Friday, 27 July 2012
I've been busy doing things of which I cannot speak. I ran with the men of stone who played till they dropped. They always come back. Little blighters. I pick up my bow and fire arrows of wrath. Then I take flight before the ambush. The noise was endless. I whispered sleep at that final moment and not one remained. We took to the night. Some noises are pins and pennies upon a stone. Some noises caught out like metal in the sand. Some noise is silence. I worry. I cannot find a vein of gold inside this rock that is not there. I worry about how to end it even though I did not start it. I worry that it will end too quickly. I’m terrified that the end will never come. I am a creature in a cave that cannot stand light. Golom. Beyond a healer’s magic. Where to throw this burden. Scatter its power. Melt it. Smelt it. Look away from the mirror. I am somebody but not too much of anybody else. The cat is sturdy but heavy and itchy. He feels the burden too. Robert de Niro in a taxi. He has decided the merits of a girl’s wishes among women and candles and men. Her will is unfounded. She must submit to his righteous attack. A noble act of violence. Wasteful yet necessary. A supervised theft. She is in view of the firing line and says naught. With permission. From some higher authority. To shoot.
Sunday, 15 July 2012
http://www.independent.co.uk/life-style/gadgets-and-tech/features/meme-theory-do-we-come-up-with-ideas-or-do-they-in-fact-control-us-7939077.html This is a theory that has bugged me of late. As someone who does not sit on the couch and watch in apathy as my brain cell count diminishes down the cathode ray of doom: how in control are we of our ideas? Could it be that those moments of genius are merely images that reflect our environment, like a dream before waking? It's all most annoying. Here we are creating things, coming up with stuff, painting, writing and rewriting. Then the shrink comes along and tells you that it's nothing but a result of the spindled yarn that becomes attached to your sleeve as you pass the hedge on the way to work. Seeing as theoretically the idea would have already existed, just not in anyone's mind yet, it would become nigh on impossible to give credit to a person for pioneering the idea. The person to conceive the new idea would be the one who was first 'confronted' by it. Now the 'idea' seems much more unyielding like some kind of savage dragon creature that pounces into the mind, injecting its victim with its highly contagious and virulent inspiration. How dare it. On the plus side it would really f up copyright laws.
I have a feeling that if I met any members of the RHCPs I'd find them annoying. The lyrics evoke visions in my mind of humanity and love stifled by benders and groupies in short skirts. That said, when one has f all to do theses albums are comforting. It could be that they sing from the stance of someone who has reached the top and realised that it isn't all it's cracked up to be. A lot of the songs reminisce of some moment in the past were things were perfect -- and an intense knowledge that all perfect things make up part of a wider illusion that cannot last.
Thursday, 12 July 2012
Sunday, 8 July 2012
Thursday, 5 July 2012
You're weary. Lay down your head. It can wait. Don't stress. You've mistaken me for the driver. I am not. I am a tiny cog in a machine. I spin around if a bigger cog needs me to. Just so it has enough motion to turn. But when that big cog isn't there I am still.