Hold Up

As if it’s too little too late

As if what I try to do now pales in comparison to my monumental failures before this point

If I continue to give care, I hope it will become seen as the new norm

But I am seen as a selfish pariah in from the cold

A leopard who doesn’t change their spots

Who doesn’t have it in them, really, who is weak

Who doesn’t feel like what they can ever do is good enough so why bother trying anyway,

The caregiver is given to castigation when they try to decide their own boundaries.

It would be easier to continue in the dynamic of selfishness.

But this would not help me see that loneliness is not the natural state of affairs within myself

And this would not help her when she is in need and expects of me some assistance

Love sometimes does not get love in return

What it can get you is spiteful anger in its perceived lack in the past,

And a just cause for retribution in seeking reparations

And a desire to punish you for simply being the one they depend on.

Caring for someone else places you in line to be prescribed as selfish or not good enough

By marking past failures and using them as ammunition.

And the idea that they are at your mercy or you are at their grace forms a power dynamic

Because the loveless moments have spun a weave of fear draped over any new movement

A fear that love may be lost again to the great prophesies wrought in dark nights.

Instead of seeking forgiveness, you will never get it.

You instead, have to earn it, and only then may they try to understand your perspective.

But whether or not they seek to understand this is their choice.

And such a choice can only be made once their immediate needs are met.

I did what I had to do to survive

The kicker:
You cant expect anyone to know,
And you cant expect anyone to give a shit from that premise
You also cant expect anyone to care
Once they do know.
Only if they get it, do they know.

After Armstice

Stepping out of the calm, single mirrored room, I think of what I want out of my life, my journey, and my art. Emancipation; Understanding; Knowledge; a fellowship across space and time, kinship with other to free art from the surface and pulls apart. And i step out into London. And the blast of events forthcoming feels as if to me a great wave, where my eyes land carving up the words itinerant meanings parts laughter rushing cars and fashion to step step step and I cherish, stop, to cherish this moment.

Catechism

Not in competition, envy,
Listening between the wind
Singing, Dancing, all seeing
Learning to reply, converse

Considering, when needed,
the weight and pointed pressure that
such an expectation comes with.

Taking responsibility for such a path,
Remembering how to practice
Breathing in,
Forfiving,
Understanding Carelessness,
Recklessness,
Impatience,
Letting go of Creating from something that resists control,
Loving reverence, adapting to all frequencies
In thresholds of acceptability.

And wearing sunglasses when it's dark outside.

Catechism

It feels as if im bleeding
A fierce argument with washes and waves
of subconscious nooses
(really, mooses, though, I mean..)
An addictive brew for all.
Rescue-ego; for me, is a tantalising freeing
I should decide for myself,
And as I gaze round in fear
I feel as if I seek the phantoms of approval.
But one by one the mechanical manifestations of my own design blossom into being again.
They take time
To remind me.

If it comes from Love, it is self renewing, as a tree breathes water. I fear I am trapped in this triange, and only go from point to point. It is destiny, now, set upon this path, to break free and realign myself with angelic poise.

This I do by not doing, by remaining chaste to the lines and lies and grasp at my heartstrings.
Or else I will fall back,
Again, and the next life,
another long, arduous, eternal cycle.

What are your views on spiritualist metaphysics?
Dude, you dont just go about asking people about their personal spiritualist metaphysics.

Catechisms are very important, to remind myself to remind myself.
That I can only do what I am afforded to do in the present, and that this involves going with the flow.
That I am not alone, and that to believe I am unloveable because I am seeking it out, always, is to posit an Unkind Truth.
That the most important fact about Love in this moment is that it is ephemeral, interstitial, ex-egoist, anti-solipsistic, cannot be controlled or manifested freely.
That I am much deeper than what I feel, or think, or do.
That Fear and Love are separate languages to express Being.
That love is extemporised, not pre-planned or manufactured.

Asleep again

An ungrateful perfectionist
Decides what is 'good enough'.
You have your Augean Stables
And I build sandcastles.
To be complicit in my own enslavement
Unresponsive to slow grace,
And fractured, sudden, fitful,
Like a bowerbird.
Into a bottomless pit we pour,
As the centre keeps falling. 

Parked Hurricane

I hope for you
That trauma has passed
And the pillowed winds
No longer help to kite the wings
Of lurking furies at night.

I hope for you
Just like the last time
and time before that, again and again,
That faith in fate remains shaken,
Which is more difficult, perhaps,
Than to feel as if you lack
Superhuman strength to undo
Supernatural foces on you
When prophesy become your eye.

To C after trading fire

I fumbled jumbled letters last night,
Two makeshift mirrors, whispers to recieve,
And do some damage to the next day.

I caught a drop of your lovelight
Fell through my cold nerveless fingers
and wrapped them around the phantom of your stay
too late it seems.

I put you up there on the moon,
Cursing as if to say
Ill never build a rocket
To bridge this fine gap
Of pencil and the page.

And to keep my pride intact
I sunk shattered shards into the earth
Hoping they would catch your rays.

"a sense of calm descends"

A terrifying drop
down to an eternal present
A blank slate
For True Names

Oak

I held the hand of an oak
At its frayed fingertip
Mottled, waxy green
And felt the rest of the tree
In an ancient waltz with the wind
Not trembling with fear
But determined and thrown
In a long, slow groan,
With the sky's heartfelt sigh.
And the leaves high up cry
Was given to that rippling wind
But wise old oak
With thick grown throat
Charted roots deep
And treats with the flow of the water.

A Warning Label

Someone who listens
Without hearing their own problems
In my words;
Not trying to fix themselves vicariously,
Someone to talk to
Work out the problems,
Elucidate them
Extemporise-
Not solve them tactically
Solve them with resolve

Gone

Not a pool, shallow,
Mirroring moon any longer.

No great depths
To plunder pearls
(had they been gifted by swine
I might have joined them)

[A brief pause]

For now I sit
And nurse this stream
Not to deepen the pool,
Rain will come
And when it does
I fear I will
Drown in reply.

Yet I hold true
It takes two
Different, Equal;
I surrender to what I know:

In hurt, I am,
run through,
But treading lightly
I will wait.

Oscillation

No you're right

It's not going to be good enough

You're a not a sensible person,

You chose this path you blind oaf

More sensible people wouldn't look at Everest

With anything other than a thin smile awe.

Dealing with the search for Love

Let alone lunch.

When you set your resolutions

In a rapture of unmeasured distances 

Perhaps its not just the only thing

To find a resolution

And make a new space

And invite yourself in

And not lose the battle between blind optimism and hope, and bitterness

Well fuck it

I suppose I'm bitter enough

I suppose irony is actually dead

There's something funny about being relentlessly searching my mind for the ticket to Anytown USA

And its royally fucking irritating, too

Supposing that I should be One and Whole

Instead of oscillating between two poles

Being IS Becoming! Said Deleuze

In pen, on paper, and slotted into a library

And leafed through with fingers shaking

At the frequency of whatever.

And if I come across as cynical

It's not because I am

It's because I am surrounded by

Phantoms of false faith

Nothing is sacred anymore

Because God is in the wind

And the wind is cold

Because it's autumn.

So I'll love the mushrooms

Like gods eternal groundsmen,

Restlessly sweeping away bones

In another one of my lost nights.

I'll bide my time

And wear my sunglasses

And tilt my head at your camera

Chewing oddly and slowly like a cow

A mirthless smile floats across my face

As if there is some bright future

As if in my nerves the question is lit

I will point a finger at my ego

Being, burnt out

My nerves are numb, really,

So no I won't lighten up

I'll darken down, thank you kindly

Life's too short to defend what i can't see

And I'll die like the rest

Let's go onwards,

And hold onto the only hope that is not out of the question- that the mushrooms get me good

A grey dawn

I see no resolute sunrise
Burning dawn fresh upon
Windows gloaming into view

Not yet have I ever crested
This slow, ache legged hill.

My pity sags deep on sunken eyes
Fury roars by my heel
As might an aged dog,
Inherited through trudging scorched earth
(Untouched by rain or blessed dew)

I limp, a turn so comical
If it were not such a tragedy
Combined with the setting still of rumour
Into the stones

Yet, and yet,
I hear the little birds and late owls looming,
Who, blessed with vision in half light
Will guide me to better sights
Than the glamour of my own two feet.

An Ode to Ben

Ben Today,
Another Tomorrow

Statues

I live in a place
Between map and terrain
Such fixity is ironic to me.
My life is a vain pursuit
of recklessness without mortal danger
It seems as if
I watch the petals fall
In their falling I feel alike
Straddling the irreconcileability
of the static and dynamic
In flux, in flow,
And moved by statues
That grow green black
By rain, in a city. 

Catechism

LIVE BY THE MOON,
DIE BY THE MOON.
and the song of
storms will whip up
foolhardy fancies
in the tangled tips of
wise old trees -
But the roots lie deep
and treat with the
flow of the Water.

 (stormy minds
 bottle lightning
 With fumbling grip
 on the cold cap
 I try and unscrew myself)

J

ive got my garden
and youve got yours
we are like neighbours
peering over at
each others plot of land
and sowing seeds
for a harvest not
yet come

Some Questions and Noticing Sedatives

Sedatives to Flux

- Overwhelm and Forget
a feedback loop

- Unconfident and Hide
likeminded souls lack
+systemic context

- Frustration and Nihilism
anger and indignancy is cool

- Impatient
need to hone
control and let roll

What exactly is a
waste of crisis energy
potential energy
between holding so many
lenses to your light

And what exactly do I flow into
negative to positive (+drain)
And what the fuck
was the endgame
of postmodernist deconstruction anyway?

Derrida said "What would art be without its frame?"
my hammer is at hand I know

It's OK To Be You

There is a bursting reaction
inward looking reflexive
upon encounter with echoing
and echoes of turmoil
cracked mirrors, hunted
as one was for no reason
other than sponge imprinted
vanity, other than masks
bought and sold, or, then
a malignancy that would be
comical if tragic if oscillate
At this encouter
the momentous locking-eyes
with the "You" - its no
wonder the game of
hide and seek dont stop
and I hold you dear
to my heart who wishes
they could end the game
or, trapped, stop playing
but cannot.

So, im afraid to say
my friends
and long split family,
the jig has been
waiting patiently to be
up like a circling
alarm clock tiptoeing
around everyone else
Your bullshit radar is,
has, now, been honed to
a 'knife' weilding tip
so good at not being found,
you know exactly how to find.
The hunter for love.

Towards Awakening (again)

Look at the materiality around you, and what it affords you.

Seek inspiration for creative expression, what needs to be said.

Let yourself dance.

Depressive Realism

1 - The traffic lights are Orange Green Red
2 - So sensitive to symbols and signs
3 - And their isolation in communication
4  -And I feel so much
5 - One after another
6 - Like mortars zeroing in
7 - Red
8 - Orange
9 - Turn green