Between Lives, Seeing as.....

Seeing as how that is how it feels.

 

Dreamdancing.

The dream of the dance,

With white tiled toilets the size

Unbelievable, of the Albert Hall,

The deja-vu, your dress,

Your fathers signet ring,

Tuxedo ? How Americaine,

And your split skull smiling mother.

Maybe you'd smile as goddamn f*ing much,

If you rattled as you walked,

Or danced on designer drugged clouds,

With Archangel Valium and the Tremazipan Seraphim.

Dreaming did not dilute the senses,

Idiocy, fallacy, total hypocrisy,

The scent of garlic on your breath and clothes,

The stink of piss in the car park,

And the unmistakable stench of Janus.

In step we walk into St Pancras,

Or is it the dance floor,

Dinner of shellfish and langoustine,

With real champagne,

Real glasses,

Really embarrassing.

The memory of her blasted hypocritic's lecture,

On my lifestyle, your future,

My potential, my wasted three years,

My euphoric smoker bows to her depressants,

And duly the thread snaps.

You and I boarding different trains.

And Mrs Goody Flip-top head,

Waves me goodbye, from impossible,

Bar, cave, station toilets, and platform,

As she believes shes doing

The right thing.

Treaclebrain.

Sometimes the thoughts

Transmitted from uncertain sections of the brain,

Take a disproportionate time

To reach the nerves intended,

As if they're rebounding,

Or being held back,

Then being released, by another force,

Or traveling through either

A damaged track

Or

Treacle.

Sometimes truly lovely,

Sometimes truly, disorienting.

After the event,

Simply a cause for concern,

No drug residue

If no drug intent or present.

A many year hang over ?

Or a subject

For further study ?

 

Extract From A Lucid Dream.

Two lush living hedgerows stand,

Twelve feet apart, or thereabouts,

You and I move with hand in hand,

Though in a dream I have no doubts.

Our daughter, that we haven't had,

Walks between us along the grass,

Though I can't see her eyes aren't sad,

I know they smile like shiny brass.

I pick her up and on my shoulders,

We stroll between these neatest rows,

I loose your hand to help me hold her,

And fail to notice your pace now slows.

Carry on this sunny walking,

In a dreaming that I once had,

You've fallen behind as I'm stalking,

And I know I should feel so sad.

As the years roll by I know you're gone,

Leaving me to walk almost all alone,

But my daughter seems forever young,

What I see next near cuts my bone.

Up ahead you stand and smile,

We catch you up, as if you'd never gone,

We walk once more in double file,

I feel like, and raise my voice in song.

Two intensely living hedgerows green,

Twelve feet apart or thereabouts,

Still today, I don't know what it means,

But even in this dream I had no doubts.

Games With No Rules.

Friend or lover, who's to say ?

Who knows best but you and me ?

I'm pissed off with being free,

Need someone to fight with me.

The place that we came to then

Was hot and dusty and all the buildings were white,

The dogs lay in heated gutters,

The sprinklers sprinkled in the gardens.

My insecurity screwed up my haze,

I got lost in your arguments,

Got sucked in the spiral of laziness,

And made love with words of jealousy.

Held hands as we drove to a river beach,

And I felt like it was all so new,

It was all so old and alive,

We swam with the fools gold of short-time.

The day lasted longer than my brain,

I swam in the dark, insane,

I'm sure the fish must have felt the same,

And the fat French man woke up and went home.

Friends, we sat together,

We opened and closed a chapter in our life,

So short are our times together,

I dreamt about you as his wife.

I'm pissed off with living so far from you,

Want more than this game we're in,

And so I do sod all about it,

Except plant more crowded seeds of regret.

To flourish in the melanchol dusty gardens,

Behind my eyes where I sit back,

And laugh and cry and swim,

And make love to you in my mind's bed.

 

Happy Slippers.


Quickly cutting, the hazed, overhot,
Staggered horridly to the wood-covered door,
Flung open the horrid, wooden, hinged flap,
Into May, late balmy over-calm night,
Fell in brown slippers forward and drew breath.

Hideously contrasted by refreshment,
Drunken not, but inebriated on clear air,
Smooth, too warm perhaps, maybe, could be, humid.
Liquidly, ten-thirty, sweetly, lungs filled,
Compares ridiculously with smokey fire-heated comfort,
Reminds someone of something long ignored.

Happy slippers, heels trodden, into evening grass,
Transport the spirit to the ludicrous dream,
Heralded the storm, or rumoured the summer,
Nights of last, but thirsty, unsure perceptions,
Quickly forgot, to the host tin coffin.
Inexplicably perched, on exposed meadow-like hillside,
Now irrelevant, as desire seeks out tin-womb return.

 

Green. (2)

Not quite stagnated, quite,

Green, but the green of decay,

Scented by mould.

A broken hand-glass,

A shattered illusion,

Splinters of nothingness,

Bloody fur, on scum.

 

False hope.

Stop for your own sake,

Take a quick gap and take

A second to really soak in

All the depths of this scary thing.

Gap analysis.

Take that walk and turn around,

Roundabout love under stars of Wales.

And boarding the ship

We must part, for now.

You seized my eyes

Dragged my voice and dowsed my love,

To the ground of your floor.

Lying berserk and lost,

I felt your face in this darkness,

And tasted your mind.

Anger and repressed longing,

Dreams of free love, tense hang-ups,

And this squalid carry-on.

You held my hand and my tongue,

opening your barriers for insane moments,

Of crazy emotion induced love.

And this dark carpet beneath,

Holds its own counsel, and guards

Against the return of forgotten reservations.

Forget-me-not, astrewn abandoned and out of season,

Blows rag-tag across the 2am wet lane,

And my muscles remember that peculiar night.

Dead Bulb

There are lights coming up the hill,

Far too fast for some odd reason,

To this small town tight lane.

Your lights are too fast, and too bright,

No sense but bags of reason,

Makes me consider the dead bulb

In my emotional tail-light.

I am so trying with the whole night/timed-exposure/stars thing, but it's bloody hard to get it right. You can mess around with the aperture, fine, the shutter-speed, fine, the ISO level, yes, I get that, but actually manually focusing on a distant point, in the dark, when you're long-sighted...is tricky, believe me, it is. Add to that the minus 8 or whatever it was the other night......Sheesh, I'm glad these came out at all......

Life really sucks right now, but hey, my usual caveat applies, so I'll leave that one to you dear reader. What would you do? Keep sodding on...yes, that's all you can do at time, just keep sodding on.

Why does my brain kick off at midnight, and then refuse to stop until it's time to actually wake up and go get ready for the day ahead???? Bugger.

Zombie......

Here's a timed exposure of the snow the other night.......

 

I loved it so much I messed around with it, and some others, and a couple of video clips.......

Addiction fighting, and trying to understand where I'm at......Welcome to the end of 2017. I will raise a glass, and share, and shed a tear to the whole thing.

Happy December. x