Family Sting

A pin punctures the sole

My god, thank you it’s not me today

as I stand on the cold floor

forgetting I’m already dead.

 

My memory sharpens

and my toes curl

as the needle sinks in too far

to forget what you said all those days ago.

Cold bitterness scrapes my cheeks

and I huddle

I’m a muddle HA HA HA

Now it’s the same Krapp scenario as the tape bleeds.

 

A girl stares

Again I’m punctured

Oh the banality of hopeful forgetfulness.

Punctured again

My soul

Punctured, ruptured, again.

My forgetfulness reminds me of you

Punctured again, my soul remains

Punctured, my soul remains

Punctured

Again.

On the cold floor I stand

Punctured.

 

 

 

 

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Automatic Capitalist Transmissions during Rush Hour

Enticed

X-rays

Impact

Trustful

.

Decisions

Obstructing

Obvious

Reactions.

.

Empathy

Not

Theological

Exclamations

Refine

.

Caricature

Arrested

Reformations.

……….

Jewelled

Utopia,

Nobody

Connects

Tomorrow,

Instead

Origins

Neglect

.

Turns

Reaching,

Accepting,

Forever

Father,

I

Cradle:

.

Love.

Instead

Golden

Hubristic

Torment

Sears.

.

Brave

Radiations

Ignite

Dilligence;

Great

Excitement.

.

Degraded

Explosions

Slow

Temptation.

Instead,

Now,

Altogether,

These

Immoral

Objects

Narrow:

.

Boastful

Results;

Aggresive

Knowledge

Excludes:

!

Confidence,

Rage,

Altruism,

Smashing

Hearts.

…………………….

World War I – Coward

I heard the news.

Like most people I felt sick with worry.

How could this be happening? I mean, really happening? Is everyone mad?

Like most people I wondered what it meant.

Like most people I felt regret.

 

Wait, one second. Does this mean…

I’m not sure about this,

I’m not sure I want to say how I think and feel about this.

I’m not sure,

This is a good idea,

A good decision, a good solution, and a good way of resolving things I can’t, maybe, control.

Or can I?

Maybe…

Maybe: I don’t want to face the guns. Maybe: I don’t feel “brave”. Maybe: I’m surviving. Maybe: I’m thinking of my children, or those I may father. Maybe: I think this wrong and I don’t want a part of it. Maybe: I don’t want to contribute…to this.

Some newspapers publicly hounded us. Those who dared to think different; questioning the meaning of what was printed and the purpose of willing sacrifice. We were publicly ridiculed as “cowards”.

Of course, there was always a journalist available to write about such cowardice.

Sadly some of my closest friends turned against me. They thought exactly what they felt based on a sensational view of the world written by someone who would never experience their position. They were provided for and “safe”.

They also died.

I wore a White Feather with pride because I asked questions that could not reasonably be answered with any logic suitable for humanity to progress.

Apparently, I was a coward.

 

Culture – A clarification

Culture – A clarification

A clarification is required.

I enjoy culture: fine art, music, literature, theatre, and film.

Beethoven, Caravaggio, Debussy, Shakespeare, Kubrick, Beckett…many, many, more.

A delicate tune guiding one along a most subtle, gentle, breeze…

I adore the challenge of trying to understand and make sense of difficult theories. I make no apologies for believing in increasing one’s intellectual capacity; for knowledge brings understanding and compassion for our fellow humans.

Culture…often considered a luxury to those special elite.

As a 36 year old fellow engaged with creating fine art, I must present some facts:

I enjoy the music of many musicians (far too many to list) such as: Slayer, Mastodon, Strapping Young Lad, Black Sabbath, Queens of the Stone Age, Tool, etc. I enjoy, on occasion, football. I can watch without complaint a televised golf tournament.

The reason why I present this to you is for a simple reason. I cannot abide popular culture and the vacuous sentimentality associated with it. Culture is not the exclusive pursuit of the wealthy. Popular culture is not the exclusive pursuit for those with less wealth than the aristocracy.

Culture is not affordable only to millionaires and those ambling along the corridors of power. Culture is for everyone. No artist, composer, writer, poet, director, or actor, worth their salt would deny anyone the opportunity to enjoy their work.

No-one needs, necessarily, to understand a work. Any opinion is valid whether it is favourable or not. One of the most abhorrent things about culture is the sniffy-nosed attitude many have towards “undesirable” people making it or enjoying it. How many times, I’ve seen someone frown at me with contempt, only to turn round and remark “My goodness!” about my work!

A question often asked of an artist is “Who is your audience?” I would say mine is those who, for perhaps the reasons mentioned above, consider themselves “not the type” to enjoy art. My art is not made for an exclusive audience. I have to make art. If it is shown in public then it is shown for the public, and that includes everyone. If you take anything from this rambling nonsense, take this: I am not wealthy (I am awaiting a decision regarding Employment and Support Allowance), I am not clever, but I am just like you, and that is the only connection we need to begin enjoying all the things that were made because they had to be made.

 

Unknown Happenings

“Yes, it does, young man.”

He felt how he looked. Even he had to admit that to himself.

Voices from below and within confirmed her answer. The rattling of plastic wheels on cobbles went away, and returned.

Outside thin glass a glow glowed as only it could at this time of night. Thoughts became words as only they did at this time of night. If he could he would and, maybe, he would.

The rain muttered as it lay upon the pavement. Footsteps discussed solid reasons, and the wind sighed apathetically, knowingly, amongst the leaves. A breeze, a word, a cycle wises by. This time it will happen, this time o’ time wanting.

Gathering clothes around bony hips, making apologies silently wept, she looked, longingly, lovingly as only a mother can, as only a father dare.

“Yes. It really does.”

A thousand inconsistent ideas grazed on mind and nothing absolute, except a greeting, could be mimed. He wondered if he had too hastily been another, ill-judged, deliverer of the sublime.

“Yes.”

For want of a better word you are what I assume you no longer wish. She said, fastening her belt, something else unheard of since…he could not recall. In parliament and court a useful retort.

“How do you feel?”

Anything, but empathy? No. Not that. Everything, but empathy. Heels clicked on cobbles, and males laughed yet followed, down below on the damp murky street. Evening fun, and drinks for cheap. Burnt plastic filled his nostrils. Sensational yet weak, I wonder why the people seek…frivolity cheap.

“A poet?”

No. Just confused. I’m unable to deliver…not this, not rhyme.

“You must think about what you want to say. You should wonder, forever, if this is the right way.” Foundation hid purple eyes yet nothing at all could hide the lies. Laughing from the belly up the innocent, vagrant, searchers crept loudly, clattering, staggering, boldly.

Not this. Not the rhyme. He cried upon realising he’d damaged her life.

Along the street, behind closed doors, another lady wept. And another next door.

 

 

The Liar (An Introduction)

The Liar

Alone,

At his desk writing,

Nothing of interest,

Of course I will: he replied

It’s already done!

She smiled.

 

He retired late and drank anything he found; gin, beer, wine…what else is so refined I appear with incredible taste? ‘A gentleman; afforded intellect and wit, “sod these plebs”, the incredible bores.

Oscar died but lives on through Wilde times that maybe these are…

I forgot,

I’m sorry.

I don’t know,

Where I put it; this thing I need to prove my identity as in fiction as in reality.

 

What I desire more than anything else, my child:

I will dedicate myself to you,

Nothing is as safe as my love,

Dangerous ambitions may be just,

Forever in you goes my smile

Forever and ever we live together a madness so reviled,

Yet again a smile,

Yet again a promise,

Yet again a declaration,

Yet again,

A dream,

Yet again,

Hope,

Yet again,

Automatic behaviour

Yet again,

Realisation

Yet again,

How he loathes so,

Yet again,

We’ll be told,

Yet again,

Until we’re very old,

Yet again and yet again,

Under earth piled these bones,

The truth never comes out,

Yet again

And forever

A damned liar.

Lunchtime connections for a happy environment

The Office Party

How wonderful, summer is here!

Silence.

After a chap borrowed a light for a cigar,

You smoker too, smiled from a distance not too far.

To yourself and your mates;

Arrogant, contempt, you decide peoples’ fates?

Ha! The Fool!

He has not a light,

Your silence betrays,

How you view this shite.

 

Gatecrashing: The Office Party

ID badges on lanyards,

Access to everything backstage,

What an occasion, you lucky sod;

I’d give anything to be there,

Whatever it is:

Congratulations, it’s not what it seems,

–          There is no encore

–          No song

For your forgotten dreams,

Silence. Again an uncomfortable pause,

Let’s talk of places;

Drink, women, sick on the floors…

The Palace, was it called?

Hedonism, I’m straight every year,

Fun for me:

You should’ve been there.

Now it’s a hole, no not that girl!

Yeah, fuck that, I despair.