Just Woke From Dream

Just say yes if you want

See me again

I live in pain

You look too good

To be true

Made scarlet blue

My heart beats

I want your treats

Big hand your pants

see you go trance

Let me soothe your soul

Let me shoot in goal

You take my heat

Head nod to beat

My rhyme flows slow

Kiss me you’ll know

You’re sweet

The street

Voices entreat

Just woke from dream

I heard you scream

Tease you insane

Fire in my brain

I want to kiss your soul

I’ll lose control

She said tie me up

Empty my cup

Baby

ADAM ATE THAT APPLE

My Dad told me not to worry about it. He told me it’s the world’s oldest profession. He was right. Ever since Adam ate that apple we’ve been chasing her. Every man pays for it in some way. It could be buying dinners or rings. For some men it just comes down to cash. I never had to pay for it before the accident. It was the opposite. Women chased me. From the age of sixteen I’ve always had a woman after me and have never asked a woman out in my life. I had three different women ask me to move in with them. I did. I was a non-professional gigolo. Now I sit in my wheelchair wondering what women are thinking when they stare. They stare at me but I no longer know why. I wink and flirt but none of them want me… the good ones that is. The bad ones want me. There’s been a succession of the bad ones. By the bad ones I mean the broken ones. But you’re sitting brain damaged half-deaf in a wheelchair, I hear you say. Well by broken I mean emotionally broken. But aren’t you emotionally broken yourself, I hear you ask? Well ok, I mean a succession of wrong women. I have a silver bearded and bilingual neighbour who told me I was crazy for turning any woman down in my position (no legs, no memory, no job, no money, no hope). He was right and I am wrong but I am happy and wrong. I can tell by looking a woman in the eye if it’s going to work. I can tell by looking at a woman’s body if it’s going to be worth the effort. The feminists and angry women are shouting SEXIST PIG!!!! I can hear them. Angry women and feminists don’t live in the real world. They say it’s a man’s world but it’s the woman who chooses. Most women haven’t figured that out. The feminists haven’t figured that out.

I keep meeting women who want to be my friend. They keep giving me their phone numbers. I want to fuck all of them, even the ugly ones. Everybody wants a friend but me. I’m not a misanthrope but I don’t need people the way they do. I’d be happy with one person if they were the right person. I have a phone and wallet full of people’s names and phone numbers I’ve forgotten. When I say people I mean women I’ve forgotten. I should be more careful. My Mother tells me off. She tells me that I’m too picky and also tells me that by going for looks alone I am missing out on some really special women. She is right and I am wrong but I am happy and wrong. I keep meeting nutters. I keep meeting the strangest women. They’re drawn to me. Maybe it’s the wheelchair or maybe they can just smell my pain. There was a beautiful woman just the other week. She stood in front of my wheelchair to block my way. I smiled at her and she burst into tears. She didn’t say a word. She didn’t say why she was crying. She just stood crying while I sat wondering. I sat wondering if she was crying with me, for me or over me? Again, I know I shouldn’t be so picky. Maybe if I got to know her and cuddled her she’d stop crying but I didn’t want to find out. I’ve cried enough of my own tears.

Women. I thought I knew them before the accident that almost killed me. I did know them as I was then. I don’t know women as I am now. A Female Friend told me off a while ago. She is a mother of two and took the tone of a mother of two as she told me. She told me off as I told her of the women who’ve turned me down since being in a wheelchair. I said that heaps of women had flirted with me so I’d asked them out but none wanted to get to know me. I’m always asking women out after they’ve flirted with me to be told they’ve got a husband or boyfriend at home. I asked Female Friend if they were flirting with me at all or was I misreading signals? I told her I thought that they were. Female Friend took that mother tone as she almost screamed, they’re not flirting with you; they’re probably just impressed and want to get to know you. Impressed with and want to get to know what, I asked, the wheelchair, the hearing aids or the buggered brain? Andy, she said again like a mother, they’d be impressed because you’re pushing yourself up hills and not giving up. I told her I’d rather they were unimpressed and still wanted to fuck me. She said, well they’re not are they? She is wiser than me. My Mum always says, don’t you know Mothers know everything? Female Friend knew it. Mothers do know everything.

I still need sex as much as I always have. Not being able to get it has turned me into a wanker. I wank like a horny boy. I wank four or five times a week. My spinal injury has affected my legs bum dick and mind. Some nights as I lay wanking my cock goes limp. Some nights as I lay wanking my cock goes limp from thinking too much. The animal in me pauses as it peers out of the woods. I start to question why I’m doing it? I wonder why I’m laying on a bed with a box of Kleenex waiting to come on to sheets of 2-ply. It’s really my mind that goes limp. Just last week my mind took over as my Macintosh was connected to *******. The first image made me swell. I fell in love with the woman on my screen. Somehow my love of the woman on the screen was killed. I lay watching busty sex videos while my erection faded. At first I didn’t know why my erection was shrinking. The images turned me on. It was only after the pitch of my lust was quietened that I could hear what my mind was saying. My mind was reminding me of the excitement of a woman’s breath on the side of my neck. My mind was reminding me of cuddling a woman until she falls asleep snoring. My mind was reminding me of waking up and still being in love. My mind is at war with my heart and my soul. My mind is at war with love. I miss love. I still need love as much as I always have. My body needs love as much as my mind.

They’ve agreed to pay for two visits to a sex worker specialising in spinal injuries. I looked at her website. The photo on her page made her look like she works in a fish and chip shop. She looked old weathered but happy. I rang my case manager and told them I would rather have my penis lowered into a deep-fat fryer than put it in that dirty old thing. It took a lot of ringing around before they found me a younger version. She’s a hot Asian. The photo on her site makes her look like an engineering student. I rang her on a Wednesday afternoon. She picked up so I introduced myself and told her the name of my insurance company. She told me she’d heard of me and the complications related to my injury. A friend had given me a list of things to ask her. I launched into them. I asked her if I could expect penetration out of an encounter? I told her I’ve only managed a three quarter hard since the accident. I told her that might be because I haven’t been turned on properly or that it could be because of damage to the spinal cord. I asked if I would be allowed to penetrate her or not? She paused a second before she answered. She said timidly that she couldn’t really talk as she was actually on the bus. I laughed and asked her again, come on tell me what can I expect and am I allowed to fuck you? She laughed and I laughed again. It made me happy to think I could still relate to the opposite sex but sad to think that I now had to pay for it.

I still can’t decide wether I should go through with it. It feels dirty having to pay for sex. It also feels dirty laying on my bed with a hand on it with 2-ply at the ready. They say money can’t buy love. Money can’t buy love but money can make it feel like it.

Andrew Stuart Buchanan

I AM NOT A ROBOT

Digital Foreplay (handjob)

Yes I am still going mental trying to make a bad song good

Digital Foreplay

Let the wi-fi in

Open the window

I am plugged into the wall

Still tall

Big balls

Digital Foreplay

Objection that’s here say

Paralysed

but not rich

like

Reeve

Used to like walking

Take my advice

Stay clean stay nice

Waiting for Godot

–

not answered

I invented the wheel

But poor so I steal

Killed by my boss

No sorry for the loss

Fixed dilated pupils

Plug me into power

Sixty minutes an hour

No cochlear implant

I’d stand up but I can’t

Rub my hard drive

Dead on arrival

The craniotomy

Is why she’s

forgotten me

It’s based on survival

I was born in the seventies

So save me your pleasantries

Put my RAM into port

Recorder now cool

I dropped the tool

Won’t stop ringing

So I better not stop singing

I’ll go mental

It’s borrowed rental

Screeching sound

It’s loud

Welcome to my world

Not the right pitch

Sound is a bitch

Please don’t mistake my ease

I love the woman

All of her

I love her

Digital Foreplay

The Professor went in post and removed the drums and half the instruments. He said it sounds better but I will leave that up to you

Digital Foreplay

Let the wi-fi in

Open the window

I am plugged into the wall

Still tall

Big balls

Digital Foreplay

Objection that’s here say

Paralysed

but not rich

like

Reeve

Used to like walking

Take my advice

Stay clean stay nice

Waiting for Godot

–

not answered

I invented the wheel

But poor so I steal

Killed by my boss

No sorry for the loss

Fixed dilated pupils

Plug me into power

Sixty minutes an hour

No cochlear implant

I’d stand up but I can’t

Rub my hard drive

Dead on arrival

The craniotomy

Is why she’s

forgotten me

It’s based on survival

I was born in the seventies

So save me your pleasantries

Put my RAM into port

Recorder now cool

I dropped the tool

Won’t stop ringing

So I better not stop singing

I’ll go mental

It’s borrowed rental

Screeching sound

It’s loud

Welcome to my world

Not the right pitch

Sound is a bitch

Please don’t mistake my ease

I love the woman

All of her

I love her

Behind a Card

I was talking with JT, the owner of Bondi Ink, the other day. He’s a good bloke, has a handshake like putting your hand in a pneumatic vice. It’s like shaking hands with Andre the Giant. Still, that’s better than the other way. It’s better than shaking hands with a jellyfish. At least you know he’s all there. Any way JT asked me how I was getting on so I told him. I told him I was still fighting my body and the corporation. I told him that they were now making me see a psychologist. Yeah, he said, that’s their answer to everything isn’t it. Now you can say whatever you want but I didn’t contradict him, you don’t want to argue a man with hands that big. I didn’t tell him but he was wrong. It’s not their answer to everything; it’s their question

He held the Rorscach card just below his nose and gently asked

-Now tell me what you see?

I saw the flickering fluorescent light shining off his balding head

-You hiding behind a card

-Very good but what do you see on the card?

-Um… I see Madonna holding two car tyres at arms length, she’s got her pointy breastplate on and she’s in labor giving birth to a giant crab with moth wings. You can see her uterus and she’s singing like a virgin

He gave me a look that I can’t describe in words. He took the first one down. There was a large piece of wax paper between each. His finger tapped in the air at the next one

-Ahh… that’s a bat on its way home. It’s finished eating the berries and has shit all over my driveway

He winced and inhaled sharply. It looked like he didn’t believe me. He was right. I didn’t believe me either. He started pulling the card slowly and gently down to his lap. He suddenly stopped halfway as if he was going to pull it back up but didn’t. He had hands like a lady. His fingers only ever touched the sides. He was treating the cards with such reverence. If he hadn’t put on such an act I might’ve never seen a new-age snake charmer. His actions were painted

-And now this one, he inquired?

The card looked a mangle and could have been any of four different things

-Uuum… that’s two pregnant Indian squaws with erect nipples. They’re on their knees and they’re kissing 

He studied me silently with a look somewhere between lonely and sad and took the card down to reveal the next

-And what do you see here, he asked?

-That one’s two girls kissing

The room fell silent. I felt a cold trickle of sweat drip down from my left armpit. The clock on the wall ticked.

-No, I said, that’s two women kissing

nappropriateI could see his mind working. He broke my stare and wrote something down on his pad. He then took the card down and there was another behind it

-No sorry, I said, that last one was two girl’s kissing

-And what’s this one, he said as he tapped at the corner of the picture with his pen?

His ladylike fingers were long pink and thin and his fingernails were unclipped and pointy. I wondered if a man with fingernails that long was in a position to tell me anything about myself?

-That’s three girl’s kissing, I said. I folded my arms for a punctuation stop and smiled

-And what’s this one, he asked as he peeled the card down to his lap revealing another?

I studied his nose and the big blackhead in the middle it. I wondered why he hadn’t squeezed it? The blackhead was big and full of pus and I again wondered how someone in his position could walk around like that. I wondered why he couldn’t see it?

-That’s three girls kissing one girl…

He stared at me as though he hated me. Every second felt like an hour as he held my stare. He put the cards down on the table. His left leg was crossed over his right and he kept drawing it back. He saw me staring at his body language and uncrossed his legs. His shoulders hunched and both of his hands went to his knees as he asked what I meant? I told him again

-That’s three girl’s kissing one girl… although I can’t tell if she’s enjoying it or not…

-Enjoying what? He snapped back at me with a look of annoyance on his face

-Being kissed

-This is serious you know, he said as his legs spread and his arms folded for a punctuation stop. He knew I was full of shit

-Being kissed, I asked?

-No, he said, I mean what we’re doing here today. This method is based upon decades of clinical analysis

I smiled and said

-Anal suss-suss

-No I’m serious, he demanded, what are you doing here today?

I watched as his fingers turned pinker around the picture as he gripped it tightly. I looked at the three diplomas on his wall. I thought of all the years it took him to realise what he knows. I thought of how I’d been bullied and victimized into this situation. More than half the world is crazier than I am but yet I had to prove I am sane. I thought of what I was doing there and told him the truth

-I don’t know what I’m doing here today. I wanted to know the same thing… and why are all those girls kissing?

-….

Andrew Stuart Buchanan

Going Postal

Stamp the postman

Male your daughter

First one in the

Rabbi slaughters

Seafood’s older

Now you’re shorter

Eat more cobwebs

Lick the mortar

Wash your friends

Then flick their balls

Evenings’ junk mail

Shopping malls

Muscle bound

Disintegrator

Take more time

I’ll see you later

Triple jump

The sad mosquitos

Refried beachhead

Stale Doritos

Pinch the muscles

Flex your ego

Dim the redheads

Sink the needles

Sexy mucous

Drunken weasel

Pope’s a fascist

God’s half evil

Fool the elders

Pull your pants down

Urinate

The final countdown

You never knew

Know-how

Eating low-fat

Holy cow

Popping pimples

Shave your head

Spoil the yoghurt

If you dare

Grandma taught me

The bum steer

Ghosts in see-through

Underwear

Nature’s own

The garden of Eden

Picture postcard

Penis bleeding

Reach around

And tie your hair back

Take a flat beer

From this six pack

FLOP F

This one is particularly mental even for Neo-Infantile standards. One of us has noted that the songs without lyrics seem to do better than those that do.

Any comments / and or criticism should be forwarded to the whole in my head

Spew on a Sunday Drive

Somebody recently told me that our music is not Punk.
Anybody doing anything with a disability is as Punk as it gets. We hope this one fits the bill of “Traditional Punk”

The West Coast of New Zealand is one of the most beautiful places on the planet, with some of the windiest roads on the planet.

I had trouble with my ears as a lad and used to spew all the time on long drives