Care less

In the heat of the night by a lavary light there's a silvery moon on the rise, 
But this bottle of rum needs the breath of the sun to blow sequins of sin from his eyes. 

For the life that he leads is corroded by deeds and desires that man should ignore, 
And you can't reach the top if you're pissed on the pop and laid drunken and stoned on the floor. 

At the break of the dawn by the fire on the lawn sits a gaggle of hippies and whores, 
Chewing ecstasy pips with a smile on their lips and a plasticine love in their drawers. 

They'll be flying like kites when reality bites and the beast of the morning rides in, 
When the drugs start to flake and their hands start to shake like an alky who's run out of gin. 

In the midst of the smoke on a summery day there's a feeling of dread in the grass, 
All these children of dope haven't prayer or a hope spending most of their time on their ass. 

But they do what they can and they might give a damn if it wasn't so tiring to speak. 

So it's sunshine and skunk 
Let's get high 
Let's get drunk 
There's still seven day's left in the week.. 

Copyright ©2003

Are you Passionate?

I recently saw The Passion of Christ; the Mel Gibson film that portrays the last 12 hours of the life of Jesus of Nazareth who Christians believe was the Messiah of ancient prophecy.

The film was beautifully shot, highly stylised, Jim Caviezel born to play Old JC and it had the added bonus of Monica Bellucci playing the sexiest loose women in history, the very reverend Mary Magdalene.

It's brutal, never has a man been beaten so viciously on celluloid.

Not only is the guy punched and kicked a few thousand times but he's struck with canes for 5 minutes, whipped for another 10 minutes by two cats of nine tails, whipped again during his fifteen minute cross carrying stumble to the hills of Golgotha, and then the poor buggers gets nailed and crucified to a piece of MDF!

Not a very pleasant way to go let me tell you!

In fact I've not seen so much blood since I attended that anti-tampon convention in Bristol last year!

It wasn't the greatest flick in the world simply because you knew how it was going to end, the Titanic effect as I lovingly call it, and although I appreciated it as piece of Art, I've no desire to see it again.

It was interesting from a historical/theological point of view but it wasn't entertaining by any stretch of the imagination and I think anyone who thinks it is should take a long hard look at themselves.

There has been a lot of talk about the film being Anti Semitic, and I suppose if you're a 2000 year old Jewish high priest or one of those guys in black who stand at the Wailing Wall banging there head on the brickwork, you may be a little offended.

Granted the Jewish elite are portrayed as a bunch of baddies but the everyday, I'm going to say peasant folk for want of a better word, were a bunch of beautiful guys and girls and I wager that any follower of the Jewish faith who doesn't have an agenda will be able to see that Mel Gibson's intention wasn't to make a Anti Semitic epic (Anti-Semepic if you will), he was merely trying to tell a story about how a normal man had outrageous cruelty inflicted upon because he stood up for what he believed in and told anyone who cared to listen that we all should love one an other without question or prejudice!

 That sounds like a pretty good message to me, All you need is Love basically and I reckon that philosophy transcends all religions and faiths.

It's only when I get to the whole Son of God, Immaculate Conception, resurrection legends that I begin to have a problem with the whole thing.

In a way I think it's better to believe that Jesus was just a normal human being who wanted to make the world a better place and was willing to sacrifice himself to try and achieve that.

Why make him a mystical character, some kind of demi-god that we mere mortals can worship but never aspire to be? Might the reason be that people in positions of power in this world don't want us crazy shaven monkeys to churn out people like Jesus, they don't want people to think that they as individuals can change the world, that they have the power!

I don't know, this is just one mans opinion and I can only hope you respect it as much as I respect yours, which I assure you I do.

I'm always been interested in theology and religion ever since I was a little kid, and I suppose I've touched on everything from Atlantis to Zion at one time or another.

There are many interesting theories, ideas and folklore about all manner of fabulous subjects and I encourage you to review them yourself, explore an alternative for a change. It's education not corruption; the only effect it may have is broadening your horizons a little and I can't see how that can be a negative thing in this, or any reality.

Copyright ©2004 

The Doldrums

Pass me a chocolate
Make mine a tea

Eyes on the tele
Plate on your knee

Kids in the garden
Shirts in the wash

Caring if Beckham is cheating on Posh.


Burning off CD's
Searching for porn
Can't go out Sunday I'm mowing the lawn! 

Pissed of with working,
Can't get no sleep...Zzzzz

The cupboards are full 

but there's nothing to eat.


Crime in the papers!
Debts through the mail!
Watching the dog as he chases his tail.......


Sleeping with Susan,
Cheating on Joyce
Crawling home drunk from a night with boys

Doorbell needs fixing
Wine in the Rack

Shopping for shoes

and returning with crap


Nights in the local
Pizza for supper

Pass me a Chocolate
and get me a cuppa!

Copyright ©2004 

Chip Shop Woman

On Fridays and Mondays
and sometimes on Sundays
I enter your chamber of grease

The waft of your Haddock
lures me from my paddock
to lands of chip butties and cheese.


I stand with the monkeys
Their breaths laced with scrumpy
Their beards full of baccy and porridge

They leer at your apron
and fondle their bacon
as you flour and batter their sausage.


My fetish is fishy
by the look of your lippy
you put make up on with a trowel.

You're sweaty and salty
You can't make a Balti
and all your fried chicken is foul.


I hear you've got hobbies
getting oily with squaddies
who admire your fondness for sod

They say that you're kinky
why go out for a chinky
when you're up to your armpits in cod.


You do not serve pastries
but I think you're tasty
your patties are bulbous and shapely

I dream of you kittles
with mouth full of fritters
and baps smeared with curry and gravy.


My addictions consuming
but I hear that you're moving
to the Take-away just round the block

I can't say I'm pleased
for they do not serve peas
and you can't fry a fish in a wok.


I will miss your flush face
and the smell of this plaice
that will linger for days on my clothes

But enough of this ballad
Now I'm switching to salad
So it's farewell my sweet chip shop rose..



Copyright ©2003 

Born 1979

I could not be more obvious It echoes from my eyes I'm always semi conscious I can't help telling lies. My father was a butcher My mother easy meat I strolled the streets of childhood With sand shoes on my feet Conceived from Friday boozing, Like many of my time The boy who knew no better, Born 1979. It's hard to pray to Jesus east of the bloody bridge For he won't pay the rent man or stock the empty fridge Those days of New Romantics, were heavy on my class We drowned ourselves in lager and wore a happy mask. But underneath the make-up The sad face of a mime For those who lived in lipstick Born 1979. My school days where a circus, and I the classic clown From He-Man through to Orville I had the accents down Made fun of all and sunder while dishes flew at home The details unimportant I hate to bitch and moan So I'll say it was awful I've seen my share of crime But kids were made of concrete Born 1979. The rest's a fleeting daydream, the 80's came and went We moved west of the river where moneys burnt and spent But still there's no escaping from ghosts of past mistakes And soon you're at a nightclub just one of many snakes. We boogied to the baselines, of Cocker, Kurt and Nine Those Fugees from the fire Born 1979. So now I'm old and carefree I look back with a grin Two dozen years have fleeted but I'm still hanging in. These days of summer sunshine are moments to behold For someday you'll remember when you are grey and old. That life is what your make it so make it a good time. To all who now know better, Born 1979. Copyright ©2002

Dylan

I'd say that I'm a gambler  A misled midnight rambler  A man of flaming visions  Fleeting thoughts...  With heart as pure as vodka  I'd let you be my lodger  Forgive my indecision's Bleeding warts...  Some claim that I'm preacher  A backstreet bongo's teacher  Some say that I'm the devil in disguise...  But brother I beseech you  Don't let your questions eat you  And always keep the sunshine in your eyes. I'd say I was a watcher  A sometime psychic doctor  Prescribing rhyming couplets  to the brave  I'd change my name to Roger  Buy whores and helicopters  But they won't let me in  Unless I shave  Some think that I'm mistaken  The last of Gods forsaken  Some say that I'm a man to be despised... But sister I impeach you  Don't let the world defeat you  And always keep the sunshine in your eyes.  I'd say I was a lover  A one who needs an other  A carefree drunken dreamer  Restless soul  I keep it undercover  So you won't tell your mother  And she won't look to me  To fill her hole  Some swear that I'm a liar  A makeshift mock messiah  Some say that I'm a victim of my lies...  But turn on and I'll  teach you  As swirling smoke unseats you  and daylight splits the rolling thunder skies  Don't let the bastards beat you  Don't let the Gods mistreat you  And always keep the sunshine in your eyes. Copyright ©2005 Lee Cassanell

Michael Nesmith - Dance Between The Raindrops

Stupidity - Mobile Phones in Schools

During the always enlightening Vanessa Feltz show on Radio 4 which is basically a platform for pseudo liberals, middle class right-wingers and the criminally insane to vomit their opinion live on air. They had some teacher on to talk about the issue of whether students should be allowed to have mobile phones in school. Now this chump obviously thought they should be banned but the evasive politician in him would not admit it. Instead he talked about it being an 'ongoing issue' that was 'open to debate' which is another way of saying 'Yes I have an opinion but I don't want to piss off any parents or harm my future job prospects'.

Now I'm a firm believer that unless you are going to have courage in your convictions and say what you really think then your opinion isn't worth a damn. “You're nothing but a lot of talk and a badge” as Al Capone says at the end of The Untouchables (1987) and if you are unable to give a straight answer to a straight question you should be universally ignored.

These evasion tactics annoy the living piss out of me. It's obvious, it's tedious and it's insulting to the listener/viewer. Anyone who does it is basically calling you a cunt and even worse, a stupid cunt who will swallow whatever bullshit is thrown your way.

Truth be told there is no debate about mobile phones in schools. I worked in a secondary for the last year and a half which allowed them into the classroom and although if a student was caught using one in lesson they would (sometimes) be confiscated. The distraction was a constant problem and not a lesson went by without me having to tell a few kids several times to put away their phone. Now some fools say that banning them is an infringement of civil liberties and that parents should be able to contact their children encase of an emergency. The civil liberties argument is ridiculous and if we went down that road then students would be allowed to do whatever they liked in school be it tattooing a swastika on their forehead and wandering in the corridors in their dead grandmothers wedding dress or refusing to write in anything but pigs blood. I'm no fan of rigid rules or corporate uniform policies but whatever hinders the teachers ability to teach should not be allowed in a classroom, simple as that.

The parental emergency angle is usually brought up by stupid mothers and ignorant father. People with an extremely limited brain capacity who have to concentrate to breath. Hell let's tell it like it is. If you firmly believe that your son or daughter should be allowed to possess a mobile phone in a classroom then you're a bad parent and the best you can do is hope that you haven't passed on your terminal idiocy to your child. I have no problem with a phone being handed in to the reception at the beginning of the day and picked up at the end. Surely that simplistic common sense approach would be implemented nationwide but in my experience any suggestion of  that causes members of the senior leadership team to drool with confusion.

What should happen is that the Government should tell every school in the land that as of say, Friday, they have the power to send any student caught with a mobile phone in a classroom home. Balls to the complaining parents if they don't like it they can remove their child from the school at which point you hit them with a heavy fine for denying their child the right to an education.

Why that cannot be done is a mystery. Send a mass e-mail and save some trees. Just get the hell on with it so we can put this silly debate to bed once and for all.

The Physics of Fireworks

Everything burnt before matches were purchased
Love falls apart in a room poorly furnished
Lies kiss our cheeks and pour wine in our glasses
Eyes on the sky see the future in splashes

She sits in the mist as the jester mulls over
the words on his lips and the weight on her shoulders
Avoiding her glance he pretends he feels nothing
and lights up a Marlboro to breathe

Everything burned while the drunkards were singing
Love rusts away as the washing is spinning
Lies feed us cherries and clean up the dishes
Handfuls of dirt scratch a head full of wishes

She rolls in the grass with a tongue full of venom
as students seduce with the lyrics of Lennon
The vodkas are poured into orange and lemon
and everyone's pissed by a quarter to seven 

Everything burns with enough fuel to feed it
Love won't let go till you no longer need it
Lies become truths on the tongues of our lovers
Bodies betray under soft smoky covers

She rests under stars as the music cascades
blowing in from the west on a rainbow of waves
He gropes for a match and stares back into space
so amazed by the beauty he sees

Everything turns in the flash of a rocket
Love slips its name in your old jacket pocket
Lies are exposed by the grimace of torment
Sparks burn the eyes in the heat of the moment.

Copyright ©2007  Lee Cassanell

Time at the Bar

See the weight of the world in the breath of a girl puffing rolled cigarettes by the wayside
She's a slip of a thing but Oh Lord she can sing any song for a piece of your change. 

I saw her last week with my tongue in my cheek I said 'What would you do for a fiver'?
She replied with a wink 'For a five and a gin I would flog my own mother and father.'


See the scar of a wound near a Popeye tattoo on the wrist of a man who looks ghostly
His moustache runs wild on a face that last smiled on the day that his wife met her maker.

I saw him last Tuesday while I was out boozing I said 'How you feeling my brother?'
He stood up with his glass 'Raise a toast for our lass and the last time I told her I love her'


See the lust in the eyes of the lady who spies on the man sat alone by the window
In a dress that looks borrowed she waits for her moment to pounce when he's to drunk to care. 

I saw her last night I was warm and polite when I said 'Did you sleep with that fellow?'
She came over all blue 'We went back for a screw then he told me my teeth are too yellow.'


See the wear on the face of the boy who has aged far beyond the few years he has wandered
Every whisky he's sank left a mark on his cheeks that flush red when he inhales a breath. 

I saw him just now at the end of the bar I said 'Joe how are you this fine morning?'
He took me by the hand 'Pour a shot my good man and we'll drink until drinking gets boring'. 

See the lie on the lips of the woman who sits with her husband just back from the desert
He's been off making war while she hoovered the home and fed children that cannot say Daddy.

I saw her last eve do the Tango with Steve I said 'Isn't such dancing forbidden?'
She looked over my way 'Let me live for today and tomorrow I'll keep my love hidden'.


Copyright ©2007 Lee Cassanell

Uncivil War

The rumble of battle rolls over the cattle who've come to be slaughtered today
With their pitchforks and slings they march over the hill to the field of the beast and the brave.
They have nothing to show for a life full of toil so they fight and they fuck and they booze
And they'd give their last breath for an honourable death and the dream they've got something to lose.

The slings became swords still we fought for our lords so they'd not raise the rent on our farms
For a handful of grain we drew blood in the name of a Pope and a royal coat of arms.
This isn't war it's a cull of poor and we know but we still have to murder
Fill the coffers of kings who buy princesses rings with the gold of defeat and disorder.

Our swords buried sons but the way of the gun buried more than we ever could fathom.
We marched in a row through the mud and the snow as the cannon balls ripped through our wagons.
A cavalry charge beautified by the bards was a horror of hoofs and confusion
But they glorify so we'd don't have to die with the thought that we bought their illusions.

In trenches of bones we wrote long letters home as the tanks roared away in the distance
With our rifles in hand we crawled over the top to be shot at the Generals insistence.
Whilst they dined on quail by the banks of the Seine we lost men who were barely eighteen
They treat us like pawns on a bloody chess board sacrificed for the wealth of their Queen

Now lost in the desert we kill in the present and burn all the books of the past
The bombs fall from planes and machine gunners strafe those who run to escape from the blast.
Though the hands of time fly we still butcher and die for the Lords and the Gods and the Pastors
Ignorant to the core like the cattle we are fighting uncivil wars for our masters.


Copyright ©2007 Lee Cassanell

The Vomitorium of Dr Cassanell

Strange brew at this mornings playgroup session and I'm not just talking about the coffee.

During the sit in a circle sing song some lovely woman led the group through a nursery rhyme greatest hits. I was in fine voice during 'The Wheels on the Bus' and 'Incy Wincy Spider' but when she added a mystery verse to 'Ba Ba Black sheep' and then went into an extend version of ' Row,Row, Row your boat' I was completely thrown. I know it's been a while since I was a nipper but I swear row your boat never contained a line about a crocodile. Don't get me wrong I encourage creativity but if you're going to add your own twist to an old classic, it would be helpful if you passed around a few lyric sheets otherwise you'll get a room full of puzzled looks and mumbling.

Flynn hasn't been in the best of spirits so far. His razor teeth are ripping his gums to smithereens and it's obvious he's in major discomfort. He manged to throw up all over himself, a large stuffed snake and the leg of an innocent baby who was quickly whisked away by her mother.

If you have a problem with liberal amounts of a vomit I suggest you think twice about having children. Most days I'm covered in the stuff and granted, some of it is my own but the lions share is undoubtedly the milky white produce of Mr Flynn Cassanell.

I'm back on the cigarettes full-time. My flirtation with clean living lasted less than a week which was a poor show indeed and though I should hate myself for being so weak willed. My amazing powers of denial are much stronger than my self loathing. I'll give it another go tomorrow and even if I only manage to abstain for a couple of days, at least my lungs will have had a bit of time off which is never a bad thing.

Anyway. That wasn't the most exciting of posts was it? Maybe I'll drink a bottle of Gin and pipe some crack tomorrow. Substance abuse is much more inspiring than stomach contents and though the social services would probably not approve of my methods. I won't tell them if you don't.

Rum Punch Love

Sing a song of cigarettes
Of vodka eyes
and whisky lakes

Of cocaine hills
and cocoa mills
Of chocolate stars and ice cream fields

Of Swiss cheese trees
with Chinese pears

Of doughnut boots
and short cake skirts

Of custard dogs
and whipped cream birds

Of treacle lips
and champagne words

Of bourbon tears

Of biscuit hearts

Of comfort pies

Of mourning tarts


Of gin soaked jeans
and half smoked joints

Of fried egg days
and mushroom nights

Of syrup smiles
and orange thoughts

Of melon moons
and mango roads

Of cornflake girls
with coffee skin

Of milk tray men
and milkshake rain

Of red wine cheeks
and rhubarb dreams

Of lolly hands
and lemon feet

Of fondant friends

Of key lime blood

Of walnut rhymes

Of Rum punch Love.


Copyright © Lee Cassanell 2007

Memories of Sand

I once was a soldier
a killer of men
with a gun in my hand
and a prayer on my breath

I was Gods tool of torture
his puppet of pain
now I carry the weight
of my glorious shame


When the light starts to fade
and the cruel shadows creep
I see blood in my eyes
welling too thick to weep

I can't sleep
I can't eat
I don't know my own mind

Every life that I took
rots away my insides


So I sit in this chair
with a bottle unmarked
but I can't drown the souls
that scream out in my glass

On his word I slew babies
as mothers held tight
I can't hide from their faces
that haunt me at night.


I would ask for forgiveness
if I thought he cared

say a prayer to the man
who plays poker upstairs

But I can't be redeemed
by the black gamblers hand
I've no faith in his name
or belief in his plans

So I guess that I'm done for
I guess that I'm dammed
and I'll die in this place 

with the memory of sand

Copyright © Lee Cassanell 2008

Flames

The ashes were scattered

my flatter had flittered

the flickering was fluttering

the muttering had cometh

A day in the gaze of the days

that are gone

brought a sigh and a tear

and the faint of old songs

Now the embers are searing

the match struck the wick

the coals have been rolled

and the flames need to lick

I'd pine with a line

but the rhymes make me sick

So I'll stare into smoke

in the hope I'm bewitched.


****

The matter keeps mumbling

the rumbling won't ramble

A reckoning is beckoning

the spark to the candle

These visions of lips

branding kisses on flesh

that can only been seen

In the sigh of a breath

This ain't death it's a pause

This ain't sadness it's scorched

On the pyre of desire

lay a smouldering corpse


but today through the rain

came a ghost with a torch

she has mind to start fires

on the ice of my thoughts


****

The melting is deafening

the floodgates have flooded

the passion is crashing

and lashing my stomach

the furnace is growling

it's howling for fodder

A memory forgotten

or fresh hell and bother

It could be the season

the gods need appeasing

It could be my curse or bad luck

but the cartwheel is turning

the bonfire is burning

and I, am officially, Fucked!

Copyright © Lee Cassanell 2009

The Barbary Coast

As I young man I rolled on the waves of the sea

from the halls of Montezuma to old Tripoli

With a cavalier crew of rogue sailors and salts

I lived life on the lash and lashed out at the Gods

Every whore in the port all the gold in the vaults

couldn't temper my thirst or rebuke my assault

I was lost in the blue with a mouthful of brag

and my heart was as black as the pitch of our flag

But the rum and the guns kept my conscience at bay

I'd no need to believe and no soul left to save

Then one day I awoke as the cruel sun arose

and shone light through the dark of the Barbary Coast.

I've seen monsters and whales

I've scrubbed blood from the sails

and watched cannon balls smash into sailors

When your sickness is sin feed the devil within

or the angels will sing of your murders.

For a life and a day I was bane to my pray

as I butchered my way to bordellos

With a mutinous crew just a whisky or two

from a death by the plank or the gallows.

Any snatch in a storm, any jewel in the port

we would raid and then vanish like ghosts

Faraway from the grind of the field and the mine

raising hell on the Barbary coast.

All the harlots of Sodom were no match for the Madame

of the brothel Les Quatre cents coup

For a few spanish silver she'd do what you told her

and I've been a beast in her room.

She had kids by the dozen to her butcher and cousin

and the sea dogs that howled as they savaged.

I've been guilty myself of defiling her purse

but she suffered no permanent damage.

In the midst of this squalor I remember my mother

and I raise up my beer glass to toast.

All the sons who are slaves to the wind and the waves

and the girls of the Barbary Coast.

I would lie if I said that I missed my old life

killing men for a King and the blue red and white

As a soldier I fought in the royalties wars

knowing I was to die for a meaningless cause

And although I'm now wracked by the drink and the drag

I salute to no general, I follow no flag,

All the flogs and the blows I've endured from the state

left me battered and bloodied and boiling with hate

So I sailed out to sea to escape from the Storm

but the thunder will find me again before long

In a bar faraway from my place and my post

In the depths of the dark of the Barbary Coast.

Copyright © Lee Cassanell 2010

The Girl With The Dynamite Kiss

Stuck in reverse and a rum from the hearse 

but then worse things still happen at sea. 

I've taken up cards but I don't have the hearts and the clubs won't stop raining on me. 

I've checked all the faces and tossed all the aces 

the places I've been don't exist. 

Now all I have left is the smoke on my breath and the girl with the dynamite kiss. 

Plague is upon me and Jesus has wronged me 

so I'll die a sinners demise. 

My terrible deeds have corroded my dreams and they've cost me my house and my wife. 

I sleep on the floors of the friends I've not lost 

but I'm sure how it all came to this. 

I stood in the rain at the end of the day with the girl with the dynamite kiss. 

Pass me the poison and make it a large one 

my eyes can't abide all this light. 

The bones in me ache for a corner to lay and a prayer for the blessing of night. 

I melt in the clouds of the company I keep 

and the weed passes hand over fist. 

I puff to forget all the shit that I did and the girl with the dynamite kiss. 

Ever the outlaw don't write on my gravestone 

just scatter my dust in the wind. 

I never cared much for the heavenly stuff but I'm sure I could talk my way in. 

The devils unchained and he calls me by name 

but the shame isn't mine it is his. 

For no angel on high wouldn't fall from the sky for the girl with the dynamite kiss. 

Darkness is coming the reaper is drumming 

his claws on the walls of my chest. 

I don't want to die with a mouthful of sighs so I'll raise up my glass to old death. 

The fog becomes clear as the ferry man nears 

and he knows I won't fight or resist. 

He see's in my eyes all the pain I abide and the girl with the dynamite kiss....

Copyright © Lee Cassanell 2007

The Vicious Circle

Day twenty nine and the rum had run out
I woke up in the hold with the driest of mouths
In a dress made of lace and a pain in my arse
I recalled being tied to the foot of the mast

Then recoiled at the thought of the cabin boys fate
There were sharks off the bough so we used him as bait
And his screams as the fiends shredded meat from his chops
Made us laugh as the wrack broke our ship on the rocks

Oh we sobbed at the sight of the splintering hull
And the Island we hit had no trace of a pub
But the galley was sure they could whip something up
From the Amazon grapes and acacia pulp

For a week we survived on the memory of grog
Till the juice of the fruit was fermented and strong
For a while we were glad to be rid of the shakes
But the madness crept into our camp like a snake

I awoke in the night to the carpenters screams
He was taking an axe to a coconut tree
When I asked why the hell he was the carving the bark
He said God had asked him to assemble an ark

I was moments away from expressing my doubt
When I heard the faint sound of the sail maker shout

We are dirt!
We are cursed!
This is death!
This is dream!
There's a devil out there and he's coming for me!

As the camp came alive in a babble of tongues
I reached into my boot and I loaded my gun
Then assured the poor soul he had nothing to fear
Till I realised the man had been dead for a year

I remember the beasts and the flickering flames
I remember the blood that I licked from my plate
I remember the flesh that I tore with my nails
To the cries of the damned and the singing of whales

It was weeks before they saw the plume of the smoke
From the crosses that lit every inch of the coast
As they wandered ashore a few sailors threw up
At the sight of the pikes and the heads on the top

They found me in the caves building chairs out of bones
I was hit on the head and dragged off to the hold
I was told I'd be hanged when they docked into port
And I longed for the drop and the snap of the rope

But the boat had got lost in the mists of the sea
They had eaten the biscuits and drank all the tea.
Then from high up on deck I heard somebody shout
It is day twenty nine and the rum has run out ...

Umberto Echoes

A pillared salt of sinners
dissolving in the rain

The wear of time it suffers
but we are not to blame.

A fragile dream is scripture
A Prophet's passion bled

The humor of perception
infests the books we're fed.

It's madness to interpret
Translation breeds belief

The truth is as an enigma
and life is cruelly brief.

Perhaps our love continues
Perhaps our fears are just

Perhaps we'll all be mended
when our bones reduce to dust.

But torture won't transport us
beyond those pearly gates

For sure as God is waiting
surely nothing does await.

In with Flynn

There are three problems with me writing a blog:

1. I lack basic grammar skills
2. I'm on Day 5 of a vain attempt to quit smoking and I'm starting to hallucinate.
3. The Barista in Costa keeps giving me the 'You've finished your coffee now fuck off'' look.

Despite those obstacles I'm going to press on because if I stop typing I think about cigarettes.

Mmm...cigarettes.

Lovely, lovely cigarettes.

I've quit because I don't want my son to grow up with a dead father which is as dull a reason to chuck the fags as it gets. I could die tomorrow of a massive brain aneurysm or the Barista might lose her temper and stab me in the face with a muffin knife. Hell, I'll probably get lung cancer anyway but I figure it's best to give myself a fighting chance. It's a universally known fact that smoking makes you look cool but an Iron lung is a bit last season and I don't fancy being strapped to one for the rest of my life. After only 5 days I can breath better, I smell better, I've saved £25. It's a win, win situation.

My Son Flynn is 8 Months old and my  Partner has had to return to work or face financial ruin so I am now the chief in charge of childcare.

It is hard, brain melting work. I never had an excess of intelligence to begin but after a week and a half I am having problems forming complex sentences. There just isn't that much to do. I don't drive (which is ridiculous) and the activities available for a parent and child around these parts are minimal. So far I've been to a playgroup at a Methodist church which wasn't bad, but I was the only father in the room.  I also had a large spot on my forehead so I wore a bank robbers woollen hat throughout the session to hide my grotesque outbreak. I must have looked like a potential rapist at best and at worse, some overweight unemployed bum who was lingering around until he was due to sign-on at the dole office.

Last Wednesday I ambled along to another playgroup at a pub which wasn't open so I ended up going for a walk which was a hellish mistake. Not only did Flynn befoul his nappy when we were caught in a baby changing no man's land but I had made a poor underwear choice that caused considerable chafing.
Fortunately I have created a child who possesses a smile that instantly lifts the spirits and even though the poor sod is currently in the process of having several sharp teeth rip through his gums, he's still a pleasant and exceptionally charming little boy.

I do worry about fucking him up. He's probably better off at Nursery playing with other kids but we'll see how it goes. If he starts to get bored and unhappy then I'll go rob a post office or something to pay for this childcare.

Anyway. That will do for now.