strain

Tags

2017, 7*, breakdown, career, identity, music, nude, openness, retirement, sound, vinyl

                I’ve lost the needle that settles
                between grooves and plays the circling music

                on fluff the arm skates across the ridges
                making awful rip of a career

                it skints along a ridge edge – wedges in,
                bounces out – a scratch to repeat

                against all reasonable hope that it might not;
                I cannot hear the pops and crackles,

                the greeting space before the
                opening strain, awaiting nudity

 

retirement #7: Virginia Woolf’s first novel was ‘the Voyage Out’; she wrote much of it as she experienced two breakdowns and a number of stark bereavements; this is not a trip to venture and return, this is a discovery to venture and change; so much changes between generation, within and across lives, the further you travel the deeper you stay where you are; read the whole sequence: in and out / the Avebury stones / can’t seem to get / a signal …

 

 

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

breakdown & retirement wormhole: what wounds have you got?
career wormhole: seen but not heard
identity wormhole: brown corduroy shirt / and dark redwine tie
music wormhole: within
openness wormhole: 1968
sound wormhole: ssreet chak-chak

 

within

Tags

'scape, 2013, 4*, flying, garden, ivy, listening, music, pigeon, radio, song, trees, wind

                                              listening to the song
                                stepping the crescendos
                with the professionalism of hundreds
                                to recognition
                                O save me
                from the top one hundreds

                                not even the pigeon
                                nor the wind chimes
                                nor even the waving tops of trees
                can assuage this acrid spore on the breeze

                                but no
                                there
                                the ivy
                has climbed up one fence post
                                and shaped itself
                                square and fast
                                that I can see
                the pigeon dive and pull up adjust tail feathers
                                turn to land
                                on a branch
                                within the
                                tree precisely

 

 

 

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

garden wormhole: Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters] – snow
listening & trees wormhole: the bench
music wormhole: No
radio wormhole: magnetic field
trees wormhole: what wounds have you got?

 

No

Tags

2016, 3*, allegory, creativity, earth, exhaustion, image, music, parallel, talking to myself, writing

                No

                it’s not all about finding the allegory
                or sustaining the image that parallels
                whatever the song I am listening to

                it’s letting the song lodge its effect in me
                like earth, and writing that; this omnipotent
                excising something ex nihilo stuff is

                so exhausting and unnecessary …

 

 

 

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

creativity wormhole: substance
music wormhole: chartless …
talking to myself wormhole: passing below
writing wormhole: that comicbookshop … // … in dreams

 

chartless …

Tags

1967, 2007, 5*, abandonment, business, career, children, comics, cult, Dad, family, groundlessness, isolation, land, life, lifestyle, music, people, poetry, private, relationship, religion, sea, searching, trauma

                                                                chartless …

                                … since 1967
                                no moorings no ports
                                my search for land
                                through comics poetry music religion
                                reclusive

                                … my own Dad
                                moored in music and
                                an ideal partner outside
                                his family his job his own business
                                reclusive

                                … people landlocked
                                from trauma have
                                houses and lifestyle
                                and children and soap and opera
                                all private

                                                … all susceptible to cults
                                and all of life is a
                fluid cult …

 

 

 

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

abandonment & Dad & family wormhole: what life went on
career wormhole: dry rot
comics wormhole: Doctor Strange I – the trashcan tilted the better to see now the street
groundlessness & searching wormhole: hello, luvvey, do you want a cup of tea?
life wormhole: passing skies
music wormhole: words tumble like / boulders – poewieview #25
people wormhole: even / a second
poetry wormhole: Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters] – autumn
sea wormhole: The Boats of Vallisneria by Michael J Redford – Simon Upon The Downs

 

words tumble like / boulders – poewieview #25

Tags

1970s, 1971, 2016, bed, Bowie, brick, buildings, cartoon, clouds, flats, form, guitar, hearing, height, litter, music, park, passing, pipes, shops, silence, sky, step, suburbia, trees, wind, words, world, writing

                           lying still enough in the quiet of bedclothes
                           you can hear the pops in the sky as the
                           clouds settle and the resolve of form as

                           the trees are passed, all big-flared steps
                           through the park like the coming cartoons,
                           into the suburbs, (across the globe), but

                           always back to the room above the shops
                           under height of building pipework and the
                           block of flats, where the brick and grime

                           ignore the swirling litter … but then later,
                           among strumming, the words tumble like
                           boulders, each to their own defining clunk

 

settled throughout: Holy Holy, 1971; Oh! You Pretty Things, 1971; Fill Your Heart, 1971; How Lucky You Are (Miss Peculiar), 1971; Hang On To Yourself, 1971, after the dust

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

 

 

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

1971 wormhole: 1971
Bowie & buildings & wind wormhole: no one – poewieview #24
clouds wormhole: b / r / e / a / t / h / i / n / g
guitar wormhole: 08:55
music wormhole: well,
park & trees wormhole: 1963
passing & silence wormhole: 1965
shops wormhole: crease and score of silver-morning sky
sky wormhole: 1968
words wormhole: my // shell – poewieview #19
world wormhole: tong len / the inauguration of another – timely – butter fly effect / taking and giving
writing wormhole: need

 

1965

Tags

1965, 2014, bridge, cars, crane, morning, music, passing, radio, silence, sound, sunlight, traffic, truck, voices, years

 

 

 

                           1965

                           the traffic
                     the cars and the blocks of trucks with their air-breaks and axels pass
                           and recede

                           silent
                     over the bridge on the way past the docks and cranes save for
                           the line

                           on the radio
                     which ends ‘instead …’ and doesn’t resolve until ‘… of me’ to
                           change down gear

 

Are You There (With Another Girl): Dionne Warwick, Burt Bacharach, Hal David

 

 

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

bridge wormhole: Compartment C, Car 193, 1938
cars wormhole: always
crane & traffic wormhole: finding my own true nature – Plumstead, Woolwich, 190915
morning wormhole: 1964
music & voices wormhole: well,
passing & sunlight & years wormhole: 1968
radio wormhole: any answers
silence wormhole: and that’s where I are
sound wormhole: impressionism

 

well,

Tags

'scape, 2013, coffee shop, evening, Lewes, music, notebook, people, sitting, streetlight, tired, toddler, voices, writing

 

 

 

                                     well,

                           I am sitting in the coffee shop
                           I have the notebook out
                           the evening is coming down
                           all the lights are brightening up
                           and as the people take
                           their shopping home
                           I think I can pick out
                           ‘Waterloo Sunset’ through
                           the cries of an overtired
                           toddler

 

 

 

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

coffee shop & music wormhole: tabla
evening wormhole: early evening
Lewes wormhole: library windows
people wormhole: the sounds of 1969 // [would have] seemed that way – poewieview #13
sitting wormhole: and that’s where I are
streetlight wormhole: like ink – poewieview #23
voices wormhole: dream career // groggy
writing wormhole: dash

 

tabla

Tags

'scape, 2011, buildings, carlights, coffee shop, horns, London, music, passing, piano, sky, streets, tabla

 

 

 

                                          electric piano
                                          coffee shop

                                          horns break-
                                          lights car not-

                                          sure where
                                          to go, across

                                          the street
                                          office block

                                          floats low and
                                          fills the sky

                                          tabla

 

 

 

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

buildings wormhole: crease and score of silver-morning sky
coffee shop & passing & streets wormhole: and that’s where I are
London wormhole: London Park in Greenwich town – poewieview #5
music wormhole: poessay X: soul love – poewieview #2
piano wormhole: opening
sky wormhole: hinged – From Hell ch. V

 

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.