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Well, the fur is gone (will it return?)

Posted on 2005.12.05 at 00:07
Current Music: Pigs On The Wing - Pink Floyd
Well it's rather late (or early), and I shall go to bed after I post this...

Just shaved off the fuzz (facial hair). Went through something like six razors on what I had growing (after trimming with siczors). I wonder if I could go through life just not shaving - but I presume the ladies would not be fans, any commentary on this subject girls?

Managed to nick myself 4 times too. Twice shaving the sidburns, once on the jaw-line, and once on the upper cheek.

Well I'm off to sleep, have a wondrous morning those of you just awaking, remember to kiss your alarm clock - thanking it for starting a new day (this is not my idea, but a good friend's).

Cheers,
Ian

P.S - The shave was out of necessity. I do enjoy the Ian Andersonesque fur covered noggin, but I have some meetings coming up - applications, that sort of thing. And I couldn't really walk into those looking like the Minnesota Ice-Man could I? Nor could I go in looking like some progressive rocker from the 1970's. Damn I look clean now, dissapointing - I rather enjoyed making a spectacle out of myself.

P.P.S - You should see my passport photo...

P.P.P.S - But you won't...

I wonder...

Posted on 2005.12.02 at 22:54
Current Music: The Subterranean Homesick Blues - Bob Dylan
I was on the subway (underground, tube - whatever you may call it), and I was looking rather sleepy, as in the early morning I can be quite curt, so I decided to doze off. Smart thing to do really, seeing as how I had been up all evening before studying for a bloody exam. When I awoke there was a woman standing over me - looking worried, and asked a question:

"Do you need a hand?"

And of course I was rather confused at the predicament, why was she asking if I needed help? She went on to say:

"You look like you've lost something, do you need help finding it?"

At this point I was rightly pickled - 'had I lost something?' - well of course I hadn't. So I just said no, and assumed that this was some nut that was just having fun talking to me. The people around my seat were grinning, some on the verge of laughter - so I just said "No thanks, I just dozed off".

And then she walked away.

A bit of weirdness for the day if you ask me.

I arrived late...


P.S - I had lost my pen on the subway, wonder if that's what she meant. Yet who asks to help find a pen?

Posted on 2005.11.21 at 22:05
Thought I'd post some blues - simple but fun to write. And at the moment the peak of my musical craft (sad I know, but I am working on it).

Through telephone wires in dim-streets,
Runs the passion playing out it’s fun.
Without a care or worried reminder
That our message is yet to come!
Foolish bugger you step and slide,
Waiting for her to come catch on up.
But where’s the path – I see no road
We’ve just been killing too much time.

Oh and the lesson was taught by daughters,
To their mothers, fathers and friends.
Spelling out their symphony, written after school
Pointing out the chorus – to reiterate the plan.

Nothing will ever be the same again,
Our jester’s are dukes and princes kings.
And the boatman of wonder, shoring off his ship
Whistles the tune, so that we may all revel in it.
Dim witted dandy, likeness of God.
Pants falling down, point of the pun
Worked into prayer, and silent hymn
You who’s fearing the race that’s already run.

And what about this lesson – already taught,
By the lover of sin and portable song?
Weaver of riddles in crumpled note form,
Worshiper of reverb, the righter of wrong.

Posted on 2005.11.14 at 18:23
Last time I came, I looked upon
A matted grandeur, no simple son.
And when I left, I felt the wind
Blow my thanks – to the river kin.
To believe in home, is to think of life
As a simple thing – riddled with strife
Yet from hence the clouds blew and broiled
We spoke of true – family foibles.

Just as the Romans came upon,
And left so quickly, without the sun.
And just as poor Charlie, led that charge
The blood of the innocent, cover the farms.
Yet our plaid still stands, long and proud
To think of symbols, like Lamont and Fife
We gazed this way – then left the banks.

To famish now, is to f’ever mourn
A long lost land – to bitter scorn
And treat our sheep, as if a ‘source
Of paltry wealth, and cotton skirts.
So expect na brother, a pipers last bellow
That carries itself on the wind.
And listen to rivers, gurgle and crack
Rememberin’ a grand ancient hymn.

Oh Robbie was, a sure gid fellow,
As was Tobias – a sat’rist’s idol.
And just as King Billy – ruled over Eire,
The shepherds still roam, clan’s bluid on fire.
So where can you follow? Todding in ‘hallow
Beachheads of trouble, and history-mellow.
For this isn’t any call for a trite Colour’s shamble
But a pure simple hinting, to pause for a strong legged
Scotsman.

Not quite sure, or certain...

Posted on 2005.11.14 at 18:13
My god, they've got the christmas decorations out - perhaps the roman's did the same with the cross, just to give ol' JC the willies.

O that bluish, glowing orb – in which fair mortals do shine
Broke up into continents, countries and lines
You see a border while I see a home.
And follow a north star – into countries and rocks
‘Gating a sea, to shepherd your flocks.

O I’ll tell you dear friend, tis a friendship’s pledge
And nor shall you refute, a gift so true
Be it by brother, mother or son
Be it by history, poetry or muse.
You’ll accept this here token – my gift to you.

And since thou must flea, a youth in a world
(Where peace is but few, and Arms o’erwhelm)
To leave this fair land, and create a world new
I’ll show you the way, teach what’s been told
Then wave a gidbye, and bid you adieu.

Since life’s grand seems, can be weaved no more
Tis for simplicity’s sake I say no more.
And though we wish to see our grand painting
We’ll all have to wait – till the last ship’s set sail.
Waiting, waiting, waiting…

These line’s reworked in sense of taste
And writ in poetry – to symbolize faith
In all that we do, and all that we can
To see us once more,
Beneath stars – no more “land”.


Well... For all intensive purposes.

Posted on 2005.11.14 at 17:56
Christ, what a bloody mood I was in while writing that.

It's not anything personal against anyone in particular, but some run-in's with the afformentioned bodies had caused some angst to spill out in "that".

Don't get me wrong, I enjoy all the freedoms I have as a citizen of a western country...

Just doesn't mean I have to wipe it's ass everytime it leaves a mark on it's knickers.

cheers,
ian

An Article

Posted on 2005.11.10 at 17:58
Dearest Friends, Comrades, Brothers and Sisters, Youth and Adults Alike:

I have decided to write down a thought, an idea – an abstract of being and philosophy. And, although I am no great writer, no great theorist or politician, it is my belief that what I have to say in this document speaks of something that does not need a great writer or idealist to put forth. All it requires is someone who is concerned, agitated and motivated to something better – attainable and peaceful, a testament to human morality and love.

So it is the New Year, 2005. We have long since left the trials and tribulations of the 20th century. We have begun to create our own problems for our own generation – new ideas for new people, new laws for new times. However, I am greatly distraught by the way with which we have carried ourselves in this 21st century. War, poverty, disease, and genocide – all these things run rampant throughout our society. We no longer look for a solution to armed conflict and proliferation; we no longer look for a solution for AIDs and Hunger. Yes, there is a large base of those who do – but our representatives; the “people” seem as though not to care. Our parliament has long since become a hot bed of arguments and long-lasting rivalries; we are not one nation, but a rag-taggle grouping of misfit ideals and wrongful assumptions.

Our leaders have assumed we wish to get rid of most of the Socialist ideals that hold this country together. We have been led, blindfolded, into a new era – an era of renewed hostilities, an era of bigger bombs, bigger wars and bigger problems. It is in this century that we shall see the greatest of our trials and tribulations – greater then those of the past century, greater then those of WWI and WWII. We will see a new cold war, and possibly a new world war erupt into uncontrollable violence within our lifetime if we do not act. We shall, in this first decade, be called upon to fight and fund wars that in essence and theory are fundamentally wrong, but sound feasible and just in the public’s eye. We shall witness, in this first decade, Human Rights be trampled, International Laws broken, and war become an answer for dissent and frustration amongst politicians and citizens alike.

Today is the day we must say “Enough!” Today is the day we band together, strength in our numbers and hearts – to act upon the most ethical of all revolutions. Not a revolution of weapons, guns and gutter fights – but a revolution of words, civil disobedience, and political action, that, not in a hundred years the world has seen the likes of. This revolution shall be waged on every street corner, of every city, of every province and sovereign state in this world. It will be heard throughout the public as a revolution of the arts, writing, poetry and voice. It cannot be violent, because in essence it is a revolution against the very fabric of war, armed conflict and violence.

I declare to the world, that the war on drugs is a meaningless policy – that up until now has only meant to disenfranchise our society’s youth and fill up jails with innocent people – while mass murderers and war criminals roam the streets and sit in public office. I declare to the world that Militarists and propagandists, who have been blinded by their own unwillingness to accept change and society’s norms, run our governments. I declare to the world that we are being led to slaughter by war monger’s and those who seek wealth. I declare to the world that our politicians, our police, our armies, and our governments have been found wanting by the public at large. I declare to the world that the entire spectrum of human emotion and human being has been ignored by those making the laws – and those who need to be making the laws are either shunned or unable to do so.

This revolution I speak of, is not meant to topple governments and infrastructures. It is, in fact, meant to preserve what little we have left of them. We must stop complaining about deficits and wars – and start preventing them. Just as we do our part, others must do theirs. Soldiers will have to put down their guns and make peace; governments must work together and interact – instead of bicker and bomb. The UN must be respected by our Nations’ leaders, and must be established as a responsible, effective form of governance for International law.

So, the first step that must take place is we must come together, unify. You have been angry, upset, about something – you have been worried and stressed about an unforeseen calamity, which you have chosen to displace upon you brothers and sisters in acts of violence and derision. This is no time for Civil Strife! This is a time for unification, we need to stop looking at what differentiates, and start looking at what makes us alike. Let us come together, as equals, and forge a new world order, a new set of norms and laws that we can be proud of. Let us revolutionize the way we think and act – but most importantly, let us realize we are the people.

With my utmost sincerity and conviction,
Ian Knight

This the third in the series that was the last two, written at about the same time, and in the same style. As inspiration goes read people like Tobias Smollet or Dylan (Dillon) Thomas. Both great poets and rather drunken writers. Good stuff to be had there...

I
In the mind’s of men, and soul of rhyme,
We cross the wide, spreading, waste of time
And take a look, upon the books,
We called art, and poetic line.

Yonder through all the years we go,
Like a shepherd herding sheep, and goat.
To think of water, as if the flow
Is the ominous tale of a dramatic show.

Like the sun, does rise a flag so high
Above the men who wish to die,
And store upon our heads so bent –
A startling sun, and graven line.

Hark, your letter and your word!
Your pen is the likeness of a sword,
To bash upon the brains of son’s
Your battered reason, and nonsensical chord.

If this is but the last thing I see,
May I be ready to take leave.
And the look of stars, above the trees,
Seems so beautiful now, in the summer breeze.

Ponder now, you fettered hound,
Your blood is gone, upon the ground.
And sing your songs, of jaunting rhyme,
Your eyes are glazed, your sign is raised.

II
Dusk has fallen, and forever more
Shall ghost’s drift by upon our shore,
And talk of times, they loved and lived
In simple times, without this gore.

To me is mine, in every clime –
My sign is red, and tattered flow
So break ye faith – and with haste you go,
My art is broke, and with grief I chime.

The dirge is set, and the law is read,
Your sword is hung, made is your bed.
The mask is ready, as is the box –
Good tidings to you, we set the locks.
Cast the last one down, into the hole
And forget this war, with bells we toll.
For the time he lived, in sun and star
We lived and laughed, good were our soul.

The speech is done, the father gone,
A brother born, and a son is left
Behind in dark, and friend – bereft
The deck is set, and the ace is drawn.

So simple fellow, who read this far,
Set forth your word, and speak your star
For life is best lived with those you love,
So better spent, than this we speak of.

III
My friend I say, upon the page,
A present gone, and history made –
Your kindness remembered, as is the sword
And the law is writ, with spoke word.

Refresh my eyes, and travel on
Your peace at rest, and son far gone
Upon the waves of brand new seas,
A traveler’s wish, upon the breeze.

Sift through the words, of Homer’s rift
And find for me, words that read
As if in storms and seas of green
We’re traveling long, seldom seen.

Awoke before the breadth of dawn,
And looked out upon my matted ground
For tears do flow, as if the world
Were a horrid place, a violence twirled.

Listed upon the stones of many
And read aloud in churches plenty,
Is a story long, and word oft spoke
A dreamer’s log, a bended yoke.

And to my friends I say aloud
“For you I cherish, and love so hard”
Greeted upon the shores of morrow,
We’re leaving now, forgetting sorrow.

IV
A world well filled, is drifting by
Often seen in nighttime sky –
So to each his own, and as lover’s go
Your mind is best, much better than sword.

Twixt the mounts and seas of far,
Lies battleground, a bloodied scar,
Upon the face of a nature’s mother –
A loving son, and giving father.

Break off your peeps, and see with clear –
Your shattered land, my heartfelt tear.
And ask of me, your question this:
Where did it go? Where is this bliss?

Tear off your blankets and wake the rest,
Your war is waged, your feast is dressed.
And your spoiled log, of water clear
Is poisoned with the stench of death.

So rest upon your arm so tired,
And list the dead, a war retired.
Your brother gone, and father lost
Your mother crying, your sister glossed.

So lift the song, so high as may
The soldier’s gone, how we pray.
And left up to boy’s who know one thing
We’re better off without your king’s.

V
Your mount is climbed, your river crossed,
Your son is dead, and in’cence lost.
Yet you sing of good, and sing of praise
Your sword is bloody, the flag high-raised.

Step out upon the shores of mine!
And ask the people with whom they dine.
And if they answer, they say this
We dine with dead, my brother and sis.

Stark read aloud in temples old
Is a staggered song, and shattered flow
Your deed is done, and your die is cast
Your health is lost, your brain is gone.

Settled upon the rocks of old,
Lies a graven stone, a battered fold.
Left out to dry in the midnight sun,
Our memory lost and “sin” long done.

So list your claims to crimson fame,
And give out medals to the dead and lame.
Your war is done, and violence crossed
Into the books, the words of “cost”.

Tattered upon the desert and jungle,
Are my love and desire, my innocence and pleasure.
This narrate wrote within the years of star spangled streamer’s
I called them devils, and they called me “dreamer”.

The Presence

Posted on 2005.11.10 at 16:28
Current Music: Bob Dylan - Pawn In Their Game
Alright fourth entry, can't seem to bloody well sit still - so here it is (of course poetry, for the writing, which is to come, is in the process of being dug out of some rusty cabinet). Furthermore, I realize that the title is that of a Led Zeppelin album - do not be misled, nothing to do with that creation of blues infused - heavy metal (although it is a great album).

I
Bitter scorn, is all but near –
Released upon the world with anger.
Vacant symbols cover the ground,
As simple whispers permeate tears.
To think of this as a single line –
Is to misperceive this work of mine.

Treat your rifts upon the table –
Your sugar substitute for everything.
And your loosened rhythm is short of steps,
Your ballroom dance is closing gaps,
Tween heaven and hell, paradise and this –
Sweet, wedded, beautiful, bliss.

Strike up your match – and light your lands,
With frosty candles, and milk-shaded lamps.
Tis a simple message, carved in wood stands and trees,
Your fiscal indifference is nigh short of fool.
So sink your breath and curse this life –
Your ready for something, ready for “light”.

With match-book drawn, and snuff box out,
The candle burns as you take watch.
Upon the earth, and upon the skies –
A single sunset, in a blood-red night.
Rip off your face, and see your eyes,
A facilitated nightmare, in a ruptured mind.

II
Expect, good friend, a perspired dream,
Of transient duplicates, and wavy creams.
A picturesque sculpture, in a thought of mine,
A reality of nothing, in the space of time.
Lift up your heart, and free your eyes –
You can see so much more, without the lies.

Treasure this moment, as if the past –
Is haunting reality, your last shred of being.
The presence is near, can you feel the chill?
A fantastic memory, in a land of will.
Created by, the thoughts of all,
A well of inspiration – to be dug by songs.

Face yourself, and sparkle high
Your face is clean, even with the dirt.
For can’t you see the wisdom,
Behind the doors of the night?
A simple answer, in a simple land,
Your presence is needed, to help build it high.

Score your works, and stop the shorts
Of satirical message, and political reference.
Your dreams are reality, a rupture in time,
Your simple memory, shall be left to fly.
And the presence of heart, soul and spirit –
Shall remain forever, far behind.

III
Spread eagle and winged, like an angel of heaven
A thoughtless creation – but with so much potential,
Your presence is special, yet so common in time,
Your lesson is simple, your mind is divine.
Like a stranger to everything, and nothing at all,
Your paradise is earthly, your love cannot fall.

Fortunate feelings, and weavings of grace,
A proud declaration, to the whole Human Race.
Fettered, and tethered, like dogs in the lot –
Your spirit is crying, urging to spark.
Don’t hold it all in, don’t cap it all up,
Your volcano is active, let it erupt.

Hollow, and shelter yourself in the skies,
Clouds are the buildings, with which dreams are inspired.
And your pleasant, shaded mystery, is calming the worlds,
A universe in motion, with an earth standing still.
Can you stop all the time, weave all the songs –
Into melodies of fortune, and light coloured ‘arongs.

Cradled in dew-drops, and leveled by bliss,
A canvas of colours, of wisdom, and twists.
Like perfect, sweet reflections in pools of pure you,
A signal to establish, new worlds and new hues.
So reach on out, and touch the skies,
Your epics are limitless, they rival all time.

IV
Your heaven is sacred, your being is pure –
But perhaps this earth, is another world’s hell.
So do what you can, and say what you must –
I trust in your presence, your beauty, your lust.
My mind is made up, my being intact –
Follow the lights, like long roaming packs.

Let damp warming rain, wash this away,
And settle in puddles, soaking up fear.
For nothing is worth, all the trouble and pain –
That causes the pleasures, to all wash away.
Trying for something, in the darkest of nights,
A tunneled expression, a sea of white light.

Left standing in showers, and waiting in sky,
The clouds are waking, just like the old times.
And ruptured is heaven, for if all of this falls –
What will be left? But reason, and wrong.
So lift up your am
bitions, and clear all the walls,
A presence of being, of memory, of all.

Twixt the blues, reds and whites –
Lies a picture of beauty, in our canvas called life.
Slipped right next to the images of apples and trees,
Lies simple memory, and long standing dreams.
Like great spackled notices writ in the winds –
A carving of essence, between reality is pinned.

The Seed

Posted on 2005.11.10 at 16:23
Current Mood: groggygroggy
Current Music: Benefit - Jethro Tull
I guess this is my third entry (so few, I must work to alleviate this condition) - I call it the seed, but I'm just a simple minded twit trying to pursue some kind of epic talent. Do not heed the words written, but feel free to make fun of the writer (for I am he).

The seed I plant, is left to grow,
And tally leaves upon the rows.
I’ve left it deep, within dampened ground
A legacy to the time we’ve had to bend.
So write upon the roadway clear –
When all was gone, “I was here”.

Repeated in the books of old,
We’re slipping now, into the earth –
And our presence, lost and found at once,
Lies shattered beneath our feathered thrush.
Can you steal the wind and play your song?
A long lost rhythm, in our sea of wrong.

Greetings mate, I’m glad to see,
You’ve stepped on out, you’ve been freed.
Twix your faith and unwavering breadth,
Your eyes are cold – and your mind is lost.
But whether you be loon or hen –
It matters not, for you are “friend”.

Open mind, and rattle shook
Your being is broke, upon the books
That we’ve called text and taught the folk,
By which we live, in schoolyard dreams.
So lift your brow, and feel your name –
It is so ancient, so pleasant, so tame.

Repressed in time, and reason-rhyme,
Your stone is solid, your heart within
And lost inside your cavern old,
Is a booklet, with stories often told.
Can you listen to the winds of time?
Blowing cross your mind’s eye.

So strive, young friend, for heaven is near,
And your hell is present, but a distant fear –
For those that live, in earthly years,
Give up their chance to sleep with fire.
Your dress is simple, your dance inspired,
By long lost angels, that you have sired.

O simple friend, let loose your life,
Upon the wings of golden nights.
And pass through time as if you’re swift –
A fleeting desire, and passing gift.


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