Walk Away

An old poem I wrote in 2002, that came to mind today.

Walk Away
2002

what am I
don't my feelings matter
oh yes I know you say they do
but how about you show it

who am I
that you can't respect me
that you don't protect me
why can't you just show it

bitter is the feeling
that my tears are falling
falling on an empty little lie
can't you see it

see the pain that haunts me
want to stay and hold me
but you can look then walk away
don't you feel it

why don't you feel it
feel it, see it, show it
feel that I need you
yet you walk away

don't walk away

why am I so stupid
why does it all matter
why can't I just
smile and walk away...




(Edit: P.S.Hush your worrying my dear Alastair, I love you x)

The Equality Trust & Beasley Street

Good post on The Equality Trust's blog: Was Beasley Street the road to The Equality Trust?

Long time since I last read this poem, wonderfully evocative....

Beasley Street
by John Cooper Clarke

Far from crazy pavements -
The taste of silver spoons
A clinical arrangement
On a dirty afternoon
Where the fecal germs of Mr Freud
Are rendered obsolete
The legal term is null and void
In the case of Beasley Street

In the cheap seats where murder breeds
Somebody is out of breath
Sleep is a luxury they don't need
- a sneak preview of death
Belladonna is your flower
Manslaughter your meat
Spend a year in a couple of hours
On the edge of Beasley Street

Where the action isn't
That's where it is
State your position
Vacancies exist
In an X-certificate exercise
Ex-servicemen excrete
Keith Joseph smiles and a baby dies
In a box on Beasley Street

From the boarding houses and the bedsits
Full of accidents and fleas
Somebody gets it
Where the missing persons freeze
Wearing dead men's overcoats
You can't see their feet
A riff joint shuts - opens up
Right down on Beasley Street

Cars collide, colours clash
Disaster movie stuff
For a man with a Fu Manchu moustache
Revenge is not enough
There's a dead canary on a swivel seat
There's a rainbow in the road
Meanwhile on Beasley Street
Silence is the code

Hot beneath the collar
An inspector calls
Where the perishing stink of squalor
Impregnates the walls
The rats have all got rickets
They spit through broken teeth
The name of the game is not cricket
Caught out on Beasley Street

The hipster and his hired hat
Drive a borrowed car
Yellow socks and a pink cravat
Nothing La-di-dah
OAP, mother to be
Watch the three-piece suite
When shit-stoppered drains
And crocodile skis
Are seen on Beasley Street

The kingdom of the blind
A one-eyed man is king
Beauty problems are redefined
The doorbells do not ring
A lightbulb bursts like a blister
The only form of heat
Here a fellow sells his sister
Down the river on Beasley Street

The boys are on the wagon
The girls are on the shelf
Their common problem is
That they're not someone else
The dirt blows out
The dust blows in
You can't keep it neat
It's a fully furnished dustbin,
Sixteen Beasley Street

Vince the ageing savage
Betrays no kind of life
But the smell of yesterday's cabbage
And the ghost of last year's wife
Through a constant haze
Of deodorant sprays
He says retreat
Alsations dog the dirty days
Down the middle of Beasley Street

People turn to poison
Quick as lager turns to piss
Sweethearts are physically sick
Every time they kiss.
It's a sociologist's paradise
Each day repeats
On easy, cheesy, greasy, queasy
Beastly Beasley Street

Eyes dead as vicious fish
Look around for laughs
If I could have just one wish
I would be a photograph
On a permanent Monday morning
Get lost or fall asleep
When the yellow cats are yawning
Around the back of Beasley Street

Beasley Street on John Cooper Clarke's website

CutMovie.co.uk - Brought to you by Women's Aid HD version

I found this intensely disturbing and yet essential viewing...... please share!

The magic button — Make Everything OK

The magic button — Make Everything OK

Phew saved...

Book quandary.....

Two books just delivered from Amazon BUT how do I pick between them!? Both just published, both by favourite authors......

The Ocean at the End of the Lane by Neil Gaiman

 The Quarry by Iain Banks

Having read the ocean at the end of the lane (a book & marriage review) by Neil's wife Amanda Palmer, I ordered the book immediately. But I think it is probably The Quarry by Iain Banks that I must read first.....

The Quarry

The novel is about someone dying of cancer, Banks had written 90% of the book by early March this year when pretty much out of the blue he himself was diagnosed with terminal cancer and was given only a few months to live, the words above (from the book) were typed while in hospital after being given his diagnosis on the 4th March 2013.

Having bought the publication date forward to today (20th June 2013) and asked his longtime partner Adele Hartley to "do me the honour of becoming my widow" he got on with life, marriage, honeymoon and finishing the book. He announced his illness to the world on 3rd April and I, along with so many others, hoped that those 'few months' would become many.

Messages flooded in to the 'Banksophilia: friends of Iain Banks' site that was set up to provide updates and a space to comment. On 9th June under the heading 'TOO SOON' Iains death was announced:

Dear Friends of Iain,

From Adele “Iain died in the early hours this morning. His death was calm and without pain.”

We will update this site shortly. Please leave messages here, he absolutely loved them.

For now, a fond farewell to our friend.

Martin

The first book I read by Iain Banks was The Wasp Factory (which was also Iain's first published book), The Quarry won't be the last - I will re-read them, as I have done in the past, over the years to come. In particular I want to read The Bridge again as Iain considered it to be his best book: The Wasp Factory and The Bridge are both waiting beside my bed.

An excellent last interview by Stuart Kelly was published in the Guradian at the weekend.

Style change

Suddenly found the whole black background utterly irritating, simple is now the order of the day. I may tweak a little (who knows I may tweak a lot) but I think I will remain simple for a while ;)

Simple, Seldom and Sad
by Mervyn Peake

Simple, seldom and sad
We are;
Alone on the Halibut Hills
Afar,
With sweet mad Expressions
Of old
Strangely beautiful
So we're told
By the Creatures that Move
In the sky
And Die
On the night when the Dead Trees
Prance and Cry.

Sensitive, seldom and sad -
Sensitive, seldom and sad -

Simple, seldom and sad
Are we
When we take our path
To the purple sea -
With mad, sweet Expressions
Of Yore,
Strangely beautiful,
Yea, and More
On the Night of all Nights
When the sky
Streams by
In rags, while the Dead Trees
Prance and Cry,

sensitive, seldom and sad -
sensitive, seldom and sad.

Love is... ;)