Nagging little spot
on the right hand side
of my lower lip
itches, it begs for attention
(probably a cold sore)
just waiting to be touched,
poked, prodded
but I resist
Concentrating on distractions
as my tongue,
absentmindedly,
flicks and licks
driving the chances of infection
ever higher
It started with the itch
in the back of the brain
the late night depression
the why and what for
and what does it all mean
lonely three am
ticks by, as the temperature drops
and the dogs huddle in
the space heater
working overtime
the dizzying fatigue,
the itch it grows
morphing into fully-formed
thought vehicle
pushing the limits
of speed and coherence
bringing the night to
swing between
vertiginous heights and
depraved lows
in a matter of seconds
in sine wave fashion
lengthening and clipping
the peaks
bringing stuttering clarity
and half remembered thoughts
the autonomous revolution
spearheading decades of transgression
dwindles to a twinkle
in the subversive eye
smouldering and waiting
at least that’s how they
would tell it
but in truth,
the media gave up
covering the story became second
to the latest reality tryst
to the interested, involved
the fight wages on
in streets and avenues
both virtual and real
occupying the hearts
of every red blooded liberal thinking
free person,
and the oppressed masses
still fight back/stand their ground
this revolution is clearly
not televised
A multitude of wonderful wooden reasons
as to why things are the way they are
as my spine curves evermore in this
chair, relaxed, but painfully so
and the dogs recline in pain free bliss
all warm and snug in their furry coats
and you, asleep in the afterglow
a veritable plethora of minute
and infinitesimal details
scatter across boardroom tables
and office desks
sticky noted and pinned to cork boards
dry-erased with fading ink
glowing in the blue lcd night
but all of this is nothing
without the knowledge
of what it all means
and for that, I strive
There you go
Tossing and turning in blissful sleep
As i nurse a headache/hangover
Trying to sleep normal hours
And failing
This shift has screwed me up
hearing you breathe, relaxed,
is cute/annoying
as every sound is like a shot
to the head, keeping sleep just out
of reach
so instead, i brave the winds
of late december
and walk the dogs,
hoping that the fresh air
and moderate pace
will knock me out for at least few hours
turn inward, downward
embellished with whisky
they get darker as the night
drags on
boredom sets in,
glasses refilled,
but still the cheer
has vanished from the evening
thinking on the things
that should or shouldn’t have been,
looking ahead,
the spiral continues
if only, I could close my eyes
I’m sure sleep would come
it was the post teenage years
that did it
those few years when
you know you’re a man
but still feel like a kid
whn responsibilities come
fast and thick
but help is nowhere in sight
the cogs of the machine will grind
and gum up with your entrails,
if you’re not nimble, and
as I found out, uncaring
then you lay low,
waiting for your moment,
the time to announce your existence
once the smoke has cleared, and
everyone has settled down
to boring lives of walmart and reality TV
you sneak out,
crawl out from under the rock,
sure you are forgotten,
and quietly live your life
under the bottle, but not the thumb
I’m in love with sound.
The making of, recording of, listening of, cringing from, falling in with sound that permeates the universe. I can go on and on about musicians with whom I feel have the same relationship with sound that I do.
I adore sound and it’s ability to create, destroy and alter moods.
Even with a raging headache, I can listen to music, or just drones, hours and hours of drones. I love firing up my synth and tweaking and shaping oscillators until my eyes no longer remain open.
Beats, blips, rumbles, twangs, splutters. It’s all there to hear. Putting an ear to a closed window to hear the muffled sound of rain on the tarp covering the car in the driveway. Listening intently at a mall, or downtown gathering of people, just all communicating, getting louder with each passing minute as they struggle to be heard, and to hear themselves.
All of these things bring home the fact that I do not create as much as I would like. But now, with some ambient drone on, I record the sound of these keys, and the hard drive clicks, the dog shuffling in it’s sleep. Just capturing it all, an archival of a Tuesday morning, while the rest of the city sleeps.
bah, pressure behind my eyes
making everything seem trivial
and pointless
sleep deprived and drinking
never a good combination
but if i sit still, and sip slowly,
the headaches subside
to a dull roar
that scream a change is needed
something has to change
There’s a point,
just before sleep,
when the vibrations
of existence can
be felt
imparting a feeling,
deep in the brain,
of shimmering particles
bouncing at the speed of light
giving life
just as
consciousness leaves
