CheddarTown

Everything tastes good in CheddarTown. The music is always excellent. The food prepared impeccably and served at the correct temperature. The environmental taxis are a hoot and it only takes five minutes from town to the mountain-top hotel spa with all luggage.

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Inchoate Melodies

Grapple with the C while I turn around this G.

In its essence it’s perfectly innocent just the jaws gaping but I have to eat

And the knife in my hand and the fork and the spoon. So I’m a cutlery thief now?

A plate pusher, a tumbler tosser, a salt n pepper spiv? I sit on my arse too

Is sitting down an inchoate crime against gravity?

Looking is the beginning of coveting which I cannot do so shall I look honestly away and then be in denial too? Which as everybody knows is like turning a blind eye. A blind eye to crime?

As the dollars and cents tumble past like invisible crisp packets on the wind it’s all i can do to hold out my hand and the coldness that I feel is the cold sweat of indigent workers on a pound a day in far flung India or Indonesia.

Public money for public spaces, interior designs on exterior places. Everybody has their place in the new nirvana. That’s good to know as it’s my money that built it. But I must still be shallow because of the inchoate value in an oak bench in the middle of some paving reminds me that something is missing still. Another bench anyone?

Would you care to join us and stroll around pleasantly in this commercial district? Or would  you rather just stay at home at stick up your feet while watching TV?

Wouldn’t that be good in a public space? I see a giant TV, free for everybody. Showing only the BBC and all that is kind and goodly.

If something is lost at this level – the finished product – then what else is filtered out on the way up? Isn’t the idea of a public space what needs debating? Who knows where that could lead. Inchoate dreams need stimulating. Either that or they will butcher you.

 

 

The Man Who Couldn’t Write.

The man with gold lead in his pencil couldn’t write!

He tried a gold paperweight on his desk but still the words would not come.

A gold-tin he purchased containing gems and jewels and scattered them did all around his desk in the hope of inspiring him with beauty.

Nothing came.

A name, a game, insane.

He began scribbling with a jewel , a pointed diamond and into his desk scratched his name. He tried other jewels in the same way and gave them to the mice if they were no good for writing with wrapped in hunks of cheese from the kitchen.

The mice ran this way and that with the pieces and then he thought I am better at writing now. I will try my gold pencil again.

Unsurprisingly it did not work again this time either.

So the man went out and purchased an army of magnetically trained worker ants. A million to a colony. Then under his desk, he worked with magnets making the ants move as he did around the desk in the shape of letters. He spelled his name. The ants were up his nose in his hair and eyes and he felt like he was going insane. Until he thought there’s an easier way than this! I’ll try my gold pencil again.

But unsurprisingly it did not work.

He went full out trying all sorts of ways trying to make a mark with his golden pencil. Hitting it , bashing it with a hammer, using it as a chisel, a hole punch until crying he said. I can take no more!

He put down his pencil and cried himself to sleep…

TWO years later the man had written a novel with his golden pencil! Remember when before he couldn’t even write his own name. How did he do it?

 

 

Image Credit: http://enju-chan.deviantart.com/art/A-promise-under-the-Moon-136327869

When the Words Stop Flowing

The end will come one day for me and for all writers. It will indicate that something has changed. And in the minds of those faithful readers, the world over life will never be the same without that nightly journey to the stars. Don’t bother writing your own eulogy. The fans will fill the void left by your hopeless relationship with other life… nothing but words arranged nicely said the vicar as he poured over holy water. Take these words and give them to a mind to absorb, feel and be blessed by. Nothing but spaces on a page engraved and leaving black sculptures that stand alone and with neighbours in solidarity of the story and the author who imagined them. When the words stop flowing I will take my book up to the mountain top and dissolve it at the source and my tears will mark my cheeks and my photo will be for the words everywhere regardless of origin, race, creed, socio-economic bracket, health, age, beauty. There is not void that cannot be entertained by a reading. There is no gap wide enough between memories where words cannot exist leapfrogging all the way into the present where they play and jumble in a merry forceful happy way. Take your void and bugger off from here. Go into a cave where you will see words dripping through the cracks into reality every morning. Do not come back until you can recite one of them. Do not think it too late my friend because it isn’t. Take these eyes and thoughts sounds and ingest them like a meal. you need never feel hungry again.Take it to the market and shout them loud. Take them in whispers to the lillypad pond. Take them anywhere, everywhere and never ever leave them at home.

 

Greebo and Toad LeStrange

‘What a strange place to begin writing about your life,’ said Toad

‘The Pond?’ said Greebo

‘Yes Greebo, The pond. It’s hardly the place to start writing about one’s life. It’s not where we started. It’s where we end up! Figuratively speaking you understand’ replied toad

‘I began life in a hole in a ground…There was nobody else around…I could hear myself farting!’ said Greebo

‘That’s you! Greebo!’ said toad laughing.

‘But writing is a vocation, a calling not a profession in an isolated white clinical room with no windows,’ proffered Greebo

‘Right! my friend. But wrong also,’

‘The hole in the ground, where it all began. I was nothing but a caveman without a plan but I recognised my calling…’ uttered Greebo.

‘Such a fine story for one so young So where did it all go wrong?’ asked toad.

‘Wrong? It did not go wrong wrong like cameltoe thong just sing along I’ll be gone in w while’ sang Greebo.

‘Not wrong then. But delayed,’ returned toad.

‘Nothing a spell can’t help with’ offered Greebo

‘No we don’t need your spells Greebo. Something will come along. It always does,’

‘A spell of Fine Weather my friend. That will put things right in the end,’ Said Greebo with authority.

‘The End Of the Beginning. The beginning of the End.Whats the difference?’ sang toad

‘None.There’s none at all. We got to fall to stand up again and look around’ said Greebo

‘Like from a  hole in the ground,’ said Toad

Dusk falls…

‘Disappointed…’ said Greebo

‘In what?’ asked toad.

‘In the glum,’ replied Greebo

‘Sitting there in the sun waiting for the clouds to arrive again.’ Said Toad.

‘Shadow,’ said Greebo with a sneer

‘And light,’ said toad

‘depression,’ said Greebo

‘Happiness Greebo,’said Toad triumphantly. ‘Happiness shines lights into the shadows and illuminates our minds’ exclaimed toad.

‘thoughts and deeds’ finished Greebo

‘Pity we don’t have any tea. I could do with a cup now,’ said toad

‘Hows about newt piss and rain?’ Asked greebo, grinning.

‘Capital idea Greebo. Capital.’ said toad.

And that night went by so . No. Thats life!

Terrible

Please.You have to admit its worth seven for effort alone (See previous piece of writing). All those nights sat down with a virgin writing mind staring at the screen with memories of all those famous authors running through my mind of their books stories challenges overcome halting starts small successes then eventual world domination! And I couldn’t even write my name without getting stage fright. But. So. A writer. Someone who writes for a living. Those six words would sit like a drill on a shelf in the garage just waiting for someone or something to light the touchpaper of the firework ‘aspirations and dreams’ then it would scream like drilling into masonry. Then it would all go quiet and I would see that I had managed to gather those essential writing paraphernalia of a pen, notebook and a full packet of fags (I was still a dirty smoker then) Its was like being in some personal drama where all it took for the worlds of my imagination to come to life was to take the pen in hand (left or right) and gently apply pressure. After all the words I had assiduously read weren’t clever or difficult just flowing conversations narrative and what not. How difficult could it be? Stories from the recesses of my mind would be transported via the magical sensory part of my brain into cognitive sensationalism which i would naturally transcribe patiently knowing that there was a never ending supply. I suppose I believed in fate too. One thing leads to another and ….

…serpent words like Chinese dragons would come a dancing trailing words like mystical dust that contained the magic ingredient- narrative. What do dragons eat? Villagers? So I could expect some skulls and the like in it. Skulls. Very gothic and evocative. Funny I never let onto myself that one thing did lead to another or I would have been writing progressive sentences earlier. I remember I just set myself the goal of writing. It did not matter what I wrote so long as the ink got eaten up along the papyrus (lined paper) road by a Bic or Steadtler Dodge Van Or pickup truck (Its OK, Its just the way I think). Sometimes I even wrote the line with no words .e.g. ————– and draw pyramids, eyes and cubes.

I have no idea of how I am going to end this. Will it be on a message of hope, a cadged piece of humour, some chicken wisdom? Yes, I like the sound of the last one. Cluck! cluck, cluck, cluck. Cluck cluck cluck cluck cluck. cluck cluck. cluck cluck cluck.

Thank you for reading.

Nowadays I still get stage fright or it’s writing equivalent which is like having a bad trip ( I have heard of those) with the words you choose. It’s funny but every word is chosen even when you are going fast. It’s incredible really the capacity of the human brain for a fear of the written word.

 

Not A Goth

It’s been a long time since I looked in the mirror and asked the question ‘ Am I A Goth?’ Moreover being goth does not enter my thoughts until I hear the phrase ‘Not a Goth’ Then the black clothes, chains (real and metaphorical) leather gear etc come rushing into the centre left of my mind and in a pile someone sticks a sign that reads ‘definitely goth’ and I think back to the time I died my hair black in an attempt to communicate something (to my soul?) that it was alright  to choose to be who you want to be and that other people could go fuck themselves if they had a problem. OK! It wasn’t Othello, Macbeth or even Sesame Street but I had my plan.Nights spent watching music videos with a musician friend did more to turn me onto goth influence on our culture than any guy or girl.

Have you seen the goths walking down the street in full gear? Goth gatherings in Germany photos of which  on the internet did turn me on to going to one event or another, preferably with a film crew and plot for some al fresco shoot. Hell Dogs. Cyber Goths rule! They may be younger but the costumes are just fab. Not that I am some sort of cultural guru but goth does seem to be both  cool and fresh yet also dated anachronistic and well just weird! Hello! I like goth for all these reasons, the weirder the better (makes for a better film WINK) human interest, variety and life story, the pursuit of pleasure, guilty secrets, the suspension of disbelief, stories of abuse, neglect, love and hate.

I think therefore I am could be a goth quote. Its peaceful, thoughtful and forceful. Was Shakespeare a goth? These and other secrets are yours to explore. There is a lot of literature surrounding goth subculture from YA fiction to old favourites Like Edgar Allen Poe, and the old school of witchcraft and wizardry Crowley et al going back to Malleus Maleficarum and other texts. Owning a bookstore would give you ample opportunity to own and read some of these books.But beware…of things that go bump in the night. You could be one of them. But seriously for a moment. I do not believe in a goth hierarchy with a super goth at the helm but one of self-expression, self-exploration and trying even if you fail the first time. Goth is social too. Corpse paint not exclusive!

Writing about goth is something I never thought I could do. It’s a bit scary too…Eek vampire bat attack! Stab with a fork, stab with  a fork! (not really)  But life should be fun and not all Annie Get Your Gun or Independence day or Mars Attacks! I remember the first time I painted my face mask on. I looked in the mirror and asked ‘Am I a goth?’ I showed my girlfriend who asked me what have I done and if I wanted a biscuit  and that was that. Am I goth? I think by some people’s definitions yes.

I could do with some facial piercings though…

Time Marches On

Faster. Leaner. Meaner. Time is a machine.

A Steampunk invention from the golden age of engineering modernised with unwearable bearings, USB 3, and purified water. Steam pressure is normal the dials indicate no need for concern despite the wind whistling and rushing past the windows at haste. There is no need for a tender as there is a battery backup of one million Iphones in temperature controlled storage just withing reach. Meanwhile time is making ground. Perhaps light is time because its instantly in motion and there before distance has time to get out its titanium laser rule. If light is time then I have no hope with a life measured in years and darkness. I can’t clench my arse tighter or chatter my teeth faster or alter the repeat on my keyboard. Light is faster. The ideal. Why do I bother?

A Modern Way Of Living.Sketch.

The roar as the bus goes by too close and you realise things just got a little loose.

It’s ten am and your lying in your bed and you hear the roar outside and see someone else waver on the edge of disaster.

Nothing serious but one time…

Perhaps toast and butter and blackberry jam with a cup of tea will help you see it is in fact, a beautiful day outside.

The Pictures on the screen tell a story unfolding without words or music. You wonder at the mind and how they do it.

Little feet greet you at the door and wonder gives way to grief. How soon will it be for your aunt or grandmother or even mother?

The pictures display things you find interesting and the frames are great. You will definitely add to them soon from Magazine in another room. It’s feeding into people’s avarice this publishing online but then you think it’s lifting their gloom.

A phone call from you brother. A letter from your lover. A postcard from Dad. A book from your grandad. A toy from your sister or friend. A teddy from your mother.

Your diary on the dressing table untouched since the last time you cried.

Flavoured tea in the kitchen with china cups and teapot given by a friend into fine dining.

Wooden floors with reclaimed doors and furnishings: a modern way of living.

A list of things to do: Do shopping , write book, Go on holiday SOON!

Some CD collection. Some books to look through and read. Clothes draped over a chair.

THE END