Isaac Forsyth ~ Dipsomaniac Cullaby

by Horror Sleaze Trash on December 22, 2013

Keeper

Photo by: The Fool, Isaac Foxsyth.

Born a child of the road story telling came to me early.
Father Australia, Mother French, comprehension of language Israel (perhaps Egypt.)

When you don’t speak one language but a mixture of three at the same time, you gotta learn to amuse yourself, because everyone else is confusion manifested.

My family skipped about the globe rather nomadically, eventually settling in a costal town up north, that of which I won’t go into, where I joined the circus and participated in lunacy for 12 good years alongside my regular education.

After completion of High School I jumped an airship towards Nantes, France, and got involved in theatre, installation art and poetry. During this period I was also spending 5 hours a day vigorously writing what I thought to be the screenplay that would kick-start my career. It took 7 years to complete and is yet to kick start shit.

I returned from the motherland fresh, yet unable to continue living in my previous home and thusly migrated to Melbourne town in search of culture and vibration.
Moving away from the world of feature script writing I joined a rag tag bunch of misfits known as “Drunk Mums” as a kind of sideshow geek, bitting the heads off of chickens and foaming at the mouth like a rabid dog.
This was and continues to be a great source of therapy, yet does not occupy my thirst for knowledge…
So, I was off to the Royal Melbourne Institute of Technology to study in the field of Creative Writing. I have learned much from this decision and managed to get some of my work published in the notorious Rabbit Journal.

Now the year has ended and I am working on conceptual absurdist plays, working with surface projection and a cat named “Font” from the enterprise known as “Culture Mechanics.
I would go into details but the nature of this work is rather secretive, so with that I bid you farewell.
.

—-

Dipsomaniac Cullaby

By the fool Isaac Foxsyth

 

Self-distraction,

by      momentary pleasure,

amiss-in

kingdom of

blurred neon and  false aged leather,

you’re breathing, less and less,

your existence-, is to impress.

You’re seeing less and less,

the news ignored, instills distress.

You are you, less and less.

Sink to another princess,

in shine dress, mindless

parachute

to hide from

truth

lost in youth, aloof, thinking bullet proof

and forming dysmorphia

body born        taunting ya,

adapting to counter culture.

Cursed, splintering soul to heard depravity, slave mentality

Deepening cavity, to throw your sanity…

and you’re sleeping, less and less

your desperate,

you are depressed

and you’re hearing,

less and less

fame, is your deeper temptress,

under educated ,               over medicated,

your fear’s          suppressed,              digressed.

 

You taste, less and less,

scanning  for your name

in the press

and you’re caring,

less and less

you dispossess

concentrating on hunger to undress.

Ego in excess

and nonetheless

you are you…

Less and less.

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