Here I am, alone again, lost within the city of romance.
The buildings, the streets, the air itself, saturated with the intensity of L'amour.
Oh how I long for you.

M.B

Not once have I laid eyes upon a creation as incredible.
Not once.
Be it editorial or cold hard reality.
There stands an angel before me.
Unmistakeable.
Yet an angel in a room of devils.
Primitive devils with their intentions carved into their foreheads.
They're all the same.
Oh how you must be so weary of the reoccurring similarities you inevitably encounter at every turn.
So I shall merely stand here, spontaneously locking eyes with you. At that moment, nothing else in this room matters.
No sound other than the solid pounding of my heart, not a surrounding sight, just the perfection that stands before me.
Oh how your eyes perform.
How they speak without words.
How wondrous secrecy is within these undesirable circumstances.
But perhaps I am deluded, perhaps all that I have said means only what it does to me and is simply a proposturous misenturpretation of the language of our eyes.
Perhaps a wishful thought is as much as I shall ever have to reflect upon.
But before you leave, please accept this key, it simply resembles the fact that you have my heart.
Au Revoir.

Daikus

I purchased my ticket.
An unearthly fare.
Then boarded the train to hell.

I alighted at the final destination.
What an array of familiar faces.
I promised I would see all you here.

Though I am merely a visitor.
And you are here for good.
Now burn, as I watch in pleasure.

t.M

I obsess.
I obsess.
Oh how I do.
The obsession is as highly strung as your world renowned hypnotics.
I am at a loss of not only words & breath, but will to live, when I check in with reality to be reminded that the likelihood of a moment in time spent together, is as likely as the rose head is to survive much longer than a week or so of bloom, once removed from its original place of birth.
But there is hope, of course, and faith.
In oneself, and ones success, and thoughts and beliefs and dreams.
Real dreams, those that come true.
For in states of the unconscious, fantasy flooded depths of euphoric thoughts, derived from the process of sleep, you and I elope on a regular basis.
But whom, I ask you, ever said that a dream of any caliber shall not come true.
Only those with utmost skepticism and disbelief in the extraordinary will preach such sour wisdom. And for them, it is only due to the fact that they have not fought for that which they dreamt.
It was nothing but a succession of vivid visions, preposterous in composure, inspiration lost on its way to the minds of those that wish upon stars, those that love another with their heart and mind, not only their eyes.
Romanticism is creative genius personified.

There has been many a unruly death throughout the period of time that man has been apparent upon the face of the earth.
Yet there remains to this day, no death so unruly as that of the humble Gentleman.

Another infatuation.
Indeed, another.
What will it take to redeem a sense of sanity, for loosing my feet to love is as consistent as the second is to the minute.
I have waited long enough to put words to you, though every time I have tried, I've had nothing.
I cannot quite get my head around all that is you, yourself and your addictive nature.
Sleepless lovers, hand in hand, embrace the night.
This is where we escape.

Oh ever faithful words.
Oh most forgiving letters, your faces may have begun to fade, though your strength and memorised positioning most certainly hold longevity.
Why is it, that I must loose my way with you?
But also, loose myself within you.
When well strung, you are most hypnotic, like those eyes, those hazel glazed, dark, dark eyes that scream silently and represent the epitome of enticing beauty.
Oh but words, how you also wage wars.
Such power, with which comes great trouble, let alone responsibility.
For the horrifying act of pretentiousness, is one most unattractive feat,
Yet it constantly holds a place within your related politics.
And it is this, and singularly this, that drives me away.
No matter how incredible you are, no matter where on earth or other, you take me,
you will always be tainted by the opinion of another, and when it comes to defending yourself, you fail me.

This is where they breed, they thrive here, within the despicable darkness.
Stank, heavy and hazy air.
The tar like texture, that, which grates morbidly as it hits the back of your throat and paints your lungs blacker than the this place in which they reside.
I crossed vision paths with one once, and what a sickening experience was this.
For an entire soul could be murdered within seconds of an eye to eye lock on.
Just to be within the presence of such horrifying creatures is enough to drive any man to the depths of insanity.
But as survivors go, I myself am one, for I gave back just as they gave forth, yet harder and far more unpleasant.
This is the return of justice, of disgust for the unquestionably appalling life form that is, you.

E.S

Craning my neck back, I feel the pain of beauty as I bask in awe and admiration of the perfection that is, she.
The eyes of a goddess and aura of an angel, her selected height of residency subliminally states to me the unlikelihood & unavailability that I face, if ever I were to pursue the urge to confess this uncontrollable love I possess.

Dieu Et Mon Droit

The rain, how it falls so selectively, from the clouds, those black, angered clouds.
The walls, the division between you and I, and the rest of the surrounding worlds perils.
A queue in which I must stand, with others, of whom hold no comparison whatsoever to myself.
A social collective of wrongdoers and done, three to one, as we converse over a dwarf sized coffee table.
This is your face, as it lights up upon the realistation that I, your loyal friend, have taken time out of my day, to make this visitation a possibility . And this is the smile upon my face, as I realise that you are still well, still you, still baring the heart of gold that you had when we first met.
This is the tone of your voice, that tells me that all is as okay as it can be, and your sense of humor, that makes you, you.
The sun begins to shine through the weathered and filthy windows, between the rusted bars and into our conversation.
I will leave here with the knowledge engraved in my head and heart that you will pass through this period and exit quite simply the better man.
For now, my friend, this is goodbye, as I up and leave the room, turning back only to watch the smile leave your face, yet remain prominent within you.
I miss you friend.
You have my heart.

I present you with a secret.
I am quite sure that you are aware of what this means.
A tale,story,truth or lie that is not to be repeated.
Simply a notion, a sample of knowledge, that exists only between yourself and I.
Please keep this secret, for if you were to let even so much as a word of it slip,
I could not begin to stress what manner of unearthly happenings would start to take place.
Pretend for a moment that you are the ocean, the barer of the worlds wisdom, shame, detriment, woes, depression, deceit but most importantly, secrets.
She does not but whisper a single word, not even when she breaks upon the land, and sprays her frustration in the faces of her admirers.
You are the ocean, in human form.
As beautiful, and now as wise.

It was at this exact point, that I could see the crossover.
The trio that is the past present and future, gathered collectively around me.
Face to face with the answer to it all, and perhaps even a cure for all misery's.
Or just the singular misery that is and has been 'Life'
Not the life we should embrace and rejoice for and of,
But the life that we know as 'Real'.
For, the life that we philosophise over and about, is that of natural beauty,
Primitive emotions and the outstanding process that we know to be evolution.
Though when thrown into the melting pot of ingredients for the 'Grand Scheme'
It resembles merely the pinch of salt, to flavour.
No, 'Life' in reality, is a bitter, bitter existence, the salt in this instance, is weighed in grams
not pinches, and there is not a sweetener to be seen.
So here I stand, at the crossover.
With my body still intact, and my mind as powerful as ever.
I take my last breath, feel my last beat and hear my last note, before I lay my hand upon this handle
and take my last step, into the new darkness that awaits me.

.

We would walk alone, through the forests and fields.
Discussing at length, all manners of beauty and desire.
Never once interrupted, our faces aglow from the remaining few beams and a glint in the eyes of one another .
Your pupils take the form of pure diamond, set in platinum, drowning in a sea of white gold.
Untouched by filthy hands, unmarked by anything at all.
And here, in this opening, we marvel together at the passing of another day.

For you...

She loves me, she loves me not.
"Not love" you say, "Not Again".
"Oh please but give such letters a rest,
For we grow weary of the day to day consistencies of that which you call 'Love'
And such a word, 'tis used out of context on many an occasion, oh love, I love.
Love me".

Riddle Me That..

I am in love.

I am most certainly in love.

"With who?" you ask, you call, you yearn and long to know.

But no is certainly what you will hear, and know is certainly what you won't.

Neither will they, probably, ever.

As I am in love and I am most certainly afraid to address it.

Einstein once told me that education is what remains after one has forgotten everything he learned in school.

Why is it that the ones we consider to be the most intelligent to have ever lived, are not the ones that we* ever took/take heed from.

He went on the tell me that - "Two things are infinite: the universe and human stupidity; and I'm not sure about the the universe."

Summing up wholly, the exact justification of my point.

The revolution starts now, just as Nelson Mandella told me - "Its in our hands".


*be it generalisation in your eyes or not, we = the majority of humanity, though the select few that choose to open their eyes to the quite obvious truth, may be excused from such a label.

Hearts...

Please Die

Reflections...

There is something about a child's innocence and angelic naivety that can restore a smile upon the face of a man burdened with even the blackest of misery.

With a token red balloon on a string and the most inquisitive of minds, they created an energy within the given environment, that just so much as dried the sodden clothing that many the congregation were sporting, freshly drenched from the typically British summer outside.

Enlightening enough to partially lift a concrete writers block, merely to say that 'oh, how ignorance is bliss, but oh, how wisdom is key'

And so, the non existent sun sets and the artificial glow of London life, highlights the clouds with a rosy haze as we play out, once again, our last scene of this day.

Pt 1 Pt 2

My darling.
My dearest;
Beloved.
I write to you with such sincerity in my words, as to say, that every minute that passes, my realisation of fatal addiction to you, grows only stronger by the second.
And as distance can strengthen ones heart, I believe that isolation may do just the same.
For here I sit, confined once again, to the social cut off of my surroundings.
And though my love for my place of rest is eternal, it does not nearly match that of which I have for you.
Please find attached, a single photograph, an image of my life in its current state, entirely summed up in all its monochrome glory.
Sincerely yours.





Oh, but what is this?
A place for both yourself and I, to sit and rest.
To watch the world go by.

Dearly Beloved..

And here ends the night of happy faces,
The smiles of understanding and tears of joyous celebration.
Though the eyes remain welled up, tears of joy become tears of sorrow.
For news from afar brings darkness.
A familiar face wears an expression entirely new.
One that you would never have thought to have seen.
These are dark days, for we should never be buried before our guardians.
Eternally my heart goes out to you.
Sufferers and the affected.
Mourn in peace.
Rest in peace.
You're free now, you're no longer a prisoner to this hell.

And We've Become...

I once had a friend.
He shone over every other, a vibrant character.
Though where has he gone
And
What has he become.

Of late, I saw said friend.
He had gone no further than where I had last seen him.
And
He had become no more, but less the character he ever was.

So long friend .

I don't pity thee, though I feel for ye.

I should have seen it all along, and thrown the arms of saving grace out for one.

Does this make me for worse?

I ask of you.

And We Converse....

.....As I find myself back in the office, with an hours worth or My Chemical Romance on what seems like a continuous loop, playing in the background on the television, I begin to take myself back a few hours to the heat and heart of last nights activities.

For last night was the first show I had played with a new project that I have been working on.

Her name is Lucy Rose, she is a singer/songwriter and slays the guitar whilst singing with a voice that one just would not expect to be delivered from the size of the body it is coming from.

I met Lucy through my never ending Hustle/Constant mind frame to push myself further and further into this game, we met up three weeks ago and jammed out something crazy and it just clicked, it was so enlightening to be playing something that wasn't supremely fast or heavy, something that I could just groove to and get into a real trance with.

She literally had the very basics of songs which she would perform everywhere and anywhere but we have now built them up and added pace and depth to them, though this is nothing on what is to come. I cannot wait to really get started on recording the CD.

Anyway, Last night was the Debut performance by Andy Borrows of Razorlight Fame, he has made his own solo project, where he has taken words written by Peter Dixon and put them to music.
He provided a most enjoyable performance with appearances from members of Muse, Guillemots, live poetry from Peter himself and of course a final performance involving, to begin with, himself and Johnny Borrell and eventually leading on to Razorlight in full, playing their hits.

In amongst the pews and wood paneled flooring, stood the dressing room, complete with a rider consisting of nothing much more than a manic flood of carbohydrates and condiments to accompany them. Still, never one to turn down free food, I indulged in my fair share.
As I turned from my raid of the tortilla chips and salsa, I caught the eye of Sainsburys savior and 2003 Super 8 film and a scooter, Jamie Oliver.
Having previously visited the 'Jamies Hotdogs' Stand and been most disheartened to find that there was not a vegetarian in mind anywhere at all, I decided I would would take up my displeasure with the man himself.

He was most apologetic and explained that the entire idea had been thrown together in a matter of hours, not to mention the fact that the previous day had been not only his birthday but also the opening night of another of his 'Fifteen' Restaurants.

He went on to explain that he respects the diet of a vegetarian with utmost sincerity and that near enough 60% of his books are made up of vegetarian dishes.

I accepted his apologies and went on to speak about how eye opening his latest shows have been for the entire population. To hear his first hand opinions on it all seemed a whole lot more fulfilling than just to hear an edited watered down version from a TV appearance or magazine article.

Moving on, I have failed to mention mine and Lucy's performance.

Though being informed that, thanks to a decibel limit in within the vicinity, I was only allowed to play with brushes, I worked out an entirely new way to make her songs still hold a kick and groove without loosing to much wholeness.
From what I could tell, it worked. I definitely saw at least a handful of people nodding their heads or tapping their feet, that was good enough for me.
Lucy utterly killed it, having been unquestionably unnerved, she managed to get up and just explode upon the audience, her rapport was instant, and the moment she began to strum, the sense of 'everything is going to be alright' settled in perfectly.
It was over as quickly as it began, which is usually always the case, but from what I could tell, the people loved it, as did we, and thats really all that matters.

I received a text today asking whether I had heard the shout out Edith Bowman had given us on her show, sadly I didn't, though Edith was so incredibly kind hearted and pleasant to talk to, not to mention inspiring, to be running up and down the stage stairs - with child, to introduce acts and announce raffle winners. Warrior.

The rest of the night was spent riding the last train home, which is always a story within itself.

But that is a story for another moment in time.

Eyes Peeled for all that is to come.

xo

For C.C....

....Perhaps if your chosen route to work today happened to have been the commute from the south west to the capital city you might have experienced similar things as I.

Routine is quite possibly the most dull side of life one could expose themselves to, though it holds a sense of safety and comfort, a little spontaneity perhaps wouldn't go amiss from time to time.

Seven o clock wake up call, nothing particularly strenuous but the journey ahead for the next two hours definitely holds it weight in strain.
Shower, dress, eat and drive.
A seven and a half minute ride to the station, goodbye guardian, hello familiar faces, Grey sky and washed out expressions, over the bridge to platform one, eight thirteen, take your place on the platform, that familiar place to match the familiar faces.
Find a seat, and relax. From here on out one has an hour to sit, to indulge in a book, to listen to the current soundtrack that reflects your position in life or even just just watch the world as it passes by in a underexposed blur.

Pulling in to the final destination, and those desperate people, [the ones you find on any public transport, mainly planes] that stand up and block the aisles before the doors have even opened, in avid anticipation to leave the carriage/shuttle/cabin.
Out of the doors, with the greeting of a damp, heavy, dark and grim scented air, one descends the stairs to the underground and becomes the minnow in the ocean of filth, lost hope and desire.

The first mistake, to pick up the Metro, a free london paper, provided by the kind hearted people of the daily express.
Though one could hardly call it a paper, more so an obituary, a collection of death stories and other unpleasantness that does wonders for enlightening the mind in the pleasant surroundings of the London Underground system...

Its safe to say that despite this daily feed of misery I am yet to deny a morning of reading up on current affairs.

After being informed of how humans continue to rape the earth of just about everything it has ever had to offer and the less-than-excrement beings, that find it acceptable to Murder on primitive instinct and feel no remorse, I leave the over ground train at High street Kensington and make for the stairs, through the barriers and straight in to view of a Giant orange handing out baby oranges, promoting 'Fruity Friday'

Now this was a breath of fresh air for me, The lighthearted comedy factor of an oversized fruit and its small team of minions, shouting at the tops of their lungs first thing on a bleak Friday morning.
I most definitely took full advantage of the offer, helping myself to a very reasonably sized orange, which is currently positioned in front of me, waiting to be devoured for my lunch time dessert.

There is so much more that I wish to write about right now, but I really don't have the drive sadly.

The time will come, I have some plans to make things work.

We are the children of the revolution.

xo

Revolution...

...Sundays have never been the most eventful of days and most likely never will be.
I always seem to find myself slipping in to a moderate depression when it hits four pm and the shops start to close their doors, this process has always seemed to interpret itself as a 'this is the end of the world' saga. Perhaps my interpretation is slightly over dramatised, yet none the less, its how I feel.

Now take that and mix it with an (un) healthy, black bags and bloodshot stinging eyed lack of sleep feeling, from a previous night of sofa 'sleeping' and inebriated 'party girls' who seem to morbidly nocturnal.

And you are nearing the undesirable situation I found myself in post Saturday evening.

Having woken to find that 'yes- I really did end up sleeping here last night', I decided I would drive two others in the same situation, back to their homes.

C first and then B, though en route from C's, we just so happened to spot an almighty car boot sale. Now, never one to turn down the chance of an easy hustle or obsessive impulsive 'good buy', myself and B decided it would be worth our Sunday morning whiles to stop and scour the tables and their offerings.

One pound and forty pence later, I find myself walking away with a new chain complete with a 'peace sign' emblem and a 'might as well be brand new' true romance dvd.

Not to mention a Hounds-tooth jacket that B bought for me, the skate board I bought for him and the dark room equipment I managed to hustle for five pounds for B, in exchange for my email so that she (the seller) could contact me regarding which laptop would be best for her.

Back on the road I get a call from home saying that we will be dining as family that evening, so I drop B home after a short stop at his to eat some peanut butter and jam toast and introduce him to Charlie Brooker.

Back home, I am informed that the family meal is no longer going to be taking place which leaves me thinking - "I will go to this exhibition after all"

Leading finally to the point of this entire story..

The Cans Festival.

I drove to Basingstoke, parked up and got on a train to Waterloo. Thanks to British rail and their incredible efficiency towards running a business, there were extremely limited services and those that were running were ludicrously over crowded.
Alas, I arrived in one piece and stepped out into the warmth of the Sundays setting sun and the eternal buzz of London street life.
After a gruling 3 minute walk to Leake Street, I finally arrived.

The atmosphere was an absolute mecca of stunned appreciation and overwhelming inspiration. I was so excited to see it all that I couldn't care less that I had to stand in a queue for ten minutes before being allowed access. (ten minutes not being particularly horrifying, but queues......)
Finally, I was in, or under might perhaps be slightly more apt.
Instantly the camera was let out of the bag and I began to journey through 'history in the making'.

For those that didn't get to marvel at this spectacle and can't quite grasp the sheer insanity from the photos below, then in words it was as follows:

Picture the grimmest of walls entirely reborn with a wash of solidly bold colours, A tunnel of such vast proportions, it can house over a thousand bodies with ease.
Work your way through burnt out cars and hundreds of flashing cameras as you struggle to take in just how intricate this entire ordeal is.
Its eerily low lit but still holds a satisfying feeling of comfort as every spectator sports a smile indicating one - hundred - percent appreciation for everything they see.

At the far end of it all was an area specifically devoted to anyone and everyone that wished to make a donation to the project, the walls were utterly plastered with a complete mash of colours and logos, top to toe.

The attention to detail was awe inspiring, topped off by the security wearing high vis' jackets with the title 'polite' as a parody on 'police'.

To wrap up the entire event, it was, as I titled, A revolution.

Its projects like this that we need in our ever failing world, to bring an inkling of lighthearted feeling back to our miserable lives.

I am yet to find out what the future holds for this exhibition but I can only hope that whichever Borough council is in charge of the area, see's as much in it as I myself and clearly the majority of visitors did.

And of course, a few photos for you to enjoy:

Incredible..

... Tucked away within a west London trading estate, hides a place, that one would believe only existed in a fantasy world.

A place that, when it opens its doors to its friends, greets them with such embrace that they feel instantly overwhelmed with a vast mixture of emotion.

A place that you have heard and read so much about and have mentally planned your own imagery for, yet happens to be even more extravagant than you had imagined.

Have you ever walked inside a building only to find grass instead of carpet, accompanied by a fleet of vans to match?
Or been greeted by the most genuine of friendly people and made to feel more at home than at home...?
Been surrounded by a certain produce (and everything it stands for and involves) - that you have an undeniable passion for?
Found yourself inspired beyond a level you didn't really ever think possible?

If yes to all then you will know, of course, that I am talking about the HQ of the pureed fruit extraordiaires Innocent and their aptly named offices 'Fruit Towers'

Today was their first EVER AGM (A Grown-up Meeting) and I was more than privileged enough to have been a part of it.

I shall try not to write an essay, though it will be particularly hard not to as there is just far to much to say.

For those of you (which I am sure will be most) - That are/were not aware of exactly what todays event was in aid of can check all the details out right here

It all kicked off at Two pm today (Saturday the 26th of April) At their head offices.
A collection of devoted customers gathered amidst the bean-bags-a-plenty and red seated booths in the 'main hall' of the office.

Then treated to an incredibly well put together summary of exactly what Innocent is/are/were/will be and just about everything and anything else you could wish to know (involving smoothies)
Presented by co-founders Richard, Adam and Jon, they covered everything from 'in the beginning' right through to receiving over four hundred thousand knitted hats for 'the big knit' last year.

When we entered we were given name badges and assigned a fruit, I was a Lemon.
The reason behind this then became prominent when we were split in to groups of fruits and sent away to partake in certain activities.



My groups activity covered superfoods and worked around voicing our opinions on the current range and also tasting the 'whats to come' ideas and passing judgment on all areas.
I shan't divulge the recipes of those that I tried, but all you need to know is that if they reache production then I shall be a happy man.
A little clue : Its of a deep orange HUE.
(Excuse the Doctor Seuss like sentence, it was completely unintentional)

'And then there were cakes'

Tea break and a time to converse with people, I found myself speaking about an idea I had had for the decomposable bottle they were thinking of producing. Though this idea never took off as a fully recyclable bottle quite simply makes far more sense.
I also managed to get a few words in with Richard which I found to be most inspiring. He was incredibly driven towards flourishing an entrepreneurial spirit which I couldn't have related more to.

The final stretch was the act of Q&A, the three were seated at the firing wall and shot at with burning questions. They covered so many aspects of the company from simply 'why the knitted hats?' through to 'why did you decide to go through with supplying McDonalds with your produce?'
To hear the answers from three of them whilst on the spot and completely unrehearsed was incredibly refreshing and also showed just how realistic their attitude towards their business really are.

Finally wrapping the day up with a handful of goodbyes and a hand out of goody-bags which consisted of an AGM mug, a personalised GOLD smoothie bottle, a Booklet of the event and a box of tea bags courtesy of 'Yorkshire Tea', all housed within a hessian tote, complete with cherry print on one side and 'The Innocent Shopping Bag' on the other. Oh and obviously as many smoothies as one could carry dispensed from their very own grassy smoothie (ice cream) van.



So as a final round up of todays events:

I have been unbelievably lucky to have been exposed to an event which will mark the first of many more to come.

Innocent - as Richard so rightly said 'Has only just begun' and he - as far as my opinion is concerned - could not be more correct.

The plans for 'world domination' are more than easily within your grasp and I shall enjoy watching you as you take each step down the inevitable road of success.

"Tough times don't last, But tough people do"

Here ends the sermon.

(A few pictures for you to enjoy)










































Au Revoir...