To only ever talk of walking tall. Letting light shine only softly & seldom seeing signs of more. Missing out on milestones. A figure is fast approaching. A grey arch over a body of water. The streetlight shows the water lapping at the heel of the dusty concrete as a choice to steer clear is made. People pass on a bridge, eerily lit by the reflection of the floating, lower waves. At night it’s so much more sinister, the bodies draw close. There is tension as their paths cross.
A missed connection, a blind spot for fate, as they both look the other way. Their stories never stick together, never intertwine. They rarely get the chance.
Folk are far too concerned with looking good or just where else to look to not look bad. Most times out of ten people really don’t care that much, their concern is with themselves. You can lose your mind if you get captured in this kind of detail. Possibilities are endless and if you don’t believe me go to any bar. It’s a room full of those professing to wear their heart on their sleeve that communicate in code, if they choose to at all.
There are no places I want to be.
I read that people of a certain faith used to sit around & get to know each other by asking set questions. The questions were set to avoid the awkwardness of what do you do, or where were your first pages turned. Only one of these seems important to me, or of any interest at all. To candidly discuss what makes you afraid with someone you’ve just met. Now that is interesting. The idea behind it is genius as your taboo then becomes your common ground, what better way to break the ice. For secrets grow stale & gain weight. If you want to handle baggage work at an airport. If you insist on traveling, travel light.
There is always an option. We choose the way we speak & to some extent, how we appear to be.
The other option is to always look for ways to stay the same.
Which legacy is going to be more worthwhile?
to only speak in S.O.S.
to always live in 10% panic
to never leap
to never love
to never live
to never know better
you’ve got to consider history.
sign language was born out of war,
a battle of the senses.
when engines failed & words would no longer do.
in every environment where language is languid,
a series of hand signals is invented.
we should consider this more often.
what to do in times of trouble?
we should learn from experience,
but i always forget what to remember.
these stories always sound so
much better when the words are fired
in the direction of others.
it’s too easy not to listen to ourselves.
as we’ve heard that story
one too many times.
it’s like cooking for one.
Filed under and the kid that plays piano..., bad poetry, clock, dexterity, engine down, flags, gestures, late late night, night, noise, opinion, photos, pictures, sidestep, signals, signs, words, writing
you are the ones who should be worried
we are the last line of defence
the last who could afford not to worry
who could afford not to care.
i didn’t care
to read any more
as surely every decade judges
just the same
as the one gone by before.
it’s just as hard to
pretend to ignore,
but it pushes us
a little more.
Filed under cave, cemetery, dexterity, late late night, light, new order, night, opinion, optimism, white wall, wire, words, writing, your move sucker
the human mind can do anything
i truly believe that
we are inventors
we have to be
otherwise we’d still be playing with fire
& dreaming of wheels.
turning on the television i asked
“will i meet my dreams again
or bump into the ideas that build hope
a voice soon told me something like,
“you’ll meet them all again on a journey to the middle.”
but before i could write it down
to get the perfect wording
it escaped me.
i asked it the same question again later but,
all i heard was music.
Filed under bad poetry, beginning, deadend, opinion, optimism, quote, whatsthefuckingpoint?, wires, words, writing, your move sucker
we will miss you
i respect your skills
i appreciate that
you see what i’m getting at?
every now & then
i should go
nice talking to you
It always started on a sunday afternoon around 6 o’clock, when I’d finish skateboarding for the day & decide it was time to head home. The sun would come down fast & although that usually didn’t stop me, it was easier to appear for dinner than to argue why I hadn’t. If I was lucky, my walkman batteries would last the entire way home. There was Jane’s Addiction on one side & New Order on the other.
In the final stages of rolling home, a huge knot would start to form deep in my stomach. That the weekend was dying, killed me. To restart that mindless cycle made me care even less about the useless contents that filled it. I’d stop worrying that I smelt like smoke & sit down at the table. I could always tell how drunk my father was by how inedible the meal was, for some reason the more upset he was, the more salt we had to consume. There was still a childhood, buried beneath the backwards rituals.
You just had to be prepared to fight for it.
The time from 8:30 until around 10:15 used to pass so quickly, but this was an education. I was obsessed with the idea of the sunday night movie for many reasons. When I look back, they were often the films that formed the conversations on which many early friendships were born. To be able to talk violence & drama was to walk forward in the schoolyard.
To make people laugh.
If I was lucky,
I would arrange my evening so I could stay awake all night.
To stay awake & keep up with the world seemed to be the perfect way to flip the finger to the pain building in my stomach & the anger I felt towards a life lived beyond my control. It’s a mere coincidence that I developed a taste for stranger movies as I wanted to stay up later & later.
A secret handshake.
A greater social ammunition.
Filed under films, fire, friends, jane's addiction, laugh, movies, new order, night, opinion, optimism, real, rituals, skateboarding, words, writing, your move sucker
words that makes sense
how long before they fade
is anything correct forever?
i want to be remembered
for getting it right.
i’ve always adored the phrase
“safe as houses.”
who doesn’t want to be
someone you’d always bet on.
the smartest words
come from the people
who’ve made the biggest mistakes.
Filed under bad poetry, black & white, house, images, opinion, optimism, photos, pictures, white wall, words, writing
I think the key to writing is that beautiful shift from inspiration to what manifests on the page. More specifically, that the spark catches fire with other people. Communication that is received loud and clear. Not allowing fear or doubt & especially the perception of others to influence why. Why does anyone let thoughts leave the nest? It’s about what’s over the fence. Who will I meet & where could these worlds of words actually take me. Would people, who I’d never imagine to, understand? Fascination interests me more than actually having the prize, it’s what keeps the wheels turning. So that’s where desire comes in, to create and present. To high jump rejection & not gaze too long at your reflection. To evolve. People struggle to have an opinion, when all they really want is a voice. People struggle to have decisions made for them, when all they really want is a choice. Suppressed thoughts are the dying dreams of those who make a living lying down. If people merely wanted to consume or finish things, they’d buy a coffee or a crossword. Remain optimistic.