All entries for April 2011
April 21, 2011
Embittered memories embrace shadows which cling to those who are waiting for the hail of fanfare. He walked into the room and saw on the table a fist, clenched tightly around a jewell he had forgotten about in times gone by when there were dragonflies which swam in deep oceans, glittering manifestations which embroiled around spoils of war, there he was because of what he was; one with the thyme and masters of stars. eat and you can’t see the world through my eyes; all things shining in darkness where light was once gleaned and torn out of the hearts and minds of villages, burnt in buildings of hope degraded, decrepit walls, aflame with the lost remembrance of futile agony, a wanton destruction which cannot let the soul ream deep into realms of fire passion sword. I did not know where the glances came from yet I feel the breath of the wind on my skin my feathers alight and lift in the breeze of humanity which was more than not capable of such great feats. Bursts of heartbreak ignite in glittering skies.
April 12, 2011
I’ve buried you.
In the sands which washed us,
Too full of imagination.
Closed in by water marks.
Cut off what I can.
To take this, solitude.
You astonish me.
In every place I’ve been,
I’ve buried you.
This, heroic act,
The denouement of Achilles.
The sting of rain,
Embittered and recreated by the
Fingers of the violinist.
Rest in my shaking hands.
These hands that cannot draw.
April 02, 2011
He had tried starting In Medias Res but the burning sensation of cliche which caught fire to his mind kept pulling him back.
He had read Paradise Lost twice.
He had gone to the theatre and watched Antony and Cleopatra, hoping the bard’s flashing images of the Egyptian Queen’s river boat carrying her along beneath the sun with its sails gorging themselves on the wind would tease some inspiration out of his blood.
He had started listening to heavy metal. That hadn’t helped at all. It had only given him a headache.
He knew character’s characteristics and had characterized them as best he could in the recesses of his thought patterns; where tenuous links with his other works in progress fused together in a tangled chicken mesh coup of intricate plot devices.
He had worked out that his was a tale of unrequited love, deceit, treachery and betrayal set against the backdrop of the Crimean War, influenced by Marxist feminist philosophies with several scenes taking place in space.
In short, he was fucked.
He recited extracts of phrases and merged them together in stunning patterns of soliloquies and monologues. Sometimes he used descriptive passages which flowed through his skin, stretching tendrils of half-formed voices across pages thin as silk.
He put biro to lined paper then changed the biro to a fountain pen for aesthetic reasons then changed the lined paper for a note pad then changed tack and bought a type writer. The type writer was rusty and he couldn’t upload what he’d written to facebook or send it as an e-mail so he bought a lap-top. He left that on the bus so he bought a Mac.
Having a Mac didn’t make him a writer like the man in the shop said. He stared at a blank document as swallows flitted and flirted with one another in the sky outside, and the willow branches painted brush strokes of fresh air on the wind.
He decided to start his masterpiece by writing the end first.
Wasting time procrastinating
On infinite idealism, Inspiring
Perspiration from participating in
Unethical debates, bragging
About the bastardization of the State,
Working in debilitating degrees
Of silence, Insinuating separation
Scaling the charts, though this
Situation is boring me, evaluate
The depth of the sea,
Analyze your claims to
Stop being so damn fascinating,
Stay still for a second, satiate and
Acquire your conception of notions.
Pouring through vodka bottles
Writing lists of demands surrounded
By statistical evaluation of the
Primordial evolution of devolution.
Shade in the colour of your wings,
They aren’t as pure as scientific potions,
They begin within the winning mentality,
They begin with that shared second
Sitting beside each other on children’s
Swings. Swinging back towards the
Concentric cyclical crevasse of a
Gothic cathedral’s spiraling staircase,
You can be so much more than your pay-grade
You might have read too many books,
Might have heard to many problematic
Philosophies, but the confines of your mind
Expose you to your instilled inclinations.
Cry at what you laughed at and laugh at what
Others refuse to smile at, curled lips and
Exposed teeth are goddam sexy,
Not quite as much as a short black skirt
And a need to be loved, but pretty close.
Making the most of nights of revelry
Stops making chivalry look worth
Anything. Anything you want isn’t
Necessary, it’s all part of the contemporary
Wish to be seen. Stop reading lies in
Social commentaries, stop listening
To rhymes which are totally nonsensical
Whether they are clerical or not,
Stop speaking aloud to fill silence
Let the silence fill you and engage with it,
Segregate and annihilate your dispositions
to be disposed to particular theisms and theologies
Which can be laughed at when you understand
Analogies to bland aspects of life like
Things are, alright.
Satisfactory, you might say.
You might say things here are
Maybe a little on the dull side
Or just slightly too static.
I would say, that things are a bit like cheese.
Cheddar cheese, in fact.
There are lots of cheeses I could use
But Edam is too classy for this analogy
And as for those blue cheeses well
They’re too much of a fad.
Not that I don’t like blue cheese.
It’s what cheese would taste like
If it were a colour. I just think
Blue cheese lacks substance.
It might be popular and a little eccentric
But eventually it will lose it’s popular basis
Unlike Mozzarella. There’s a cheese
With a fine tradition at its foundation.
It would take a huge scandal for Mozzarella
To tumble. Because of this fact unfortunately
That rules Mozzarella out of the equation too.
Because the thing with Cheddar, is that
It will do.
You can melt it onto most things and they will taste fine
But you wouldn’t take it over mozzarella on Pizza or over
Blue cheese and crackers.
That would be ridiculous.
But you’d take it over not having cheese.
That goes without saying
So before you being to think where am I going with this
I’m going to talk about life and death.
And how cheddar, is a little bit better than
You see, we don’t have it bad.
We don’t have it great and because of that
We get pissed off; since we know we could have it great.
But we’re not hungry,
We’re warm and listening to poetry.
I’m even a little bit drunk
Which is more than you can say for
People who aren’t warm, listening to poetry
And who don’t have access to a cheap bar.
You see I’d take a cheap bar over no bar,
Poetry over silence, warmth over cold.
Just as I would take Cheddar cheese over no
Cheese at all.
So you see, I think I’ve done it,
I think I’ve won the bet
That I made with my friend Jason,
That I couldn’t make an allegorical comparison
Between the state of humankind