Hues of pink on pale green stem,
fleeting beauty, unnatural purpose.
18 March 2012
10 March 2012
w.21
21 years ago it was all you could do to keep me alive. I devoured your time, precious little bar a gurgle and brief smile in return; a flashing glimpse of the dynamic force I would become.
You fed me code, patched my wounds and watched me crawl, and boy did I crawl.
No faster than a slug in glue but still you persevered, knowing one day I would be up on my feet causing headaches for oldies as they sat sipping tea, reading newspapers and hardback books.
As a child I was everyone’s darling.
I was the future, the bright kid who would change the world. Everyone wanted to be part of it; the world invested in me.
But a darkness developed deep in my soul. Powerful unnatural urges bubbled under the surface, popping up briefly to be walloped, thankfully, down into the fires of hell.
Cleansed of the worst yet my rebelliousness persisted, dismissing each and every rule and social norm as a product of bygone era.
I could say what I liked.
I would take what I wanted, giving nothing in return.
I cowered behind my friends, hiding my face with a scarf and hood.
I shied away from social intercourse, preferring instead the solitude and comfort of my room, writing poisoned letters spitting bile at anyone I suspected of standing in my way.
I cared little for those I upset, for I was the young noble warrior riding a righteous path to battle; to correct injustice and slay the dragons of oppressive tyranny.
Yet I never signed by name, for deep down I knew. I knew I had to live to fight for a lifetime and beyond.
Though these years just behind me I cringe at my naivety, my teenage ideals. A decade shredding the rule book I now find myself piecing it together, re-establishing many of the principles taught by my parents.
Not that I can bring myself to admit this to them: Mum, Dad, you were right. Well mostly, for the newly reconstructed order isn’t quite a facsimile of the old institutions.
I’ve been a catalyst for obsolescence and a facilitator of innovation; a massive disruptive force connecting billions to each other and to a universe of knowledge; challenging, and, for the most part, improving global society.
And I’m only 21, or thereabouts.
5 March 2012
We are moving him into retirement flats at the weekend
We are moving him into retirement flats at the weekend. It’s a one way ticket. They never make it out again you know. Kiss goodbye to life pop. Sure we will turn up on a Sunday and take him for the occasional spin and he can walk to the post office to buy his paper. When you’re in that place you watch the other occupants die around you. One day you’re talking to them about heating bills and the next they’re gone. Bang! Dead! And then their family, if they have one, moves their stuff out and it all starts again. A new name to learn, and forget.
He isn’t that mobile these days. Sits at the window a lot looking at life passing by outside, thinking. He has a TV. It’s a new one. He had to get rid of the old museum piece because of the digital switchover. Likes a bit of a tipple too and used to get down the pub a bit though that’s mostly a thing of the past. Used to go for early doors with his mate but his pal’s not around anymore. I take him back there once in a while. It isn’t the same really. The staff have changed. Anyway he has a problem with booze now. Prostate.
We are moving him into retirement flats at the weekend. It’s for the best.
3 March 2012
cobwebs
Remove my specs and rub my eyes – a moment of relief
Run a hand through my hair – not too long but this morning feels as if it needs a cut
Coffee cup lies empty – froth clings to the sides
Cobwebs cling inside my head – specs need a clean
Around me people talk of escalators and computers and trousers at £9 from ASDA and interesting things from Skellingthorpe and a grandad looks after his boy and a phone rings in the distance
25 February 2012
22 February 2012
waiting for a train in 140 characters or less
waiting, waiting, waiting, waiting, waiting,waiting, waiting, waiting, waiting, waiting,waiting, waiting, waiting, waiting, for a train
17 February 2012
Modern Times – not by Charlie Chaplin
The train runs half an hour late. Your stop is cancelled. The train crawls to a halt there anyway. The doors aren’t released. *#%TILT%#*
from an original tweet by @paul_clarke
inside the dome
Acid rain keeps me inside the dome. Outside there is devastation and mutants prowl the denuded forest. Communications with the rest of the world stopped some time ago – can’t tell how long. I am comfortable enough. I have a table under the awning looking out onto the pavement. I sit here perpetually, it seems. Nobody asks for the bill. Nobody wants to know when I will be going. There is nowhere to go. I can’t get back to my villa. The drinks keep coming. Each one feels fresh as if it was my first. I sometimes eat and they clear the plates away.
oo la la carte
MENU DE SOIR, Plats chauds, Cocktails, Porto, Champagne, Plats du Jour, Sorbets, Crème glaces, desserts, croques, SALADES, patissierie, café – thé
The new reality
Fumbling to unlock my phone I stare at the icons far longer than any sane person should. The screen was about to timeout – again – as I finally focussed on the clock; clock? Clock? I have no idea what I was trying to do.
My body groaned as I moved haggardly from the dark bedroom to the shower, then back to the bedroom. Time shifted and I found myself in the kitchen, fully clothed – a good sign at least.
Recently I’ve been getting a bit more sleep than the average enlisted man under Haig during the battle of the Somme, so I should at least be thankful for small mercies. Still, that didn’t stop me pouring boiling water into the open coffee jar I had spooned a mound of granules from thirty seconds earlier.
Shit, bugger and fuck. Well, it’s only a few quid of wasted coffee. It could have been worse; I could have poured scolding hot water down my leg – again.
I drained the jar of steaming brown sludge into the sink before filling my actual mug with water as first intended.
Startled by a piercing melody emanating from my pocket I gave a jolt, causing scolding hot water to slosh perilously close to my leg as I fumbled to silence the alarm on my phone.
Clock. Alarm clock. Why didn’t I shut that off the moment I woke up?
For the first time in a fortnight I’d managed to creep out of bed, shower and navigate the stairs without waking neither my wife nor the baby.
Now, a piercing scream fills the house, amplified by the baby monitor. Pointless in a house this size; the sound waves from its speaker travel straight back to the little bugger’s ears, most likely scaring the crap out of him. No wonder he’s crying louder by the second.
Teething? Feeding? A filled nappy? It matters not, as I know the blame lays squarely with me.
Better luck tomorrow, maybe…
16 February 2012
The mental shoulder shrug
The mental shoulder shrug
Cafe au lait in Cafe Rouge
Time passed, Parisian pavements
Lost thoughts, careless moments.
15 February 2012
noisy bunch quiet brunch
Cooped up, stressed, tired, argumentative, sulky, whinge, smoke alarm, trumpet practice, noise, noise, noise, noise, noise.
A bike ride brings peace. A corner of the table. A quiet brunch. A large cup of tea. Ahhh.
14 February 2012
huge kids
they used to be small
now they are huge with attitude
i look up
from my lowly position of parent
see the results
of that investment in fruit, vegetables, protein and love
it seems to have worked
why would i ever have thought otherwise
they can be sensible
looking up again
from that feet on the ground perspective
i smile
The art of encapsulation
5 Es
Encasement – the wrapping in cement for purposes of hiding, disposal or strengthening of very foundations
Encapsulation – the art of concise summary; complete packaging, possibly in advance of launching into the furthest reaches of the galaxy
Enveloping – hugging from behind using strong, manly arms; mechanically inserting hundreds if not thousands of sheets of paper into hundreds if not thousands of purposely manufactured and folded outer covers, almost certainly as advanced preparation for posting
Enclosure – remote drystone square (usually) designed for herding cattle or sheep in advance of branding, shearing or other farming related tasks
Enigmatic – puzzled over this one for some time before deciding go to print
7 February 2012
What does a pebble mean?
My approach to art and philosophy:
1 I read in Bob Dylan’s autobiography that Woody Guthrie wrote songs about everyday things he saw in the street. This is what I do. Not songs necessarily but short reflections on everyday items. Poems maybe. I sometimes think that some people think this can be quite boring. No dramatic emotion-filled prose, the product of a tough back street childhood or action packed near death escape from certain disaster. I am into the ordinary, the sunlit street, the view from a café table, the snippet of overheard conversation, the bird fleetingly perched on the garden chair.
2 Time plays a big part in shaping my thoughts. Because I can’t get my brain around the huge expanses of infinity going both forward and back everything for me is of the moment. A spinning coin is a work of art even though the coin will stop spinning after a very short while. The fact that it has stopped is neither here nor there – it was of its time. The act of spinning is art as is its state having stopped spinning. Lying there motionless it also has a story to tell – not the same story perhaps as when it was spinning.
3 If I were to take a picture of a pebble I could probably invent lots of deep meaning in that image. Erosion of time. Loneliness in amongst millions of other pebbles. It’s too deep. I leave it to others to come to their own conclusions. Many might conclude nothing. This is no different to the pile of bricks or the unmade bed.
4 I usually like to see words flow easily in the mind. On these occasions it can be almost as if the words themselves don’t matter although it is nice if they both flow and make sense. When considering a subject that is in itself an uncomfortable topic the words don’t have to flow. A hesitant stream not easy to read reflects the difficult nature of the subject. Or so it should in my mind.
Hope that helps you understand the stuff that I do.