Tuesday, 27 April 2010

It Was These Rocks

Always, I find it a struggle to be where I am. It's difficult to get the rest my body needs, in the places where it sleeps.
The people I see exacerbate a certain anxiety that I cannot understand.
And the time I spend, at their leisure, it makes for a disposition I haven't the words to express.

I neglect myself.
I don't truly see myself as needing help.
And my hideous piety lends itself to thinking like superman.
I have a saviour complex.

So here, I hide, on a page.
I'm in the ink and in the margins.
I've shrunk my world to the size of a head, sitting in sunlight, on a rock and by the water.

The waves compose lullabies in the tide as it hits the shore line.
Each lasts only for a second, but the wave continues making them for all of time, as long as the water is there.
The songs I hear are just for me and can never be recreated.

It was these rocks I came to when life began, it will be these rocks I come to when it stops.
They've give me space, solitude and romance.
And like a portal, they let me see into another world, one I seem to understand.

They speak to me, these rocks.
They appear to be cold and lacking life, but they hold an energy and wisdom.
They taught me to remember my insignificance, in the complexion of the earth.
They've shown me the duality of nature, in waters calm and brutal.
And though they've been eroding ever since the beginning, I see their inculpable beauty.

So when I leave these rocks and remember where I am, I feel all the more prepared to stay
in a world where I do not belong.


Thursday, 11 March 2010

Dear Everybody,

Come and find me where I'd like to be.
Amid mid-suburbia, in a floating street.
A house boat. In a convoy. Buoyant Bricks and Mortar.

I'll be draped in crisp linen,
A tapered, straight necked, blue and white striped shirt.
Standing under a not yet risen sun.

I will draw out my days,
On off-white, pulpy paper,
In black ink and even strokes.

The neighbours are never the same,
but we like them all,
they lend us sugar and conversation,

We can cuddle and talk,
into the crook of each other's neck,
We can go a little silly.

As the sun sails over, the shade grows,
We light pipes, fish and read papers,
appreciating the breeze,

If you want to,
you can stand on the deck and giggle,
or cry, if you've forgotten why we're here.

By night, I'll wear my hat,
and thick woollen jumper,
the one with the wooden buttons,

I'll sit there with my cup of coffee,
and speak softly to the captains of
the other house boats drifting by.

I hope you like where I'd like to be,
Initially, it will take a lot of effort,
but we'll settle in, eventually.


Thursday, 3 December 2009


I've spent a lot of my time on earth trying;

Trying to find new solutions to old problems.
Trying to make friends and fit in.
Trying not to make the wrong decision.
Trying not to upset anyone.
Trying to do the right thing.
Trying to please God and man.
Trying not to say the wrong thing.

But I'm not going to lie, I'm a little tired. Recently, but all to late, I've come to the understanding that I'm fighting an up hill battle, on my own, with a hand tied behind my back. I'm focusing on the wrong things.

If I spent as much time working diligently as I do trying to solve problems and make new systems, I probably wouldn't have the problem in the first place. My life would be more productive.

If I took care of my friends, I'd have all the friends I ever needed and I wouldn't need to fit in, because I just would, exactly as I am.

It's impossible to make a wrong decision; A friend of mine said "life is good, bad and usable. what's usable equates to 99%". All I need to do is brace myself for, what I call, "consequential wisdom" - these are the lessons earned through example, sacrifice and experience.

If I upset someone, it's not the end of the world. If my intentions are good, it's potentially the beginning of progress. Realistically, how could I possibly upset anyone; fundamentally, I'm a good person, and a person nonetheless, so please, forgive me and my humanity once in a while. Offence has so much less to do with the offender.

In regards to doing the right thing, it's almost impossible. All I know to do is follow the example of Jesus, as best I know how. If I get it wrong, refer to the latter part of the previous point. He said "It's impossible for a good tree to make bad fruit."

I can't please God with a striving mind, only a humble heart.

I'm probably less likely to say the wrong thing if I don't say as much as I do.

These are my life philosophies.

Listen to this and be blessed.