stevie mccabe's diabolic blog

April 23, 2013

DUNEDIN 2013

Filed under: Uncategorized — Stevie McCabe @ 9:37 pm

Dunedin’s moved on like a gypsy caravan
Now Cristchurch has made it look good
You have roads and shops and the Octagon
You lucky bastards

Dunedin, taking off after crashing
Sniggering as you send off your black jerseys to your poor cousins up North

While you secretly buy up Farmers and Ballantynes stock from a rogue vendor by the name of Woodstock
When the gypsy fair came to town

“I always wanted that frock and highfalutin cummerbund , m’lady”
Now watch as I strut down George Street, lookin and feelin like the laird of the land.

Dunedin 2013 – crashed while taking coffee
With other like minded survivors
Only now
They’re a little
More dapper

January 3, 2013

Bryan Ferry’s Voice

Filed under: 2013 stuff, Anger, animal, beauty, Beliefs, bleak, destiny, fear, Fuming, nature, People, Poetry, Spirituality, Tradition — Stevie McCabe @ 4:03 pm

bf
Gaunt and tremulous, fragile and strong
Quivering betwixt matter and mind
Slightly sharpened on the end-notes
When by all sense of reason he’d be bound to go down

Slightly sharpened in white suit,
Elegant in suede chair , suits you sir
Mercedes and chablis, champagne for the lady
My dear you mean the world to me

Driver please take me to Assbury Park
For its cold outside and the passage is dark
you will all miss me when I am gone
Scarborough Fair will have nothing on this ballyhoo!

Slightly sharpened in smart tie
I miss you even before you’re dead

October 22, 2012

They Kill Wild Horses

Filed under: 2012 stuff, Ambivalence, Anger, animal, anthropomorphism, beats, destiny, fear, flesh, Hope, humanity, hurt, icky, nature, Poetry, seething rage, Songs, Time, Violence — Stevie McCabe @ 11:04 pm

Why don’t they tell you on the package

You have to sift thru all the wreckage

Today we dine

On the dross that Mephistopheles chucked in his car

They kill wild horses

on the hoof , or when they’re chasing a truck

they kill wild horses

and if they had a choice they’d lay an egg like a duck

Ol Mephistopheles had troubles of his own

when his cat ran out on him he totally froze

Guns ablaze, he came out swingin doubling in size

every 15 minutes, like yeast on the rise

October 21, 2012

Shoes Yay High

Filed under: 2012 stuff, Ambivalence, animal, anthropomorphism, beauty, clothing, evil, fashion, fear, flesh, Love, oversize, People, style, tiptoe — Stevie McCabe @ 2:28 am

When  i met you you had no shoes
I took your socks so you had nothin to lose
Gave you corn plasters as you were a wreck
Toe-to-toe jammin’ like Greg-o-ry Peck

I’m a sole man believe me I aint no heel
Runnin with devil never did me no good
Goes to show the power of a single banana peel

When your shoes are yay high in North Carolina
Certain people will take heed
Archin like an alley cat spyin a panther
you know both of dems a dyin’ breed (and dey knowz it)

Gran’s Remedy aint no cure for the devil roosted ‘neath my shins
Doctor Podra, please please can’t you see the state that i’m in

Well when a sleep-walkin cheetah wakes up,
puts out his butt and decides enough is enough
everybody gotta make their own minds up
cos they’re free as feet footloose and fucked up!

September 11, 2012

Exile on Naenae Road

Filed under: 2012 stuff, Anger, Beliefs, hurt — Stevie McCabe @ 12:50 pm

killer queen less than anywhere else
ended up road kill tissues and flowers on her grave
and algae barnacled scrapings on the luxury yacht
spilt and bled into the mediterrainan like so much dead sea

spilt and split like random unstable fake atoms
neutron stars in a black sea of dreams
a milky paste of self similar fizzing frenetic swizzle sticks
stirring the pot with a whiz-wand that would slice a banana like a knife thru butter

exactly like a hot knife thru butter
a sizzling hot knife thu butter
an electrified heated butter knife thru melted butter
if the glove don’t fit you must put down the sizzling electric butter knife

September 2, 2012

Dead Fish Sushi Train (haiku)

Filed under: Fuming, Haiku, Poetry, seething rage, Stinking Fish, Tradition — Stevie McCabe @ 9:27 pm

Round and round and round

Circulating, stinking

’til you’re taken off.

August 20, 2012

Vanilla Ice Dream

Filed under: 2012 stuff, Ambivalence, Anger, beats, Beliefs, Collective Consciousness, destiny, efficacy, fear, Love, Rock, Space, Spirituality, Time, Uncategorized — Stevie McCabe @ 8:08 pm

I got some newfangled pastry, puffy as a ball
with some prime granny smiths on top of it all
an then some chillin blueberries heated warm to the cool
an some hokey pokey icecream to sweat off the pool

(about an hour ago · Like · 1  · Peter Morgan)
hokey pokey (37 minutes ago · Like – Steve McCabe)

more booty than you’d get in the pokey, even wit more blueberry than
haile salassie an the flakey crumb diggers
hum round like flies making dem big eyes while other niggas
die in da gunfights in da city of  compton,
sure as snoop is westside
the reason they died is not a reason for pride

(21 minutes ago · Like Steve McCabe)

delicious icecream hokey pokey its apt
its a whole lotta white with some chunks of black
well more like colored kids swirlin around
in this tipsy top world of hip hop sound… sound…sound

(17 minutes ago · Like Steve McCabe)

you know you’re soakin in it, cool it, you’re still in charge
until the new boss takes over, name of marge

(15 minutes ago · Like Steve McCabe)

deeshwashing liquid, i would never have guessed
piss of you old hag i came here for the test!

(13 minutes ago · Like Steve McCabe)

i wanna see if my belly is sprouting a sprog
if so i’ll protect it from dingo and dog
and any other mongrel who might come along
trying to ply it it with bottle, needle or bong

(10 minutes ago · Like Steve McCabe)

put your hand in the hand of the man who crossed
the keystone cops when they were keystone-nots
the city of brotherly love has come a long way
since general patton passed thru this way

(6 minutes ago · Like Steve McCabe)

city of sails is a city of snails
snail bait and switch is what i need

August 3, 2012

Rock my baby in da crib

Filed under: 2012 stuff, beats, beauty, fear, humanity, nature, seething rage, Songs, Time — Stevie McCabe @ 3:39 pm

Rock a bye baby on the tree top
When the beats start the baby will rock
Rock rock rock

Soul of the part your souls on the hop
Me on the bottom and you on the top
A hippy hippy shake prompting legs akimbo
Nobody can win you’re frigid or you’re a bimbo

Lou says “Take your baby out on the street and by the morning she’s another hit and run”
Now that’s some poetry right there but I couldn’t do that because my baby’s second to none

Baby’s on fire, time to put the cat out, my baby takes the minute train
She works from none to five each day and then she takes it back again

Rock my baby in the bosom of Abraham, knife out ready to dispatch his child
Rock this baby in the garden of Eden
Snake-bellied shapeshifter lighting fires in the wild

July 12, 2012

Bleeding on the inside

Filed under: Uncategorized — Stevie McCabe @ 4:42 pm

Stop your sobbing, I know you’re bleeding on the inside
I don’t want to hurt you
And I won’t desert you

I believe in you
I’m bleeding on the inside too
Ain’t misbehaving,
saving my love for you

Still I pine, name and town, name and town
If you wish to opine
Bleeding on the inside
But the wounds are divine

Divine but not holy
Heaven above the irony
Stigmata is more painful than suicide
When you bleed most on the inside

Guitar shaped box

Filed under: Uncategorized — Stevie McCabe @ 1:36 pm

I have to ask you a favour-
You filled my lav, we fell in love
That was little or no labour
You know how you were saying you wanted a baby?
Well I’ve been thinking and I think you are crazy

Put that thought in a guitar shaped box and seal it with a kiss from me
I never got my credits from the school of hard knocks because some big boys stole em from me

Gaucho man, head honcho man
What makes you better than me?
Nothing I see apart from pure greed
As far as the eye can see

I put that thought in a guitar shaped box
But I never got down to burying it
The cattle in the manger grazed all around it
Like a sketch from a book by James Herriot

(chorus)

Gaucho! Gaucho!
Book by James Herriot!
Oucho! Groucho!
No no no you sorry iriot!

Whose rind is it, nobody’s fault
The wrong and rinding woad
Keep your destiny in the front of your head
Boy you gotta carry that load

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