Category Archives: writing

there but not here:

It’s always good to get where you’re going before the sun falls. Glancing up I see it’s not quite night. The street light glows yellow, it’s not yet shining bright.

 A pair of converse spin softly in the breeze, twisting to to heel and back again. Street signs line up like a list of songs I’m yet to write. Their names punctuating each step uphill, speaking to times trapped inside.

Inspiration strikes at the best times, there’s not always a pen or keyboard in site. Sometimes it’s better to enjoy a moment rather than try to capture it. Our love of feedback complicates what we value.

People talk of living in the now, yet wish for the days of then. Your past is imbibed in you and therefore what you do. It’s easy to forget, but makes moving forward a fair fight.

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Filed under 2014, bad poetry, beginning, signals, skies above, telegraph, thought lines, wires, words, worlds, writing

:hit void

An empty city I don’t remember

A distant name I fail to place

People ask me questions about the past

Besides the memories I share with myself

I don’t like to remember what it was

 

Slowly selling what I own

Nostalgia is denial

That the future can’t be as good as an imagined history

The influence is finite

Sleepwalking through each minute

 

The right side of my brain

Lets me list the way it is

Foreign democracy

Is surely just the next big thing

 

I never had it

You never lost it

Keep on crying

If it gets you to sleep

 

On a global level

We can only dream of

Lapses of memory 

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Filed under 2013, † † †, thought lines, words, writing

looking for space:

it takes some distance to reflect,
to stop, think, process, wait.
admitting  you are wrong is one thing,
what you do to address it is
another thing entirely.

some people talk a good game,
revealing little except results.
both playing cards close to the chest,
& from beneath the table.

what’s the point in just speaking,
about things you want to do.
when these things could already be removed
from the lists you’ll never write.

before the paper peels,
the train is missed,
& dreams are out of date.

time spent treading water,
isn’t wasted when,
you use it to survive.

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Filed under † † †, bad poetry, beginning, words, writing

unless you speak from your heart:

observations of a busy street.

a book store smells a certain way,
the comfort of a million stories.
time spent will unlock its promise.

a ball of twine is a welcome sight,
the promise of something to be made or mended.

a couple, drinks water in different ways.
one from the glass, one straight from the gym.

a friend pulls a friend away from a passing bike.
the way they smile at each other afterwards,
suggests they’ve been friends for a while.

moments later, we’ll be someplace else.
minutes later, we’ll be gone.

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Filed under and the kid that plays piano..., † † †, bad poetry, childhood memories, family, favour, fortune, words, worlds, writing

for what it’s worth:

“Are you a believer?”, she asked.
We’d just sat down & I wasn’t ready for an argument, not at this hour. I thought of  many things before carefully preparing my response. For this was our first official meeting. A sit down & dine, the first sit down & dine, with my lover’s mother. It’s easy when you have a history with someone, to say what’s on your mind. Well it should be. The more you know about someone the more you sometimes have to censor, as with information comes politics.

Out of those considered I pondered enlightened passages & philosophical fairness,
in conversation with myself.

It’s not about what you’re looking at,
It’s about what you see.
It doesn’t matter how you do things,
As long as you are doing them.

If you continue to do,  just what you do,
does it always lead to success?
I believe so.
I respect people who stick to their guns.
They always seem to triumph,
no matter how long it takes.
Yet we all claim to know people who have wasted life waiting.
We retell the story to avoid
doing difficult things ourselves,
for it’s easier to be the person who warned more than willed.

Imagine a world defined by one word, one ideal, one saying.
Words can describe moments & music can help you remember them.
No phrase captures it all, as no song says it all.
Your sense of smell pointing you,
to places you’ve once been & long to belong to.

People are in search of a simple truth,
a hard-line, a stance to live by.

Words to recite when things go awry
I used to believe that the more definition my life had,
the more control I would have over it.
Now in reality,
there are now more lists
needing maintenance.

Coming full circle,
I considered,
“It’s all about what you do with what you think.”

So, what i did was smile.
After one final pause  I said,
“I’d prefer not to talk about it.”

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Filed under † † †, beginning, definition, greater circles, signals, signs, words, worlds, writing, your move sucker

lyrics to go:

i like the way certain trees
can shape the sound the wind makes
as i walk alongside the train tracks
i could swear to you
that i can hear the breath of the ocean.

to my ears
i feel like i’m on a cliff
with the clouds ahead preparing
to rage over serene waters
marking the beginning of the storm.

it’s about to rain & i’m waiting
i’m wondering if this ground will soon
be too wet to walk on
or will my shoes commence to slip?

when is a good time to do anything?
i don’t like talking much,
during storms,
anyway.

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Filed under and the kid that plays piano..., † † †, bad poetry, dream baby dream, thought lines, trick or treat, words, worlds, writing

getting away with it:

the idea of escape is amazing.
in rapture,
encapsulated by the absence of light
a man tormented by the guilt of his past
feels he is owed beyond his own sentencing.
is he entitled to a second chance,
or just has nothing left to lose?

“the love i feel is not confused
i shouldn’t feel so good
its weird feeling guilty about your life
when it’s going so good
enjoy it while it lasts
they say.

there are still things i’d change in life
like where i went each day
& that i want to truly let the ideas i have inside me
to grow toward beauty.

in this cell.”

yesterday he lay dead on a hospital bed
cycling, swimming, running, relapse
these were the order of events
he wrote about them all
these are the stories to be told.

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Filed under † † †, beginning, dream baby dream, thought lines, Uncategorized, words, world, writing, your move sucker

come on die young:

an idea can be a simple thing
the impulse to mention something
to shake somebody’s hand
a thought that manifests in action
looks upon faces registering acceptance
& maybe a mention of time
to be something more than words inside
that within seconds are often swept away
for some reason this one remains
days later phones ring &
plates are contemplated
it leads to other things
& before you even realize
the favour is returned.

turning
over time
into family
friendships,
are worth fighting for.

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Filed under childhood memories, family, fire, friends, lovethisshit, optimism, rituals, thought lines, what about linus?, words, writing

darkness before dawn:

Celebrities are murderers & thieves. We are encouraged to look the same. To get ahead we travel in the same direction. We travel through arcs, the shortest distance. It’s not like it used to be. The real Heroes were pioneers. Those who were the first to do the things that had never been done. It’s incredible how proving a point can open up the world a little bit. Greater circles.

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Filed under brave, favour, greater circles, map, skies above, thought lines, wire, words, writing

:beast in peace

home to the holidays.

time to turn off  engines & decide
to trust you have exactly what you need,
that you’ve cut enough wood for the winter.
there’s a beautiful humility in not wasting
the things that keep you alive.
arriving at the finish line on time.
in preserving those little things
that keep you warm at night,
you keep fires burning that people don’t see.
the story that we stay up late for,
a myth to make us mind our manners.
a painting of a photograph.
turning the wheel from high seas
to a surer path,
the needle spinning north.
by never cutting corners,
we never miss a beat.

he asked her once if she could be afraid,
to hear,
“even an anchor needs a compass,
sometimes.”

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Filed under beginning, brave, dream baby dream, engine down, optimism, words, writing

lazy calm:

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

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Filed under bad poetry, gestures, noise, opinion, panic, quote, S.O.S., signs, words, writing

:release

it’s hard talking about love. people always talk about how they can’t define it, it’s a noble feat to live your life trying to. i want to be well-respected & loved. i wanted to be famous but after the life i’ve lead i’d be happier just to be alive. when i stopped wanting to be famous i overcompensated with everything to try & pretend i didn’t care. all in a vain effort to conceal the reason for my decisions. when i lost people i didn’t live in a way that honoured them. at the time i bandied around the word “lukewarm” – it was a word i used a lot to decipher what i thought was weak. to be “lukewarm” was the worst thing imaginable to me at the time. to have failed. the truth is, i never really got over it. the reality, of what had happened that is. it’s prophetic when you start repeating things to yourself, to be become what you fear. we’re defined by our failures, just hopefully not remembered for them. we’ve done the things we do so many times before. to climb over the wall.  to mean it. to take the time it takes. i fear for the few who were smart enough to see it but didn’t stick around long enough to change.

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Filed under † † †, beginning, cheap thrills, definition, engine down, rituals, words, worn, writing

as nude as the news:

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.

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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

dead letter office:

am i invisible?
most times i truly believe i am.
what with people not listening or thinking,
it’s hard to get through most days,
let alone carry strangers with you through it.
it’s exhausting translating for people who do not speak
& tiring speaking around those who’s logic has failed them.
sometimes the only truth is silence.

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Filed under bad poetry, whatsthefuckingpoint?, white wall, words, writing, your move sucker

:bad ethos

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.

i’m sure
it’s just as hard to
pretend to ignore,
but it pushes us
to care
a little more.

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Filed under cave, cemetery, dexterity, late late night, light, new order, night, opinion, optimism, white wall, wire, words, writing, your move sucker

you know i’m no good:

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
anytime soon?”
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.

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Filed under bad poetry, beginning, deadend, opinion, optimism, quote, whatsthefuckingpoint?, wires, words, writing, your move sucker

:brush off

we will miss you
i respect your skills
i appreciate that
no thanks
you see what i’m getting at?
every now & then
i should go
nice talking to you

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Filed under bad poetry, deadend, opinion, quote, real, sidestep, words, writing

b movie:

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 by-product.
A secret handshake.
A greater social ammunition.

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Filed under films, fire, friends, jane's addiction, laugh, movies, new order, night, opinion, optimism, real, rituals, skateboarding, words, writing, your move sucker

evergreen:

wisdom.
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.

sometimes.
the smartest words
come from the people
who’ve made the biggest mistakes.

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Filed under bad poetry, black & white, house, images, opinion, optimism, photos, pictures, white wall, words, writing

the end of the end of the ugly:

“We’re through being cool.”

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Filed under quote, words, writing, your move sucker

wouldn’t it be nice:

we’re in it together
we chart the success of our decisions
no? it’s not like that at all
but it’s much more about the experience
like playing a new game
& living a new life.
to be truly happy.

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Filed under bad poetry, optimism, words, writing

common ground:

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.

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Filed under opinion, words, writing