your truth

this is not my first lynch mob    I’ve been tarred and feathered before    victim of that parochial mediocrity that says    you are different    so you must be bad    and if you are bad    then we must be good     well   I don’t pretend to be good     no-one would believe me anyway    I don’t look good     and I don’t feel good     and I never trust a man  who says he is good     most men are only as good as they have to be

I will always speak my truth    but not only in words   coz words are not enough    not my words    my words deceive      I'd promise the truth, but what would it mean?     I promise never to make promises     promises take hostages   I'll act in accordance with my spirit  and live as I damn well choose    coz you cannot bury your truth    it will always resurface like Lazarus    in an ocean of deceptions   your truth will never drown   your truth shall always find you       your truth will be your judge       and if it finds you wanting      your truth shall be your noose

adventures in spirituality

 

I made my own bible     proclaimed it like a trumpet     the world was deaf     and did not hear     but my words were impeccable      I tried to use their power        in the direction of good        because I am an instrument of peace        and a vassal of love       because love is the supreme science       love is the only law

this was no epiphany    it all came on real easy like      over the course of decades      it was less a voyage of discovery       more a process of discarding garbage      I know who I am now    and I won’t forget        the world won’t let me      I’m fatally flawed      and that’s my strength        it can’t be used against me

individuals are thin on the ground      most people are just copies      nothing of them is original     they are an amalgam of stories they have heard      because everyone has stories    playing inside their heads     we’re all just the stories we tell ourselves     most of them are fictions    we take pride in our fictions      our uniqueness     but when I found out who I really was     I was bitterly disappointed      because I’m not at all unique      I’m a total fucking cliché    

a manic depressive whore      with a taste for drink and drugs       I truly am my own worst enemy      I’m just a Jonas     and I seem to sow discord wherever I go      but I ain’t crying     when I survey my life     I see I’ve lived it as well as I could      but it doesn’t matter now     just how I have lived      I can no longer play the role assigned me     I simply ceased to give a shit     and that brought me peace of mind       but I had to make that peace through understanding       because everything is connected       everything is now

in her arms

 

mistakes are my life      I’ve made a few     oh well, must get on     get things done     stain the silence with my words      my best years have fled      perhaps there was a time    when I was happy      I must have been happy     in her arms        yes, I must have been happy     in her arms  

I’d better do something      while I still have the fire      maybe a fire     or embers still to fan       or will I brood in my stinking lair?     and feel her absence      and feel her near?      every man hefts a cross      until he eventually dies     or he disappears       I might find it funny     but I don’t do funny     not in this place    no, not in here 

I want to be art

 

what an idea      absurd  but powerful     it has real poetry    but oh lord there ain’t room for us both in this religion     you’d best count me a monkey man     coz I’m about  this world, not the next       my dharma is entirely human      that’s what interests me - being human

life has no meaning     but the meaning we give it        art is the true expression of humanity      I want to be art      I want to perfect my form of being        my being human       because it matters    because I believe in humanity     the laws of nature seem cruel        there’s no justice in the universe       the universe does not care     but we care, right?      even in a godless world   -   we still care  -  don’t we? 

*image 'The Three Shades'  Auguste Rodin

in shadows

 

lately, I’m not really there      I’m not really anywhere       sometimes I’m not myself      I mutate into something else      sometimes I’m formed in the shadows        exposed under sodium light      I can’t seem to shake the feeling      that it all could happen again      I’d be down on the killing floor       dragging my ball and chain      through hospital corridors      desperate to escape    finding no way home