Thursday, April 20, 2006
Ravenous for you
Ravenous, like no other
Ravenous for my lover
Tangled up in these strings
Brought back to earth by crashing things
Feel the heat and feel the sting
Circles of spirals and peace
Exploring all that lies beneath
Backward steps and straight ahead
Lost in the tender zone
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
The role of Judas in history – who are his heirs today and who will speak up for him? Portrayed as wretched, evil, bitter, misunderstood, dark and brooding, always self-seeking, characteristics that cross many boundaries of behaviours and action in this wide world. Where is the truth about him and where are our so called leaders in relation to him?
Christ’s confidant: Jesus said to him “Step away from the others and I shall tell you the mysteries of the kingdom, of my kingdom. Where you plant those poison seeds the most fruitful vine shall grow, the clearest, sweetest wine shall be made from the fruit. The troubled acre will come to yield the greatest harvest of them all. For you have understood your part in my plan and have remained faithful to it. Ignore the empty curses and disregard the bleak memories your name shall recall for them. What do they know or understand after all?
Loyal servant: “You will be cursed by the other generations, that is the price of your immortal standing. They have not understood the events of these last days, but you will exceed all of them. For you will sacrifice the man that clothes me and in this act you are reborn.”
Triumphant: Jesus answered and said “You will come to rule over them. The holy purity of human rejection is not so hard to bare, even for the simple and straightforward that is the only path that can succeed. I am going there first, you will follow; they are reluctant because they cannot see the way but you shall be the pathfinder for many. You must stay strong and faithful to this destiny for in those days they shall come to curse your ascent to the holy.”
Possessed by the devil: Then Satan entered into Judas, called Iscariot, one of the twelve. And Judas went to the chief priests… and discussed with them how he might betray Jesus. Luke 22: 3-4.
Betrayal and self-possession: “What choice do you really have in this eternal chess game, what influence and by what or whose motivation do you act. Are you a pawn or a king? You have no clear knowledge of these things. You slip and trip on this broken path, you forage and gather to live and by your appetites test and condemn yourself. When I speak to the world who listens? Voices cry from every household and street corner, from every market and frontier. “Go this way, go that way!” You listen to the cacophony of this human pandemonium and try to make sense of it, but no common strand or clear meaning can be found. This is the rhetoric and graffiti of the chaotic and undisciplined minds that will tear all good things down and apart eventually.”
You say, “there is the church, see how it is built, see how strong it stands, a perfect model for us to copy.” You copy, pilfer and plagiarise those ideas until they are dry husks and then you abandon them. Then you say, “we were wrong, that is not the way, see, this man has the answer, and so you follow him for a time, you tread in his footsteps and sleep in his doorway. You sneak and learn his secrets and then turn them against him and say, “We were wrong about him..” So in this process you do the greatest damage, you twist and torture the innocent, you lead them astray while you seek this muddled glory you believe is rightfully yours, never considering the harm you do all along the way.”
What must it feel like to always believe yourself to be right and righteous all the time? To hold up a public face of shining godliness that is so rotten beneath, corrupt and so diseased at it’s core and yet in the face of everything maintain it steadfastly.
They are afraid to ask the questions, they are afraid to speak out. You have trained them in your ways and they cannot and dare not speak out against you. A paper thin smile across the faces as you lead them to a manufactured hell. Nothing but wilful and cold manipulation and a constant stream of sugar coated evil messages and a need to control. I see what the mirror now reflects for you and I do not envy you your future.
Friday, April 14, 2006
Better than Madonna
Like Madonna in “like a prayer”
You are out there
Black and fragile
Sexy and unfathomable
Life is a mystery
Somewhere in the fantasy
Somewhere in the belief
Hold on and holding
Eyes wide open
This sunny morning
Tucked in and under
Hunger and wonder
That was us
That was you
This is us.
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
Romance burned there once
Slow like a watched candle
Hot like the yellow flame
Then back to blue again.
Tears and conversations
Moods and apologies and the clink
Of glasses and outpouring
Now yesterday is today
Facing the empty space
Reaching into a black name
Here lies the remains.
They were never truly together
Never completely apart
It was a hundred mistakes rolled into one
That made sense to friends
And never looked good on paper
Rolling in the cold snow
And running for shelter
But everything is consumed
They tell you not to look back,
Don’t be like them
Be some new bright idea
That doesn’t struggle to succeed
Until the harder times arrive and we sit.
As all must, sit and face that opposite thing
That made sense but now twists
Like the waiters corkscrew
Slowly pulling the seal from the neck
Uncorking the pressure
Spilling and dribbling
Something sweet and intoxicating
Safe for tonight and some other day perhaps
But destined to melt away.
Eat yourself silly
Don’t wait simply for me
Blame the penguins and the pelicans
Diving in shallows of the blue Red Sea
Where are the pickle farms and jar trees?
The twilight remedies
For the spaces in your mixed messages
The headaches that replace
Sleep yourself into stupor
Delight in the absurd dance
Of twitching eyebrows and snoring
And that signature backward glace
The verbs just trip the adjectives
The nouns and pronouns collide
And where to put the commas and apostrophes
I can never easily decide.
Wednesday, April 05, 2006
Live where you want to be
Not where you have to be
Somewhere beneath the moon and stars
Some place where your loved ones are
Lover, partner, family and friends
Sad to think this all must end..
Happy to know it is this way
In this electrical moment, I stay.
Relax and unwind, say goodbye to the daily stresses
They can belong to somebody else
They can grind down and trap and snare you
Escape yourself, if you dare to.
We first came up with Fairytale Management
Driving in my old Mini around the Hopetoun Estate
Now we’ve ended up living here
Funny to think we’ve managed this fairytale
All by ourselves.
When a man reaches a certain age, appetites and attitudes begin to change as time and experiences wear out the mind and body. More sleep, less sleep, more healthy food, and maybe more junk food, exercise more or exercise less. Breath in deeply, take smaller more efficient breaths, run, walk, stop, stop a little, stop a lot. Take time, now that you know more and can manage it, take less time for you have less real time left. Love more deeply, love more often, or do what you like and to hell with the consequences, then save yourself for some golden moment of fulfilment and retirement.
I like to watch, I watch and read all the time, I look around, take mental notes, remember times and places, faces, scribble them down in my memory in a blinding mental shorthand. Sights, sounds and smells, names on badges and advertising hoardings, book and cinema lists, routes, stories, newspaper columns and letters, radio captions, TV trailers and listings, web and email addresses, interviews and second hand chat. Overheard phone conversations, ring tones, number plates and sunglasses, clothes, hats, messages on T-shirts and bumper stickers, mannerisms, handbags and briefcases. Signatures. We all leave our signatures. The way you talk, comb your hair, colour it, touch it, toss it back or brush it from your eyes. You do things all the time; I notice them and note them. I give them meaning and significance, for you.
48 hours is the ideal recovery time but 24 can do under certain circumstances. The conflicts between sense and appetite and time and energy. The conflict between need and delivery, holding back or stepping out. Moving and standing still. In all of life timing is everything. Without it you are an uncoordinated, inexperienced teenager, a puritan caught in a dilemma of conscience, a drunk and swaggering middle aged man with no sense, or over the hill in a dementia driven dream world. There are other places and variations, there are other sets of circumstances, there are drives and deliberations to make. I choose my own ideal.
Passion is a hard nut to crack. A drive in the wilderness of lost years that leads you to an unexpected, rich and refreshing oasis. As you dive into the cool blue, reflective waters you realise you have passed this way a thousand times and yet missed this spot. A spot that has now drawn you deep into its life and sensations. You set up home with no regrets, save the past.
Guilt eats the heart like a fierce cancer. The tightrope walk between duty to others and duty to yourself and towards all the confused and inappropriate directions that you may head into. Guilt is a tightrope but when you fall from it there is only one direction you can go in. best to love yourself, the others will survive and to do so they will have to learn the same trick, hopefully more quickly than you did.
I like to drink, I like to taste, new and fresh flavours, subtle sensations, changes that bite back and then mellow down. I like the fresh intoxication of the second glass and the rush of the third. The deep drumming and persuasion of all that follows under the blind chasm of over indulgence, loss of control, sense and then consciousness. The stinging bitter regret and the blundering shame fully balance the experience and generally ensure decent lapses of time between incidences. I could be wrong. I like to drink from you, that couldn’t be long.
48 hours is the ideal but 24 will do. Fall outwith these guidelines and something will give eventually.
I like to watch. I like to watch you dressing, starting from the beginning, the daily routine and ritual, the order and the precision, the procession of habits and economies, the little techniques and repetitions like a hidden symphony. The checking, the setting out, the applying of cream or lotion still hidden by a towel or dressing gown. The process, not always time driven but by stages of feeling and fit and correctness, smooth tactile comfort, heat and cold. Short and to the point on a winters morning when the winter heating doesn’t provide an adequate shield, easy in the spring, lazy and longer but as deliberate in the summer. Autumn drums along with the summer memory till early October quickens the pace and heralds the change. I see you checking the clock just the same, but the train will not wait unless you become queen.
When a man reaches a certain age he doesn’t give a shit anymore. He is dissatisfied with himself and all around him. The realisation that the world is much more than imperfect produces only a slow and steamy rage that spits and bubbles like the lid of a black boiling kettle. Traffic, call centres, devices, sports commentators, politicians, experts and doctors, jargon and political correctness. Change. Early in the morning these things are tolerable, as the day progresses the vapour builds in the chamber and signs of stress appear. By night they are pulsing and fretting like nitro glycerine in a barbeque on a roller coaster. Shit happens.
Guilt eats the heart like a fierce cancer but you must not give way to this red eyed, sleazy beast. Guilt was invented by the religious to batter the poor unbelievers with, until they cracked and capitulated into accepting their free but costly candy brained nonsense. It is a blunt and primitive instrument but very effective in the wrong hands. People love to tell you what you should be doing, thinking, feeling, saying and how you should be living and how you don’t shape up. This because they think they know best. They think they know best because they are not sure of anything and are feeling guilty about their own inadequacy. Guilt is of course most effective when self-administered in the form a coloured suicide cocktail served up by the smiling airhostess you would like to have sex with in the aeroplane toilet. You are on a family holiday at the time.
Passion is a harder nut to crack. Lose it and you are dead from the neck up and from the neck down. Grey and unforgiving. Losing the thrill of living is the end of your humanity, you spark is dead, your light blotted out, your signature disappearing from the page like rain from a street in the surprise heat after a thunderstorm. Work at caring and staying on the edge. Do not retire from life or love. When you kiss take a bite, lick and spit, do not roll over and die. When you go to a dance dance, when you go to a meeting speak, when someone asks your opinion and you are not sure, make something up on the spot. Eat hot food, drink angry drinks, play music loudly, play guitar and write songs and poems about things that matter, read the words you love aloud to anybody who will listen. Let your passion lead you into love, again and again, till your love leads back to passion.
48 hours is the ideal but 24 will do, 12 is pretty good and 6 is a daydream, which I am happy to hold onto.