You get nothing through moving rhythms like that
You get nothing through moving rhythms like that
A …. a little letter to begin the meaningful.
Yet we use it, and i wonder how emotions are hidden inside balls of sound.. we look at panes of glass and map out the patterns, and discus the objective of the creator, why we look into these reflections of reality and reality itself. Is this wall of sound just one pane of glass… is this tone, this melody, this harmony, is it the interaction between?
And we replace the windows every day, moments between.. deep sighs.. its hidden in these balls of sound, talking about pain and love and age and hate… talking about loss and gain, understanding and judgement.. asking for emotional understanding…asking for you to read the creator.. asking for an emotional response.. asking you to open your little pockets.. because this was for you, this was about you, this was you… this is you.
And the vibrations that cross my fingers mean that to me…not to you, not to smokey dark rooms, not to the movement inside you, all that matters is the coherance, the mixtures of this and that, the momentum and the maintenance of.. nothing more, not much less.. can we not make room? it has been done before, i saw it once, i hear it every day… im listening to it right now… i did it once too, id like to do it now in this way.
Three little dots
This is a place that i wish i could return to… From a bus window.. there was a light breeze pushing the grass around..and i watched its footprints lead away from the road… along the meadow to where a family were walking… a man and woman, her dress rolling gently in the currents.. the little boy pulls against his fathers grip… enchanted by the expance before him, the unknown.. to be free and follow the wind, let it take him up the hill…towards the sun, flaring round the corners of the ancient ruins… atop this hill…sitting and waiting.. i want to go there again, and let the wind sing me up to its walls… i want to close my eyes and hear the world around it…the moving world…around this eternity… an eternity… somebody’s golden statue… somebody’s eternal echo, forever heard but its origins long forgotten… and i would stand there in the middle, waiting to hear the past..
and the bus rolled on.
Not going to lie
Brought on the old memories and wondering where in the first place
Will it not be a good memory?
will it not also be bad?
Driving slow like a hum across a frosty morning.
I remember that same feeling in a moore of south west England
I will miss that
I wanted a photo of that
I want a photo of this
Lets not miss another one
But is it safe?
All these things you had for yourself!
And to think we live in the normal,
We are so jealous…
That is no surprise
That i should be so lucky
When luck is insignificant
These things are everywhere all the time
depends how you appreciate it
I have never consider the usual as the insignificant
as i have never considered the unusual out of its context
A beautiful photo is always
and can be anywhere
yet we travel and travel to find something more significant to call worthy of our lenses
and we envy those in the places we seek
yet they envy you and dream of you normality
this does not alarm you?
do we not appreciate enough?
can we not rely on them a little more?
I saw the light bounce of the water
I questioned my hard fought opinions and views
I wondered why i hadn’t seen it from this angle more often
I wondered why i hadn’t embraced this view from the start
I considered the term “waste” and focused in on the glass between us
I considered the possibilities
split second illumination
calculations beyond comprehension
i estimated my worth in this place
I estimated my existence
And the glass dropped out of focus
I saw the moving road flash yellow on black tar
moving water drip colours through layers of dark
moving bridges scrape holes in the paint
buildings rip bloody into the sky
it is the same..
though i will miss it
like i miss the sound of water lapping the southern beaches
like i miss hotel room hums in Chicago skyscrapers
like i miss the metropolis dramatics unfold through double glazing
like i miss untouched sand in specks of sunlight
like i miss the smell of wet vegetation
and the list will grow longer
yet a list to be thankful for
and vibrations will map it out
and keep me in tune
are we not supposed to be unique?
and this will be my seen and done
from floor to window-ledge mornings
and motion towards
separation in the most connected ways
never letting go
All of this loving gun, working hard and playing the little trumpets and banging the great big drums of heaven and earth this most beautiful thing that we love this most beautiful rhythm the lose sounds of life, the heavy drumming of a thousand and one green hearts and souls , hundred billion yellow taxi cabs in zoo panoramic scenes, beeping horns in the light rain as the souls of the past walk away from expensive circus performances with a genius in sand and a lightning hat shining BELIEF BELIEF on the heads of the others who had never dreamed or even conceived such possibilities, these things my dear are the works of great gods in capes screaming heaven down upon the earth in great big bags of lost sounds and perfect rhymes, this is what we all dream for lines of cabs running in time to the heavy need and turning 180 on a small road without a stop this is the need this is the want this is the everything… and who am i in all of this…… the guy with the two little black things singing in my ear…telling me stories from another brain…telling me that the city is moaning…that the sun is rising yellow out of a man hole on the corner of 53rd street… and we all know its true you just have to click on the right buttons and not lie about it because you want that attention you want that soul bearing click, those words from a real mouth that i am in your head just as they are in mine. we all want it… lets not beat around the burning bush… we all want it..
Second Toughest rips plastic vibrations through my home.. this is just one of the things that i will miss until the last moment away. Unsure of why but at last positive of how long, i reach again into the clouds to watch golden sunsets above my home. And into the dark abyss once again i dip slowly and surely towards you. The beasts and snakes and movement unstoppable.. forever breathing parties and screaming… this is not my home, this is just temporary, this is not my home, this is just temporary. And now we vibrate o destroy these city streets!
Roman walls were hard to topple but toppled they were.. great food from great people and happiness infected the environment. Shadows on well known streets reach out to hold me in but responsibilities are hard to resist and the foreign pulls me once again form the only thing i want.. last night is all to soon upon us.
Im not going to hold you back.. its hard enough for me to be honest with myself. Let’s be honest here, and my clavier is missing every little bit. We are playing the bass to make your head nod forward and back in a provocative manner. Fujiya & Miyagi are changing it up in my temples as i invest my time again.
It’s because i love it so much…it is … i promise! Dont you trust me? Don’t you know? we all know, and yes im not ok. It’s like losing a runway in the fog – the foggy earth – you dont sound Japanese at all and stop saying my name. Where did your name come from? i like it a lot but it is a little misleading.
I love it most when your bass and guitar (the other one that is, not the bass of the same name)..anyway i love it when they complement each other like that, you know when it sounds like a picture. One, the bass, is the frame – honest and true, keeping a rhythm and repeating over and over a reliable line. The other, the guitar, is like a line of paint, thick and shiny on a white canvas (maybe a blue or red – the sort that shines when it is thick and free) as if dripped by mistake from the can.. I’m thinking diagonal but it could be either to be honest.
Anyway yea i love it when that is the case… there is such freedom..
Ah now hold on who is that behind the tree? Is that a crazy man looking at me? In his hands the tree responds, to attack withing 10months.. maybe if we talk it out, and this rhythm is so solid we can even erect a statue in its honor.
And once again the sky it goes flat and cold. Bad news through moving speaking blocks of electronics.. lets be honest..lets not hold each other back… Im not taking a fall – Im on the verge of discomfort.. oh no.
This feels nothing like it should, and now it sounds better…. these are vibrations far beyond the loss of control, these are vibrations of a future.. one out of my control, one that is set to be something. And i dont know what that is, but in these vibrations i can hear what they might sound like.. and we talk, and we mull it all over… but there is no way of knowing, they may choose one thing… they may choose another, its all how we react…its all how we move, its all how it is in the air that night…. its all about colour and response, its all about shades of blu and circus panoramas, its all about sweat and blurred vision, its all about the timing and the huge expectation, its all about the work put in and the hours spent making mistakes, its all about the times, those times, u know them, when you knw what you just pressed had changed everything…. and now you look at a thousand silhouets, and a couple thousand more behind them….the millions of blurs….and now you look at them and you want to scream, you want to shout so loud the world knows exactly what you are saying…. everything, every fool and farmer, and all the lost souls…. you want them all to hear and take notice, for you know that back then, when you didnt even notice…when you were looking so blindly at the shadows and the shards of light… when you were putting 1 and 1 together and losing the plot…you know that that was when you made the difference…and these people know too….lookling to the cetre of the universe… looking to the sun… looking to the moon….looking to what makes any sense at all….this is it now…
we’ve got nothing in this… and they move very slowly…across the sky, but even though they decieve us, and move faster than you can imagine… it is ourselves that move away from them…they wait for us day and night, they hang above us looking down.. taking it all in. and we simply move around and around. They dont stay where they are, not at all, for the rise and set like you and i… they need sleep too, and no their nocturnal dreams are not like our own. the days of dreaming fly by us… we are to them black as coal…we are invisible… stealing them is ….i dont
i wouldnt…then we’d have nothing to look at and nothing for me to describe in times of quiet when the wind takes a break and the clouds are less thick. one, two, three, four, five…..theatres of countless stars…stars of gold and rain