It's funny how people change when they can no longer walk away, cant remove themselves from the pain, have to live by their word and hold onto their problems, so many people just dump and run when the going gets tough, they run three hundred miles in the opposite direction, funny how we cant walk away from ourselves, we just bury ourselves, in menial tasks, a bottle of jack or a pale pile of pills on a cabinet bed stand. I don't know what to think when I wake up and think, shit... not this again. not me again, not my view of the pain again. I don't know where to look, who to turn to when the world is a blur full of dancers pulling weird hair do's out of their bag, everyones got tricks I seem to not quite grasp, and I'm playing a tune trying to keep up but my head and my heart just arent enough, in this beat up old world. everyone else seems ahead, Im drowning in the moment but with a red light switched on, saying i'm awesome, I'm friendly, everyone come sit by me, there aint no sorrow or unresolvement in my mind at all. But under that facade, that doesnt quite fit, I see the light in their eyes dim and recede when they take in my real state, my hearts pain and fear. I understand, I can see it. That they don;t want to hear it, they'd rather walk away now, rather go back to their talk of weather and fun gatherings, or of mutual fuck ups. It ain't personal, its just normal.

9

In death there is a freedom, the ability to leap without fear into an
abyss you have created, death is the final point, the full stop at the
end of the sentence. The one thing no human being, plant, animal,
microorganism can avoid. Death comes to us all. And yet, there is a
freedom in that thought, a beauty in the shades of grey which filter
between the white of birth and the black of death. A joy, a careless
wonder in the knowledge that I am here; I am conscious, open eyed,
open minded, looking, learning and sensing the wonder that is this
world around me. It is blue and green, pink and orange. It is warm and
cold, hard and painful. If you let it, it will consume you. If you
embrace it, it will heal you. Take in a breath, let it fill up your
lungs as you reach out your hands and touch the life inside of you.
Take joy in the beauty that you exist in this place, that face you
look out of, its unique, never again will it crinkle with laughter
when you are gone, so please keep laughing, keep smiling, keep that
twinkle in your eye, let it hold you as you hold the gaze of those
around you and feel the connection flowing between you. Take comfort
in the breath deep inside you in the miracle of your own thoughts, in
the chances that you have and the mistakes that you’ve made because
when you consider the alternative, well let’s not consider the
alternative. Or yet consider it to be what it is, an inevitable, a
constant, an unchanging tide that’s given you little bubble of ideas
and mind the chance to experience life. Take wonder in the joy that
you are here, that we are here and when that last breath leaves you, I
hope it leaves you with a smile.

8

There is no such thing as my idea, no original thought or unconditioned form that you can create that doesn’t have a root or an origin an etymology that can be traced back through others and the hundreds who came before them, to claim you are right is as though to claim you know the truth, you understand this idea, well tell you what that’s a naivety to claim you know whats what when the world is inconceivable under what small layer of skin we have equated and managed to compile in descriptions, fundamentals of science and religion. We attempt as human beings to carve out a limited understanding of a pedestal to perch on in the cliff face of intellect still left to digest. But please just recognise that these things you call your own true blue thoughts, are really the compilation of fragments of other peoples words, other peoples hopes and dreams and cognitive processes because lets feel this reality we’re standing in and recognise the humility we should be showing the world and leave our own arrogant suppositions at the place they deserve to be, the floor. Far away from our verbal recognising because to say this is my idea, to put a price or legislation to it is crazy, you cannot own an idea or a place or a person. Ownership, the fundamental right to say this this is mine, all others bask in what I can take into my hands and hold. Well no, let go because somebody else put words or thoughts, or time into what you are holding, or no one at all when what you hold is the earth because how can we limited balls of air and blood walking and talking lay a hand on the root of all life and put an ownership to it and claim this this is mine. We suffer under deluded ideals that this life we are living is real. That the human brain can be claimed into certain segments put over into other peoples uses. Well fuck you world, I hold my brain in my own hand and will think outside of the parameters you people have laid down, this conception you’re selling of what it is to be a successful ambitious human being is a ridiculous overstatement of artificial displacement. Give me earth, give me fire, give me the help to steer clear. The injustice of this collated furnace of untruth and misplaced hatred that permeates the way we dictate the world to other people using the powers we bought traded and sold. I want to change this world, speak to the people who are filled with feelings of inadequacy indifference and mistaken identity when what their looking for is a universal truth not a universal adaptor to plug in the latest gadget so they can hack into the artifice of knowledge we exist within. Fuck you laptops and technology; a luddite revolution would satisfy me happily. Listen to me now my dear fellow man and listen when I say that in writing this I extend out my hand and reach to you through words that I do not know to be true but they are my words I just put them in an order and spoke them for you fondly so that you might listen to an opinion not sanctioned or sponsored or even faintly legitimate.

7

We witness the collision of human injustice
stand at the gates of pain and misery
watch the world bare its guts to the sky
and throw up our hands
as we see no evil, hear no evil
and speak only of the mundane speculative anecdotes
that fill our own personal limited scope

Are you blind? I cry.
Do you hear the fighting all around you?
the loneliness of this overpopulated planet is pulsing through me
and all that we admit that we see
is what they flicker on advertisements
as the world describes it as something to be cured
by money and charity
when will we see that we really aren't free
in a world so blind
that when our children and our brothers children
are crying, its ignored and pushed to the floor

Who wants to dwell on an issue we can't sell
because all that we are
is the sign on our door
the shadow we show
to the rest of the globe

and hope that they don't poke a finger at the foundation
case it crumbles under the speculation
of all that we hide
like the pain of these times
women in suffering
children going hungry
men drinking through the anger they eshew

There's these magnetic forces holding us down
their called materialism, commerce
and the post-modernist ideal
that babe it ain't real, or me
who needs to deal with this issue
that's for politicians my darling

And they keep such straight faces
as they smack their hands down
to keep their heads in the ground
so far neath the skin
of all this violent din

to ignore as those in suffering
implore for the world to start listening
to their cries for some justice
for all mankind

just human dignity please
for everyone, not just a few ones
and their bubbled up hue of comrades
and you stand there screaming
but they won't hear your cries

because you're talking to dead wood
with its roots too tied down in a system
which really probably won;t turn around

6

See my friends are all telling me
you know you can definitely change the world
just believe in it and see what you can do
the revolution comes from within
inner workings like clockwork set in motion
just decide to wind it up and you'll go soon
But wait.
I'm here standing at a cross roads with convoluted ideals
mixed up catch phrases that pop out their eyes
and words that mean nothing
because they follow inaction
disinterested parlance of wrinkled devotion
who are the warriors who stand at the gates of integrity
and shout 'see here son'
to the men in black suits who look down at cv's
and judge the merit of a person
by what they have done that can be certified, verified, cross checked and referenced
put into a heading with a title causing no offence
Where are the people who stand and say
'wait, this means nothing to the walking mans gait'
its just fictional words we create
to equate the achievements of a persons least recognisable shape

5

With the cadence of immateriality
I don't know what it was her reality
but I claimed it back
by the stack of children books she kept in the back
and as her voice echoed through the room
drawled with oppression and gloom
I felt the pain behind her eyes
as she took pains to hide the nicotine stains on her fingers and nails,
the cut glass gloss to her eyes that shined like no light was behind
and the gaunt pull of her cracked skin on her cheekbones
The sight of her dulled expression,
suppressed aggression, diluted unfulfilled passion
filled me with anger and hate for a state
so oppressive and inherently misused by the class structure
to keep the ladder in place.
Only the ladder is made of matchsticks
 if you put any weight there it breaks
like the broken dreams of those at the bottom grasping for freedom
I knew at once that this girl grew up without love but with deep loss
she marked out the book that I brought to her counter
and stamped in a deadline for our next encounter
I walked away ashamed because I felt like I left her

4

The pain of these times,
sharpens my senses
empowers my thoughts
like muscles in tension
my heart beats the pulse of the lump in my throat
created by all this emotion
running through me
crying to be freed
expressed in the undying want to be free
free from constraint of the world and all its restrictions
I was lost to this fight, blinded by sight, restricted by hope
it cut off my ties to the world
I created illusion of a life outside of this one
I was blinded by sight, fore sight, more sight , your sight
it is not free to restrict to your belief
the world is a fucked up place
its a truth, an idea, its a reality
but the world is worth more than a tutting by yours truly
there is so much to see, so much to hear, to believe in, to feel free in, to love
that I have to admit that the world might need changing
but who are we to say how, or why or when?
because alongside the pain and frustration
is beauty and truth and undying hope
a young man holds the hand of an old man
he can't walk but he lopes
a woman leans in to kiss her neighbours cheek
children playing in the street
a painting, a song, a five minute poem
fuck all this pain and just live in the moment.