A belated preface

I’ve just finished some extensive research into the art of blogging. Some may be surprised to learn that this blog, indeed the first few posts, were created prior to the author (quite a self lubricating use of the title author i know) ever exhibiting an interest in any one else’s blog. So my early posts could be considered a kind of premature ejaculation, this is typical of my anomalitic sense of self importance. Indeed until just now I’d read very few blogs in my time and had never been a follower in the cyber sense, although I do like the idea - so once I have pacified my obscure suspicion that committing to such an arrangement will be too complicated or in some way demanding I will pluck up the courage and click ‘follow’, multiple times probably.
Any way I’ve made several key observations from my research that have caused me to reconsider my approach and, write this. You see a common feature of the blogs I have encountered is they include some sort of introduction or preface that, in part, makes some sort of concerted effort to justify why they are excreting their thoughts all over the place. Secondly i havn't been writing enough in the first person, da da! Another observation is I need to either assert my views with a cocksure strut or be sufficiently unbiased and ambiguous to guard against any disarming comments. I am good at creating an illusion of the former but it scares me and will often find myself whittling and welding to do the later, but I don’t want to do that either. You might be surprised once again (I am often a very surprising person) to learn that although I have now read quite a few posts in several blogs none of them actually resemble what I have just described, I am just guessing that some do. If you like I was using a poetic licence or a kind creative misting to illuminate my own preconceptions of what a blog is for.

So if you are reading this, are you? (It’s good for me to jokingly insinuate that I have had some kind of rendezvous with metaphysical ideas) I have three things I want to say to you: congratulations, a warning and a plea

1) Well done. Simply well done because undoubtedly I will not overtly advertise this to anyone, it will be a dormant monster brooding with unconsummated intent. A putrid paradox - where I will faithfully add to it, half hope people will stumble upon it or notice the inconspicuous link on my facebook details page yet never tell anyone to look on it, fearful I will be defined by it. Oh no no never - that would presuppose that in some way I think it is good or has value and woe betide anyone who thinks that. This congratulation was going to be shorter but on writing it I have been forced to examine myself, internally not mirrors and prongs. I have a new found respect for authors, anyone actually who expresses themselves creatively or honestly and presents it, it is a risk. I have for a while thought risk is vital to real open relationship, they require vulnerability. Perhaps willingness to risk being vulnerable is a necessary stance if we want to engage with another person’s ideas, experiences and creations. I am beginning to think this willingness to be vulnerable is required for creativity, at the least vulnerability before yourself; “go on surrender yourself to your own mercy and get your juices flowing” would be my tagline in an advert advocating this brand of leap, imagine it intonated by a big green dinosaur on roller-skates or gushed by a tiger with bating eyelids and flowing hair.

2) My warning follows thus – (its hardly apocolyptic) the quagmire of scribbled potential projects, lists of ambitious to do’s, piles of unread books, art equipment in the corner and barren broken bike all give substance to this warning. Testament to the fact that I have phases and fads, ideas that rise and fall, bouncing from one another each crescendo echoing into another, they germinate and are neglected. From an outside perspective it would seem that these phases and fads I mention must be another example of my creative misting, by that I mean if you were to watch me you would think I have relatively stable and consistent interests and passions – I do yes, but partly only because these ideas, interests and ambitions are in such a constant state of flux I have no time to act on them before they change. Granted they all have a similar trajectory but the point remains, well will remain once I make it. But first, unlike the list at the beginning of this warning I do have one example which emphasises the point, noisily and visually.

http://www.myspace.com/adultjazz

You see. There lies either a short lived phase of musical ambition or an attempt to strike the comedy chord. Here it is, the point, I rarely follow anything through with a commitment that makes anything of quality. I am in a reflective thoughtful wordy type phase, often the case, but at the moment stroking those thoughts into written word appeals to me as does having one place to store/present them. How long this will last, I cannot say...warning this blog is probably a fad.


3) My plea isn’t as desperate as you may predict. Please do leave any comments, is all I ask. I am cowering as I write. If anyone writes anything negative or in disagreement I will delete their post and probably the whole blog and leave with my head hung, hosting tiny red eyes. You see its an uncomfortable invitation to rethink - an invitation that, if accepeted, may demand me to recreate myself in some small way. No, despite the simple truth that few like being contraired on, I think it is important so please contrair away. (thats right I can make up words if I so wish, on this web address - in this space - contraired is a word, use it at will)

waiting outside a garden centre in the car

Garden centre, hip hip horray
One whole promising day
And - no admissions to pay

Everyone loves plants in the garden centre
The bushes, flowers or ‘green’ generator

All kept in manageable rows
Digestible pieces of tamed ‘wildyness’
Displaying big affordable prices
And half price Dutch hoes.

Buy a piece of wilderness
With money
Made out of trees.

Two watery poems

Downpour cascading.
Dazzling dancing drizzle.
Bubbling and buoyant,
bouncing off the rocks.

Playfully gurgling,
a whisper then a shout.
Fluid and fresh.
Light dancing
as the water
chases
the
current.

Here

Relentless life giver.
Subtle beauty, framed by load power.
An enduring element
not bound by time
only passing it.
Constantly talking if only we’d listen,
a calming voice
taking a well worn path
A familiar track
scored by shimmering glass.

Rubber Duck Suck

Right now, in this era of here

I’m playing in the folds of technology’s robe

Donning my fad rags for a night in networking

My digital dalliance delivers only 

Smokeless fags

Flirting hags

Cyber stags

My screen screams silence

Longing for another, I search 4 sum 1

Again

Frantically I search another enchanting, lonely street

Of our golden cyber city

Where you don’t need feet

Embraced by the silver sticky thread

Of the world wide web

I’m trapped and waiting on this comfy seat

Too bored for thinking

I substitute napping for finger tap tapping

Heavy and upright

Sleep! calls the night

But bright light

Shiver and shake

Pixels pulsate

They throb as I do

A sole silent soul in a chemical soup

Screens scream silence

Mashed up violence

Sat there blinking

I know I’m shrinking

Mind melter, my thought shelter

I’m compact and taut like a

Rubber duck, suck!

Yellow plastic skin a brain like a bin

So here

head hung, red eyes an unseen twisted frown

I’m crying in the folds of technology’s robe

To scared to steal myself and take back her crown

Days bye, gone

The desperate end of an era

The glorious lifestyle

Stayed just a while

But what changes

no physical metamorphosis

no, because

those people keep on marching

yes

 To where?

and to what beat?

Such persistence

Oh you dirty tired feet.

Forgetfulness, distance and time

Weapons wielded by tiny angry horizons

By perverted priorities and misplaced trust

Friendships get old, friendships can rust

Forgetfulness, distance and time

Weapons we wear

Weapons that wear us down

In our lonely fight

Society’s products, its jobs

And dam ’dare’ priorities

Sanding down the edges of meaning

Drying out the wells, the memory wells

Crushing once proud now flaccid dreams

For many

A lifestyle just lived for a while

Fuzzy memories on a discarded pile

For many

But for me

These weapons I’ll defy

In people I’ll invest

and hope I’ll  rely

Please then please

Please reply

As we hope

Smashing those sticky mirrors

Hope

To partake in the positive

Plumb for potential

Pursue people

Promote peace

And live a glorious lifestlye

And live.