Men with moustaches

Previously I was having a go at tourists. Now I will have a go at men with...mustachios. There is a well known quote which goes thus:

'When in Rome, do as the Romans do'

(St Ambrose)

The meaning of this is simple. Behave as those around you. Before I continue I'd just like to make absolutely clear that I am not a Fascist, or a Nazi nor a Communist. I'm a humanist. A humanist with strong opinions about er mustachios! Now, there will be some of you out there who will no doubt be vociferously saying: 'Leave the moustache alone! If it is bad God would never have invented it!'

To this I say: 'Piles, Boils, Aids, Smallpox, The Plague, Hernias, leaking nipples (leaking nipples?), Gonorrhoea, Herpes and bad-breath have all been given to us by God - so are they good? Must we like these things?'

Of course not!

So let's come back to the moustache. What is it about the moustache that really drives me mad? Well, there are a number of things:

1) A moustache looks like a bit of pubic hair above the lip. What sensible women would want to kiss that! If I was a women (which I evidently am not) I would never ever kiss a man with a moustache. Surely it must itch? No? Show me a women that loves a man with a moustache and I will show you a madwoman with no taste. Also, it must constitute a health hazard. Home to species new to science and all...

2) We live in the 21st Century. It is the year 2011. In the old days, one could be forgiven for nurturing a moustache (like one nurtures a vegetable patch in the garden) because, in those days, shaving was a real pain in the ass. Literally. You could die shaving. A nasty cut - infection - death! There was no Gillette Ultra-glide shaving foam, nor the 5-bladed Fusion blade razor with battery powered vibrating head - for extra close shaving. Walk into the mens section of any chemist and you will be assaulted by an entire range - nay a cornucopia - of mens shaving products. There is no excuse anymore to grow a squirrel above your lip. Shave it off Mankind!

3) Feminism - that social revolution that began with the Suffragette movement in the early 20th century and continued through to female empowerment; the right to work, the right to drive (bad idea), the right to er not be a house-wife anymore - this all culminated in the blurring of the boundary lines between manhood and womanhood. Men are now told to be 'sensitive' and to 'listen' and to 'be aware' and display 'interest' in womankind. Which is no bad thing (up to a certain point - women are rather complex creatures). So under the dawn of this feminist movement being 'Machismo' is out. This means mustachios are out too! But here is an interesting statistic: look around the world - look at the different countries - and consider how these countries treat women. You will find that in those countries where women are treated the worst - like rubbish - moustaches are still in fashion! For example Pakistan and Afghanistan treat women like property and most Pakistani men have mouches. So moustaches go hand-in-hand with female oppression, ignorance, bigotry, indolence, laziness, foolishness, intolerance, hypocrisy and er...lice - so shave them off!

However, if you are Freddy Mercury (lead singer of rock band Queen - my favourite band ever) then you are forgiven for having a moustache...because I said so so don't argue with me. Freddy can have a moustache if he wants to. 

4) Moustaches are no longer cool dude. They went out of fashion when the top-hat and knee breeches went out of fashion. About a century ago. But I think there is something else at work here. In certain parts of the world, facial hair - has huge cultural significance. For a man brought up in that culture, steeped and soaked in it from birth, for such a man to shave off his moustache, is the same as coming out as gay, or saying 'I feel like a women, I'm gonna have a sex change'. It's a huge thing. 

5) Would I ever grow a moustache? Fuck off! I'd rather shave off my eyebrows...

6) Hair is only made of a protein called Keratin. Your nails are made of the same protein but its molecular structure is arranged differently. The truth is that hair is just keratin. But society (me included) has given it a significance far beyond its actual real significance. Society has weaved an entire socio-political-religio-anthropological framework around the protein keratin. In Islam facial hair is a must and a sign of true belief. In Sikhism, one must never shave. In Punk music culture and Fascist ideologies - a shaved head is de-rigueur. And millions are spent annually by women and men on hair - to try and make it as beautiful and sleek as possible.

Hair is here to stay! Hair, be it facial upper lip pube, or curly-wurly coils, or oil drenched - is a statement of who we are. The world would not be the mixed and marvellous circus that it is without hair.

Yeah man! I'm converted! I've changed my mind. I'm growing a moustache!!!

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Tourist spotting

As I sit on the upper deck of the double-decker bus - looking out of the window - squinting my eyes in the glare of full summer - I play a game: 'spot the fucking tourist' (STFT)

The aim of the game is simple: Spot the fucking tourist!

Naturally, I play the game with myself. There is no other on the bus willing to play this game with me. Not that I have asked anybody - that would be foolish - that could get me killed...you just don't talk to strangers on London buses...they're all criminals and thieves (except me of course).

Anyway, so I have been playing this game and I must say I have become rather good at it. Oh yes. I am now an expert at spotting fucking (you don't mind if I swear do you?) tourists.

You just know, you can just tell, its so obvious when you've spotted a tourist. How?

Well firstly they will be dressed as tourists. How do tourists dress? Let me tell you: all tourists wear new clothes. Yes brand new fucking clothes with the price-tags still attached! I have always wondered about this you know (no not the price tags, I meant the new clothes). Why do tourists always wear new clothes? Why do people buy new clothes for their holidays? What's wrong with the clothes they already have? If they're OK to wear in their home country then they should be OK for London? It's silly. It's weird. I never buy new clothes for a holiday. Besides I don't go on holidays per se...I go on adventures and exploratory missions...don't ever confuse me with a tourist. I don't belong to that species.

Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, the only time you should be buying new clothes is when you need special clothing for a specific reason such as mountain wear or something for the desert or the beach. And besides, are you so vain as to think that the citizens of the country you are visiting actually care what you are wearing? You are not attending a wedding ceremony so people couldn't give a fuck if you're wearing new clothes or not! They couldn't care less! So don't buy new clothes! Your old clothes are fine. Trust me. I don't care if you wear new clothes. I'm not going to judge you differently am I?

Secondly, all tourists wear bags around their shoulders that are so clearly tourist bags full of cameras and other tourist stuff. You can tell! OK, I wear a bag around my shoulder but everybody knows I am not a tourist. I have never ever been a tourist. Even in foreign countries I am an....adventurer, an explorer - not a fucking tourist! (touched a nerve have we?) 

Thirdly, all tourists walk around like zombies as if they are lost and looking for something. They look clueless, stupid and pathetic in their baseball caps and their shorts and New York Yankee T-shirts. Tell me, why the fuck would you want to wear a NY t-shirt in...London?? Huh?! What is that all about? Anyone? Even worst are those 'I Love London' t-Shirts....no self-respecting Londoner would ever, ever...ever...wear a 'I Love London' t-Shirt. Only idiotic tourists would do such a stupid thing. The whole world knows London is the best city in the world. No need to boast about it man! - and it's home to the coolest dude that ever walked the earth. Who? The Swashbuckling Vagabond of course.

Fourthly, you can spot a tourist, because they're eating in those rubbish over-priced steak houses that line the Charing Cross Road. Yes I am talking about the 'Aberdeen Steak House' - Hello?? Rip Off!! Don't go there. Don't be a mug. Don't waste your money. Go somewhere better. Like?

Like...I don't know. Somewhere not in a tourist trap area. Look, no London tourists are ever going to read this blog so no point me mentioning fine dining places in London. This is not a London Dining Guide (though if you want I might add a few restaurant reviews for a bit of fun)

Finally, the other item that points you out as a tourist (and really gets on my nerves) is when you have your camera slung around your neck as if it is a piece of gold jewelry. Don't do that fuckwit! A camera is not a gold-chain Senor tourist. A camera is a sophisticated piece of electronic equipment not a fashion accessory (this last comment applies especially to women)

So there you go. My rant is over.

I don't really hate tourists you know. I like them. 

Actually I think they're rather er....cute.

...And er, lost...

....thinking they're all cool with their new clothes, and fanny-packs, and their cameras as jewelry.

Idiots!

World of Make-Believe

I shall wander to my hearts content

till my heart is full with wandering

And then I shall wander inside my head

to all the places still beckoning

I've heard rumours of one such place

that is not of this dusty-old earth

somewhere between the stars they say

In the shadows, hidden by an ancient curse

Home to beings so strange your eyes cannot deceive

how they roam the milky-clouds of make-believe!

where violet seas churn frothy-foam upon the virgin shores

of this place i imagine, this world, this realm of lore

I write with my senses, in thoughts and feelings

about life's fragrances caught in infinite ceilings

I paint with my heart, in colours, only i can see

over the canvass, of my world, of make-believe 

Poetry Pill - (past favourites)

Introduction to poem

The idea for this poem arose when I was thinking about what would happen if one day scientists invented a 'pill' that; if you took it, instantly transformed how you saw the world. Poets are people who see the world a little differently to ordinary folk. Or perhaps, poets do actually see the world, whereas for ordinary folk the world just goes by in a blur? Anyway, so the poem below is about a guy from Hackney who loves a girl but unfortunately his skills at poetic seduction and expression are somewhat lacking (see opening lines of his poem below!) - So he takes a special pill...with a glass of water....and then 'wriggles his stomach' to let the pill 'swill inside' and dissolve....And then voila!! - gradually as the pill dissolves, his poetry reaches a truly stratospheric crescendo and climax of dizzying sensual heights! He starts seeing everything. Things he never saw or smelt before are suddenly made clear. It's as if someone has turned up the dial on his sensory settings.


(I've included a glossary of terms at the bottom of the poem to aid understanding!)

Poetry Pill


I bring tidings, from London Town
From Hackney Borough, near Hackney Downs
Born and bred, in the streets of Stokey
Articulate and well versed
In the art of poetry
So here’s a sample, of some mouth watering oratory
From the depths of a master, of delicious poetry:

(In a London accent)

Ur my pimp-cess cos ur buff
Wanna twiddle ye knobs, poke ye muff
That goofy smile, I jus’ can’t resist
Come ere’ u tart and gis a kiss

Let’s go out for an all night bender
Squeeze those nipples till their all tender
We can go McD’s and av a laff
Get rat arsed in da local gaff

There is a storm waging in my ed’
Its called love – u hear wot I said?
Without u there is nuffink in the world
Except’ Tommy Hilfiger and Burberry twirl

Dump u wiv gifts and spoil u rotten
Love ya 4 ever, kiss ya smelly bottom
There is nuffink more in the world I want
Then 2 shag ya 'ard ya lovely c**t!

I tink I need a poetry pill
Cos my poetry is making people ill
So I’ll take dis pill and see wot ‘appens
Maybe suffink good and my poetry will blossom

1…2…3 poetry pill in
1…2…3 let the water swill

Wriggle my stomach
Wriggle my legs
I wanna see this poetry pill
Take deadly affect

Wriggle my head
Wriggle my bottom
I wanna see this poetry pill
Fry my brain rotten

Ahh! - I can feel suffink gushing inside
Spewing henceforth
A remorseless diatribe:

Oh! I can see colours I have never ever seen
I can see ultraviolet in every thing!
I can see all shades of our beloved Maker
Eyeballs soak it in like blotting paper

Oh! I can hear sounds I have never ever heard
Ultrasonic squeaks and singing birds
I can hear the boom of the mighty Big Bang
Distant galaxies and Radio Koh-Nang!

Oh! I can smell things I have never ever smelt
Coffee beans and rotting squelch
I can smell the pores of the Hippopotamus
Ancient fossils and babies bottomus!
Here's a stanza to you my love
I bare all;
I take-off my gloves:

Do you see the old lady spew you a smile?
Toothless and scrawny, tongue like bile
Do you see the rickshaw-wallah, with ebony hands?
Advertising Gillette to "make you a man!"

Do you see the bewitchment of Aurora Borealis?
Shimmering lights, celestial Tigris
Do you hear the cacophony of burning Banzai?
Drunken like moths and spectral fireflies

Do you see the urchins pesky for baksheesh?
Amongst the Souks and the tourist kitsch
Do you hear the din of the humming droves?
Redemption! They seek. In this infernal abode

Do you see the beggar with stumps for legs?
Trousers held up with plasticky pegs
Do you see the monk on a devotional crawl?
Sipping Coca-Cola in a roadside stall

Do you see the child defecating in a shack?
Its school bag still attached to its back
Do you see the alleyway where prostitutes sit?
Strewn with condoms and pregnancy kits

Do you see the desert scorched with dust?
Wafting fragrances, inciting wanderlust
Do you see the camels marching in key?
Like little corkscrews bobbing in the sea

There is poetry everywhere you turn
Embers of life may whither away and burn
But the poetry of life will always remain
Stoking forever this beautiful refrain

But the poetry of my life will always be
You floatin' about, in memories
Bovverin' me forever,
like bumble beez
Innit.




-THE END-




Glossary
Tidings = news
Bred = brought up
Stokey = Stoke Newington
Articulate = well spoken. Able to use words to explain how you feel or what you are thinking
Well versed = familiar with the classics of world literature
Mouth-watering = anything that makes the saliva in your mouth flow
Oratory = the art of speaking
Buff = pretty/good looking
Twiddle = play with
Knobs = parts of your body
Muff = vagina
Goofy = sweet
Tart = prostitute
Bender = all night drinking session
Tender = soft
McD's = McDonalds
Laff = laugh
Rat arsed = drunk
Gaff = pub
Ed = head
Spoil u rotten = buy you lots of gifts
Shag = fuck
C**t = vagina
Blossom = open up like a flower
Nuffink = nothing
Suffink = something
Gushing = flowing
Spewing = about to come out
Remorseless = never ending. 
Diatribe = a long speech/poem/piece of writing that never stops!
Maker = God
Blotting paper = filter paper that soaks up everything
Ultrasonic = sounds the human ear cannot hear due to their high frequency
Stanza = the separate paragraphs of a poem
Bare all = go naked
Scrawny = old and skinny
Bile = green stuff in your stomach
Rickshaw-wallah = peddle bike driver in South East Asia
Ebony = black dark wood
Aurora Borealis = the Northern Lights. Green curtains of lights effect seen in the Northern Hemisphere
Shimmering = when lights blink on and off very fast
Celestial = heavenly. In the night sky
Tigris = river in ancient Mesopotamia (Iraq)
Cacophony = an orchestra of many sounds all at once
Banzai = small Japanese trees
Spectral = ghostly
Urchins = beggars
Pesky = annoying you
Baksheesh = money/bribe
Souks = old markets in Middle Eastern countries
Kitsch = shitty tourist souvenirs!
Din = loud annoying sound
Redemption = forgiveness
Abode = place of living
Defecating = shitting
Scorched = burnt
Wafting = floating in the breeze
Inciting wanderlust = making you want to travel
Bobbing = moving up and down
Embers = what's left over after a fire
Stoking = stoking a fire. Keeping the fire going by blowing into it and giving it oxygen or fresh wood
Whither = to go skinny and thin
Refrain = these words / this poem
Bovverin' = bothering me / annoying me!
Bumble Beez = bumble bees
Innit = isn't it?

Mr Lookatme

What do you see through those starburst eyes?

can you see the pixels jump out alive

a chromatic, widescreen, Technicolor life

a ready-made Dulux world

for us to find

M e m o r y C e l l

The return of the crazies

On clear-seeing

Today, it is raining.

            In fact it has been raining all week. On a day like this I see the red traffic lights reflected in a puddle of water. There is a wind blowing so the puddle surface ripples - and the red reflection ripples too. The light turns amber and then green and then my gaze turns to the sky. It is a dull, lifeless, grey, overcast and very low sky - stretched taut like opaque cling-film. So low it seems to be ceiling height - if I jump high enough I might even be able to touch it. It seems oppressive. Like a prison cell. In the distance darker clouds approach menacingly. But now and again a shaft of sunlight peeps through a gap in the clouds and the world seems more expansive and less prison-like again. The world looks and feels so different to a week ago when it was bathed in bountiful sunlight and everything was covered in a golden halo.


But I don't feel doom and gloom today. How the weather 'feels' is not an intrinsic property of the weather. It is a property of our human minds. I like it when it is like this - gloomy. Colours are muted - as if someone has turned down the saturation in Photoshop. I see a bright yellow anorak, it stands out amongst the muted colours. As the evening approaches the rain begins to lash down again. First you hear the patter 'tip-tap-tip-tap' - you can distinguish individual 'tip-taps', but then as the rain gets heavier, you here a billion tip-taps of each raindrop all at once and they have now fused into a general background noise - like the TV when it can't pick up any stations.

Vehicles sound different on rainy days. You can hear the tyres gripping the roads, the sound of soft mushy rubber on wet surface. The neon lights of the shops suddenly blink n' burst into existence. The bright red of the 'Perfect Fried Chicken' shop is matched only by the pure white of the bright fluorescent interior. From the outside window I watch the warm glowing charcoal embers of the brazier in the kebab shop, the mutton cubes sizzling away in a haze of smoke. I am tempted to go inside and warm my hands and fill my belly. The promise of warmth in my hands, the smell of barbecued lamb, the taste on my tongue - these are the sensations that drive me into the restaurant where I sit down to be greeted by a small steaming glass of turkish tea with a sugar cube next to it. I stare out of the window joyfully - shielded from the cold, dark and wet world outside - where I'd been standing only a few moments before.

Ahhh, the possibilities of perception are limitless, and clear seeing is joyful!

Creativity is also limitless. Creativity sometimes seems to be an unusual gift that only a few people are blessed with via birth or somehow manage to acquire magically during life, but this is not true. Creativity is accessible to everyone. It naturally springs from your basic nature when you are open to your basic nature. Creativity is something to be uncovered not something to be wished for.

Unfortunately, much of the time, we are cut-off from 'clear seeing'. We get caught up in cascades and torrents of internal dialogue and emotionality. Immersed in thoughts, daydreams, and projections, we fabricate our personal versions of the world and dwell within them like silkworms in cocoons. Instead of appreciating the raindrops on the window, we experience something like: "This weather is nasty. I have to get to work, and I need a new raincoat. I hope it clears up for the weekend". So immersed are we in the quotidian banality of every day existence, that we forget. Forget! Forget that we are alive...

Our culture continually tells us that boredom should be avoided and that we should always be entertained or occupied with something. No one explains why this should be so. What is it about boredom that makes it painful to so many people? Why can't we get into a car without switching on the radio? Why can't we wait for an appointment without reading a magazine? Why can't we relax at home in the evening without switching on the TV? Why do we need to check our emails so frequently? Why do we continuously text our friends? Why do we have to tell everyone what we are doing via Facebook? Why is it that on a beautiful day everybody in the train is either buried in their iPhone or newspapers - and nobody, nobody is looking out of the window?

The basic question is: why can't we relax when we have nothing to do and enjoy a little bit of space in our lives? The problem I think is that we are afraid. Afraid of our own hearts. The heart is so sensitive, so ready to vibrate and resonate with the wider world, but we keep it covered, fearing we won't be able to stand being touched. We might be overwhelmed. We can't afford to open up, because who knows what we might feel. Are we afraid to feel bad and painful things? But in trying to protect our hearts by wrapping it in thick padding we prevent ourselves from engaging with the rich vitality and texture and beauty of the world at large!

You don't need to shield yourself. It is good to expose your heart. By exposing your heart, you begin to make friends with yourself. You become a friend to yourself on a deeper level. You get to know yourself. You get to know 'who' you are and who you are 'not'. Only then can you live a life that is not a lie. Their is no such thing as a 'better' or bigger life. There is only such a thing as the 'right life for you'.


There are many things you can do to 'find yourself'. You don't have to go to Tibet or Nepal or meet the Dalai Lama! You don't have to go very far at all. It's all about letting go of the things that insulate you from your environment. For example: next time you go to your High Street to buy some milk, bread and eggs, ask yourself  'what am I doing during this journey that insulates me from the environment?' Do you wear headphones on the way to the High Street? Well take them off! Are you on the mobile phone? Switch it off! Are you thinking about something to do with work, family or friends? Don't! Are you day-dreaming? Don't! The contemplative mind is free of thinking. It is a mind that is open and fresh and receptive to whatever arises. At first when you do this, when you spend time alone, without contact with the things that stimulate your mind, you might feel uncomfortable, lonely, or bored. That is because many of us are not used to being alone. We are addicted to entertainment and stimulation. This is a great way to unplug yourself! And make friends with yourself.


Solitude is the home of the contemplative mind and the space where creativity flourishes. 

Life, The Universe & Everything

The world is full of people 'looking'

looking for answers

answers to their questions.

And throughout history...

for thousands of years

man has been looking for answers.

But what has he found?

What is the harvest of his fields?

Let's jump to the present,

lets skip to 2011

and let's look at the world

as it is today

and see the harvest of his fields,

the harvest of 50,000 years of thinking!

Has man figured it all out?

Or is it all still a mystery?

Looking at the world today

as I walk the streets of Stoke Newington
In the great city of London

I see that man has never been more fortunate (lucky).

Never have his basic needs

been so well met.

I will give one example: Food

and from this we will learn much.

In the past, if you felt hungry,

you went out into the forest or jungle or desert or savanna

to find food.

If you didn't find any

then you didn't eat

and you went to sleep

on an empty stomach.

Oh yes! Life was hard!

you would starve and go hungry.

That was the naked rule of life.

Also, the foods you ate were of a limited variety - what you could grow or find.

Flour or rice. Beans and corn. Sorghum and Millet

the occasional animal that you caught:

perhaps a rat, a snake, or any wild animal you can think of,

And liquid water.

Fruits and Vegetables came later. Much later.

So for most of his history man has enjoyed

only a limited variety of flavours...

...and today?

Today as a modern man,

I walk into my Local Tescos
and I am attacked by a million taste sensations!

and what do I see?

Apart from the bright lights (which are like protection from the dark)

I see Tuna, freshly caught only yesterday, in the Indian Ocean

off the Maldives!

I see Mangoes

from the tropics

flown overnight on an aeroplane

I see Pineapples & Kiwi Fruits

and bright juicy strawberries
the colour of blood.

I see fat donuts hemorrhaging (leaking)

jam and pumped up

with cream filling. Fresh apple and orange juices.

Chicken. Lamb. Pork. Beef. Fish and so on...

...all marinated in spices, for extra flavour and oomph!

And when we feel hungry,

all we have to do

is walk into our local supermarket

and choose

what we want to eat.

It's so easy!  

We don't have to go out and hunt it, or find it.

So used to have we become

to this way of life

that we don't think about it.

We accept it as normal.

Yet how wrong we are!

This is not normal! Go away!

This life we live today,

has only been like this for a few years - in a history of millions of years...

Life has never been easier - has it?

We live longer and more healthier lives

then ever before.

We know more, we understand more

we can all read and write (some better then others!)

We have access to whole libraries of books,

and Wikipedia!!

Yet,

Oh and what a BIG yet!

Despite the above,

we are still 'looking' for answers,

answers to our questions

and no nearer the truth

of our existence...

it's all still a mystery to most of us.

What is going on here?

Is this some sort of a sick joke?

The problems of man

are compounded (made worse)

By the fact that he has a habit

of asking the wrong bloody questions!

Some of the questions we ask are:

what is the meaning of life?

What is it for?

What is it about?

Why am I here?

The truth is:

that all the above underlined parts
have turned the questions into
bad questions.

They are bad questions because they are

questions with no answers.

Ask a butterfly: "why are your wings so beautiful?" - how will it reply?

It will say: "I dunno! Because they are!"

The questions we should be asking are:

1) What is life? What am I? How did I get here?

2) What do I want?

3) Do I want to be happy and content? If so, what do I need to be happy? Is it what people and society say I need? Or does my heart say something else?

4) What really matters?

5) What is beyond my control and therefore not worth worrying about?

6) Does anything, in the end of the day, really matter from the vantage point of the Universe?

7) How do I find some genuine love in this world?

8) What shall I have for dinner tonight!

Every person is unique

with unique needs

That is why there is no single religion

to fit all.

For me there is no meaning

there is no purpose

Life is an accident

but once it started

in that warm chemical pond

4.8 billion years ago

there was no stopping it!

and here I am
and here you are

the result!

For me,

I am just happy to have been given

a chance to live,

to open my eyes for a few brief years

upon this world and its people

before my eyes close forever.

And once closed,

those eyes of mine

will never open again,

and the things they saw and...

the things they felt,

will be forgotten, forever.

But for now,

at this very moment,

as I type these words,

my eyes are indeed open,

...and that is all that matters!

People always ask me...

People always ask me, how to travel
I say to them:
Before you set off, first ask yourselves:
why is it - you wish to travel?


For if you come back - after your travels
to the same man, as before you left,
then the people you met,
and the things you saw,
Why it was all a lie! On real travels you did not set...






People always ask me, how to find a wife
I say to them:
Go to a wedding, and find the bride
Stand next to her best friend; and to whom say:
Will you be mine tonight? Babe?


If she slaps you hard, with impunity
Do not worry friend, they'll come another opportunity
But if she looks at you, with sticky-butter eyes
She is yours man, yours all for tonight!






People always ask me, how to be cool
I say to them:
Stop asking people - how to be cool
If you are, you will know it,
If you're not, relax dude! Smoke a joint - Don't worry!






People always ask me, the meaning of life
I say to them:
Take a candle, into the deepest night
If you see more, then the candle illuminates:
Then you already know, the secret of life






People always ask me, how to be happy
I say to them:
Laugh a lot, even if the jokes - are really really crappy






People always ask me, what I'm saying?
I say to them:
Fuck knows! - I'm just kinda prayin'

Edinburgh

Went to Edinburgh

opened my eyes

Light came flooding thru

a hole in the sky

The Art of Foto-Grafie

What makes an image pleasing to the eye? Do all great photographs have a secret that can be learnt? To what extent is image making (be it fine art, furniture design, architectural spaces, fashion) similar? Is the 'Golden Mean'; the secret ratio discovered by Democritus and further propounded by Pythagoras, at the heart of symmetry in nature? What is the connection between the spirals of the double helix of DNA, the vein pattern of leaves and the perfect photograph?


What can photographs tell us about the human condition?

What is the connection between the cave painting of 'Lascaux' in France and the flowering of human self-awareness.

All will be revealed...Stay tuned...

Why I write

SOME BEINGS are made for living and some beings are made for feeling. I was made to feel. Those who feel like me don’t live. So lost are we in our feelings, that it seems to me, that we inhabit an altogether different world. Not the living world but a world just as real - though realism is a relative concept I think. The world we inhabit, and by we I am of course referring to the ‘feelers’, is it seems, more sensual and savoury than the one existing out there. The world of feelings is fashioned from within and there it remains - pure. The outside world can't touch it and because of this it can assume weird and wonderful forms - like smoke. It is this world, deep down, that I try and illuminate through writing. It is a poor medium I admit but I have no other tools at my disposal. I am a lousy painter, nor can I draw or sing or direct. This is all I have: a set of twenty six letters and a lousy grammar to put some order to the orchestra. The whole world can be contained in language, in part because words, once set free, contain all possibilities for expression and thought.

Let me give you an idea of what it is like to live in this world of feeling. Have you ever travelled alone on a train? If you have than you must have looked out of the window – am I right? And when you looked out of the window were you in another world than the one you were observing through the glass? I am of course referring to thoughts, or to be more precise, being lost in thoughts. This is what it is like for me. I am always looking out of the window – (my eyes) – at a world I don’t notice at all as it flashes by - because I am elsewhere. ‘I am elsewhere’ lets consider this statement for a moment. To someone sitting opposite observing me I am definitely not elsewhere but right in front of them. But that is their view and I beg to differ. I am most certainly not there, despite my physical presence, which I admit serves to keep me tethered there, so to speak; but in actuality, in the reality that I trust and know; that is the reality of my thoughts and feelings, I am elsewhere. It is difficult for me to describe this place where I spend a lot of my time. Perhaps my language is ill-equipped for the task in hand and my fingers too clumsy to lift the pieces of my world for you to see. Perhaps I should give up writing for good? Put a full stop to it all. For if my fingers are too clumsy what is the point? No, I can't give up. What else is there for me to do?