Day 5ive …. Rock Pool

Looks all quiet doesn’t it? 

Just because the Sun has not been out of bed for long doesn’t mean that the contents of this rock pool are still dozing, far from it.

The small stones on the bottom of the pool layer like potato slices in a dauphinoise dish, they have been there or near abouts for tens & hundreds of millions of years, nearby rock eruptions display fractures from heat by metamorphic forces and tectonic eruption. 

Black and Red anemone cling to the pool facets, tiny barnacles scar the rock surface and the on-guard limpits gingerly move about, hardy little buggers that they are, any attempts at trying to move them instigate superglue like tendencies. However, Mr Wrasse and his relative with their parrot like mouths have other ideas and are partial to these dromedary like sea humps. 

Nature abounds no rules, it’s eat or be eaten, and somewhere tucked deep down in a corner nearer the base of the pool seeking refuge is a tiny Crab, he is of belief that he will grow up to be the biggest predator in this environment. Nevertheless in a few years time he will be ready for mating. I know he saw me staring at him and he quickly backed away, but I am already drawing up plans …. 

I am going to arrange a date for him with my saucepan, after all, have you seen the price of fresh Crab these days? 

Mind you, I doubt in five years time that il be able to clamber over these rocks like I once used to as a nimble child with my bucket and trusty net.

Day 4our … Animal, Vegetable & Mineral

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(Dry day today, so I nicked something, be back tomorrow)

I am the very model of a modern Major-General,

I’ve information vegetable, animal, and mineral,

I know the kings of England, and I quote the fights historical

From Marathon to Waterloo, in order categorical;

I’m very well acquainted, too, with matters mathematical,

I understand equations, both the simple and quadratical,

About binomial theorem I’m teeming with a lot o’ news, 

With many cheerful facts about the square of the hypotenuse.

I’m very good at integral and differential calculus;

I know the scientific names of beings animalculous:

In short, in matters vegetable, animal, and mineral,

I am the very model of a modern Major-General.

Taken from The Pirates of Penzance by Gilbert & Sullivan 1879.

Halfway Between Barking Mad & Total Genius

mad-writer

August 25th 2016

Some of history’s most prolific writers and composers of our time have either been genius, plain barking mad or somewhere in-between and that includes either being addicted to alcohol or some other form of drug or chemical.

Many of the great Musical Classicists were profoundly deaf, many were so high as a kite or out of their own tree that it still amazes me that they were even able to hold their own instrument or quills, let alone strike an ivory or able to even sit at their own piano or desk.

I always was, and still to this day consider myself more of a Beatles Babe than a Californian Beach Boy, I considered the latters music totally monotonous, (Good Vibrations did my head in) and to that comment I must add, music is of a personal agenda, no two people ever share the same playlist, or even come to that, ever dance at the same frequency in time or in tune.

We all knew the Beatles and the Rolling Stones and the such big progressive grpous were into drugs. To add an insult to an injury and icing to top it off, only yesterday did I learn that the Beach Boys in their heyday were constantly tripping whilst writing all of their famous Summer hits, guess that figures as they were the tail end of the Woodstock era which psychedelically traversed itself through the flower power and hippy movement. LSD and its associated trips were still readily available about ten years or so ago and as far as I am aware have no doubt they are still being torn into micro strips to this day.

Perhaps I shouldnt admit to this, but of the twice time, that I popped a tiny cardboard square, I’m sure I met the devil, or his advocate on both occasions and after what seemed like an eternity fighting with him I eventually returned back to square one again, believe me, that is not a pun.

A friend suggested I get out and have some fun clubbing at one of our regular haunts, I was quite into the scene then, but, that’s another story available only for my adult viewers and then only on request. “Go on, you will be fine” he said. So, eventually, I reluctantly swallowed one of these happy perforated items, I should have guessed that the many repeated instruction of  “if I started to feel ill I was to sit down and try to relax and think of nice things’ was definitely a bad omen ….

If you have ever seen the Mrs Browns Boys episode where Agnes takes some *headache* pills, then you may see the funny side of things …. there were hundreds and hundreds of flying orbs and sparkling lines jetting about in front of me, I was coping quite well and enjoying the environment around  …. until another friend spotted me across the sweaty dance club floor. Suddenly I knew it was all going to end up a disaster, I can hear his words still to this day …. “sorry to hear your Mum died” (two weeks previous) as he hugged me tight and cried into my ear ……. It was all down hill from there on ….. and when I say downhill I mean DOWNHILL.

I will never forget that horrid experience, ever.

Making a point, although you may think some of my ‘passages of time’ may seem a little strange, believe me, its got nothing to do with any form of drug, its only myself trying to put lost times into an order, hopefully It will finally fall into a particular one.

Now that I have had some time to think about it. In what location would I consider placing my own self in the spectrum of between barking mad or genius I ask?

To be honest, lt all depends on what position the moon was in last night and what time I woke up this morning!

Hope that has clarified a few things for you.

 

Black Opium

Two days of absolute crap, continual costing and share deadlines and presentations were beginning to make my life unbearable.  My girlfriend was constantly nagging about the lack of attention I paid to her, but then again she has never been happy, I dont think she knows the true meaning of. Her radiance that attracted me has gone dull, the rewards of my extra income are now too familiar to her. Perks like the handbags with labels on and the free-flowing Champagne at the ‘every day parties’ she gets invited to, still wont bring back the once look of contented, now she has a look on her sallow wizened fizhog, not unlike a wilting salad with a past its sell by date.

She never stops, the repetitious moaning, the bad scratch created is now getting too much for me to bear. Either way I am going to snap or her bloody neck will. Breaking the news to her that I wanted this evening to myself was going to be a tricky one. Even worse, tomorrow was her birthday, and that alone in itself presented an even greater problem, what on earth do you give the bitch from hell as a gift when she already has everything?

One solitary glass and a bottle of Bollinger was to be my comforter, this was the perfect hour, apart from the jealous persistence of the phone ringing and the answer machine kicking in, over and over, and over yet again …. ‘Oh why on earth, dont, you, just, fuck off !’

……. Teetering between consciousness and infinity, my tortured mind attempts to pick up some strands of a life once lived or dared to have wished for   ……………I am led, pushed and dragged along by at least two people, my wrists are tied tightly behind my back, my blindfold is loose and I can make images. I stumble on uneven cobbles, my feet are bare, now ripped and sore, there are lots of people around me, jeering, and screaming obscenities. I can smell the dirt and filth of human waste which is underfoot.

‘What have I done to deserve this treatment? This cannot be happening, it must be a dream, but, it’s definitely not mine surely, wake me up someone …….. please PLEASE!’

I am near the river’s edge, the rancid smell of the exposed shore line as the tide has ebbed, its ozone permeates deep into my nostrils and the constant hammerings of nail into wood resonate in my head, men shouting and chanting as they unload the cargo off of the trader ships moored alongside after navigating the dirty river, ‘is it the Thames?’

Boats from foreign shores full of spices, silks and any contraband worth its weight in gold are bought ashore, this has to be the dock areas, Limehouse!  The language that surrounds me is sharp and fast, Chinatown, Chinatown? ….. What is this I am experiencing?

Raucous shouting, laughter and singing comes from the ale houses, these tiny rooms in slum terraced houses are close to the unloading bays, horny sailors cavorting with sluttish whores, any tricks in the books are available, and the disease that transfers itself between these copulating couples is rife, the sweet smell of cannabis is abundant, horses pull carriages with wealthy gentlemen in suits and top hats looking for immorality with easy men with underground tendencies, constantly parading the streets with the sullied mantra “I can resist everything except temptation, it’s all here … and its right in front of me’ whilst looking for their prey.

Suddenly we stop, three loud thumps as the metal knocker strikes the fixed metal plate. The sounds of the hollowness on the wooden door are in unison as a strong arm punches his fist between my shoulder blades, now falling forward over the steps and up onto a wooden floor, eventually I gather my own balance. I feel my way down at least ten wooden narrow treads, the walls are close, the place feels slimy and damp although a strange warmth emanates. Hushed whispers abound,  the bandage that is my blindfold is removed, the light stings, albeit subdued.

I make out a large room, red opulent drapes hang from the ceiling tied to the sides by long black feathered tassels. Candles upon tall wrought iron stands are in each corner, these four sources of light give an ambience of debauchery, ornately engraved brass and silver lamp holders containing opium spew heat upwards, already my head is starting to spin in this hedonistic hell. Two large elderly bosomed ladies of the night stand in front of me, their hair badly piled high, poor attempts at ruche’d bustles followed behind their once trim, now fat girdled waists, provocatively, through rotting smiles they beckon me forward, they turn me around and push me down onto my knees ….. They laugh.

The incense smoke which hangs low magics a vision, slowly through the haze of the sweet smell a person appears. The Emperor emerges from the clearing, he sits firmly in his golden state throne. Three carved dragons are either side of his head, they twist and gyrate and breathe fire, through darkened slits he observes, his eyes are like red-hot coals, swiftly burning deep into my persona. His arms sit uneasy at his side, dirt encrusted curled nails protrude from long spindly boney porcelain fingers which firmed white from clenching the chair ball ends.

His thin black mandarin style moustache tail ends drip continuously with sweat and saliva, it marks a stain on his emerald-green silk coat.  A gold trimmed hat matches the black velvet collar which stands high toward his chin-line hiding the scars of hungry worshippers and blunt needles, the silence is terrifying, but at the same time almost deafening….. maxresdefaultFemale attendants in black silk suits stand guard either side of him, my eyes catch one of them, direct we exchange a glance, I think .. I know this person! ….

……  My heart pounds out of control as I pull myself out of the bed, ‘phew, thank goodness that’s over’ I mutter.  I compose my shaken self, and after making a mug of tea before settling back to sleep. I start to think  …. ‘that person I thought I recognised, when, where, why, what & who on earth was she?’ …….

I spent the remainder of the night staring at the ceiling and contemplating all kinds of rubbish, I raise myself out of the pit. Checking the digital clock on top of the stand I notice I am way late for work, almost tripping out of my flat as I dress and getting my shit together I have the sudden urge to look around. Everything was not what it seemed, nothing was in order, infact the whole place looked like a party of a grand scale had been staged.

Work was being a complete and utter bastard, I unleashed my imaginary shackles from the desk and pushed myself away from the electronic abacus, swiftly grabbed a coffee and fled down to the shopping arcade under the banking-house. So many outlets to choose, I was in turmoil, almost by magic I was drawn toward the Perfumery, like an exhausted fish,  hooked and was reeled in, I didn’t fight. Inside was like a minefield, I had no idea what scent my girlfriend liked, she had far too many bottle of the shit, and whatever I actually purchased would probably clash with her own natural bacterial odour. I was on a hiding to nothing, I was doomed,

Like a candy shop I could concentrate, spinning like some thing out of control. I hadn’t looked up, the perfumer asked in a most beautiful voice “Perhaps I may be of assistance, are you interested in this?’

A Black box with a black bottle inside, “smell” she says.”and again”

I looked up at her, our eyes met, suddenly it was de-javu, smiling with a knowing look she pressed a card into my hand, it read:- The Basement Club, Narrow Street, Limehouse, London E14.

 

Day 3hree …. The Bird’s Nest Fern

DSCF1015.jpgThis Birds Nest Fern should really be growing high up in a tree, or so I read from my Wikipedia site and I tend to believe the information quite seriously. My rock garden follows my steps down to the road, situated on a gravel bed with boulders and falls a gradient of approximately forty degrees. The site faces North and only receives the late summers evening sun and the water from the down pipe off of the roof.

I’ve been watching this plant grow steadily and have had no desire to remove or destroy. Why should I? After all, this is another of natures miracles. Located between two huge boulders, it has tunneled a way out from the damp and darkness seeking a light source. If I wasnt so sure as to its actual species, I would of considered it not too dissimilar to a long leaved iceberg lettuce or even a seaweed plant.

The latter which has clambered up the cliff face in desperation to seek a sex partner, to mutate as seaweed does, often, on a regular basis …   Allegedly, Scientists, whilst looking through a microscope describe it as “a bit like a nightclub scene” <grins> I bet you didn’t know that? … (I certainly didn’t)

Reads more like an abandoned paragraph from ‘Alice in Wonderland’  I wonder if Charles Dodgson had considered that?

 

 

Day 2wo …… One Step in Time

DSCF1016.jpgI am not a rampant weed or a flower without a head, I’m small and green with much envy, every gardeners dread.

I climb walls and steps and sometimes hang upside down, for I am quite the dare.

I sit and stare at who often comes to visit and sometimes I think “who goes there?” And when I’m very happy I procreate with other weeds, and then once our baby seedlings are strong they too can spread their wings.

In fact some other weeds could say “he doesn’t really care” But that couldn’t be further from the truth, for me, I like the finer things in life and that includes grassy roots.

Now I’ve been growing on these steps for far longer than I care to tell, I’ve seen children walk up them and as they have gotten old, being carried back down as well.

Just recently, well perhaps about ten years or so ago. What started off with fast agile feet and two jumps at a time, now ascend one step quite slowly on aged heels with soles that feel on fire. So holding onto the rail going down is important and chance of tripping is now a no desire.

Well, certainly not LSD my dear, those days are now long long gone, but often souvenirs of dancing get in my head and I try to get back into step, so slow-slow-slow down it is, and the ‘quick’ well, that has steadily gone and now not a chance of getting in a strictly final and hugging the glitter ball, it’s now just memories of Tess and the munchkin both watching Pascha and his tiny little feet instead.

Many dog paw’s once trundled back and forth across these slabs and cold snouts sniffed deep into my many crevice looking for bugs and spitting them out, and although it’s nice to have clean steps, strong bleach now really isn’t pleasant.

Please keep it green, and not obscene, and growing tidily and neat in the corners, but surely not pesticide all over my edges.  For life on these steps these days are pledged with sunshine and laughter with just a few select friends and my so beautiful daughter.  

And now that we have become un-hurried and preparing for the hereafter, don’t spoil it by running, sit down on the cushions, warm your bum and take in the view. Raise a glass, say “cheers” and be part of life and its relaxed cycle, after all this modern day living is far too fast, be sedate like these old steps and share secrets and memories and the many adventures of our past.

Day 0ne ….. Where the Wild Roses Grow

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This is where the Wild Rose grows, she hangs precariously over a dilapidated rotting wooden fence, and desperately reaches toward the sun and follows its path of light.  Nature steadily inhales carbon dioxide from the atmosphere through her pores, the beautiful petals and the stamen. The leaves and stem yearn for its energy and even as far down to the roots in the form of photosynthesis. This marvel of nature gives her such strength and beauty which in turn gives us more oxygen for us to breathe.  A sadness hangs alongside these blooms that give a tainted perfume and make the world look bright, fruit brambles try to strangle the growth of this wonderful creation, and the ever rampant Honeysuckle attempts to squeeze every ounce of energy out of her it can.  She never gives up, no matter how hard life is for her, she still appears each Summer, spreading her ever lustful tendrils and radiates her cerise blooms with pride like a Tafeta bustle on a Victorian dress. I admire, and tell her to enjoy the miracle that is the sunshine whilst you can, although summer is not finished yet, try to hold on tightly to your elegance as it gently fades, just like we fade with age too. Unlike us, you will be beautiful again, and that wont be long as this named season will soon return.

~~~~ O ~~~~

‘On the last day I took her where the wild roses grow, the wind was as light as a thief               I kissed her goodbye, I said, “All beauty must die”

Exracted from “Where the Wild Roses Grow”  ….  Nick Cave 1996.