King Of The Delta Blues

[I don't know how many people have heard this song before, and I don't feel the need to post the audio; It might ruin the impact as the lyrics are almost lost amongst the music. I just always seem to have them in my head.]



Their bones break where their hearts cannot, and heads are gonna roll ‘til I want them to stop. I’ll be there with bells on, just name the state. It will have to be underground. Underground because God ain't up this late.
Their bones are breaking ‘cause they’re weary and aching. The axes are falling ‘til they're dull or they're breaking. I’ll be there for you, or we can set us a date. I swear I love you, I swear by Christ. It is your father that I hate.
Lying to you never gets to me, because getting caught is what keeps me so honest.
Honestly, I might be the king of the delta blues. I sold my soul to write this for you. So get off your back. Is this really how you like to fuck? Face down ass up?
Trade it pound for pound. Trade it quart for quart. Trading lust for
love is like trading cheap wine for port.
This white-collar floozy has the blue-collar blues. More skeletons than closets and I still have more skin than tattoos. Ice where it’s bruised, swelled, rub out those bedsores.
To the face that launches thousands of ships, I miss you more then ignorance is bliss. More then I let on with my kiss. More then you’d ever care to be missed. Today a sister lost her sister, a son his mother. More than this. Fuck this.

Plebian

The breaking of her silence as she purges hell

Wounded confined

A subtle frame balances

Till silence is admonished

Renewed

Each burden echoed but given

No name

She bellows

Determinedly

It’s now as though her lungs where mine

Collapsing…

In those moments of broken silence.

Hold on to me

I won’t let you drown.

Dr. Feelgood

There are certain moments when you read something, and you hear it just at the time you need it the most. Whether you like Richard Hell or not is irrelevant.

“I don’t think Richard Hell’s fascination with death is anything else but stupid. I suspect almost every day that I’m living for nothing. I get depressed and I feel self destructive and a lot of the time I don’t like myself. What’s more, the proximity of other humans often fills me with overwhelming anxiety, but I also feel that this precarious sentience is all we got and, simplistic as it may seem, it’s a person’s duty to the potentials of his own soul to make the best of it. We’re all stuck on this often miserable earth where life is essentially tragic, but there are glints of beauty and bedrock joy that come shining through from time to precious time to remind anybody who cares to see that there is something higher and larger than ourselves. And I am not talking about your putrefying gods, I am talking about a sense of wonder about life itself and the feeling that there is some redemptive factor you must at least search for until you drop dead of natural causes. And all the Richard Hells are chickenshits who trash the precious gift too blithely, and deserve to be given no credence, but shocked awake in some violent manner.”

“Either that or be spanked or put to bed.”

-Lester Bangs Richard Hell: Death Means Never Having to Say You’re Incomplete

Z.A.T.

Untitled

The saying 'you're damned if you do and damned if you don't' has been on my mind a lot lately. Being a creative in the creative industry is a complete contradiction in terms. You regard yourself as an 'artist', a passionate believer in the arts, someone inspired by the true artistic greats who can only dream of achieving an iota of your idol's success.

There. There it is. I just heard a rumble of thunder creep in through my bedroom window. A dark reminder that those who forgot their umbrellas today are going to pay. Those who thought leaving the house in flip flops and a t shirt to work would be fine because although office policy is 'no casual', you can sort of get away with it when the weather is really hot and even your boss rolls up his sleeves and takes off his tie.

I've come to the harsh realisation that you cannot be a true creative and work in any sort of 'industry'. You complain about being broke and having no money but at least I am happy as I am doing what I have always wanted to do but then as soon as you get a foot within an inch of a door of opportunity you, and others, accuse yourself of selling out. For some reason, contemplating making money from you art is a DIRTY word. Looking at funding options, big companies with large pockets is SHAMEFUL.

I don't know which way to turn. I cannot cope being on the breadline. I am almost 30 and not having a penny to my name and possibly having to rely on my father whose own salary has now been halved due to his ill health makes me feel ashamed of myself and everything I was meant to achieve. I feel that there is only one escape. A premature escape perhaps but one in which I won't have to worry about my problems and no one else will have to worry about me.

On Being Shy

'' One consolation that shy folk can take unto themselves is that shyness is certainly no sign of stupidity...Conceit, indeed is the quickest cure for it. When it once begins to dawn upon you that you are a good deal cleverer than any one else in this world, bashfulness becomes shocked and leaves you .

When you can look round a roomful of people and think that each one is a mere child in intellect compared with yourself you feel no more shy of them than you would of a select company of magpies or orang-outangs*"

By Jerome K Jerome

immensly good observation of life by an immensly cool 19th Century guy.

x

Androgyny.

A doctor on 'Question Time' said that Single parent families are a form of child abuse and that hetrosexual marriage is the answer for all of societies problem.

I just think thats harsh And really we are living in the 21st century.

It just totally reminded me of a book I read when I was a teen,
to summarise there's a post apocolyptic world ran by women where men are bred to look androgynous and are for simply to reproduce and then killed. One woman falls in love with her partner and helps him escape becoming fugitives blah blah blah...it was a good book because it left a lasting impression But...

I hope it never resolves to that. Androgynous men? No thanks.

x TVSJ2

Escape

A drug fuelled romance

A fake existence

Perceptions intertwining

Between reality and fantasy

Perhaps once there was hope

Of a better life

Your kiss was so full

Your grip so tight

You wished for solace

But it never came.

MS

Attention Whores

As bright and charming as you may try to present yourself
As much as you are well aware that your problems could barely hold a spark to the woes of those surrounding you
Let alone entire nations of civilians thousands of miles away
The smallest part wherever hidden always finds a way to overwhelm the rest of you
It contradicts the way you convince yourself to be seen as

There is always going to be that person
The only one who keeps you from finding sleep at night
The kind that throws you into thoughts fit for dialogue of films you hate
And the soundtrack is always the easiest part
Because the songs you love always said it before you even saw it coming

When that person makes you their smallest part
Behind someone else in where they set their attention
Sleep comes no sooner in an empty bed
It is suddenly so easy to forget about charity
To be selfish rather than selfless
And wish things were simply badly written fiction

--------------------------------

A chat show host once said, If you are sharing yourself with more than one person
You will never be able to give any of them one hundred percent of your love
I repeat this to myself sometimes, between the stories of your conquests
In hopes that it stops me from letting you in completely, but I know it will not

LF.
xx