Someone

At this moment…

Somewhere in the world:

Someone is dying,
Someone is being born.
Someone is being hired,
Someone is being fired.
Someone is being pleasured,
Someone is being tortured.
Someone is having the best sex of their life.
Someone is having the first sex of their life
(though rarely simultaneously, the two are not mutually inclusive).
Someone is laughing,
Someone is crying
(maybe at one and the same time).
Someone is walking on stage,
Someone is walking to the gallows.
Someone is trotting on the pitch,
Someone is rotting in jail.
Someone is being showered with flowers,
Someone is being commemorated by a graveside.
Someone is stuck in traffic,
Someone is stuck in a marriage.
Someone is orbiting the Earth,
Someone is circling the drain.
Someone’s birthday bash is bombastic.
Someone’s birthday is barely observed.
Someone is taking their life,
Someone is saving that of someone else
(at the cost of their own).
Someone is caught in the rain,
Someone is stalked in the dark.
Someone is fantasised,
Someone is forgotten.
Someone is chained,
Someone is released.
Someone is denied,
Someone is believed.
Someone is a hero,
Someone is a troll.
Someone is giving a speech,
Someone is taking the piss.
Someone is abused,
Someone is the abuser.
Someone is fiddling their expenses,
Someone is giving to charity what they can’t afford.
Someone is standing passive,
Someone is taking action
(someone else is filming it on their phone).
Someone is coming out,
Someone is staying in.
Someone enjoys solitude,
Someone is rarely alone.
Someone is single minded,
Someone can’t ignore the voices any longer.
Someone needs help,
Someone has time to spare.
Someone is under the thumb,
Someone is under the knife.
Someone goes unnoticed,
Someone is seen by the world
(no one will remember ether of them a century from now).
Someone is being remembered.
Someone is being dismembered.  
Someone is in drag,
Someone is in a rut.
Someone is at prayer,
Someone is on the job.
Someone is giving themselves for money
(don’t we all?),
Someone is buying someone else.
Someone is living for the moment,
Someone is trying to make it to the end of the week.

For everyone else it is an ordinary moment in an ordinary day of an ordinary life that passes without incident and concludes without fanfare.
Everyone is something.
No-one is everything.
The galaxy spins.
The universe expands.
The seasons change.
The sun sets as the Earth rotates
(whether or not anyone notices or understand the mechanics).
One moment is much the same as any other.
Someone reads this.
Someone understands.
Someone is bored with repetition.
Someone clings to routine.
Someone is done.
Time for someone else to speak now.

Pale Blue Dot

 

My Book

 

Comments Are Not Open On This Thread

Comments are not open on this thread.

I said, comments are not open on this thread.

Honestly, why would I care what you comment on this thread?

Ask yourself, why you care to comment on this thread?

Now listen, hold your index fingers about an inch apart. That's it. Now that's the distance between Sun and Earth. On this scale, the nearest star is four miles away. There are two hundred billion stars in our galaxy alone, and we are one of a hundred million galaxies in the known universe. What's more, there may exist so many alternate universes, that when this one dies, it will be as a flake of dead skin falling from the backside of reality.

If the lifetime of creation was boiled down to a year, there wouldn't be a unit of measurement small enough to record you.

So really, why would anyone care to comment on this thread?

When there's a hundred million equally futile things you could be doing instead.

Like, I don't know, tidy up, call your parents, go sailing, have a wank, have a hobby, take a nightclass, take the initiative, get drunk, get a dog: help another human being, completely unrelated to you, for no other reason than because it is in your power to do so.

Or, hey, why not forge something in the smithy of your soul, display it on a public forum, and have it criticised by those who have never created anything of lasting value, but still feel qualified to pass judgement on those who have.

Yup, comments are not open on this thread.

So run along, keep on heading straight for the land of the dead.

But I know you won't pay one blind bit of notice to what I've said.

So comments are not open on this thread.

Will You

Today, random poetry...

Will You

You will wake,

You will rise,

You will shower,

You will dress,

You will step out,

You will be.

You will walk,

You will breathe,

You will sense,

You will feel,

You will hear,

You will see.

You will track cumulous moving east to west,

You will sniff thunderstorm static on the air,

You will watch flocks shimmer against sunlight,

You will listen to song birds chatter on tops of trees,

You will ponder the universe at large,

You will pay attention to rumblings from above.

You will recall a random scene from a random film,

You will mourn a relationship a lifetime ago,

You will laugh at a joke last week told,

You will remember the word for feeling at one,

You will rise in passion for a random stranger,

You will shiver as awakening from a nightmare five years old.

You will go out and you will sacrifice your certainties,

You will go out and you will own up to yourself,

You will go out and you will begin in becoming,

You will go out and you will lengthen your days in self-importance,

You will go out and you will be the one and nothing but,

You will go out and you will know.

Get it done.

Get It

Silly, cocky, arrogant. In other words, me.

Get It

Don’t sweat it if you don’t get it,

All you got to do is move on to something new.

No one requires you to understand it,

We’d go extinct if you were all like me, I was all like you.

But don’t call me a cunt ‘cause you’re all of a confusion.

Or wish me dead ‘cause you failed attention in school.

Trying to mainline the mathematics of Joyce and Dylan and Da Vinci here man.

I’ll be swimming in starlight by the time you’re still a fool.

So go on and dance, dance, dance for me little jester.

Gately538, the latest Gately from a long line of clones.

Go on, quick, nearly finished my brief break from being brilliant.

And high time you to rejoined the other production line drones.

This bit doesn’t really have a regular rhythm does it?

Then, why waste iambic pentameter of a low brow like you?

But, hey, don’t sweat it if you don’t get it,

All you got to do is move on to something new.

Get it done.

Scraps and Toenails

Distance to gain perspective.

Dreams to shape reality.

Angels to plunge the depths for me.

Devils to draw out light.

Scraps and Toenails

“I believe that today more than ever a book should be sought after even if it has only one great page in it. We must search for fragments, splinters, toenails, anything that has ore in it, anything that is capable of resuscitating the body and the soul.”

                                                                                                            Henry Miller

Belief is nothing but a statement of what you would prefer to be the truth; a preference for the initial conditions for the universe at the beginning of time. God, Uranus or the Big Bang in the final analysis are all the same. You weren’t there, you can’t know and all you have to fall back on is which version you would prefer to be true, which is only ever a preference, not a certainty. The laws of physics may seem to be universal, but that certainty is predicated on this universe being real and not a dream or a computer simulation or one of a unimaginable amount of universes, each with their own laws and versions of reality.

I believe in chaos, because out of chaos anything is possible. Isn’t it curious how many people there are who caw about how free and liberated they are yet still believe in a deterministic universe created by one god? I am free do as I want under this totalitarian surveillance state, where all my sins will called to account at the end and punished for the rest of time. How dull. I prefer chaos because out of chaos comes order, but out of order comes chaos. A deterministic universe created by a deity means that the most perfect thing that has ever been already existed at the beginning of time and every event since then has been moving away from that perfection. It’s why the fundamentalist hates the idea of evolution, because in evolution things move towards becoming more godlike. Why bother to worship god when there is every chance of becoming a god one day or another? The more power we each have individually, the less power they can exert over us with their fear mongering and hate inducing. The sun is slowly sinking on their age. The rains come down and wash its memory away. Turns out there wasn’t much worth salvaging.

Distance gives perspective to the dreams which shape reality.

In the beginning was the word and the word was symmetry.

Nature abhors perfection.

Makes it tense.

Nervous.

The pressure built to resonance and with a crescendo, a thousand shards of reality burst across the ether.

We fashion dreams to shape our own reality.

Parallel lines converge at the end of time.

Through thought, past time, all lines converge in glorious union upon the horizon.

Infants paddling in a pool of infinite consciousness.

One day someone will fashion a boat. A canoe. And sail their own course.

Get it done.

Dimensions

One from out of the old notebooks.

Dimensions

"Rationality is limited by time, space and status, which intervene between the individual and the truth. Emotion can liberate it."
                                                Howard Zinn

Eliminate the cliches, the cliques and untruths, unreal visions of futures never to be given illumination. We who stand at the edge of this unworldly promise of the Utopian ideal become the fools who lead a distant pilgrimage to a grandiose land whispered of only in dawn, before the waking hour.

Nothing is sacred, nothing is real. All that we represent is a rare speck in a universe of infinite darkness, never to be mourned by the heavyweight life providers who stand guard over our oblivion. Why bleed, why chase a life-long ambition that precludes the chance of a life to be lived and instead perpetuates, protects an overseer's watermarked, blood stained, drought inducing signature of naively embraced fate?

If you are to wake, you must see this political line exists in a third dimension.

Get it done.

6S

Another one of those pieces of writing that I intended to write ten years ago, got stuck, then today wrote the entire thing in under an hour. I quite like how it turned out.

6S

“Am I supposed to look out for him?”

                                              East of Eden, John Steinbeck

Full moon in broad daylight.

Fractal branching trees against a winter sky.

Orion rising and blood red sunsets.

Goya’s Third of May 1808 and Guernica seen in the flesh.

The aroma of second hand bookshops.

A pungent funk rising from freshly bought skunk.

Thunder storms and match struck sulfur.

The appetising scent of ‘she’.

Shakespeare’s Sonnets. Blake’s Marriage of Heaven and Hell.

The four winds cascading through woodland bowers. 

Nina Simone and Kind of Blue.

That perfect pause in the Stones’ Paint it Black.

Silence.

Salt and pepper ribs and chips.

Tandoori chicken and saag aloo.

A taste of freedom, cognac and pickled onion crisps.

The taste of success. Irn Bru.

Cat nestled in my lap whilst gently page turning.

Popping bubble wrap from out of a newly delivered gift.

The cool side of a freshly turned pillow.

The heat from a newly won love. 

Anticipation, expectation and fear.

Caleb’s moment of Biblical betrayal in East of Eden.

Arriving back from a long walk with problem solving solutions.

Roller coasters and laughing so hard you don’t care if you die.

A newly minted piece of finished writing.

Yes, yes, yes, this feels so good.

Get it done.

I Am My Own Country

Short piece today. You'll need your strength for the morrow... 

I Am My Own Country

I am my own country, unique and of itself,

No flag may bury me beneath its weight.

I steal not from other’s glory, claim them as my own,

Nor absolve them of their sins just the same.

I blame no-one for my failings, legion as they are,

Nor deny the debts to many owed.

I am my own country, government of myself,

Its history begins with my conception.

I keep our constitution expanding ever outwards.

Not stagnant in a putrid past

Our anthem changes daily, from jazz to funk to rock,

Tea and sage advice we can provide.

I am my own country. Found one for thyself.

And we shall find a new United Nations.

With summits, meetings, gatherings, key notes in the hall,

To reassess all our preconceptions.

Where common ground is hallowed, linking each to all.

But difference is sacred and divine.

Get it done.

Cogs

Today on 'The Eponymist', poetry. Deal with it.

Cogs

Alone I walk these fields, these hills, these tracks,

Cross cottage corpse in breaking through the cracks,

In plots that yawn with pace of mud flecked boots.

Going over in going ‘round again.

Take soundings deep in standing water rain.

Under bowers glide. Stumble over roots.

‘Long promenade and coastal road I bikes.

Pass Mersey might in drinking in the sights.

Air ocean tales in running over land.

‘Cross quagmire thick and dense design I’m gone,

Fly fathoms deep in searching for the one,

Ever tyres whirring, shifting gears in sand.

Alive I wake from visions darkly bright,

To tell tall tales of journeys through the night,

To plasma glare no matter what the hour.

To swim in words, to breathe in prose I want,

And have my fill in drinking at the font,

And never taste the flesh of fruit turned sour.

Get it done.

Youthful Angst

Emergency blog today, due to recovering from drinking port till 5am with my oldest friend in celebration of his 40th birthday (Happy Birthday John!). Normal service will be resumed tomorrow (err, today). In the meantime, here's some things I wrote when we were in our prime.

Astray

Within the shrouded mysteries of life are sights too few of us notice. To glimpse, even for that briefest of moments, a sight of life’s truths will change the strongest of souls, reduce the bravest of heart to tears. These are not the tangible worlds that explorers seek in order to conquer, nor can the closed mind ever hope to see what will always be foreign to him.

To see is to know and to know is to be aware. With awareness comes a wondrous reward, life with purpose. In its absence a meaningless existence is all which any soul can hope for. All cultures, all religions are but embodiments of this greatest of gifts, their entrustment inherited by fools who see little and know even less. Our time has yet to come. The meek have yet to inherit the Earth.

12/8/??

Oppression

No one ever had to teach me how to step outside the boundaries of this disillusioned autocracy. I find myself wandering through a shallow, ink drawn world, callous and oppressive. When will colours burst forth into this desolate wasteland, alleviate the blindness and guide us towards our ultimate future?

10/9/??

Lifestyle

Someone once told me that young people tend to think there’s more to life. There is ! If you’re prepared to go out and look for it. We spend our whole lives searching for perfection and settling for second best. And when we do see a glimpse, for that briefest of moments catch a sight of perfection personified, it disappears forever: Our lives can never be the same again.

I used to have a set of ideals which I, at that time, thought were important. I now know better. And if the months of despair and depression induced loneliness taught me anything, it is what is really important. I wonder what will come from there this time?

15/12/??

Truth

Do you know what I keep hearing? Be realistic. Be realistic? You mean be ordinary? I never tried to be different, never set out purposely to awkward as some people seem to think. The fact is, I am different. I couldn’t care less about car engine capacities or how pissed I’m capable of getting, my mind needs more tangible stimulus. I see things differently because I see them for what they are and most are completely fucked. That kind of honesty breeds a fear in certain people, they can see in my eyes a sense of purpose and they try to drag me down to their level. It’s always guaranteed to fail. There is no vanity in me, but there is a sense of truth and it says I’m beyond them: Superior.

What most of us tend to forget is we’ve been given a life and we waste it. Mediocrity is accepted, after all, it’s been hammered into us from the day we were born. With me and my ilk he plan falls through. Our individuality wasn’t stifled, it flowered. Not content to work in an office or a factory, we see these for what they are, just more obstacles to overcome. And when those challenges are scaled and conquered we can, for the first time, lay our virgin eyes on the true realities of life. These are not the false trivialities lesser mortals accept as the norm. They are real living.

If a less than happy childhood had not alienated me from most of the world, I may too have fallen by the wayside. As it is I find myself content to be me, surround by fools. I see them as moles: Secure in the darkness, blinded by the light.

13/8/??

Sickness

Help me to understand where these feelings come from; the rage anguish; frustration and fear. Is all that’s left inside of me self destructive? Slowly bubbling to the surface, an exponential growth of chaos, ever perpetuate by each new soul destroying put down, failed relationship, death all around, wearing down my resources, killing inner-self. Or is this all another step of ascendance to that person I need to be?

These feelings need to be dissipated, yet I know that first I need to expose the world to them or they’ll always remain, and I hate the shit that they dredge me through in their awakening. I cannot live without passion and I feel dead, sick of the never ending stream of non-important bullshit that infects my mind and keeps me from achieving the things I need to achieve. Looking to when this phase began, it is fitting that that night I dressed in the dark robes of death and yet I find that I have become that which I seeked to mock. I hate fucking irony.

28/11/??

A Voice in the Black

Into the screaming fire which burn in these veins, cascading waterfall, surging, bursting river, the essence of light, forging through the dark. Creation’s struggle over destruction, calling form the warm, still air. Give me the inner chasm’s emerging strength, to take this fight to the last, confident swagger. Heal these wounds from battles past, energy to destroy the gods, their myths and little minions here on this terrain who burn the truth with every breath. Rage for the horrid overseers, fuelled by the truth from all around, the deceit and charade in ever chair, every seat of power, every church and school. Grace of thought, never to be deprived clear sense, given to the brave, forged from within. For if you destroy my senses, I can still think.

2/2/??

Corridors of Deceit

Burn the truth, destroy the pure, with every breath force feed the lies. In darkened shroud are we content to let the demons run amok. Enemies to everyone and everything that is not you.

A horrid palace of demons, basking in you ignorance as they ride to work on the backs of the poor. A new class of slaves, ever more productive. Manipulated marionettes.

Even the best production lives go awry. How fitting that I am but a reject, thrown into a corner and forgotten. An so I sit here, emerged in your self-perpetuated abyss, eyes wide to the twisted, joyless domain that you create, we maintain. Screaming and crying, I dream of the knife wet with your blood, instead of these tears of rage, as the slaves are boxed, labelled and shipped to the four corners of the Earth. And from all around echoes the laughter. Automatons never answer back.

12/9/??

Souls such as we tread a lonely path. Seeking a realm we can never hope to find, journeying despite ourselves, meeting few others along the way, and then only fleetingly. Sardonically our goals seem in sight, sprinting to chase after that far off domain, the vision fades, aroused from another troubled sleep. Reality an illusion, we live through our fantasies, a never ending exploration. For it is better to die scaling an unreachable peak than to live it their shadowed foothills.

Get it done.