I am part of a lost generation.
And I refuse to believe that
I can change the world.
I realize this may be a shock, but
“Happiness comes from within”
Is a lie, and
“Money will make me happy”
So in thirty years, I will tell my children
They are not the most important thing in my life.
My employer will know that
I have my priorities straight because
Work
Is more important than
Family
I tell you this:
Once upon a time
Families stayed together
But this will not be true in my era.
This is a quick fix society
Experts tell me
Thirty years from now, I will be celebrating the tenth anniversary of my divorce.
I do not concede that
I will live in a country of my own making.
In the future,
Environmental destruction will be the norm.
No longer can it be said that
My peers and I care about this Earth.
It will be evident that
My generation is apathetic and lethargic.
It is foolish to presume that
There is hope.
And all of this will come true unless we reverse it.
Reference – 21
Reference – 26
“
I don’t want you to be my well constructed paragraph I rather you be my run on sentence
This love isn’t a synopsis thesis or dissertation it’s a creative writing project that comes together flawed magical and full of errors but we are still learning
I don’t need punctuation marks getting in between what we have
What we pour into one another should be fluid not frozen by societal expectations
Let’s avoid periods or colons comas or ellipses in OUR love work
I’m even OK with us being grammatically incorrect unconventional and in love the way we want to be in love
I will never use my red pen on your heart or tongue to disregard or dismantle how you feel or speak and I am perfectly OK with your mistakes
My dedication to ‘Rhythm 0’ – Alas the jpeg failed to capture the pay layout from the original PDF, so I’ve worked a little technical magic. Although the presentation is rather different from intended, the words here are clearer for your pleasure.
FE in Creative Writing, Poetry Assignment at Leicester University
I’m going to share this with you, it’s going to take a while to put together, but I want to display this carefully. One page at a time, apart from the essay, which I shall include last. This is so you can form your own opinion about my work before I explain the background to each piece and inspiration behind the Word Art.
I’m not neglecting my ‘evenlongernotsoshortshortstory’ my characters wouldn’t let me anyway! I just want to focus on a different form of creative writing for a short while, while I plot and plan various fantastic adventures in my mind.
I’ve actually found a little time today and earlier on in the week to dust off my old paint brushes and pick up where I left off earlier this year with a series of abstract paintings. The joy of waiting so long between building up the stages of the paintings is that I can drastically change the whole appearance of the work.
By that I mean I’ve been cutting up a lot of what I’ve done and rearranging by weaving the designs together, creating checkboard patterns of various colours and textures… in theory… because in reality I really haven’t got a clue what I’m doing most of time, actually, all of the time. You see, I’m no artist, I don’t even pretend to be, I can’t draw and I simply mess around with paint, acrylics and watercolours.
I’m in love with texture and colours, patterns and shades. I adore various mediums and despite not having a clue what I’m supposed to be doing. I tend to make a glorious mess.
Among my passions I delight in visiting art galleries… just as music/novels/movies… I do not hold a singular genre in favour. Preferring to explore many known (and unknown) artists alike. Travelling to London and Liverpool to explore exhibitions. I’m inspired, though I lack any skill or talent. I paint, like I write (or sing) not because I’m any good, but because I simply love too…
Having no burning desire to be something I’m not really gives me the freedom to enjoy what I do for my own pleasure… if nothing else I’ve made a glorious mess and had fun doing so…
All the wonderful thingies which inspire me to write and while writing…
Having a Coke with You
is even more fun than going to San Sebastian, Irún, Hendaye, Biarritz, Bayonne
or being sick to my stomach on the Travesera de Gracia in Barcelona
partly because in your orange shirt you look like a better happier St. Sebastian
partly because of my love for you, partly because of your love for yoghurt
partly because of the fluorescent orange tulips around the birches
partly because of the secrecy our smiles take on before people and statuary
it is hard to believe when I’m with you that there can be anything as still
as solemn as unpleasantly definitive as statuary when right in front of it
in the warm New York 4 o’clock light we are drifting back and forth
between each other like a tree breathing through its spectacles
and the portrait show seems to have no faces in it at all, just paint
you suddenly wonder why in the world anyone ever did them
I look
at you and I would rather look at you than all the portraits in the world
except possibly for the Polish Rider occasionally and anyway it’s in the Frick
which thank heavens you haven’t gone to yet so we can go together the first time
and the fact that you move so beautifully more or less takes care of Futurism
just as at home I never think of the Nude Descending a Staircase or
at a rehearsal a single drawing of Leonardo or Michelangelo that used to wow me
and what good does all the research of the Impressionists do them
when they never got the right person to stand near the tree when the sun sank
or for that matter Marino Marini when he didn’t pick the rider as carefully
as the horse
it seems they were all cheated of some marvelous experience
which is not going to go wasted on me which is why I am telling you about it
Take a little walk to the edge of town
and go across the tracks
Where the viaduct looms,
like a bird of doom
As it shifts and cracks
Where secrets lie in the border fires,
in the humming wires
Hey man, you know
you’re never coming back
Past the square, past the bridge,
past the mills, past the stacks
On a gathering storm comes
a tall handsome man
in a dusty black coat with
a red right handHe’ll wrap you in his arms,
tell you that you’ve been a good boy
He’ll rekindle all the dreams
it took you a lifetime to destroy
He’ll reach deep into the hole,
heal your shrinking soul,
but there won’t be a single thing
that you can do
He’s a god, he’s a man,
he’s a ghost, he’s a guru
They’re whispering his name
through this disappearing land
But hidden in his coat
is a red right hand
You don’t have no money?
He’ll get you some
You don’t have no car?
He’ll get you one
You don’t have no self-respect,
you feel like an insect
Well don’t you worry buddy,
’cause here he comes
Through the ghettos and the barrio
and the bowery and the slum
A shadow is cast wherever he stands
Stacks of green paper in his
red right hand
You’ll see him in your nightmares,
you’ll see him in your dreams
He’ll appear out of nowhere but
he ain’t what he seems
You’ll see him in your head,
on the TV screen
And hey buddy, I’m warning
you to turn it off
He’s a ghost, he’s a god,
he’s a man, he’s a guru
You’re one microscopic cog
in his catastrophic plan
Designed and directed by
his red right hand
Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds
So, basically, more music, vampires (again) music lyrics, poetry and art… What a delicious cocktail of inspiration… I’ve also kinda delighted in re-discovering Marina Abramovic again…
So, as something different from killing characters, I’m including a little of my work that I dedicated to her performance piece ‘rhythm 0’
I really should add vampires (maybe) I keep finding vampires inspiring me…
A quick look at a collection of various media currently inspiring the ‘Notsoshortshortstory’ among other elements of my life, painting, scribblings and mood…
Lyrics:
The truth is subjective
And the court has lost perspective
And what is your objection here
Fear’s only fear if that’s what you call it
But what do you call it if you cannot speak?
Fear isn’t real unless you invoke it
So how can you blame it if you don’t believe
(Believe in me) Why won’t you believe
Liar, you thief, what you did to that priest
You’re wild and you’re reckless, you cursed the queen’s necklace
You connived and deceived and learned how to read
You’ve made the men wary and say you won’t marry
Speak your mind and deny
All the things that you have done
You are guilty
You are found guilty of every crime under the sun
The truth is subjective
And the court has lost perspective
And what is your objection here
Pain isn’t pain unless that’s what you name it
But how do you name it if you cannot speak?
Pain isn’t real unless you invoke it
So how can you suffer if you don’t believe
Liar, you thief, what you did to that priest
You’re wild and you’re reckless, you cursed the queen’s necklace
You connived and deceived and learned how to read
You’ve made the men wary and say you won’t marry
Speak your mind and deny
All the things that you have done
You are guilty
You are found guilty of every crime under the sun
And the jury of my peers has yet to learn my name
And the congregation of your fear refuses me my name
Say my name
Say my name
Say my name
You better say my name
Say my name
Say my name
Say my name
Say my…
Say my name
You better say my name
Say my name
You better say my name
Say my name
Say my name
Say my name
Say my name
Say my name
You better say my name
Say my name
You better say my name
Say my name
Say my name
Say my name
You better say my name
***
***
***
Lyrics:
Take the children and yourself
And hide out in the cellar
By now the fighting will be close at hand
Don’t believe the church and state
And everything they tell you
Believe in me, I’m with the high command
Can you hear me, can you hear me running?
Can you hear me running, can you hear me calling you?
Can you hear me, can you hear me running?
Can you hear me running, can you hear me calling you?
There’s a gun and ammunition
Just inside the doorway
Use it only in emergency
Better you should pray to God
The Father and the Spirit
Will guide you and protect from up here
Can you hear me, can you hear me running?
Can you hear me running, can you hear me calling you?
Can you hear me, can you hear me running?
Can you hear me running, can you hear me calling you?
Swear allegiance to the flag
Whatever flag they offer
Never hint at what you really feel
Teach the children quietly
For some day sons and daughters
Will rise up and fight while we stand still
Can you hear me, can you hear me running?
Can you hear me running, can you hear me calling you?
Can you hear me, can you hear me running?
Can you hear me running, can you hear me calling you?
Can you hear me, can you hear me running (can you hear me calling you?)
Can you hear me hear running, can you hear me calling you?
(Can you hear me running) Can hear me running (can you hear me calling you)?
Can you hear me
Hear me calling you
(Can you hear me running) hear me running, babe
Can you hear me running (hear me running)
Calling you
Fortune, fame
Mirror vain
Gone insane
But the memory remainsHeavy rings on fingers wave
Another star denies the grave
See the nowhere crowd, cry the nowhere tears of honor
Like twisted vines that grow
That hide and swallow mansions whole
And dim the light of an already faded prima donna
Fortune, fame
Mirror vain
Gone insane…
Fortune, fame
Mirror vain
Gone insane…
But the memory remains
Heavy rings hold cigarettes
Up to lips that time forgets
While the Hollywood sun sets behind your back
And can’t the band play on?
Just listen, they play my song
Ash to ash
Dust to dust
Fade to black
Fortune, fame
Mirror vain
Gone insane…
Fortune, fame
Mirror vain
Gone insane…
Dance, little tin goddess
Na-na-na…
Drift away
Fade away
Little tin goddess
Ash to ash
Dust to dust
Fade to black
Fortune, fame
Mirror vain
Gone insane…
Fortune, fame
Mirror vain
Gone insane…
But the memory remains
Ash to ash
Dust to dust
Fade to black…
But the memory remains, yeah
To this faded prima donna yeah, yeah, yeah, hey
[Solo]
Dance, little tin goddess, dance
Na-na-na…
[spoken:]
Say yes
At least say hello
Say yes
At least say hello
Tatterhood 