I feel an urge I can’t ignore, like a magnet dragging me towards an unknown destination
I feel the coldness of space in every pore and cell wall
I hear the hum of conception and birth, life and adaptation, death and dissolution
I feel I am not myself, I feel like I have become something else
I have become colossus! treading far above the mountains
twitching with the great roar that reverberates from my heart strings, that bellows from the beginnings in the depths of long roads home and dark street corners on indestructable nights in broken down towns
“dissonance in Human form, what is man but that” - Nietzsche.
picture is The Colossus by Goya
some notes from the past few days
I long to sit down at a desk and really form these into something substantial (and better)
as my head is practically buzzing with the idea of writing a Book
but i fear i will not have the time right now as i’m inbetween lives, and it’d take me a good long time as i’m very particular in my literary wants and needs.
so for now, you will have to eat of these few scraps.
expect a lot more as i’m constantly writing or thinking about writing.
about my current situation
Gigs in Birmingham / Stoke / Manchester
and constant travelling from place to place.
The ticket back to the womb.
With holes in my rubber soul my journey began
a mist had descended upon the countryside, veiling like a heavy weight
there’s a darkness coming, all the trees look sorrowfull, bent in posture
whilst the goldminer, the boy with the key but no lock flew past them onwards
down backbone market towns with 2.5 kids, happy fathers and lottery number fridays.
The cities i knew so well;
Beverley with false first loves that held so tight onto young hearts
but slipped into becomming a foundation for future attempts.
Hull with the birth of Hardcore passion and sendimenting myself in heavy music
Selby with good friends and mornings shouting at John-Paul on Hollyoaks
and ever onwards
towards the great hope
Alone with all the other transitionals, the mean nothing waiters, the time lapsed go-nowheres and dreamers of home.
Whilst every now a then a night hawk will crawl in looking for bread, tired of scraping the streets and come to us begging for salvation from the endless pangs.
“bruddah gimmie 50p”
lost eyes long sunk behind the skull.
The places i wait in for the sake of hardcore, the hours I exist in, the minutes I exhale and the thoughts I collect, all for the sake of hardcore.
Forever digging with salivating lips that hidden destiny
“all the pain is worth it, all the pain is worth it”
sung beneath the tongue mantras of scuffed knees and grazed hearts, grass stained souls and get-back-up knocked down smiles.
and now the Bus
heading home on sleepy coatches, dim lit in blue and red,
“catching the silhouettes of the tired and damned”
Sardine packed on autombiles, hour long roads back to warm beds and thoughtless heads.
Distant cities illuminations like calm nightlights outside the door
soothing the monsters away.
Blurry mirror visions of the country side at 3am, a pulsating mass of shapeless black
Yawning like the Child after a days play.