That musty smell of attics and dust
Circles around the Dynatron rust.
The chair creaks, knows what’s to come,
That good old crackling hum.
The cardboard sleeves that smell so old,
Contain the sound of angels, bold.
Angelic whispers of Bolan’s heart,
Charming and brave, the finest art.
Friday, 21 September 2012
Rat Race
Dragging along, face down
People rushing past, that familiar sound
High heeled shoes, car doors shutting
Into a machine, lives they're putting.
On and on, the clock ticks slow
Under the halogen blinding glow
The numbers listing, coffee spilling
Six hours to go, there’s no giving.
Smile and nod, know your place
They don’t know who you are, but they know your face
Gossip churning, stomach’s turning
You don’t know the shit your learning
The last hour, this is the worst
If this is forever, my head will burst
Fuck this life, it’s not for me
Get out now, or never be free.
People rushing past, that familiar sound
High heeled shoes, car doors shutting
Into a machine, lives they're putting.
On and on, the clock ticks slow
Under the halogen blinding glow
The numbers listing, coffee spilling
Six hours to go, there’s no giving.
Smile and nod, know your place
They don’t know who you are, but they know your face
Gossip churning, stomach’s turning
You don’t know the shit your learning
The last hour, this is the worst
If this is forever, my head will burst
Fuck this life, it’s not for me
Get out now, or never be free.
Tuesday, 11 September 2012
The Day I Started Writing Again
Typing ‘One’ at the top of the page. I hadn’t done that for two years. I thought, as I was typing, eager to let loose and let go of everything in a world I was going to create, that I couldn’t have helped it. I had been dead for two years. How can a dead person write?
It was 8:58am, Tuesday the 11th September 2012. This was the day I came alive again, and fuck, I'm not going back to where I was before.
A Soul Inane
I sat down, cross legged and closed my eyes tightly.
I tried to think of something that would make me want to write again. Something that reminded of when I used to be happy, truly happy, which was a long time ago.
It’s always the people and places that are the furthest away that I remember most, the old smells, that attic smell. I could hear the sound, although distant, of an ice cream van. The music it was playing was ‘How Much is that Doggy in the Window’.
I could feel the wind on my face, goose pimples on my arms as it got colder, the air was fresher and it no longer smelt like stale depression. It smelt like those happy, bright mornings when I couldn’t wait to get up and play.
There were geraniums, that leafy sweet smell of geraniums in the morning. Freshly cut grass, yeah, it was fresh because I could also hear a lawnmower. I could feel my backside, legs and feet were getting moist and the ground was changing from thick pile woollen rug to a dewy lawn. Jackdaws above, cooing. Footsteps, loud footsteps, maybe someone with large boots, and a smaller set of footsteps, a little dog running around panting in excitement of a brand new day.
The sound of runner beans falling into a basket. Someone whistled and the dog halted. I slowly opened my eyes, looking forward, scared. It was blurry, like a dream, but it was a very familiar council house, I was sat next to a long concrete path with a white painted railing, and all down the sides of the path were these beautiful geraniums, pansies, fuchsias, in all the colours of the rainbow. This old man walked down the path, with his basket of beans, and I knew who it was.
"Annie, get up of the grass, your mum won’t want you to stain your trousers will she? Here’s some pennies, get yourself an ice cream."
Granddad. And his dog, Bonnie.
I tried to think of something that would make me want to write again. Something that reminded of when I used to be happy, truly happy, which was a long time ago.
It’s always the people and places that are the furthest away that I remember most, the old smells, that attic smell. I could hear the sound, although distant, of an ice cream van. The music it was playing was ‘How Much is that Doggy in the Window’.
I could feel the wind on my face, goose pimples on my arms as it got colder, the air was fresher and it no longer smelt like stale depression. It smelt like those happy, bright mornings when I couldn’t wait to get up and play.
There were geraniums, that leafy sweet smell of geraniums in the morning. Freshly cut grass, yeah, it was fresh because I could also hear a lawnmower. I could feel my backside, legs and feet were getting moist and the ground was changing from thick pile woollen rug to a dewy lawn. Jackdaws above, cooing. Footsteps, loud footsteps, maybe someone with large boots, and a smaller set of footsteps, a little dog running around panting in excitement of a brand new day.
The sound of runner beans falling into a basket. Someone whistled and the dog halted. I slowly opened my eyes, looking forward, scared. It was blurry, like a dream, but it was a very familiar council house, I was sat next to a long concrete path with a white painted railing, and all down the sides of the path were these beautiful geraniums, pansies, fuchsias, in all the colours of the rainbow. This old man walked down the path, with his basket of beans, and I knew who it was.
"Annie, get up of the grass, your mum won’t want you to stain your trousers will she? Here’s some pennies, get yourself an ice cream."
Granddad. And his dog, Bonnie.
Tuesday, 3 May 2011
The Little Girl That Lives In My Head
It's the nausea,
The cramps,
The time jumps,
Fatigue,
The little girl that lives in my head.
It's the poison
I'm consuming
And here she is,
Looming,
The little girl that lives in my head.
It's the headaches,
The worries
The fear,
Confusion,
The little girl that wants me dead.
It's the apathy,
The agony,
The angsty melancholy,
She's got that voodoo dolly,
The little girl that lives in my head.
The extreme highs and the lows,
From my head to my toes,
Fuck, goodness knows...
To the stairway I'm forced to be led.
The cramps,
The time jumps,
Fatigue,
The little girl that lives in my head.
It's the poison
I'm consuming
And here she is,
Looming,
The little girl that lives in my head.
It's the headaches,
The worries
The fear,
Confusion,
The little girl that wants me dead.
It's the apathy,
The agony,
The angsty melancholy,
She's got that voodoo dolly,
The little girl that lives in my head.
The extreme highs and the lows,
From my head to my toes,
Fuck, goodness knows...
To the stairway I'm forced to be led.
Thursday, 28 April 2011
Monday, 16 August 2010
Barnsley Brawl Blues
Sweet sweet baby, I’m so glad that you came,
Oh, sweet honey, my mind is untamed,
I waited all night, all night long,
Just to see your pretty face
They jostled me around
Like a vagabond from the street
They took my body took my soul
Knocked me off my feet-
-Oh pretty baby, so glad that you came;
Eight hours of hurtin’
Eight hours of shame
Eight hours of shiverin’
And I still feel the same
But, oh honey baby,
I’m so glad that you came.
They dragged me down a corridor
When I screamed and hollered,
They bruised my skin when I tried to give in,
It cost me eighty dollars
Oh pretty baby, I’m so glad that you came;
Now I’m breathin’ okay
And my chest hurts less and less
But your friends are still laughin at me
They wouldn’t laugh if it was them
So oh pretty baby, I won’t be goin’ there again.
Oh, sweet honey, my mind is untamed,
I waited all night, all night long,
Just to see your pretty face
They jostled me around
Like a vagabond from the street
They took my body took my soul
Knocked me off my feet-
-Oh pretty baby, so glad that you came;
Eight hours of hurtin’
Eight hours of shame
Eight hours of shiverin’
And I still feel the same
But, oh honey baby,
I’m so glad that you came.
They dragged me down a corridor
When I screamed and hollered,
They bruised my skin when I tried to give in,
It cost me eighty dollars
Oh pretty baby, I’m so glad that you came;
Now I’m breathin’ okay
And my chest hurts less and less
But your friends are still laughin at me
They wouldn’t laugh if it was them
So oh pretty baby, I won’t be goin’ there again.
Tuesday, 13 July 2010
Several Horses, A Blinding Light
I see the white light ahead
The air as thick as fresh sliced bread
Several horses, a band of merrymen
Crossing the sour hills of the glen
Alas, this light shines upon
Their eyes, blessed with mirth, yet forlorn
Come now soldier, dance with me
Let us join our hands with piety
For as long as I see this light,
From this tower’s sickening height,
I will dance unremittingly.
The air as thick as fresh sliced bread
Several horses, a band of merrymen
Crossing the sour hills of the glen
Alas, this light shines upon
Their eyes, blessed with mirth, yet forlorn
Come now soldier, dance with me
Let us join our hands with piety
For as long as I see this light,
From this tower’s sickening height,
I will dance unremittingly.
MM4C
Did you awake this morn with rubies in your eyes?
Insomniac queen, your trip is over
Put down the snuffbox and pick the clover
That grows on a vast field of spun gold
I foresee that four leaves you should haplessly hold.
The party’s over, go home to mama kin. (give your rubies back)
Unhinged maiden, your demise could be near,
You sold your soul, but have no fear
The hope that’s left should make things clear
And light the way to the mending of your existence.
These rubies melt in the hot tears of hell
Until new ones grow after the party ends.
But as you knew all along, from the start
Rubies are dull and you know it.
They are the veins that creep on your eyes
The bloodshot, weary, twisted guise,
Lay off this substance, its killing you, see?
Go pick the clover in the field of the free.
Insomniac queen, your trip is over
Put down the snuffbox and pick the clover
That grows on a vast field of spun gold
I foresee that four leaves you should haplessly hold.
The party’s over, go home to mama kin. (give your rubies back)
Unhinged maiden, your demise could be near,
You sold your soul, but have no fear
The hope that’s left should make things clear
And light the way to the mending of your existence.
These rubies melt in the hot tears of hell
Until new ones grow after the party ends.
But as you knew all along, from the start
Rubies are dull and you know it.
They are the veins that creep on your eyes
The bloodshot, weary, twisted guise,
Lay off this substance, its killing you, see?
Go pick the clover in the field of the free.
Wanda's Haus
Smoke from the beacon on the hills in the night
Here kitty kitty she whispers in the wind
Howling illicit catcalls as she swings from the stake
The innocence of another she wishes to take.
A dreamscape too lucid, her object wakes at 3
Here kitty kitty she beckons seductively
Clawing at the rafters as she comes closer to her prey
Towards Wanda‘s haus, the carcass of the Highway
Here kitty kitty she whispers in the wind
Howling illicit catcalls as she swings from the stake
The innocence of another she wishes to take.
A dreamscape too lucid, her object wakes at 3
Here kitty kitty she beckons seductively
Clawing at the rafters as she comes closer to her prey
Towards Wanda‘s haus, the carcass of the Highway
Wednesday, 23 June 2010
"I have fought my way here to the castle, beyond the goblin city..."
THE MOST BEAUTIFUL FILM SCENE EVER. Seen it so many times, never ceases to inspire me.
Tuesday, 20 April 2010
Green Eyed Glenda
She’s feelin blue,
Thinking of death and hate and her and you.
She buys green contacts,
Throws away her scales, mirror and Ex- Lax.
She sees ugliness,
So she looks in the mirror less and less.
She looks at Pretty Polly,
Who has a striking face and protruding bones.
Polly smiles,
Lighting a cigarette, reaching the telephone dial.
Glenda sighs,
Is it better to have sad blue or jealous green eyes?
Thinking of death and hate and her and you.
She buys green contacts,
Throws away her scales, mirror and Ex- Lax.
She sees ugliness,
So she looks in the mirror less and less.
She looks at Pretty Polly,
Who has a striking face and protruding bones.
Polly smiles,
Lighting a cigarette, reaching the telephone dial.
Glenda sighs,
Is it better to have sad blue or jealous green eyes?
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