Last

This will be my last post on this blog. I may or may not start another one at some unknown time in some unknown future. There are many things I didn’t post on; sex, drugs, rock and roll, the church, everyday happenings. But thats not important, in fact not too much of anything is too terribly important. What is important is Life. People forget to live sometimes, they get involved with everyday and forget to look up, look around and… fucking smile just to smile, laugh because the world is there running in its little gerbil ball around the sun and we’re along for the ride or cry or just stand there and feel your heart beat. I’m talking about being alive not just living, people all over just live, its boring and it kills. There is a quote that floats around, says “live life to its fullest” we forget the important part of that sentence ‘live life’! “Be here now” “Live in the moment”, once again the beginning of those sentences is the important part ‘Be’, ‘Live’. People need to pull their head out of their collective asses and smell the fucking roses! I guess my last post is to be a rant and not a very good one at that. Life is all we have on this earth, its Gods gift that we, of all the animals, can recognise it and enjoy it, sadly we can also destroy it or worse forget about it.

There was a man standing there with a far and distant stare I asked him what he was looking at at and he said shhhh so I took a silent step back, in time he bowed to the horrizon turned and walked away, I smiled, I didn’t expect to see God today.

And so ends this wonderful experiment/experience thank you for your patients.

My Catharsis

If I write everyday It keeps demons at bay.

Livin’ a lie
Hopin’ to fly
Away
To a place called home

Information is God… …or is it Knowledge?
…Is Knowledge Wisdom or is Experience?
What is God.

Nervous Tick (le)

Bad Habit=Lewd Nun

Scribble Scribble
Seems the same. From up here.
Well down here. It’s better.

Ideas/Thoughts on paper are so much better than in the head; they don’t jumble about as much. On paper they reach a steady state, immobile & clean. A specimen that can be examined and corrected.

random poem

Breath, Mind and Tongue

Words undone

Unbound spewed forth & rebound
To ears

Give forth of breath life

Give forth of love and strife

All wrapped up pretty with a bow

Given as a gift to

random strangers
your dearest foe
your greatest love

A gift the animals envy

Your breath and tongue.

music memories

You know when you hear a song it brings back memories? Memories of a time or place or of a person, well what else are memories made of… To the point then. When I hear Eric Clapton my father springs almost instantaneously to mind. Memories of hearing that music in his workshop or just around the house. I remember the smell of potatoes cooking in a small kitchen, myself and my sister are running around doing who knows what. I remember 50 watt lighting and the shades drawn. In my mind its always just before dinner and we’re making the last preparations before eating; my sis and I are setting the table, I’m still grumbling about having to peel the potatoes again and my father is finishing up at the stove. Music is an amazing conduit for emotion-memory. A certain sound will remind you of a feeling and a person attached to it, it makes you angry or sad, makes you happy or nostalgic; some music is just air, stuff that has no attached emotion, no point of reference no shared experience between you and the writer, just blah. I get a lot of my musical tastes from growing up, what my friends listened to, what my folks listened to… Music has to have a feeling, it can’t just be empty time fillers.
so in conclusion fuck elevator music and thanks pops.

scattered thoughts on talk

Blah Blah Blah, Ha Ha Ha its all in the way
you speak.

Dry tones, humourus tones
Happy sad mad glad
not happy but not sad, indifferent,
euphoric.

How I shape my mouth to the words I speak
I give my words a meaning and a life when I
speak them, Imbue them
with power or just plainness.

These are scattered thoughts and thought processees about speech and speech patterns.

Vocal chords, lungs, lips, tongue, soft pallet hard pallet,
Teeth.
Soul.

Speech is given life, words are bought to life
Brought to bear on the issues at hand.
Words are given a soul, a borrowed soul;
It came from the speaker.

I Cant remember… at the moment

There is a memory I have, I can’t recall at the moment, but I’m not entirely sure it’s mine. I was replaying it in my mind a while ago and while I was I thought to myself, ‘what is this? It can’t be mine, I don’t remember that.’ It was very vivid, even if I can’t recall it now, maybe latter. It comes to me at random times, I’ll be sitting there and this memory will assault me, just not now. No memory ever comes on demand it seems, they have their own agenda. It’s like trying to catch motes of light reflecting dust. Memories… They just float like bits of brightly colored flotsam and jetsam; they sway-seesaw to the ground like autum leaves. Beautifully Uncatchable.