About Me
It is quite possible, and indeed very likely, that one's cleverness can conjure a parade of beautifully threaded words to convey some purposeful meaning; and the meaning glows each time the sentences are read; and the meaning flows beyond the full stop, deep into whence it came, back into itself, and the belly warms up.
Have achieved something, realised how capable I am to express some thoughts scattered amongst others and engineered a towering edifice of verbose virtue.
I have saved myself from the horror of not expressing myself; like water in a sealed bottle that sooner or later will become stale, it breeds germs of discontent, harvest nightmares to justify the tossing and the turning.
Possibility has nothing to do with the turning and the tossing; turning pages, tossing verse. Anything is possible, more so the unimaginable. Who would have thought, 10 billion years ago, that you and I should be here. Alas! we are, tossing charisma and turning tides.
Who would have dreamt, in some bohemian corner of the cosmos, such preposterous love affairs where boy and girl, man and woman, seek something deep, ambushed by infinity and endlessness, by eternity and death.
Someone did dream the dream, and as cicadas crack the night in an instant, so did we end in the here and now. Every step is the last, always, and the first; and we tango or drag ourselves through the mist of first and last steps. Drag, run, dance, sleep.
Someone did conjure such obsenities as waking with the first light of day and retiring with the last gasp of hope. Why bother with the Whys, why not forget to ask. In the end, the unimaginable will remain so, along with the answers to the unanswered Whys. That tide may not be turned, nor tossed or flung.
Someone chewed and mulled over the infinity of possibilities, and picked a few to brew such appetising moments as holding on to a breath that is no effort to engage, and no thought to recall. It simply was, came, became, and went; and others will come, as the dreamer dreamt it all.
Clever words carved out this slice of life from the living that consumed it, and shall let go of the pen, and turn the light out, and dream something of my own.
Some more music from the album
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