The creative curse

There is a kind of music pulsing in the heart of every human.
A creative energy quietly whispering to the mind of man.
If you listen very closely, as quiet as you can
You can coax it onto paper or weave it into a melody.

My God he calleth in the glen.
His voice is soft
He calls again
I want to obey
But I can barely hear a whisper
Though I know he loves me,
loves me still.

Surreal paths over a dark void
many roads, many journeys
a strange light that comforts
and leads me on, through the darkness.

Lord are you there?
Can you hear my aching heartbeat?
Can you feel these tears of waiting
I am waiting, I am waiting
My soul is longing for that other place
The place where I can be with you.

When I get there
The tears you wipe away
are tears of joy
of pain answered.

I can't hear you Lord
I can't see you

I know you're there.
Reach out to me
Touch me.

Where is the hand of God?
Where is the horn that was blowing?
The Sons of Gondor are spent
The kingdom lies in ruin.

My ears cannot hear you
My eyes cannot see you
where are you oh Lord?
Are you inside of me?

Where have you gone?
Why did you leave us?

We're just dancing in the dust
your shadow touched

How long now?
How long now?

These desires are burning,
burning out forever into space
searching, searching, searching for a place, for a home
the Father's house to call my own


Suicide knocks gently at the edges of my mind


would not the eternal question be answered?


Alas 'tis my lot to live


and struggle through the darkness


To the light I know


but have never seen in all its glory.


I know my feet are on the right path


But God that's all I know


or is it?



I'm following the way

but I'm a blind man

Looking this way and that

for signposts others see


Why can't I see?
Why can't I see?

open my eyes
open my eyes
open my eyes

The Newcastle Blues

Listless limbs
Lounge on the sofa
A still body of emptiness.
Tired breath
No energy
But I want to do something
Make something, break something.
What to do? What to do?
Too tired to play a game with people
But I want to have some fun
Fun, fun, fun
No, you need a rest.
Forget the rest
Motivation like a stagnant lake of petrol.
No fire, no igniting flame.
Everything's the same.
Same, same, same.
Relax. Sleep some more?
Read a book?
Too much effort.
I know - I'll hire a movie.
But I've already seen all the good ones.
So I'll hire something I've never heard of.
But then it's bound to be crap.
Crap, crap, crap.
Maybe I'll eat something.
Microwave a pie, make some toast.
That was delicious.
Now what?
Listless limbs.
Lounge on the sofa.
A still body of emptiness.
Tired breath
No energy
But I want to do something.

The rabbit kept glancing down at the rolex watch on his left paw and then staring at the boy with an anxious twitching expression.

Kevin blinked. It must be my overactive imagination, he told himself, and frowned at the animal.
‘Get lost.’ He said. “I’ve got an assignment due today and I don’t need any hallucinations to distract me.” The rabbit sniffed and peered at the boy.
‘Is that you Alice?’ he squeaked in a feeble rabbity voice. Kevin smiled. He knew where this was going.
‘No, I’m Kevin,’ he said pointedly, ‘and I’m not in the mood for arguing with figments. Piss off.’
The rabbit coughed and did his best to smile.
‘Ah yes Kevin the new boy, now I remember.’ Here he paused, and spread his paws grandly, ‘I have come to invite you to wonderland! He declared and glanced down at his watch.
Kevin rolled his eyes.
‘Let me guess, you’re very late for an important date?'
'I am NOT! Returned the rabbit haughtily. I’m at least one hour early! It’s you who’s late! I’ve been waiting for you to wake up little man.’ Here he shook his long ears and seemed to remember himself,
' I have been sent to invite you…'
'I refuse!' Said Kevin, ‘Get lost!’

REVENGE

He woke up in the morning
With an anvil in his head
He woke up in the morning and
Set fire to his bed

He said, “I’m tired of being a Good Boy,
I want anarchy instead,
I want revenge.”

Because the world spins round,
And they try to pin it down.
If a man has rage
They’ll try to put him in a cage,
He said, I’m gonna find the one
Who put an end to all my fun
I’ll kill him with a razor,
I’ll kill him with a gun,
I’m sick of the system.
I’m sick of being stressed.
I choose chaos over calendars
I’m tired of being depressed.
I want revenge.

He walked out of his bedroom
On his hands instead of feet
He skipped his breakfast, slashed his tires
And took off down the street

He didn’t have a ticket
But he travelled on the train
He shot holes in folks umbrellas
With his pistol in the rain.

Because the world spins round,
And they try to pin it down.
If a man has rage
They’ll try to put him in a cage,
He said, I’m gonna find the one
Who put an end to all my fun
I’ll kill him with a razor,
I’ll kill him with a gun,
I’m sick of the system.
I’m sick of being stressed.
I choose chaos over calendars
I’m tired of being depressed.
I want revenge.


He wrote some rude graffiti
He climbed somebody’s wall
He threw some dirt, took off his shirt
And stole a shopping mall

When the cops came to arrest him
He didn’t make no fuss
He said It’s not like I’m a terrorist
Oos blowin’ up a bus,
‘just want revenge, officer

He said,
I’m tired of politicians
I’m tired of food nutritions
I’m tired of always being late
I’m tired of being overweight
I’m tired of Globalisation
I’m tired of Immunisation
I’m tired of studying women’s rights
I’m tired of seeing men in tights
I’m tired of Global warming,
I’m tired of politically correct
I’m tired of Lady Gaga
I’m tired of blah blah blah blah
I want revenge.

You know those days when it feels like the world is a metal machine and you are stuck in the grind of an eternal conveyor belt endlessly spinning and turning out of control?

Well it was not one of those days.

It was a golden day.

Golden days are a stirred mix of ingredients that create a zesty aroma of spice and excitement.
On a Golden day you get a lot of work done in a small amount of time, and then you get that wierd happy sensation of not knowing what to do because you're ahead of schedule.
This sensation gives way to pixie glee, outburst snatches of songs and a vertical lengthening of the lip corners.

At this point, a friend is likely to call and ask you to do him a favour if you have any time to spare... (You might, you might not, but what is really important is the next bit)

After the friend favour comes the call to peculiarity. The call to peculiarity may be a sudden urge to climb a tree and play guitar, it may be a random phone call inviting you to a tea party, it could be anything, anything at all... but it's going to be peculiar because you wouldn't have done it if you had work.
The call to peculiarity is usually an invitation to laugh, to do something absurd, to talk to a random on the bus.
The call is an essential ingredient in the Golden day.