CAT TRAIN FEET BRAIN
ISSUE FIFTEEN - MARCH 2011
Written and illustrated by Corey Biscoe-Marwick
INTRODUCTION
Hello readers,
hope you've had a good month, mine was fairly good,
opportunities are plenty and time is slow sometimes, in a good
way.
This month I went with a theme in regards to method rather
than content, every drawing/picture in this issue was created
through filtering all the colour from a photograph using
Microsoft Word, and hence getting a nice rough as guts result,
then using a drawing program, (Sketch Book Mobile), to add to
the images, or alter them in some way, or both.
If you're interested you can email me your ideas at the email
address below for a theme for the May Issue, (too late for April,
it's already under way), and I'll have a go at either picking and
attempting one, or if I get a few ideas thrown at me, using a
few of them. Also, if you want any of the individual drawings
from any issue of Cat Train printed up on nice paper and
framed and up on your wall then email me with said request
and we'll work something out, (the originals are about A5 in
size, so we're not talking super expensive or anything).
For any new readers, here's my frequently restated disclaimer;
I don't claim that all or any of the content in this zine is
particularly great, I just put it all out there for the sake of
honesty. Having said that it's not like I'm not trying, I realise
that if I'm asking for your time I need to fill it with something
that I've put some effort into, the effort is there, I just don't
want you to think I believe that I'm some kind of "look at me!"
genius or something. I heard Iggy Pop taking on TV and he said
that all great art should be handled lightly, not taken too
seriously, the man is on the money there I think.
If this is the first issue of Cat Train Feet Brain you’ve ever
received and you would like to subscribe to this free e-zine
then contact me at: [email protected] and let me know. I
can also send through back issues.
c Corey Biscoe-Marwick 2010, all rights reserved.
01/03/11
1-To The Lord & To Each Other.
The flowers open fast and die,
The heat,
He will be burned or buried.
Back home they had a florist,
Bought their tiny pink desires out from tiny envelopes and
planted them like off cuts in the garden,
The distant sunny hills of somewhere new to swallow up
regret,
Somewhere where the people sing on Sundays,
To the Lord,
And to each other.
2-Five Fingers.
Five fingers in,
The will of man is ground and jammed in jars with rusty lids,
Will pop the weasel open like a womb and out comes baby
sin,
A child made out of weasel innards,
Sure to be destroyed by all the other normal children.
Medicated sleepers pack their skinny fingered children into
pockets in the cliffs above the sea,
They sleep there in the quiet of a hundred solemn sunsets,
Waking on the last day,
Watching as the creatures of the sea are sucked out into
space.
02/03/11
1-Any Excuse.
You can steal if you're hungry but..
Moral division states that if you're also on drugs,
And wear your insides in a jar around your neck,
That jar must be taken from you,
And smashed open,
And you don't have any excuse.
2-The Mutant Capital Of The World.
Webbed feet,
Thick set like a bull man over hot plates glaring back at you,
The rickety restaurant kitchen window shades are torn,
He is spitting in your food and wants you to see it.
Don't complain about the smell,
The noise,
Or the mutated regulars munching on the bar.
03/03/11
1-A Plus Plus.
Stan the android rolls his trousers,
Paper owls attack a white stained boy with little hands,
Whose only plan is play all day and sleep,
Who was me,
Who could be again.
Stan is leaking cables,
He is interconnected,
A plus plus,
B plus minus.
2-Uri Gellar Spoon.
Poorly cut Christmas star,
Sings praise to baby Jesus for the white light floods his face,
Is crumpled in one corner and wears socks on two others
that wreak of never being changed or washed.
Twinkle star with pearly whites and yellows intermingled,
Sporadic and inconsistent brushing of teeth,
Bending in the middle like a Uri Gellar spoon.
04/03/11
1-Like Dinosaurs.
Salt shaker obelisk,
Tiny table treading man exploring every grain and dirty dish,
Knee high to a grain of rice,
Salt shaker mountain,
Volcano,
Dish washer earth quake.
McCartney girls are blurting soft derision for the suffocating,
He sees it in the air,
Thin lines in the white sky,
It sounds like dinosaurs.
2-Stock Footage Face.
I'm better,
But still afraid she loves him better still,
That her respect is not on equal terms with love,
That her heart is deflated to the point of being inside out,
Or maybe even sucked back into pre-birth inter-dimensional
womb light blues like a man with shelves for memories.
Her commentary on my stock footage face is repelling,
Is distant,
Painful,
And hard to scrub off in the shower.
05/03/11
1-Red Sailor Skin.
She sounds like a drone,
Like lime in your eyes and the burning is painfully so,
Red sailor skin for red sailors,
Pale and paler slurping dogs in concrete kennels,
Developing a special kind of rickets,
That crunch and crumble faith,
That hurt like hell.
2-All Music Was Good.
When you're small the leaves in the breeze are giant faces,
Especially when it's nearly dark,
When you're big and slow they're only trees,
If that,
And commercial radio stations don't play gold,
They play your grave and elevated face a painful dance,
They make you ill,
They do it well.
06/03/11
1-Together They Say Cry As Well.
Albert Pope Asks Robert Toenail,
People Eat Other Peoples Love Ey?
"Say Albert Yay,
Crazy Rug Yankers!"
Together they say cry as well.
2-Rubber Ducks.
It's code for leave me well alone,
The back brace that he wears makes sounds like rubber
ducks are carking it inside him,
His eyebrows are heavier than buckets of glutinous blood.
See somebody smarter than you could be shut up inside with
the yellowy plastic melting,
With all the cold hard sponge and severed arteries,
And nobody would know,
Because your dumb,
And deaf,
And mute.
07/03/11
1-Paper Owls & Scabs.
People have always told me,
Not just family,
But strangers as well,
That I was bright,
And destined for some special place in everybody's heart.
I have not yet found cause to become a martyr,
Nor hopelessness so hard it can be simplified and fed through song
to children,
I have not found the dogs of war to be entirely honest,
Either for me or against.
You'll have to show us something else,
Some third way out,
Some vision made of paper owls and scabs.
2-David Watches Mammals.
Public speaking,
Mutant lips,
Pro-abortion rant the dog,
Ting the ting,
Bland the ping face.
She falls off the edge with a microphone chuckle,
It's electric eels,
Eight for ten,
It's board the train with furry chops,
The darts and beers club,
Watch them close like David watches mammals.
08/03/11
1-Get Well Soon.
You're falling behind,
They called him lucky,
This was the last and only day,
A raging ocean,
A glass of water,
Waiting to hear or see,
Or know,
But never understanding.
It isn't like I said it was,
He isn't bigger than your pain,
He is your pain.
2-Be Well.
She says "be well",
The words are almost solid things,
Two little creatures jumping on my shoulder from her smiling
mouth to travel with me,
Singing all the time some foreign song,
Some dreamers lack of focus fed to lions of provision.
She is a successful and productive woman,
Her man is even more so and they beam it out like Care Bears from
the chest,
I like to see them this way,
Never ill or sad,
We only ever meet by accident,
Pat each other's backs and soldier on,
But they are still my good people,
My astronauts with caffeine drips and Ulysses in hand.
09/03/11
1-Good Measure.
I'm making a list of creatures to kill,
I am giving them numbers,
Statistical errors and malformations,
Something hairy or lumpy to hang their creepy faces on,
A voice that sounds backwards,
That makes a man vomit his mother.
You will meet them in caves,
You will see them overshadow cities,
Flicker on the poorly filtered news and buzz like mutton
chops on flannelette men in 1976.
You will call them some unspoken name that marinates them
black sauce brown like manga blood,
It's irresponsible art,
It's three times three for good measure.
2-Sing It In Reverse.
Nine days of old sock breathing,
He is a weeper with daisy men from daisy land all seated on
his spine line as he lays there in the dirt,
The chickens don't know how to sing it home,
They sing it in reverse and it implodes the very heart of man.
10/03/11
1-Loud, Obnoxious & Beautiful.
Eight past I'm due,
But take ten,
Take eleven,
Push the brush up hill and paint the mountain,
This is a word in a bucket,
A scared man with woeful troubles and meagre means.
Before you were not a shadow,
Not even a sound,
And now you are loud and obnoxious and beautiful.
2-Old Enough To Run.
It's pride for the yellow stain,
It's careful flood the smoggy rant,
The purchased eye,
The living giant crab is raving on and crushes fish men
plugging gaps.
You're old enough to run,
You're old enough to dance the rocks to ruin like the sea.
11/03/11
1-Even Skinny Poe.
Even skinny Poe has a little gut,
His uneven eyebrows are laughing at you,
Because you are a joke,
Not particularly well delivered,
But always funny,
Through anybodies lips.
2-Men Like You.
Let the still be still and the violent move,
She is a train running through another train head first,
And people are exploding,
The ignorant mass of men folk who believe in the slaughter
of children,
Will always be bellowing hell from their sky smothered anus,
And men like that will thrive in heaven too.
12/03/11
1-Not The Friggin' Saint.
The men talk books and red decision,
I am concerned about the pollution,
It smells like bodies,
And old timers tales about nuclear testing on sacred land.
He plays baby Jane like a slow talking tourist,
You dick,
You're the sinner,
Not the friggin' saint.
2-In Texas.
In Texas the eighteen year liar is tearing a black hole in sin,
She spits venom like a whore made from ten dozen snakes,
Like the silver smith scratches his head with a needle.
These are the future holdings of a man to be made,
To be carrying buckets of gold into fiery pits.
13/03/11
1-Three Lads.
He talks through inch thick glasses like a sad keyboard lover
with callused hands,
Plays tunes to little screamers,
Can't stand for money,
Can't sing for shit but is belting them dead like a man on his
knees.
Michael wears a beard now,
It makes his face look heavier,
More grave and consequential.
2-Shaver.
They're called interjections,
This is polite democracy,
This is less civil than a disagreement between a dog and a
gun.
Society swings on a chain like a criminal,
Until one day we plug in the family car like a shaver.
14/03/11
1-Betsy On The Right.
My friend Betsy has a chair on the right,
I yell at her my love through a scraggly beard and evade her
questions,
Even though I made them for myself and snuck them
through.
You know for sure she loves my giant gut,
And pictures it a mountain in her SVU,
You know for sure that all my figured facts are scoured faecal
matter scraped from a burning pan,
Underneath a hospital bed,
Yowling old woman is pulling out her intravenous Easter eggs
and running for the glass.
2-Badger Bones & Rembrandt.
Congratulations English,
You own the number 2,
The letter B,
You own the rights to all collective thought,
Drug references,
And violence,
A saxophone and a wooden cane,
Stuck on beards and buyers selling buying like they sell the
flakes of skin you pin on Jesus.
15/03/11
1-New Is Newer.
New is newer,
Beatniks scrape their fingers in the pockets of the dog,
He breathes a Walter Matthau,
Holds a stick the shape of hurt to beat your door with,
Last line laughers laugh like last day lovers hole they never
laugh again,
Like awkward pauses waiting in a hall that is no longer
supposed to exist.
2-Another Clay Body.
You can cover your dead cat in clay and ask the tapped
beatnik to buy it,
But that will not subtract from you your mental illness.
Buy another cat,
The yellow door blood pan,
Another clay body to bake in the oven of art.
16/03/11
1-Sweep Away The Sky.
There's no chance of a happy end,
He has stacked them in a beachside city waiting for the
planes to come,
Lay their deadly eggs from 40 feet and sweep away the sky.
Radiation leaks will close your country down for good,
Angry politicians are essential.
2-Up The Ugly Hill.
Radio man in black dress and pinko bio cardboard nose,
Waving cardboard curse words on a stick with whin I would
gladly remove from hands and insert somewhere else.
Hanson is back with her catapult face,
She's pushing Abbot up the ugly hill and he is smiling down,
Down into their eager eyes like an anti-Ghandi,
Like Darth Vader peers through his black plastic mesh
without heart,
Like he follows the drum through the snow and the sand,
But isn't really there at all.
17/03/11
1-Gruffy The Snowman.
Tis the season,
Large fur coat for chucking over two green chairs and
sleeping under,
Santa Clause ambition in a Jack Frost face,
Little child with exploding heart and liver syndrome,
At any moment gone for good.
Think a ship like he says,
And go sailing with Gruffy the snowman.
2-The Guts Of A Man & A Woman.
Slide the cast gun under brown saloon doors,
Plaster cowboys wire hands,
Pull up a tree roots and all and tooth pick it for giants,
Their long winding sighs push the battle up hill,
It is romance you're smelling they say,
The guts of a man and a woman I ate.
18/03/11
1-England's Not For Me.
Bung eyed snits,
They warble gulley monsters out from tired lumpy lips,
Five years ago today,
The violence we left we hold dear like a stilt strung small
baby is screaming above you.
England's not for me.
2-Yelling At The Bends.
She's small snail eyes on storks made from straws,
She is alien sketches by three year old me in a quagmire
shell,
She is chucking a pot plant at me and my brother,
I seem to remember a spiders nest,
And screaming like a lime soaked pirate yelling at the bends.
19/03/11
1-Solar Anthems.
Smile it large like a Care Bear sings hallo,
The English pig sniffer bounding uphill with his gigantic nose
pointing up at the sun,
Solar flares and tiny ships approaching,
Alien life forms with wee tiny hands singing solar anthems,
Like the Scots are screaming winners from their blood and
laughing spit.
Be aware,
And you will hear the voice of God in everything.
2-Mole Men In The Dark.
These mole men sprung their shiny skinless friend from
prison,
Are asking you to buy them beer because you seem quite
human,
They are not.
The bastard bottle will change hands and everyone will glow
like deathly sanity.
20/03/11
1-Rigamortis.
Screen me from the sun with gauze,
A hessian sack,
A dark room,
A brand new black hole spinning science,
Cheery red bubbles of pain being wept by your painterly
Christ,
He is knelt in the dust with his hands in a knot,
Riga-mortis will not let them part.
2-TB Or Not TB.
She maybe shrugs it off like all the others,
But I am not talking myself up a hill made of burnt bits of
cross and old rags,
I am talking to human beings,
Who have fought for me,
Who are willing.
Your woman is as intricate as ripples in the sea could make a
sun,
Has made with you a place that houses giant beasts and
mechanisms far beyond the post man and his backward
ways,
It's not TB,
It's emphysema.
21/03/11
1-What's His Name.
Here I am,
Sitting stone still with a faceless hammer handed dog machine
behind me,
Barking like a rusty crank.
You are looking wise,
Are as repetitive as ever,
And still as impressive,
As doubtless you will always be,
While monks of varying ages glue various things to floorboards,
Line their eyes up with the black beast hollow and whittle away at
lumps of wood.
Some fat cat asked "who is he?",
What's his name,
I haven't heard and therefore am not interested,
Though he bled to feed my children,
He will not be paid.
2-Faces From The 1950's.
The Internet allows us to secure for ourselves some burden free
breathing,
Through masks of light and beauty,
Through faked photographs of bald women wearing faces from the
1950's,
Hollowing logs to sail through the new world to the old one where
children rot in black high socks and bamboo canes,
And bleed their lines of empathy through school books about Dick
& Jane.
22/03/11
1-H.G's Rusty Guts.
I have allowed my left side to bloat like a sack of abandoned
cow guts,
I have de-mythologized Methuselah by travelogue,
By taking H.G's rusty innards out to sea,
Taking pictures of the ancient endless man defecating,
And urinating into a hole.
Some would have me write from observation what I saw
when Adam died,
"The first man breaths his last",
Expecting that to see this would be revelation,
It was not.
2-Wiki Science.
Scientific evidence suggests,
When gathered via wiki science,
Google salt and light,
That all the earth's attempts to take us out are not of God,
But only that the earth is never done,
And had we stuck with dark at night,
And light for days and painting clay upon our faces leering at
the animal we stalk,
Then we would not be covered in the dust of our redemptive
qualities,
Of our romantic notions of stability and Rugby League
enthusiasm.
23/03/11
1-Tuneless Whistle Number 58.
Look at me,
I'm talking like a human being,
My head is not drowning me in oily sorrow and non-existent
smear campaigns.
You need to just accept that you're uncomfortable she says,
But I'm as peaceful as the man with a stick and a polka dot
sack,
I'm tuneless whistle number 58.
2-Three Years.
Three years is apparently long enough,
I can help you devise some new plan of attack,
Take my angles and heave-ho the nets in to catch you a
horse.
Always it was animals and talk,
A thousand pages of jumping hoops for wistful intuition.
The jury's decision is "just let us know what you want us to
say and we'll say it",
It's sad and unhealthily so,
To the point of being backwards falling children flung from
windows heaving sighs that break the earth.
24/03/11
1-Of We Go.
Paranoia Teddy bear,
Be solid friends,
Be taking red paint and scratching a pretty girl till she makes
you a baby,
A band of old codgers with sticks to shake will scare the
newt,
And children will be flowers on a hill that had a face.
2-When Your Mouth Is Open.
When your mouth is open,
Your ears are closed,
Another book some caffeine and a dragon with a pipe.
Keith will lip the camera slick and swear a baby red to face
the music.
25/02/11
1-Not To Bother.
Optimism is a force of will,
The glass half full of pus,
That yellowy sting,
The smell of what you thought was something dead,
But was alive,
And well enough to tell you not to bother.
2-Elroy With No Balls.
Little motley dies while Chris is talking to his cake,
Before he sets it free in a local park.
This is not Elroy,
This is Elroy with no balls.
*Please note: these are made up names that don't actually refer to
people I know. Or maybe they were people I saw on TV, I can't
remember.
26/03/11
1-Dog Meat & Smokers.
Dreaded death has pulled your hair,
Is running laughing,
Though they said my name I was not sorry enough to hear it.
I imagine she was glad to see,
Was holy redemption a hundred miles off.
She drank solid poison and tapped their tiny brains with
needles long enough to reach right in and snap.
There's no ferry man,
It's all puppets and brown lines,
And dog meat and smokers.
2-Burn A Body.
Up to date on all the news,
He's small enough to sing it high and break the backs of
everyone with fingers.
She's Olympic pride,
A mother tongue now soaked in MSG for all the young to
swallow whole and speak.
Perhaps you'd like to meet me in the yard and burn a body.
27/03/11
1-Ready For Nothing.
The city crumbles under the weight of invasion,
Gigantic wiry creatures bearing demon hearts and eyes like
tiny fires walk the streets,
They are obscene parade floats tugged along by invisible
string,
They crush the tiny screamers in their hands and burn the
buildings,
They open wide their evil maws and scream red vengeance
from hell.
Don't stray too long out there,
A solid dash to the other side and bring your baby back,
Stern faced and blood stained,
Ready for nothing.
2-Left Shoulder Eye.
Right shoulder head says to left shoulder eye please stop
blinking and welling up tears,
See the earth is not so round now and it smells a little less,
And the people are rotund and roll like tumble weed.
Left shoulder eye rolls upward in disgust,
And continues to create a flood of misery.
28/03/11
1-Poor Choice Of Name.
It is that bad,
You're laughing face is red with soul compression,
She is hurting you,
She is breaking your boy,
You have in the past been a dog in a bag and the folks have
come clean about beating that bag with their fists.
Your parents must've been a little short on brains,
Or maybe they just didn't like you.
2-Torn Out By Lions.
Mechanical clowns are winding themselves up with giant iron
keys,
Slot straight into the chest and turn like rusty clocks will beat
the time in jagged scratches,
Turn like the anti-Christ turns into earth in the end.
The ring masters rosy red cheeks are tiny globes in glass skin,
His brown button eyes are all hollowness and vacant bodies,
People with their hearts torn out by lions.
29/03/11
1-Their Skin Will Burn.
Now that one of mine has done the deed we all imagine,
(We all are sore afraid to even whiff from seven years away),
Will happen to our own small soldiers,
Trumpets blaring talk to strangers,
Many tales have glued their heads to liars spines and now
will gather flesh.
Don't you think their skin will burn,
It seems as if it's made of straw and paper.
2-Truth & Trust.
Her limp and lady hand,
Fingers through that shady tree and all the tiny creatures are
evacuating mushroom houses,
Leaf litter hidey holes and log cabin corners to run with the
wind to some ocean air sniffing and building their ships out
of lime.
It's their voices that hurt me the most,
Their heavy handed grain and whistle,
The sting of all their truth and trust.
30/03/11
1-Replacement Soldiers.
These are your replacement soldiers,
They are citizens with no love for the holy pig who spits his
orders blank,
& watches as the people jump.
Protest yellers shake their boards and slogans and they
smack you in the face,
Why are we dying?
Why don't you care that we're dead.
2-Egyptian Stan.
Alien gods says Egyptian Stan,
They're all creatures from Mars,
Not a one is even slightly human,
Not even sub-human slime on the rim.
These are the melting dogs of a desert that's drowning in
rum,
These are the flinching children of Satan.
31/03/11
1-Violin.
She's always a little dizzy from it,
Can stagger blind one hundred percent and still make a
straight line from her spit,
You could've sworn,
But she would've slapped you.
One discreet zipper line,
Latex and Velcro don't mix all that well,
She looks ill but she's rich so it doesn't really hurt that much,
It only hurts a little,
Can be played on like a violin.
2-Leaking Into Friday.
Are you threatened by the vacancy?
Have all the little things grown up to build you an
amalgamated man,
A factory monster of missing limbs all woven in like wool?
Does it push your sensibilities right over like a cardboard
man,
Corner of a video store that still houses tapes,
Has a horror section leaking into Friday.
OUTRODUCTION
Thanks for your time, and again, if you want to subscribe, email me
at [email protected] and let me know. Also, feel free to pass
copies of this to anyone you think might like to read it.
Direct any comments or questions to that same email address and
let me know if it's OK to publish & answer them on a letters page,
and I'll do that in the next issue, (I'll also answer them to you
directly if you don't want them published, or even if you do).
Thanks again,
Corey Biscoe-Marwick.
