In A Good Way

MARLBOROUGH ROAD MASSIVE

For those of you reading this that don't know me well enough by now, i have to make something very clear about myself, I love music. I love to listen to it, I love to play music and I love to share music. That's why I DJ, as an expression of that love and a deep wish to share the music that effects me, in what ever way it does so, with others.

For me, the Marlborough road 'happening', on the day of the royal wedding (in case you don't know!), was such a spontaneous and uplifting time of sharing such music, that i just cant stop thinking about or talking about it. For a few short hours on that Friday, whilst some people in other parts of the country where celebrating a fairly important marriage, I like to think that the overwhelming majority of the people on Marlborough Road where celebrating being a community of diverse people, from the very young to the young at heart, in the only way they know how. By singing, dancing, smiling, eating, drinking and being merry. All of this done with a strong sense of peace and solidarity.

However, the only sadness is that both the authorities and the media wish to paint it with a much darker brush. For them they saw it as broken glass and taser guns, where a member of Parliament laments the demise of 'normal' inhabitants, others as somewhere that was a scary place to be, and where if media photographers pick up on the cigarette end of a story, all they will get is pictures of rubbish. There is always going to be a bad element in all walks of life, and the Friday's celebration on Marlborough Road was no exception. No one will condone the action of the smallest of minorities taking upon themselves to inflict damage or harm to anybody or anything, and we all know the world we live in is far from perfect. But i feel it is totally unfair that the overwhelming majority of 'normal' people that flowed along the street that afternoon should be tarred with the same brush, for one day in how many years, or decades even, the people reclaimed the streets for nothing more political than a celebration of life.

For me , the day was a restoration in warm, creative, and above all positive anduplifting human spirit, where it was possible to enjoy a few hours in the sunshine being happy together. Lets hope that we don't have to wait for another royal wedding to have a chance to express ourselves in the same manner again.

DROWNING NOT WAVING

How is it this box I'm in is getting smaller?

How is it I'm in this box in the first place?


The air in here is dank,


The leaden light in here hurts my eyes,


The smell of piss and body odour is overpowering


How do I get out of this box, and in to the fresh air?


Does it take ME to break the seal?


Do I have to wait for help?


Is the box actually real?


Or is it of my own making?


All I know is I didn't plan to be here,


I don't want to be here any more,


I need brightness, colour, warmth,


To feel the sun on my face.

SOME OF DEM DEAF AND SOME OF DEM BLIND

Maybe it's the timing, maybe it's my frame of mind at the moment, maybe, like one's sense of smell or one's sense of taste, my sense of sound is actively inciting emotions and feelings upon me, suggesting a time and a place in my history, and in this case, inducing a stage of lament. A lament for the past, for my youth. With this sense of sound, which is so evident in music, my thoughts and reflections are rose-tinted for the good old days of my youth , in the seventies and eighties. After just over two months of being blog writingly barren, the motive for finally putting my fingers to the keyboard was, yet again, music. What a hold and an influence it must have on me, music is , and always has been, pervasive in my life. Shaping my moods, my internal atmosphere. There are times, very rarely, when i cannot listen to music at all. I feel those time are usually when i am so emotionally spent that music is just too invasive or painful to even hit the start button on the CD player, when only silence will do. But, at the moment, it is a softer option of that extreme, the sad lament for past, things lost and things never to return. But, then again, the more i think about it, the more i realise that not only music seems to reflect my moods at any given time, but can also influence them. How many times have you actively chosen a piece of music to change your mood? I know it must be thousands for me. And with instant access to music on the Internet, it's so easy just to play your fave tunes. I even stumblingly tried dj'ing and mixing with two windows of You Tube the other night, and it worked (sort of!), got the toes tapping anyway!

So, it appears that music is a two-way street, it can influence and much as we can influence our selves by the choice of music we listen to. Not exactly a Revelation, but i know what I'm going to do now, put myself under my own influence with the use of music, I'm going to revel in the energy, the excitement and the life and hope for the future, that we all drew upon from the music of our youth. So, with a middle-aged-bone-creaking rebel cry i will sing to you, 'go tell your friend, we come again, ashes to ashes, dust to dust, another one bite the dust, some of dem def and some of dem blind, some of dem satta and looking for a sign, Nothing never done before the time, time, time'. 8-)

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.