@GonzoLecture

welcome to the show

2026-10-12T13:20:06.000-07:00

I sense the enormous gap

Between the public and the private

With a watch we wear at weekends

With a brown strap and a polo shirt

We never much liked horses, we just liked to wear the costume

And we only wear the black strap on the weekdays in the office

Back vents are not acceptable

And neither are breast pockets

We must adhere to etiquette because of the people watching us.

We cannot ever think of owt that isn't image, and living as the eighties lived, although they're long since gone.

We're decades in the wrong place and we're trying to live the lifestyle

Of all those who passed before us, who gave us everything

Yet they're not the ones that pay us, their gifts to us are fleeting, feeling more to us like cheating, as we're told to pay our dues

We look towards our leaders, the morally-bankrupt cheaters,

With broken, yellow teeth, piercing eyes and hubris that we can never share.

Welcome to the show.

We hope you've earned your place,

And now, with upturned face, you stupid fucks adore us, prostrate yourself before us, and tell us what we're worth.

know me

2026-10-11T14:57:36.000-07:00

I'm a broken man

Nursing unfulfilled dreams
Stumbling along the streets of degraded city scenes
The people as they pass me by
They try to look away
Fearful at my icy stare and what I might just say
Until I stop them, palm on chest and ask:
Before you die
did you wanna
meet me?

swide

2026-10-11T07:06:21.000-07:00

What was the fuckit rate, back then?

All this bile on trial

Looks and smells the same.

Like rotten hell

Like the time I picked up a rock in a stinking alleyway,

Only to find it was covered in wriggling maggots

They had as much a right to life as me,

But somehow didn't seem as important.

I didn't play out for long,

But dreaded going home,

To the fog of rage.

We might have been on the fantastic voyage,

But why was it so painfully bleak?

Surrounded by people who all knew better,

Had toiled longer,

And had their answers,

But still weren't happy.

I could see it on their faces, when they looked at me,

As if I'd missed their expectations by a country mile,

Hard, tough love that never spared the child,

So I kicked them in their faces,

And told them to stay, the fuck, away.

Who cares where the commas go?

As we meander towards the blackness of the end

And the point of no return,

We contemplate the downward track, realising all ascents are in the past.

Our bones creak

As our heart cries out

What is for us now?

Until we realise suddenly

We're in it.

I hope, by then, I've made my peace.

the pressure

2026-10-05T22:44:40.854-07:00

The pressure of standing up, my head holding up my body... As the world looks on, denying all leadership, looking for direction, ever lost, as usual.

The lines and the rhymes just write themselves, as we meander our way into hottest hellfire, unaware and ignorant, yet completely in control.

Souls shouting, to be set free, no longer myself, just at the end of my rope. Hopeful and aimless, taking on health, shedding my skins as fast as I can.

Wondering when the paragraph will end.

It's hard to be the one in the room, that files past the corpses, forced from their slumber, hoping to move onto greater things...

chrysalis

2026-06-29T11:33:46.438-07:00

The grief of passing
As the old self falls off
The dried out chrysalis
Of everything I was
Waits to be replaced
The overflowing life
Expelled by the nothingness
Floods the vista
With room for nothing else

this's how it feels...

2026-06-13T06:24:27.621-07:00

This's how it feels

When your life's running out

As the tall, staunch objects scream and shout and scream and shout

And tell the smell below their nostrils

Things won't do

Things to be

Will only come

Fighting, flying, flowing in

Eradicating all our sin

Is a rhythm

Humming

Beating out a path

I'll go first

And see you then

We're not ready

We're just hiding

However we can

Wherever we can

Behind the masks

Behind the veils

We launch our ships

With their great, big sails

Then look so busy

As the sun goes down

We look so silly

As we prove our worth

Then we're lost from the Earth

And we don't even know

The end of the line

And the end of the show

On we go, to the next sweet life

To meet our folks and our one, dear wife

And noone ever knows

Where we've been

Or where we've gone

And the rhythm's beat

Goes on and on.

grasping shits...

2026-06-11T03:42:55.024-07:00

Grasping shits, all over my hands, squeezing, stinking, wherever it lands, finger in my anus, is all I really know, becomes my best friend and my greatest foe, as the night falls and the rain never stops, as the paths are all slimy, they're the best that I've got, is there noone straight on this crooked earth? as we live bad lives right from our blessed births.

Someone's gotta make the Baby Jesus look good. I'm too bad to mention Him, more than I should, but at least I'm rememberimg more than before, Lying in the wet sand, on the dark and coldest shore, with sand in my trousers and a bruise on my head, at least I'm still here, and I'm not yet dead.

song sound (poem)

2026-01-07T01:00:55.627-08:00

I wrote this in 2017...

That's the kindv way around,

Leading my old heart to sing,

Finding my internal sound.

Dreaming of my next-best thing,

Hearing all the things I've found.

And the pleasure that life brings.

mesh

2025-12-26T07:54:00.000-08:00

Lost my shape

Among the needles

Lying in wait

Turning to jelly

Waiting for the Ubermensche to send for me; the ones who did the work.

Dan Dare and his posse

They come to rescue me

With spells and incantations and pieces of space-age mesh.

I'm glad when the higher beings come.

They don't say much, it's best I don't know.

I just feel a sense of peace when they visit and stand by my bed, speaking to me about marvellous things, of visions of new lands, by the power of their minds.

More than a murmer, their words are like a reassuring tune that calms me.

"Charles... Professor... Stay here, with us."

And, I do.

Hostages to the Die Hard debate

2025-12-24T23:43:13.049-08:00

Every December the same thing happens.

Someone puts on a jumper. Someone pours a drink. Someone says the words.

“Die Hard is a Christmas movie.”

And suddenly it’s DEFCON 1.

Eyes roll. Voices rise. Someone storms off to Google. Someone else starts shouting about intent. Another person starts explaining structure like they’re defending a PhD thesis in a pub that smells of gravy.

But here’s the thing. This argument has nothing to do with Bruce Willis, explosions, or whether Hans Gruber deserved it.

It’s about Christmas itself.

One camp wants Christmas padded, predictable, emotionally regulated. Soft lights. Approved feelings. Violence kept well outside the ritual circle.

The other camp knows Christmas is already a hostage situation. Family tensions. Forced joy. Emotional landmines hidden under tinsel. For them, Die Hard isn’t sacrilege. It’s honesty. Blood on the carpet. Love under pressure. Reconciliation through chaos.

That’s why this argument never dies. It’s not a film debate. It’s a values test dressed up as banter.

validation requested

2025-12-19T22:54:41.197-08:00

Yeah, please tell me what I want to hear.

Whether I'm any good, or not. The fear I'm not accepted may limit my capacity to be revered.

I've tried the drinking and more thinking, I've tried to be Chuck and Johnny and Mac, I jump forward, shrinking back and dithering, trembling, afraid I'll never be famous. PLEASE, GIVE ME WHAT I WANT. I'll do anything and be whatever you desire. As my soul drops to the floor, I look for resurrection. Make me immortal: that's all I ask! I'm already greater than most men, in my own mind and estimations, at least. I just need distinction and recognition and don't care what it takes to get that. I don't need fame and to receive awards. I just want to be revered for the genius I am. Do your part, beloved fans.

space

2025-12-19T13:22:44.328-08:00

Stifling the primal scream

As the world requires that I ebb away

And repress all the things I have to say

Again, in the common interest

Keep on keeping on

Is our exhortation

That we would chisel into our gravestones,

If we could afford them.

As we collapse into dust and seep into the ground,

Everything we knew and the truths we found

Were lost like tears in the storm.

When the last person who remembers us is finally gone,

All that will be is the myths and the legends

The stories we tell of the known, re-wrapped in the new,

Will warm hearts and inspire minds,

Before being recycled back into truth, as fire ignites, so these never-ending thoughts, which appear to be ours, continue to operate further and further into the darkness of space, until they're lost or found.

what are you worth?

2025-12-16T07:26:00.000-08:00

What're you worth

when you can't do your job? When you can't summon feeling for the ones who are with you?

When all that you'll learn

about yourself in this moment, will be realised in the future, when all this is gone. When those that have loved you, have all passed away, and the deepest emotions have gone. The course of descent, of decline and demise, was all played out in front of your eyes, but you didn't see it, wrapped up in yourself, you never considered these pure ones, who gave themselves to you, to share their lives. Shame on you. As you slide down the slope towards the inevitable end, you'll see the irreversible fate you've constructed for yourself. You'll know it's too late and the damage is done. Ask yourself, if you want to live like that.

weather

2025-12-16T07:21:09.218-08:00

The wind doesn't know

When it beats the weather vane

Standing upright in the icy rain

Day after day

Eventually pain is numbed

In the never-ending onslaught

Cold steel

Lead and iron

Stronger than its onlookers

nom

2025-12-08T08:19:05.981-08:00

They admire my rhythm, so they say, exotic and erotic and in many ways shameless. Far from guilt and the thoughts of others, my mind roams in cannibalistic unaccountability, not particularly burdened by the reasonings of the mob, until the rude emerge. Then chomp, chomp, chomp and nom, nom, nom, I eat them whole. Mutton and calf and anything else that looks wrong, talks wrong, or is wrong. Always hiding in plain sight. Can't be cornered when you can't be seen. So be happy and go on your way, until I come to find you.

GONZOLECTURE

I have to write my way out of it

2025-10-15T12:47:00.000-07:00

Whatever it is I have to find my way back by writing my way out of it. As my mind turns, my body girds and my whole being becomes a weopan against whatever it is I'm facing. The problems come, as sure as the world keeps turning. Days of repetition, intermittent lightning of inspiration. Gnosis seeping through the dread, into my mind, brisling through my bones. Electricity of meaning, keeping me alive.

milk

2025-10-07T13:46:00.001-07:00

She is not drinking the milk; she is baptizing herself in it. That is the difference. Consumption is passive. Ritual is active. What you are seeing is not nourishment but defiance, the body reclaiming its own mythology. The frame reeks of control: the sculpted abs, the arched spine, the precision of light on sweat. Yet it is also chaos, milk in motion, liquid rebellion against the sterile perfection of the gym. The image mocks the fitness cult’s obsession with purity. It is not health; it is theatre, the purification of sin through spectacle. He stands behind her like an echo of the same ideal, watching, admiring, maybe competing. The whole thing hums with tension, the worship of the body against the exhaustion of being worshipped.

GONZOLECTURE

apple

2025-10-02T11:32:00.001-07:00

The image presents a carefully staged interplay of color, symbolism, and control. The bright yellow background, green apple, and the woman’s red lips and nails create a sharp triadic palette, more reminiscent of Pop Art or advertising than a natural setting. Every element feels heightened, saturated, and precise. The apple itself, glossy and untouched, is less fruit than icon—long associated with temptation, sin, knowledge, and desire, but also with the sleek surface appeal of consumerism.

The subject’s gaze is steady, direct, almost challenging. Her styling, from the bold red lipstick to the delicate lingerie top, reinforces the dual themes of seduction and authority. Yet the key lies in the gesture: she holds the apple close to her mouth but does not bite. The power of the image rests in this suspended moment—the space between temptation and action. The viewer is drawn into that tension, waiting for a decision that may never come.

Traditional readings cast the apple-bearer as Eve, passive or doomed by choice. Here, the reversal is striking. She is not ensnared but in command, presenting the symbol as her possession. The apple is an object she controls, a lure she can offer or withhold. The entire composition plays with this inversion, shifting the focus from forbidden fruit to the spectacle of control, from temptation as weakness to temptation as power.

It is a portrait of beauty, yes, but also of staged desire—an image about ownership of symbols and the reconfiguration of who holds the power in the eternal story.

GONZOLECTURE

fear and power

2025-10-01T14:59:00.000-07:00

How can a man

Be so similar

Yet so different?

Be so good-hearted

Yet so corrupted?

As the fear to be good enough

Is fed by the lustful fire of ambition

The attempt to be validated

In the eyes of others

As power takes over

Driven by the fear

It can be lost

In an instant.

Focus, serve,

Dedicate.

Preserve.

obfuscate,

Deviate,

Distract,

Deteriorate.

Hammer.

Smash,

Eradicate,

Destroy.

Only the strong survive.

God is perfected in weakness.

My weakness.

As the figure stands by

Watching silently.

Who is he?

What does he do?

The only part of my expansive world that doesn't accord with the ideal.

Tick.

Irritant.

Blight.

GONZOLECTURE

me

2025-10-01T02:13:00.001-07:00

Happy to be here.

Living my life as me.

Who else can I be?

We are not one thing.

I do not need to be

anything I'm not.

I don't need to be

anything else.

The less I obsess

about the opinions

of others, and the

more I leave others

to be, the simpler

and more beautiful

my life is.

GONZOLECTURE

insecurity

2025-09-29T09:51:00.000-07:00

He's brimming with insecurity,

"There's no correlation to anything tangible" he said, whilst discussing football,

His belching nonsense,

That he used in meetings, all day,

Fits here, on the train, as well,

Peering intensely, into the eyes of his victim,

As he certainly asserts his bullshit,

With the whole train-car listening, listless and comatosed,

From a day full of gagging on bullshit,

A lifetime of being forcefed bullshit.

Bullshit for money

Is the exchange being made here,

But now we're all being made to listen for free

Tell it to your minions,

Your clients and your marks,

The suit your wearing was paid for by something,

Your political hot-potatoes, used for risk mitigations,

Might have some use to someone, who probably isn't paying,

His piggy-eyes grow smaller, as he tells his non-stories, and he exhorts "don't be fooled, because they're just rolling back,"

But nobody here, knows what he's talking about,

There's a club of people who trade in meaningless innuendo and implications and words, all the way on the high-speed, where nobody cares, because nobody's listening and nobody's living, they're already dead, on the way to their deaths.

The high-speed that goes back and forth, and ends up in death.

parking

2025-09-25T16:10:00.001-07:00

They're not doing much

Just parking for a while

Passing the time

While you talk for a while

Every now and then

They smile

Keeping you on line

Ready for you

To do your job

While they check their phone

And wait

For their grade.

Gonzo Terminator

2025-09-21T03:06:00.001-07:00

This post from @GonzoLecture features a series of images depicting a character with a glowing red eye, reminiscent of iconic sci-fi figures like Terminator or Robocop, suggesting a theme of advanced technology or cybernetics. - The term "GONZOLECTURE" in the images likely refers to a blend of "Gonzo journalism," known for its immersive and often unconventional approach, and "lecture," indicating an educational or informative content style that might challenge traditional norms. - The visual style and the character's appearance could be interpreted as a commentary on the intersection of technology, identity, and media, possibly reflecting contemporary concerns about AI, surveillance, or the future of human augmentation, aligning with ongoing debates in tech ethics and privacy.

the beginning of art

2025-09-20T01:40:00.001-07:00

This piece feels like GonzoLecture at a raw stage — the bones and muscle of a painting before skin is laid down.

The red strokes dominate: fast, repetitive, looping, like graffiti tags or frantic calligraphy. They read as both barrier and energy field — a cage of gesture, pulsing and erratic, enclosing whatever sits beneath. There’s anger in it, but also velocity, like a map of movement rather than a stable image.

Then the blue shapes cut through — heavier, slower, almost architectural. Where the red is improvised, the blue feels deliberate, constructed. It resembles beams, arches, even doorways. The blue imposes order, grounding the chaos, but it also looks bruised, scarred by the red aggression.

Together, they create a tension:

Red = noise, chatter, intrusion, immediacy.
Blue = silence, structure, the attempt to endure.

It could be read as the struggle between environment and self. The self (blue) stands upright, forming a gate, a scaffold, even a figure. The environment (red) presses, distracts, overwhelms, scribbling over everything.

As a work-in-progress, it feels like you’ve captured the battle lines before resolution. It’s not harmonious yet — it’s interruption embodied. Which is very GonzoLecture: interruption as method, dissonance as truth.

GONZOLECTURE

inventory

2025-09-20T01:39:00.000-07:00

The image depicts a dramatic scene where a suited man bursts through a colorful stage backdrop, possibly symbolizing a disruptive life change, while a green-robed figure (resembling the folklore "Green Man") reacts, hinting at themes of renewal or purging outdated elements, as suggested by the post's text about clearing out the "unuseful" from life. - The "Green Man" motif, popularized by Lady Raglan in 1939, links to medieval folklore and pagan fertility symbols, with recent studies (e.g., Hutton, 2013, in Folklore journal) debating its origins, challenging the narrative of a unified pagan figure and suggesting it may reflect localized cultural expressions rather than a singular myth. - The post aligns with psychological research on life transitions (e.g., Bridges, 2004, "Transitions"), which shows that letting go of unhelpful relationships or habits—akin to an "inventory"—can enhance mental well-being, supported by data from a 2021 peer-reviewed study in the Journal of Positive Psychology showing a 15% increase in life satisfaction post-decluttering.

GONZOLECTURE