And The Next

Here I am,
Right now,
Right here right now,
And I'm panicing again, Is this really it?
Is this what it's come to?
Drifting aimlessly through the ether,
Picking up cigarette ends,
Seeing if I can get them to light up,
Get a hit,
Get some smoke down into my lungs.
Chasing dreams,
That turn to screams,
In the middle of the night,
My head,
My heart.
Hot sweats on cold nights,
Fear of the light,
Of fight or flight,
Of the night,
Of the day,
Of the way,
It's come to this,
Of the piss,
Of the hiss of stream,
That kills the dream,
That starts the scream,
I hear what you say,
As you start to sway,
It's the way,
It goes, I say,
this day,
And the next,
And the next,
And the next.

DEAR DIARY

I guess that writing a blog is just like writing a diary, but without a lock on it. Obvious, I know, but it wasn't that many years ago that a diary would be written to be kept a secret. Or was it? Has the Internet, and more importantly, the blog, given everyone the free rein to expose their innermost thoughts and feelings in a very public arena? I know my writings are specifically written for public consumption, but also, in some instances, intended for specific individuals. Lets face it, if a blog is just a public diary, it's only right and proper that one should carry on a thread of tradition, and write about the people and things that one knows and emotionally impact upon our lives. It is probably even more of a diary writing tradition to be cryptic about certain elements, mainly people, when writing a blog. I know I do.

It is not exactly breaking news that the centuries-old art of novel writing has been used as a glorified diary vehicle, to pass on messages (hidden or otherwise), or life observations, over the space two or three hundred pages, rather than the condensed blog version of just two or three pages. We are in an age of such short attention span, with the such 'busy' lives we all lead, it is no wonder that there is such a demand for bite-sized novels in the shape of blogs. I must say that it is easier to space out to a column in one of the colour supplements than settle down with a novel, when there's some time to read. But it's a lot like snacking, there's an instant hit that fades very quickly, only leaving one dissatisfied and wanting to go back for more. Better to have a full meal that gives one a small spectrum of flavours and leaves one so much more satisfied.

There was a time when my general attention span was at 'soundbite' level only, but increasingly, i am more inclined to settle down for an evening's good novel reading rather than read a colour supplement or watch the TV. I know I'm not doing myself any favours advertising the strengths of a full novel rather than the blog's micro hit, as this is my chosen medium to do my own writing. Perhaps there's room for both, perhaps the two art forms are different? Whilst blogging could still be shorthand for a novel, there's a time and a place for both? If i read a novel i hope that i am able to relate to the characters and go on a bit of an adventure with them, and maybe giving the story some impartial analysis once it's all finished. Whereas a blog is more of a signpost for a reason, or reasons, cryptic or otherwise. Even better would be if a blog would be cryptic about me! That's it! I have yet to feel the full benefit, or curse, of a blog. As i am without any great number of friends or relatives that bother wasting their time on such unread scribblings. There are but a handful of people i know that bother. Perhaps, because like me, they are usually personal ramblings that very few others are really interested in reading.

It is possible that there is a good percentage of us out there, that are agonising about our chosen method of expression, and how it is received, what it is saying to people, whether it is pulling some emotional strings or not, most importantly, by those we know and love. We all try and express ourselves somehow, it's not only writing. I have spoken about this before, not just about expression through writing, but music, dance, whatever art form one chooses. There has been mixed, and emotional reactions. Which is what we all want, a reaction, is it not? It certainly is for me. Most of my life i have realised i need to express myself in one creative way or another, and sometimes, just sometimes, there's been a connection between me and someone else that has made it all worth it. I'm not talking about praise, although praise has a place that is good, but an understanding, an empathy, an intimacy, a movement of the heart, that is what is so important to me. It is real, it helps me understand that I'm not just stumbling along in the dark, on my own.

I know that the few published columns that I prefer to read, are usually writings that i can relate to in a rather abstract way, albeit with a recognised understanding of the writer's general emotional thrust of the piece concerned. So perhaps it's time that someone out there should write about me, that would thrill me and horrify me in equal measure. So there's a challenge, not only could someone write a blog piece that is personal to me by virtue of me knowing the writer concerned (that means start writing a blog, friends and family), but also that the writer concerned could be so cryptic about their writing that only i know that it's about me.

Go on, I challenge you, make my day, not only would I see myself in print, by another author, but also I will recognise, and be thrilled, that someone has been bothered enough to read the stuff I've written , but also reacted to it in a creative way.

Perhaps all of this expression lark, whether it's any good or not, is all about love. The love we all need or desire. Perhaps novel writing , and blog writing, is just a method of reaching out for love, expressing our experiences of love and the all encompassing spectrum of that wonderful emotion. Wonderful, that is , if you're getting it, hell on a stick if you're not. Maybe I'm just seeing all of this from my limited perspective, perhaps it is just me that is searching for love and understanding? Surely there are so many other reasons why someone would waste all this time on writing things down, that then goes out into the ether, never to be seen by anyone that might have an interest in their own involvement in the scenario. I like to think that what continues to motivate me is a thin vein of optimism that runs deep inside me, keeping me moving when all seems grey. This is , however, a two way street, there is always a possibility that you are the chink of light shining through the slate grey clouds. So go on, show me some love, write to me, about me, anything, just write.

Pressure Roots Hi-Fi meets Toxic Sound System at the Falmouth Rugby Club, Saturday 27th November

To my mind, there is nothing, other than nature itself that is more heavenly bound or heavenly inspired, than the creative endeavour and expression of mankind. Whether it is painting, drawing, building, singing, acting, music, dancing and so many other art forms, there is a colour, depth and feeling conveyed in all these endeavours that can give one the desire to be drawn deeper into it.

Music, as you may have gathered, is just one form of creativity that holds a special place in my heart. When I am moved by certain music, my desire is to be drawn into it, and share it, with equal measure.
This Saturday’s meeting of musical minds, in the heavyweight form of Pressure Roots Hi-Fi and Toxic Sound System, was a marathon length of fine roots reggae, and beyond. Two conscious rigs, weaved together with dub sirens and traditional one turntable set-ups, took their turns at half hour sets, moving on to two track duals, through the five hour set.

As moths drawn to a flame, the rhythm, richness and physicality of sound drew more and more to the dance floor, and with the change from one rig to another, the beat’s epicentre shifted the few metres from the forefront of one rig to another. Those that sought that amplified spot shifted also with sound, inspiring a hardcore few to move for hours without a break, with only the gap between records for a short breather. As with many forms of music that truly inspire movement, dance, tonight’s was no exception.

We are fortunate to have, not only one, but two home-grown high quality reggae rigs, that deliver conscious sounds, to the town of Falmouth, with a passion and understanding that deserve the acclaim they are due. Next time you see the flyers around town, or Facebook, for any of their gigs, check them out, and don’t forget your dancing shoes.

WASTED

Oh the tangled web we weave. There is song, from decades ago, that has words in it that bear such a close resemblance to the consistent thread through my life at present, 'but I'm just a soul whose intentions are good, Oh Lord, please don't let me be misunderstood'.

It is finally dawning on me that my interactions with those around me, with regards to misunderstanding, is genuinely a two way street. Although sometimes there's roadworks with confusing signage and much disruption, causing delays, at times, but yes, it's a two way street.
My understandings of my interactions with those that get close to me, are very often misunderstandings, because my interpretations are clouded by my desires. These desires probably bear no relationship to the reality of the situations i find myself in and the interpretations i give them. Equally the person, or persons concerned, are probably doing the same thing! The result is still the same though, i feel such enforced solitude, due to my inability, or bad timing, to establish clearer understandings and acceptances of those i seek these things from.

So how does one get around these cloudy perceptions and misunderstanding? If only i knew, i would write a hefty coffee-table book about it, and make sure it was on sale for Christmas, sell millions of copies and then i could afford to buy some friends!!! But seriously, i think my personal problem, and I'm not speaking for everyone here, is that i place too much importance in words, gestures, deeds, text messages, drunken outbursts, beautiful moments, frustrating disagreements and practically any other type of interaction with the good the bad and the ugly people in my life (i hasten to add I'm finding difficult to think of anyone that is ugly in my life, except for the fleeting glimpses of my own reflections!) So, maybe it is down to me to curb my desires? Having said that my desires are very often based upon my needs, and to that end it is difficult to curb a desire that is a need. It has been said that wisdom is being at peace with what one does have, rather than being frustrated and upset by what one doesn't have. I would like to think i agree with that sound philosophy, and it is sound. I do have a lot of things in my life that i am thankful for, but there are other fundamental things that i don't have. It's those things that are at the root of my desires/needs. So how does one stop being frustrated and upset by the continual search for these desires/needs remaining fruitless? Be patient, that's it, be patient. Let these things come to me. So, i'm waiting..... still waiting.....still waiting, oh sod this, lets just get wasted, that'll solve everything.

COLOUR SUN and SIMON DRINKWATER at THE JACOBS LADDER INN, thursday 18th November 2010

The thing about Nick Drake’s music is that, even after 36 years since his untimely death, it remains mystical, and to that end, it is left entirely open to interpretation, to both the listener and would-be performer alike, with sensitivity or otherwise. This Thursday evening’s tribute to the late composer and performer, Nick Drake, was undeniably performed with the former. For those that had the good fortune to be present, it was one those very rare cases of being in the right place at the right time, when those that will hear about it after the event, will kick themselves for not having been among the chosen few that where present to soak up the warm and loving music that was pervasive throughout the evening, a musical experience that money could never have paid for.

From the very first ripples of sweet harp music right up until the last cover number, performed by Jeremy, Fiona and guest Simon, under the umbrella of Colour Sun, most, if not all watching and listening, where spell bound.

I defy you to tell me last time you where in a pub when a musician managed to silence the whole room for 15 minutes and only two numbers. That is exactly what Simon Drinkwater did, opening the evening with his graceful, subtle and passionate harp playing. To say that you could hear a pin drop in the spaces would have been no exaggeration. Was it the unusual choice of instrument, or the heart-felt rendition of the songs, or both? It is hard to tell. All I know it is that it is the only time I have been in a pub when people have rushed out of the door in order to answer their mobile phone, so as to not disturb the magic.

Colour Sun, with Fiona on fretless bass, Jeremy on various open tuned guitars and Simon guesting on guitar (with and without violin bow) and glockenspiel. Continued the evening with a mix of their own numbers and a handful of Nick Drake covers. I’d like to think that Nick himself where looking down on the evening and thinking that if he’d wanted a group of musicians perform with him, these where the ones he would have chosen. If for nothing else but because all the songs where performed with equal passion and intimacy, that made for the ingredients of what was a truly special evening for all those attending.

It is likely that a performance like this will not happen again soon, as the whole event was the coming together of so many elements, as the sum total being so much greater than any individual. And, as I have already said, it is properly about just being in the right place at the right time.

THE SECRET OF SUCCESS

It is nearly two months since I've written anything, but the song remains the same (out of tune and boring i know), and this is how it goes;

Still i am disquieted by my own mind, my heart, my soul. Surely i have everything? A roof over my head, a family around me, working in a job with my hands, and i am reasonably healthy. Yet i still seem to be running in sand emotionally. This feeling of being alone whilst everything is essentially really OK is such a luxury I know, as there are millions of people that real are suffering with a lot more immediate problems, much more serious than the emotional cravings of a middle-aged middle-classed mediocre sufferer of stereotypical midlife-crisis wank. And to that end, perhaps i should try and be less selfish. But, in my own defence, it is still predominant and pervasive throughout everything i do and think, which is doing my head in. Will i ever be happy with my lot?

So what do i do? Stop mincing around, be a real man and just get on with life, and consider myself lucky? Or sink even deeper into a self obsessed whingeathon? I wouldn't mind if all of this was making good art, or at the very least, making a good living out of the drive it/my mind possesses. But all it does is descend in the form of a dense fog over myself and, subsequently, over those that have the misfortune to be closest to me as well.

There are times when i do have fleeting glimpses of what is close to euphoria, and these times i treasure. These moments seem to be fairly random in their apparition, and make me realise that they are driven by outside forces, not by my own will. By this i mean that i am not the instigator of the euphoric moments but i am experiencing the moments as a result of someone or something else. I would like to point out. at this time, that i am realistic enough to understand that i do not expect these wonderfully fragrant moments of time to be hugely constant, or consistent. I just have a yearning for them to be less sparse.

Am i the only one who thinks this way? Or are you all blissfully happy and at one with yourselves and your world? Do let me know your secret of success if you are. Also , is there anyone out there that understands what i'm trying to share here? If so, please say something. In the mean time, if there is anyone out there that knows me well enough, appear to me and give me a laugh, and maybe some chocolate too.

THE POWER OF THE WHINGE

I'm not entirely sure why I'm writing this. It's been over a month since I've written anything, and that was a large amount of bollocks anyway. 'Searching', searching for what? If i didn't know myself better, I'd be wondering why i was doing this at all. All this introverted, self obsessed whinging and whining. Anyone would think i was really Lost In Space, certainly, at least, in my own world.
It is a great luxury , to be able to whinge so publicly. To be able to bare my soul, and get away with it. No one's really interested anyway. There's only my mother and my conscience reading this stuff and possibly taking it all in, and i seriously think one of us isn't really remembering any of it, and I'm not thinking about my mother here.

So, where am i anyway? In life? In my head?
Who knows. One day up , the next down.
I guess i thought that i would be in a life less ordinary than the one i have. Not the stereotype, not the rock star, the racing driver or the famous footballer type thing. More about achievement, personal achievement. By now i would have hoped I'd been so profound in something creative and loving I'd done, that i would have influenced others to go on and be equally profound. That sort of thing. Something truly beautiful. But yet again, isn't that just a luxury? to be creative, artistic?
Surely there's enough suffering in this world, without the nonsense that I'm thinking n fighting with in my head every day?
Perhaps I'm starting to believe my own bollocks, that i real am. really am what? Able to create beauty and change things or people?
Or perhaps it's all about reaching out, needing to be wanted, loved, understood? There I go again 'Love, acceptance and understanding', It's certainly a common thread in most of what I seem to be writing.
So this is it, either it IS about just that, needing love acceptance and understanding, or it's all a load or pretentious wank, all bollocks.
You, my friends, have the power to decide. Oh what power you have over such a tortured soul. What a luxury for all of us.
Yes, it's a great luxury to be able to whinge so publicly and get away with it.

The power of the whinge? None at all.

IS CHOCOLATE THE ANSWER?

Increasingly, I'm finding that I am desiring food, thinking about it all the time. I'm even going to bed thinking 'what shall I eat tomorrow?'. Cereal, bread, fish, bacon, anything with sugar in it, especially chocolate. Drink too, tea, tea and more tea, and then some strong coffee to wash it down with.

Am I having a growth spurt? Or am I craving because I'm pregnant and I don't know it? That would explain the belly that increases girth with the weeks and months. Or are these cravings replacing something I'm missing or not getting, a substitute for something?

I was told the other day that I looked like I was searching for something, and I know I've written about this before on these tiny pages, so it's nothing new to the few that read them, but this particular friend has never read any of my ramblings so perhaps she has a point. My initial response was 'aren't we all searching for something?', and it took a fair bit or persuasion for her to qualify her reasoning for saying so. This may have been because I was a little harsh in my persuasive questioning, as I was surprised that I might look like I'm searching, because, up until now I always thought I was internalising my 'searching', mainly to cover my thoughts as they are not always in line with social acceptability as to what I might consciously or subconsciously be 'searching' for. I thought I was doing a great job of hiding them!

I guess that I should question further what it is I actually look like when I'm 'searching', is it all the time or just part of the time? I did press the young lady concerned a little , in order to alleviate my paranoid concerns that I might be advertising my thoughts in neon signs where ever I go, and she said that I looked like I was 'looking for adventure'. This, equally was a suprise, and I feel there may need to be more questioning when the time is right, but I've always thought I was the un-adventurous type, the stay at home type, the 'travel in my head' type. So I find it a bit of a surprise that I might be giving off these twin impressions of 'searching' and 'adventure'. Perhaps I should be questioning myself a little more too.

Perhaps I should just buy another bar of chocolate.

GLASSES

Did you know that i like my new glasses a lot? They are varifocal, which means i can see long distance and i can read clearly, with the same pair of glasses. Not many people know that.

A MAN AND A WOMAN

Quite a few decades ago, when I was a burgeoning grown up, I lived in a city that promised me so much, and yet all it gave me was the freedom of movement that only comes with the anonymity of a ghostly shadow. In those fallow years, out of any significant relationship, I had a time of writing stoned out stories alone with accompanying doodles, folded them neatly, putting them in envelopes and sending them to a woman that lived hundreds of miles away. She was my friend, and yet she was a woman.

It is quite possible that she no longer remembers my name, any more than I do hers. But the memory that is still etched in my mind, is the naive hope I placed in her. For I craved the love, acceptance and understanding that I thought was possible between us, even if I was only wanting these things from a woman who was never my girlfriend, only my friend. I have been left with the underlying perception that our friendship was solely based on her polite acceptance of my quite, but persistent desperation. Perhaps she could have saved us both the time and just told me to fuck off years before.

It has been said to me on several occasions, and quite emphatically, that within a friendship of a man and a woman, not only that it is unlikely that it will ever be just platonic, that there is always be sexual tension, but also that the woman are in control of the stop and go signs, that should they want to, allow the man to step over the line.

By stark contrast Simone de Beauvoir, in her insightful book The Second Sex, gently submits the idea that all woman wish to be dominated, taken control of, loved and protected by their chosen partner, a warrior in tweeds and golden rimmed spectacles. So here is the question to all ladies out there, who is right, my wife or Simone de Beauvoir? Surely this is a paradox of such extremity and fundamental understanding that it cannot be answered so easily. perhaps it is a mix of the two thoughts? As we all know, life is never as black and white as the written or spoken word, there is so much to consider here, and probably never resolved. But I am a simple and confused man, and, as with most men, I feel I have to fix things, to feel I have done something useful, positive and life affirming. But this seems to be out of my control and in yours. Is it we, as men, that have been subliminally allowed control of a few islands in our lives, such as the dish washer and the garden shed? Whilst beside us our women press all the required buttons. Or is it that women quietly and passively want us to push those same buttons for ourselves, in doing so taking control of our relationships, what ever they may be.

I am genuinely confused, i find it hard taking control of my own life, now i find out that i might have to do the same with someone else's to. So if you know the answer please help me know what tools to get our of my toolbox so i can start fixing it.

THIS MUST BE THE BIG ONE

Increasingly, over the past few years, and out of the stress, strain, highs, lows, darkness and light, I have come to formulate an idea of what it is that I am searching for in life, and it is this; Love, acceptance and understanding. I must say that although essentially I am getting all three of these things, from family and friends, I have always felt that I needed more. However, in the most recent times it has occurred to me that maybe my continued search may reveal answers a lot closer to home that I have previously expected.

Long before a growing family surrounded me with their love and demands, not always in equal measure, my heart was consumed with the real need for all three of these security laden emotions in my life. Having been involved in a small number of significant relationships in my adult life, I thought I had, with the wisdom of hindsight , a fairly clear idea of where to look and find these hidden jewels of the human makeup. As ever, we all find that our idea of what we expect from those around us, very often, in the fullness of time, fall short of our expectations. I do understand , as I get older , that we are neither realistically able to expect a perfect and exacting level of these highly desirable human traits, nor are we likely to ever find them in any state near perfection. We are all flawed, by our very nature, there are hairline cracks in us all, and it is only in time that one gets to know someone else well enough to see those cracks. Why then , do we focus on the imperfections that these cracks present when all it does is detract from the wider view of the glorious gem that every person can be seen to be? It is also , sadly , a reciprocal process. Others' expecting perfection from myself will always be sadly disappointed.

This is where my focus has been drawn to in recent times, myself. The light has only just started to go on in my darkened room of a mind. with only a dimmer switch to play with, I have not really had the understanding of how to turn that switch up to maximum, but the light is getting a little brighter over time. What this light is slowly revealing is that I should be looking to myself a little more for these desired nuggets. I have, for many years, have very little love , acceptance and understanding of my own self. Perhaps I should be learning to do so a little more, rather that expecting to find these things in others as not only a security thing but also as a guiding light, an inspiration. We all know that, in time, we will be let down in one way or another, by those we know and love, equally we will do the same to others as well. But, I am starting to see that if we have very little love, acceptance and understanding for our own selves, how are we going to be effective at doing the same for others as well? What the process of learning is of this hidden art, I don't really know, and perhaps you may be able to give a little guidance in this largely uncharted territory for me. I am, until I have any further inspiration, going to try and not be so hard on myself, cut myself a little slack and say 'well done' a little more often, even if I think I don't deserve it.

There again, perhaps I should just get laid.

YOU'LL PAY FOR YOUR ACTIONS

Being spontaneous is not something i do easily, if at all. Most things I do are considered, even if it's a quick calculation of possible negative outcomes to a move, a word, a deed, that stops me being a dyed in the wool spontaneitist.
Imagine, to my surprise when, a few days ago i was just that, spontaneous. Now, at this point, i must say that there is no likelihood of me revealing the details of my selfish acts for fear of incrimination, but i think i am safe in saying that there was no violence or nudity, at least not total nudity anyway.

I find myself, as a consequence of my own action, from my perspective at least, it has unsettled me. Not in a bad way, just a questioning way, partly because i was not the only one involved in the whole proceedings, and that my thoughts are what a possible fool I've made of myself. But also because i feel there was nothing wrong in what i did at the time (I have to justify it because i don't really want to feel i was foolish). The dictionary definition for spontaneous is ; Arising from a natural inclination or impulse,self-generated.I have thought about this and i find i have a question about this, why? Why are we spontaneous? All i can come up with is these three things;
1)Gut reaction, 'The English word 'emotion' is derived from the French words émotion and émouvoir. This is based on the Latin emovere, where e- (variant of ex-) means 'out' and movere means 'move''(I'm not that clever,it's just a quote).
2)The hope or desire of the heart, subconsciously appearing through a 'spontaneous' action but already hoped for.
3) Alcohol fueled. We all know what a disinhibitor it can be! those of us that have partaken of the evil brew that is.
In my case i think it was probably all three!

If there's anyone actually reading that has some ideas on this subject, please feel free to comment 8-)

It is only now, having had several days of refection, that is becoming clear to me that not only was it quite liberating to be so spontaneous. However, as i reflect apon the possible importance of my actions, i feel there's a fifty-fifty chance it could go either way, that it has either inspired or embarrassed some people, and to those that know to what i'm refering, i am now hoping, really hoping, that it is the former, not the latter.

I THINK THIS JUST ABOUT SAYS IT FOR A STARTER

" A man who was merely a man and said the sort of things Jesus said would not be a great moral teacher. He would either be a lunatic - on the level with the man who says he is a poached egg - or else he would be the Devil of Hell. You must make your choice. Either this man was, and is, the Son of God: or else a madman or something worse. You can shut Him up for a fool, you can spit at Him and kill Him as a demon; or you can fall at His feet and call Him Lord and God. But let us not come with any patronising nonsense about His being a great human teacher. He has not left that open to us. He did not intend to." C.S.Lewis

DROWNED WITHOUT TRACE

Your words have drifted too far from me,
And mine have from you the same,
Where once there was a flowing spring,
Of sparkling clear praise and honour,
Has meandered alone murky rivers,
To join an ocean of nouns and adjectives,
Drowned without trace,
No meaning,
No sense,
No clear understanding why,
Just left with a salted swirl of undertow.
Now only a real longing thirst to find,
That source of the spring of sparking rhyme.

A LIST OF THINGS THAT MAKE UP ME

If you could see the things i see,
If you could feel the things i feel,
If you would know the things i know,
If you would watch me long enough you would see the movement,
If you listen hard enough you would hear my heart beat,
If you look into the dark you will see me cry,
If you look past the light you can see me smile,
If yoy can bear to stay long enough you may see me die,
if you can see inside me you may reach the top of the mountain,
to see the sun set and the moon rise...

STREAM WRITING 4O

Let us look at the evidence,
there is no evidence,none at all,
if this where a court case it would be thrown out of court,
but it´s not.
So what am i working with here?
Feeling,gut instinct?
So why do i doubt it?
Perhaps there is evidence, that one 'sees' subconsciously,
our heart seeing things of the heart,
a word,a gesture,a movement.
Equally perhaps we are afraid of our judgement of such situations, because what we see is not so evident as to conclusively prove something that our heart sees in the blink of an eye?
In these times of instant, instant mobile, text, facebook, blog, whatever the media one uses, it is so so easy just to press send.to react instantly to our hearts desire, to the nudging of our heart.
Perhaps one should wait a little and look at what is before us, in our heart, spirit, mind,soul, gut, what ever you wish to call it.
Then to look outwards,as equally as inwards, and trust one´s heart, to move accordingly, even if it turns out to be wrong.

DREW'S LOT

Drew moved slowly down the hall, his head still hurting and his temples throbbing from the late-night and early morning session that seem to have only just ended. He had consumed everything in his flat that was liquid and drinkable. Finding strength to pause, even in his heavily inebriated state, at the bleach and old floor polish he’d found in the cupboard under the sink. Reminding himself that even though the previous day had been longer and harder than 24 hours was ever meant to be, that death by cleaning out the insides of his stomach and leaving a beautiful shine would make the pathologist’s job too easy. If he is going to leave this planet by self-destruction he will make it as messy as possible, something with a bit of blood and guts, a bit like one of the poor victims in a low budget 80’s horror movie.
He caught a glimpse of himself, out of the corner of his bloodshot eye, in the large hallway mirror that hung along the wall by the front door. His reflection reminded him of the cartoon character Pig Pen in the Peanuts comic strip, with wild untamed hair complete with fleas jumping from his head to look for less traumatic places to nest, and all of this in three dimensions instead of only two. It made him feel as if he really had woken up in a low budget 80’s horror movie, fully clothed and about to be axed in half by his landlady, Mrs.H, as she appeared, regular as clockwork, from the doorway of her smokey kitchen.
“Morning Mister Callington, off to work then?” she rasps from between her nicotine stained teeth.
“ No Mrs. H., I’ve just found a dead body in my best suit in the wardrobe and I’m just walking it to the bins”
“ What was that Mister Callington?”She says screwing up her beady eyes.
Drew had, for the six years he’d been living in Bristol’s answer to 10 Rillington Place, taking great self-amusement in Mrs.H.’s profound deafness. Of which, to her, he was constantly grateful. If only he could find someone else to share his great witticisms with.
“ I said yes Mrs. H. just getting the rubbish ready for the bins.” he shouted, shaking his brain inside his fragile head. Mrs.H. reacting with one if her many confused looks. All of this almost making Drew forget his mail on the way out through the front door.

ALWAYS, SOMETIMES, MAYBE

Always, Sometimes, Maybe

Always,
Although I am now a man and fully grown,
I see myself, again, at eleven years old and far from home,
Pleading with my mother, as I start to groan,
Not to leave me on my own,
Not to take away my comfort zone,
As I pump coins into the telephone,
Only to end the call with a tone,
That tells me there’s no longer anyone home,
And, for now, I’m on my own,
It will be like this until I’m grown,
In pieces, to the winds, my heart is blown,
Gotta grow and don’t you moan,
Learn to solve life’s problems all alone,
Work things out on your own.
Still I need to know I’m not alone.

Sometimes,
In times like this, I have tried
To remember how Jesus died,
For he suffered much more, it cannot be denied,
As those that witnessed had no reason to have lied,
How his mother and friends knelt down and cried,
For he took the all the pain the world supplied,
And on that cross we pushed a spear into his side,
To his father, forsaken, he cried,
Had God turned his back and denied,
That, forever, he’d be at his side?
Is it all just a big lie?

Maybe,
God had a plan to give us all a cure,
Through Jesus, who was pure,
That, for us all, the pain he would endure,
Because, in his father, he was sure,
That this final act would lead to more,
That this would open up the door,
To God, and heaven, for evermore,
That the angels would sing an overture,
That God really loves this dented world for sure.
That, if we choose, we can walk through the door,
And although we will still suffer more,
We have someone to pick us up off the floor,
Clothe us in his love so we can do more,
So all the angels will still sing an overture,
Forever more.

SALLY

Sally lay on her back and stared at the cracks in her bedroom ceiling, the one that she liked best was the long crack that snaked from the wall towards the bare light fitting in the middle of the ceiling, it reminded her of the outline of a mountain range. Off in the distance Sally heard the church bell strike seven o’clock and already it was too hot be comfortable. Sally had been awake for almost an hour wondering, yet again, what the muffled noises from downstairs had been during the early hours of the morning. She knew it had been her mum and dad, it was never anyone else. She had slept very hazily through most of the noise, then the silence, until the morning sun had pierced the curtainless window, arched across the pop star postered wall and bathed Sally’s bed in a warm orange glow, which she ignored as long as she could.
Sally sat upright, swung her legs over the edge of the bed and got dressed from the pile of crumpled clothes that had spent the night on the floor. She picked up a small box from underneath her pillow, crept out onto the landing and tiptoed down the stairs, being careful to avoid the creaking treads. She hurried along the hallway, avoiding going into the front room for fear of what she might find. She carried on through the kitchen, past the piles of dirty plates and stale food. She gently pulled on the back door, and then slipping out into the garden like a cat leaving through a cat flap, she was free. Sally ran across the unkept garden through a hole in the hedge and into the acres of field behind the row of houses. As she ran up the hill she could smell the grass beneath her feet, the perfume lifted her spirit, unconsciously leaving her with a smile on her face .A minute later she was at the old oak tree, a tree was at least a hundred years older Sally and the house she lived in. Its knurled exposed roots spread from its wide trunk several feet in every direction, like some petrified pre-historic monster. This was Sally’s tree, her fortress, her castle.
A long time ago, Sally had worked out the best route for her to climb the near vertical trunk the fifteen feet it took to get to the lower branches. She scrambled, slipped and scraped her way to the place that is her favourite spot, on the lowest and thickest branch, where there is just enough room for Sally to sit comfortably. To Sally, this is the best place in the world; no one could get to her here. She would sit for uncounted hours and listen to the swaying branches creak and the leaves rustle like the sound of summer rain. She could see back down the hill towards the estate she lived on, and if she looked the other way she could see to the top of the hill and into the hazy blue sky. Usually a small heard of black and white cattle grazed the field, but the summer had scorched the grass this far up the hill and had left it dry and yellow. Even the Oak tree’s parched leaves had lost their rich green colour.
Sally removes the small octagonal box from beneath her matted cardigan; the lid is secured to the base with a perished and knotted rubber band. The material covering the box and the lid is fade and worn, little tufts of the material sprout from each of the corners. Sally gently prises away the rubber band and lifts the lid to reveal the hidden treasure within. Three small brass curtain rings. some plastic curtain hooks,, a couple of pink pills that were found on the floor of the front room, one tarnished silver coloured earring, a hair clip and half a dozen acorns from beneath Sally’s castle in the soft barked Oak. All these things collected like a proud Magpie, all with no real use or value, except to the little girl in the tree.

'I am he as you are he as you are me and we are all together'

Anyway,back to 'I am He as you are he as...', is it nature that still makes me find it hard to put Me first?Am i deluded?am i already putting myself first anyway and i just don't really notice it? is it western culture to be able to even have the time,space and energy to ask such a trivial set of questions?

I guess it's always been a balance of guilt against what i feel i can get away with.

Today,i managed to get out for a couple of hours on my own,it was essentially to meet up with some friends at a pre planned coast path walk that we get to do every couple of months.Something which I've always enjoyed very much for many reasons(except when it rains heavily!).But ,on this occasion i was delayed in starting at the same time as them,so i re planned to,rather than miss out on the walk altogether,go along later,and start from the other end of the walk and join them when we meet along the path.
This had the effect of giving me the chance to do a reasonable length drive ,with my own music on the CD player and my own thoughts allowed to roam around the car and myself.Then a wonderful walk along a sunlit and rugged coast path.Just over a mile into the walk,away from the sight of the town and overlooking the the deep green ocean rhythmically haul it's foaming waves against the cliff face rocks.,i sat on some boulders and just stopped,and i mean stopped.it is so long since i just stopped,did nothing but look at what was going on around me.to take in the beauty and majesty the sea scape,of the tentative February sunlight,the salt air breeze.It gave my thoughts room breath,stretch their legs.

So why did i feel guilty for being there?Why did i have to feel like I'm having to get away with it?

Perhaps it's good to be selfish? Perhaps John Nash did have it right,to do what's best for oneself and for the group,but definitely in that order sometimes.

Certain things stay with me and certain things just vanish into the ether,but i hope that the time i spent alone,on a boulder,receiving the joy of what nature had to offer,will stay with me for a long time.

EX VEGGIE FINALLY UNDERSTANDS THERE'S TWO SIDE TO EVERY ARGUMENT,HAVING SEEN BOTH

Upon reflection,it is clear to me that wisdom is not always proportional to age.that clarity can come from any direction,that vision is not limited by understanding,and equally understanding is not limited by vision.

In the theory of 'one has to do what's best for oneself and everyone in a group', I would agree that all decisions will not show up instantly.Be they with good effect or bad.If only it where that all decisions where for the greater good!the mistake I believe I have made in the past,(and i am not looking for sympathy here) is that i have tended to put what is best for the group before considering the long term implications of effect on myself. This is not an attempt to evade future responsibilities to others in any group in favour of selfishness. It is more to do with being good to one's self so as to have a benefit not only ones self but also the good of the group as well.

I would ask you to consider the implications of the order of whom is done best by. Of not putting ones self first but the group. Not only does it leave oneself open to the deterioration of personal maintenance,therefore not maintaining well being and peace of mind and body(to best advantage),but also it leaves oneself open to abuse from those that wish to cause harm,pain,dissension,disruption,division and a lot of other things that are nasty beginning with the letter d!

I have found ,finally being armed with a little wisdom,that not everyone seeks the greater good of the group.I'm not talking about the obvious crazies that act out their violence and intimidation upon individuals and the group for their own evil ends. I'm talking about those that are the wolves in sheep's clothing amongst us,that come with the same selfish and evil intent. Be aware of those that are far from sweetness and light,that sham us into believing they share the same dream of the greater good for all, whilst planning a check mate behind our backs.

I don't believe that i have the perfect answer to the imperfect world. but i do believe that what is starting to dawn upon me after 5 decades of inhabiting this world, is it time to start looking more after number 1 first so that one can start helping number 2,3,4,5,6,7,etc with a clearer head and a stronger body.

Perhaps in the end,the majority of us(you) are singing from the same hymn sheet,and that Nature's rules apply predominantly.We live,we seek shelter,sustenance,love and acceptance.Then somewhere along the line we die.

Perhaps your take on all this is a little more positive than mine i think.

how does a week go by without you noticing?

A week since my last posting and i've no idea where it's gone!
it's certainly been busy i can say that for sure.
got a gig tonight and i'm knackered before i even start.
I know i'll enjoy it anyway,always do.
Nothing profound to say today,so i'll just wish myself good luck for tonight.
think i'm ready!

NEW POST, NEW DAY, SAME OLD S##T

Get over what? my dear brother,
Get over the ranting shit?
Get over rambling shit?
Get over the boring shit?
Get over pangs of guilt for being healthy and reasonably happy,when others ARE suffering?
Get over the desire to be heard?
Get over the self importance?with a following of 4 i think not,
Get over saying what i want to?
Get over saying what i need to?
Get over wanting to talk to someone who might actually be listening?
Get over exorcising my thoughts that need to be aired or I'll go crazy if i don't?
Get over what? my dear brother.

WHAT A BUNCH OF S##T

What a bunch of mindless, self obsessed shit this blog is.when i look what's happening around me, i don't feel I've got much right to spout such sniveling limp wristed time wasting drivel.How do we justify such comfort and peace in our lives when there are millions of people,just like you and me,REALLY suffering.
I just don't know.
I feel guilty,
My heart aches.

NEW POST, YES PLEASE

A new post,
a new sign post,
yes please ,
that would be great!
How about a map as well,
some sort of guide book wouldn't go a miss either.
Guess I gotta keep going,
in the grey fog,
without a compass and miles from home.
Shhh,there's someone over there calling my name,
just a shadow in the mist at the moment,
getting clearer and clearer,
as they get nearer and nearer

NICE SUN,SHAME ABOUT THE SUB ZERO

well,i must be the only person i know that cant stand the confining feeling of this cold weather.
stifling my movement,my business,my sleep ,my heart.
I can understand why there is so much of an issue in Scandinavia with all things depressing about winter.
Coincidentally Karen has given me a book by Finnish author Tove Jannson,called The True Deceiver. A good,but weirdly positive insight into extreme winter.Gladly something we don't have to worry about in Cornwall.Mind you ,the weather people are saying this the extreme winter we experience 'once a generation'.How long is a generation?Not long enough as far as i'm concerned....

WHO KNOWS?

Who really know you?
Who really cares?
Who waits for you?
Who hasn't got the time of day?
Who fights for your rights?
Who just wants a fight?
Who would climb mountains for you?
Who would rather stay at home?
Who knows? Really knows?

Into Yesterday's Counterbalance

Had a chance to get out for a walk,
on my own,
walked around the Point,
just in time for the remains of the sunset,
the sun now hidden by slate blue table top clouds,
the palest of blue sky holds wisps of Violet turning to deep crimson,
i stopped listening to my ipod,
exchanging German Ambient for coastline nature,
rasps of shoreline abrasion and crack of seagull,
Peace,ice cold but peace all the same,
as true dark changed everything into shadow i started back for home,
i saw faces i knew and some i didn't,
a girl appears along the path,
ghostly face in the light of her mobile phone,
in her own world,
slowly my real life returns,
as does the German Ambient

bear,squirrel,snake they've got the right idea

snow has arrived ,and all i want to do is hybernate,drown in sleep,be a frozen precipitation party pooper.Just wake me up when it's all over,in spring.

Congratulations,it's a boy 8-)

Not really sure what to write right now but feel i should start with a first step.I know it's gonna be hard to keep up as,now the holidays are officially over i guess there's not gonna be to much time to do this.Not sure WH i'm doing it,or who i'm doing it for but here goes.....