1967 and all that

I thought it was just the moon. Then I was told it was the "Mayflower Moon" Looking around on t'interweb didn't shed much light on that, but I found a few references to the May's Flower moon, which, given where we are in the Northern part of the Northern hemisphere, relates to the late Spring time for fertility, new birth, planting, and re-planting.....

Oh, perhaps not if another milestone, waymarker, sort-of-significant date comes along..

 

You don't have to look it up, but boy oh boy '67 was a bloody good year for music and art, and, well all sorts of stuff...

Apparently.

I'd like to say that I just wrote that, but after the events of the last few weeks, and especially the fact that the last two birthdays have been spent alone in enormous crowds of total strangers, and my feelings about that, which are mixed to say the least, I can't.

Still, I now have a few new acquaintances, who I'll probably never see again, and have experienced some challenges to my inherent prejudices about ladies who like ladies, so that's been educational....  Oh, and I broke my left hand too, which hurts......

Today I caught up with an old friend, like not seen for 32 years. All I can say is that I wish we'd met up years ago. While we were never actually "close" way back, we were friends, and the proof of the pudding is that we talked like we were, and are still. My sometimes fading faith in human nature was recharged, and it helped my self-belief too.

Otherwise, pretty much everything in my life right now could easily be described as "chaotic".

Disorganised. Random, with a smidgeon of organised, and that is the bit that I have to try to remedy, as it's not doing me much good......

 Where along the way did I lose my self-belief? I know it's come & gone through the years, and that there is a kernel of it underlying everything that keeps me going, as I know I'm "alright" really. But like, when I think back to some bits of who I was, while I was never full-on cocky, and full of myself, I did have times when I just didn't give a flip whether people liked or understood me, and it was when I started really caring that I started to lose that confidence.

One more before I go to bed....

I haven't written much lately, well, not for weeks, though occasionally I do, and then bin....I do want to filter through a lot of my old stuff, like the above, from my "year out" from college, when I think they are worth keeping, and want to push this blog out more, though need any of my 3-4 readers to help me in that if they would care to?

My line of thinking, random though it usually is, is to keep on trucking, build this up to where I'd be happy to send it to a potential publisher, and if that doesn't work, think about starting a Go-Fund_Me type of thing to cover the costs of turning the pictures & poetry into something you can actually hold in your hands. The suggestion today was to try to do that via an on-line e-publisher, which had only breezed past my thoughts, but now I will have to have a proper look at it again....I really do invite your thoughts dear reader. Step out of the shadows please, and engage....am I barking up the wrong tree?? Is it all just bollocks?

 

Hangover Rambling Inemotional Gibberish

I'll just leave that there....for a few days longer....

Bloody Goddess, Bloody Girls.

The beginnings of the long slide,

Slips into my passenger seat,

Be my own misbegotten bride,

And accompany me in the street.

I played 'chess' on your bathroom wall,

And slid deeper into the trap,

Nothing my muse said could stop my fall,

Another dead feather in your cap.

My car stalls and I run in scream,

The radio yells out that sex is free,

The coach coughs and picks his team,

But you won't run away with me.

The green scars on the bathroom face,

Black mould where dreams have died,

I knew that I only exist in space,

But I couldn't see if you knew I lied.

The sliding street trips us up, Ha !

I fall and break my fall on you,

Was it her he loved or just her car ?

A thriller mystery that lacks a clue.

I shake hands then with future loves,

Sit in fear in your bathroom mirror,

I examine the inside of your plastic gloves,

And try to remember what to give her.

Oh the night melts in a glass of red,

My car cools from its restless flight,

Readjust my position, straighten my head,

Unconscious of this emotional fight.

Change is on the way for bathroom games,

I think I'll read a book or sing,

Or try to remember all your names,

Or weigh up all the grief you bring.

Every Sodding Day.

Inane radio, unfocussed thought,

Sense of “does it even matter?” loss,

Impending, drift where once drive,

No life-belt, water-wings,

Every single bloody day regret, no charity,

Split off intellectual acceptance,

From sterile but bleeding emotional,

Bleeding routine, rocks for cast sailors,

Safe only if you catch them before,

They utterly annihilate you.

Friendly DJ, familiar soundtracks,

Do little to surface my reality,

Just soft, safe, dull, familiar,

Every sodding day.

I sooo should have made the effort last night, to go to the folk festival, but my head isn't right.

I made it worse, and then went for a walk in a "new" place today.  It didn't help much, and part of it was the aim of clearing my head, comparing cameras, lenses and so on, but the light was so piss-poor, and my thoughts weren't coherent enough to do more than a few. Maybe I'll try it again when I'm a bit straighter.

All the pictures in this post were from that walk.....

 

Cut off again

Slowly circling, off-pitch, off-centre

Now hum with me and see for me

This half degree from opposites

This near closeness to sheer blind perfection

As lofty cragged ice walls creak worryingly

Stepping back to chaos from this window seat

I watch you in my prejudice

Predeciding the depth of my love

Waving the web away to nothing with casual hand

Before giving my eyes wholly

My tongue, my throat, my lungs,

Your kiss, your window seat, your curtain,

My love song

The one with ever such a disturbing chorus

My ice valleys, my volcano, my chaos

A half degree from centre

A thousand miles to the nearest doubt.

How could there ever have been any justice for it revenge retribution the powers of divine intervention but no great relief from these visceral agonies denial scales to tip to weld to tilt to weigh the odds and stack great light from beyond your sense relieves regret and shit faced view in sharp contrast the sky is then covered in cast iron plates rivetted and upheld by prayer below the arc of rust and grime spinning with the wheel of time the rock gives semblance of trust and then is gone no recognition no recollection from the once loved and lies with self preservation in mind I find the tarmac hard in winter grip melds memories of burning trolleys and school diversion my version to authority not me denial as new electrical thought thunders and rebounds from the iron now corrugated in places this life and digital recollection with no visible means of rapport tense and edgy the animal fight or flight the holiday the love that asked all and caught the lightning blast slippy and royal denial steel railed and the roosting carrion look on pylonned junction to rickety life and bleary self ritual you small shit I have no pity left not yours to receive this time or hatted loss minus freezing and laughing superior dreams now seem to fly and never reach this roof below the birds and clouds and storms train waiting with ancient love and pulling the plug the floor fell away the walls quick follow and exposed timbers breeding worms and beetles grow new roots into the earth below deny all follow the jack follow the swift decisive prey and reveal nothing loose this cold clammy grip on the floor as a whole congregation of roaches and fleas and mites and choristers tumble out of sight and blend coloured glass with gold and and and lift the glass to your brain and insert with taste and tasteful backdrop to new arrivals multi ...

disciplined in the art of reason and antilogic and and and naturally it will then be time to remember not yet she was weird though in an off beat frame normality flickered behind eyes decanted from these shotgunned barrels and cut out the straw relieve the taut tight sinuses of this crazy straight fiction and with a crumbling seizure face the wall you cant its gone to create a world imagine one too much too soon too misguided and walk away over these crumbled blood soaked stones and bricks with large dreaming so fly then swim skywards and fantasise the lot so addicted to adrenaline not a thrill seeking hedon just a night owl escaper trapped in these glass flowings amber ice wispy smoke flickering joist ends telephone reality grippers so addicted to waste to oblivion to running to beer perhaps arguably to love to lovers new and old past and passed to addiction itself burn this beautiful life this beautiful optimism when you have nothing it says in piss stinking grafitti on the underside of this iron clad sky with slow flowing larva streams you have everything to gain laughable aphorism and obnoxious bilious aftertaste what do you know as God lands and reminds you of your own chemical imbalances easy to back away He doesn't follow but is there when you turn your wings hurt your legs have gone and your arms wrap around my waist too big a doubt arises in poisoned guttle where three heads boil and fizz and blow steam into these dark fissures the light return to adolescent pastures green and once again forgot intended force repressors chase new prey the outsider why cannot ever be the answer wheels within prisms and reflected spectral memories on screens of disaster as the human leaves the glass refills and melts into ancient tables no needles no pins no blood no terror just a sad whimsy a notion a creed of...

self self self where now the dawn of roses where lies the land of light so ruddy in the baking evening so barren and denied come with the dawn interpret at leisure and make lists to rule thought freestyle frames bend frames break but are not so organic cut wood and twine create your own not quite the chameleon more the diamond multi-whiskyed and many faced the Mr Ben of this revolution your red blonde brown hair in great huge windows and silver chariots only grips the childish side where browns blondes and reds should fear to tread no love lost no love found just a higher aim on this loving ground and metros at midnight and dogs at dawn not quite following the many born nor realising true germination in this sea of plough and waking within more confidence shrinking ego wilted with no serious repercussion propped suspended held up tied down and bagged and drowned lets get the hell out of town burn it down head for the hills and natures skills with no sense of timing no concluding gesture realising perhaps that to survive is a strength in itself while wobbly the normal headed escape while escaping youre nearly normal with still justice it could be said no thought of wickedness was in your head simply the observations built up in years that the people are trivial and you are people values float meaningless under torrents of blistering tears of ration control and lack are much the same soul conditions in this hall of fame but there stands the weirding mirror reflection shows the mind aquiver but as straight as a loser and half as simple as a prime contender for knockout bouts on this stage of ground illusion dont miss the station X-file elation and empty bottled romantic friction cast skywards in prime addiction duty obligation warped by self preservation yes I could learn from you look around see what it is you do to wind this clock and create your life I might be your man but you're not my wife.