Category: strangeness
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Spark of Life Song lyrics by Tony Chapman ©
SPARK OF LIFE words and music by Tony Chapman © April1999 Em Em+7 Cm Bm when the road is broken and the path is bent F#m F#m+7 when words that are spoken don’t say what they meant when a rabbit is caught by the innocent eagle’s claw CHORUS its the spark of life that’s…
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the morning meeting
It is the morning of the time of all catapult specials, where all dawns meet and treat the soil with disdain. How many circumference navigators have silver lined their marathon pockets with collosal extraveganzers and hiccuping gladiators, riptided and glacier swollen, a pendulum in one hand, an hourglass in the other, hopelessly entwined, wrapped around,…
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My life is now so insane I dare not even write about it
My life is now so insane I dare not even write about it … So I write nonsense — I’m like an expert top quality bridge builder who never builds bridges – I’m too busy delivering newspapers ! – what the ….!!!
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I often put old writings in here.
i started doing this blog spontaneously … that was what was so nice about it … l sat in a Hema cafe by the sea and just wrote. Then people responded and I got a bit self-conscious and started pasting in old writings I could check over. Also l so rarely have the time these…
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The cord that releases…
Who am I?: just off centre, always – never quite where I should be: Rhapsopy in Green, Santa Claus ìn the Summer, Monday morning hooker, happy blues singer – I obliterate the sun with my shadow – to make it bigtime?: use opposites – thats the secrety
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call me this evening I can’t get away from this idea it haunts me like a ghost train its rivets rattling like so many lose teeth!
call me – l can’t escape this – no matter how far I plummet or how high l rise above the Blue Mountains, both abstract and severe whilst maintaining a pragmatic dignity. Call me: anything.
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The Corpuscles are coming
the corpuscles are coming, hand in hand, down memory lane, they stretch and flirt, no longer diadems but crawling out of solitary confinement. bent hats cocked crookedly on their prismatic heads
Tony Chapman-Art Music Writing 