Month: Jul 2013
If I could fuck your mind I would.
By what it would be fucked I cannot tell.
But something in me wants to fuck it hard;
I think I read you also do as well.
Bodies drenched in skinsmooth beauty
forn (and fawn) and porn themselves like
STD confetti on the potent wind of lust.
But physical attraction (when divorced
from mighty dreamfilled powers of mind)
is something I can never inly trust.
A number of friends from around the world have been asking me about the train crash near Santiago in northwest Spain which looks to have killed at least 80 of its 218 passengers. A few have insinuated that they think Spanish transport could be to blame as if it is not of a good standard. Let me say that my experience of the Spanish transport system is that it is extremely well-maintained and engineered. The train service is excellent. The roads are of a very high standard indeed. Driving on Spanish roads is to me a much more pleasant experience than driving, say, in the UK. The train crash today is a one-off occurrence in an otherwise very good record of service. Looking at the security camera footage of the impact, it is a miracle that anyone at all survived. And the vast number of Spanish public who went to the aid of the dying and injured is a real testament to the warm-heartedness of the people in this country. They didn’t hesitate to throw themselves into the fray. I know only too well that such an accident issues in a high number of amputations and even decapitations from flying glass and metal. Yet these people rushed from their houses with blankets without hesitation. Angels every one. I take my hat off to them and the emergency services too. Must be difficult for them to sleep tonight. A truly shattering experience. I’m sending hearty, supportive thoughts in their direction and that of the families of the dead and injured. How slender is the thread of life. An event like this puts things into perspective. Grasp the whole of life with both hands while you can. It’s as long as a whispered breath. Live each day as if it could be your last…
IMAGINE IF I ANNOUNCED that I was writing a novel about a civilisation on a planet where what people eat is determined by corporations whose *only* desire is to make huge amounts of money and most of what they produce is not only non-nutritious but actually harmful, in that they cause a welter of serious conditions such as cancer, obesity, behavioural disorders, heart & and circulatory disease. What’s more, those corporations continually advertise their “foodstuffs” by making out as if they are healthy, yet no advertising standards authority ever stops them and governments continually support them. And, what’s even more is that anyone who tries to expose all this is publicly ridiculed and ostracised or even assassinated (while “scientists” are sponsored to write “independent” whitewash reports which exonerate the corporations’ activities). And, what’s even more than that, mostpeople just go along with it and eat all that shit even though they know it to be shit (that’s probably the most shocking part). People would say I was writing another “1984” and how relieved they were that such an awful thing couldn’t happen here. Until I told them that it wasn’t fiction! 😀
A certain foetus (who I cannot name)
has slithered down the birth canal of life
into the world today. And in no time at all
I guarantee will slither out the other way.
Whether royalty or paupers
they all play their tawdry bit parts
in this raucous
moving picture show.
A twelfth house moon fills up my view
and itself too
and fills the space between the forms
of me and you.
By you I mean not just a single soul
but every written scroll who ever lived
(for that is what we are —
some holy words breathed into flesh
from where we lose our way
our minds enmeshed
in mercenary dreams
unless we let
(in spite of what we may believe)
the mirror of the sun
and all of us
a shaft of light
© Alan Morrison, 2013
One of the more unpleasant smells in this world is professional jealousy. The symptoms are always so obvious, yet the person emitting the odour is generally completely unaware of his or her attitude and usually even justifies it by blaming the person of whom they are jealous. This is a very common problem in all walks of life. However, I think it is especially unpleasant to find it in fields involving the arts, where sensitivity, empathy, self-awareness and even love should prevail.
A TENNIS-PLAYER CALLED ANDY MURRAY will apparently soon be made a knight by the Queen of England because he won a few games of tennis resulting in a few million people feeling “awesome” about it. But he won’t be a *real* knight, for he cannot measure up to what it takes for that. The entire “honours” system in the UK is a stitch-up involving nepotism, toadyism and outright bribery. It is a complete farce. In a speech to the Churchill Society in 1998, John Lidstone said: “Every stone I have looked under in the history of our present honours system is a history of bribery and corruption”. Going right back to prime minister Lloyd-George (who, between 1917 and 1922, made a personal fortune of £1.5 million from the sale of honours) through Harold Macmillan, Harold Wilson, Margaret Thatcher to Tony Blair, he showed how honours in the UK have been bought by and sold to party donors, friends in high places, “luvvies” in the entertainment world and other undeserving characters. I agree with Lidstone when he wrote in an article (29/12/2005) in The Independent: “Honours should be awarded to two categories of people only — those who have done signal deeds beyond their job and duty, and those who perform acts of heroism in civil or military life — and to no one else”. That would rule out Andy Murray, as he was merely doing his job and that is not a worthy justification for a knighthood. A knight is a hero who exceptionally steps outside ordinary human behaviour in the service of others — self-sacrificially, courageously, without a thought for self-preservation. With the occasional exception, the honours list in the UK takes no account of that whatsoever. It is as redundant and corrupt as the now propagandist Nobel Peace Prize awards, whose recipients include war criminals and people (or organisations) who have done nothing of any value whatsoever. (Nobel’s original idea was that the awards should go to those who were actively engaged in dismantling militarisation and the system of war). One thing one learns in this life is that those things which are most valued and lauded by governments, the media, the film, music, literary and other arts industries are generally of little or no lasting value; while the real heroes and achievers of this world work on in obscurity, going beyond the call of duty and fulfilling the call to selfless greatness.
One of the principal roles (one could even say duties) of the artist is to be a voice for those less able to express themselves. For the artist is able to put into words or pictures or song what others cannot (or maybe dare not) say or feel (or maybe have not even yet thought). In this way, s/he can encourage others to find their voice (and maybe even their thoughts). Through the artist, people are empowered to see and feel and think and speak in ways they never knew before. Thus, the true artist becomes a creative conduit for the dreams and inner longings of the mass of souls — a magician of the heart and mind, an alchemist transforming dull grey matter into floral patterns and filigree frescoes which issue in fiery deeds. Dictators, despots and corrupt governments know this only too well. They feel threatened by the very existence of such artists (and other thinkers); which is why they will set out to remove their influence from the world — either by ridicule, defamation, incarceration on trumped-up charges or assassination (ask John Lennon, Michael Jackson and many other highly influential artists who knew what was really happening and paid the price). Never has the world needed true artists as much it does today. People who will speak out and educate, stimulate, regenerate and elevate the sleepy human mind…
FASHION in any sphere of life is formed in two ways: 1. By vested interests dictating to people what they are going to like. 2. By taking what the least adventurous people in the world have come to like merely through habit and mediocrity and spreading such crippledom to others. Thus, the tyranny of fashion destroys personal creativity, suppresses development of self and discourages individual adventurousness. (And I’m not only talking about clothes!)