Month: October 2017

Social Media Friendship: A Contradiction in Terms

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2000 FB Friends

“Congratulations, Alan! You’ve reached 2000 friends today!”, Fakebook announced to me. Teehee! [Excuse me while I chuckle]. This bizarre landmark has forced me to meditate on what the meaning is of friendship in this strangesome day and age. So, first, I will write a little piece about this, then, at the conclusion, I will share three poems I have written on the subject of friendship in a “Facets of Friendship” series, entitled “Friendship Lite” (about superficial friendship), “Fairweather Friends” (a sonnet about those friends who only stick around when the going is good or when they can gain something from it) and “True Friends” (about those few friends in life who can truly be called Friends, who will be there for you, whatever the weather, and on whom you can rely unconditionally. But first, social media friendship…

Please click on either the PDF or WORD DOC links here below to read the article:

PDF: Social Media Friends – A Contradiction in Terms

DOC: Social-Media-Friends-A-Contradiction-in-Terms


© Alan Morrison, 2017

Fuck your Falsesome Boundaries!

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Blurred Boundaries

Squishly, out from underneath the cover of his mother’s flesh, he flopped into a state of who-am-I-ness, where no safety is the norm and all the creatures who have taken form continually preen themselves throughout the ages of their many turns until the light goes on and finally they see themselves for who and what they really are [and then the plastic smile is gone and me-me-me’s no more their song]. In his particular case, there was no me to sing about that he could see and so, unable to discriminate the bound-a-ries between his ownsome self and anybody else [for by now he had reached 5 years old] and wholly overwhelmed by what he felt, he made himself a special outer shell which meant that he could see the world from inside looking out but no one else could see when looking from the outside in.

Continue reading…

Architect and Arsonist [poem]

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Indulging in this new-found pastime
causes an infernal end to many
now no longer worthful stories —
generates incendiary glory —
casting them into a memory-hole
forgettery (or better still déchèterie).
For here I speak of bridges being burned.

“Do not look back!” intoned the voice,
as slowly round I turned my head
but stopped myself instead from
staring at the fiery flameful scene
behind, beyond the chasm of my past,
which now no longer must be brought to
mind, for fire to the rear means ice ahead
which will be melted into something
called the present — an imaginary trick
inside your head which comes up fast
and just as quickly melts into the past.

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“If you Want to Hang Around with me” (LIVING-ROOM VIDEO #28)

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Here’s a new “living-room” video of a song I just wrote. It’s about how easy it is to be a true friend of mine. Feel free to share! With love from me to you…  The lyrics are below:


Read the lyrics

Jupiter in Scorpio [poem]

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on this strangely serene and glistering night
of distant echo sounds and noises nothingness
shuts tight its sleepless eyes and opens a door
to somewhere way beyond what fathermother
taught us lives behind its lantern-coloured
lintels or the splinters of its shiny self unhinged
restored clean-beamed and damascened
then gold from heaven’s alchemy was poured
(for such alluring doors can never be ignored)

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The Miracle you’ve longed to see [poem]

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Even though our (G.U.Inter)faces (more or less)
portray the same allotted format every day
[despite the fact that most of what we think
we are is nothing more than empty space,
yet doesn’t fall apart into another face!],
a large amount of secret changes happen there
(what we can call the realful cellsome underplay).
But let’s not put ourselves in stark denial,
hiding from the looking-glass’s awkward truth.
The telling time is coming all-too soon when,
looking in that hostile mirror at our eyes,
we’ll not escape that transformation comes
and instantaneously realise (with laughter,
dread or resignation, sighs, or shock, deflation)
that time {in all its retro raw unglory} f l I e s.

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