Animals in Suits
by
moon paw prant*

Cover character drawings: Jack Lyon Murphy Tessier.
Collage/photography/gif artwork: moon paw prant*

A satire of a satire.

chapters_ C L I C K THEM

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“~~Journey into Hell in the Future,~~”
- Carl Gustav Jung, ~~The Redbook~~

You may bleed

in order to heal

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He’s got tricks up his sleeve, like no one would believe

Depth posing as surface.

THE AUDIO CHAPTERS,

What was that sound?

“Free-form”

Don’t read the introduction, staying sober is fine

Alternating ways, repeatedly

Altruistic, back-bent

For rewards they’ll never know

Caution with the commotion

The smoked back room cloaks stained and tethered to uptown,

Upscale,

folks

Escaping in their droves to the Copacabana

Plotting on,

What is next to know?

Old ways, return on an odd day

Unchartered

Invitation to play

Life gets strange and

Time:

Its flies to fruit,

Feasting into the sweetness of you

Devouring your every scent

Pomace in a bladder press

Distils

Aroma

Tickles the nose

Before the red takes over

Fabio Capello—

England's Strangest Manager

A white canvas with little paint

An imperial team

The banding of two nations

Beckoning echoes from their ancestors

Misused but trusted directions on how to seize

A popular cultural exchange,

Inundated and buried in harsh cacophony

Regurgitated existence with a few more buttons at your disposal than the last

Every given resource unfolds its own trap before jokingly revealing facade:

It’s indecision,

When every direction is a permissible journey

Only now the art of standing perfectly still is appealing

Only now—the jester seems like the wisest owl of all on this midnight tree,

The brush of colour and the absence of distain to frolic

The absurdity embodied, unapologetically, personified, but etched on the outside

Of the glass,

Entrapped in it or out skirted

Go to the sea, they won’t have you in this fishbowl much longer

Taste the salt of purity before exploring its darkened depths

Venture to the intriguing, one hand in the cosmic glove,

Reverse the receding—backpedal to keep the light bulb on

Pounding feet on the infinity treadmill of experiences

Tiring now,

Moving forth with a rope tied to the tracing promise of rejuvenation

Pulled to the end, every whim depleted throughout, cataclysms ushered in by the grand stage manager of life

You dance your way through hot stones and take prolonged breaks by the rivers to dip your feet and learn how to forget

Much is said now that the silence has been killed,

Revealed the illusion it didn’t exist in the first place, and revelled in your imaginations ability to breathe life into it,
Upholding the frame for its spectacle to take place

Where silence was once reserved for moments devoid of chaos, now the world alarms with disharmony, fluctuations impossible to shut out

Disillusionment gives way to questions that don’t require an answer, nor should be sought after

The knife’s edge of realisation

Eventually comes splintering in
stubbornness wins

Years on the run from the self will grant you respites, but prove futile

The long way round running back

Years churned in cycles with fleeting glimpses of contentment

Always slipping, diverting the fundamentals

Laying new bricks, learning new tricks to tell the same old stories

Finding new ways to excite the synapses

Starting to run out

Inspiration trickles down the stream for someone else to wield

Taking a slice out of everything to upholster, collage a life appearing well-lived,

Well-constructed, your contribution to the primordial jigsaw

The slot some fill with jagged edges,

The imperfect pieces, inhabiting times they are needed most yet unable to see

As if their bare presence may be enough to sway the tides of change

Taper out

What could feel better than

Pissing out the sins of yesterday?

A wo/man is only made out of clay

Moulded under the impression they are a needle in the hay

Peculiarities are here to stay

Cinematic cigarette cops you’re greeted in foreign bays

Flicking through visas with headaches

Pass you on by,

Is every calibre bullet made without care of what it will graze and where it will go to penetrate?

Twisted crows, grudge harbouring judges and internet trolls taking meaningless polls with full purpose, intent

Take a toll if the eyes are still open not swole nor closed by the smoke

The bloke in the pub who just wants to tell you a joke his life dreams hanging with his coat

You don’t know where to start to console

You meet his only mate in the bathroom doing coke

You let it go, the escapist assembles ladders over walls, mental traumatic prisons of old

Just to be sober by the morn’

It wasn’t like you haven’t been warned

The scorn that gets us all when standing tall

Eventually you prepare for the fall

With a rope at your ankle

Every week they allocate you fourty-five minutes to feel alive before the feeling wears off

Memories of cartoons bloom

and spring into mind

Your mother's wooden spoon

Spun round the pasta

Steam rising

Everything is tinged fluorescent

Dance with the lighting

Skip into squares just don’t touch the lines

Rainy day puddles

your curiosity birthed colours to move and saturate the greyscale

Dash through the fair

Over there

Get your shoes muddied

Hurry!

Sports day whistle

Cross country run to the beat of Billy Jean and kick through the thistle’s

Piss on the lands they don’t see

Water the plants

Now you’re but a silhouette in a soliloquy

Occasional escapades to evergreens

The place where you truly cherish things

Cold cherries in the heat of summer

Dripping

Helped you get over that blunder

Plundering your way forward through

Good and bad omens

Risk it, break for atonement

But it’s never a dull moment

Latch to routines, suiting

Loose footing

Rookies

At the bookies

Vitamin C Sukie

Keep the lights on for a chronic gambler

In the end it was never the money they were after when they started

But the feeling—anticipation into transfiguration

A false sense of healing

Rats in the cut, no squealing

Walls are peeling, ceiling fan doesn’t work had plans to put a noose but it just ripped the skirting

Spot the loan sharks

Walk brisk in tracksuits

Dip behind thick oaks in meadow parks

Paranoid mind antennas

Dosing of to soft boat ride delusions of Venice

Retirement tennis

Raise another Dennis the menace, serious sally

In the U.K. we all serve a sentence

Not in prison but the mind’s peace is distant

Psychological warfare, 20 deck of Mayfair’s

May fair,

Stay there. Stay here, right where they want you to be

but does the bourgeoisie play fair?

Or are we just amusements in their play fair?

Just puppets on their strings

Muppets on their leash

They gave us beer and football to distract us from all the things they do above us as we sing

In collective harmonious choirs to a king

Overdraft the bank

Mortgage trickling to tanks

Give all thanks, a night to Guy Fawkes

Because he couldn’t really do what he thought

Working class last

Lick the rust of scrapyard

Crushed tins of Heinz

Celebrate the failure in the rusk

Sunken land diazepam punks

And such

But there’s never a dull moment

Pleasure is not whisped at the glory of the Olmpic torch victory in the Moscow snow
No,
It is felt the moment you are slightly tripping in the corridor and no one knows

Tree of life, Belfast

I got labels

To peel

off from dealings we both made it out,

I'm glad we found the gap in the ceiling

in the corner of my eye there is an itch I can’t quite scratch so I

flinch my eye so many times look close, see the trees blow much like they are
people taking a breath awake to the weight on your chest
dishevelled unrest, or some ego maniacal magical mania fest

seen through the monocle of a Monica Lewinsky politician rearin' gearin' his Sundays best

that takes patience at best to understand

the weight on your chest

people projectin'

shadows

onto

you

not

knowing

it is a

mirror

they

hold

into

their

own

soul
_________________________________________________________________
silence is the key
famines and war stories, frightening defeat, miraculous glory

intangible conceit to self-conscious self delete

the damage is deep so it seeps to the
roots

we make an effort, we all deserve to feel

everyday, piece the puzzle together

face the all consuming confusion that laced us with actively loosing

within the illusion of choice conditions so old like wooden floorboards

it is a pleasure to unscrew. Belfast, every time we have the same old talk

it's nothing new dreamin' your same old dreams new shirt but you wear the same old jeans

Belfast you are not a well-oiled machine devoid of the trauma you string

from the past, I still see the beauty in your crooked eye

I find myself grateful that it will last Belfast, Buckfast, thank you for putting us through the
true depths of hell and heaven

One lesson, we can teach to the world:
how to put down a weapon

Death is a constant

I feel the weight of everything pile pressure onto my skull
Moving with the momentum of a vortex
Content on erasing me from the earth in which I stand

But have you ever starved? Made a Tesco reduced meal a Michelin star?
Obliterated into fragments, a disingenuous mirror into the wee small hours
Cracked and casts reflections of this demon tethered
Devouring all vitality, leaching

Bleeding now,
bleeding out

There is no form of help in this system but the act of endurance

Circumvent the rules to see death isn’t real
But I can’t just feel

A thing

I am one with the homeless, I am one with the rich
i am one with the broken, i am one with the fixed
I am one with the healer, I am one with the killer
I am one with the balanced, I am one with the addict
I am one with the teacher, I am one with the student
i am nothing at all, i am everything

Could it be this
Could it be that?

Is everything still in it, still intact?

How many feelings mismatch?

The feeling is black
To the point
Paint the walls and fill in the cracks

The catch is caught, the match is off
Mismatched yet it’s odd
The line tingles between taig and prod
Staged and taught the factory line walk

a̸n̷d̶ ̷h̷o̵w̷ ̸w̸a̴s̷ ̵t̷h̶e̸ ̷f̵a̶l̷l̷?̶
Up out of it
Is it quite scary?
Music for a job
So is feeling like a fraud
Mismatched yet it’s odd

- Taken from 82’ Social Interaction verse

And the question still stands: If you saw an alien, would you continue to ball?

moon paw print
moon paw prant*
moon paw prance
moon paw lance
moon paw vice city vance
never saw moon paw dance
moon paw pants
never had a moon paw chance
moon paw sans
never made moon paw plans
make moon paw adsense
moon paw pence
moon paw can
but what if moon paw can’t?
moon paw man
moon paw wolf
moon paw
moon pa
moon p
moon
moo
mo
m
nn
n

Van Helsing

Footprints I left in foreign sands

Peace to them in the distance

Nobody knows who I am

Wind blowing particles away

Mountains climbed with no sleight of hand

But they don’t see where I stand

Summit ᵤᵖ

Surfed the waves of a love that could never be had

Culture gets blocked to feel a buzz
word,
you know it’s never enough

Equates to a sliver of a touch

Your left in the dust

Left in the brink

blink of an eye

Sighs of the new sight of blue sky in a world run arye

Adrift

And they wonder why it loops

A carnival of troops sent in trained jumping through hoops

The hoopla catchers suppose your symposiums are never egregious

Thing

I heard the angels sing as the bells just rang

Then novella’s spring

By the fall of the evening

Vampire attacks

I’m Van Helsing

The worlds melting

Couldn’t be normal get a 9-to-5 hell thing

Rather spend it fencing

The clattering of swords a healthy outlook when my vision wasn’t sure

Suspended in terror by the wars

Can you believe the time? Nobody was sure

& Time it trickles fast thankfully past Thatchers grasp but didn’t dodge the 1984 hallmark pass

Yet it catches us all to make a carcass that won’t last

The Human Template

Examine the face, inch your finger between the lines of the unseen between you and me

Symbols and archetypes
___________ ___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
_Lines are drawn___________________________A net we use to attempt to catch the jubilant tail of consciousness____________________________________
____ _________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Yet it always escapes

Outwitting every move as communication falters

Dances off, sometimes awkward

The moment of magic or is it madness?

Sometimes flicks within the glitter of its eyes

Always a-livening

Illumininating the inbounds of youth

In part ways even when it’s dying

A contradiction.

Split in two

into

Eternal star

Bon voyage

Exit A, B, C and D, E and F, G,
H, I,
J, K,

Only past the basis

No one has saw it just yet

The skipped step

To

The other side

The sudden moves grew malformed in discontent

A withered flower pumped up by acid

A stark, revised view

Being carried by the unknown

Relinquishing everything for a currant

Embracing the rhythm of it’s pull

Tell me where one goes
When your wise enough to know that crying is futile
Unless from the eyes of a child
And your prayers orbit around and then out of the bullshit you find yourself in the midst of
Only to be unheard and perhaps scoffed at by an omnipresent being you currently believe 41.02% to exist
You tire of the fences humans construct in the game of normality,
Animals in a suit and tie

Hair transplant and a fake smile to convince you of their value and status quo in the great facade
Unaware of the paradox they’ve become

The greedy bastards most of you work for but never seem to question

Poem 4001

What if everything you dreamed of wasn’t at all what you wanted or needed?
Begged and pleaded pulling manifestations out of the air until all viable energy depleted
A young man with broken vision asking for a life worth living just might have missed it
Vanish into the back alleys
cloaked mist in the district
The demons that surround might have found the one place the soul was hidden
Every idea half heartedly dispersed
You want to disappear

Again

But this is no longer the earth in which you fear but the shadow attentively clinging to your every word
I thought I was smart, dodging corporate 70k comes with a mental breakdown on Glassdoor
But I’ve been dying under this glass ceiling
Scraping at a dream buying into delusions that won’t come into fruition

It ain’t for lack of best intention
&
No one is promised ascension,
doesn’t look how you’d think and irreverence is often in sentiment
Help me from pacing, misplacing every part

In need of a factory restart,
Catastrophising,
sliding,
the silver lining

What has grown of my diligent decoys? I see it and recoil
I only feel it in free fall
Slamming into this brick wall,
fist to the jigsaw
Split into pieces, break again facetious
Clocks tick—time slips, blown out the window
Nails into the hands in the room my innocence was snatched
When I was on their list

I said
~~“it was a cry for help”~~
Inside,

nice guy
Struggling with the cards that had been dealt
From working class days, Belfast, observing violence and the faint echos of parades
Helicopters overhead
Emotions always shift, just pass by on this conveyer belt
Zombefied diazepam to artificially feel the calm
Instilled,
and still
The body has long lost its way, strayed from the ignorant mind that once kept me safe

Black tracksuit nightfall leave without a trace
Toxic slurs at a pub handing over my worth moulding with folks like the ones who abandoned their goals
Snap the plank of pain in the smoking area reveal my secrets where my Bic lighter is the opposite of a fire fighter
Sorry I helped bring cancer to your lungs, tsunami boards I fought against who I wasn’t supposed to become
but the currant overcomes
Excuses to run, breathe in the whispers and wisdoms of the trees
See me, float with some weed steadily down a street
Incomplete
Night lights,
Search again for the missing piece

For fuck sake

Repel pastels
Long for bludgeoning reds
A high tech castle for a place to call home
Bloodhounds to roam the grounds, which poor corpse is next to be fed?

Goose fat, white marble floor

No doors

Full sprint

Skull shatter, kitchen sink

In the blink of an eye

Empath?

Impaled

Won’t last

Lookwarm

Blood bath

Immortalised

Holy grail

Both wrists

nailed

Poem: Respite

I stand and smell your scent on my shirt
A beautiful reminder
The summer dissipates
Better than the last
A bit of Bossa Nova
A bit of album making

The walks through the rounded hills, echos of the local football game chants
Ket is the weirdest ever in a good way
Before you know it, you’re high at the bus station
Traversing to the airport
Going somewhere new

////////////////////////////////////////////////

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

I feel you on my skin as the colourful evening draws to a close
We retreat to our individual solitude
I try to contain the lingering smell before it dissipates and I am left with my own

As the modern opponents grow stronger I continue to pace the floors—
knowing God can’t always be the complector and sometimes the cold is the greatest lesson

God, I can feel you tonight and I thank you for returning to me

Tonight’s warmth was something I haven’t felt for a long time,
4 AM was a magnificent hour.
We danced through realms and dripped through the floorboards

Culture is ever-shifting

The source of thought

“You’re not as dead as you seem”

I have this flawed way

In which I work with

At times, run from

To the times that are outdone

How to erase?

The strong hand,

Still an empty palm

A coat of arms

Deep in the farmland:

Reflections of society

The hubris

The concave

To convex

Inflection point.

Facing symbols

Work it out over your lifetime

The wild goose chase

The politicians

The pompey

A Renaissance

Irreverence

Post-product production

Chocolate without fat

Coffee without caffeine

Bread without gluten

Alcohol with no alcohol

Post creation for the sake of doing something

Metamorphosis birthed in boredom

Multiplicity growing over the vacant

The consumers at large don’t value art, onto the next glimpse of the conveyer belt.

Abyss

Throw me into the abyss
when this heart is left adrift
stored above the fridge
thawed emotions
entrenched commotion replaying in my head

allow me to be dead without causing any pain
the estranged better version of me I hope sees the light
deserving,

reversing through time

the soldier marches on the bank for a country
the personified glory; a sea of people yet
we never get the individual story

falling from stories
with their stress from mortgage
the mortician doesn't turn the page
just props up the frame

the futile chase for fame
the cannibals in the Hollywood hills
have all but had their thrill,
they're going in for the kill

Spooky

Kraków first night, approaching midnight
Dander to a side street square beside neon sign building “KS Korona”
Woman pulling at her hair

Alone

“This is a prison!” She screeches then resumes Polish,
Once she noticed I noticed
Gave her a nod of approval
At my feet, something creeps
Giant rat
Runs into a pipe

When you talk inside
Does inside talk back?
Or is inside so incomprehensibly black?
Shuttered in darkness driven remote on its track to seemingly nowhere without a thought to retract?
Or does it talk back?
The moonlit bossa,
beside first date plaza
the late romancer
the second chancer who already knew his answer
Saint-Rémy-de-Provence, France, 14 December 1503 birthed the Nostradamus
It isn't related to the poem but it rhymed and in the nature of being honest
this is the glimpse into the mind you'll find the not so linear split-tinear platoon of thoughts that on occasion consume
manifest and bloom projectin' the deepest of hues blue sonnets into my views
it isn't new though no longer appealing
deep inside every memory is a yellow wall just sittin' there peelin'
it may follow you as it did for me from Mississippi to New Orleans mm the stuff of dreams,
into UK scenes pirated radio garage beat tobacco weed
Who him!?
He rolls at spectacular speeds imagine what we could be, if we didn't get high as we pleased
Then they had to duck it was the Palermo police who feast and dine in New Ho King and look like a new regime of Hulk Hogan KFC bargain bucket soaken molten melting plastic
fuck it
I've had a Jurassic of a week looking at Donald Rump and Kam-ala Haggis on a feed
I said if this is my feed then I choose not to eat deleted the app and went to sleep this is quite peacefully fasting even though it's Geronimo slow up-up-upper social mobility—
I hope that mobility is everlasting where it goes 'cause the busting of arses in masses just to cash enough to get by if it's a pie they are getting two crumbs and a sigh displeased at the request of a third dispensed
it's a downer a clown with a frown arranged by a friend who swore he's sound that's life, the clown might stab you, you might be alright life in the middle class... it's a'ight

The world is but a living room, for me, for you.

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moon paw print , moon paw prant* incorporated

“The final”