All entries for April 2011

April 21, 2011

Bold

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

When I am old and still the same inside.

I’ve buried you.

In the sands which washed us,

Fleeting. 

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. 

You return, 

Rest in my shaking hands. 

These hands that cannot draw. 


April 02, 2011

Sensuous, Sexually Driven Flirtation With Writer's Block.

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. 


Instilled Inclinations.

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 

Immortality sporadically; 

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 

Cheese. 



Cheese.

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

And fall. 

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. 

It’s alright. 

It’s satisfactory. 

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

Terrible. 

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

And cheese. 



April 2011

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