Now is the hour of our incontinence made glory-holed by sons of Michael Yorke. “Bark” the Hells Angels sing. It is a Far East bitter thing I do now than I have ever dung. And on the bend the milk we shake is a quill to the love we break. Frankly, my deer, I don’t give a ram. And in the cruel, cruel, cruel of Jehovah, tell ‘em I’ll be bare. To flee or not to flee that is the equator. Four scored ears of men, our country assed us, “Do not ask what your country has done to you. Ask what you have done to your country.” And on the eighth day, God created mini-golf. These are a few of my Fahrenheit rings. Either this wallpaper blows or I do. “Right,” said Ted, are you having a larf?” At the third stroke, it will be a felony. Once I had a putrid glove. Love me Fender, love it tuned, all my screams are billed. When the goanna gets rough, get stuffed I’m goin’. Our father’s art is in heaven, Howard be thy blame. Twice upon a crime, a gem with windy hair lost her head in mime, and sad she loved me show. But that was ice above my lime, mammy months too low. Mammaries fight the confines of the blind. All clothed mystery mammaries of the day we stir. I luv you and dunce you regret it. It is the evening of the summer of the mourning that whence we came. The midget you fell through the floor, I could pee you were a mad ol’ distemper, a reel pig bender. I’m dreamin’ of a wide bagel, with hairy gals I sow. Fairy flossed da mercy. M-m-m-my Corona. Th-th-that’s Paul, yokes!
The emptiness of night followed me through a maze of situations that could’ve only been conceived by a drunk.
There were rivers of regret that sprang from my life. But they were not things one could’ve sensed at the time would turn to swamp. Having crocodiles biting at my heels from an early age readied me for what would become my life. Once my parents were gone I felt like an orphan on the run. Perhaps, from myself. Sometimes heading here. Sometimes heading there. Sometimes resting my head on your breast for comfort until the dawn called me on, to face another confrontation. Another battle. Another disappointment in the human condition. Shedding skin after skin, always evolving into the person you see here today.
It’s painful when one realises that today the only truth is found in TV commercials. Everything else is a lie. At least the advertisements are honest about what they are. And what they want. We now have a Scared New World where material possessions are becoming less and less important as we’re forced to look inward for our satisfaction(s). For some of us, perhaps a first time visit to the inner world. It will be a confronting experience for quite a few who’ve filled their outer lives up with frivolous people and trinkets to distract from the reality of who they are. The bullies will discover that they’re actually scared little boys who’ve, for some time, avoided responsibility by targeting the lives of others. Some will hit a brick wall with the harsh reality that they’re not the nice, kind, giving people they have publicly projected without any actions that live up to their invented persona. This will irreparably break many and they’ll never be the same. Some will suicide rather than living with the hell of who they really are. Leaders will realise their old tried and true ways do not work, and become followers. Out of the flock will rise real leaders who’ll command not from ego, but from a true inherent spiritual wisdom.
Some will grow through adversity. It has been that way throughout history. Plagues and wars and disasters have thrown up heroes from the ranks of the ordinary.
Some will die. But this was already written, as all deaths are. Lives come to an end. It’s just a matter of when and how. Others will live on, because it was not their time.
My whole life as a creative person has prepared me for this seclusion. As a boy I’d withdraw from the world into my room to write, draw, play records and dream. I’d been born with the affliction of feeling things too deeply. A curse for my personal life, although a great bonus for my work. Where others saw beauty, I saw horror. Where others saw ugliness I saw splendour. Where some saw only desolation, I saw possibilities.
In my times of moral dilemma when one is confused as to what is the right decision, not only for you but taking into account its effect on those around you, I have sometimes thought of my literary heroes, both real and fictional, and wondered what decision they would’ve made. I’ve also thought of my historical heroes both political and spiritual for guidance. There are some decisions that are right at that moment but time eats their skin and fat away like a vulture and leaves only ugly bones that do not tell the whole picture. Yes, to fully understand, you had to be there. In that lonely moment. Yet, other decisions, thought foolish at the time, grow in rightfulness through the years, like a fine wine ripens to reveal its many magical textures until it reaches its optimum year to be savoured and appreciated.
I wonder what went through the minds of the passengers on the Titanic on that fateful, icy night when they realised there were not enough lifeboats. No doubt amongst many there’d have been panic, anger, frustrationand fear. Yet, in others I believe there would’ve been that silent resolution, and acceptance,that this was it. The great mystery solved,and their ending revealed, as they stood motionless amidst the fanfare of screams and cries that encircled them. I imagine that quite a few would’ve looked around at the manic hysterical scene being performed all around them, and its contrast of the band calmly playing their scheduled after dinner musical programme, then, perhaps, noticing the moon and stars and night for thevery first time. I mean, really seeing them. Sometimes we have to be shaken awake by tragedy to see things right under our nose that we’d never fully comprehended before. Sadly, we go through life in a half-dream state, following our standard daily motions and emotions like a blind person seeks the darkness as a level playing ground.
Sometimes we don’t even see the ones who truly love us. Such is our desperate rush to and fro seeking love in all the wrong people, as if purposely inviting disappointment to await us at each schedule stop upon our runaway train.
So, back to our time of solitary confinement. A time of soul searching (for some that won’t take long) and re-evaluation as to what we really need (now that the opium of bullshit in the material world has been stripped from us), to go forward into a new world. Hopefully. Now that the present Scared New World is ebbing, let’s hope it will be replaced by a Kind New World.
We can only hope.
In the meantime, we pass each other on the street wearing masks to protect us from the invisible enemy. We can’t tell whether the person approaching us is smiling behind their mask, or grumpy. To define that, we have to look into their eyes for the truth. But I guess that was always the case. Anyone can fool you with a smile. It’s hidden many broken hearts in the past. So, it’s the eyes that tell the real story.
“Ah, look at all the lonely people.” Yes Paul, look at them. Perhaps you’re one of them tonight. Ain’t life strange?
The thing about a star is, you can take that person and drop them into obscurity in some remote place that doesn’t know who they are, and given time, they will shine again. Stars do that. They are made tough by their early lives of not fitting in. But that very thing later became their strength and the foundation of their originality. They are conceived in darkness and magic. Pain and grit. Dreams and horrors.
Some grow a hard exterior to protect their extreme sensitivity. And most will misjudge them. Their guards are invisible to the eye, but shield the kindness that has been taken advantage of by far too many. They learn to save the very best of themselves for their work. So it is in the work that they truly live, and with some luck, live on. They appear to be social creatures but in truth are hermits. Existing only fully in the deepest, safest refuge of the soul. It is this situation that leads many observers to ponder why they are wiser in their work than they are in real life.
It is a lonely place being caught in the spotlight. There are no safety nets, no parents, no friends, no protection whatsoever, only pure sweat and talent. But it is only there, in that lonely space that has become their only world that means anything, that they know who they are. The rest of life is just hanging around and waiting. Some die from hanging too long.
The dream and the curse walk hand in hand in Lonesome Town, where the streets are deserted, and the bums possess all the knowledge of Life. The fortune tellers, having glimpsed the future, left in the dead of night. And the terminally bewildered wander aimlessly along that fine line between delusion and someone’s personal view of reality. It is a dangerous journey, without road signs, and lined with an endless array of fire-breathing windmills that will break a million Don Quixotes.
Once you have purchased your ticket for this merry-go-round, there is no getting off. You can attempt to stop what you do, but that will only create a bigger hunger for those wanting to gate-crash your fake death with more ill-informed opinions and senseless questions. There are no answers. That’s what Art teachesus.
All there is, is a long road. A road you once tried to find love on in order to have a travelling companion.
You wonder whether you said the wrong thing, or gave too much, or gave too little. But, as already stated, there are no answers. Only questions. And these questions will surely drive you into madness.
Your torture for having finally amassed so much wisdom, is to have no one to share it with. That’s ironic.
Once I was a child
And the world was beautiful
And frightening
Loving and cruel
Simple
And complex
Much bigger than me
I looked up to everyone
Seeking guidance
Wisdom
A smile
Some grownups didn’t like children
You could tell by how they looked at you
Perhaps they didn’t like fellow grownups either
But I didn’t know that
I was just a child
I liked to play with little soldier figures
That I collected until I had my own army
Then I started collecting an army for them to fight
They like to hook boys on war as soon as possible
My army won every battle
But none of them got really hurt
They just pretended to be to satisfy my scenario
That’s a grownup word for story
Grownups like to show off
I also liked to listen to the radio
My mum said I could identify every singer
Just from hearing a few bars of their voices
My dad worked every week day
And sometimes he took me with him
I was made a fuss of by his workmates
Because I was a child
Sometimes my mum worked at night
I didn’t like that
I would sit on my dad’s knee
Listening to the radio
Eagerly awaiting her return
I wished that we had a TV set
And then one day Steele’s department store
Delivered one by accident
We never told them
And they never came back
My parents thought it was luck
I knew it was magic
And my wish had come true
But what did I know?
I was a child
Sometimes my much older sisters were nice to me
Most times they weren’t
I grew to accept that
I must have done something wrong to them
And they were paying me back
Or else they knew I was worthless
I should’ve thanked them for bringing this to my attention
But I was just a child
I liked watching things on TV
In those days shows always had a happy ending
And the cast would smile as the credits rolled
Sometimes they’d wave at me while they smiled
And I waved back
Before they faded out
I wished that I could be on TV
And then I was
My parents called it luck
But I knew it was magic
My wish had come true
Again
One day my mum took me to see a pantomime
At the Tivoli Theatre
It looked magical to me
And everyone seemed to be having fun
I wished I could be up there on the stage
And one day I was
My parents called it luck
But I knew much more
You see, I was a child
And for a time my wishes came true
Then I grew up
And I wished I hadn’t
But as much as I wished
Nothing happened
And I couldn’t go back
Ever again
Then my dad went to heaven
He said he’d had enough
So I got married
Because that’s what grownups do
When you replace grownups
And take on responsibilities
And it all begins again
And I got to learn grownup secrets
Like
There are not always
Happy endings
And that wishes rarely come true and it’s more to do with luck
The older you get
The more selective you become about what you wish for
One day my wife took me to dinner
And told me a happy occasion was coming
And soon we had a child of our own
I always knelt so as to not look down on him
No matter what he asked
I always smiled and gave him
Guidance
And what wisdom I had
I tried to make him feel he was worth
Everything
To me
Then one day it was all taken away
But that’s a long story
I guess I’d forgotten in my joy
To say thank you
To the one who grants the wishes
Or luck
And he can be a hard God at times
My mother didn’t want to leave me
Alone
So she hung on a long time
But finally she got so tired
She had to go
Sometimes people ask me what I want
And I answer that I want what I had
A long time ago
When there were heroes
Before the press tore them down
Back when my family and I gathered around
Our hot TV
And watched our favourites
And laughed as one
Cried as one
And cheered as one
When I was a child
And the world was new
Once
When wishes came true
And
If you were lucky
Stayed true
But now I’ve been cast as the kindly old man
And seek signs of affection
In the eyes
Of those I pass in the street
As I did when I was a child
But people’s eyes are cold these days
And they don’t see others
For they are only looking inward
I also smile at children
Remembering when I was one
But they confirm that I am now invisible
For they’ve been taught to ignore strangers
I’m no longer in the club
Expelled for growing too tall
Too grey
Even though my heart remains young
And open
And child-like
The deserted alleyways of night
Sometimes
Are the only friends one can confide in
Walk it away
Walk it away
Around the next corner there is no light
Anymore
And you can lose yourself
Quite easily
Sometimes I am seen
Looking lost
Frantic
Anxious
Searching for my youth
In the recycling bins
Trying to find one little toy soldier
Who might stand up for me
Take my side
Fight the good fight
And guide me
Home
We sleep in the dark
And wake to a stark
New day
We never learn
We wait our turn
Then forget what to say
When someone nags
We pack our bags
And flee
We push and shove
And try to love
But lonesome ends with me
Wasn’t I there for you
Aren’t I a friend too?
You sneak thoughts into my head
While I rest in bed
I used to feel alive
But now I feel
As good as dead
But
With that having been said…
We give what it takes
And make our mistakes
And cry
We walk alone
And turn to stone
I love you but you lie
I walk the beach
And sometimes teach
For free
That one and one
Can come undone
And lonesome ends with me
My key doesn’t fit any door anymore
No one excitedly awaits my approaching footsteps
No one offers me anything to kiss
But a cheek
My watch doesn’t tell time
It’s taken to telling fortunes
The lifeline on my palm keeps extending
I may outlive you all
Wouldn’t that be cruel?
The only laughs I get
Are from reading Emil Cioran
I know only too well what it’s like to be misunderstood
I see nothing in anyone’s eyes anymore
But suffering
It’s painful to be able to look at people
And foretell their destiny
So I don’t go out any longer
You could’ve saved me
But you seemed fully booked
With married men
And those going nowhere
Good luck with that
Dogs see more in me
Than you do
But you seem hellbent
On waiting for a bus that will never come
And in the waiting
Your life goes by
Until you die
I eat but don’t want
I love but don’t need
I seek but don’t find
I walk but don’t move
I sleep but don’t dream
I listen but don’t hear
I look but don’t see
I give my hand to those in need
Because I never learn
I befriend those who betray me
I rage wars without raising my sword
I remember those who forget me
I stand guilty of all the above
Only because you offered me no chair
What would it have cost you
To have given me some affection?
But I guess your plans were overcrowded
With images of yourself
From those heydays when you were young
And the world was at your feet
But you wouldn’t listen
You never listen
Well, not really
Our only difference is
I know when it’s over
“Too late, too late,” he cried
I have a stubborn streak
That has sprung a leak
I am my father’s son now
I will never ask again
Here I go
This is me walking away
I died a week ago
About the time you left me
But no one has seemed to notice
I’ve been haunting some familiar bars
Speaking to strangers without getting an answer
I guess they’re dead too
There’s a lot of this going around
I think it’s called Limbo
The waiting room
Before we can move on
I’ve heard we are stuck here
Until we can make sense of it all
The room of the lost
I guess heaven is reserved for the winners
So that won’t be such a change
From what I’m used to
I don’t know what I did
Or didn’t do
To lose you
I hope I work it out soon
Because I can’t move on
You see?
Without some closure
Me, the one who vowed to love you
Forever
May be here a very long time
In this place where nothing grows
But remorse
This grey place
I kept my vow to you
Didn’t I?
And now there’s all hell to pay
What room are you in?
These were the shoes he wore. Notice the soles are thin. He’d walked many miles in these trying to get ahead.
This was his favourite jacket. He felt wealthy when he wore it. Even though it had holes in the pockets.
This is the shirt he called his lucky one. He always wore it to important meetings and although nothing ever came of them he felt this shirt would bring him luck. Someday.
These were his favourite pants – he’d been married in them. Twice.
This was the hat he wore everyday. It shielded his head from the rain and the wind and the sun. And if he pulled the brim down, from everyone.
This is the map he lost just before he lost his way.
These are the tears he cried when he had nowhere to go.
This is the heart you broke and you didn’t even know.
These are your letters he kept when he believed in you.
This is the photo of his mother who thought he was precious.
Where are the friends he helped instead of helping himself?
This is his favourite song that he played every night.
Down here on this barren battleground
We have been issued no orders
We don’t even know who we are fighting anymore
Yesterday the fog was so thick
We mistakenly shot our own leader
And laid him to rest ‘neath a tree
Perhaps we should withdraw
Which is not a surrender
We mustn’t surrender
For there is too much to lose
But we’ve forgotten what
Send word back
That we have not thrown down our weapons
But we need back up
And supplies
It seems we have gone weeks without sleep
As we sit in the dark every night
Waiting for the enemy to attack
But they never come
This is a very sophisticated strategy
That we have not been briefed on
For our leader is dead
And his family have not received word
For they will only grieve
And too many tears have been shed
Too many hearts broken
Too many roads taken
Too many widows haunting us
In the mists of dawn
But we are holding our position
And ready for action
Eager to do him proud
To fight to the last man
We have burnt our white flags
So we wouldn’t be tempted
Our enemy has a lot to answer for
We just haven’t been informed of what
But we’ve been told to hate them
I wonder if they’re scared like us?
I wonder if they sleep?
I wonder if they just want to go home
Like we do?
I wonder if they’re still there?
Perhaps the war is over
I wonder who won?
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