Sunday, 27 May 2012

Scenes.

We knew what it meant to them,
Vales immersed in the tender swash
Of sunlight, welcoming its wandering embrace;
Not caring for the assurance of its
Errant solace, nor the dusky elegy
Sang in the swathes of its wake.

And as the infinite scourge drowns
Beneath the swells of sanguine seas;
We'll not care for anything, for
We'll know scenes like these.


Monday, 9 January 2012

Vessels.

A fondness docked in callow,
Harbours walled by candid coasts.
More lucid than the shallows
That enshroud the forlorn ghosts

Of those that went before,
With scenes aloft such limpid skies.
They left these lowly shores
Ergo; their celestial demise.

She too chased the unattainable,
And forayed t'ward mere ideal.
An affection buoyed by spectacle,
She had lost what it meant to feel.

Save a hull so heartened and stoic;
This craft would not so readily relent.
But like a moth to moonlight he danced
In her swells of discontent.

So left exposed and conquerable
And unhinged by pitiless winds,
A once forbearing vessel
Now sits moored to a callous grin.

And like the cadaverous beams
That lie strewn on her barren bed,
His bows are heavy with hysteria
Of a past that's not yet dead.

And whilst the infinite healer
Can bring rest to these anguished beams,
His bows will fracture further
Against the waves of artless dreams.

So brazen she'll inhume the memories,
Sepulchred to an insentient shelf.
And far below the yearning tides
He'll lie; a stranger to himself.



Sunday, 28 August 2011

A Declaration.

When the heart finally belays its last,
And breath is all but spent.
Will you ponder the pepper of the stars?
Or pry to what it all meant?

For all paths seem to lead to
An indifferent and insistent end.
Yet who's to say they can't be flanked
By a tenderness; the will to amend...

The distant and unaccountable;
The disharmony of the deep.
Shrewd to the years of closure,
And sly in the shadow of sleep.

That which we all do fear,
Not knowing why still, or how?
'Til it manifests its most fervent facade
And troubled beads crest the brow.

You know your feeble undertakings
Were exercised only in vain.
And naive attempts to inhume the past
Just crudely masked the pain.

And when you had convinced them all
The bygone was so and dead.
Down from the deep and brought from its sleep
It would rear it's formidable head.

But now in a time of reckoning
Will you at last relinquish the doubt?
And shake off the wraithlike shackles
When the flame is forever snuffed out.

For whether there's being beyond this world
Really bears of little concern.
But to truly emancipate one must
Embrace that for which they yearn.

And gazing across the vast
Sapphire lagoons that scatter the sky;
You summon an ethereal liberty
That no compromise can buy.

And the once indifferent paths that left
Most unremarkable scars;
Are aligned and adorned with a renewed hope
That grants promise beyond the stars.


Thursday, 14 January 2010

These Things Take Time

I never know how to title these bastarding things and as a result I've stooped to the lowest level of indie fruitery by using Smiths songs as titles. I know... I hate myself too.

It looks like I've caught whatever bug has been going round 'cos I've been feeling sick as fuck the past week or so. So bad in fact, that I blacked out in the middle of a Biology exam the other day. Was trippy as bejaysus, had to leave the room for 5 mins during the exam for some air, thought I was gonna whitey all over the show. But like a trooper, I went back in and finished the remainder of the exam (of which I have about 50% recollection, so christ knows what I've written).

It's mental to think that it's actually 2010. I assume that this decade will be a momentus one in my life, and frankly I'm quite excited (yet strangely anxious) of what lies ahead. Anyway... I had a beezer New Years; albeit apart from a few minor hiccups at the beginning of the night, such as being rejected from a certain establishment a grand total of three times. You see, as a result of a somewhat over-indulgent pre-swal, my judgement was significantly impaired. And when the bouncer requested my ID I handed him my wallet, forgetting that it contained both my (provisional) drivers license as well as that of another slightly older individual (ie. a fake one). I was swiftly shown the door... However, this didn't deter me from trying to get in a further two times; alas, my valiant drunken efforts were in vain, and I fucked off to another club down the road. Luckily the German techno/hard trance dj Scot Project was playing in this venue, and before him was a dj called Paul Harper, who to my utter delight played a set of glorious trance and progressive house (even including 5 of my favourite tunes). Long story short, I had a fecking fantastic night which can be summed up thusly: lethal lethal BEANS.

If any of you reading this are on Facebook, please have a wee duke at an utterly puerile and somewhat retarded group which I co-write; Lad of the Week...
http://www.facebook.com/pages/Lad-Of-The-Week/232160245632
(Click on "notes" to read all our wee stories)

Basically, if you're a young adult, you may find this group mildly amusing and perhaps even somewhat relevant in a tragic Inbetweeners-esque way.

Well that'll do. I'm heading to a house party at the weekend and no doubt I'll have a few stories to tell from it. See ye!

Thursday, 24 December 2009

Sweet and Tender Hooligan

I need to employ someone to badger the fuck out of me to keep writing these. I'm a lazy bastard this weather, my attitude to everything has been somewhat notionate and hedonistic - well, moreso than usual. Anyway, since my last post about The Specials gig there's been a few things worth writing about, more though worth discarding from memory.

I've been out a good few times in the past while, some nights of which were pretty shite, others were half-decent. A decent one was Cloisters in Ballynahinch last month, it can summarised thusly:
Appletini's (I know we're gay as fuck), the "Pull a Midget Challenge", Underworld - Born Slippy, Ronaldinho/Horse hybrid, Ian being Ian, getting Stella confiscated by the feds, getting started on by spidey fuckers in the street, two kebabs in 10 minutes, subsequently fighting in the kebab place, Deaf Girl, Simon pole-dancing in the street etc etc.

Another one was the Rugby Club, again in Ballynahinch, which can be summarised thusly:
Malibu preswal in taxi, return of the Royal Marine, "Ret luuuuv", Diesel, "Ahhhh no... not Toilet Duck again...", moked up Clubland-esque balls, raving te fuck to moked up Clubland-esque balls, Big Phil getting his hole, getting fucked out (Nazi bastards), epic snowball fight, hypothermia, pissing in garage forecourt at 2am, Adam being fleeced by the taxi man for being from Downpatrick etc etc

I've been to quite a lot of big gigs in the past while, here's a brief review of each:

The Answer in the Ulster Hall: UNBELIEVABLE. Crowd was mental, moshed the whole time, sang along to everything, held Cormac when he crowd-surfed (in fact his face touched my face, as gay as that sounds I care not) and generally had a badass time. Swanee River and Black Spiders were fantastic too.

Horslips in the Odyssey: Great gig, they played all best shit from The Tain, Book of Invasions etc. They were funny fuckers too. T'was just a really good gig, would like to have been standing down in the action though rather than sitting up in the stand.

Yes in the Waterfront: Another class gig. Basically a room filled with auld hippies spaced out to fuck. Really enjoyed it, though Chris Squire has got to the age where skin-tight flares are just an unnacceptable form of attire.

So there's some of the amusing things that have occurred in the past month. That'll do for the meantime, I'll update it in a few days when everything has calmed down. But for now have a fecking brilliant Christmas the lot of ye.

Tuesday, 17 November 2009

One of the best nights of my life...

...is how you'd describe The Specials gig last night. It was everything I had romantically envisioned and more.

I arrived early to get up at the very front, and sat there bopping out to the Dub dj with a few beers, whilst having a good auld yarn to a load of old skinheads, punks and mods (it was like being in This Is England) about the old punk scene in Belfast and they told me about how they remembered the first time The Specials came to Belfast as if it was yesterday. They said it was refreshing seeing young people such as myself so interested in the music and culture that they grew up with, which made me feel all kless - but ultimately it's because music and culture nowadays is a load of auld fake apathetic balls.

So on came the support band Pama International, who were actually really good. Played sorta soulful rocksteady mixed with ska and a wee bit of dub. They got everyone going anyway and got a rapturous applause.

Waiting for the stage to be set up for The Specials seemed to take an aeon, even though it was only 20-odd minutes. But as soon as the lights went off, the curtain flew up and they went straight into "Do The Dog". The place went NUTS. Everyone was moonstomping in unison, and the skinheads were pogoing and crowd surfing to clean fuck. It was like reliving all those old videos on youtube of The Specials playing in the 80s, the same anarchic, raw energy existed in both the audience and The Specials themselves. They certainly hadn't mellowed with age.

Long story short - they tore through the set. The moonstomping and pogoing didn't cease once, and they were recalled twice for an encore, the first being "Ghost Town" of course and the final "You're Wondering Now". It was fucking magic, a truly spiritual experience.

I could sit and write about it forever but that'll have to do before I bore the tits off you all with my romantic ramblings. C'mon Bad Manners t'fuck!

Sunday, 15 November 2009

THE FUCKIN' SPECIALS LAD

I'm desperately shit at this blog carry-on. My last post was a big gay Morrissey-esque emo one and I'm too much of a technophobe to figure out how exactly I edit the faggotyness out of it. Balls to it.

Well it's 11.30pm on a Sunday night and I have an English essay due for tomorrow which I've yet to make a start on. I did the same thing with my last English essay, except started it around midnight on the Sunday, and I ended up getting an A+ on the fucker - beating all the swatty bastards in the class. Buckin' kless.

Tomorrow night will potentially mark a momentus occasion in my life (touch wood). I'm going to feckin' see THE SPECIALS, one of my favourite bands of all time. I have these visions of me moonstompin' and skank dancin' like a buck eejit to the best ska band ever with a load of old punks and skinheads. I know I probably sound like I should've lived during the 80s - which is how I feel (un?)fortunately.

Ret I shall update this piece of sheeeeet tomorrow night either in a state of absolute euphoria or epic disappointment. Tbc baby.