And the heart of your
once so desired
flesh
no longer feeds my sin.
Even when I bury my mind
into your bosom,
nothing more but a weeping
smile returns
to
my ill fated heart.
And yonder I look
beyond any horizon,
the longing
of your
gentle kiss,
remembering once so young,
we lasted amongst
those weeds
in the morning sun.
For now
I stare
into the bottomless
drink,
the poison inside
returning.
If only I had not
been sustained
by those who thought
what was right
would lead
my life astray.
Because everything now
with its wealth of
obscurity, is
shadowed by those
feelings
and
darkened
by those stains.
Return once again,
if only in a dream
and remorse will swallow
all the pain
away.
Tuesday, 27 December 2011
Monday, 26 December 2011
Monday, 19 December 2011
Fish Bowl
Sleep inside my fish bowl,
baby,
dream inside my rabbit hole
maybe.
Curl inside our key hole
darling,
become my plastic doll
honey.
Wake up inside my fish bowl
baby,
come out from your rabbit hole
crazy.
Unlock our key hole
darling,
become my porcelain
doll
lady.
baby,
dream inside my rabbit hole
maybe.
Curl inside our key hole
darling,
become my plastic doll
honey.
Wake up inside my fish bowl
baby,
come out from your rabbit hole
crazy.
Unlock our key hole
darling,
become my porcelain
doll
lady.
Sunday, 11 December 2011
Little Rabbit on a Hill
There's something about being home, where your parents used to live as husband and wife, where your brother and sister still occupied their bedrooms and the assortment of various pets decorated the kitchen floor, that brings a succession of memories to mind.
Starting with the closet in my bedroom. I haven't opened it for years. And now, a collection of ancient clothing, stacked and dumped, curdled and twisted, stares back at me and all I want to do is empty it. Get rid of this past and stuff it into a bin bag. Some items I tenderly pull out, pressing the hard cotton against my skin, watching myself in the mirror, wondering if it still fits... It doesn't. My boobs bulge out, my shoulders stretch the seams and my twenty something belly pokes out from underneath. Nope, really can't get away with wearing this one anymore.
My room's basically a collection of seventeen year old gadgets, posters, CD's, stacks of misunderstood mail, dolls; plastic and porcelain, stuffed monkeys, bears, rabbits and dogs, sticky bongs collecting dust and the inevitable fog of almost a decade worth of memories piled up, ready to be absorbed for lunch.
Some nostalgia hangs like a coat hanger in a closet, naked from any garment, swaying back and forth, wondering if it will come to any use again. Other nostalgia hangs heavily still, seeping deep into the floor boards, creating unwanted rings.
No longer that girl I was ten years ago, it's time I cleaned my past from any cobwebs that might still linger.
And I finally feel ok to do that.
Starting with the closet in my bedroom. I haven't opened it for years. And now, a collection of ancient clothing, stacked and dumped, curdled and twisted, stares back at me and all I want to do is empty it. Get rid of this past and stuff it into a bin bag. Some items I tenderly pull out, pressing the hard cotton against my skin, watching myself in the mirror, wondering if it still fits... It doesn't. My boobs bulge out, my shoulders stretch the seams and my twenty something belly pokes out from underneath. Nope, really can't get away with wearing this one anymore.
My room's basically a collection of seventeen year old gadgets, posters, CD's, stacks of misunderstood mail, dolls; plastic and porcelain, stuffed monkeys, bears, rabbits and dogs, sticky bongs collecting dust and the inevitable fog of almost a decade worth of memories piled up, ready to be absorbed for lunch.
Some nostalgia hangs like a coat hanger in a closet, naked from any garment, swaying back and forth, wondering if it will come to any use again. Other nostalgia hangs heavily still, seeping deep into the floor boards, creating unwanted rings.
No longer that girl I was ten years ago, it's time I cleaned my past from any cobwebs that might still linger.
And I finally feel ok to do that.
Saturday, 10 December 2011
LIVE O2 Arena
This was us, The Unkindness of Ravens @ the O2 free stage 8 December an hour before Brian Adams hit the stage.
Monday, 21 November 2011
Jordan Reyne LIVE @ The Bowery
For the past two days and nights I've been cooped up inside my little home, working on all sorts of things, closing myself off from society and gradually feeling the walls close in. Yup, that's what they call cabin fever. So, I was excited to receive a text message that some mates were heading down to The Bowery to check out Jordan Reyne. I've owned her album 'Children of a Factory Nation' for a little under a month now and am addicted to her folk-like yet sweet-sad-growling voice and the luring call-of-the-sea instrumental machinist sounds... And only seconds later I was kissing the closing-in-walls good-bye and heading for the streets to see one of my favorite artists of late.
Having played as well as visited almost every London venue to date, The Bowery, or what was once known as The Fly, was one little place I yet still had to discover. Its quaint size seems pleasant enough, and for a Sunday night, with people moping around with late-Saturday-night hangovers, the event made for a nice Sunday get-together.
Once the angry lady at the door slapped a stamp onto my hand, I headed downstairs with my pint of creamy Guinness, taking in the opening act, Das Fluff.
For a moment there I thought I was listening to a sleazy kraut rock band from Germany, but maybe that's just me being ignorant since they have a German word in their title... Dawn Fluff, female front singer, gives a good performance, swaying back and forth, moving around the stage just enough from making her appear contrived; her vocals ranging from bitter/sweet, to a raging loon storming out of the shadows, I found her at times rather compelling. Overall, I dig their electro sleaze noise and they seem to be a well rehearsed band. At times however I felt the sound engineer could have turned up the guitars in the mix and I did have moments where I felt their sound and look seemed a little dated... However, I did think their second to last song owned just the right kind of pop qualities for Radio 1.
Topping up with another half pint of Guinness I eagerly waited for Reyne to hit the stage.
And finally there she was. Her red hair in flames under the stage light, her black long dress, lightly floating to every movement she makes and just before she's about to hit the first chord on her guitar, silence ripples across the room, as everyone awaits for this lone warrior princess to share her tales of song.
There's no doubt, Reyne would fit in well with a famous Irish folk band, touring the plains of Ireland and spreading the stories of bitter sweet myths, creating that kind of heavy sadness but never losing hope.
And already lost within the second song, 'Proximity of Death' (personally my favorite), my eyes are welling up with thick tears that I try with every inch to hold back.
Reyne's stage set up consists of a pedal board where she loops vocals, guitar riffs and where she stores a host of machinist sounds in order to encapsulate that industrial era of our history. She also switches between two acoustic guitars and her vocal range and style is made up of something that makes you think you've heard it before, but actually you haven't because it's so darn unique you just can't keep your ears off it.
One of the songs that really showed off her talents was the acapella 'A Woman Scorned'. Here she begins with a simple stripped down industrial rhythm sound coming from her pedal board and then looping two different sets of vocals, which harmonize, she then sings over this one-man-choir.
Jordan Reyne is charming on stage, everything you see is real, nothing's a show-off competition and you know that her work contains a thorough quality because everything stems from the heart and that's her language.
I can only urge you to see this woman play live and I promise you, you'll be taken on a journey that will be part of your life forever.
Having played as well as visited almost every London venue to date, The Bowery, or what was once known as The Fly, was one little place I yet still had to discover. Its quaint size seems pleasant enough, and for a Sunday night, with people moping around with late-Saturday-night hangovers, the event made for a nice Sunday get-together.
Once the angry lady at the door slapped a stamp onto my hand, I headed downstairs with my pint of creamy Guinness, taking in the opening act, Das Fluff.
For a moment there I thought I was listening to a sleazy kraut rock band from Germany, but maybe that's just me being ignorant since they have a German word in their title... Dawn Fluff, female front singer, gives a good performance, swaying back and forth, moving around the stage just enough from making her appear contrived; her vocals ranging from bitter/sweet, to a raging loon storming out of the shadows, I found her at times rather compelling. Overall, I dig their electro sleaze noise and they seem to be a well rehearsed band. At times however I felt the sound engineer could have turned up the guitars in the mix and I did have moments where I felt their sound and look seemed a little dated... However, I did think their second to last song owned just the right kind of pop qualities for Radio 1.
Topping up with another half pint of Guinness I eagerly waited for Reyne to hit the stage.
And finally there she was. Her red hair in flames under the stage light, her black long dress, lightly floating to every movement she makes and just before she's about to hit the first chord on her guitar, silence ripples across the room, as everyone awaits for this lone warrior princess to share her tales of song.
There's no doubt, Reyne would fit in well with a famous Irish folk band, touring the plains of Ireland and spreading the stories of bitter sweet myths, creating that kind of heavy sadness but never losing hope.
And already lost within the second song, 'Proximity of Death' (personally my favorite), my eyes are welling up with thick tears that I try with every inch to hold back.
Reyne's stage set up consists of a pedal board where she loops vocals, guitar riffs and where she stores a host of machinist sounds in order to encapsulate that industrial era of our history. She also switches between two acoustic guitars and her vocal range and style is made up of something that makes you think you've heard it before, but actually you haven't because it's so darn unique you just can't keep your ears off it.
One of the songs that really showed off her talents was the acapella 'A Woman Scorned'. Here she begins with a simple stripped down industrial rhythm sound coming from her pedal board and then looping two different sets of vocals, which harmonize, she then sings over this one-man-choir.
Jordan Reyne is charming on stage, everything you see is real, nothing's a show-off competition and you know that her work contains a thorough quality because everything stems from the heart and that's her language.
I can only urge you to see this woman play live and I promise you, you'll be taken on a journey that will be part of your life forever.
Monday, 14 November 2011
Roll Over
Roll over
and move aside
Roll on over,
go and hide.
We are here to stay
and play,
not your game
but by another
set
of rules.
Roll over
and get a grip
Roll on over,
don't be a bitch.
Nothing can take us
off this stage,
not your slurs
your fist,
or your
raging lips.
Roll over
and have a bite
Roll on over,
don't cause
a fight.
and move aside
Roll on over,
go and hide.
We are here to stay
and play,
not your game
but by another
set
of rules.
Roll over
and get a grip
Roll on over,
don't be a bitch.
Nothing can take us
off this stage,
not your slurs
your fist,
or your
raging lips.
Roll over
and have a bite
Roll on over,
don't cause
a fight.
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