The Sun doth Shine

You see the worst in humanity when the sun doth shine.
Bare chested behemoths throw their weight through the streets,
spilling beer as they go.
With tattoos only matched in hideousness by the spoilt flesh
of young women revealing too much.
And the tempers rise as the temperature follows suits
onto the trains and roads, boiling over in angry exchanges
with sweaty furrowed brows.
The streets are left paved with the discarded debris of summer fun,
left behind for unseen forces to clear.
So burn Britons burn, in a scorched summer of my discontent.

You see the best of humanity when the sun doth shine.
Breaking the shackles of darkened rooms and silicone screens
they make for the great outdoors.
Smiles on the streets as pressures of conformity are forgotten,
left in the wake of a suddenly carefree society.
Joined in a collective conscience together we shine brighter
than the sun on our backs.
And we can use these moments to show the world how it is done,
evolution in action, striding toward victory.
This could be the greatness - that was once spoken of.
So burn Britons burn, with desire for the summers of your childhood.

breaking point

Hellish this world with its plastic bottles and vehicle fumes. It's difficult to see where humanity ends and depravity begins. They are two sides of the same coin. Perhaps it has never been any different; only now there are more of us with a greater technological capacity, allowing us to cause more damage to a planet that has grown tired of our callousness towards it. Despite being the rulers of our own destiny, as a species we are hell bent on self destruction. The selfish and blinkered nature of modern society only lends itself to furthering this traumatic decline. Yet it could all be so different, principals and morality are the only things missing and every human has the potential for these. Giving a shit about the environment and the other people and things in it. Just having a clue and giving a damn. That's it, just giving a second thought to something other than that which is under your nose automatically makes the world a better place. Altruism is the only beautiful thing in the world, but it's probably a step too far for most. Compassion though and patience should not be - the cultivation of these things is worthwhile both on a personal level for a greater awareness and inner happiness but even more beneficial is the fact that others will prosper as well. But where to begin in a world where even those that know these things struggle to put them into practice in the face of overwhelming practical and financial constraints. We constrict those who help others in real terms as part of their working lives - nurses, teachers, conservationists and disproportionately reward those who make little or no difference to the greater good - bankers, footballers and executives of corporations who put profit above sustainability. We've bred multiple generations of fame hungry wannabees who's interest in the real issues of life is increasingly paling in the face of concern over entertainment, fashion and frivolity. Again, perhaps it's always been like this but everything is exaggerated, including the effects of this ignorance and disinterest. Never have we been better equipped to educate and communicate throughout the populus yet instead I get the impression the younger generations are ever more eager to blame the mistakes of those gone before rather than taking responsibility for change into their own hands. I remember learning about recycling and littering some twenty years ago at school and thinking it would be second nature to young people by the time I was an adult. But putting rubbish in the bin or saving water has, if anything, become a dying art - environmentalism is unfashionable. Consumerism and expendability are en vogue in a disposable culture that buries it's rubbish, burns fossil fuels and makes light of the consequences. I hope I'm wrong. But if not, soon it won't just be other species in far flung destinations feeling the effects of our wasteful nature, millions will suffer and die. This world of plastic bottles and vehicle fumes cannot continue to sustain itself.

Back here.

It grows up on you, the greatest shit storm of them all. Biting at your coat tails and pulling you, holding you back. You can try to run but at best you take a few stressful stunted steps before you realise it is as hapless as it is hopeless. Reality has you, responsibility grabbing and gnawing away at those freedoms that are all but gone, the wistful dreams and ambitions of youth now disappearing desperately out of reach. This is our world; we’re inexorably tied to it. The same dreams and hopes are set by the same conditioning that confines and binds us. I’ve never known anything different, except for a few all too short months when I set myself against the commercial charge of vanity and self sufficiency and put my all into a greater cause and tried to make a difference. But even that was in vain, there is scant reward for contributing to the greater good and even scanter prospects for the futures of those that do. At somepoint you have to bite the bullet and put quality of life over quality of spirit. So, just a few months later I find myself heading towards solvency but consumed by a corporate terror that shakes me to my core, I sleep at night but for how long. In this situation, as ever, the only way out seems to be these key strokes, this prose, this mess of a mind brought to life through words. Some vague hope that there is a dream to be fulfilled typing – with every word leading to pennies and security without treading that commercial path that consumes and dooms the soul in equal measure. Strange that the creative world, so revered at the highest level puts up the greatest barriers of entry, whilst the world of business is so unfussy in who it rewards and affords it accolades to. I have so much to say but not the time or means to tell it, these words here fall on absent ears.

Comedy in the face of overwhelming depression.

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 on earth did it all go so far and tits up in the air? The worst thing about this is that right now I have a few hours where I'd quite like to be working on the novel I'm trying to write, of course though that has a strong comedic theme and writing it in the face of the overwhelming depression and oppression that I'm feeling today seems like bloody hard work. So I thought to acknowledge this fact I'd tap something out first to see if there is anyway I can cultivate some humour in what is otherwise a very bleak landscape. I think that one is answered so I'll go back to the job hunting. Balls.

From within

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 from the mainstream of humanity is not really to live at all. It is a constant fight against encroachment from that which you have deserted and leaves no space for anything else.

So on the whole at least, we adhere, conform; many of us vacating our tendencies towards escapism. Some of us do this in the hope that from within the system opportunities can be contorted for our own means, allowing narrow spaces for true freedom and expression. Here we can create the merest glimpse of  who we could or would be away from the normal conformity and adherence. This is done by different people in many different ways, I like trying to capture reality in words.

In these small spaces I've felt alive, if  only for short periods. Inside these rich cavities I gasp the clean air away from the sickening generalisation and materialisation of a world where the vast majority of the dominant species are unaware of their suffocating subjugation. Fully aware I'm using the language and the means of the very system I’m deriding to tell you this, I have to think and write – it’s better than not doing anything about it; which is increasingly the only other alternative.

Sometimes I feel most alive in the gaps between living my life.

27

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.

bottoming out...

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.

Nothing is Working

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 sitting

Waiting to explode

They’d dig me in cities

But still I won’t go.

And angels they live on the cusp of our world

Igniting the fires that burn in ourselves.

So take all this strength and run with it now

Being on your feet is treading new ground.

And good ones, the pure ones are last to be told

That nothing is working and everyone knows.

So give me my break now I’ve done them all proud

If karma’s around, you’d better watch out.

These there are steep steps boy.

Steady there as she goes.

Performance Heresy

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 unseen, having left the house,
armed with something great to speak about
that just falls on absent ears
and so it's only as the curtain calls, in tears I fall and realise,
in breathless sighs, there wasn't a point to performing at all.

What's wrong

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 drones
through the night until tomorrow.
Still, I'm filled with sorrow for all of those
affected and rejected by these tones
of a life that I too loathe.
So, even though I'm homing in closer,
closer to acceptance is still negligent
to my eloquence which is the problem here.
I can articulate the doom,
but not fight against it.
This is life in the ranks of the affected and rejected,
craving the tastes of successes and contentments.
But seldom they're seen in the pastures I'm after.
This is the vicious and viscous circle,
treading through the mire
of an eloquent squire with so much to say
about what's wrong but with no one to hear
so much as the utterance of a letter
of how to make me feel much better.

And there you have it.

Him indoors

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 ambitions
that will never get to see the light of summer solstice.

It gets harder to remember my lost vitality,
the exuberance of a once creative mind - now fogged.
Here I am beyond the sunset, beneath the moon and stars,
Anchored still, here I remain, dejected, jaded and dry.

These Lands