Communication(s)

A Bit Slack.

Casually strolling, with intent in pocket,

Mentally rolling, if time flies, we'll clock it,

And wishfully thinking, of days of beginnings,

Summer nights drinking, and casually singing,

Songs of last year, and tomorrows new children,

Piercing your ear, and getting a hard on,

Driving to Scotland, and losing your mind,

Passing through Lakeland, surprised at your find,

Then sitting back, with your girl on your knee,

Threading your track, being totally free,

Then realising, its all just a dream,

Its not surprising, when you're as slack as you seem.

There are four walls, well, hundreds when you look, but they keep the cold out, and the cold in. They keep the world out, and the world in.

There are no wolves.

There is just the clock, and the fear.

The survival instinct.

The guilt. Shit, the guilt.

Shame.

The reason to keep going. You tell me.

 1989? Jeez, I knew NOTHING.

Not "Maudlin'" at all Tonight

I had a lot to say, but then deleted it. Seemed best.

The complicated thing about trying to organise your thoughts, your "projection" of them, and then to tie them in to poems, or whatever, photos maybe, and real-life, is a thing to either grab by the horns and crack on, or one to worry about and never do it.

Current creations are not ready. Current photos, maybe.

Both are a bit thin on the ground. At least ones I want to do anything with.

I want to shout at the world, but am old and grey enough to know that that is pointless, so shout at myself instead.

Say What You Want About Jacko...

Both of these bring tears to my eyes. I'm sure there are better covers if you look hard enough, but the strength of Michael Jackson's lyric writing shines through. Pity I never really "got" him at the time, well, I did, and it just wasn't speaking to me.

Dark Dreams (Last Night)

Dark Dreams


Running into the mirror
Away and before, in front and bleeding brow,
Cheeks, shards, glassy emotion.

No authority, just anonymous threats,
Instinct drives you into survival, bloody,
Cornered, no papers or legitimacy,
Run rabbit, come with me…..

Face to face with fear,
The tattoo, the world’s pain now,
Hundreds of thousands of reasons, instincts,
Threats. Silent phone calling, locked boxes.

Hand in hand we flee,
In front, but only just, emotions,
Survivalists, bleeding and illegitimate,
Rabbits in the state spotlight.

Analogy, dark dreams come true,
Mirrored in rainbow oiled muddy puddle thinking.

Nowhere left to run except into the oily mirror,
And cold sweaty wakefulness, instinct free.

Ignore The Video

Just listen to the song. Simple as that.



Now have to try to find what on earth Jhelisa is doing these days, a voice like that shouldn't be cooped up....

Emotional Crashes

 

Dare to be Different (10/9/03)

As a child, paraded views of what went before,

This house, this hill, that battle, that wall,

This uncle, this cousin, and given little space,

To make connection.

A calculating machine, DNA programme,

Making just the same mistakes,

Duff data,

Make interesting connections,

Parading hill/house life choice loves and walls,

All of us have them, perhaps.

Left to create the internal being,

The centre to your life experience,

A pilot, driver, witness to the outcomes,

Or a soul, perhaps,

A created being.

Discarding much of it all,

Is miscalculated in some ways,

Making your own rules,

Making interesting connections,

Parading your own madness, before hills, and houses.

Choosing your own loves, and walls,

All of us have them, perhaps.

Duff data,

Interesting lives,

Walled, hill or wood-dwelling uncles, No DNA.

A Serious Truth

If you met yourself, would you speak ?

If you changed the eye colour, length of nose, hair,

Earlobes, moustache, pissedness, breasts, hips,

Silliness, speed of living-ness,

Loves, likes, etc...

No, its still just a person.

Change anything at all, and I still love you, the entire human race, with all your failures, pettinesses, loves, weirdnesses, obscure habits, obscure thinking patterns, bizarre dress senses, acute mental states other than zero, and the datum, etc, etc...

I can now see you all for what you are.

I can now see that its all alright, everythings just fine,

Its just not a problem.

Is that my doing, or hers ?

Or something more ?

30 New Pennies.

I'm alive

My ears, damn them to deep hell !

Chilling to a silent fire,

Melt to hear the phone bell.

I'm dead

Line busy, damn the thousand !

Slinking electron-node journeys,

To the tone of line-jamming.

My lips remember,

Damn the memory of intense mockery !

Memories of follies,

Games drawn in intermittent glance kisses.

The eyes bleed and weep smoke tears,

The lungs tighten on your (dying) breath,

And my mind-cage door is open

Walkabout in the outback of your dreams.

We're all fucking dead.

Dead, alive, alive, fucking dead !!

Your tongue remembers,

My face remembers,

My legs remember,

Your hair remembers.

We'll wake in dodgy dwellings,

Wide stinking alleys of Northern exposes,

And both at 150 arms lengths,

Parallel stretching miles to a call-box,

And the cold night star car dog fox rain frost.....

And your cloudy breathing.

Smoking in orange light pools,

Grubby country street hangouts,

(Sharing tenuous common moments with her memory.)

(Stone my village heart headless horseman snorting nightmares.)

I know I'm alive,

Walking through stone fields to

The stone badger with

My stone head in a felt cap.