.. "I Don't Know Much, But I Know We Will Be, Happy As A 1950's TV Family... Except Times Infinity...."
Hi I'm CaRRaig.
Think Russell Brand
Multiply The Campness
Subtract The Arrogance,
The Beard And Some Of The Hair
Add More Black
A Pinch Of Faris Rotter
Subtract The Eyeliner
A Light Sprinkling of Steven Hawking
Multiply By The Gentle Sensibilities Of Jesse Lacey
Multiply The Crying
Subtract The Good Looks
Divide The Insecurities
Subtract All The Common Sense
And You're Somewhere In The Ballpark....
I'm Incredible, I'm Unbelievable,
(I Mean Like I'm A Liar, Not Like I'm Beautiful)
Must I Paint You A Picture?
Hi, my name is Craig. I'm a simple child, I love music and art, and the way words look when formed into cohesive sentences. I want to be a journalist but living in an area where 'Cat Stuck In Tree' is a front page headline, it's hard to get a break. I want to live in a big city with all the lights and the smoke and the beautiful pretty city girls who always seem much more alluring.I work in a record store, it's fun. I've got all the friends I need in the world right now. They treat me well, I drive them places. It's a great system. I smoke, and I drink, I eat meat because I like the taste, not because I'm comfortable with the moral implications. I have baggage, If people can't deal with that, that's not my problem. I'm not scared of anything, I'm scared of everything. Sometimes I make mistakes, for that I'm genuinely sorry. There are things in my past I wish I could change. I listen to lots of bands you probably won't like. I listen to lots of bands you'd probably call 'emo'. I don't care, while you're busy pigeonholing it, I'm listening to beautiful, life-changing music which makes me happy with who I am. I believe that everything is art, whether it be the world's most beautiful masterpiece, or a man smearing his own shit on a wall. No-one should be denied the right to express themselves. I've lost some good friends over the years through my own stupidity. Some things never change.
Mountain Ranges
Morning Red-Bathed Ridges,
Stab Up At The Trembling Blue Horizon,
Grey Slides Lazily Off Rooftops,
Lands On The Incandescent Ground And Dies.
A Flock Of Little Men Touch Down On The Thin Surface Of Porchlight,
Dawn's Footsoldiers Return To March The Twilight Across Our Faces,
Skylights Ignite And Explode,
Scattering Shards Of April Around The Room.
No-One Even Lives Here
We're Too Busy Crashing Our Cars Every Morning In The
Same House,
Paving The Same Roads,
Unwilling To Walk Them.
And Even When We Extend Ourselves,
Its Only To Be Included
In A Moment That Stands Still.
And So Often We Don't Struggle To Improve Conditions,
We Struggle For The Right To Say "We Improved Conditions"
And So Often We Form Communities
Only To Use Them As Exclusionary Devices,
And We Forget That Somewhere A Man Is Beside Himself With Grief,
And Somewhere People Are Calling For Teachers
And No-One's Answering,
Somewhere A Man Stands,
Walks Across The Room,
And Breaks His Nose Against The Door,
And Somewhere These People Are Keeping Records,
Writing A Book,
For Now We Can Call It
"The Book About The Basic Flaw"
Or
"The Book About The Letter A"
Or
"Any Title That A Book About A Man That No One Cares About Might Have"
And As We Turn The Pages
We Call Out The Sounds Of Nothing,
The Sounds Of A Vanishing Alphabet.
Standing Here, Waiting.....