Switch

A switch.
Like I never lived.

How often do I think about it?

A switch?

Like I've never lived.

From one to the next.

Flicking that plastic icon
on your wall.

There's light.

Now there isn't.

Because that's how it could be.

From one day

enjoying your ham sandwich,
vanilla ice melting from your cone collecting the rest
with your tongue and then
what
you're no longer here
and the next thing you know
friends, family, past lives
at your funeral.

A switch.

That's what a human life is.

A switch.

To remember?

Maybe.

So make it count.

At least for yourself.

So the next time you look in the mirror
and you wonder am I playing it to safe
too hard
too insane
to mundane
that life
is but a switch

to turn on

or off

because we all want a piece of it.

That slice of life
that isn't just getting what we are given

but to take what we can get.

I love you.

Love yourself.

My Title Untitled

You know, I've had a few lives. One, two, three and maybe more.

Enough to realize that I've lived a little. In this short space of time, I've learned a few things.

Respect, Love and well some more Love.

Respect to those around you. Love those around you and, then, love some more.

But what's really important is applying those three points to yourself. Because any less, and those three points are pretty meaningless.

What started this charade of possibly insignificant but maybe significant words, was my cat. I know right? My cat? Sounds very lonesome maybe even desperate. But there he was, that little bulls eye fur of fluff, sniffing my feet, giving me that eye, that eye of 'hey I like you. I like that you hang around'.

He sniffed my smelly toes, after a long day of work serving food to those who appreciated it, or just to those who thought me nuts, and he, my cat, said 'I kinda like it, those smelly toes of hard work, I like it a lot'.

So one two three. The end or the beginning.

Anyway. It made me think. I've been around. And lately I've been around a lot longer than I thought. I've had my love. I've had my hate. I've had my in between. But what's really awesome, and I mean this as sincerely as possible, I've had my greatest love.

Actually. I HAVE my greatest love. Sleeping in the next room. Snoozing away like a baby prince. Probably wondering when I'm gonna hit the sack soon as well. Well. He will have to wait because I first have to finish this story before the day breaks into a new one.

I met him... Online. Not quite the intention. But I was in a rut. Well kind of a rut, I thought I would figure it out, on my own. Be a solo musician, with some help. So I put an ad out there, into cyber space, and some, if not more, bit at the opportunity. Like cat fish. Not my cat, not the one now, but some kind of cyber cat space fish, bit at the opportunity to be part of my project.

Anyway. In the midst of it all, I see this one ad of another musician looking for a singer. I think, great, maybe I can do this in spite of everything else. I listen to this anomaly, and yes, there's something unusual to the sound. Something I think I've heard before, but a bit harder and a bit more unusual. But what really got to me was the slow song. That song that I knew I understood. And so, after this flare, that beacon pulsating yes yes yes, I replied and said to this anonymous gentlemen, hey I think I'm interested.

I met him, not all too far from where I lived, and he appeared. From behind me. I tried to play it cool. I mean, I didn't know him, and I had met quite a few others, a little more straight, a little more readable, and there we were, waiting to get a drink. I thought this odd man, handsome as he was, to be a bit square, more like he kept his cards close. I'm a sucker for the mysterious and my mission was to break through some of that thick skin. It didn't take long and neither did the pints of ale and the various rolls of cigarettes.

Soon I shared everything, he shared very little, but yet he wanted to meet again. A try out. An audition. Maybe a week passed and I was in his home studio, not having learned all the songs he had up online, but blagging it nonetheless, and with not a lot of confidence, barely squeezing out the notes, he looked up from his guitar and said, I like your voice, will you be in my band.

I gulped and said yes.

Four years on, with a lot of history behind us, we're in Berlin. With many ups and downs, obstacles to overcome, we're still here, my cat now in the other room, my handsome prince dreaming of angels and I'm here in the living room typing away.

Life has it's funny and most unexpected moments.

Cherish them.

Remind yourself of the good that can come from it.

I feel blessed, with all the vigor and with all the madness.

I feel blessed.

And when I wake up in the morning, to the soft scent of love and the brushing of sweet kisses, heaven is there, always, when it's right.

I love you. And you know who you are. And if ya don't, then love is there anyway.

Cheesy time over.

Next up, music music and some more music.

As always, thanks for reading.

Far and always away

I am happiest

when I'm not here.

Far away

where fantasy is real.

I am happiest when I'm in the middle,

surrounded by distractions,

by very little.

I'm happiest when I'm away

and then happier still when I'm

away from being

away.

If the earth were one road that never would end,

I'd be on it until the very day

I would

end.

But alas she's round,

one floating ball in space,

and in circles I run,

catching my shadow

is never much

fun.

Titanic

The world was ending.

Ether felt it in her bones.

The moment when the earth rumbled, shattered, into slices of glass.

She watched the sun, that burning ball of flames, gather force, until it blew out like an unwanted kindling candle.

The earth was dying. Shrinking.

All her screams like a symphony of disgust.

In that moment, all sorrow she felt was swallowed into one drink of water.

In that moment, as the air sucked itself dry, the city's buildings crumbling like eggshells, Ether wished she were on a mountain top, wishing to see the destruction, the explosions for her eyeball to take in, that moment of it all crashing, curdling, evaporating.

But there she was, standing still, in the middle of the city's street, observing all around her turning into rubble.

All history graduating to dust.

Dust.

For children.

To play with.

Dust.

For stars

to turn,

into

new ones.

The relief.

Nothing to fight for.

The vanity.

Nothing but mirrors

dissolving in acid and

bursting into flames.

The relief.

That was what Ether was always curios about.

The relief.

But it no longer was needed.

The curiosity died the second she watched her earth-like space ship disappear, within that second she watched everything and everyone disappear.

Until she, herself, was floating,

beyond

the resurrection.

Oh Ether,

she heard her name be called,

such a dream you have.

Until Ether wakes up, and all is back to normal. All is not what it seems. And with selfishness, she wishes it to return, that relief of pain, that relief from others.

But yet again, it clings like sticky marzipan, to her skin,

like a second unwanted oily coat; dried mud she just can't

shake off.

If only now, Ether could find a way

to make

her dreams

come true.

Deep

I will allow myself to dip deep 

into this black oily water, until I 

can't swallow and breath any longer its ilk. 

I will allow this swamp to wash me 

away 

until it strangles all 

life out of me.

Then I shall return, reborn and 

with 

new 

light, 

so that I can finish 

what I came here to do. 

So that I can die and move 

onward.

DEAD

I'M DEAD
INSIDE
WITHOUT
YOU.

shush

He clamped so hard inside me I felt like it was more of a twist with thorns rather than love. Until his eyes met mine and I was lost inside his amber of mercy. Digging deep, thorns pushing through the thin shields of skin and then, that silent but, oh, so gentle release, digging hard, like he found gold, like he did something special. He looked at me, not in me, just at me, with that wet greasy grin, those teeth gathering saliva, like he helped sort out world hunger...

And then those wise words;

"Was it good for you?"

That moment of dispair.

Because lets face it, I just wanted him to get it over with.

But replied with; "yea it was "good" - if only I had two hands free from my humility and portray the quotation marks he deserved.

I turned towards his soaked face with a creepy grin (not that he'd notice my forced creepiness) and gave him my 'It was amazing' eyes. It was all kind of Freudian that was less than grey.

Sigh.

And his bony figure rolls away from me. Satisfied.

"Good... I was worried you didn't enjoy it."

My mind?

You fucking right I didn't enjoy it you fucking little bony loser with a so called penis entering my most sacred zone and fucking me like it was a gift from father-fucking-christmas.

I looked over to him, and, well, lied. Again.

"Yea man, it was great thank you."

His sweaty protruding chest recedes and passes out.

Last time I fuck a little ****** man from the Bronx.

Terror

Inside terror


             you might find


that crazy bitch



inside my



mind.

Inside your Mirror

Another little story, for the little tales

wrapped inside all those

small

details.

You lived in that house
up on a hill,
faced with something
that wasn't
real.

Then you turned to me
with blood on your hands,
made me believe
your stories would
be

real until

he showed up
one night
asking

questions.

"She spilled her guts

she spilled her flesh
torn within
nothing but

zest...", he said.

You gravitated to

another

ordeal

sucked in mission,
sucked on feel.

I couldn't help but get you inside,

protect you

and let you

further inside...

Because dear boy, you're in this world

alone and faltered

but you don't know much more.

This instinct pulls you
fights from within
gets you somewhere

where colors disappear.

You don't know where
to go
you don't know what
to
dissolve,

but one thing I can tell you

You're

Never

Alone

Just Sayin'

Just sayin'

you're alright

just saying

so that we won't fight.

Just sayin'

when the morning comes

because baby

sometimes it feels like it

won't.

Just sayin'

when it's tough to bear

that hard look when

we're

in dispair.

Just sayin'

I will not stop,

not

until you say

it's just...

sayin'...

Yea...

Yea,

 you caught me,

in the

lime light.

Yea,

 you took me,

from the wrong

night.

Yea,

you found me

in between

then,

when,

all others

turned

a-

way...

I just wanted

someone to,

under-

stand

before it turned...

You got me

when it was

alright

in the haze before

it changed.

I got you

when you didn't know -

then you turned

and told me

so.

Now I look

when you sleep

and nothing holds me

away from you.

Yea you told me

then one night

a kiss

a thrill

a one stand-fight.

...

We

are

meant

to

be.

Your Poisen

In almost a fit of fury, Iva grabs hold of the candle stick.

It was the closest object next to her before she could even bat an eye lid.

It was only moments earlier when tears where draining her face in liquid oil spills, when a sound of something unusual came lurking outside her apartment, distracting her. Iva froze. She thought she could hear moans. Gurgling.

The odd noises were soon followed by heightened screams and then a stampede of tumbling feet, bashing down the stairs, spilling into the corridors.

With the candle stick firmly in her right hand, its metal digging into her palm, Iva heads over to the curtains, as she follows the noise of tripping heals crash into the court yard. Gently pulling the curtain aside, leaving enough room for the apple of her eye to gauge what was happening, Ive spies neighbors rolling over one another, heading for the front door of the main building.

They were running from something.

But from what.

From whom.

Everyone was almost outside.

Everyone but one man.

He's left behind.

Iva pulls the curtains closer to her face, sealing out any possible light coming into the court yard.

The person left behind lies motionless.

The a wiggle.

Then a kneeling.

Then a stand up.

Fully erect.

He turns

and stares at her.

His face is soaked in blood.

As he walks towards her window, Iva notices his step is limp.

He doesn't make a sound.

Only the sullen drag of pebbles on the ground is heard, echoing, as he heaves his body towards Iva's window.

And as he closes in, Iva notices his face.

The man is her neighbor. Living above her.

A friendly gentlemen.

John is his name, divorced with two children, just past his fifties, a writer, and with intensely ice blue eyes.

Eyes that Iva recognizes instantly.

With her free hand, Iva fiddles for the light switch.

The room is dark.

She looks outside.

Darkness fills every shadow.

She no longer sees John.

Maybe now he doesn't see her.

Maybe now she is safe.

In the dark.

Green Girl

You make me feel like

a Queen.

Even when the dark comes rolling in

like ten legged spiders

ready to consume my dire

flesh.

A Queen you made

by sending kisses

in envelopes

unopened.

I am your Queen.

Who else would I be.

Your Queen.

Forever your

Queen.

Bedroom Sessions (series I)

No Human Be

I don't want to be a human.

I don't want to be.

I don't want to be a human.

I don't want to be.


I don't want a human.

I don't want to be me.

I don't want a human.

I don't want to be me.


I am no human.

Don't try to be.

I am no human.

Won't try to be.

Bad Dream

It's been

four days now,

and it's been the same

dream.

Repeating itself.

Like a bad cycle

of life.

You're in it,

and so am I,

and we seem

to be

far apart.

The sense of

betrayal hangs

from my skin.

I then wake up,

you still here,

just a dream.

Just a dream.

Morning

Good Morning.

Hey.

Your amber eyes poking through the sheets.

Those sleepy, gentle drops,

look at me as if

for the first time,

with a sense of wonder.

With every morning, to this very day,

we wake up

and say,

hello.

Like we're meeting for the very

first time.

And before we embark onto our

daily chores,

we share our dreams.

For the first few moments

of our morning

we share the multitudes

of our bizarre minds.

Chuckling, holding,

trusting.

And then you're up and

off into the kitchen,

to make us some tea.

I'm in Love with a Rock Star

I spin your record round
and round,

kiss my fist

pretend it's your
mouth.

I dance all night
to
your sound,

pretending like

you're always
around.

I'm in love with a rock star baby.

I'm in love with you crazy.

In love with a rock star baby.

Can't help but sway just maybe.

At school I dream of going
back stage,

being your groupie,
being your sage.

After school I don't look
at the
other boys.

They don't wear,

those cool
leather
clothes.

I'm in love with a rock star baby.

I'm in love with you crazy.

In love with a rock star baby.

Can't help but give in maybe.

Your poster's are all over
my walls
with
dead lipstick kisses

from the night
before.

I write my love letters
to you

hoping that one day

you'll write back,
to me too.

In love with a rock star.

It can't be all that far.

Much older now

and playing my own,

hoping one day

you'll hear my song.

Stupid in front of the Tube

This is gonna be a rant piece, so if you've had a positive day, then this piece is probably gonna turn things sour. But if you're up for a little steam (and you never know, you might even agree with me) then please, continue. I want nothing more than to entertain you.

Question is, do you own a TV? If you do, even if it's one of those high resolution flat screeny ones, please, do yourself a favor, throw the damn thing out and incinerate it the moment it smashes to the ground. I know, you've spent a lot of your hard earned money on it, you deserve something so pristine and elegant looking. You think you deserve this machine-like-glass because you've worked long hours, sacrificed your social life and so you think you owe it to yourself to come home after 20 hours of work a day, veg on the sofa and watch mindless, vacant entertainment that is created to literally stupefy you.

Well you're wrong.

What you really owe to yourself is to get off your ass and go to a cool cocky hipster rock bar, where live music is being played, where real people, with real soul and real talent, are pouring themselves into something unique and fucking note worthy.

That's what you really deserve to do for yourself. To open your mind and soak up the culture that is decaying in front of your eyes (if you bothered to look up from the television set, you'd see that) and support work/art/creative bliss that's been slaved, bled and vomited over.

Since when is having a 'voice' (as in singing, not voicing an intelligent thought or anything cultured like that) on these soulless talent shows, considered a person to be talented? Oh I can hit a few notes, that means I'm talented... Wow good for you! Guess what, I can also wipe my ass with tissue paper, whilst brushing my teeth and shaving my legs... I guess I must be talented too!

Has our perception of what true talent is completely lost its credibility? And worryingly are people actually that stupid to fall for this lousy entertainment? Or are most people aware of the vacuous experience these shows create, but choose to shrug their shoulders, say meh, I don't care enough just wanna get on with my life and leave the entertainment business do what it does best - brain wash me into thinking this is high-quality-time-worthy music?

That would be worse. Because that means you choose to no longer have a soul.

Our so called televised 'culture' is literally about stupid people watching other stupid people being stupid. Oh joy.

If people spent half as much time out in the real world, supporting real musicians, as they did in front of the tube, I am sure the entertainment industry broadcasting their vapid shows would put in more effort in providing actual talented people (who can do more than 'hit a note'), simply because viewers would develop higher standards.

I could just ignore what goes on around me, not write my opinion on this matter and return to focus on the positives, surround myself with like-minded individuals who inspire me, and get on with my painting or whatever... But today? I wanted to rant, I wanted to write about the demise, the lack of shame, the losers that we suddenly put on a pedestal, write about and 'love' and 'admire' for all their dumbed down way of existence. It's like we don't care about quality. The dumber, the better.

Because really, who wants individual thinking? Who wants to raise the bar, when it's easier to lower it to the point where we're trudging through our own bile juice.

I mean come on, isn't it easier to be surrounded by dummies than someone who questions everything? God forbid, someone might even have an opinion.

Anyway. Rant over. Thanks for reading.

VIRUS LP

Take a wander over to bandcamp and listen the VIRUS LP by The Unkindness of Ravens.

http://theunkindnessofravens.bandcamp.com/album/virus