Tag: #indieartist

the love epochal – stanza 5 – the sack of london

i have a new verse out today – the text was previously published in edge of humanity magazine, so please check that out if you haven’t already (see link below). now live on youtube, spotify, etc.

The Sack Of London

every coincidental couple share or will share a day
(assuming all live lives that lap over and aside)
when one is either twice or half as old as their partner.
we only live in relation to each other:
brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers, children we are all
in second place again, lo siento, i feel your pain
then a vow: to talk much more on the telephone
hazy jane mountain range and a mouthful of blood
the chip shop salt and vinegar on the edge of the breeze
decline is the consequence of a millennium without conquest
bring all ye visigoths, only the sack of london can save us now
sometimes perspective illuminates
sunny convalescence; can i modify my betrayed reaction?
is there space for love without condition between event and response?
the universe is comprised of information thoughts are but ephemeral forms
deleted from the records for eternity, locked within an evanescent system
but are some things unforgivable?
let’s hope good souls can hold a grudge with compassion.

chorus

have you tried the toblerone, feckless bairn?
it’s abysmally pricey, but so is everything else
i have a theory that brexit is the effective sack of london, by hitler
different, but the same

this bipolar love hurts so much round infatuated hertz
bevvy bivouac, coke and jack in the sack
i read about his suicide on teletext in the 90s
a poet tortured, bill teller of the apple orchard
never socrates unsatisfied nor pig in shit:
we are socrates in pig shit, always and 4 real.
i cut a lana del rey tattoo into my arm, is that self harm?
each generation must make the material their own
smell tomato paste and cheddar, my da’s cooking, my home
a feeling of disconnection between body and homunculus
post-prandial down-dumpsy meek remainderman rain run
ink on scar tissue, perineum to the sun
this isn’t a cover up, the red rose, the guerilla’s fist
i am a loaf of bread, origami, a process
in purgatory every pain and every pleasure you caused will be inflicted back
and you will judge yourself
getting there—a tired prayer to monotony
four goes on the playstation then i eat the whole bloody toblerone
all that’s left is our dismal materiel
we all rely on the good souls who forgive us

chorus

have you tried the toblerone, feckless bairn?
it’s abysmally pricey, but so is everything else
i have a theory that brexit is the sack of london, by hitler
different, but the same

I have a theory we are overwhelmed by choice and will starve in paralysis / cornucopia or famine, different but the same

another month ends. tomorrow it will be may. it’s the best time of year. the sun is out, the days are long, and the whole summer is to come. and i’ve got a new verse out tomorrow. and its a little bit different. let’s just say that last may was tough. we are hoping better. come what may

the donkeys are a reference to the philosophical paradox of buridan’s ass – the donkey is equally starving and parched. fortunately, food and water are close to hand. in fact, plentiful supplies of each are just 1 metre away. in opposite directions. so the donkey is unable to rationally decide whether to first eat or drink, and as a result, it dies of thirst and starvation.

i scuttle home sick in the night, not ready to be seen like this here / and an astral month ends, mess everywhere, a solemn verdict awaited / please god let all the good souls revel in forgiveness

i had this big job interview. i really wanted the gig. i worked so hard on it. there was a presentation, a written exercise, and, well you know, like questions and answers. as is implied by ‘interview’. anyway, there was some other stuff going on in my life at the time, but i felt like i managed to hold it together and come across like a competent human employee hybrid.

but in the end i never got the job, and i pretty much had a breakdown in the evening after the interview – in a fever, despairing. it was a low. the month had started with a spring of optimism. it was about here that the year took a downward turn.

ebitdata scientists don’t budget for trauma: / cutting teeth. immersed in the pain pearlescent

i consider myself to be good with numbers and knowledgeable about business type stuff. i know about politics, law, finance, accountancy, tax. and i’ve read quite a lot of self help re self-management. absolutely useless at telling people what to do. panic and nasusea at the idea of writing my own to-do list on a monday and never plan more than like three days ahead. but nonetheless, confident that i understand business generally. and anytime i see ‘ebitda’ i wince. you may as well be telling me turnover. it’s an irrelevant metric. it means ‘earnings before interest, tax, depreciation and amortisation’ – but so what? apple computer’s ebitda may be 100 billion dollars. but it can’t achieve that without paying taxes, paying interest on its debt, replacing out of date hardware (depreciation) and developing new intellectual property (amortisation). apple needs to keep incurring all those costs or it will go bust.

do you suffer from executive dysfunction? how do you cope?

sometimes i feel like i’m not a real person—a lack i’ve sought in others

well this was quite an autistic line. i felt quite a lot of shame about writing it down at the time. and for what it says about the company i keep. but now i know i am neurodivergent i feel a bit safer in saying it. i am trying to learn to live on my own terms. to embrace my inherent weirdness. to understand myself a bit better and to judge myself from a perspective of generosity. and to extend that same courtesy to everyone else.

and in fact, i’m sure a lot of the people i love are neurodivergent too, although not all are or would want to be diagnosied. and do you know i even love some neurotypical people!

what are your atypical traits?

and i listen to cohen again and wonder if i’m obsessive

ah the march 2024 playlist was very solid. xtc, blur, leonard cohen, george harrison, the divine comedy. but the cohen album, songs of love and hate, was giving me a lot of pleasure clearly. and i have often been told i am obsessive but i never see myself this way. there’s always someone else who seems much more obsessed that i am… on the bulletin board/ sub reddit/ newsgroup or whatever other cultish forum i’ve found myself in. although this love epochal project is maybe a new level for me. hope you like it.

are you obsessive? what about, if not everything?

story and sensation is all there is, between the end and the beginning


what is it to be a human? in any instant, all there is are the sensations you feel, see, hear, etc. a temperature, the weight of the earth pushing against your feet or arse, your shirt label on your neck. and then there is the story you tell yourself these things mean. but you know, you could be a brain in a vat being fed false experiences by a computer. and you are free to tell yourself that story if you prefer it.

cursed inadequate chuck-sticking, can’t hold cash either

i can’t really throw. or catch. i’ve got a bit better at it over the years, but i am just not a hand eye coordination sort of person. likewise, i am not designed to use raquets. i once chucked a tennis raquet into the air in frustration, only to catch it with my face shortly thereafter.

i don’t think i have ever successfully struck a shuttlecock. and how anyone can hit a baseball with such a narrow bat i’ll never comprehend.

so it’s little surprise that i am also hopeless at chucking sticks for the dog. yet every time, i’m a bit disappointed in myself. a bit of me seems to believe i’m eventually going to get the knack of it.