life – Page 30 – three good words

March 12, 2015March 16, 2015

true genius

I wrote this some time ago, during one of those bad moments when the realisation that I just was really truly absolutely ohmygoodness definitely not there yet was very real. Ah, but the great thing about great writers is that, never mind how they make you feel like last week’s left overs, writing-wise, they also help you know that it is possible to do better, be better, try your best. Reading their writing is, next to the great story, also this lovely gift: somewhere, somehow, someone was able to touch that thing that is divine and turn it into perfect word-gold. Terry Pratchett was one of them. Dear Sir (he was knighted), you’ll be sorely, sorely missed. You made so many people laugh and think and feel and laugh again so many times, the world has really lost a true genius today. Rest in Peace. Or as the Librarian would say:
Ook!

…

Gosh, if I could only come up with something like Überwald, Bess Pelargic, The Agatean Empire, 71-hour Achmed or the Octarine Grass Country. Or simply the Anthropomorphic Personification of the Ultimate Certainty, the Grim Reaper a.k.a. Mr. Door. Terry Pratchett is a genius, a real and true genius, though I still think Rincewind is complete and utter twerp. The Night Watch with Commander Vimes and Carrot Ironfoundersson + rag-tag band of misfits and miscreants, the Witches of Lancre + kingdoms and villages, Ms Aching and the Nac Mac Feegles, the University faculty + Librarian, and all the city Guilds + C.M.O.T. Dibbler, Mr Lipwig, Ms Dearheart and whatever new Scheme Moist von is up to, and then, of course, the Patrician with ever resourceful and loyal Drumknott, they’re all breathtakingly, mind-bendingly, side-splittingly fabulous – but Rincewind just puts me off. He really really really annoys me. The only great thing about Rincewind is The Luggage (Sapient Pearwood! Imagine! The madness! The magnificence!). Barely managed The Colour of Magic, and only because I sat through that ghastly mash-up of a movie. Afterwards I had to read it. Rincewind is that character who just makes you want to reach into the book and slap people, meaning him. Though some of the scenes with him in it are utter hilarity.

…

Oh and one more thing: Really, the Luggage. The Luggage. I dare you to come up with something as hilariously insane as the Luggage. Go on. Try it. I shall sink my reading teeth into it, promise.
j.d.

March 8, 2015

that is music

sometimes you need it
want it
must be it
that beat that rings through the bone

it’s always there
lingering just beyond
a silent rhythm
nascent in every song

there it is
that thump and clap
feet on the floor
hands off your lap
high up, together

no excuses
dance
dance!
together
you too over there
get up!
move it
shake it
groove it

and celebrate once more
this marvelous thing
that is music
that is joy
that is life
in a moment: forever
one
.

February 23, 2015

gotta run

funny funny
ha ha ha
one part madness
two parts mush

three parts sadness
seven parts –
‘Oh damn, gotta run!’

sipping lattes
in scrubwood rooms
lamps lit lightly
glowing so cool

meeting quickly, kissing, mwa!
eating, parting
meetings, starting
a brand new countdown, gah!

memos, memos, one more mail
then a quick breather
lunch? totally! 2 pm? yeah!

sitting together
exchanging words
‘That’s so funny’
‘You’re so cute’
‘I love this place’
‘Omigod – shoot!’

‘Oh no’
‘Sorry. Tomorrow, promise!’
two hugs one kiss
‘Let’s catch up’

‘God I’m so late’
‘See ya’
‘Luvya’

five second sadness
‘Gotta run!’

February 21, 2015

e.motion

there’s this fear of
soppy
of too much saccharine ugh
or that thing now
right in the feelz

which makes that which feels
a thing that lives and exists
on its own
an unprotected entity
like a punchbag on a rope
ready to be hit at random
unexpectedly

while what we’re really after is
emotion
(I think, I hope)
those deep waves that draw you under
that vast ocean that is truly overwhelming
terrifying
exhilarating
never genuinely controlled

and always so unbelievably unseen
unless someone cries or smiles
howls and screams
falls over with laughter
breaks down in tears, weeping.

so many words
for one
not so small thing
that entails movement, motion
only with an ego in it, shortened to e
e.motion
the motion in me.

it is the ‘I’ in it
so vulnerable, so open
like a child naked on the lawn
running under the sprinklers
laughing and loving
without any care in the world
it is that once-known ‘me’
that makes us run and hide

when unseen motion erupts
out of the unknown dark
uncannily familiar
suppressed only so far
even a pressure cooker can only take so much.

how write it though?
that is the question.
how be at the center
of palpitations sacred to the slightest touch?

not quietly, never timidly
there is that demand
that everything be shown
not mimicked, but known

even the sticky parts
those tooth-achingly sweet
icky parts
that we all carry hidden deep down

in our cynical postmodern hyperreal
ever-connected
over-protected
lonely little souls

then again, one wrong word can ruin a whole scene.

it’s tricky
and mistakes will be made
oh, I promise
I’ve just started yet…

but then one must try
and find this voice
that speaks
of those ancient things
almost mystic
this crazy little thing
everyone calls el oh ve e
all this motion in so many me’s
.