Alien Orphan


Life shrinks or expands according to one’s courage.

— Anaïs Nin








No eyes but I can see.

There’s thousands of minds.

People sharing my vision.

I try reading eyes. 

Floating across my vision.

I desire to speak.

Beeping sound.

I have nauseous but it is not unbearable.

I the drug begin. 

I singing.

I feel very remember.

Feel the darkness squeezing me.

I everything seems little each time.

My heart rate has over.

I feel pleasant tired.

I can feel ants life.

All very cold to the touch.












Fad Gadget: Ricky’s Hand (1980)



Peter Bies © 2011



Space Echo


The distinction between past, present, and future is only a stubbornly persistent illusion.

— Albert Einstein








the ghastly shadowy third & the critical eye/ & every false note blasted upon the less properly adjusted (& perhaps annihilate the after-dream of I?) – attention! various space-time singularities received a few rank echoes/ dread century contributions passed on alone to decayed users bent by force field & a quarter pause (hushed analysis of the dull, dark, & terrible crowded upon me as I sent the message across soul vector subspace)  – half pleasure drawing shadows in space-time nexus of the feral connection/ icon of the Heliade cloud arguing the earthly sensation (& part of the bad acting unnerved me) – fatuous fancies of the abysmal depth (it was possible, I reflected) – resolve hung oppressively low in very simple space-time configurations/ unnnatural force fields inflected by thought patterns/ explore lurid impressions of eye mysteries & beyond/ beyond the shades & echoes of prenatal sound & color imprints that exist forever in emotional space-time vortex (right, there’s no mistake!) – – –









Gary Numan: This Wreckage (Top of the Pops, 1980)




Peter Bies © 2011


Over The Bleak Silence


The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins?

— Edgar Allan Poe









I rode my mind the heavens

in dreariness of thought

half pleasure drew odd shadows

in naked trees, gray gables

full moon snuck slow

over the bleak silence

over the bleak silence

no goading of the way













Another blast from the past – Devo: That’s Good (1982)


 Peter Bies © 2011




Days Of Future Past


“All art constantly aspires towards the condition of music.”

— Walter Horatio Pater 










Tuesday, 1 June 2083,

5:00 A.M.


                              I am still now/ I am still

as you walk away

overall relaxed

slightly asleep

I lie there/ on a blanket

with my mutant dog at

my feet

it has dull yellow eyes

& a seizure every night

after listening to KSFX 












Here’s a blast from the past – The Comsat Angels: Independence Day (1983) 


Peter Bies © 2011 




Dwarf Planet


“It is to be kept in mind that there are various areas of memory.”

 — William S. Burroughs 








pain particles modify our past/

re-modelled power lies

fed into the gray veins of time/

analysis of history by image —

corrupted sense of the sublime/

& no emphasis on abstracts:

us historians of inverted ice age —

following the drift

of the fine snow – – – – – – –











Peter Bies © 2011



No Noise To My Signal

“Photography is truth.”

— Jean-Luc Godard






copy art

ninety-seven comma


question mark detail






act one

the brig

us marine corps

camp fuji


a day in march








four thirty am


six am after morning chow






act two


eleven thirty after noon chow













Peter Bies © 2011




Cold Winter Nights In Heaven


“I hope some wild kidmonk lay his pamphlet on my grave for God to read me on cold winter nights in heaven.”

 — Allen Ginsberg





o such still windows!

soundless capacity

melancholy house

icy high cliff dwellings

of revellers in gloom/

o short lapse of empathy

one day in late december/

which pervaded my self,

“It was a special items!”

a vacant sentiment, but






at length I found silence

I pondered eyes within —

the simple landscapes

feature bedrock down,

o shudder blue luster!

& grapple temptation,

my melancholy house

nursing the odd concern/

upon a trace of mold —

I am still now & you walk











Peter Bies © 2011