A made man comes apart, seams unravelling Bolts become unscrewed; Filled full of dust and dirt Electrical kickstarter Blood pumped in from poison vials, Eyes barely open to see machines Clinging to this life for a madman’s dreams
Confusion reigns in this laboratory there seems to be something in the air; A sadness amongst the madness Who is the real madman here? A sigh, a final breath; Living forever is a fool’s game Give it up This dream? Dead
How can you ever let me down? We’re not made to be broken Just like fools, we left so much unspoken Now the future is a past that’s come back around We were made to be broken How could you ever let me down?
Run away from the zeitgeist I don’t know what’s going on And again once it’s caught up It’s a lifetime on the run
Hiding under self-made shelter Cocooned in homegrown truth It’s no conspiracy theory Or trappings of religious youth
Bored by irrelevant gossip A talk show in every pub The drawbridge to my castle Bars entry into my club
Still sympathetic to the circles Of a society I’m sat outside Deliberately contrarian But sharing my space to hide
Full of personal contradictions To care and not to care I don’t know what I’m doing here Or what you’re doing there
I’m happy inside my castle, in my head, in my home. I welcome others in, especially in sympathy/empathy, but there will always be a time when I will usher them back out in order to be alone again.
*What does it profit a man that he gains The whole world but loses his own soul?* Holding on to the fantasy never explains What happens when he reaches the goal
To the manor born where his shit don’t stink He’s forever drunk on the power *The honey is not as sweet as people think And the milk’s gone fucking sour*
The empire imagined now rank and rotten The cancer manifests within Like everything ever, it’s all soon forgotten Until the next man chooses to begin
Inspired by the two quotes* from Terence Trent D’Arby that I read in Charles Shaar Murray’s Shots From The Hip. I hated D’Arby’s music but it seems he wasn’t a bad guy.
Spark-lit dancers under crescent moon On a hilly heather discotheque The nighttime gathers the darkened gloom In the ninth house, strong intuition Vibrates in sync and to earth attune A circle storm, a drummers dreaming Through the night and to the wilds commune Seen from afar on this pale blue speck Mother Earth awaits the day’s costume
The following is a letter from December 28th, 2023, delivered today from the past
Dear FutureMe,
You turn 57 today. This is it, the downhill straight hurtling towards the finish line. Finish with a flurry, why not?
Right now I’m sitting in House, this very familiar spot, looking out into the messy garden here. My body aches from chest and arm exercises but it feels good. Slowly making this machine the way it was supposed to be. A little late….but never too late.
It’s the 28th of December, the kids all had sports day yesterday and it was a blast. So much fun for everyone. Today is a combined Christmas/New Year party day and sure to be fun too. I’ll go back to school soon and stick around for a while before heading home for a five-day break. We talked about going to Chiang Mai which I’d really like to do but being short of cash means we’ll just be at home, spending New Year’s Eve at Mum and Dad’s.
I wonder what life will bring between now and when receiving this letter. I don’t have any definite plans but Amy is planning to go to Turkey and Europe sometime this year and maybe even a quick trip back to Australia.
I’d like to get back to other parts of South East Asia again to meet friends but also need some other motive, like a band tour to tag along with. I also only have April to take a break like that without getting penalised payment at work. Let’s see.
School has been great this year and the connection I feel with my students grows exponentially as I’m introduced to a new batch each year. I really hope I can stay here in this fulfilling role for a good while.
I don’t know what I believe anymore The fence gets more comfortable every day The Holocaust, massacres and genocides Did they really happen that way?
Is it all a facade, my own Truman Show? Is the grass actually greener over there? To discover my world was built on lies I wish to remain blissfully unaware
Now reality assaults me at every turn Left guilty and helpless at the pain Paralysed by the bystander syndrome The fence is where I choose to remain
1994ever 