saturday afternoon on harborne high street
alarming figures prowl the pavements
men zipped up in white boiler suits & sporting face masks
cradling drums of what appears to be toxic waste
as shoppers try to scurry by
the scary white figures approach with a cheeky grin
'have ya got a minute to sign a postcard?'
i can't really think of a less promising subject
to accost a complete stranger with
than the government's new planning bill
but i relish a challenge
and perhaps it's the bright sunny january day that does it
or maybe the level of goodwill
that fiends of the erf have built up
but people respond remarkably positively
they stop and obligingly jot down their names n addresses
ask a few questions
feel like they're doing something important n purposeful
which they are
hey some of em are even offering donations
where none are being solicited
and despite the scale of this latest attack on democracy
by the bully boys in the 'labour' government
it feels good to be out there trying
instead of disengaging
we're just about to pack up the stall
when an interesting thing happens
a fleshy man in a shirt n tie walks up to me
and sticks his unpleasant-looking chubby face in mine
'i'm a member of the local shopowners' association,' he says
'did you know that this is a private concourse?'
he points to a small inconspicuous sign attached to the wall
'now i'm asking you politely to move on'
his tone is less polite than menacing
as i play for time
i get the feeling that it wouldn't take much
for this character to get pretty nasty pretty quickly
as i sense the anger rising up inside me
i work hard to let it ripple away across the water's surface
like a good buddhist practitioner
for here we are
trying to combat a blatant attack on democratic rights
by engaging with the good people of harborne
and matey here wants to push us off his patch
as we let common sense prevail
and start shifting our stall
a chill gust of wind cuts up rough
blowing our leaflets and postcards all over the pavement...
i jump on the bike and pedal into town
stopping at a cafe nero
where some song lyrics suddenly appear from the ether
and begin filling up my grateful notebook
picked up on some mysterious frequency by my inner radio dial
down to soundcontrol in old snow hill
after watching steve kilbey's new live dvd
where he strums away at a glistening guild 12-string
i feel like getting my hands
on one of those resonant little beauties
and checking out the prices
as it happens
they've only got one left in stock
a 400 squid takamine electro-acoustic
made in guess where? south korea
like pretty much all the guitars i already own
which are neither cheap rubbish nor top quality
i plug my baby into a chorus amp
and caress her to my heart's content
now the way you play a 12-string
is quite different from a 6-string
the mere effort of having to press down all those strings
encourages a lot more open fingerings for a start
12-strings also produce subtly different nuances of sound
which are great for songwriting
cos you can hear little ideas
that wouldn't normally suggest themselves
as customers and sales staff come and go
i put music to the lyrics i've just written in nero
and even work out a little bridge
on the way home
as i pedal victoriously past queues of headlights
i jam the song through again and again in my head
improvising lyrics and little bits of tune
if you happen to be in town
come and hear it at the open mike
at the island next thursday
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Saturday, January 26, 2008
LIMBO
between a rock and a hard place
between the sea and dry land
between waking and sleeping
between the eye and the hand
between doubt and decision
between pleasure and plain
between romance and reason
between the sun and the rain
caught in limbo
between god and the devil
between the dark and the light
between the shame and the glory
between the black and the white
between the child and the adult
between the rich and the poor
between the church and the shopping mall
between the less and the more
caught in limbo
between the rose and the thorn
caught in limbo
between the sea and dry land
between waking and sleeping
between the eye and the hand
between doubt and decision
between pleasure and plain
between romance and reason
between the sun and the rain
caught in limbo
between god and the devil
between the dark and the light
between the shame and the glory
between the black and the white
between the child and the adult
between the rich and the poor
between the church and the shopping mall
between the less and the more
caught in limbo
between the garden and the gate
between the sinner and the saint
left in this confusing place
left in limbo
between the near and the distant
between the doubt and the faith
between the science and magic
between the real and the fake
left in limbo
between the near and the distant
between the doubt and the faith
between the science and magic
between the real and the fake
between the sea and the lifeboat
between the calm and the storm
between the horizon and the skybetween the rose and the thorn
caught in limbo
NOSTALGIA
well the future is still in the making
and the die it is yet to be cast
but the present is ours for the taking
don't let us dwell on the past
oh we reminisce on those days of bliss
our first date and that first kiss
our pink and yellow studio
the clifftop retreat from the hullabulloo
remember those strange meals i cooked you
the parties on the balcony
all our youth and all our freedom
all our sweet curiosity
the evening sunbeams through the casement
the electric meter that drove us mad
the hot water bottle that warmed the bed
when the wind came knocking on the glass
the views out to the old harry rocks
the friends we made along the way
the ferry rides across the solent
the walks through fields to freshwater bay
well the future is still in the making
and the die it is yet to be cast
but the present is ours for the taking
don't let us dwell on the past
and the die it is yet to be cast
but the present is ours for the taking
don't let us dwell on the past
oh we reminisce on those days of bliss
our first date and that first kiss
our pink and yellow studio
the clifftop retreat from the hullabulloo
remember those strange meals i cooked you
the parties on the balcony
all our youth and all our freedom
all our sweet curiosity
the evening sunbeams through the casement
the electric meter that drove us mad
the hot water bottle that warmed the bed
when the wind came knocking on the glass
the views out to the old harry rocks
the friends we made along the way
the ferry rides across the solent
the walks through fields to freshwater bay
well the future is still in the making
and the die it is yet to be cast
but the present is ours for the taking
don't let us dwell on the past
Friday, January 25, 2008
NO BALL GAMES
when i was about twelve
a sign went up on the green over the road
which spelled out in block capitals
'NO BALL GAMES'
around the same time
a load of other identical signs sprung up mysteriously
on areas of open grass all over the estate
up until that time
there had been a bit of a running battle
between the local kids in our street
and a bunch of elderly spinsters
we wanted to play there
and they wanted their peace and quiet
granted
we must've been a minor nuisance
like when our ball occasionally rolled into their garden
and one of the gang had to dart in to retreive it
but we were hardly yobbos
good boys from respectable families, we woz
anyway the day the sign went up
it gave our equivocal parents every justification
for scuppering our childhood fun
our long summer evenings were curtailed
we were sent much further afield to play
to the local parks
where the real yobbos lurked
i can remember hatching plans
to get hold of an axe
and steal out
in the middle of a moonless night
to chop down the offending sign
but i never did locate the right implement in my dad's shed
i assumed at the time that the spinster brigade
had lobbied the bournville village trust
and won
though i didn't have any evidence to point to
one thing i vowed was
never to turn into a kill-joy when i grew up
and when i see those signs these days
i still find them just as jarring and offensive
as i did way back when
of course it's different now
you don't really see kids playing outside much
certainly not out of their parents' sight
but it's the principle that's at stake
that residential areas should be designed
with communal space in mind
space for children to play
places for neighbours to meet, stop and chat
because otherwise
what you get is what we've got here now
a total lack of community
where the only time you're likely to see
one of your neighbours up close n personal
is when you pass each other in the car
a sign went up on the green over the road
which spelled out in block capitals
'NO BALL GAMES'
around the same time
a load of other identical signs sprung up mysteriously
on areas of open grass all over the estate
up until that time
there had been a bit of a running battle
between the local kids in our street
and a bunch of elderly spinsters
we wanted to play there
and they wanted their peace and quiet
granted
we must've been a minor nuisance
like when our ball occasionally rolled into their garden
and one of the gang had to dart in to retreive it
but we were hardly yobbos
good boys from respectable families, we woz
anyway the day the sign went up
it gave our equivocal parents every justification
for scuppering our childhood fun
our long summer evenings were curtailed
we were sent much further afield to play
to the local parks
where the real yobbos lurked
i can remember hatching plans
to get hold of an axe
and steal out
in the middle of a moonless night
to chop down the offending sign
but i never did locate the right implement in my dad's shed
i assumed at the time that the spinster brigade
had lobbied the bournville village trust
and won
though i didn't have any evidence to point to
one thing i vowed was
never to turn into a kill-joy when i grew up
and when i see those signs these days
i still find them just as jarring and offensive
as i did way back when
of course it's different now
you don't really see kids playing outside much
certainly not out of their parents' sight
but it's the principle that's at stake
that residential areas should be designed
with communal space in mind
space for children to play
places for neighbours to meet, stop and chat
because otherwise
what you get is what we've got here now
a total lack of community
where the only time you're likely to see
one of your neighbours up close n personal
is when you pass each other in the car
LEADS
today i catch the 10:03 up to yorkie shire
the edinburgh-bound train
the normal last-minute rush down the steps to platform 4
the clock says 10:01 as i step onto train
'is this the train for leeds?' i ask buffet car lady
just to make sure
'no, love, this one's going up the west coast' she says casually
oh no!
platform shoes
check handily-placed departures screen
oops - there are two edinburgh-bound services
both leaving at 10:03
(who planned that one?)
and the one i want is over on platform 10!
back up steps three at a time
career through concourse
back down more steps
train's still waiting
launch self through open door
hear the beep behind me
turn and watch door slide shut
the story of my life played out in a few short minutes...
the 10:03 gallops through bright fields
that look more like lakes
the heavy rains have taken their toll
it's easy to get complacent
when you live on top of a hill
i'm headed for the yorkie capital to meet up with colin b
my pal from south shields
col's over from deutschland on a flying visit
we used to kick around together for a bit in london
when jinny and i first moved there
till col got tired of life in the capital
working for someone else
and set himself up as a freelancer in frankfurt
we roam the windswept streets of leeds
through handsome victorian arcades with stained glass roofs
catching up n chewing the fat
we track down an ornate victorian pub
with rows of intimate booths perfect for hatching plots
today leeds...tomorrow the worlldddd!
i sup a pint of workie ticket
and pick up a bit of north-east slang
('working the ticket' = pushing yer luck)
one of col's big things is marketin'
how to communicate ideas
in a way that makes people sit up & listen
over home-made veggie sausages and mash
in his droll style
col talks about his latest read
'made to stick'
by the brothers heath
apparently the bros identify
six key elements of a memorable massage
simplicity:
one simple idea
unexpectedness:
something that takes yer by surprise
concreteness:
as opposed to abstraction
something tangible that yer mind can latch up to
credibility
a message that rings true
emotional resonance
a message that hits ya in the guts, not just in the head
stories
tying it all up together in a meaningful narrative...
worked out the seven-letter acronym yet?
food for thought
if y'll pardon the pun
on the way home i manage to get the right platform this time
but there i am still racing through the doors
with seconds to spare...
old habits die hard!
the edinburgh-bound train
the normal last-minute rush down the steps to platform 4
the clock says 10:01 as i step onto train
'is this the train for leeds?' i ask buffet car lady
just to make sure
'no, love, this one's going up the west coast' she says casually
oh no!
platform shoes
check handily-placed departures screen
oops - there are two edinburgh-bound services
both leaving at 10:03
(who planned that one?)
and the one i want is over on platform 10!
back up steps three at a time
career through concourse
back down more steps
train's still waiting
launch self through open door
hear the beep behind me
turn and watch door slide shut
the story of my life played out in a few short minutes...
the 10:03 gallops through bright fields
that look more like lakes
the heavy rains have taken their toll
it's easy to get complacent
when you live on top of a hill
i'm headed for the yorkie capital to meet up with colin b
my pal from south shields
col's over from deutschland on a flying visit
we used to kick around together for a bit in london
when jinny and i first moved there
till col got tired of life in the capital
working for someone else
and set himself up as a freelancer in frankfurt
we roam the windswept streets of leeds
through handsome victorian arcades with stained glass roofs
catching up n chewing the fat
we track down an ornate victorian pub
with rows of intimate booths perfect for hatching plots
today leeds...tomorrow the worlldddd!
i sup a pint of workie ticket
and pick up a bit of north-east slang
('working the ticket' = pushing yer luck)
one of col's big things is marketin'
how to communicate ideas
in a way that makes people sit up & listen
over home-made veggie sausages and mash
in his droll style
col talks about his latest read
'made to stick'
by the brothers heath
apparently the bros identify
six key elements of a memorable massage
simplicity:
one simple idea
unexpectedness:
something that takes yer by surprise
concreteness:
as opposed to abstraction
something tangible that yer mind can latch up to
credibility
a message that rings true
emotional resonance
a message that hits ya in the guts, not just in the head
stories
tying it all up together in a meaningful narrative...
worked out the seven-letter acronym yet?
food for thought
if y'll pardon the pun
on the way home i manage to get the right platform this time
but there i am still racing through the doors
with seconds to spare...
old habits die hard!
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
GIG
monday nite
wolverhampton civic hall
i get in for free at a james blunt gig
loitering in the bar before the show
getting fans to sign postcards for 'the big ask'
which james b is supporting on this tour of duty
i seen blunty once on jools holland's show
but only vaguely know a couple of songs
the crowd is an odd mix
mostly thirty and forty-somethings
wives n girlfriends
who've persuaded their beaux to mosie on down
a few schoolkids and grandparents thrown in
most of em aren't averse to signing postcards
though there's a distinct 'captive audience' feel
up on stage
james warbles away in his strange quivery voice
strumming his trebly capoed acoustic guitar
against a projected backdrop of scenes from a war-zone
he seems to be commenting on his army career
and the futility of conflict
'this is the enemy so i'm told'
to my surprise
despite the intensity of his singing
he ain't mean n moody
he's surprisingly theatrical
bounding around the stage like bono
climbing on top of his piano
even launching himself into the audience at one point
hugging and kissing fans with gay abandon
there's one surreal moment
when the showmanship goes totally over the top
the lights flare
clouds of tickertape spray onto the stage
(hope it's recycled)
and blunty whips the audience into a frenzy
as he ends a number by bashing a huge gong
that has descended from the ceiling
like the fella at the start of an old rank movie
the band are a good bunch of players
the rhythm section are gutsy
the guitarist n keyboard player coax some pleasing moans
from telecaster and hammond organ respectively
and as the crowd spills happily out into the black country night
there's definitely a little electricity in the air
wolverhampton civic hall
i get in for free at a james blunt gig
loitering in the bar before the show
getting fans to sign postcards for 'the big ask'
which james b is supporting on this tour of duty
i seen blunty once on jools holland's show
but only vaguely know a couple of songs
the crowd is an odd mix
mostly thirty and forty-somethings
wives n girlfriends
who've persuaded their beaux to mosie on down
a few schoolkids and grandparents thrown in
most of em aren't averse to signing postcards
though there's a distinct 'captive audience' feel
up on stage
james warbles away in his strange quivery voice
strumming his trebly capoed acoustic guitar
against a projected backdrop of scenes from a war-zone
he seems to be commenting on his army career
and the futility of conflict
'this is the enemy so i'm told'
to my surprise
despite the intensity of his singing
he ain't mean n moody
he's surprisingly theatrical
bounding around the stage like bono
climbing on top of his piano
even launching himself into the audience at one point
hugging and kissing fans with gay abandon
there's one surreal moment
when the showmanship goes totally over the top
the lights flare
clouds of tickertape spray onto the stage
(hope it's recycled)
and blunty whips the audience into a frenzy
as he ends a number by bashing a huge gong
that has descended from the ceiling
like the fella at the start of an old rank movie
the band are a good bunch of players
the rhythm section are gutsy
the guitarist n keyboard player coax some pleasing moans
from telecaster and hammond organ respectively
and as the crowd spills happily out into the black country night
there's definitely a little electricity in the air
Sunday, January 20, 2008
JINXED
as soon as i hear the news
i hope against hope it ain't true...
over in harborne
doing my xmas shopping
i wander into a small independent book store
hidden among the charity shops and estate agents
by the name of bond's
the place has been there for years
but i've never been in before
not having lived around here for a while
it's a poky little store
with a limited number of titles
but somehow it manages to stock
a whole pile of little gems
that you'd never find browsing through a place like waterstones
in the cooking section
there's a fascinating book about all that's wrong with britain's bread
the chorleywood system and all that
and how to bake it properly
in the biography section
there's an auto-bio written by paul smith
a local cricketer who went off the rails
nearly lost it all but pulled himself back from the brink
i pick up a copy of 'happiness' as a present for friends
that's sitting just where i know it will be on the wellbeing shelf
the environment section is full of stuff i ain't come across before
i limit myself to the earthscan atlas of climate change
until i get religion
and can't resist a cartoon booklet entitled 'the bible from scratch'
at the till
i gush to the owners
about how much i like their shop
a little oasis in the desert...
now the small notice taped to the glass window confirms the worst
they've struggled to stay open
but are having to bow to the inevitable
oh what a tragedy!
but i should've known
so many of the best places i've discovered over the years
have almost immediately shut
take mildred's veggie cafe in soho
that down-at-heel food emporium
that served up bowls of tastebud-ravishing nosh
then closed...
then there was edam
another restaurant we found in seoul
near our first house
a mellow place with cool decor
and an imaginative menu of mock-duck-style tofu dishes
the next time we went back it was gone...
just as we were leaving korea
the latest casualty was closing up
my favourite coffee shop
with the gentle cheerful owner
who always asked me about hannah
who knew how to fix my coffee
just the fussy way i liked it
and would tut dispprovingly at her 'arbeits'
as they got my order wrong
but the building owners wanted her to pay
to get the shop remodelled
and she wasn't up for that...
what did all these places have in common?
they bucked the trend
they went for quality
they tried to do things differently
on their own terms
and in their different ways
i guess they all paid the price...
i hope against hope it ain't true...
over in harborne
doing my xmas shopping
i wander into a small independent book store
hidden among the charity shops and estate agents
by the name of bond's
the place has been there for years
but i've never been in before
not having lived around here for a while
it's a poky little store
with a limited number of titles
but somehow it manages to stock
a whole pile of little gems
that you'd never find browsing through a place like waterstones
in the cooking section
there's a fascinating book about all that's wrong with britain's bread
the chorleywood system and all that
and how to bake it properly
in the biography section
there's an auto-bio written by paul smith
a local cricketer who went off the rails
nearly lost it all but pulled himself back from the brink
i pick up a copy of 'happiness' as a present for friends
that's sitting just where i know it will be on the wellbeing shelf
the environment section is full of stuff i ain't come across before
i limit myself to the earthscan atlas of climate change
until i get religion
and can't resist a cartoon booklet entitled 'the bible from scratch'
at the till
i gush to the owners
about how much i like their shop
a little oasis in the desert...
now the small notice taped to the glass window confirms the worst
they've struggled to stay open
but are having to bow to the inevitable
oh what a tragedy!
but i should've known
so many of the best places i've discovered over the years
have almost immediately shut
take mildred's veggie cafe in soho
that down-at-heel food emporium
that served up bowls of tastebud-ravishing nosh
then closed...
then there was edam
another restaurant we found in seoul
near our first house
a mellow place with cool decor
and an imaginative menu of mock-duck-style tofu dishes
the next time we went back it was gone...
just as we were leaving korea
the latest casualty was closing up
my favourite coffee shop
with the gentle cheerful owner
who always asked me about hannah
who knew how to fix my coffee
just the fussy way i liked it
and would tut dispprovingly at her 'arbeits'
as they got my order wrong
but the building owners wanted her to pay
to get the shop remodelled
and she wasn't up for that...
what did all these places have in common?
they bucked the trend
they went for quality
they tried to do things differently
on their own terms
and in their different ways
i guess they all paid the price...
Friday, January 18, 2008
CRY FOWL
aw!
lass a night
saw something that made me feel sick to the core
i get home late from lemmington spar
a 'climate champions' event
run by an orgy called action 21
for peeps who wanna communicate the message better
the key message of our times
the message that says:
stop n think about what yer doing
before it's too late!
a diverse bunch there
some positive n very well-meaning folks
who wanna do their bit
but not sure quite how to go about it
so i get back at midnight
and cook up a plate of food
cos i missed my din-dins what with all the travel malarkey
and i do what i don't normally do
which is collapse onto sofa in front of telly
as a rule i don't allow myself this dubious pleasure
cos digital tv and remote control is a deadly combination
that guarantees gratuitous late-nite channel-surfing
i catch the blair years
where a damp-eyed tony gushes for the camera
about 'doing what was right'
(like murdering iraqi civilians for instance)
there's robert n jimmy strutting their sequinned stuff
at madison square garden
in song remains the same
led zep at their zenith in the early seventies
followed by a docu about rod and britt on tour in 1976
this one's an interesting period piece
rod comes across as quite a sweet likeable fella
not at all the impetuous rock adonis
anyways
i finally alight on a prog called jamie's fowl dinners
where mr oliver the tv chef
takes the supers to task
for selling the public a chicken diet
consisting of 95% battery-farmed broilers
doped up on antibiotics n bred to fatten up unnaturally fast
of course jamie's gotta be careful cos he's in the pay of stainsberries
so he's quite tactful when he asks the difficult questions
most of the supers just reply by letter
'we are committed to giving our customers the widest choice possible
our food complies to the highest safety standards
blah blah blah'
in between film clips
jamie is in the tv studios talking to an invited party of brite young things
sitting around fancy tables
like at a wedding
then suddenly we see jamie all garbed up in a slaughterman's outfit
and right there in front of all the byts
he grabs a chicken
hangs it upside down from a hook
applies an electrical stun gun to the poor creature's neck
and produces a stanley knife
which he inserts through the chicken's mouth
cutting its throat
and leaving its blood dripping out of its open beak
cut to shots of the audience momentarily recoiling in horror
as jamie talks about respect for animals n 'humane killing'
how he wants to show it like it is
and proudly brandishes his slaughterman's licence
then suddenly hey presto!
jamie has switched back into his regular togs
and launches into his cheerful cooking routine
wrapping breast fillets in bacon
tossing in rosemary n olives
lubbly jubbly
etcetera etcetera
it turns out that he's cooking up three types of chicken dish
for the audience who's just witnessed the slaughter
battery broiler birds
free range birds
and organic birds
like some sort of revolting pepsi challenge
the diners tuck in
fill their bellies with the dead carcasses
cheerfully commenting on the respective meat flavours
and seemingly immune to what they have just witnessed
i dunno
perhaps it'll make some of them think
perhaps it'll make some viewers think
but all it makes for a cold callous cheerless spectacle
lass a night
saw something that made me feel sick to the core
i get home late from lemmington spar
a 'climate champions' event
run by an orgy called action 21
for peeps who wanna communicate the message better
the key message of our times
the message that says:
stop n think about what yer doing
before it's too late!
a diverse bunch there
some positive n very well-meaning folks
who wanna do their bit
but not sure quite how to go about it
so i get back at midnight
and cook up a plate of food
cos i missed my din-dins what with all the travel malarkey
and i do what i don't normally do
which is collapse onto sofa in front of telly
as a rule i don't allow myself this dubious pleasure
cos digital tv and remote control is a deadly combination
that guarantees gratuitous late-nite channel-surfing
i catch the blair years
where a damp-eyed tony gushes for the camera
about 'doing what was right'
(like murdering iraqi civilians for instance)
there's robert n jimmy strutting their sequinned stuff
at madison square garden
in song remains the same
led zep at their zenith in the early seventies
followed by a docu about rod and britt on tour in 1976
this one's an interesting period piece
rod comes across as quite a sweet likeable fella
not at all the impetuous rock adonis
anyways
i finally alight on a prog called jamie's fowl dinners
where mr oliver the tv chef
takes the supers to task
for selling the public a chicken diet
consisting of 95% battery-farmed broilers
doped up on antibiotics n bred to fatten up unnaturally fast
of course jamie's gotta be careful cos he's in the pay of stainsberries
so he's quite tactful when he asks the difficult questions
most of the supers just reply by letter
'we are committed to giving our customers the widest choice possible
our food complies to the highest safety standards
blah blah blah'
in between film clips
jamie is in the tv studios talking to an invited party of brite young things
sitting around fancy tables
like at a wedding
then suddenly we see jamie all garbed up in a slaughterman's outfit
and right there in front of all the byts
he grabs a chicken
hangs it upside down from a hook
applies an electrical stun gun to the poor creature's neck
and produces a stanley knife
which he inserts through the chicken's mouth
cutting its throat
and leaving its blood dripping out of its open beak
cut to shots of the audience momentarily recoiling in horror
as jamie talks about respect for animals n 'humane killing'
how he wants to show it like it is
and proudly brandishes his slaughterman's licence
then suddenly hey presto!
jamie has switched back into his regular togs
and launches into his cheerful cooking routine
wrapping breast fillets in bacon
tossing in rosemary n olives
lubbly jubbly
etcetera etcetera
it turns out that he's cooking up three types of chicken dish
for the audience who's just witnessed the slaughter
battery broiler birds
free range birds
and organic birds
like some sort of revolting pepsi challenge
the diners tuck in
fill their bellies with the dead carcasses
cheerfully commenting on the respective meat flavours
and seemingly immune to what they have just witnessed
i dunno
perhaps it'll make some of them think
perhaps it'll make some viewers think
but all it makes for a cold callous cheerless spectacle
Thursday, January 17, 2008
NO MAN'S LAND
early evening
a walk in the gloomy twilight
of damp winter suburbia
lonely streets
devoid of life
shops are shut
lights come on in houses
scenes hidden behind closed curtains
anonymous pairs of headlights roar past
destinations unknown
doubts play on the surface of my mind
nagging negative thoughts that won't subside
so many questions
so few answers...
back home
the house is warm n full of people
but can't shake off these sad lonely winter blues...
a walk in the gloomy twilight
of damp winter suburbia
lonely streets
devoid of life
shops are shut
lights come on in houses
scenes hidden behind closed curtains
anonymous pairs of headlights roar past
destinations unknown
doubts play on the surface of my mind
nagging negative thoughts that won't subside
so many questions
so few answers...
back home
the house is warm n full of people
but can't shake off these sad lonely winter blues...
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
MAN WITH A PLAN
a man
a plan
a canal
panama
try reading that phrase backwards
amanaplanacanalpanama
and see what you get
neat, huh?
what is known apparently as a pallindrome
hannah
now there's another one
so now you know how we named the woodle...
at the moment
yours fiery drawing up a different plan
a plan for a busyness no less
a little private enterprise i'm trying to get off the ground
like a modern-day wright brother
been playing around with missions n visions
values n goals
sizing up the market
exchanging the stratocaster for a strategy
even started a night school class
- on a satterday morning
i dunno
this is virgin territory for me
but so far i'm digging it
no boss to answer to
(except the missus of course
and maybe the bank manager at some point)
no underlings to motivate either
nope - the buck stops with fireseed
the big idea is to offer green audits
an eco advisory service
to help folks deal with the climate beast
and turn it to their advantage
to swim rather than sink
as the icecaps melt and the floodwater rises
i already got an interested client lined up
a good chance to test the water
before i plunge in
t'other idea i got
just so as not to put all my tofu into one basket
is to run workshoppes
same gig really
but here's where the electric kind of strat comes in handy
(actually a les paul copy
but most of em won't know the difference)
cos my aim is to make this whole damn topic a bit more rock n roll
i mean
who wants a load of forgettable stats chucked in their direction
and then be told they gotta give everything up
and live like a monk?
not me
not the kids
not anybody!
the whole message gotta be rethought
we gotta make it more sexy somehow
make it compelling
turn some heads
exploit the human angle
win over the hearts not just the heads
because i don't need to spell out the alternative scenario to ya
the one where the punters just tune out
turn off
and drive away into the sunset in their 4wds
sending our kids' futures up in smoke
so these workshops ain't gonna be yer normal sleepfest
yer 'listen to me and look at my slides' jobby
fireseed gonna hit em with guitar riffs
comedy songs n moving stories
models, props n theatre
stuff that no-one can ignore
a message so affecting that no-one can remain unmoved
hey - i feel this is gonna be something good, friends
the more i think about it
the more i think i can make this baby work
start-up costs are minimal
overheads low
but i know i gotta make it watertight
keep my eye on the ball
hence the plan, stan...
a plan
a canal
panama
try reading that phrase backwards
amanaplanacanalpanama
and see what you get
neat, huh?
what is known apparently as a pallindrome
hannah
now there's another one
so now you know how we named the woodle...
at the moment
yours fiery drawing up a different plan
a plan for a busyness no less
a little private enterprise i'm trying to get off the ground
like a modern-day wright brother
been playing around with missions n visions
values n goals
sizing up the market
exchanging the stratocaster for a strategy
even started a night school class
- on a satterday morning
i dunno
this is virgin territory for me
but so far i'm digging it
no boss to answer to
(except the missus of course
and maybe the bank manager at some point)
no underlings to motivate either
nope - the buck stops with fireseed
the big idea is to offer green audits
an eco advisory service
to help folks deal with the climate beast
and turn it to their advantage
to swim rather than sink
as the icecaps melt and the floodwater rises
i already got an interested client lined up
a good chance to test the water
before i plunge in
t'other idea i got
just so as not to put all my tofu into one basket
is to run workshoppes
same gig really
but here's where the electric kind of strat comes in handy
(actually a les paul copy
but most of em won't know the difference)
cos my aim is to make this whole damn topic a bit more rock n roll
i mean
who wants a load of forgettable stats chucked in their direction
and then be told they gotta give everything up
and live like a monk?
not me
not the kids
not anybody!
the whole message gotta be rethought
we gotta make it more sexy somehow
make it compelling
turn some heads
exploit the human angle
win over the hearts not just the heads
because i don't need to spell out the alternative scenario to ya
the one where the punters just tune out
turn off
and drive away into the sunset in their 4wds
sending our kids' futures up in smoke
so these workshops ain't gonna be yer normal sleepfest
yer 'listen to me and look at my slides' jobby
fireseed gonna hit em with guitar riffs
comedy songs n moving stories
models, props n theatre
stuff that no-one can ignore
a message so affecting that no-one can remain unmoved
hey - i feel this is gonna be something good, friends
the more i think about it
the more i think i can make this baby work
start-up costs are minimal
overheads low
but i know i gotta make it watertight
keep my eye on the ball
hence the plan, stan...
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
STREAM OF UNCONSCIOUSNESS
the milky sound of church bells
the chink of bright sunlight through the curtains
the gentle thud of a baby's heartbeat
the sensual bliss of fingernails across the shoulderblades
the soft caress of a late summer breeze
the gilded memories of youth
the giddy power of unfettered intuition
the adrenaline rush of sudden creativity
the reassuring rumble of a downstairs radio
the blurry collage of a rain-soaked afternoon
the insistent grip of tiny fingers
the dull ache of a lover's farewell
the salty taste of a churned-up sea
the rough texture of tree bark
the sweaty odour of muddy schoolboys
the misty nostalgia of long ago
the steady flow of water over pebbles
the warm sand between my toes
the red wine inside my veins
the sunburst colour of smeared saffron
the heady aroma of freshly ground coffee
the sharp fragments of broken glass
the downy skin of a child's cheek
the squinting pages of a recovered diary
the bright hope of a new dawn
the pristine vista of untouched snow
the instinctive embrace of a dear friend
the unspoken affinity of shared experience
the comfortable feel of an old guitar
the bottomless sleep of a tired rambler
the shrieks of delight of young girls
the seductive sway of an ageing lolita
the empty cobblestones of mediaeval streets
the magical twilight of an enchanted evening
the shadowy figures of whispering party guests
the overgrown garden of an earthly paradise
the chink of bright sunlight through the curtains
the gentle thud of a baby's heartbeat
the sensual bliss of fingernails across the shoulderblades
the soft caress of a late summer breeze
the gilded memories of youth
the giddy power of unfettered intuition
the adrenaline rush of sudden creativity
the reassuring rumble of a downstairs radio
the blurry collage of a rain-soaked afternoon
the insistent grip of tiny fingers
the dull ache of a lover's farewell
the salty taste of a churned-up sea
the rough texture of tree bark
the sweaty odour of muddy schoolboys
the misty nostalgia of long ago
the steady flow of water over pebbles
the warm sand between my toes
the red wine inside my veins
the sunburst colour of smeared saffron
the heady aroma of freshly ground coffee
the sharp fragments of broken glass
the downy skin of a child's cheek
the squinting pages of a recovered diary
the bright hope of a new dawn
the pristine vista of untouched snow
the instinctive embrace of a dear friend
the unspoken affinity of shared experience
the comfortable feel of an old guitar
the bottomless sleep of a tired rambler
the shrieks of delight of young girls
the seductive sway of an ageing lolita
the empty cobblestones of mediaeval streets
the magical twilight of an enchanted evening
the shadowy figures of whispering party guests
the overgrown garden of an earthly paradise
Monday, January 14, 2008
APATHY
in the middle of winter
on a cold rainy monday evening
in an old converted warehouse
beneath the passages of a dark victorian railway bridge
six people sit around a long table
discussing an attack on democracy
what is at stake and what can be done to resist
a softly-spoken balding middle-aged man
produces a news clipping from 1995
and talks knowledgably but meanderingly
an earnest lanky fresh-faced crew-cutted young man
tries to keep the discussion to the agenda
suggesting ideas without imposing his opinion
a confident i-don't-suffer-fools-gladly young woman
makes most of the decisions
a stocky, tousle-haired man in a grey suit
slumps in his chair occasionally offering a wry comment
a jolly rosy-cheeked woman in her mid-thirties
eight months pregnant
interjects often to agree with doesn't-suffer-fools-gladly
a tall lanky blond chap in a grey fleece listens thoughtfully
stroking his beard
in a separate room
another similar-sized group is having a parallel discussion
on the not unrelated theme of fighting airport expansion
meanwhile the rest of the city goes about its business
two million people carry on as usual
as if nothing was untoward
the lads play darts and order another round
the girls head out for a night on the bingo
youths hang together on street corners looking for a bit of action
televisions buzz in suburban living rooms and teenage bedrooms
jaded parents put their children to bed
sleepy grandparents snooze by the fire
students head off out for a curry
car headlights light the way home
on a cold rainy monday evening
in an old converted warehouse
beneath the passages of a dark victorian railway bridge
six people sit around a long table
discussing an attack on democracy
what is at stake and what can be done to resist
a softly-spoken balding middle-aged man
produces a news clipping from 1995
and talks knowledgably but meanderingly
an earnest lanky fresh-faced crew-cutted young man
tries to keep the discussion to the agenda
suggesting ideas without imposing his opinion
a confident i-don't-suffer-fools-gladly young woman
makes most of the decisions
a stocky, tousle-haired man in a grey suit
slumps in his chair occasionally offering a wry comment
a jolly rosy-cheeked woman in her mid-thirties
eight months pregnant
interjects often to agree with doesn't-suffer-fools-gladly
a tall lanky blond chap in a grey fleece listens thoughtfully
stroking his beard
in a separate room
another similar-sized group is having a parallel discussion
on the not unrelated theme of fighting airport expansion
meanwhile the rest of the city goes about its business
two million people carry on as usual
as if nothing was untoward
the lads play darts and order another round
the girls head out for a night on the bingo
youths hang together on street corners looking for a bit of action
televisions buzz in suburban living rooms and teenage bedrooms
jaded parents put their children to bed
sleepy grandparents snooze by the fire
students head off out for a curry
car headlights light the way home
Sunday, January 13, 2008
EGO-A-GO-GO
ah there it goes again
like a tinitus screaming in the ears
like a cancer eating away at the viscera
like a spot of tomato soup spattered on a brand new silk tie
this attention-seeking child pesters to be heard
me
me
me
me
ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
oh it's all about me
and sod the rest of ya!
never mind the emaciated famine victim of the sudan
the iraqi refugee languishing without income in a syrian camp
the homeless flood victim of el salvador
the trafficked sex slave of a glitzy european capital
the cancer-ridden asylum seeker deported to the gambia
the legless beggar crawling through the streets of calcutta
the pregnant sow trapped in her stall
never mind their problems
for the universe revolves around the planet earth
the centre of the planet is britain
the centre of britain is birmingham
(actually that's not far wrong)
the centre of birmingham is selly oak
at the centre of selly oak is my house
and at the centre of my house is me
and i'm not having a good day
cos it's pissing down with rain outside
and it got dark before it got light
cos my daughter spilt a cup of coffee over the carpet
and i can't get the stain out
cos i've run out of soya milk
cos nobosy's done the washing-up
and there are no clean frying pans
cos the sunday columnists are full of crap
and fill people's heads with nonsense
cos somebody put the radio on
when i wanted to read in peace and quiet
cos nobody agrees with my plans for an afternoon out
cos i just found a grey hair in the mirror
and i've put on a couple of pounds since i last weighed myself
cos so-and-so hasn't replied to my email
i'm still waiting for that phone call
and nobody commented on yesterday's blog
cos i missed my favourite programme
cos i undercooked the carrots
and overcooked the nut roast
oh woe is me
poor little fireseed
his little world just collapsed
and he feels so depressed...
a paradox
happiness is an inner state
influenced by external conditions
but not dependent on them
eastern thought teaches us to look inwards to find happiness
to build up inner resources of strength
so that we are not buffeted this way and that by the vagaries of fortune
eastern traditions teach us to exercise self-control
to harness our negative emotions
so that they do not torture us or others
in western culture
calm mindful contemplation is an anathema
we are exhorted to find contentment elsewhere
to seek out pleasures, excitements and thrills
to covet the things we do not have
to boost our status in the eyes of others
to 'express ourselves'
to give vent to our urges and frustrations
that we might risk bottling them up till they explode
but therein lies the paradox
for western culture also says
look out for number one
encourages us to be self-absorbed and self-centred
narcissuses
concerned only with ourselves
and to a lesser extent our immediate family and friends
in stark contrast
eastern thought teaches us that altruism is the key
that unlimited compassion for all sentient beings
is the source of true contentment
like a tinitus screaming in the ears
like a cancer eating away at the viscera
like a spot of tomato soup spattered on a brand new silk tie
this attention-seeking child pesters to be heard
me
me
me
me
ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
oh it's all about me
and sod the rest of ya!
never mind the emaciated famine victim of the sudan
the iraqi refugee languishing without income in a syrian camp
the homeless flood victim of el salvador
the trafficked sex slave of a glitzy european capital
the cancer-ridden asylum seeker deported to the gambia
the legless beggar crawling through the streets of calcutta
the pregnant sow trapped in her stall
never mind their problems
for the universe revolves around the planet earth
the centre of the planet is britain
the centre of britain is birmingham
(actually that's not far wrong)
the centre of birmingham is selly oak
at the centre of selly oak is my house
and at the centre of my house is me
and i'm not having a good day
cos it's pissing down with rain outside
and it got dark before it got light
cos my daughter spilt a cup of coffee over the carpet
and i can't get the stain out
cos i've run out of soya milk
cos nobosy's done the washing-up
and there are no clean frying pans
cos the sunday columnists are full of crap
and fill people's heads with nonsense
cos somebody put the radio on
when i wanted to read in peace and quiet
cos nobody agrees with my plans for an afternoon out
cos i just found a grey hair in the mirror
and i've put on a couple of pounds since i last weighed myself
cos so-and-so hasn't replied to my email
i'm still waiting for that phone call
and nobody commented on yesterday's blog
cos i missed my favourite programme
cos i undercooked the carrots
and overcooked the nut roast
oh woe is me
poor little fireseed
his little world just collapsed
and he feels so depressed...
a paradox
happiness is an inner state
influenced by external conditions
but not dependent on them
eastern thought teaches us to look inwards to find happiness
to build up inner resources of strength
so that we are not buffeted this way and that by the vagaries of fortune
eastern traditions teach us to exercise self-control
to harness our negative emotions
so that they do not torture us or others
in western culture
calm mindful contemplation is an anathema
we are exhorted to find contentment elsewhere
to seek out pleasures, excitements and thrills
to covet the things we do not have
to boost our status in the eyes of others
to 'express ourselves'
to give vent to our urges and frustrations
that we might risk bottling them up till they explode
but therein lies the paradox
for western culture also says
look out for number one
encourages us to be self-absorbed and self-centred
narcissuses
concerned only with ourselves
and to a lesser extent our immediate family and friends
in stark contrast
eastern thought teaches us that altruism is the key
that unlimited compassion for all sentient beings
is the source of true contentment
Saturday, January 12, 2008
GAZILLION TO ONE-ERS
it's mindboggling when you think about it
and i guess like me you've probably thought about it before
the impossibly slim chances of existing
the probability of even being born as yourself
just think
thousands of years ago
who knows when?
a couple of people meet
feel attraction
make love
mingle fluids
and conceive a child
what were the chances of those two people meeting
and getting it together?
what was the likelihood of that particular egg
being ready and waiting?
and how about that particular sperm
seeing off its wiggle-tailed competitors?
ah - the odds are infinitesimally small
over subsequent generations
this process is repeated maybe thousands of times
and each time the likelihood of a particular person coming to fruition
gets multiplied by billions
and so it goes...
of course these days you also get bizarre couplings across continents
the children of english fathers and korean mothers
(what a beautiful mix)
and australian fathers and american mothers
etcetera etcetera
so hannah e
our baby to be
and all the rest of us
are gazillion- to-oners
does that not gob-smack you?
i mean
we moan and groan
we grumble about our lot
but the truth is that each one of us is a miracle
now j still ain't had the scan yet
but i fish out the pregnancy q & a book
which has cool drawings of what baby looks like as time progresses
at four weeks the embryo is barely human-looking
gill-like folds for a face
no limbs
and a tail for a spinal chord
but by eight weeks
the fetus has developed into remarkably human form
a head with rudimentary eyes and ears
light downy hair
arms and legs with distinct elbows and knees
hands and feet with digits
the tail has disappeared
though it doesn't have any genitals yet
he or she is about an inch long
and would lie cradled in your hand like a butter bean
nature serves us up this rich bounty
not just humans
but all the beasts, the birds and the fishes
the flowers, the plants and the trees
and what does homo sapiens ('wise man') do with it?
we think we have the right to take the lives of others
if only indirectly via the brutal policies of our governments
or by getting in an aeroplane and jetting off across the globe
which tips the earth that little bit further towards climate chaos
we treat other sentient beings as mere playthings
to be manufactured in our factory farms
to then be incinerated in the case of male battery chicks or dairy calves
or otherwise fattened, slaughtered and consumed
hey, this has turned into a vegan rant...
but how much do we take for granted?
how casually do we rationalise this brutality?
how little regard do we have for the miraculous workings of the cosmos?
how arrogantly do we disrepect nature?
for we do so at our collective peril...
and i guess like me you've probably thought about it before
the impossibly slim chances of existing
the probability of even being born as yourself
just think
thousands of years ago
who knows when?
a couple of people meet
feel attraction
make love
mingle fluids
and conceive a child
what were the chances of those two people meeting
and getting it together?
what was the likelihood of that particular egg
being ready and waiting?
and how about that particular sperm
seeing off its wiggle-tailed competitors?
ah - the odds are infinitesimally small
over subsequent generations
this process is repeated maybe thousands of times
and each time the likelihood of a particular person coming to fruition
gets multiplied by billions
and so it goes...
of course these days you also get bizarre couplings across continents
the children of english fathers and korean mothers
(what a beautiful mix)
and australian fathers and american mothers
etcetera etcetera
so hannah e
our baby to be
and all the rest of us
are gazillion- to-oners
does that not gob-smack you?
i mean
we moan and groan
we grumble about our lot
but the truth is that each one of us is a miracle
now j still ain't had the scan yet
but i fish out the pregnancy q & a book
which has cool drawings of what baby looks like as time progresses
at four weeks the embryo is barely human-looking
gill-like folds for a face
no limbs
and a tail for a spinal chord
but by eight weeks
the fetus has developed into remarkably human form
a head with rudimentary eyes and ears
light downy hair
arms and legs with distinct elbows and knees
hands and feet with digits
the tail has disappeared
though it doesn't have any genitals yet
he or she is about an inch long
and would lie cradled in your hand like a butter bean
nature serves us up this rich bounty
not just humans
but all the beasts, the birds and the fishes
the flowers, the plants and the trees
and what does homo sapiens ('wise man') do with it?
we think we have the right to take the lives of others
if only indirectly via the brutal policies of our governments
or by getting in an aeroplane and jetting off across the globe
which tips the earth that little bit further towards climate chaos
we treat other sentient beings as mere playthings
to be manufactured in our factory farms
to then be incinerated in the case of male battery chicks or dairy calves
or otherwise fattened, slaughtered and consumed
hey, this has turned into a vegan rant...
but how much do we take for granted?
how casually do we rationalise this brutality?
how little regard do we have for the miraculous workings of the cosmos?
how arrogantly do we disrepect nature?
for we do so at our collective peril...
Friday, January 11, 2008
COMPASSION FATIGUE
ah this is so hard
fireseed been such a good boy for almost two days
and then he has to go and blow it...
jester-day
just as i'm sitting down to some long-overdue busyness planning
mrs fireseed abruptly goes into freefall
the weather's rotten
she's feeling cold
she can't keep her food down
there's nothing in the house that she fancies eating anyway
she's all bunged up at t'other end
she's feeling homesick
and she wants her mum's cooking
she climbs under the duvet
and huddles there shivering
all of a sudden her eyes fill up with tears
she starts talking about flying back to korea with the woodle
during the school easter holy days
she's anxious about our lack of income over the last few months
i feel impotent
i can't seem to get down to work
and i sure as hell can't recreate omma's authentic korean cuisine
already resigning myself to another day written off
i ask her if i can get anything from the korean shop
she starts scribbling down a list
and before i know it there are thirteen items
that need to be sourced from different places
to top it off i've already run out of my own non-essential necessities
so i get to work
the waterproof pants and jacket
the rucksack
the helmet and lights
and i'm off
pedalling furiously into the driving wind and rain
i head through the sodden park
past a flock of miserable-looking canada geese
my knuckles already stinging in the cold
and out onto a windswept bristol road
where a car window opens and a youth leers out screaming abuse
i park the bike outside the salubrious northfield shopping centre
and reach for my keys
except i ain't got my keys
cos they're sitting at home in the pocket of my winter parka
my frustration appears like a sketch on the pond of my mind
then melts into the water
back through the park
into the house
get the keys
get a pair of gloves
back into the driving rain
and up to luvly northfield again
in the health food shop
i purchase dates, prunes and dried apricots for mrs f
and a veg pasty and carton of soya milk for moi
then take a look at the snooze headlines in smiths
while i munch my pasty and dry off a little
when i re-emerge into the daylight
the rain has dried up
through the back streets to bournville
and birmingham's self-proclaimed first organic butcher's
i ask the neat little shaven-headed shopkeeper
what the meaning of organic is in the context of chickens
this fella knows his stuff
he taks about the feed
the density of the chickens
the method of slaughtering
and how they are transported
the soil association have the highest standards in the world
so he reckons
while he serves me
i can't stop looking at a poster on the wall behind him
where he's sitting beaming in a field
surrounded by a big flock of turkeys
the caption reads:
guess who the surprise visitor is today!
mrs f has ordered an organic chicken
and a generous slab of belly pork
i get some ham for the woodle's sandwiches
and a few sausages for uncle j
i pick up some whole walnuts at the deli over the road
the rucky is already starting to feel heavy
and i haven't even got to the korean shop yet
at h-mart i stumble through my survival korean
and stock up on ginger
moo - korean radish
(in korea, over-sized calves are called moodari - 'radish legs')
glutinous rice
salted shrimps
and other delicacies
now i have a moo-backpack
i briefly entertain the devil at stainsbury's
but baulk at buying spring onions from egypt
or peppers from israel
and queue up just to buy a packet of fair trade coffee
no i haven't got a nectar card!
by the time i get home via the local greengrocers
the rucky is practically bursting
and i've been gone about three and a half hours
it's now time to wash, cook and carve the carcass
it's last indignity, organic or not organic
mrs f gives me an encouraging smile of approval
which keeps my spirits up
afterwards i wash up the greasy tin and dishes
get the woodle pointed bedwards
and keep thinking compassionate thoughts...
this morning
i take the woodle to school
and start planning the trip to the storage unit
the driving rain seems even more driving today
as usual finding what i'm looking for
entails unstacking half of the boxes
and despite the labels i've stuck on over a sequence of visits
it still takes a fair bit of hunting
to the strains of radio 2
which echo eerily
through the cavernous interior of the converted old tram shed
i unearth goodies requested by mrs f
the woo's album of baby fotos
her plastic desk and chairs
i also rescue a pair of footy boots and a few books:
alternatives to economic globalization
the corporation
the pregnancy question & answer book
which i ferry to the car in two lots
back at el rancho
i help put away the stainsbury's shopping
which reeks of foody miles
while i lecture my sceptical mother
on why she shouldn't bear grudges
on the destructiveness of such emotions
telling her that the best course of action
is always the compassionate response
she ain't at all convinced
the fellow in question is a 'right arrogant bastard'
meanwhile mrs f is freezing cold again
and retires to bed
i pile on extra duvets
fix a hot water bottle
then carve the remaining chicken
and boil up the bones to make a warming broth
(call myself a vegan!)
to my relief it gets a thumbs-up from a more cheerful mrs f
i grab beans on toast then fetch the woodle
we agree to a 90-minute tv-watching limit
since mrs f has taken ill
the woodle's been watching far too much goggle box
but as so often
the flawed bed-time routine goes awry
the woodle will never go to bed without mummy
and at the crucial 8 o'clock juncture
after teeth have been brushed
and a pre-bed jigsaw done
mrs f abruptly decides to head down to kitchen to make kimchi
derailing my military operation
when she finally reappears with woo
mrs f wrinkles up her hyper-sensitive nose
at the sudden stench of urine in the loo
i maintain my composure
and reach for a cloth and the toilet cleaner
but hannah is still mucking about on the landing
and i finally lose my composure
'get to bed - now!' i bellow
reducing my four-year-old sweetpea to tears
even as i start shouting
i know it's the wrong thing to do
in a sane world
there would be no such thing as compassion fatigue
fortunately things end in reconciliation
before she climbs into bed
the unbegrudging woodle gives me a big sweet hug
and reassures me that she isn't gonna buy another daddy...
i sit down at last at the computer desk in the studio
and look down at my left wrist
which is encircled by a newly-acquired bracelet
decorated in biblical images
choirs of angels
jesus with his parents
jesus on the cross
my dad got it sent to him unsolicited in the post
from a catholic charity
he gets piles and piles of appeals for donations
almost all of which he throws away
the bracelet i retrieve is accompanied by a photograph
a naked child in sudan
approximately the woodle's age
being held up by a tall skinny man
the child is a pathetic little bag of bones with his eyes shut
on the back of the photo there is a short message:
this picture shows little isaja
when he was brought to our camp by his father
he now has one chance to survive: us
please help us with your most generous donation
we need to bring food and medicine into sudan as fast as we can
your donation save's children's lives
the buddha tells us that one cannot feel too much compassion
for compassion is the fountain of all happiness and well-being
tonight i will meditate on that
fireseed been such a good boy for almost two days
and then he has to go and blow it...
jester-day
just as i'm sitting down to some long-overdue busyness planning
mrs fireseed abruptly goes into freefall
the weather's rotten
she's feeling cold
she can't keep her food down
there's nothing in the house that she fancies eating anyway
she's all bunged up at t'other end
she's feeling homesick
and she wants her mum's cooking
she climbs under the duvet
and huddles there shivering
all of a sudden her eyes fill up with tears
she starts talking about flying back to korea with the woodle
during the school easter holy days
she's anxious about our lack of income over the last few months
i feel impotent
i can't seem to get down to work
and i sure as hell can't recreate omma's authentic korean cuisine
already resigning myself to another day written off
i ask her if i can get anything from the korean shop
she starts scribbling down a list
and before i know it there are thirteen items
that need to be sourced from different places
to top it off i've already run out of my own non-essential necessities
so i get to work
the waterproof pants and jacket
the rucksack
the helmet and lights
and i'm off
pedalling furiously into the driving wind and rain
i head through the sodden park
past a flock of miserable-looking canada geese
my knuckles already stinging in the cold
and out onto a windswept bristol road
where a car window opens and a youth leers out screaming abuse
i park the bike outside the salubrious northfield shopping centre
and reach for my keys
except i ain't got my keys
cos they're sitting at home in the pocket of my winter parka
my frustration appears like a sketch on the pond of my mind
then melts into the water
back through the park
into the house
get the keys
get a pair of gloves
back into the driving rain
and up to luvly northfield again
in the health food shop
i purchase dates, prunes and dried apricots for mrs f
and a veg pasty and carton of soya milk for moi
then take a look at the snooze headlines in smiths
while i munch my pasty and dry off a little
when i re-emerge into the daylight
the rain has dried up
through the back streets to bournville
and birmingham's self-proclaimed first organic butcher's
i ask the neat little shaven-headed shopkeeper
what the meaning of organic is in the context of chickens
this fella knows his stuff
he taks about the feed
the density of the chickens
the method of slaughtering
and how they are transported
the soil association have the highest standards in the world
so he reckons
while he serves me
i can't stop looking at a poster on the wall behind him
where he's sitting beaming in a field
surrounded by a big flock of turkeys
the caption reads:
guess who the surprise visitor is today!
mrs f has ordered an organic chicken
and a generous slab of belly pork
i get some ham for the woodle's sandwiches
and a few sausages for uncle j
i pick up some whole walnuts at the deli over the road
the rucky is already starting to feel heavy
and i haven't even got to the korean shop yet
at h-mart i stumble through my survival korean
and stock up on ginger
moo - korean radish
(in korea, over-sized calves are called moodari - 'radish legs')
glutinous rice
salted shrimps
and other delicacies
now i have a moo-backpack
i briefly entertain the devil at stainsbury's
but baulk at buying spring onions from egypt
or peppers from israel
and queue up just to buy a packet of fair trade coffee
no i haven't got a nectar card!
by the time i get home via the local greengrocers
the rucky is practically bursting
and i've been gone about three and a half hours
it's now time to wash, cook and carve the carcass
it's last indignity, organic or not organic
mrs f gives me an encouraging smile of approval
which keeps my spirits up
afterwards i wash up the greasy tin and dishes
get the woodle pointed bedwards
and keep thinking compassionate thoughts...
this morning
i take the woodle to school
and start planning the trip to the storage unit
the driving rain seems even more driving today
as usual finding what i'm looking for
entails unstacking half of the boxes
and despite the labels i've stuck on over a sequence of visits
it still takes a fair bit of hunting
to the strains of radio 2
which echo eerily
through the cavernous interior of the converted old tram shed
i unearth goodies requested by mrs f
the woo's album of baby fotos
her plastic desk and chairs
i also rescue a pair of footy boots and a few books:
alternatives to economic globalization
the corporation
the pregnancy question & answer book
which i ferry to the car in two lots
back at el rancho
i help put away the stainsbury's shopping
which reeks of foody miles
while i lecture my sceptical mother
on why she shouldn't bear grudges
on the destructiveness of such emotions
telling her that the best course of action
is always the compassionate response
she ain't at all convinced
the fellow in question is a 'right arrogant bastard'
meanwhile mrs f is freezing cold again
and retires to bed
i pile on extra duvets
fix a hot water bottle
then carve the remaining chicken
and boil up the bones to make a warming broth
(call myself a vegan!)
to my relief it gets a thumbs-up from a more cheerful mrs f
i grab beans on toast then fetch the woodle
we agree to a 90-minute tv-watching limit
since mrs f has taken ill
the woodle's been watching far too much goggle box
but as so often
the flawed bed-time routine goes awry
the woodle will never go to bed without mummy
and at the crucial 8 o'clock juncture
after teeth have been brushed
and a pre-bed jigsaw done
mrs f abruptly decides to head down to kitchen to make kimchi
derailing my military operation
when she finally reappears with woo
mrs f wrinkles up her hyper-sensitive nose
at the sudden stench of urine in the loo
i maintain my composure
and reach for a cloth and the toilet cleaner
but hannah is still mucking about on the landing
and i finally lose my composure
'get to bed - now!' i bellow
reducing my four-year-old sweetpea to tears
even as i start shouting
i know it's the wrong thing to do
in a sane world
there would be no such thing as compassion fatigue
fortunately things end in reconciliation
before she climbs into bed
the unbegrudging woodle gives me a big sweet hug
and reassures me that she isn't gonna buy another daddy...
i sit down at last at the computer desk in the studio
and look down at my left wrist
which is encircled by a newly-acquired bracelet
decorated in biblical images
choirs of angels
jesus with his parents
jesus on the cross
my dad got it sent to him unsolicited in the post
from a catholic charity
he gets piles and piles of appeals for donations
almost all of which he throws away
the bracelet i retrieve is accompanied by a photograph
a naked child in sudan
approximately the woodle's age
being held up by a tall skinny man
the child is a pathetic little bag of bones with his eyes shut
on the back of the photo there is a short message:
this picture shows little isaja
when he was brought to our camp by his father
he now has one chance to survive: us
please help us with your most generous donation
we need to bring food and medicine into sudan as fast as we can
your donation save's children's lives
the buddha tells us that one cannot feel too much compassion
for compassion is the fountain of all happiness and well-being
tonight i will meditate on that
Thursday, January 10, 2008
NUCLEAR WINTER
so they gone and done it
the powers that bee in westminster
have decided that what we need
is a new generation of nuclear power stations
that this is the answer to all our big energy problemos
that this will help tackle climate change
i take my hat off to those governing dudes for their vision
for their brilliant dissection of the pickle we're in
for their breathtaking insight into how to climb out of the pickle jar
oh my seeds
today is a day for getting our heads fully around this irrational stupidity
a day for for clear thinking
cos the tragic thing is
we could be developing real sustainable solutions
we could be conserving energy
increasing energy efficiency
we could be investing bigtime in renewables
creating a feed-in tariff system for small scale producers
demanding carbon capture sytems for new power stations
leading a revolution in supplying and using energy
instead my seeds
we have this distraction
on the back of a sham public consultation
we are set to burden ourselves
with this great big dirty off-white elephant
which will take decades to build
ruin the environment
can only ever provide about 5% of energy needs anyway
in other words ladies and gents
too little too late
are these cats seriously suggesting we have to tinker in the margins
trying to keep the lights on
diverting investment away from clean energy
to a failed technology that has cost billions of pounds
and left a legacy of seriously nasty shit
that they don’t know what to do with
that will sit around for tens of thousands of years
with the tax-payer left to pick up a £70 billion tab?
my daughter could tell you
that you don't make a new mess
till you've cleared up the old one
and how can we hope to rid the world of nuclear weapons
if we don't get rid of our own nuclear power?
every country that has had a weapons programme over recent years
your israels
your south africas
your indias
your pakistans
your north koreas
your irans
all started off with a nuclear power programme...
oh but this is not all
the guvnors have also got a new bill up their sleeves
guaranteed to make you stifle a yawn
cos it's a planning law
but this is something else to take seriously my seeds
for this is a charter for big business
to get a nice fat rubber stamp on their proposals
very useful for fast tracking big infrastructure projects
without proper public consultation
airports
nuclear power stations...
now can anyone see a connection?
the powers that bee in westminster
have decided that what we need
is a new generation of nuclear power stations
that this is the answer to all our big energy problemos
that this will help tackle climate change
i take my hat off to those governing dudes for their vision
for their brilliant dissection of the pickle we're in
for their breathtaking insight into how to climb out of the pickle jar
oh my seeds
today is a day for getting our heads fully around this irrational stupidity
a day for for clear thinking
cos the tragic thing is
we could be developing real sustainable solutions
we could be conserving energy
increasing energy efficiency
we could be investing bigtime in renewables
creating a feed-in tariff system for small scale producers
demanding carbon capture sytems for new power stations
leading a revolution in supplying and using energy
instead my seeds
we have this distraction
on the back of a sham public consultation
we are set to burden ourselves
with this great big dirty off-white elephant
which will take decades to build
ruin the environment
can only ever provide about 5% of energy needs anyway
in other words ladies and gents
too little too late
are these cats seriously suggesting we have to tinker in the margins
trying to keep the lights on
diverting investment away from clean energy
to a failed technology that has cost billions of pounds
and left a legacy of seriously nasty shit
that they don’t know what to do with
that will sit around for tens of thousands of years
with the tax-payer left to pick up a £70 billion tab?
my daughter could tell you
that you don't make a new mess
till you've cleared up the old one
and how can we hope to rid the world of nuclear weapons
if we don't get rid of our own nuclear power?
every country that has had a weapons programme over recent years
your israels
your south africas
your indias
your pakistans
your north koreas
your irans
all started off with a nuclear power programme...
oh but this is not all
the guvnors have also got a new bill up their sleeves
guaranteed to make you stifle a yawn
cos it's a planning law
but this is something else to take seriously my seeds
for this is a charter for big business
to get a nice fat rubber stamp on their proposals
very useful for fast tracking big infrastructure projects
without proper public consultation
airports
nuclear power stations...
now can anyone see a connection?
Monday, January 07, 2008
3 + 1 = 4
remember you heard it here first
the good news
the glad tidings
i can confirm that 2008 is gonna be a nappy new year
as of august 30th or thereabouts
the fireseeds are expecting a new addition to the famille
a little sister or brother for the woodle
who delighted at the prospect
is flicking through her own album of baby snaps in anticipation
for me being a parent-2b is one of those things
that doesn't quite sink in
till you've seen the evidence in front of your eyes
the grainy scan
with the tiny skeleton floating around in the murk
we gotta wait a few weeks to have the first one
for now some nasty bouts of morning sickness corroborate
mrs f already suffering for her art
a labour of love begun eight months early
this morning we all do an impromptu dance in the kitchen
which turns out like a clumsy okey-cokey
if it's a boy, the woodle says we should call him iggle piggle
if it's a girl, upsadaisy
i say makka pakka would make a good unisex name
methinks we still need to work on that one...
the good news
the glad tidings
i can confirm that 2008 is gonna be a nappy new year
as of august 30th or thereabouts
the fireseeds are expecting a new addition to the famille
a little sister or brother for the woodle
who delighted at the prospect
is flicking through her own album of baby snaps in anticipation
for me being a parent-2b is one of those things
that doesn't quite sink in
till you've seen the evidence in front of your eyes
the grainy scan
with the tiny skeleton floating around in the murk
we gotta wait a few weeks to have the first one
for now some nasty bouts of morning sickness corroborate
mrs f already suffering for her art
a labour of love begun eight months early
this morning we all do an impromptu dance in the kitchen
which turns out like a clumsy okey-cokey
if it's a boy, the woodle says we should call him iggle piggle
if it's a girl, upsadaisy
i say makka pakka would make a good unisex name
methinks we still need to work on that one...
Sunday, January 06, 2008
MASKED MAN
i am the masked man
a latterday batman or zorro
i live in terror of being exposed
afraid as i am of emerging from beneath my many layers of disguise
no sooner would i be unmasked in public
than would an ageing celebrity appear on tv without her make-up
my mask collection is my pride and joy
i am so attached to it
that it is impossible to conceive of a meaningful existence without it
foremost among my wardrobe are:
my mask of youth
my mask of good looks
my mask of vitality
my mask of intelligence
my mask of wit
my mask of talent
my mask of creativity
my mask of musician
my mask of writer
my mask of journalist
my mask of blogger
my mask of truth-seeker
my mask of philosopher
my mask of peripatetic existence
my mask of polyglot
my mask of experience
my mask of fatherhood
my mask of superiority
my mask of righteousness
my mask of kindness
my mask of striver
my mask of green activist
my collection assures that i have nothing to win
and everything to lose
all my masks are stored in a room marked samsara
i often lie awake at night
dreading the day that an arsonist takes a match
and engulfs my masks in flames
a latterday batman or zorro
i live in terror of being exposed
afraid as i am of emerging from beneath my many layers of disguise
no sooner would i be unmasked in public
than would an ageing celebrity appear on tv without her make-up
my mask collection is my pride and joy
i am so attached to it
that it is impossible to conceive of a meaningful existence without it
foremost among my wardrobe are:
my mask of youth
my mask of good looks
my mask of vitality
my mask of intelligence
my mask of wit
my mask of talent
my mask of creativity
my mask of musician
my mask of writer
my mask of journalist
my mask of blogger
my mask of truth-seeker
my mask of philosopher
my mask of peripatetic existence
my mask of polyglot
my mask of experience
my mask of fatherhood
my mask of superiority
my mask of righteousness
my mask of kindness
my mask of striver
my mask of green activist
my collection assures that i have nothing to win
and everything to lose
all my masks are stored in a room marked samsara
i often lie awake at night
dreading the day that an arsonist takes a match
and engulfs my masks in flames
Saturday, January 05, 2008
HOUSE OF CARDS
fireseed: it has gone forever, i tell you!
muse: what has?
fireseed: yesterday
he sits slumped in his chair
his glazed eyes staring away into space
she has flung herself to the floor
her despair smothered by the pile of the carpet
her arms thrown forward in sorrow
her braceleted wrists bound together as if by handcuffs
a half-eaten apple lies next to her on the floor
either side of the sitting room
their twin portraits adorn the wall
one of the children turns her head, curious
the other little girl watches intently
as their fragile house of cards begins to tumble
reflected in the mirror an open door
to the left of the mantelpiece
above her small portrait
eve, beguiled by the serpent, is ejected from paradise
to the right, above his
a broken ship succumbs to the waves
abandoned by its crew
a third portrait lies on the floor next to his foot
and in his hand...
a letter
muse: what has?
fireseed: yesterday
he sits slumped in his chair
his glazed eyes staring away into space
she has flung herself to the floor
her despair smothered by the pile of the carpet
her arms thrown forward in sorrow
her braceleted wrists bound together as if by handcuffs
a half-eaten apple lies next to her on the floor
either side of the sitting room
their twin portraits adorn the wall
one of the children turns her head, curious
the other little girl watches intently
as their fragile house of cards begins to tumble
reflected in the mirror an open door
to the left of the mantelpiece
above her small portrait
eve, beguiled by the serpent, is ejected from paradise
to the right, above his
a broken ship succumbs to the waves
abandoned by its crew
a third portrait lies on the floor next to his foot
and in his hand...
a letter
Friday, January 04, 2008
GRAVE MATTER
carved into a simple stone tablet
the inscription in poorly spaced capitals
reads thus:
in loving memory of
maurice watton
dearly loved husband of hilda
and father of derek
passed to fuller life
27th may 1977
aged 75 years
also
hilda mary watton
dearly loved wife mother
and grandmother
passed away
24th april 1995
aged 92 years
it is odd to think of their skeletons lying six feet under
the coffins positioned one on top of the other
the ground has subsided a little since nan's burial
as has the earth beneath the gravestone
leaving the crude base exposed
dad and i place a wreath
and reminisce:
i am eight years old
i watch grandpa watton sleeping in his armchair
his chest rising and falling with each breath
i think to myself
how old and frail he looks
how easy it would be for him to stop breathing
and a year later...
we take a turn around the cemetery
and unearth a whole area devoted to muslims
buried back in the fifties and sixties
their gravestones covered in swirling arabic characters
unlike their western counterparts
their inscriptions show no concern for time spent on this earth
but feature instead the deceased's village of birth
all of the burial plots in birmingham have now been taken
perhaps that's something else we get china to do for us
many of the newer graves are gaudy
black marble with gold leaf inscriptions
some people merely have a small plaque
with a little drawer containing their ashes
fitted with several others into bollard-like structures
that stand incongruously in the middle of the path
on up the hill by the old crematorium
some of the older graves have collapsed
their crosses lying in fragments on the cold ground
at first sight some look like they have fallen prey to vandals
but more likely they have been reclaimed by nature
the victorian and edwardian graves are elaborate
winged angels raise their arms aloft towards the heavens
it strikes me that gravestones present something of a design challenge
the modern ones are mainly functional and dull
where they have tried to do something different
like carving the stone into an open bible
the effect is kitsch
the victorian angels are attractive but a little over the top
i decide that nature should have the last hurrah
a tree with a small plaque below it
no toxin-emitting cremation
or rainforest-depleting hardwood coffin for me
a quiet woodland burial in a cardboard coffin will do just fine
yours morbidly
diesfree
x
the inscription in poorly spaced capitals
reads thus:
in loving memory of
maurice watton
dearly loved husband of hilda
and father of derek
passed to fuller life
27th may 1977
aged 75 years
also
hilda mary watton
dearly loved wife mother
and grandmother
passed away
24th april 1995
aged 92 years
it is odd to think of their skeletons lying six feet under
the coffins positioned one on top of the other
the ground has subsided a little since nan's burial
as has the earth beneath the gravestone
leaving the crude base exposed
dad and i place a wreath
and reminisce:
i am eight years old
i watch grandpa watton sleeping in his armchair
his chest rising and falling with each breath
i think to myself
how old and frail he looks
how easy it would be for him to stop breathing
and a year later...
we take a turn around the cemetery
and unearth a whole area devoted to muslims
buried back in the fifties and sixties
their gravestones covered in swirling arabic characters
unlike their western counterparts
their inscriptions show no concern for time spent on this earth
but feature instead the deceased's village of birth
all of the burial plots in birmingham have now been taken
perhaps that's something else we get china to do for us
many of the newer graves are gaudy
black marble with gold leaf inscriptions
some people merely have a small plaque
with a little drawer containing their ashes
fitted with several others into bollard-like structures
that stand incongruously in the middle of the path
on up the hill by the old crematorium
some of the older graves have collapsed
their crosses lying in fragments on the cold ground
at first sight some look like they have fallen prey to vandals
but more likely they have been reclaimed by nature
the victorian and edwardian graves are elaborate
winged angels raise their arms aloft towards the heavens
it strikes me that gravestones present something of a design challenge
the modern ones are mainly functional and dull
where they have tried to do something different
like carving the stone into an open bible
the effect is kitsch
the victorian angels are attractive but a little over the top
i decide that nature should have the last hurrah
a tree with a small plaque below it
no toxin-emitting cremation
or rainforest-depleting hardwood coffin for me
a quiet woodland burial in a cardboard coffin will do just fine
yours morbidly
diesfree
x
Thursday, January 03, 2008
GUIDED TOUR
we stand on the street corner
scrutinising the map
twisting it this way and that
to get our bearings
mediaeval stone buildings crowd in on us
suddenly i get the feeling we're being watched
'oi! it's that way you want'
a strange voice interjects over our shoulders
we turn and crane our necks upwards
and our startled eyes alight on a smirking face
a bushy-haired wild-eyed face
peering down at us from the masonry high above
a grotesque figure carved in sandstone
suddenly the smirking face winks at us
i blink into the sunlight
'did you see what i think i saw?'
then it speaks
'who d'ya fink you're staring at?
didn't your mother teach you any manners?'
guffawing, the stone gargoyle springs from his perch
and launches himself diagonally across the street
alighting on a new vantage point
'come on - we haven't got all day
follow me!'
we chase the gargoyle along the street
as he hops agilely from building to building
'don't mind 'im' our new friend laughs
pointing at a carved mediaeval figure
squatting as he pulls up his skirts to do his business
'do you mind?' the figure barks irritably
our map depicts what seem to be large footprints
next to a squat bird and some tiny heads
we turn the corner of the street
and head breathlessly up a long straight road
being cajoled by the gargoyle
till we reach a large lawn
in front of a handsome gothic building
'look down at the grass' says the gargoyle
from where we stand
a set of giant three-toed footprints
stretches away across the grass
we hear the great lizard it before we see it
a twenty foot high megalosaurus rears up snarling and hissing
as bystanders scatter in terror
'quick! in here!'
gargoyle ushers us through a door into a giant hall
a glass-roofed cathedral of ornate cast-iron columns
housing a large collection of animal skeletons
fortunately the t-rex skeleton remains inanimate
'come and have a little look at this' our friend whispers conspiritorally
inside a glass cabinet
a squat bird sits
staring back at us with its beady eye
'that's a real live dodo!' says gargoyle
'come on - must fly!'
we continue through to the back of the building
and emerge into a large courtyard
the light is dim and the smell musty
totem poles rise from the floor to the upper galleries
victorian display cabinets are crammed full
of all manner of strange paraphenalia
pistols
jars
carved figures
costumes
mummies
but what of the tiny head on our map?
then our eyes are drawn to a macabre cabinet
shrunken heads with their eyes sewn shut
dangle gruesomely
leathery skin
long matted hair
the trophies of amazonian tribes
'oh no!' i hear myself gasp
as the eyes of one of the heads slowly start to open
'let's get out of here!'
'so where to next?' asks gargoyle when we get outside
grinning from a ledge on the side of the building
we consult our map
'have you ever heard of a mummified cat?'
scrutinising the map
twisting it this way and that
to get our bearings
mediaeval stone buildings crowd in on us
suddenly i get the feeling we're being watched
'oi! it's that way you want'
a strange voice interjects over our shoulders
we turn and crane our necks upwards
and our startled eyes alight on a smirking face
a bushy-haired wild-eyed face
peering down at us from the masonry high above
a grotesque figure carved in sandstone
suddenly the smirking face winks at us
i blink into the sunlight
'did you see what i think i saw?'
then it speaks
'who d'ya fink you're staring at?
didn't your mother teach you any manners?'
guffawing, the stone gargoyle springs from his perch
and launches himself diagonally across the street
alighting on a new vantage point
'come on - we haven't got all day
follow me!'
we chase the gargoyle along the street
as he hops agilely from building to building
'don't mind 'im' our new friend laughs
pointing at a carved mediaeval figure
squatting as he pulls up his skirts to do his business
'do you mind?' the figure barks irritably
our map depicts what seem to be large footprints
next to a squat bird and some tiny heads
we turn the corner of the street
and head breathlessly up a long straight road
being cajoled by the gargoyle
till we reach a large lawn
in front of a handsome gothic building
'look down at the grass' says the gargoyle
from where we stand
a set of giant three-toed footprints
stretches away across the grass
we hear the great lizard it before we see it
a twenty foot high megalosaurus rears up snarling and hissing
as bystanders scatter in terror
'quick! in here!'
gargoyle ushers us through a door into a giant hall
a glass-roofed cathedral of ornate cast-iron columns
housing a large collection of animal skeletons
fortunately the t-rex skeleton remains inanimate
'come and have a little look at this' our friend whispers conspiritorally
inside a glass cabinet
a squat bird sits
staring back at us with its beady eye
'that's a real live dodo!' says gargoyle
'come on - must fly!'
we continue through to the back of the building
and emerge into a large courtyard
the light is dim and the smell musty
totem poles rise from the floor to the upper galleries
victorian display cabinets are crammed full
of all manner of strange paraphenalia
pistols
jars
carved figures
costumes
mummies
but what of the tiny head on our map?
then our eyes are drawn to a macabre cabinet
shrunken heads with their eyes sewn shut
dangle gruesomely
leathery skin
long matted hair
the trophies of amazonian tribes
'oh no!' i hear myself gasp
as the eyes of one of the heads slowly start to open
'let's get out of here!'
'so where to next?' asks gargoyle when we get outside
grinning from a ledge on the side of the building
we consult our map
'have you ever heard of a mummified cat?'
Tuesday, January 01, 2008
GNU YEAR REVOLUTION
2008
a new year dawns
everything just the same as before...
but somehow slightly different
perhaps just a world viewed thru the dark glasses
of the morning after the night before
i turn forty this year
a sobering thought...
the family sees in the new year minus mrs fireseed
who goes up for a nap at nine
and reappears tail wagging sleepily at 12:15
awoken by the noise and the fireworks
we stick on jools holland's hootenanny
and bop around the room like madmen
to the likes of madness (resurrected), eddie floyd and seasick steve
uncle j is the ringleader
hannah woo his willing accomplice
at midnight we enact the ritual of singing auld lang syne
arms crossed in a circle as we intone the words of rabbie burns
the woodle is a little bundle of energy and excitement
until about one
when she suddenly puts her head down
and flickers out like a light...
this arvo we go for a wander over the lickey hills
the woodle goes on my back in the baby carrier
which she has almost outgrown
we climb through fresh pine woods
up to beacon hill
watching out for bears
from the castle ramparts at the top
we meditate upon the fine misty panorama
our sprawling conurbation in all its glory...
i have decided to keep my revolution simple this year:
to dedicate myself to the pursuit of happiness
simple but not so simple of course
as an avid reader of this blog
you will know that by 'happiness'
i refer not to ephemeral pleasure seeking
(though i really don't want you to think i'm a killjoy)
but to a deeper sense of wellbeing
attainable through an understanding of the four noble truths
by following the noble eightfold path
consisting of the threefold discipline:
sila - morality
samadhi - mindfulness
and prajna - insight
the middle way
which strives to banish those obstacles to happiness:
desire
delusion
attachment
ego
and thereby end suffering...
so there you have it
i told you it was a simple revolution
wish me luck!
a new year dawns
everything just the same as before...
but somehow slightly different
perhaps just a world viewed thru the dark glasses
of the morning after the night before
i turn forty this year
a sobering thought...
the family sees in the new year minus mrs fireseed
who goes up for a nap at nine
and reappears tail wagging sleepily at 12:15
awoken by the noise and the fireworks
we stick on jools holland's hootenanny
and bop around the room like madmen
to the likes of madness (resurrected), eddie floyd and seasick steve
uncle j is the ringleader
hannah woo his willing accomplice
at midnight we enact the ritual of singing auld lang syne
arms crossed in a circle as we intone the words of rabbie burns
the woodle is a little bundle of energy and excitement
until about one
when she suddenly puts her head down
and flickers out like a light...
this arvo we go for a wander over the lickey hills
the woodle goes on my back in the baby carrier
which she has almost outgrown
we climb through fresh pine woods
up to beacon hill
watching out for bears
from the castle ramparts at the top
we meditate upon the fine misty panorama
our sprawling conurbation in all its glory...
i have decided to keep my revolution simple this year:
to dedicate myself to the pursuit of happiness
simple but not so simple of course
as an avid reader of this blog
you will know that by 'happiness'
i refer not to ephemeral pleasure seeking
(though i really don't want you to think i'm a killjoy)
but to a deeper sense of wellbeing
attainable through an understanding of the four noble truths
by following the noble eightfold path
consisting of the threefold discipline:
sila - morality
samadhi - mindfulness
and prajna - insight
the middle way
which strives to banish those obstacles to happiness:
desire
delusion
attachment
ego
and thereby end suffering...
so there you have it
i told you it was a simple revolution
wish me luck!
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