Whitesnake Had That One Song.

Well, many, many actually.

  

Cloudy satellite

Fifty million million million years ago, give or take

You shot your love out into my cosmos…

Comet-like, but faster, harder

Encompassing.

Enthralling & scary too.

My sub-cold/beyond icy, satellite picks up vague sub-space whispers a million billion

Years

Lives later.

Barefoot, with dressing-gown & tobacco

I watch the pulses of your love

Permanent & irrevocable

Through a slightly cloudy & hazy winter’s late evening,

With whisky.

With deep longing & a strange numb left arm feeling, non-feeling, that

It all should be evolutionary, and in a lovely starlit, cloudy way

It’s faster and harder than the chromium shell of my vague but sincere satellite.

Out of whisky, out of tobacco, but never ever out of my love for you.

It's late July, this is still not going to become a personal blog, as such, though everything in it is I suppose technically "personal" seeing as how I snapped, wrote, or created the overwhelming majority of it.

I closed it down, more than once, as my musings and imagination from decades ago rang true contemporarily, as it were, or perhaps better to say contemporaneously, I don't know if that makes more sense..... I made the decision, which I now am going to doubt, that I would politely explain, and be open about everything, and that poetry, and creative writing, as such, came from a mixture of pure imagination, some reality, and dreams, and whiffs of fantasy, nightmares, and not necessarily based on real people, just amalgums of both real and dreams....

If someone can look at a painting, or sculpture, or listen to an orchestral piece, (or to be honest, a punk, heavy metal, acid-jazz, industrial, techno, acid, or even light-pop...etc for that matter)  and imagine the world the artist creates, and of course, see some truth in it, they manage not to get confused over the aim of that stand-alone piece......surely?

Those infamous Sunflowers needed wires to stand up to be painted......really, nothing is real.

    

Rose Petals Mean Sincerity.

Manic moment passing fancy,

Fanciful idyll and bee-swarm stress,

Momentous duress

Caress,

Undress.

Press your love in my heart,

Wring out doubt and halo light,

Take new delight,

Flight,

Kite.

Maniacal debacle throws scorn down,

Littered in this hollow rugged box-cube,

Where love exhudes,

Hollow moods,

Broods.

Deep down dawn of loving eye,

Flutters about this dreamed return,

Where lights burn,

We learn,

Yearn.

To have and to hold and embrace within,

Two as one meld and weld this boon,

Betroth the moon,

None too soon,

Strewn.

"Our Yahoo Us"

Our Yahoo us “where Twelve tracks monkeys monkeys monkeys

Arts Thermo monkeys mangy mangy man jinked jinked count

Charlie Binn journal angel wings

Bike Minoru McGuinness NIC his unique hairs fabulous arts

But takes but took us

Vendors liggin neck in new York. Making it.

Fairview less Fairview yes by the U.S.

Politics

Straight

Us

Carefully

Carefully

Us

Known

Map

Arts

Gary Jerry’s Jim Binn from King twilight you 9,100 open air base (into training

Then backing Betty’s

Becky

Kind

Of

Nikki Mack a new

Again

Magic

Mouse Minus minus might be more wary where wall The eight Category N. bloomin

There is a N.

Will

28 Iran

to downright

Down

And if you are not making any then

p

{How mad is that? one of my early attempts with speech recognition, on a computer I don't even own anymore.....If it's late enough, and you read it aloud, in an Irish accent, perhaps, then it kind of leaves some sort of poetic impression in the air.....

....so I kept it....! }

An old gate-post, the walls long gone, but I thought it might have been something even older, and a sign that Yorkshire folk took their version of a really old religion onto the high seas a thousand years before Cook.........and well, fill the gaps in yourself.....

Selected Views.

No time

No doubt

Dense mist descends

Befriends

Lends

Cosy sense of security

Purity

Erasing world views

To pews

Of oaken-seated

Gothic splendour

And vendor

Of christian dreams of Eden

And faint

Musty

Old stone

Church smell

Mingles with

Damp moss

No time

No doubt

No time to try

To see

Without vision

Derision of sense

By

Withholding views.

Always a few early ones.......best leave them to flourish..... This reality isn't anything I want to cling onto right now either way.

I haven't quite closed my FB thing, though only scan it briefly now, and have deleted it from my phone, as it was getting addictive, and upsetting, and depressing. For a couple of weeks now though, I have been this close to just deactivating my account for some proper breathing space. My internal conversations would have made a radio play.........

I am border-line with this blog too, but it's still sort of going, for now......