I start to write – to rationalise some thought process – there is nothing and there is everything – words and thoughts swim, no, float, aimlessly until plucked like a fairground duck with a hook –
so much background noise – so many routes to here – I am a mass of what I was, where I’ve been, what I’ve seen, what I’ve heard, what I’ve said, what I’ve thought, who I’ve loved, who I love. And I expect things to be simple ?!
Drew my first real picture that made people stop when I was 9 – submitted a poem at 16 as my Chemistry exam paper – picked up my first guitar at 14 – scored my first goal that mattered at 16. I colleged – I studied – I rebelled – I hipped, man – I taught – I married – I procreated – I married again. Saw shooting stars on an August morning – snow so deep the blue lit night – I suited – I booted – I led that band – I strained I prayed and walked all day till weariness brought sleep before the TV beep – and much more, much much more –
So I try to put together a plan and think it will be easy – a plan for what’s next on a blank piece of paper and with all those words floating in the pool – the pool, that iswas me – waiting for the loop on the stick to hook the duck –
there’s a brown leather trunk it’s skin creased by sun and skies I’ve never seen now resting with a story in each scrape each wrinkle each scar it bears from a careless porter – raise the lid – sift it, sort it, keep what’s necessary and throw the rest, the mask the comics keep the letters – they’re from those who love you, – pile it up, cast it out, but how – how – how ?