It’s all the same ‘ day

How long is now? The past is the length of all history and the future is the length of all potential. Of course, minus the length of now. I watched the glass fall, it slipped in the past and it will land in the future, that time that seems so long, yet there is not time to do anything but regret. science says that now is between two and three seconds.. Now is certainly less than a second, that glass that fell in the past and shattered in the future through less of now than that. No matter how many times I splice a nanosecond, there is always half of that. Each slice beyond the eye dwarfs the size of now.

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Tree

My Grandad was a miraculous man. He produced the incredible every day, amazing things always happened to him. For example, he took a seed from an apple and he planted it into the ground. Soon through season’s water, light and the nutrients of the earth, the first miracle occurred. From his apple seed up from God’s dirt sprouted an orange tree! An incredible occurrence no doubt, but only the first miracle, because the very next year his orange tree produced apples!

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Monkey Claw

Exaggeration and extrapolation within my conscience are the main causes of my anxiety. Each moment written to a conclusion far far along in time. So even a diamond dream melts in some future wasted investment, some loss of friends through jealousy, wealth a weight to shed. One grain of thought extrapolates into a beach of sand. Exhausting my very own monkey claw.

_____

NRG

All matter is energy and all energy cannot die but must transform. Yet perpetuity is impossible too. So when we push a swing, the swing gradually slows and warmth is created.

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fizz

Resentment and anger, hatred and fear, a damaging spark fizzing. Notice when unfed in time that spark shrivels and dies. What you feared gains another perspective, a humanity, if we can quench this spark swiftly, we can maintain peace.

_____

Out here

Out here in my oddness, in the realm of the weird, I contemplate the structure of life, how it is loaded towards that banality of normality. All that bores me, that drives me mad, in it’s simple cause and effect square box, all those hoards of monotony, fitting simply in the structure from birth till death. They enjoy their role as a gear, take the money and buy what they’re told, wave what they’re told. The blue pill looks tempting sometimes. The job and the money, to stand wherever the many stand. Swallow the red pill, choke it down, it is you, to watch them burn from out in the cold.

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Janis

The universe
does not recognise
our numbers
we scrawled
upon parchment
our ink is not
heaven’s time
The universe
winks at Janis
It’s all the same
fucking day man.

Sporadic print

As vibrant as the sun and energising as the moon
Shaking soul through her filter exploding out a tune
Washing in her pure raw power she energises us
She is more psychedelic than Ken Kesey’s bus
Open your heart and let the music all soak in
Fully appreciate the mighty Janis Joplin.

 

He had the superpower to change form to how he chose
No need for costume he could also create his clothes
He was always found though, despite this super wish
This shape shifting penguin couldn’t hide his stench of fish.

 

A demon emerged from hidden realm
Wanted more power to be at the helm
In fear we watched it emerge from within
How balloons feel when they see the pin
Please gird your loins and hold on fast
This part is scary but it will not last
One more twist of its screeching head
Now to move on beyond the dread.

 

They have been here for millennia.
They watched all the fighting in the many wars,
Watched the destruction and the reconstruction,
They saw some of their brothers being taken away.
Watched civilisation’s transformation
The stones are still here today.

Henge, or band?..

 

I push the big iron key into the lock and hope the mechanism still turns, it is as stiff as usual but in lumbering clicks and laboured sprung springs the door unlocks, I reach around into the dark and switch on the light, it flickers and buzzes before settling and starting to brighten. The workshop is still cold on this morning so I switch on the electric heater and go back inside to get a sweater. Upon returning the light is starting to hit its stride and now I can see the clay pots standing to attention in rows of twelve on all my shelves. I take my apron from the hook and prepare the clay, for more cups to be made today. Metronomically I wedge the clay, then sit at the wheel and throw it down. Automatically I centre and form the basic shape, feeling the same feelings of more than a thousand cups formed before, a boredom suddenly hits me and I turn off the wheel. Stare up at row upon row of clay forms, I look back down at yet another, stand up and take my apron off. Time for a walk, turn off the heater, turn off the light, time to clear my head.