Outside birds sing … dawn chorus … faint light appears through the skylight above me … a hum and the faint tap of my Spen stylus … me trying to write about what is in this moment
… tiredness behind my eyes …
apps are the Alladins cave … I lie awake all night searching for more and more … I always come back to Snotes. Must leave this device downstairs at night – must!
Feel better for writing about it all though – money low again – gig tomorrow night with bass player – should sleep – will have to cancel lesson tomorrow – no time for me … hardly – only way to get time for me is to lie in bed at night writing on my device … I have no children to carry my genes on – how strange – this particular billion years old evolutionary line – ends here – with me …
and yet, as there is only this moment what does it really matter?
l lie in bed waiting for Godot … oh how far does it go? – this spirit and spiral the past is just a memory, the future is ? … I close this ragged door and the pitiful strangers pass through … they collide and ricoche across tragic ballroom floors, they dance heavily on the poished wood, their heavy, muddy boots, dragging.
Where are they/we now?… our apples smelling over-ripe, in their orange boxes, stored on the dry, dusty floor of the woodshed at the bottom of that muddy track .
oh, take these blinkers from my eyes
… let me see again
… through this silly, rattling rain, hammering lightly on the corrugated iron of the goat’s shed at bottom of the garden. And beyond the shed: the ditch and beyond the ditch: the field, where the black and white cows sometimes ran …
…oh yesterday is gone and I’m learning,
… who knows maybe I’II have a family yet?
… and maybe there is another lifetime, endless Planet Earths, in endless, different dimensions, and us, merely transfering from one to another.
… and my own father’s life has finally reached the end … God bless him… it is so wierd.
I am Tony Chapman. … I am still trying to “make it” with my music and art and creative writing. I’m not giving up … this is the story of my journey from here on, AS IT TAKES PLACE these are my footsteps as I plant them… ahead of me lies an unbroken beach of warm sand or an unbroken plain of cold snow… well… first footstep…here l go!
I have found out from googling:
be conscious of it. Then you can make it consistent, a kind of umbrella over all the elements of your art/ music / writing or whatever you have to offer.
2. More later…
First, create an airport departure lounge, decorate it with a thousand yellow watering cans and sign it in the top left corner in gold lettering.
Next, with no climatic considerations, plant it at the center of a field of a thousand red sunflowers, sprinkle it with potash and from a respectable distance, watch it grow.
the 2 concrete girders span the Atlantic Ocean … 2 hybrids are crossIng them on all fours flaming torches stuck in the back pockets of their paint-stained overalls.
” lts hard to balance today, Jack” shouts Jules.
” Yes, Jack, l find this hurricane force wind a little disconcerting’ ”
” Yes, Jules … and, to be quite candid, I wish these concrete girders were a little wider. The width of a matchbox doesn’t leave much room for manoever … ”
” No, Jack … and this hurrican force wind buffets us relentlessly .. we have to be circus balancing acts to stay on these two extremly narrow girders! ”
” Yes, Jules, and crawling hundreds of miles to the other side without sustainance , shelter, or even a tea- break … well it gets me quite irritated…” ”
“Me too, Jack … its all I can do to stay on this narrow girder… ” yelled Jules, above the crashing of waves and the thundering of the gale…
The hurricane-force wind continued to irritate the two balancing, slowly inching their way forward, hybirds, dressed in their, by now, soaking wet overalls.