up your soul perpetually

To the intravenous machine of abuse


Transcend the blood-brain barriers!

I’m not a man of science but you haven’t lived till

You’ve experienced euphoria, and unity

Through intimate technicolour sex


Hearts truly pound with cocaine

Pulses increase and pleasure is amplified beyond measure

Twitch after twitch after twitch

Follow the starry dynamo of meth!


Cascading stimulant excitement battles to the death

With the fragility of the thinking

Forever drawing inward

Disappearing into itself


LSD is supreme!

Psychedelic, self-administered meditation

A delirium of embracing everything

And being detached from everything


Ecstasy, music and movement

Pure clarity!

The kaleidoscopic essence of the enlightened

Soaring, rising, floating…


There’s nothing like it!

Spiritual understanding and harmony

And all this emotion!

Divinity can only describe the transcendence


Sensations with such heavy impact

Resonating in the echo of a forbidden cave of knowledge

Eccentric intoxication

Visions with voices!


PCP is angel dust, wack!

Hallucinations and delusional ideas

Moods beyond prediction

Impervious but letting the entirety of it all in


Life is timeless

A passing blur of pure joy!

Listen to this sermon of rapture!

Before it’s too late.


And the greatest drug of all, the most terrifying trip

That haunts my waking dreams

With the highest highs and the lowest lows

Is Love


Love of drugs, love of women

Loving everything in the world

Loving pain, happiness, the unfathomable eternity

Of the universe and the insignificance of our lives without feeling…


But nobody listened to the unwinding

Yarn of Crazy John’s message

He just lived on and on amongst the faceless crowd

Walk, Walk, Walk


His spark finally went out

Eyes of such clarity drifted away abandoned

And the ascension to death released the last ember,

Flittering out of his head, painted in blood

Like a crimson butterfly

Was hope for the damned, and love of love itself


Sitting, always sitting, on seats

On chairs, on buses, on loo’s,

On checkouts, on anything really

And waiting, for…

Nothing. I guess

To sit again, to waste

And look busy doing nothing.

Watching the world go by.

Watching it leave us on our behinds.

As we sit, as we wait,


Frozen, self-imposed cripples,

Missing the one chance we ever get.



I’m on the verge

Of some brilliant, beautiful



So close, it’s there

I’ve got my hands on it,

No, not quite.

On the verge

On the verge

So close, i'm falling

Over the edge, grabbing

Flapping, screaming…

And it’s gone.



There are problems with my memory

I can’t remember my past

Whose past?

You know, what’s happened to me.

But who is me?

My old bedroom, for example

I lived in it for 10 years

[10 x 365 + leap years]

And what’s the colour of the walls?

I don’t know.

But who is I?

And when?

And these memories are so detached, abstract and vague

Are they mine?

And what is time?

Have I happened yet?



Every car, well most cars

Have a driver, a person

A thinking, feeling human.

So these cars that drive by

In a blink of an eye

Have a story, have thoughts

Pasts, presents, futures


So I sit on a wall and watch the road

And every metal, stinking hulk

Of petrol and mechanical gears

Has a life, every one, thousands.

And it makes you feel so small

Part of the cogs and inner workings of some great big car

On a road to somewhere

Because even nowhere is somewhere.

And maybe we’re all just on the outer fringe of nothingness,

Like cars.

Heading in any direction to somewhere


But it’s all the same road

And we end up in the same scrapyard eventually

No matter how expensive your tyres are

Or if you think cars damage the atmosphere

In the end we all just drive into nothingness

Full speed ahead.



Being everywhere and anywhere and nowhere

This is the story of how I lost my mind

Only to realise that there was never one to begin with.

The struggle against predestination.

The inexorable web of fate.

The unstoppable failure.

And the reason to live in a world of mystery,

Devoid of fact, or true value,

Or God.



For the only people for miles are hidden in taxis.

Going home or places unknown after an unknown night.

Telling tales of sorrow, sadness, joy and ecstasy

That I will never know or truly care about.

Running down sleeping streets

Thoughts of dreams, visions and what hasn’t, couldn’t happen

Running out of breath.

Guided by the pure luminous,

Inconceivable greatness and ever yet never changing of

The Moon.

Infinite in forgotten sky

© Copyright 2019 Milburn. All rights reserved.

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