Maybe tomorrow

"I'm swinging on the constellations of my vanity
I'm sailing through the machinations of mundanity"

I captured a ball of fading light in my left hand before it faded into a darkness. It took me by surprise and it took me back to a time in the distant past. 

faustain - maybe tomorrow

Youthdom was the energy that sparked curiosity that eventually lit the fuse to many an incendiary incident, but more acutely, to the mystery of knowledge. The secret places that have always been there but, so often, have become overlooked or avoided by the masses. The masses; that unequivocal crowd of thoughtless idiots. those mainstreamers: the unexceptional agglomeration of mediocre abilities.  Yes, they. They spurred me. they initiated in me an urge to be not part of their gang.. to be anything but them; anything that distanced myself from them and their disabled thoughts and ideas was the course I ventured....
and so it was and so it continues. the disdain I found then has and still does serve me well. I feel fatigued sometimes, having to tolerate the everyday senselessness of this modern age. Yes, it gets me down/ It drags me into the dark depths sometimes but this is just an unfortunate consequence of being true to the ideal to not capitulate! And I don't overlook the fact that I am a stupid man. I am as idiotic as most/ as pathetic and ignorant of many of the fundamental problems and solutions. I'm only aware of the most subtle of my inadequacies. Oh yes I, am as bad as the rest I must concede. I'm not better or wiser. I just happen to see things in a slightly different light. It is not an advantage. It is a cumbersome thing. it weighs heavy on me, I expect no praise or condolences. I gave up on expectations long ago. I simply accept the status. Acceptance with reluctance and often a vitriolic internal scream. I am hindered, I am suffused with antipathy.

I once met Bo Diddly. His big hand shook my small youthful 17 year old hand.. "How you doin' man?" he asked in his big deep southern drawl. "The Originator".  had his Gretsch G6138 right next to him, about to take the stage at Henry Africas, York Street, Glasgow, March 1983. I've never met a famous person since that day!

And how it might just be that nothing really matters...
  faustain.maybe tomorrow mp3

Grace and Beauty

And I shall drive my chariot
Down your streets and cry
Hey, it's me, I'm dynamite
And I don't know why

 
Always trying to get somewhere. Always the next step, the progression is slow yet, in the end, you are there .
On the the African Savannah where the giraffes wander free, tall and odd, standing out on the wide flat landscape. But here, further up, further north, the giraffe takes on a rather different role...
It was always an ambition to witness those odd, leggy beasts in there own environment. How strange an animal they seem to me. And here I am in a mountainous place where the original giraffe, the lesser known but more incredible mountain giraffe, wanders hidden in their rocky precipitous vanguard.
Much darker in colour; a near black and mid gray, and their monstrous size, a marvel.
Visible only in certain light from particular angles the laconic wonderbeasts merge into their mountainous home like a stick insect on a stick. Occasionally, when from a distance they break the horizon, their great heads and necks can be witnessed fleetingly, their incredible camouflage rendering their bodies all but invisible.
Yes, up there above me I gaze expectantly in the hope of a glimpse. My sleep is disturbed by the wondrous possibilities. I stay in bed late, in the hope of even a dream vision of the fantastic mountain beasts.

And on we go. to the sea. to the hippy enclave hangout. the young travellers in their dopey glory. Fifty years after the fact and still they wander in their hazey dream world.

Blank Blank. the world is blank. it's empty of all obvious signs of life and the lights are going out. the warmth is dissipating. The good days are gone - and the bad, they are gone. We are left with days. just days. cold cruel empty days where only night divides the monotony and that too, soon becomes part and parcel of the time march to... to nowhere. to an end. infinity is now and yesterday. Forever has gone, and in it's place is dried out crumbs of a bitter tasting past.  It's a good day to walk along a river bank with sun pouring over the flowing cool water. Fish become birds with birds taking to the water. Fish nest high and I think I want to die..      the trees;    unconcerned.

The story goes the story goes,
attention

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