constructing our time became paradoxical
planning the utterly simple & natural the effort
was chaotic, the outcome whimsical & light, process alluvial.
an initial step might be kissing before ever speaking?
so silly & also so right, my hand grips behind your neck
not at all designed to keep you, but a way of checking
on solidity, prodding reality, pinching myself. like
the mattress of soft grass everything will flow in an ad hoc
fashion but with gravity, the temperate breeze kinda
imperceptible but enough to note it down (wrote:
imperceptible breeze is so imperceptible).
other reference points belong to future theory:
getting caught in the rain then having to surrender
to a towel of incredible fluffiness, world famous fluffiness;
to swoon & give over all will-power to three pale ales;
to develop a perfect pasta & a sauce so delicately
articulating ‘creamy’. then whatever. all dusky feels
are like a process of loose-end-tying, our time
so planned & scheduled that thought ceases to matter.
the merlot next to the bed is scarlet & pretty &
we’ll reveal more of our separate pre-histories via
the songs & the macbook, the tinny waves sonically
appropriate for this day. then just being wrapped up
in each other. nothing more. nothing complex.
trying to avoid sleep entirely with soft talking
& removing stray locks of hair from your cheek.
failing & falling again maybe, but again
waking with no plans. tomato leaf smells
from the window garden & again
no place else to be for a day.
you could have cut this with your surroundings & felt
real things, maybe the abandoned train stop imprint
on your roof a freak accident of the lamp’s angle poise
or the spider web gulag around your back shed
or some bed sheets as curtains & a poster for a film
no-one else loves each real thing numbered
because the title was to be the girl’s i’ve really fallen for
who wore glasses like, really needed them to see
& see it would itself fall naturally into three stanzas, each
with a different pace, a different line-fade:
deliberate, messy, or open-ended
none of you with a father i can picture
soo all three are Luke Perry, the at-time-of-writing
Luke Perry he who has the acting skills to pull the role off
furrowing his brow as he considers optometrist expenses
listed on a paper bill, then raising his eyes over the paper
bill to consider this bf on the threshold
i mean he is unimpressed yet steeled & ready
a denim shirt
um there is just the song of birds instead
& volume of poems on rec we are the latest cartoon
adaptation not faithful to the source text ugh
i cannot see anything so throw on my jughead crown
plan an abrupt ending & effect a jaunt
this is such a straightforward post. maybe that’s where my writing is heading… literal, truthful, calming. idk.
hello welcome to the time of writing framed by a borderline
fantasy of palm trees & green coconut paving
where mangrove theory impresses or imprints i was holding
a static hangover gently amidst sheets
i guess time is a wide-eyed doe for everyone when we’re fucking
the deepest sensations are plain fleeting when i’m losing friends
i’m gaining stability & look there are bays of smeared moonlight
or smudged radiation? hmm everything a window
on danger & attraction at the same time mind you
no-one can avoid dread & climax
but like he said i am killing at photovoltaic scrabble with ‘now’
placed as every evening tho cropped for incrimination
you’re the dog we’ve all come to love!
the stinging nestles in & in-jokes
feel sage a key branding decision
awkward things once thought
can be uttered can become
beautiful not all the time but some
then sentiment elides for my cover-
shot a cracked lamp a recurring game
of lonely landscapes (not to sustain nor
recur) but help it’s ‘pdf’ spoken aloud
no less than three times in a day &
bam no more personifying the years
like it’s 2009 like it’s also monday
in retrospect where it’s twelve dollars
for a pint twelve dollars to
wait for you & think
the scratched wooden pub
can come to be a threat confusing
the past & hammering the present
all images will become exactly
your eyes over glass like a 3D hologram
spied through the stained glass window
i can almost make out the ghost’s
disposition you’ll transition nicely
to a cute role without my involvement
or interest observation is measured
precisely in faded beaker marks
i mean i can write things & edit
then i’ll fall into a picture-like-a-painting
down a geo-cached alley again
it’s an odd thing to delve into. there’s a verse, a chorus, then a middle-8 section (nowhere near the middle), another verse & chorus, a guitar solo then another couple of choruses. it’s also at quite a speed to jam all this in together. is this the way we pleasure ourselves – quickly, partially-effectively, in an altogether non-standard manner? turning the curiosity of attraction into pop?
but for me it was always all about the meaning below the entendre, underneath the sex, the hands reaching but never quite touching. the desperation. i apologise for the mic that couldn’t quite handle what i wanted to do vocally with only one take. but i’ve always been about spitting it out. so to speak or write.
there’s more sadness than happiness making up a life. if pressed i’d put the ratio at 70/30. but then maybe some of that 70% is simply emptiness, or boredom. it’s hard to tell. you choose what to remember though. i’ve been watching a lot of long-form tv shows that involve detectives and crime. the lyrics in this track were meant to echo that and use the language as an investigative lens, repeating the images of urgently garbled radio squad car directions, and fervent leading questions posed in stark interview room (usually a green palette). but i don’t think any of that comes through. not really.
my favourite sandy beach disappeared a while ago. now a vast expanse of mud. i mentioned it to julie & she said that’s just what rivers do. the river has taken away the beach, & at some point in the future it will replace it, maybe. maybe the same, maybe different.
there’s nothing metaphorical in this it was just some words we said to each other to pass time to fill the emptiness before other things.
twelve months into this & still learning.