tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-226847582012-01-05T20:54:15.547Zthis is the blog for my ramblings...Marcus Woodrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18313068941215194501noreply@blogger.comBlogger771100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22684758.post-82648038433260749362011-09-20T10:18:00.002Z2011-09-20T10:21:57.769Z

The only thing that is remotely humorous to me today is my bank balance. Which just made me laugh out loud as I tapped my way through the necessary precautions to check it via the financial institution's website. It's ludicrous. I am one of the nicest, most dedicated, hardworking and diligent and perhaps intelligent people I know but also one of the worst off professionally and financially. Where

Marcus Woodrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18313068941215194501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22684758.post-67267230253292756962011-08-16T23:34:00.010Z2011-08-17T18:56:59.910Z

It’s hard to live outside the system. Nowadays the system is so all encompassing it inherently seeks to approach and rehabilitate those outside it. Should one escape beyond the boundaries of normality our society is set up to help you get back on board and moving once more along the chain-gang of civilisation.You can exist beyond the system, but not really live without it. To live a life detached

Marcus Woodrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01240824094946965074noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22684758.post-57553860578609547412011-07-27T01:13:00.001Z2011-07-27T01:14:16.644Z

Ah, 27. The age when the last folly of youth dissipates into the reality of adulthood - or else absconds towards death in a final protest at growing up.

Marcus Woodrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01240824094946965074noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22684758.post-42460001583741983762011-07-11T15:52:00.000Z2011-07-11T15:52:39.841Z

right. things aren't improving. lovely time down in dartmoor and the furthest tip of cornwall. but it seems I killed the car on the journey home. I'm endeavouring to look forward to what will go wrong next. my only ambition is retirement. it's difficult being a casual athiest. you know that if there's a god, he's against you.

Marcus Woodrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01240824094946965074noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22684758.post-90725269089252087172011-07-11T12:05:00.001Z2011-07-11T12:08:05.022Z

Those there are my heart strings.Don’t pull them so tight.I’m due fortune soon,But it’s too late tonight. It’s crippling this sittingWaiting to explodeThey’d dig me in citiesBut still I won’t go. And angels they live on the cusp of our worldIgniting the fires that burn in ourselves.So take all this strength and run with it nowBeing on your feet is treading new ground. And good ones, the pure

Marcus Woodrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01240824094946965074noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22684758.post-30038955948042783102011-06-27T12:15:00.001Z2011-06-27T12:15:19.568Z

What's that you say? Wrangle some words on a page to be read on a stage. Well OK. But performing is a distant form from the norm of my world, which swirls between four walls with an audience that is always absent. I'm more at home at home, than on a pedal stool, feeling a fool with lights in eyes and cries of laughter coming out of the dark ever after. Or worse still - Nothing just me, going

Marcus Woodrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01240824094946965074noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22684758.post-61195408876076821602011-06-26T00:49:00.002Z2011-06-26T10:30:25.402Z

Maybe life isn't hard enough and I don't try hard enough. Perhaps I'm having too much fun today, But there is precious little to suggest that. As I sit here going out of a mind that has precious little time to find an escape from the trapping and trimmings of a reality, it hits me - Sideswiping, headlong until tomorrow, sure, I'll plough on but for how long. With aching bones and a brain that

Marcus Woodrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01240824094946965074noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22684758.post-44222184805269292302011-06-21T22:59:00.000Z2011-06-21T22:59:40.478Z

Hiding from the world, closing curtains on the longest day. You'll see me when I find a voice and not before, I fear. It is hard to be heard over the thunderous racket of a crowded world gone crazy, so down hearted I'll stay. I am not afraid to say "the door seems too far a stretch". But it gets caustic inside these constant walls and windows, the air growing stagnant with wasted, stale

Marcus Woodrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01240824094946965074noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22684758.post-79305212566481167382011-06-21T15:35:00.002Z2011-06-21T15:36:01.041Z

Marcus Woodrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01240824094946965074noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22684758.post-16470889391758741782011-06-19T02:52:00.001Z2011-06-19T02:52:23.135Z

Impurities and all, we are the sum of our parts. But it is more fun that way...

Marcus Woodrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01240824094946965074noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22684758.post-10857663313321225132011-06-14T23:10:00.005Z2011-06-15T12:57:19.816Z

Oh God. Jesus shitting Christ. Fucking hell. I’d love to get a handle on my blasphemes. How many times a day I take the Lord’s name in vain, except of course in my universe – which I’m fairly sure is reality – there is no Lord. Well there is Sebastian Coe and a few others but I think you know what I’m getting at – saying ‘Oh my fucking Lordy-Lord’ as a reference to a former Olympian turned

Marcus Woodrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01240824094946965074noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22684758.post-9728726438305418702011-06-13T22:45:00.004Z2011-08-17T00:38:53.881Z

So I started reading a bit of Kerouac today after I found ‘On the Road’ for £2 in a charity bookshop; it had a brief biography in the introduction and some bits about Neal Cassady, Ginsberg et al. Having read that and coupled with my usual doses of HST and Buk I have to say I’m concerned. These lads were some serious drinkers and drug abusers so you have to be worried for your own health should

Marcus Woodrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01240824094946965074noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22684758.post-31649014506212841072011-06-12T21:29:00.005Z2011-06-13T22:34:13.377Z

Suffice to say it is in the very fabric of my national culture to discuss the weather, increasingly though it seems this is not just part of some mundane or inane time passing conversation but instead a reaction to changes to all of that we have become accustomed. Weather is everywhere in my life, in my language in the many and various clichés and colloquialisms of my outdoor work and leisure.

Marcus Woodrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01240824094946965074noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22684758.post-238344564518684212011-06-11T15:24:00.006Z2011-06-11T18:30:04.632Z

I should be spending my day filling in job applications, but perhaps instead I’ll spend some time on the wider issue. The rich are getting richer while the rest of us are struggling. Perhaps not struggling to eat or put a roof over our heads but struggling to meet the expectations that have been dictated to us through our formative years. Two of my closest friends have both lost their jobs in the

Marcus Woodrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01240824094946965074noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22684758.post-70691420500314559692011-04-11T15:52:00.007Z2011-04-11T15:57:44.942Z

The sun was unseasonably strong as it flickered through the frosted bathroom window and whispered its way across my eyes; by holding my book high in front of my face I was able to shield myself from the glare, but really this was no time for laying in the bath reading. The world with everything in and around it was crumbling toward doom and despair; any modicum of faith in humanity was being

Marcus Woodrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18313068941215194501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22684758.post-14648467461615223892011-03-07T12:32:00.005Z2011-03-07T12:45:23.076Z

Is there ever a doubt that however happy I am,Melancholy over rides the emotions of man?When you know you're right that doom is the only end,Everyone else can kid themselves I won't pretend.Bright lights - are welcome to my life.They can have it as long as they like.Is there ever a doubt that with all the effort I make,I only get rewarded with another slap in the face?When all my dreams are left

Marcus Woodrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01240824094946965074noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22684758.post-33659732125125230812010-12-01T15:48:00.002Z2010-12-01T15:50:04.031Z

Walk the streets like you are on holiday; with no urgency, nowhere to be, at no particular time, let new things wash over you, absorb the differences from what you are accustomed and take the world in your stride; you’ll find adventure comes naturally with a change of scenery. This is the tale of once such adventure.Coming from a temperate climate you can smell ‘real’ heat in other countries; you

Marcus Woodrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01240824094946965074noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22684758.post-1386277599690136442010-08-31T14:03:00.001Z2010-08-31T14:04:06.847Z

“Editing, selection, the need to balance that which is interesting with that which is relevant and cut out all the tedious happenstance.”  Douglas Adams, So Long, And thanks for all the fish, Chap 25. Pan Books, UK. 1984. ISBN 0330287001If you are after detailed descriptions, glowing and rounded character development in all aspects of the books you read it may be prudent to go and find a heavier

Marcus Woodrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18313068941215194501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22684758.post-12474749483563567042010-08-31T10:15:00.004Z2010-09-02T18:21:23.053Z

In less than sanitary conditions it begins, then continues apace.Should you acquire the gifts of grace, modesty and self awareness during your time as a human on this planet, at some stage in the aging process you will not only realise that you don’t know it all, but will also ascertain you never will. Whilst many might see this as the time to shy away from the world and let their place within it

Marcus Woodrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18313068941215194501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22684758.post-7924853659363097662010-07-25T02:31:00.002Z2010-08-31T10:15:15.343Z

Magical symphonies burst through your dreams,at the speed of sound they are echoing round,but with a graceful tremble, it stutters then falls,whilst ever we teeter on the edges of crumbling ledges.So you were the hope to cling to but instead my grip it faltersand if I’m still holding on, we'll put it down as happy accident.I'm done with this falling into place, always landing on my feet,something

Marcus Woodrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18313068941215194501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22684758.post-13112282767957231532010-07-06T00:27:00.002Z2010-07-06T00:36:19.125Z

how expensive youth becomes with this ageing. so fleeting the feelings of being young once old.the effort to capture a glimpse of that which came so easily - it takes more than it is worth; this is change.so sad we're tilted towards the bad this side of the galaxy, they tell me andromeda has less dark matter. and burns brighter.but i walk the streets like i'm on holiday and carry caution, but no

Marcus Woodrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18313068941215194501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22684758.post-6743940568939190052010-04-28T09:42:00.001Z2010-04-28T09:58:02.399Z

This blog is now located at http://marcuswoodrow.blogspot.com/. You will be automatically redirected in 30 seconds or you may click here. For feed subscribers, please update your feed subscriptions to http://marcuswoodrow.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default.

Marcus Woodrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18313068941215194501noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22684758.post-64297803599823757362010-01-11T13:59:00.003Z2010-01-11T14:09:20.876Z

I’ll say that all the world ends Mondayso that Sunday you’re alive.Say that all you’re missing from this lifeis what you let pass by.I’ll say that we never seem that far from our happiness these days.Let a smile spread across your face and some problems drift away.

Marcus Woodrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18313068941215194501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22684758.post-75702903443417991782009-07-26T23:14:00.005Z2009-07-26T23:40:53.217Z

after much password forgotten trickery is at great haste if not treachery - he posts.the question that they don't always ask is "where do you find the strength to continue?" "what is the guiding spirit, the force that binds?" that is of course two questions if not three, never the less the answer is one fold, or singular, as it is more commonly referred too - the past. Past lives, past humans -

Marcus Woodrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18313068941215194501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22684758.post-66621027328839987412008-10-27T10:05:00.009Z2008-10-27T16:33:34.637Z

Is there anything left to feel great about today?Or are all the kids right, to lose their fight today?As all of their dreams are ripped at the seams and taken away today,It's no wonder the world is just getting worse with every other today.With all of this hurt it's not enough to pray it away today,And it is no surprise when I open my eyes - I can't stand to face today.

Marcus Woodrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18313068941215194501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22684758.post-46727947017592165532008-10-13T10:26:00.004Z2008-11-21T14:17:23.295Z

hold on there hussler. yeah, wait up tiger, why all this hurry to just get going?We've got so much more life to give you yet.But wait still further, we've got even more to take away from you.So you sit, searching looking for the reasons you do this every day. and slowly one by one they dissappear and the new reasons that come along don't seem to carry the same weight as you get older. And I have

Marcus Woodrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18313068941215194501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22684758.post-61377863577218532562008-08-20T15:08:00.002Z2008-08-20T15:23:52.370Z

enough is enough is enough.How many more hours, How many more days, weeks, months and years?I could sit here till it's time to retire - they'd still pay me and I'd still do as I'm told and what needs to be done. But what's in it for me?Wages for rent, bills, food and holidays, but this is not the only source of money and it is certainly not the most convenient.So -Live life until you are

Marcus Woodrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18313068941215194501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22684758.post-64588769721480245082008-08-08T08:57:00.000Z2008-08-17T23:49:48.897Z

just another grey day in august England.I can't stand this so called summer.If things don't change come next decemberI'll be ready and fit to explode.Because wind and rain don't drive me -anywhere but home.

Marcus Woodrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18313068941215194501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22684758.post-21746331509189268182008-06-18T09:23:00.004Z2008-06-18T09:30:38.574Z

Secret desires - they fill my work day. All the things I might be doing, all the places I could well be. This desk, this chair, these screens, these people - carrying nothing but contempt around all day. When really it was my choice to place luxury above the pursuit of my dreams and aspirations.Well now I'm ready, fly out the window, set this 9-5 life on fire and not look back.

Marcus Woodrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18313068941215194501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22684758.post-62125635343814052472008-06-18T07:54:00.005Z2008-06-18T08:54:22.099Z

If you are lucky enough to earn a living from what doing that which you love, then you must be good at it and it's probably just that - luck. Work is not hard if you love something, work is not hard if you are good at something. If you "put shoes on your feet and food on your table"* doing what you love and what you are good at, you probably don't work. Work is waking up with dread ahead of the

Marcus Woodrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18313068941215194501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22684758.post-88859459163390722082008-06-17T18:52:00.002Z2008-06-17T18:54:01.193Z

It has to be done now. It is demanded, as much by others as myself. The desire has grown too strong to resist. Words have to be spilled, ordered and contorted to fill this page ready for eyes to consume, causing discourse and further contortion by minds. So it begins, again. It never stops starting. I’ll take first steps till I cease my stumble and fall the final time. Fresh ground is the only

Marcus Woodrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18313068941215194501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22684758.post-68640434001257624512008-06-03T09:46:00.009Z2011-06-19T02:45:26.586Z

Marcus Woodrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18313068941215194501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22684758.post-31754004162431826942008-02-18T10:27:00.004Z2008-06-03T09:53:59.848Z

With all the insanity running through and through,You must be mad if it never gets to you...

Marcus Woodrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18313068941215194501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22684758.post-85015062169779180272007-11-08T19:49:00.003Z2011-02-07T21:37:49.867Z

Running on empty, but at least we're still running, even if we're only running out. Out of promise - out of all hope or just out the door to above and beyond. Beyond oblivion, reason, beyond ambition, the boundaries of what we thought we knew. We knew all along, but never let on, we knew too much, yet did too little, too late. Little did we know, better late than never and a little

Marcus Woodrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18313068941215194501noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22684758.post-10640145229715759012007-10-15T18:00:00.000Z2007-10-15T18:02:07.982Z

when you have a run in with your muse and she berrates you for not writing more. It is strange to find you have indeed only posted four times in a year.But how does one write without one's muse...?

Marcus Woodrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18313068941215194501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22684758.post-212305894954436392007-06-07T23:24:00.000Z2007-06-07T23:26:31.447Z

With the rain dripping down outside but not thankfully at Headingly where play has recommenced - it is an English summer. Celebrating my birthday at the end of May, generally within reach of a bank holiday, some sun can usually be expected - but not on this dreary Monday. So instead I’ll celebrate by watching and writing, rather than walking and listening – as long as the earlier hail holds off

Marcus Woodrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18313068941215194501noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22684758.post-77910897955390698812007-06-07T23:17:00.000Z2007-06-07T23:19:36.243Z

the saddest battle to lose is when you realise that just by the life youwere born into, though it came with the best of intentions, is just destroying the planet, breeding unhappiness and feeding false hope. Yet we as individuals are powerless to change any of it, our lives or the effects yet the surrounds of thisgracefully gifted existance holds us here, ever submersed in guilt, for just being.

Marcus Woodrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18313068941215194501noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22684758.post-70792722514241196662007-02-20T10:13:00.000Z2007-02-20T10:18:26.442Z

just add 12 hours at work, four hours sleep, and repeat.a vague early morning parade to the station, loud music piped into the brain.an argument with the railway staff, it is not service they offer.smile on the platform, gaze into middle distance -drinking the tea you brought from your bedside.instant brown, instant karma.no wonder they stare as I crumble away from the day.

Marcus Woodrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18313068941215194501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22684758.post-6541900552669618242007-02-20T10:01:00.000Z2007-02-20T10:12:09.249Z

family you can't choose. friends you can.choose to get rid of that is.company exists ahead of frienship, it has the common ground, the shared experience but without the emotional attachment - that opens up each soul to sadness.firends will let you down, just the same as family, lovers or enemies.They shouldn't but they will. If you can make do without too many close friends, you'll get by on an

Marcus Woodrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18313068941215194501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22684758.post-1169515829829766552007-01-23T01:29:00.000Z2007-01-23T01:32:15.356Z

Stopping off on my way back from the Styx, it was a cold, dark night atop the downs. Droll, I know but it was, all right? If I’d started this any other way it would have been a lie – and that is no way to begin. There was no moon bearing over the night sky on my way back into the city but it was clear enough to see galaxies, constellations and the regularly revolving orbitals that supposedly make

Marcus Woodrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18313068941215194501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22684758.post-1159317136818425822006-09-27T00:31:00.000Z2007-01-09T01:32:02.440Z

I went on holiday this month to the Norfolk Broads on a boat for a week with two friends. Relax and unwind! With the boat and life travelling at a top speed of 4 miles an hour, these tasks seemed positively energetic. Life slowed to an apparent stop and I was able to write about it.“Endure all that has gone before, then enjoy any that should remain. Modern life is simply penance and scant reward,

Marcus Woodrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18313068941215194501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22684758.post-1158777903519286642006-09-20T18:32:00.000Z2006-09-20T18:52:54.650Z

It is impossible to say where I found the motivation to get up this morning. Perhaps it was the thought of not slipping into another nightmare of faces I'd rather not see. Some how though, I got up, showered, dressed, drank green tea. Running on empty, running on routine I left the house and made my way to the train. Duty bound to my employers and my bank manager but nothing else. I would give

Marcus Woodrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18313068941215194501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22684758.post-1158706834243195112006-09-19T22:58:00.000Z2006-09-19T23:00:34.243Z

if you can't be honest with yourself or the world at large, then life is wasted upon you.Welcome to my world, where truth rules all.

Marcus Woodrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18313068941215194501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22684758.post-1158705792201190142006-09-19T21:59:00.000Z2006-09-20T18:47:32.510Z

Stephen Fry had a documentary on BBC2 tonight about manic depression. I pre-empted him with my own 4 hours of mental chaos earlier on today.After 5 hours of drink induced sleep I awoke at 4.45 this morning, initially just confused as to why my alarm had not woken me up to watch the overnight football game from America on Channel 5. It took 10 minutes of fumbling and stumbling to locate my alarm

Marcus Woodrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18313068941215194501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22684758.post-1157758238333806982006-09-08T23:24:00.000Z2006-10-05T20:14:48.376Z

There seems to be an incumbant feeling in my geration that it is already too late to change our ways and save the planet for future generations. An assumption there is no point, the Earth is done for anyway... Not only would I assert that this is pessemisstic but also wrong. Regardless of global warfare or natural disasters, with the current level of human civilisation, evolution and pollution, I

Marcus Woodrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18313068941215194501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22684758.post-1157757258142079612006-09-08T22:55:00.000Z2006-09-28T13:56:20.263Z

I’m having trouble writing about myself. It is not that I can’t put my life into words, more that it goes by with such drama and speed it is difficult to hang on to it and get it down. Short sentences. Quick fingers, tell it like it is - so they all said, “Beauty and art come from truth, honest expressions of souls.”“You’re Gay!” others will say.“No, I am metro-celibate.” I shall proudly

Marcus Woodrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18313068941215194501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22684758.post-1157670760174859612006-09-07T12:04:00.000Z2006-09-07T23:16:51.356Z

A. Falkon of the Ancient Mariners was bowling accurate wrist spin to the feet of novice batsmen and it was working. He’d just clean bowled the last fellow, clipping the leg bail with a ball that pitched on at least off stump if not outside.Clapping the new man toward the crease from a squarish mid-on, I was sure there would be an attempt to get bat on the next ball. My stride towards the wicket

Marcus Woodrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18313068941215194501noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22684758.post-1156870136048363252006-08-29T16:46:00.000Z2006-09-08T23:36:55.130Z

Gutted in seat 26J of UA938 would like to report he has been some what of a fucking twat. He was meant to pack in his laptop bag for this flight a CDR/DVD drive so he could watch either of the kung fu films that he chose to bring along on this trip to the home of the cubs, bulls, bears and white socks. Unfortunately I decided that the CDR/DVD drive I brought with me for the laptop I am currently

Marcus Woodrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18313068941215194501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22684758.post-1156251297958892302006-08-22T12:16:00.000Z2006-09-06T20:08:01.636Z

Do not despair for despairs sake. Save it for when all else is lost and wrong.When the wages from a job you hate barely cover the debts you have nothing to show for,And there is little left from which to afford food or find fun.When you live in world that is dying and no one with the power cares to save it.When you realise the futility of friendship or family, as each lives and dies alone.When

Marcus Woodrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18313068941215194501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22684758.post-1155113799400454302006-08-09T08:39:00.000Z2006-08-09T09:07:18.773Z

My eyelids drag themselves apart and widen one minute before the alarm sounds.I catch it at the first beep before it wakes her, reset it for twenty minutes time.I leave it on the pillow as I return to the softest of kisses and skin.Yet one train has already been missed and even the cushion of snoozecuts short caresses with little miss dopey eyes.Sliding on clothes I slip away home into the

Marcus Woodrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18313068941215194501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22684758.post-1153225594556383302006-07-18T12:22:00.001Z2007-02-19T07:57:49.220Z

I don't apologise for the fact of my poetry. At its best it is life distilled into words. At it's worst it is merely an expression of existance and that can never be wrong.Attachment leads to suffering. A lack of attachment leads to alot of of time and money on hands, seldom is either spent wisely and all ends back in attachment and suffering.

Marcus Woodrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18313068941215194501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22684758.post-1152275490873688392006-07-07T12:23:00.000Z2006-07-07T12:31:30.886Z

Blithering about the front room in the middle of the night,As I do, uncouth. I cut a familiar school boy jib, but now I am rid,and it's back to the beginning. Through it all,I don't care for any of the pain or trouble anymore,I just miss you, you've been gone from my life too long.So, I'll see everything as new,whatever my gaze should land upon.Admire difference in all things,each time my

Marcus Woodrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18313068941215194501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22684758.post-1152141547735258482006-07-05T23:05:00.000Z2006-07-13T23:08:29.953Z

a long distance friend sent me an email... before they signed off they said this:>Lemme know ur status in life, haha.I've got to say I struggled to respond but when I did it seemed relevant to here:Overall I'm doing ok - I suppose. I swing between shades of Charles Bukowski and the Dalai Lama. The inherent madcap nature of which can leave me a little highly strung. In short my maverick

Marcus Woodrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18313068941215194501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22684758.post-1152140624163597872006-07-05T22:39:00.000Z2006-07-07T12:33:18.530Z

Born in land locked Europe -you shine behind English oak.I read your name and though you'll never know mine,sometimes you remember the drinks I likeor ask how I am with a smile of recognition.Yet the next day I'm another barfly, alone, uncouth -You work dressed in black and your quality avoids my eyes.Instead they see your narrowed nose,with it's mask of subtle cheeks and chin lost -there is your

Marcus Woodrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18313068941215194501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22684758.post-1151531719652772952006-06-28T21:49:00.000Z2006-06-28T22:49:46.643Z

It comes, it goes.Sometimes I can hide it,until it grates it's way through.In mornings it consumes,At night it is just savage.It remains a wrestle,keeping this mind mine.All's lost, it's all right,I'll walk till I am empty,see through this illness,escape to my truth,leave the lies of reality.Sadness and madness is forgotten,for a moment my mind is mine.

Marcus Woodrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18313068941215194501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22684758.post-1151490662240739512006-06-28T11:21:00.001Z2006-06-28T14:46:04.213Z

I am practicing metro-celibacy, but others mistake it for metrosexuality, homosexuality or uncommonly a syndrome we shall term as 'Lonesome and Heartbroken', you may know it as being single.Others mistaking your behaviour for something else is a problem when bucking trends that the general population rely on, conform to and take for granted. Rather than just going with or against the flow – I

Marcus Woodrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18313068941215194501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22684758.post-1151482504756860362006-06-28T09:03:00.000Z2006-06-28T08:21:40.006Z

I don't know how much longer it can continue without some horrific meltdown. I'm feeling like I'm on borrowed time. By 8.30am this morning I was psychotic, intent on violence, drug abuse and sexual harassment - if not assault. Instead of giving into to the temptations of my brain and this thing hanging between my legs, which constantly tries to lead me towards more suffering, I decided to go to

Marcus Woodrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18313068941215194501noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22684758.post-1151371293239465922006-06-27T01:15:00.000Z2006-06-27T01:21:33.240Z

since when is it only a bad thing to cause offence?Some people like to be offended - it keeps them busy aswell as breeding irony, mockery and laughter.A world where none are caused offence would be without life, love or laughter.

Marcus Woodrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18313068941215194501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22684758.post-1151370900053424482006-06-27T01:13:00.000Z2006-06-27T01:23:13.193Z

If I was to ever see you with him,he would wind up in a wheelchair.I can live without you as long as I can walk,but it would still kill me to see your gracein stride and alongside another man on two legs;for if it is not me, than none should have it all.Therefore,if I was to ever see you with him,he would wind up in a wheelchair.

Marcus Woodrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18313068941215194501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22684758.post-1151328560237139832006-06-26T13:13:00.000Z2006-06-28T22:53:24.266Z

Hazy monday morning, eyes wet with tiredness.Nothing carries purpose, so no effort is afforded.I can't shake this now, it's set in for the day.Just sit in silence, rubbing that brow red raw.All attempts to escape this woe, bring me no relief,Nothing has changed for so long, it's too late now to go for help.

Marcus Woodrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18313068941215194501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22684758.post-1151310452457142042006-06-26T08:19:00.000Z2006-06-26T08:27:32.466Z

So steady on the platform, you know the trains.Why so sure of yourself each day?Do you think that's what people want in another?How about uncertainty? Or not having all the answers -Just once.Perhaps others will see your confusion as endearing,May be offer you some help -And then you might not feel as lost and alone.Yet as much as I hide my eyesNo one struggles to gaze into them.

Marcus Woodrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18313068941215194501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22684758.post-1151050159801992052006-06-23T08:05:00.000Z2006-06-23T13:36:21.290Z

i'll jump out at the carpark entrance,walk in the sun to the supermarket.drop by there and pick you up breakfast,pain au chocolate and freshly squeezed juice.back at your desk i'll deliver in silence -you can pay me and say thanks later,or just break me in bits and leave me to wonder -why it wasn't as perfect for youas it seemed to me on those mornings long ago.

Marcus Woodrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18313068941215194501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22684758.post-1150989001668020932006-06-22T15:01:00.000Z2006-06-22T15:16:02.686Z

Summer is here and girls get their skin out. Which is fine, i won't ever moan at the sight of taught, blemish free skin. But I would encourage all young attractive girls to buck the trend and avoid getting some hellish symbol that means nothing to them or anyone else tattood on their beautiful bodies. It's not big, clever, endearing, interesting, intriguing or even a sign of originality or

Marcus Woodrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18313068941215194501noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22684758.post-1150882390853161632006-06-21T08:18:00.000Z2006-06-21T10:39:00.106Z

I'm supposed to be working. In-between though if I'm not performing some important function of life I should be writing, perhaps at least reading or thinking of what to write about. Enough is enough, there needs to be continual effort now. Shoehorn in time for expression of my creativity. Success demands it and so these notes are being typed up. It is an effort to turn my shambolic existence into

Marcus Woodrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18313068941215194501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22684758.post-1150848963623512522006-06-21T00:11:00.000Z2006-06-21T00:16:03.633Z

Hank advises you leave it 18 days to see if it's any good, but i just wrote this, thought it was alright, besides no-one reads this anywayKWIK-SANDInspiration attracts sedimentas flawless shores call it home.All else but memory is brokenand knowledge becomes solitude.It seems strange to be left graspingat irrational realities,when the abstract nature of emptinesscan happily suffice.

Marcus Woodrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18313068941215194501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22684758.post-1150418092917622182006-06-16T00:15:00.001Z2006-06-16T00:43:11.166Z

So this is modern life. How do you do?Go ahead just take whats left of me.And I will sit here, while you doand I don't argue anymore.So take it all.Take it all now, my necessities,Yeah I am nothing without you.So take it all, I would die for you todayAnd never claim I had it all,But you know I didUntil you took it all away.

Marcus Woodrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18313068941215194501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22684758.post-1147921096232653672006-05-18T02:56:00.000Z2006-05-18T03:14:13.956Z

The duty-free rum is flowing, as am I. Sitting on the sofa with a work laptop astride my increasingly infertile thigh region. The screen is bright. I just caught a glance of myself in the lounge mirror and saw my bloodshot and narrowed eyes, looking much like the boxers in the 12th round of KOTV classics currently playing on the television. The term brow beaten in it’s truest sense, the pugilist’

Marcus Woodrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18313068941215194501noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22684758.post-1145868612144543902006-04-24T08:46:00.000Z2006-04-24T09:33:56.370Z

the more i try to simplify my life, the more complicated it just seems to be,and the more i try to leave these things behind, the more they seem to catch right up to me.

Marcus Woodrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18313068941215194501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22684758.post-1142980436655050192006-03-21T22:30:00.000Z2006-03-21T22:39:19.656Z

hello people that read this - if anyone...I added some new mantras - they help me they might help you... one is about the unending variety of human nature; the other is about the predicament of human suffering and finding peace within it. They're not perfect and need some work - but the gist is there, so I uploaded them. You are looking for numbers 33 and 34. It's like bingo though, isn't it?

Marcus Woodrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18313068941215194501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22684758.post-1142896259953529422006-03-20T23:01:00.000Z2006-03-20T23:10:59.986Z

Whether my brain is faulty or if all minds have the same qualities is irrelevant, what is clear is that my capacity for self inflicting pain, misery, mental torture, despair and projecting bad outcomes on my life is limitless, endless and infinite. Particularly with emotional situations I could be forever consumed by the suffering that has been thrust upon me throughout my life. Of course, the

Marcus Woodrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18313068941215194501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22684758.post-1142124271360091852006-03-12T00:37:00.000Z2006-06-21T00:31:39.906Z

It’s true, a dolphin told me, via a caption (that I presume was a direct translation of dolphin speak) on a laminated poster featuring the afore mentioned grinning aquatic mammal. That was on my brothers bedroom wall about 20 years ago and I’ve been thinking about it ever since. The act of smiling has, however, in the course of recent week cropped up over and over again. I could have called this

Marcus Woodrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18313068941215194501noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22684758.post-1141694634285849122006-03-07T00:00:00.000Z2006-03-08T20:30:52.813Z

You wake up, get ready, leave the house on time - there is absolutely no sign that there is likely to be anything but routine for the journey to start the second week of your new job, but I didn't even get that far.The car battery was flat, I'd jump started it the previous day and taken it for a drive to give the alternator a chance to charge up the battery, but the fuel tank got low and in my

Marcus Woodrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18313068941215194501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22684758.post-1141480164170542982006-03-04T13:39:00.000Z2006-03-08T23:58:17.656Z

Other horror stories include the dumping of nuclear waste on active farmland, enforced copulation between monks and nuns - to make them renounce their vows and the kidnap of a 6 six year old child (shortly after he was pronounced as the incarnation of a religious leader) that has lead to ten year long political imprisonment. There are countless other examples of torture, murder, false

Marcus Woodrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18313068941215194501noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22684758.post-1140658168336407332006-02-23T01:28:00.000Z2006-02-23T18:27:41.983Z

So it turns out finding something to write about on a blog even every four days is harder than I thought. Sure I could peddle of some diary entries from recent times but am I not living and learning in at least equal measure right now? I think and experience new things everyday and have the ability to describe them – so it can’t be that. Perhaps I don’t have the effort, energy end dedication to

Marcus Woodrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18313068941215194501noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22684758.post-1140432556453057132006-02-20T10:44:00.000Z2006-02-23T01:36:47.806Z

As per usual friday afternoon threw up a couple of pearls of wisdom. These have now been put into verse and are available on my 'mantras for modern minds and lives' page. They are numbered as 031 & 032, one discusses the nature of he human condition, the other the nature of the present moment. Refresh the 'mantras' page and ye shall find...

Marcus Woodrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18313068941215194501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22684758.post-1140396542332522542006-02-20T00:35:00.000Z2006-02-23T18:24:06.286Z

Back on the road and here I go again, I had left but I knew I’d be back. Another hotel room, by god man – it’s happening again, the same debauchedness of a travelling existence, the same intoxicants and vices to make it interesting. Up to my elbows in it with nine minutes to turn the ruins of the hotel bed into a place to rest my head. It’s an early rise and room full of people waiting for me to

Marcus Woodrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18313068941215194501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22684758.post-1140382131962327992006-02-19T20:46:00.000Z2006-02-20T11:06:57.903Z

This is my blog. I intend to use it for ramblings. Like this.

Marcus Woodrowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18313068941215194501noreply@blogger.com1