spittlerattle

stuff i write

Month: May, 2013

Tempted and backslidin’ #2

It could be said that I’ve not been at my most creative. My head has been full of woes, hows, and what-ifs. It’s no way to live. The practicalities don’t feature in my list of priorities, so, when I have to pay attention, I usually have to begin with apologies, negotiations and nuanced begging. That’s the bit I’ve been dreading.

I am a minion with a vision. A perspective. Subjective Anarcho-Syndicalism, with lashings of cynicism and spoonfuls of pessimism. Skepticism must not be rejected.  Certainty includes a slab of granite on which my name will need engraving, so, perhaps, I must consider that there might be a life out there worth having. Maybe a leap of faith worth braving? Unlikely, but strangely entertaining.

I can play mind games about meaning all night. Is it in Picasso, or the amygdala? DNA or Caligula? Am I a sparky sack of chemicals fizzing?, a God?, a particle collision?  None of it, and All of it, is right.

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Not quite Emptiness

Where once there must’ve been a soul is now just a gaping hole filled with trolls.  Translucent, albino geckos hover like ghosts in sterile rock pools; black echoes whisper of terror in a vacuum that tastes of dead molecules.   I don’t know how I got here, but my being here is definitely an error.

Illicit

Cream Sherry, cheap hashish and an Epiphone acoustic guitar. Though I like to escape, I don’t like to stray very far. These days. I’ve got two handfuls of tunes to rehearse, get right, and it’s the night. I worked extra hard on the Sabbath but it’s a holiday weekend so I’ve got an extra day to recover. One of my molars is giving me grief but otherwise I feel almost whole. It’ll be the antibiotics coursing through me, the pain relief, and the numbing narcotics I’ve already drawn attention to.

Holding me.

Really, I shouldn’t be able to feel anything but I’ve just had to go up and kiss my sleeping girl on the forehead I was so full of love.

It’s sometimes as if I can’t hold it in.

In lieu of apples one of my students gave me two vegetable samosas. I was ready for an arranged marriage on the spot. Smile. Make me samosas. How more complicated than that can it get? Another one of my people would tell me ‘Treasure It , Love is all there is to Hope for’. I don’t want to hear that kind of dirty talk. What about epistemology? What about Reductionist Rhetoric?

And Mixtapes.

I’ve done all my Machiavellian seductions via music compilations and scraps of poetry. Via the back door, with a curve, like a perv. Never up front ‘Hey Babe, Aren’t I Fine! Have some of this, it’s all mine’. Can’t even think that as a joke without adding ‘Such As It Is’, and adding an apology. What will become of me?! I wary of speculating in case I get a bad case of Tourette’s-like inappropriate gesturing, and terse curses. Get dragged off on a Section for vivisection or dissection.

Let me hypnotize you with my obscure melodies and verses. I’ll win you over, you’ll develop blind spots that’ll obscure my. Bad endings. I’ll drag you into my phantasy. Offer up small mercies.