The sun also rises.

August 27, 2011 § Leave a comment


“I think I thought I saw you try.” R.E.M – Loosing my religion. 

Retrospect has always been in fashion. You have to be careful with it. In retrospect everyone’s an expert. Everyone see what went wrong and why. Then spit it out solutions in that “I-told-you-so” tone, like it’s what they have been saying all along. But it’s personal reflection that I think is the most valid. Retrospect of world events is a penny a pound, it’s oozes out of the every news outlet on the globe with a “why-didn’t-you-see-this-coming?” questioning of world leaders. It would be magical if one of them just replied ” Because I’m not fucking physic. Apparently, for the way you are talking, you are. Would you like a job in my administration? We could really use a guy like you so when an unexpected event turns I can come and put my boot up your arse.” Politics misses magic moments. Everyone is so clean cut. Slow, clear talkers make good liars, it gives them time to think. We need a Kennedy. The world needs a Kennedy. Shit. Another rant. Slow down.

I just deleted a paragraph of shit. Trust me. It wasn’t for you. It wasn’t even for me. Keep it together man. I want to fight. I really want to fight. I keep throwing these air punches and bobbing and weave and ducking and diving. Making sure I can bring my right in hard and fast after the initial shock hit from my left. It’s not that I want to hurt someone. It’s not. It’s just that I feel like I’ve locked myself away. Numbed everything that made me feel alive. I stay away from the things that I know hurt me. I box them off. I don’t even listen to that curious voice in my head anymore who just wants to know what’s around that corner? Or behind that door? Or who that pretty girl is? The fact is I want to feel that rush again. Of knowing that at any second a fist could come in and shatter my little bubble. I’m not saying I want the hit. I just want to feel the danger. To turn my body up. Back to the edge. To look into someones eyes and see that hate, that raw aggression, to know that all there is in the world between you and him is you and him. You are all that matters, there is nothing else. I miss it. I didn’t care if I won or lost. I just wanted to feel like I wanted to win. Like sex I suppose. You can take your computers and internet and mortgage payments and dictionaries and act grown up all you want. But we are carnal animals and at the end of the day, when the sun sets, we just want to feel alive. Rock n’ Roll does that too you. At least it should. When the road is quiet or you get the drink just right, keep your smack – Jack  or crack, if you get that music just right, in sync with the moment, then you got it man. Forget the world. It’s all you.

Utter madness.

Sky highs and nose dives.

August 20, 2011 § Leave a comment


The sun came out of nowhere like a bar fight. And it knocked out the wind and bruised me with light. And I felt grateful for living just like I feel tonight.” Well Whiskey – Bright Eyes. 

I must admit, this most recent posts I have started a few times. The contrasting moods of these drafts sums up where my head is at the moment. All over the place. Up and down. Ok. I take that back. Hold on – Let me try and explain.

It’s up’s and down’s at the moment but it isn’t sky highs and nose dives. It’s not steady but it’s not sudden. It’s not sharpe. It’s up and down but it never really strays too far from the middle. The middle is what I’m used to these days. But I think that that’s all about to change. After a while off the road you start to long for the middle. After weeks waking up in gutters and 5 star hotels you aren’t really sure if your coming or going, happy or sad, staying or leaving. After weeks not sure which mirror your going to be looking in the morning you forget to worry about what your going to see. Just me. A bust lip maybe. Bruised eyes perhaps. Blood on my clothes. Who knows? It all becomes a blur. A means to an end. You long for a warm bed, clean sheets, a shower and uninterrupted sleep. But after weeks in the middle. Weeks in the mundane. You miss the ups and you forget the lows. The lows had their charm, I have to admit. That’s why I’m going back. While I’m just young enough to pull it off. I have missed it. Writing it all again. The Mr Jekyll and Mr Hyde of the 5-star-circuit. It’s blessed. I think my employment is starting to cotton on to my antics. They get a few complaints about damaged hotel rooms. They have a soft spot for me I think. No more going missing. No more chasing pretty girls. Cut back the drinking? I’m itching to write about it again. I have missed it. I have missed the memories especially the ones I don’t remember.

 

SO SING US A SONG YOUR THE PIANO MAN! Here’s to us. I’ve been doing this nearly a year now. This comparatively healthy way to vent, or at least document, the drunk Mr Hyde. Who get’s drunk. Wakes up in strange places. Sleeps with strangers. Isn’t ashamed. Just smiles, puts on his clothes, and carries on. I’ve always thought a person needs a Mr Hyde. A person needs that vent. That escape. A way of getting all the bad shit out of your soul. The things you can’t just squash. The things that aren’t healthy to push down into your soul. The stuff that would come back. Resurface. When I got dry as a desert I got mean. A sensible approach to schizophrenia. Tonight we’ll takes risks that you can’t afford.

Simon Blake

No longer an astronaut.

x

Here comes that shit again.

August 13, 2011 § 3 Comments


Punks in drag” – Ryan Adam – Halloweenhead. 

I often think about writing. Some days it’s slow and jittery, stalling almost, making me like a stubborn child trying desperately to fit that square block through that triangle hole. But some nights it flows and just falls out of the brain with the fingers in a desperate rush to keep up with the mind which is already pulling away with a lead of around three sentences. I think about the way some people strive to be poetic. The way some people strive to be to-the-point and effective. The way they both try to be honest. It’s honesty from a distance. Like a boxer with a long reach just trying to line up the right combination of left and right. There’s nothing dishonest about the outcome there. Sometimes in writing you will just say the first thing that pops up into your head. Guitar Solo! Oh what a juvenile way to make an unwitty point. Shit – I’m trailing off here.  Back to the road and the straight and narrow. Easy TigerRyan Adams – That was a really really special album. Focus man. What were you tying to say? Writing isn’t about being cute. Far be it from me to start preaching like some sort of right-wing madman wielding a Magnum at a church full of people in some southern state.  I’m far from the greatest writer – I know that – but I also know a thing or two. Writing for the sake of being cute is the most loathe some employment of this art. To make girls like you. Writing to be seen. Fuck you. Seriously – Fuck you. What a strange course this one has taken. It’s starting to feel like how I used to them before I screwed my head on a little tighter. All that is missing is the alcohol coursing through what used to be my blood and is now is just a mess fire water and cold pace. I think I will be changing this soon. I tried so hard to keep myself from falling back into my bad old ways. But here I am. Here we are again. Remember this? There will be few who do. The mad way I used to be. I can feel it. It always turns up on the run towards Christmas. Remember this Jimmy? You better kid. It always turns up. I have this feeling. It’s rare for me but not so rare that I don’t know what it is. What it means. I don’t really believe in fortune tellers or much in the way of mystical. But I believe in this. In this feeling. I know what it means. A girl is coming. Someone new. It’s been awhile since I’ve been this excited. Maybe I’m finally ready to be stupid again. Really fucking stupid. I feel like that mad guy, on his knees in the street shouting up at the rain, in a suite and tie, from a great actors trying to save a bad script. Level out.

In this blog I would like to think that I have maintained honesty. Even in my darkest moments, especially in the early days. This was a place that I knew I was safe to put my thoughts down for awhile. Without the worrying burden of judgement but the benefit of genuine concern. That’s what writing is. An outlet. A way to communicate through words a little more thought out than those expelled via the mouth. People will call me crazy. Fuck it, doctors could even. But this is my medium. Leave their poets to poetry and painters to their paintings, leave the rockstar to his stage, the singer to her piano chords and tones and keys, this is my sonnet, my canvas, my fret board, this is my vocal chords.

Panic on the streets of London. Panic on the streets of Birmingham.

August 9, 2011 § 1 Comment


“And I wonder to myself, will life ever been sane again.” Panic – The Smiths

Oh London. Dear sweet London. London that spearheaded the industrial revolution. London that flew the flag. London that stood up to the Nazi’s. My London. Laid to waste by a bunch of thugs and hooligans. 24-hour news coverage and camera phones make it impossible for the police to get amongst it. To start  breaking skulls. This has nothing to do with the death of a man in Tottenham last week. That was just a peaceful protest that was set upon as an excuse by thugs to try and nick a free t.v. Social sites made it easy to meet. I’m dismayed. Depressed. Those bastards. If I had my way they would have been beaten to a bloody pulp. I fear there will bloody scenes tonight.  I hope there won’t. I held my tongue for a while on this. I have just realised that my thoughts are all over the places. Too much has been said without people thinking. I will retreat a safe distance until my thoughts are together.

Where Am I?

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