Colour of the desert
Shade of the sun
The appearance of poison
Is like a beach of yellow
But on the side of hope I air
As upon the shore I stride
Not looking to the sun
For my eyes it burns
But upon the moon of gold
An orb of yellow
To which my soul transcends
It was once so clear, as glass and ice
Everything so near, it looked so nice
But then I arrived, my fear in tow
Nerves to shred, sadness my vice
Its mournful song, killing the show
Notes so blue, the sun turned grey
So quickly I left, with my sorrow too
A bottle of jack, for a glass or two
Three, four and five, to kill my mood
The gutter in which I sleep
So happy people can look and know
What dreams they sip
And at what miserable soul
Their cruelty they can throw
I look upon the ashes of my life as a phoenix of death consumes what hope has left
The desert stretches outward as into the endless void the sands are spread
Underground rivers harbour my darkened breathe upon which word is carried of my death
Demons dance in teardrops with the merriness of a reapers touch
A landscape blackened by the tendrils of the arid storm with unseen depth
Yet it is tame when the phantoms blades are readied for the battle yet
I do not fear
I do not feel
I do not love
I am immune to the soothing call of heavens dove
Dreams echo nightmares
Nightmares reflect the expanding gulf
The purpose of these words are as hidden as my insanities ultimate bluff
The players upon its table all locked into the cycles descending luck
Now the day is calling me
So awake
This post is dedicated to every one of the:
Proof readers
Those asked ‘I need a word for…’
Other halves forced to brave an honest opinion
Put upon mothers who are the only ones that can come close to understanding their offspring’s writings
And anyone else that you as a writer turn to for help
Because without these people where would we be?
And to the ‘Oracle’, the wise one to whom I turn for that crucial grammar check and ‘read through’
THANKYOU!!!
Dating an artist:
To say I have limited success with the dark arts of dating would be an understatement (the reference to ‘dark arts’ being a hint). If you were the betting kind you’d put money on a one legged donkey winning Crufts rather than on me having any level of success!
So the question that begs to be addressed is; how the hell am I qualified to offer advice on this subject? And since I’d rather throw myself into an active volcano with a dynamite coat than engage those dark arts you’d be quite right to ask.
Being one of the chosen that life has gifted with the creative ability I’d love to say I’m selling my artistic works for five grand a piece and living in a penthouse with a scantily clad model as my girlfriend; but no… On the plus side I’m more than qualified to point out the various pitfalls of the creative personality for those crazy enough to date an artist. If however there is a penthouse in need of an artist, a scantily clad model looking for a low maintenance boyfriend or an art collector with some money to spend, my address and phone number are….
Project Fever is the complete and utter focus on The Project and there is little you can do to break his blind devotion to The Project, no matter how special the meals you prepare, whilst looking like a goddess to tempt out of your other half some basic recognition of your existence. Such efforts are likely to result in him mindlessly scoffing the food and at best you will get a grunt of acknowledgement.
Given the futility of breaking your other half away from The Project I recommend taking advantage of this by:
When he emerges from The Project Fever looking like he’s just been airlifted from the jungle after several days, you can hose him down in the shower and throw him a change of clothes; he will emerge thankful and dedicated to you for giving him space, telling him the current year, date, time etc and having not left him.
An artist creates master pieces that transcend the barriers of time and space, to a point, where he feels he’s communicated with the angels in the act of crafting his defining work; all you can see is a big blue square he has painted, with a question mark made of cut up take-out menus fixed with crazy glue.
Now you may be tempted to say something snippy or negative; to this I say no, no, no and for the love of having the peace and quiet of your man in a good mood, NO. The only thing your comment will achieve is a pair of shiny bracelets that the police have put on you, because the ‘Project master’ felt provoked and bad tempered enough to say “You look fat in that outfit” and you’ve taken the frying pan to his head.
Have a well tried but regularly refreshed list of compliments on hand like “It speaks to my inner anarchist” or “It has a meaning all to its self” and if you want something shiny, a great meal out or to buy that new pair of shoes without the obligatory ‘another pair’ comment try “Your artistic talent in beyond mere mortal understanding”.
Creative types need space; if you don’t give him space he will invade yours! Ensuing results are never pretty so if he says he needs space take advantage. This particular cloud doesn’t only have a silver lining; for the resourceful women it’s made of jewel encrusted gold!
If your artistic boyfriend is selling pieces for five grand each, get him to foot the bill for a spa weekend for you and your mother, sister, girlfriends or whoever else’s other half wants some space too! (Or combat training and criminology if you’re planning on removing your artistic boyfriend!!)
And if you are looking for the advantages of dating a struggling artist: i.e. yours truly – see section 5
Some of you will get the best looking social butterfly that has read the sacred tomes of fashion advice columns, carrying you on his arm to rapturous applause as every other lady in the room is jealous of your man, let alone the relaxation that you get from not having to worry about those conversation ending remarks or jokes that lesser men would fatally make.
This I must tell you, is not every artist you will meet, as evidenced by the nerve wracked women waiting by the nearest exit in order to make a quick getaway, or nursing a drink like it’s a matter of life and death. If you are so blessed with that anti-social creature and there is no avoiding taking him into public environments, there are simple precautions to take when presenting him to society “With these handy hints you can turn him into a true gent” the advert would say.
As is evident by the time and passion they put into their works, Artists are capable of great passion, this ability to channel so much of our feelings into something we value is the key to artistic talent and without that blind focus that drives an artist to create; we are mere shadows of ourselves. The artistic temperament is both wild and unpredictable, reflecting the organic nature of creativity and imagination itself, so if you’re with such a person just go with it and enjoy the ride!
And consider, that emotion and zeal he puts into inanimate collections of paint and canvas, carving stone, fashioning raw materials into unusual forms, is the same level of commitment he feels towards loved ones, even if on occasion it seems that they have forgotten you exist (as when in the grips of project fever).
So if you want an uninteresting, unimaginative partner who buys flowers from petrol stations with a pre-printed ‘I Love You’ written on a cheap and tacky bit of card, feel free. But if you want artistic master pieces dedicated to you that will outlast empires, displays of affection and commitment that put mere mortals to shame and you are willing to put up with a bit of crazy, I hate to say it but you’re looking for an artist!
He reached out a glass my depression did
A friendly word of life over a drink we had
Though my heart it sank in a place so deep
I felt at home with every condemning sip
And if a dagger in my demons hand appears
In my defence a simple truth I shall repeat
Without my unhappiness your quest is void
The life you have on my sadness you have built
Now pour me another and let us chat some more
My soul is heavy with regret and the hour is late
Ever find yourself the only person in the room with any idea, a sense that nobody else has even an incline of what’s going on in your mind
You’re happily talking, socialising, been merry but there’s a whole level of conscious in you that’s been barely tapped or engaged
And when you’re looking for new people to enter your life, friend, new family member or that one true love, you feel like you’re looking for something harder to find than a four leaf clover
Then to cap it off your brains firing off with ideas like a national holiday fireworks display, but there’s nowhere to write anything down or even an opportunity to and its infuriating
Welcome to the world of the creative!
The Artwork that I’ve used for my background so far
A piece I call ‘Abstract’, otherwise known as the map of my brain!
Two tunes playing as one is the most gorgeous sound, intertwined beats and melodies combine to forge something with the power to bring tears to the stoniest of hearts, to shatter the iciest hearts with the emotional force equivalent to a tropical storm.
Each note has a unique resonance that carries its own emotional pitch, whether it portraits the joy of fulfilment; the fulfilment reached when stars align in the form of such perfection, or the pain that infects the open wounds left by the jagged blade of love; its poison barbs leaving an acidic burn that will leave even the most hopeful jaded.
This is where my words corrupt any ideals of contentment and glee, bid thee farewell to the enlightening rays of sunshine as this verse carries us into the twilight realms, bid thee farewell to the elated faces radiating bliss for within this place phantoms condemned by false promise roam shadowy halls in hollow form.
The music here is tainted with betrayal as instruments of ill design excruciatingly draw out notes of distress, these notes the cause of that agonising sting you feel when life has pinpricked your heart with unadulterated pain, which for some leaves a permanent stain. For those that find themselves natural conduits for such desolate sounds there is no happy partner, the second tune they seek to play along with the orchestras of their heart does not ring of positivity, to try would be to commit a crime which no sentence could match on this earth or in heaven be done.
Do not mistakenly think this work of words has a message easier found in sadness than joy, rather I draw your attention to the underground concert halls that are founded on darker pillars than their brighter counterparts, a rich trade of negative vibes gracefully flowing between the blackened pillars like a piecing winter wind. I divert your gaze to the crowds that gather here with regularity to find an alternative source of emotional highs or lows, listen to the sorrowful melodies that soothingly express the beauty of a black rose against the pale light of the moon on the coldest of eves.
And I challenge you to find something more perfectly magnificent as two tunes rich in the melancholy of a life less blessed, expertly heartbroken, drenched in grief and together more heart wrenching or tear provoking than any romantic melody can achieve.
The sound of two black hearts when between them love is cast into a more perfect sin….
To whom does the keeper of secrets confess their own?
Who do they trust given all they know?
How can they trust given all they know?
Ghost of a Shadow 