Colours fly with speeding change
Across eternal winter rage
Fill my senses drown my world
Vicious winds around me whirl
Can you help me can you see
There is no endless you and me
Once there was a man
Who sat and cried
And cast away his pain
And all around him set in awe
The biting acid rain
Colours fly with endless motion
If every man could swim the ocean
If all the money in the world
Could buy the boy the sweetest girl
Then I’d be yours and you’d be mine
But do you really have the time?
One there was a thought
That didn’t die
Once there was sound an endless cry
Once I was poor until it ended
Filled my world that I defended
And here I lay a bloody sodden wretch
Without the heart and soul that made me rich.
I’ve not managed to do any writing for a while but I’m not sure why. I’m thinking it could be one of two things; either my fear of writing something turgid and banal or becoming too involved in the process that time dissolves and I have to break off at some point and come back down to the real world!
It’s the same with a few other things I ‘do’ like music: I love to compose my songs and time flies when I practice (and no I’m avoiding picking up my guitar too I’m afraid.
Once more the days grow shorter, the sun looses it’s strength and the season of ‘good will’ creeps towards us like a grinning fool full of mirth and promise. I’ve not had the best of years and some of the negative things have left me feeling less than inspired so I can blame that for some of my ‘block’ but I will have to take the plunge at some point. What do you think?
With a voice like ice on fire, melted to the virtual skin of a blood soaked threat
With a wit to sear the tone of deliverance and chill the bones of men
With a pain that breaks the heart and fills my eyes with tears
With a love that never wants what you just can’t have
What do you think of yourself? Are you comfortable in your own skin? When you look at yourself in the mirror (presuming you can and many people can’t) who do you see? I can look, in fact in order to shave without creating a scene from a Stephen King book in the bathroom it’s essential, but I always see something or somebody different. It’s not a psychic thing, I’m not seeing faces of ghosts and I’m not getting confused with the window (which can be embarrassing especially if naked and is likely to either get me arrested or remind my neighbours that we haven’t had a huge amount of quality summer around these parts).
But each time I do look I can either wonder if shaving is possible eventually in total darkness or that yes perhaps I do have some semblance of normality and perhaps the ladies may get a treat when I’m out and about (if it’s dark and they have their glasses safely hidden in a pocket or bag). The other day I looked in the mirror and saw my father, which is fine he’s not a monster and has in fairness given me a large number of genes so I will have some resemblance but my dad is now in his ’70’s. So I saw my face really as I imagine it will look at around about the same age! It was a slight shock but it was very early in the morning.
I tend to think I look younger than I am, I certainly feel a whole lot younger than I am and the grey has only just started to push through with fine silver hairs visible close up (though my eyebrows have been silver since several years back for some strange reason though if you glance they do look blond(ish)). I still have a full head of hair though it is getting thinner especially at the front! There is some history of being follicularly challenged on my father’s side but I’m holding out that my mother’s genes will be the stronger (my grandfather still had a fullish head of hair and my uncle still has his mostly in place).
Anyway back to that mirror. I do not spend hours admiring myself in it. I look when I need to and when I want to pull a few faces to see how many wrinkles appear and then stay in place! I’d say that I look as though I was pushing towards my 40’s, especially now I’ve lost a few pounds (and am desperately trying to keep it off – it is soooo darned hard, the call of the chocolate is sooo loud and persistent!). But maybe I’m kidding myself, I’ve never seen myself as a ‘catch’, more a middling kinda guy, not the ugliest man around but not a ‘hunk’; I’d not get picked to model jumpers for catalogues anyway! If I was an actor I’d get the quirky interesting friend roles, I’d be a less manic (and slightly slimmer) Jack Black, or a more nerdy Kevin Bacon.
I’m an avid people watcher and sometimes I catch myself wondering what others see or do they even notice me? I even catch myself wondering ‘do any of these ladies see a fanciable chap or are they close to reaching for a sick bag?’ Of course sheer statists mean that everybody will be ‘fanciable’ to somebody but it alway makes me feel slight uncomfortable if I notice somebody looking; I wonder if I’ve not dressed properly or perhaps I remind them of an old teacher or pet. I even wonder if they have seen something resembling an attractive human being and their poor little tickers have missed a beat (I know I must have had this effect a couple of times, I have had a couple of girlfriends in my past life (before I had my wife and three children, a mortgage, a dog, a cat and fulltime job) but then I was a lot younger of course. It also makes me feel a little guilty, I don’t know why.
So what do you see?