Beauty and beautiful are such powerful words.
They're more than just a nice face.
Or a nice pair of tits.
Let me tell you about Tommy Cooper.
Tommy was in the entertainment business, ask your grandad. He'll remember him.
Tommy used a mix of magic and comedy which was seamless.
Wether a joke bombed or a stunt failed tommy just laughed along.
On the 15th of April, 1984 tommy gave a show at the london theatre.
And at the end of the show, in a grand finale tommy dropped to the ground.
The curtains closed and the audience laughed. Then filed out the door.
Little known to them they'd just witnessed tommy's death.
He'd given his all 'til he had nothing left.
And at this time not a tear was shed.
The audience laughed and clapped.
Now answer me this, is there anything more fucking beautiful than that?!
28.8.09
i aint gonna take it no more
I aint gonna take it no more
I aint gonna stand idly by
While the bridal reply
To a marraige of styles is
Yeah! But what's their demographic?
I aint gonna take it no more
I aint gonna stand idly by
With an internal sigh
While inside we all cry
Out! For something new
I aint gonna take it no more.
Souless music, artless lyrics.
Goaless music, heartless gimmicks.
Controlled and clueless, careers last in a minute.
If this is the big life I aint looking to live it.
We don't want to expand the scene we want the scene tp errupt!
So fill the halls, bar the doors!
Cause tonight we aint seeking applause.
Tonight,
Well,
Tonight.
We just wanna have some good ol' fashion ya'll.
I aint gonna stand idly by
While the bridal reply
To a marraige of styles is
Yeah! But what's their demographic?
I aint gonna take it no more
I aint gonna stand idly by
With an internal sigh
While inside we all cry
Out! For something new
I aint gonna take it no more.
Souless music, artless lyrics.
Goaless music, heartless gimmicks.
Controlled and clueless, careers last in a minute.
If this is the big life I aint looking to live it.
We don't want to expand the scene we want the scene tp errupt!
So fill the halls, bar the doors!
Cause tonight we aint seeking applause.
Tonight,
Well,
Tonight.
We just wanna have some good ol' fashion ya'll.
16.8.09
i honestly can't thank you enough...
For getting out of my life.
I only just realized how much I was missing.
Like a blind man feels the warmth of the sun.
I have appreciated the sun rise for the first time.
I only just realized how much I was missing.
Like a blind man feels the warmth of the sun.
I have appreciated the sun rise for the first time.
9.8.09
Up In Smoke: Introduction
Good afternoon chlidren.
I have a confession to make, my not-secret dirty little hobby.
I love cigars. They are my passion and my business.
I can honestly say that there is nothing I enjoy more in life right now than sitting down, lighting up a quality stogie and just watching my troubles drift away with the smoke.
So with this revelation in mind I intend to start a new list of blog posts, a sort of juxtaposition to my usual bitching and poetic exploration. Cigar reviews for the masses.
In my business I read a lot of reviews on different cigar and the reviewers will wax lyrical about smoking flavour, leather, ash, spice and draw. All things that matter to the afficionado but not so much to the average punter. I'm going to try and keep these reviews as readable as possible.
As well as this I find certain cigars for me, the experience and enjoyment, is directly related to the situation I find myself in whilst smoking. So these will not be impartial. I will try and make the links to what's happening and how it's affecting the cigar for me but really these will be personal reviews.
I hope to make them as enjoyable for you to read as possible. If you've been enjoying my blogs so far don't fear, the same style will continue.
And for convenience purposes all reviews will be titled "Up In Smoke".
First review will be up in the next couple of days so keep checking back regularly!
I have a confession to make, my not-secret dirty little hobby.
I love cigars. They are my passion and my business.
I can honestly say that there is nothing I enjoy more in life right now than sitting down, lighting up a quality stogie and just watching my troubles drift away with the smoke.
So with this revelation in mind I intend to start a new list of blog posts, a sort of juxtaposition to my usual bitching and poetic exploration. Cigar reviews for the masses.
In my business I read a lot of reviews on different cigar and the reviewers will wax lyrical about smoking flavour, leather, ash, spice and draw. All things that matter to the afficionado but not so much to the average punter. I'm going to try and keep these reviews as readable as possible.
As well as this I find certain cigars for me, the experience and enjoyment, is directly related to the situation I find myself in whilst smoking. So these will not be impartial. I will try and make the links to what's happening and how it's affecting the cigar for me but really these will be personal reviews.
I hope to make them as enjoyable for you to read as possible. If you've been enjoying my blogs so far don't fear, the same style will continue.
And for convenience purposes all reviews will be titled "Up In Smoke".
First review will be up in the next couple of days so keep checking back regularly!
7.8.09
This is where i get angry...and honest.
I hate my mother. You hear lots of kids say that, most of them are just being teenagers. Some of them have it right.
I fucking hate my mother. She who bore me, but didn't raise me. Her blood runs in my veins and let me tell you; if I could slash my wrists and drain her blood out I would in a second.
Three yearsa of her fucking alcoholic abuse. Her screaming, being so drunk she can't remember what was happening ten minutes ago.
So drunk she doesn't know who I am any more.
Walking home from school was a mission, knowing thirty percent of the time she'd be passed out on the floor somewhere.
And all those emotions fired together became just that one - burning hatred.
I remember a night coming in to the house at ten at night and she's on the floor in my sisters room.
"Mum, where's charlotte?"
"Oh, she's just gone for a walk"
"What? Why? It's ten at night!"
"No silly boy, she's gone to the shops to get her lunch"
She'd been so drunk she didn't know what day it was, had rambled shit at my twelve year old sister til she couldn't deal with it any more, had fled the house.
You want to know what I did? I took her credit card. Ran up a $400 bill for her. She's angry at me.
In her own words ' I don't know what I didn't to deserve such anger from you. I was always a good mother".
That four hundred is pay back for the three years of abuse bitch!
She is dead to me.
I fucking hate my mother. She who bore me, but didn't raise me. Her blood runs in my veins and let me tell you; if I could slash my wrists and drain her blood out I would in a second.
Three yearsa of her fucking alcoholic abuse. Her screaming, being so drunk she can't remember what was happening ten minutes ago.
So drunk she doesn't know who I am any more.
Walking home from school was a mission, knowing thirty percent of the time she'd be passed out on the floor somewhere.
And all those emotions fired together became just that one - burning hatred.
I remember a night coming in to the house at ten at night and she's on the floor in my sisters room.
"Mum, where's charlotte?"
"Oh, she's just gone for a walk"
"What? Why? It's ten at night!"
"No silly boy, she's gone to the shops to get her lunch"
She'd been so drunk she didn't know what day it was, had rambled shit at my twelve year old sister til she couldn't deal with it any more, had fled the house.
You want to know what I did? I took her credit card. Ran up a $400 bill for her. She's angry at me.
In her own words ' I don't know what I didn't to deserve such anger from you. I was always a good mother".
That four hundred is pay back for the three years of abuse bitch!
She is dead to me.
26.7.09
Blue Light Congregation
heads bowed, stamping feet to hectic beats.
Hands out stretched in Ecstasy, raised voices and flaming passion.
Sunday morning congregation, here's the real meaning of religion.
The DJ leads the morning mass, choirs of sub-bass angels screaming their four hundred decibel message to the masses.
Holy icons hanging from hands, clutched to chests to further the experience.
Round, like communion wafers, bubbling on tongues. Dissolving, Drop at the drop.
Multicoloured wine, blood of the saviour. Fruit flavours and sweet nectar.
Welcome to the Rise. My church.
The lights flash and whirl, green and gold and sharp stark white and I see three hundred people all crammed together. Their hands are raised, their throats are hoarse from screaming their approval. The DJ throws his head back in laughter, chest inflated as his hand punches the air in time with the beat. He can see the crowd like one moving organic mass, responding to his every command. Suddenly the sound drops down, the leaping whirling stops and heavenly choirs fill the air, slowly the mass begins to sway in time to the music.
Then THUMP
The bass drops in again and the madness starts a fresh.
I feel so at home in this place, I love every person who passes through these doors. Are they having a good night? I hope so, my friends deserve that much this Sunday morning. Big smiles and laughing comments, we are like the Shepperd's guiding our wayward flock.
With the bass thumping in my chest, the choir filling my head and a drink in my hand I am at my happiest here, in this place.
;-)
Hands out stretched in Ecstasy, raised voices and flaming passion.
Sunday morning congregation, here's the real meaning of religion.
The DJ leads the morning mass, choirs of sub-bass angels screaming their four hundred decibel message to the masses.
Holy icons hanging from hands, clutched to chests to further the experience.
Round, like communion wafers, bubbling on tongues. Dissolving, Drop at the drop.
Multicoloured wine, blood of the saviour. Fruit flavours and sweet nectar.
Welcome to the Rise. My church.
The lights flash and whirl, green and gold and sharp stark white and I see three hundred people all crammed together. Their hands are raised, their throats are hoarse from screaming their approval. The DJ throws his head back in laughter, chest inflated as his hand punches the air in time with the beat. He can see the crowd like one moving organic mass, responding to his every command. Suddenly the sound drops down, the leaping whirling stops and heavenly choirs fill the air, slowly the mass begins to sway in time to the music.
Then THUMP
The bass drops in again and the madness starts a fresh.
I feel so at home in this place, I love every person who passes through these doors. Are they having a good night? I hope so, my friends deserve that much this Sunday morning. Big smiles and laughing comments, we are like the Shepperd's guiding our wayward flock.
With the bass thumping in my chest, the choir filling my head and a drink in my hand I am at my happiest here, in this place.
;-)
23.7.09
new
Lips, sugar coated by your sweet sentiments,
my whole being yearns to taste them.
My morsel still taunts me so, dancing her way just past the tips of my fingers and I cannot reach her yet.
This is the challenge, this is the chase and the hunt.
I will succeed.
I will have her.
my whole being yearns to taste them.
My morsel still taunts me so, dancing her way just past the tips of my fingers and I cannot reach her yet.
This is the challenge, this is the chase and the hunt.
I will succeed.
I will have her.
21.7.09
A lack of funds.
This has got to be my biggest bane in life. A luck of simple numbers. If I could juggle the numbers so many of my problems would skip, skip, trip away.
I'd manage this social anchor of a phone so the wolves would stop howling at me over "payments outstanding". This strip of plastic burning holes in my designer jeans, I could put it away in a drawer and leave it there to stagnate in a pool of interest.
It's not even a lack of funds per se, more a failure on the part of others to be managed. I could juggle these numbers, move them from one hiding hole to the next and constantly be in pocket and ahead of the pack.
If only they would let me.
It's times like these that I think "fuck it". I'll run the banks for all they're worth, mortgages to the hilt and a loan big enough to buy the state of Nebraska.
Then I'll max out my credit card on a brand new fuckin' beast of a Harley, jump on, hit the kick start and with my entire savings in my back pocket and a cigar in my teeth hit the west coast highway and run those fuckers ragged chasing the debt that's their problem now, not mine.
God fucking damn, I'd kill someone to have a motorbike again.
I'd manage this social anchor of a phone so the wolves would stop howling at me over "payments outstanding". This strip of plastic burning holes in my designer jeans, I could put it away in a drawer and leave it there to stagnate in a pool of interest.
It's not even a lack of funds per se, more a failure on the part of others to be managed. I could juggle these numbers, move them from one hiding hole to the next and constantly be in pocket and ahead of the pack.
If only they would let me.
It's times like these that I think "fuck it". I'll run the banks for all they're worth, mortgages to the hilt and a loan big enough to buy the state of Nebraska.
Then I'll max out my credit card on a brand new fuckin' beast of a Harley, jump on, hit the kick start and with my entire savings in my back pocket and a cigar in my teeth hit the west coast highway and run those fuckers ragged chasing the debt that's their problem now, not mine.
God fucking damn, I'd kill someone to have a motorbike again.
20.7.09
Your knife is useless baby, when you're missing the point.
Shrill laughter, flashing feet.
Colours, square and garish, whipping past.
Jingled bells down darkened alleys.
Fun, fleeting,
lurid and Lured.
Oh Harlequin, taunt me so.
Light beams through smoke screens,
solid substance, without touch.
It's all smoke and mirrors baby.
How I treasure these rapid changes of tune. Life player on shuffle and the volume turned up full blast. Like a change of taste this is but a fast, fleeting infatuation. New sounds couple new excitements. Old favourites draw dust on forgotten shelves whilst I wear you down with constant replays.
But hey, new song brings new smiles.
Colours, square and garish, whipping past.
Jingled bells down darkened alleys.
Fun, fleeting,
lurid and Lured.
Oh Harlequin, taunt me so.
Light beams through smoke screens,
solid substance, without touch.
It's all smoke and mirrors baby.
How I treasure these rapid changes of tune. Life player on shuffle and the volume turned up full blast. Like a change of taste this is but a fast, fleeting infatuation. New sounds couple new excitements. Old favourites draw dust on forgotten shelves whilst I wear you down with constant replays.
But hey, new song brings new smiles.
18.7.09
an unhealthy addiction
Drama shots in to the vein of life.
Electric hot to remind you that you're still alive.
Anger makes your heart beat hard-
and heart beats are the base of life.
Same reason why we fuck we fight.
Harsh words and harsh breaths, I'm not shortening my life span.
I'm just living more now than later.
Has it been long enough? The silence and the stillness?
Has the lack of movement let the vulture eyes wander from this,
My dramatic, verbally bloated metaphorical corpse.
The hands chase each other around the face,
Across the darkness as in, when hands chased each other along your skin.
But as the revolutions roll past,
The tiny hand beating with the pulse beneath it,
The finger tips forget the feel, the eyes forget the sight.
Memory clouds and I'm left wondering what you really look like.
I'm angered by some around me now-
Their lies are so clear you could sell them as window panes.
Its not the lying so much that makes me angry, more the fact that they aren't good at it.
It's a lack of respect I guess.
If you're going to take me, make the ride a good one.
Guess I'll have to chase, to get whats mine.
I find myself preparing now as for a surgery,
white rooms and fasting. Avoid the things that put me here.
I've got my special plans for when I come out.
A change of diet, my own particular appetite was hurting me.
I'll keep consuming, but in the future only the more healthy morsels.
And oh me oh my I feel I've found one.
This is just a catch up, a taste of what I'm doing now.
But just to brag, let's say I might be able to make myself happy soon.
And oh, from the most unlikely source.
;-)
Electric hot to remind you that you're still alive.
Anger makes your heart beat hard-
and heart beats are the base of life.
Same reason why we fuck we fight.
Harsh words and harsh breaths, I'm not shortening my life span.
I'm just living more now than later.
Has it been long enough? The silence and the stillness?
Has the lack of movement let the vulture eyes wander from this,
My dramatic, verbally bloated metaphorical corpse.
The hands chase each other around the face,
Across the darkness as in, when hands chased each other along your skin.
But as the revolutions roll past,
The tiny hand beating with the pulse beneath it,
The finger tips forget the feel, the eyes forget the sight.
Memory clouds and I'm left wondering what you really look like.
I'm angered by some around me now-
Their lies are so clear you could sell them as window panes.
Its not the lying so much that makes me angry, more the fact that they aren't good at it.
It's a lack of respect I guess.
If you're going to take me, make the ride a good one.
Guess I'll have to chase, to get whats mine.
I find myself preparing now as for a surgery,
white rooms and fasting. Avoid the things that put me here.
I've got my special plans for when I come out.
A change of diet, my own particular appetite was hurting me.
I'll keep consuming, but in the future only the more healthy morsels.
And oh me oh my I feel I've found one.
This is just a catch up, a taste of what I'm doing now.
But just to brag, let's say I might be able to make myself happy soon.
And oh, from the most unlikely source.
;-)
8.7.09
Need
It's there when you need it,
poets skin blisters on cracked fingers,
ink bubbles, pop and splash,
evaporate hot on white pages
Teeth bared, lips pulled,
revealing bleeding gums
quills snapped, pens cracked,
and still it's pouring forth.
razor curls,
fast loops and slow strokes,
bleed black,
and what an emotive passage.
Written notes to self,
reminding of the times past.
pink on white and how these words are raised.
Let's not read it again, ok?
poets skin blisters on cracked fingers,
ink bubbles, pop and splash,
evaporate hot on white pages
Teeth bared, lips pulled,
revealing bleeding gums
quills snapped, pens cracked,
and still it's pouring forth.
razor curls,
fast loops and slow strokes,
bleed black,
and what an emotive passage.
Written notes to self,
reminding of the times past.
pink on white and how these words are raised.
Let's not read it again, ok?
3.7.09
unchained
Little bird, sitting on the window sill.
You came down to please me with your beautiful song,
your eyes see right through me little bird.
I kept you here with little things,
sweet words and warm hands.
Softly whispered promises that everything was going to be alright.
But I see your eyes looking out now.
Fly away little bird.
There's other prisoners to delight with your pretty sounds.
Fly away little bird.
I'll still smile when I hear you singing from the trees.
Smile to know you're happy out there.
We can pause for now little bird.
You can't experience the trees from my window sill.
I'll still be here, when you want to play again.
XX
You came down to please me with your beautiful song,
your eyes see right through me little bird.
I kept you here with little things,
sweet words and warm hands.
Softly whispered promises that everything was going to be alright.
But I see your eyes looking out now.
Fly away little bird.
There's other prisoners to delight with your pretty sounds.
Fly away little bird.
I'll still smile when I hear you singing from the trees.
Smile to know you're happy out there.
We can pause for now little bird.
You can't experience the trees from my window sill.
I'll still be here, when you want to play again.
XX
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