Monday, 6 April 2015

New Style of Writing

Thinking Out loud | 07/04/2015

Making my voice heard in a world of white noise. Punching above my weight in the realisation that God or Allah are just mere delusions of divine emptiness of a world without pain and suffering. The chitter-chatter in the mind’s eye and the rattling of skeletons in cupboards of trophies of past glories. The stupidity of an omnipresent life-force shattered and a way out of the nonsense of our present time here made whole. Propaganda and the media coverage with the sole purpose of finding division; hatred and the group mentality of mindless violence. Never thinking that the rational mind seeks reason and the ability to comprehend clear and modern thought processes. Many are starting to state that they simply cannot compute and will never relate to the notion that religion is a gain for any society, for in reality, it is the controlling factor of the powers of the few over the ignorance of the masses. Marginalized and intent on forging derision between communities.  Busy splitting up streets with bedroom taxes and Mosques upon Mosques of social workers fretting, about children going feral and the relationships enjoyed with broken childhood friends.  The word racism is thrown down as if an Ace of Spades, a Joker in the pack or the Trump card. Thinking the reaction would be greeted with fear of being cast-out and branded a 'human-hater'. Terror found in every public toilet and discarded wastepaper-bins and the sound of angry halal Muslims as they mutter their morning prayers, all head butting the ground, as the sun rises in the East. 

My life is turning around as I have a youthful heart to love me. A breath of fresh air who was born with a wild mind and a keen interest in all things that matter. Bothering never to question the love between a man and his beau. The age difference ignored and seen as a hurdle straddled.  She seems intense, blending her smoothies and sipping her Coolade through barbed-wired fences. Building bridges between worlds yet created and world vision thinkers all guessing who, why, what and where to go next.  Puzzled as to whether or not the church roof will be fixed before next winter as the winds howl around my ears of sounds of others telling lies about Christian values and the family break-ups of divorced parents all screaming their unhappiness in a society that demands you demand more of yourselves and your feeble partners and their spoilt lazy nutta-bastards with their two point five litre children all acting up and seen to be OCD, ADD and FCUKed. Learning nothing from schools without education and lectured highbrowed fibs of liars all. Mindlessly turning pages without sense of past, present of sight of any reasonable future in a bubble known as terrorfirma. Keeping feet firmly off the ground as the words keep us up at night and wake us in our daydreams and again in our early to bed nightmares.  Respecting without question the majestic and regal bloodlines of the inbreeds in our multicultural societies of the masses of individuals all praying that they too can gain celebrity status and joining the Royal few in the gas-chambers of tomorrows concentration camps of past memories lost. 


 

4 comments:

  1. I am wanting to make you see or feel something that isn't there. These are words put together, some say they read me angry but I'm not. It's you the reader that is angry not me the writer, you've read me wrong and care for me so little...I'm just putting words together that sound good rolled around my tongue. If you read sex on every line it is you, the reader that is thinking it, feeling it, sensing something that isn't there. Only in your wildest imagination and your filthy contempt for the words that are put on the page to be regarded as harmless yet you see them as brutal but in the end they are just phrases and sound bites that like to nibble your ears and eyes a little.

    I don't want to feel that I have to justify myself. I am what I am so see you that way...I'm looking for the rhythm. I'm looking for the beat. Bass heavy and banging on the triangle and making stuff up. A man-hatters party as we dive into the ink well. Use your imagination and follow the bunny down the rabbit hole and join me in a land of Tom foolery of nonsense and no sense, a place that will fill you up to the brim with senses of some kind or other.....

    Trying to break the cycle of seriousness and insisting that you, the reader, think outside the box of normality and allow your ideas to flow like a river pours and never begging for forgiveness because none is needed as the water flows and all it has is life and energy so worry not and stumble over the letters and make your noise known and be electricity and turn yourselves on.

    I'm trying to start something that isn't rap more freestyle or an outpouring of thoughts shared and ideas mulled over and considered or not considered that is the question, whether it be nobler in the mind of a madman or suffer the slings and arrows of terrible misfortune. These are the days of memories captured, thoughts on the page that is open to everybody; not one pen can do the work of millions, aching to be heard and never seen and listened to and gently understood. Mop my brow and a little backrub Roger!

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  2. Mixing everything up that you've half learned or ear-wigged from a table beside the window that you admired so heavily that weekend just gone by. So reminds me of Tessa with her upside down writing and her sideways paintings and her left leg up to draw. She is backwards and fast forward into the past and out towards the future. True meaning of timeless, as she can glide forwards or backwards on the time scale ... #Timeless true; so so true. Timeless Tessa who never wears a watch and has no need for a clock as she's always on Tessa's time, Tessa O'Clock. Beautiful words for the only soul to understand the letters sent. Joanne Joanne the girl so tender and loving. She's rock solid, and houses the greatest lips on earth.

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  3. I miss my mate Jose. Fucking fucking. He would say. FucKING fucking. fu-king fu-KING, fucking fucking Jose.

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  4. here's to this new style, thrashing the keyboard, sweating... and hitting submit before we grant the inner censor time to object :-) I read this piece to Bill and he loved it..

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