18 May 2017

Chris Cornell May 17th 2017


Love leads to loss. There is no escaping it. The more closely you hold someone, something, the more pain is felt once it departs. We are instinctual in our love for family, mothers, fathers, brothers, children. But as individuals we create new connections with those beyond our reach - the artists.
We grow with them and they in turn form part of who we become. Imprinting their words, voices, feelings into us and injecting part of their soul into our own. Often this adds weight to how we view the world, ourselves and each other. But it is a weight we are happy to carry. There is meaning and beauty in the depths of the darkness they share.

And vicariously we jump and kick and scream and fight with them, through them, because our lives dictate we cannot fight, we cannot scream. The art allows you to become more of yourself. Your dna is engrained with it and so it turns to a devotion of sorts but one that gives just as much as it takes. And when they are departed it feels as though part of you has also, they are an old friend only you knew, who understood you more than anyone. And the hurt remains as music, as a voice. And you are left with the question of how to turn that back into the beauty of how it all began. 
Maybe I’m being overly dramatic - and all today I’ve felt the need to lessen the importance of all this. They are just songs, and singers of songs. But I can’t play the songs today. I can’t listen to the music yet and hear a voice that meant so much, that won’t sound ever again. Tomorrow I’ll try, I’ll dig out a selection of records and link them one by one as a screaming tribute. But for now, today, there's silence.

http://www.tenhomaisdiscosqueamigos.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/10/eddie-vedder-chris-cornell.jpg

17 Apr 2017

Thanks Magda


Now I am quietly waiting for the catastrophe of my personality to seem beautiful again, and interesting, and modern.

Frank O'Hara

 

14 Mar 2017

A black hole of optimism




Another rejection letter another competition to enter
Another new indie website/zine something or other
To butter up with rambling unmarketable prose

I set the computer keys up so they click clack
As the typer used to
And try to remember back to when there was more fire

Try to recall times when the maelstrom was taking us
A circling tiger with teeth exposed
Muscles coiled and ready to jump

To repeat to re-live that fear
To replace this new dull grey adult anxiety 
To dig into the dirt and shit and come up with something
Something

And after all these years I avoid any style
Duck and weave and resist entering any real form
Such is the curse of still needing to do this;

I am a painter with no school
A singer of cover songs
But how to convince people that every word I've put down

In black and white
Is all one huge black hole of optimism
Spinning there right in the centre of everything
Remains a mystery.


26 Feb 2017

New work Feb 2017

Frying pan


Having one leg shorter than the other
You search the same circle
Eyes down
Not to miss a detail
Some sign
The smallest clue
Year in year out
Cutting a furrow in the ground
Deeper
The 9th circle
Out the other side
Float away
Spiral out
No longer tied down
The pattern you once tread
Now releasing you.



/fire


It sits closeted there
In the darkness behind
The usual weathered oak door
Blackened iron hinges still strong
Deadbolt fixed

And once red it has turned
Now a dark purple but no less alive
Kicking just as hard
A clenched fist
Bone sinew muscle
No time for punctuation
A straight line
Angry
Furious and still
Entirely lost.




17 Jan 2017

Positive positive




The lady down the street
whose name I’ve never known
The guy in the store where I get
My banana every morning
The mother
The child

The troubadours and poets and
Killers and gods
The dogs - but not the cats

Truck drivers and taxi drivers
The vans full of police and
Buses full of school kids
From Germany
France and places whose language I
Don’t understand
All of this conspires to isolate me

Their shadows animated
Shift together and drive me down
Into the cracks

And I let them
Some passiveness overtakes as
I resolve to fade
To blend, to yield
The joy of being comfortable
Within solitude
Invites a curse of emergent distance

As magnets repel one another
As wind affects ocean
As birds fall from the
Sky
I smell thick hot coffee
Close my eyes and breathe in.
I bend but do
Not
Break.