GO>>>

HERE...

Here it is....

No, not a poem, but the start of an imaginative story. Written by yours truly, it is about a man (not very right in the head of course) and is set in the Victorian times around the 1850's (not written in old English language though).

I haven't yet completed it, I only started it today...

And there I was standing on logical grass believing in dust mites over my weak, bland body.

I choked and concentrated on my breathing. I live for weak competitors; it’s my home and food.

Starving to death, I reach out for the nearest substitute, oh not this, not this again! I lower my head in sadness. The bleak morning sunshine hit my fair face with all power.

The tans were sickening, oh bleak morning why be so cruel? I’m pallor and feeble and thirsty.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m nice. I need to be loved and digested properly in the right measurements. I feed myself, wait. I’m harbour of lies. I feed you ten, twenty maybe thirty a day.

I walked passed a man today, surely not much older than myself. He asked me how to get to Euston from here. Please don’t ask why I lied and lead him the opposite direction because I just don’t know. I feel very ill and I don’t look my best you know, I believe it to be acceptable for this case at hand.

The truth is I’m not meant to be here. I ran like a barbarian leaping for the kill. I’m dressed in the most comfortable fabrics, the only ones I could find. A yellowing shirt, blackened trousers. It doesn’t matter, I’m here now.

The passers-by stare towards my vacant expressions. They laugh but I don’t care, I am only human. I found this was the perfect time to ask myself questions about what I shall do. Are you now homeless? Yes, where are you going to stay? I haven’t the faintest idea.

I’m very much condemned to be impecunious for years to come.

I’m walking the streets of a harsh London area, on my way to nowhere. I hear the fracas around me, the music around me, a din, repetitious noise.

I take a glass bottle off the hard ground and gazed into it deeply.

:)

Heres the obsession;

Yep, Owen Brinley, you're in our hearts. You musical genius you.

Myspace it.

Facebook it.

Tweet it

x

Been a while..

I haven't posted a blog in quite a while now :/

But anyway heres a poem for the blog :))

Hologram, Lacking Air

I’m wondering why, why the feeling took so long to come.

Am I delusional? Do I mean to move on so fast?

My breath is expressing my thoughts and my actions are speaking to the past.

Are you okay with this? Am I meant to ask?

Have I decided whether this maybe a rebound or an adulation?
Only if I choose the first, I’m foreordained.

Let me choose the second, because I am at the beginning...

Of obsession, this is contemporary.

Granadilla trees are grown but I’m staying the same, as ever.

Right down to the core, I do not understand my new thoughts, like a new concept.

Abusively, people will greet me with little or no respect.

Must you be any different? But it makes me feel special.

Looking at your cast from across the room, with reassurance, I pluck the courage.

Are you making a decision for me? Because I feel as if I’m being controlled by you.

Cautiously I make sure I look charming, attractive. Not much to work on their then.

Killing the tension,

I walk in looking unquestionably fresh. Take a look for you.

No one will talk tonight, just me and you. As crazy as it seems,

Gradually you’re appealing to me more and more.

As I communicate,

I’m looking right after your intense eyes, because,

Right now, I hate to admit, I care for the past additionally.

ANDD....Grammatics- Time Capsules and The Greater Truth, MY FAVOURITE SONG AT THE MOMENT!

ANDD....Heres a new obsession for the blog:

Much Love :) x

Another poem for la Blog...

White/Transgression/Elongated

Would it glide so saliently and kill so elusively?

Would it make fluids boil so histrionically?

As voiceless as an resplendent constellation,

Ripping into a gargantuan cloud.

And spilling the redundant water onto us kids.

A place unto itself, a useless gimcrack.

An astronomical but tedious stretch.

No gusto, no passion.

No heart, no eyes.

Just a barbarian suffering in this world.

With vim, we’ll rush to gold, no rushing.

Avec vim, nous précipiter pour l'argent, se précipiter.

That’s silver.

Että te.

And hears one of my photographs....

New poems, new pictures...

Here is, as usually promised, yet another poem from myself...

Librettos and Chords

I’m slowly shifting,

Like a never ending phantasmagoria.

Lost in the motion picture and

Desperately striving on the chords of colour.

I wish to aşeza my lungs searing, with vital fluid.

I’m apprehending the drums articulating loudly.

What’s with the libretto?

Can anyone else appreciate the ambience of the melody?

God, now I’m full from emptiness.

I’m refreshed and desolate.

Die like failure, waste like smoke coughs.

Like cinematography. A motion picture.

I’m writing on...wait, that’s not right.

Why is my baritone so feeble and muted?

It’s part of the song.

Don’t mess it up, I’m going out of tune

Out of line.

Tell me what to eat, whether it is an intonation or an accusation.

I’m in the theme,

The theme is sheath.

The choral is twenty-four carat genius.

Here is a picture drawn by myself of a beautiful Jack Barnett of These New Puritans:

FOR MORE:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/48224672@N04/

All the best x

Oh dear,

Why?

Why?

Why?

I have just remembered the song 'Please Operator' By Garth Brooks (who I dislike deeply) God knows why. I remember hearing this song about 2 years ago when being an Operator Please fan (some Australian band for nut-cases) searching for some songs by the band and seeing a song called 'Please Operator', I got confused, I thought I'd check it out and its some shit by Garth Brooks who happens to be a great lookalike for some sort of gay cowboy. I'll tag him anyway to remind me of the good old days, but don't check him out :/

P.s. Of course I've never heard the full song just about 10 seconds of the beginning made me (and the dear old sister) laugh hysterically. Thats good enough for me :)

x

Todays language: Russian,

Это на улице холодно, и я тепло в метель, теряется в глубине.

...

Well I haven't written a blog for ages, so yes here we go...

I'm posting another poem from myself.

Blue Tales

The worried expressions were even heard from the next boat across the Mediterranean and dodgy deals were being made.

Tropical telephone calls were made and the light had disappeared from our empty hearts, our empty hearts are filled with frog’s juice and passion. Makes them less empty, I know.

Choking on your memories, choking on your deeds.

F-f-f-f-follow, your lost inklings for jets and

Rays.

Purse the mouth of your face and tighten the suffocation.

Forty metres deep in a heavenly tasting stream of ocean blue.

Lost to my colours of white cigar scent and flavoured disturbances.

Sixty metres deep, closer to death. How far can this stretch?

Before I lose my oxygen and the wind of the

Black and blue faced creatures calling me invitingly.

I squeal and squirm for air holding back my fear.

Goodbye cruel, unforgiving world.

x