to rescue something

Tags

2017, 20th century, 7*, anxiety, blue, chair, childhood, Dad, depression, dining room, divorce, Eglinton Hill, family, feeling, Genesta Road, great aunt Mary, life, purpose, talking, Thames, visit, windows, World War

                Mary came to visit one year,
                I think before Dad left, sense

                of anxiety and visitation to
                get things right; we gathered

                in the dining room, she sat
                regal in one of those blue

                wing-back chairs to one side
                of the fireplace; they talked

                of things and the way things
                were while the war built up

                and the way things are now,
                we crawled about under the

                legs of the chairs while they
                talked, through the tunnels

                to rescue something with
                several teddies in tow; we

                kept one of those blue chairs
                when we moved, I remember

                sitting in it feeling the coarse
                knap and the horsehair stuffing

                in the lonely bedroom with
                my back to the high windows

                anxious about the purpose
                to do with my life … is

 

quite naturally, but unforseeably, this was written quite considerably, and apocryphally, after: green-wine, but then everything knits together eventually

 

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

20th century wormhole: ‘hope for things to come’
anxiety wormhole: ‘never look up’?
blue wormhole: occa / s / i // o / n / a // l // l // y
childhood & Dad & divorce & Thames wormhole: south horizon
depression wormhole: what wounds have you got?
Eglinton Hill wormhole: alighted
family wormhole: familiasyncopation
Genesta Road wormhole: work
life wormhole: darkness
talking wormhole: embodying
windows wormhole: that comicbookshop … // … in dreams

 

what wounds have you got?

Tags

'scape, 2010, 5*, breakdown, career, depression, ghosts, identity, results-led education, self, snow, sound, teaching, voices, wind

                           part V

I have been in, but not part of, the stadium for such a long time
it is here, all about and above, creaking, flapping, I
had thought it didn’t exist at all; it is cardboard and canvas
standing up against the inevitable winds, and snow

so much construction, so little structure, so little warmth
it is cold here in this quiet wasteland, but I sit
to one side now – out of the way – and shut my ears
to the noises and voices.   I still have a lamp.   I try

to keep warm by it.   I can’t see them – out in the night
and cold – are there any other souls lost, out there?
Come and join me over here.   If we sit together
I can get quite a lot of heat from this lamp.   Let’s see –

what wounds have you got?

 

since this was written and published years ago I have subsequently and finally retired … from being the ‘ghost with open wound‘; I am now, just cold

 

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

breakdown wormhole: monument to vainglory
career & teaching wormhole: everwhile
depression wormhole: beepbeep
ghosts wormhole: Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters] – intemperance
identity wormhole: ah … // oh … // meanwhile … // … // tha ya ta …
results-led education & voices wormhole: just saying, is all VI: // accountable / for my own outbreath / …
snow & sound wormhole: open window
wind wormhole: time

 

beepbeep

Tags

1960s, 1967, 2016, 7*, abandonment, colour, commentary, courage, crying, Dad, depression, direction, divorce, driving, evening, eyes, feeling sorry for myself, freedom, groundlessness, Have, home, hope, identity, life, light, looking, now, others, passing, people, pointlessness, purpose, renunciation, revolution, sense of self, sex, sign, sound, texture, time, true nature, Victoria & Albert Museum, world

                                did Dad leaving
                                trigger my sense of revolution or
                my sense of depression
that there is no purpose
                                in the world
                that I would eventually have to find the courage
to face those new tremors,
                                but five years on,
                                                there, between the given textures
                already cheap and fraying

                                or did revolution trigger Dad to leave
                                                                and find some other way
                                                                                to find some truer nature?

                -O~~~

                                I didn’t want the headphones, now
                                I didn’t want the commentary
                                                all safely wrapped and bordered
                                                                so I kept my own eyes
                                                                open and saw 50 year old memorabilia
                                                                                strangely mute, now
                                                                                despite the peacock-print

                                                and little in between
                                                                save shuffling overcoats with
                                                                no sense of direction where to go
                                                                                save their right of individual                
                                                                                                                way

                                                                                                ~~~O-

                                I don’t think I want the revolution
                                anymore –
                                                away with your awkward sex! –
                I want to know the innate freedom
                                I trust I have already,
                                                save for my sense of right of way

                                                                I cried for fifty years later that evening
                                                it is hard to lose your way returning home
                                                                cut up and turning in circles
                                                                                hoping for the right lane
                                                                                                lights on and direction to go                
                                                                                                                everywhere
                                                                                                signed
                                                                and passing overhead
                                                                it is hard to arrive
                                                toe to toe
                                                                with a fifty year old overcoat
                                with no face
                                but a blinking eye
and me with no headphones

                                                                beepbeep

 

on 30th October 2016, I visited the Victoria & Albert Museum exhibition @You Say You Want a Revolution’ – Records and Rebels 1966-1970 (a birth day present, thank you, Carol); my Dad left our family on 2nd November 1967, my eighth birthday, and the divorce became final by 1969; I think it was Brigitte Bardot who said something about the ‘tremors’ which were felt in the late 60s, but few who had the ‘courage’ to face them, but I can’t seem to find the quote verbatim; we got a bit lost, at first, driving back from west London

 

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

abandonment & Dad & people wormhole: chartless …
depression wormhole: the both passive and transitive / non-presumptive pre-conceptualist attenuation of being
divorce wormhole: 1967
evening & identity wormhole: sleep now
eyes & life & sound wormhole: Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters] – snow
groundlessness & pointlessness wormhole: [once a] dilemminal [always a dilemminal]
Have wormhole: Doctor Strange III – the needs of billions
light wormhole: adjustment
looking wormhole: Clea
others & passing wormhole: passersby
renunciation wormhole: escape from Flat Planet
time wormhole: the too big moon
world wormhole: The Boats of Vallisneria by Michael J Redford – Snow

 

the both passive and transitive / non-presumptive pre-conceptualist attenuation of being

Tags

2014, being, cognisance, conception, courage, creativity, depression, doing, emptiness, equanimity, event, flow, heart, heartbeat, hesitancy, honour, key, life, line, meaning, no big deal, nothing, openness, page, passive, pointlessness, presumption, sitting, striving, suffering, thought, time, transcendent, transitive, words, writing

 

 

 

                                the both passive and transitive
                non-presumptive pre-conceptualist attenuation of being

                                anxiety across the open page unsure,
                perched on the open line

                                ‘what if I put pen to paper and nothing happens?’
                ‘what if there is nothing but empty page and feint line?’ does not trust

                                that I am alive and cognisant to the heart
                of every beat if I had but the courage to face it,

                                all down through the endless steps of line
                whether there are words on the line

                                that I write in flow, or hesitancy, or not
                and whether they make sense or not

                                and whether my sitting was transcendent
                or not, or not done at all

                                and whether I concave at the pointlessness of activity
                or create the key to all strife and striving, or fail, or get depressed

                                I will continue eventful to evenness
                affording honour to is, and ‘no big deal’ to what is not

 

 

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

being & doing & life & sitting wormhole: Michael Redford: triptych
creativity & pointlessness wormhole: the writing’s on the wall
depression wormhole: Teaching career: much like Monet’s ‘Impression: soleil levant’ or, in the long run, de Chirico’s ‘The Red Tower’
emptiness wormhole: my / superpower
meaning & thought & time & writing wormhole: B le tch l ey P ark
openness wormhole: dash
words wormhole: words tumble like / boulders – poewieview #25

 

suddenly fly off again

Tags

2014, birds, conservatory, depression, flying, letting go, roof, sound

 

 

 

                           “low moods
                come like birds on the roof”
                           they step
                           and scrape about
                           pecking at
                           the moss
                and throwing it clump on the conservatory
                           roof will
                           they damag:-
                suddenly fly off again

 

 

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

birds wormhole: up here
conservatory wormhole: I do
depression wormhole: poessay X: soul love – poewieview #2
letting go wormhole: no point
roof wormhole: … the discipline of shamatha / the waft of vipashyana
sound wormhole: ‘the hour before dinner – / the empire of dusk’ – poewieview #6

 

poessay X: soul love – poewieview #2

Tags

2016, appearence, art, assimilation, asymmetry, Bowie, bread, butter, centrifugal, centripetal, chords, communication, defining, depression, dichotomy, eclectic, existence, gold, I, identity, illusion, inside, insight, leaves, liberation, living, love, meaning, music, naïveté, nose, octave, others, outside, piano, poessay, right & wrong, seeing, semantics, soul, superhero, syntax, warp, weft, words, world

                poessay X: soul love

                thin depression
                like butter over frozen bread
                when things go well, a shoulder tap,
                the superhero mask with no nose;

                somethings is not right
                outside or in, oneself aren’t what I thought, we
                just don’t co-ordinate as we should
                creating havoc with syntax; but there

                the gold, the outsight,
                that things isn’t quite right
                allows a cleaner, naïve sights of your leaves¹ as long as ‘I don’t fit’
                doesn’t get in the way;

                maybe ‘things’ don’t exist as they appear (or,
                even, shouldn’t),
                that everything are wrong (with
                trans-dualistic semantic); where depression

                is trying to maintain an illusion in a world we did not create (‘wauuugh’),²
                not proof that ‘we’ is wrong but insight
                to what ‘things’ truly is, and where
                art could be liberative,

                if communicative; which is why Bowie w/is
                important: no sense but the weft of asymmetry
                and the warp of dichotomy in … love
                for other/s-ness-eh city, where eclectic

                assimilation is the means of meaning, always
                far wider than defined, where chordings and octaves are
                centripuntal to word; or not …
                with damn good piano solo

 

¹ this piece of work grew out of a conversation with Johnbalaya which we had over coffee and jam on toast one mornings in the pages of Powieviews; orange juice anyone?
² an mlewisredford No-Prize if you can tell me which character’s strap-line this is; c’mon, c’mon …

Read the collected movements in David Bowie: Movements in Suite Major

 

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

Bowie & identity & naïveté wormhole: sixty four sixty five
communication wormhole: … the discipline of shamatha / the waft of vipashyana
depression & music wormhole: Poewieviews
gold & living & love wormhole: finding my own true nature – Plumstead, Woolwich, 190915
leaves wormhole: along
meaning & world wormhole: let the dreams / become the ghosts they / always were
others & piano wormhole: com- / mute
poessay wormhole: poessay IX – … just saying, is all II
seeing wormhole: Office at Night, 1940
superhero wormhole: sit
words wormhole: when writing // stay

 

Poewieviews

Tags

1947, 2016, Bowie, comics, death, depression, muse, music, painting, Shantideva, writing

 

I’ve not been writing much during the last four months – the urge has dimished, I’ve been seeping in to studying Shantideva’s Bodhisattvacharyavatara, I am going through yet another spreadthin depression [which I’m not all that sure ever really goes away and I’m quite seriously considering is a screaming clue to me from the universe of how to get out, if only I would listen]; and then David Bowie released Blackstar; and then David Bowie died.   Now I don’t know where we are (probably sic).

Then I received ‘Rebel Rebel’ through the post (and if you haven’t encountered ‘Pushing Ahead of the Dame‘ on good ole WordPress yet you are missing some real good writing here) and re-listened to ‘Blackstar’ again and again … I think it’s all coming back.

I’ve been writing ‘poeviews‘ of pieces of music and painting and comics which tweak my keening for quite some while now.   Bowie was one of those muse (again, definitely this time, sic).   My muses has been deserting me recently, now one of it has died in order to show me that muse never die, that depression is not overcome but to become en-light-ened.

I have a new project: I will challenge myself to write a poeview of each of Bowie’s pieces of music (I’m not sure, 400-600, I don’t care, I might write more than one for some), both the liked and the discomfortabled, both the ‘got’ and the ‘puzzlers’, both the 50+ years and the 80s; and Tin Machine.   Even at his crappest it was still David Bowie being, there was still some gleam and sparkle in there somewhere.   And I will do it chronologically following Chris O’Leary’s book and blog and I will publish them as they settle (which might not happen so chronologically).

Let’s see what happens: David Bowie 1947-2016.

 

I survived

Tags

2013, abdomen, anger, Ashdown Forest, awareness, breakdown, childhood, depression, home, identity, lost, path, puddle, school, survival, walking

 

 

 

                           bad news from school
                           nonsense from school

                           tried to zombie into a
                           shooting game didn’t work

                           went for a walk on the forest
                           took my little boy with me

                           managed to notice myself being
                           angry reclusive revengeful

                           alright let’s find a new path
                           walk through puddles get lost

                           get sweaty remember my abs
                           get back home together it’s OK I survived

 

 

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

abdomen wormhole: the utter beauty of giving when receiving
Ashdown Forest wormhole: Ashdown Forest / 080213 14:47
awareness wormhole: Eridge – Cowden
breakdown wormhole: relapse
childhood wormhole: south horizon
depression wormhole: “write, let’s break outta here!”
identity wormhole: [s]
path wormhole: dream 260815
school wormhole: wriving
walking wormhole: Le Pont des Arts, 1907

 

“write, let’s break outta here!”

Tags

2012, beauty, compromise, creativity, depression, letting go, life, living, samsara, speech, steel, walls, writing

 

 

 

                                “write, let’s break outta here!”

                      stuck in compromise
                      a-foreclosed, I need to
                      break out, I need to create

                      something strange and
                      beautiful – too hideous to
                      contemplate – and abandon it

                      in order that it digest into
                      my everyday construction,
                      rags around the base of a high, steel wall

 

 

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

beauty wormhole: it is complete
compromise wormhole: block ‘n’ role
creativity wormhole: start where / you are II
depression wormhole: relapse
letting go wormhole: like butterflies on / buddleia
life wormhole: recovered
living wormhole: dream 260815
samsara wormhole: un … able
speech wormhole: … anymore
walls wormhole: mauve / night
writing wormhole: after all?

 

relapse

Tags

2015, ambition, breakdown, childhood, circular poem, creativity, depression, dissolving, doing, doubt, expectation, eyes, heart, history, identity, letting go, life, naïveté, pride, realisation, self, self-love, thinking, time

 

direction of read:

 

 

                                                                               it is amazing
                                         I realise because                            how much
                       again and again before                                             the same old
                     unambiguous heart                                                           ambition can
             to find my naïve and                                                                      cover the
                 again and again                                                                              same old illness
              self and relapse                                                                                    and seem to be
    will have to build my                                                                                        the cure I suppose
  that it isn’t although I                                                                                           I should be grateful
   eventually heartened                                                                                            that I’m not cured
         broken, and then                                                                                             as I thought –
            and I am heart-                                                                                            gives me something
   virtuous was despite                                                                                             more for pride
    I thought everything                                                                                          to relinquish
       creative was despite                                                                                      and love to
          I thought everything                                                                                dissipate leaving
               was always despite                                                                          the cure ready-
                      I thought the cure                                                                 prescribed and
                              but for the doubt;                                                   dosed – a self-healed
                             slightly arched brows –                                 man without edges
                                                 without history and

 

 

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

breakdown wormhole: right to be
childhood wormhole: just words wiped across a line
circular poem wormhole: a known from without the unknown
creativity wormhole: sometimes
depression wormhole: anti-depressants
doing & identity wormhole: un … able
eyes wormhole: Dr Strange VI – to hold my face to the world
history wormhole: 1959 –– MANHATTAN –– 2012
letting go wormhole: I need to keep my eyes open / in meditation
life & thinking wormhole: step
naïveté wormhole: scattered
realisation wormhole: gently straighten
time wormhole: the edge has come …