Alpathetical Disorder

The alphabet was the first thing that we learned when we were young,

The simplest of theories that flowed straight off the tongue,

The ease of every letter providing us with new knowledge,

The catalyst of learning and to that I now pay homage.

As my mind does expand and my vocabulary does grow,

I think back to the start were my potential did first show,

Every single opinion we verbalise, write or think,

Is nothing without the alphabet to keep our words in sync.

I present to you now the most updated version,

A warning to our minors to help them elude submersion,

An early glimpse of truth to help avoid the lies,

The mess they call control I bluntly summarize.

{Pause}

A is for altruism rendered invisible,

B is for the boring lines rehearsed and immutable,

C is for corruption by the hands of those corrupted,

D is for the disruption of tradition interrupted,

E is for the emphasis of a difference in class, 

F is for the fragility of our futures cracked like glass,

G is for the glutton showed by those that stand empowered,

H is for a hierarchy filled top to toe by cowards, 

I is for imagination quelled by conformity,

J is for judgmental eyes glaring at deformity,

K is for the kindling of the fires of disrespect,

L is for the limelight thrust upon cranial neglect,

M is for those misused minds wandering our streets, 

N is for a narcissism fueled by undue conceits,

O is for the oxymoron we call our daily lives,

P is for a Prime Minister made up entirely of lies,

Q is for the quashing of differential views,

R is for the reality so many avidly refuse,

S is for the stupidity we pathetically glorify,

T is for the scary truth that morals here do die,

U is for the unknown that we fear, avoid, reject,

V is for the vapidity of ignorant retrospect,

W is for the wall between destruction and salvation,

X is for a xenophobia given incorrect allocation, 

Y is for our impatient youth unaware of diligence, 

and Z is just for Zebra to represent lost innocence.

To Whom It May Concern

Choked and stifled by a country anorexic,

Starved of knowledge with lies the antiseptic,

Not sure how to manage my diminishing composure,

But empty heads and idiocy receive to much exposure,

Does nobody agree that we celebrate stupidity,

Instead of forcing realness from the depths of anonymity,

America could have Romney and in the past endured Bush,

Well we're stuck here with Cameron who leaves truth in a hush,

Our leader a chimp his policies absurd, 

Humility and assurance as of yet unheard,

Recession still biting our wallets in half,

Withdrawing our earnings and out spits a draught,

I'm tired and exhausted from this relentless bombardment,

But I don't want a free ticket from this lonely department,

Nobody is owed happiness we have to search for and earn it,

To avoid the abyss of our own homemade cesspit, 

So many people content with this horrendous reality,

But I just can't get comfy beneath this blanket of fallacy,

The cold side of the pillow has became stiflingly hot,

Burning my skin nightly leaving my consciousness shot,

Where does it end when all paths are blocked off,

By suited up pigs scoffing jive from their trough,

Gluttons for nonsense and admirers of lies,

Seven deadly sins quadrupled in size,

Whether with left or with right we'll be in the same boat,

The weight of the bullshit barely keeping us afloat,

It vexes me to know that my children will endure,

The exact same incompetence that sticks my shoes to the floor,  

How do we escape when escape requires funds,

And the funds that we earn get stolen by men with plastic guns, 

All that I have is a keyboard and my dignity,

My honest opinions that won't be shared timidly,

This country is in a state of horrendous decline,

Do we really want our offspring to be forced into line,

To wait for the dole and be refused occupation,

While the catalysts of inadequacy avoid prominent condemnation, 

We just turn on our TV's and pretend there's nothing there,

We switch on our iPod's and proclaim that we don't care,

But we have to be able to truly comprehend,

That at the end of the day it is our livelihoods that won't mend.

For the Both of Us

A lifetime of memories,

An array of moments lost in the blink of a heartbeat,

Faded are those joyous experiences of youth and love,

Incredible exclamations and insatiable lust,

The building of friendships and family,

Intoxicated merriment and magical mischief,

Dissolved into the fragments of each previously insignificant second.

My familiar face,

My familiar touch,

Forcefully and irrevocably unfamiliar to her,

A face so crumbled and cracked,

Like the shattered glass surrounding our portrait,

Uncontrollable frustration tainting our home,

Immovable shards distorting our reality.

Her uncomfortable shiver as my hand preaches my affections,

My palms gently brushing a sweet reminder across her cheek to no avail,

What used to be mirrors now become windows,

Transparent and empty,

Reflections darkened like the landscape beneath the night,

Prayers for our past laced with hopeful tears, 

Hopeful tears met by vacancy.

My smile forgotten by her deep blue eyes,

Those same eyes that grabbed every inch of me with each flutter,

The years spent embracing the beauty of vision,

She still sees me staring,

A heartbreaking lack of recognition is now my reply,

Take me back to the beach or the hills of our precious yesteryear,

Take me back to her as she was when she was mine.

Our journey unforgettable,

All tribulations fought off with an incomparable ease,

Life would not have been as beautiful without her,

Her hand in mine always acting as my balance against any instability,

As her mind disappears I use her beating heart as my source of strength,

She taught me happiness, hope and humility,

We lived extraordinarily sharing one life.

Our unified bond dissolving at the hands of hasty time,

Take her mind early but her soul will forever live on through our many creations,

She may forget my face and the history we made,

She may forget me and our irrevocable adorations,

As long as my feet grace this Earth though I will never forget,

Our love untouchable,

 I will remember for the both of us.

Suburban Memories

An ever-present breeze snakes respectfully around this still suburban maze.

An orchid of muted screenings based solely on improvised script.

These concrete coves an individual episode in the worldwide reality show.

The local tabby rolls lazily upon irritated chrysanthemums until a blunt bark disturbs its fur.

The daily eruption of youth an aging reminder of younger years.

Laughter.

                            Laughter.

                                                        Laughter.

                                                                                        Remember.

All walks of life connected as one by the simple blend of bricks, mortar and routine.

Future Olympians running laps around cobbled memories.

The finishing line never quite established for this never-ending race.

The back alley gateway an imaginary goal mouth swallowing potential.

From cups of diluted refreshment to cups of gold thrown aloft on foreign ground.

The birthplace of whirling pedals.

Not yet any thoughts of records or medals.

The origin of a great British legacy lies waiting amidst our terrific terraces.

After dark the curtains close and a loving oxymoron takes control of the night.

To make or to loathe the hidden question behind each fabric concealer.

"They're at it again" we say; "They'll be able to hear us" they say.

Entwined bodies or battling adjectives.

Passionate breathlessness or torcherous tears.

A diminshing relationship or a precious exchange.

Slamming windows to mask home truths and deceive nosy neighbors.

Unavoidable conflicts, wonderful innocence and unforgettable noise.

Celebrations remembered forever and a day.

Achievements always influenced by surroundings.

Triumphs spark imagery of those foggy winters and scorching summers.

As life progresses we refuse to forget that concrete strip.

Despite our required exits those memories cement the strongest foundation.

That breeze still present and that maze containing scatterings of a new generation.

Strobe Lights & Boredom

As I take a sip of my double Talisker, I peer into the mirrored back-bar and realise the severity of the situation. Dusty nosed miscreants obsessing over the ownership of a sweaty cubicle refusing to admit to any form of addiction. Moist palms grasping at distasteful clobber searching for a hit or two, or three.

The mass congregation of the 'Fred Perry Army' hustling and bustling past the bubble covered bouncers at the door, hiding their apparent dilation. Entry fee demands an unwelcome interaction. I get a glimpse of the cobbled street through some nearby glass. It has been invaded by locals knocking knees with the barest legs expecting the expected, at a fair price of course. 

There's a few reliving their youth in a clichéd batch of mid-life crisis avoiding speakers as best they can. It's about time to call it a day and stick to park trips with your youngest and box-set nights with the old ball and chain. Singles passionately grinding infront of a crumbling five year relationship. I'm assuming it was her flirtacious glance directed at the tatoo'ed barman. Or maybe this time it was his promiscuous smile. Either way this vocal brawl the penultimate clash before the explosion of vodka-flavoured tears. 

 Overwhelming confidence from the slanty-faced meat heads wearing tees roughly five sizes too small for their frame of femininity. Plucked eyebrows, concealer, sun-bed skin and shaved chests the pinnacle of the modern man. What a joke. I'm witnessing a realtime Discovery Channel style conquest for the elusive tangerine mistress.

The stink of Hollister aftershave creates a cloud of conformity and stings the eyes of the bearded hipsters in their corduroy cage. Whining that 'too many people know this song these days' and judging every generically dressed underage with eyes that say 'check my blog for updates.' Conversation muted by the iBerry and BlackPhone creating Tweets of facade and exclamations of "THE BEST NIGHT EVER L.O.L." 

There she is. The court jester. The 3AM queen. Once again she's pushed it at least seven shots too far. Baring her vapid mind, disrespected body and invisible soul to all upon the rickety table in the corner. 

An accidental push and shove met by a fist and a forehead rather than an apology or a handshake. Chemically imbalanced retards seeking confrontation and initiating a civil war upon the dirty dancefloor.

Just like the evening soundtrack mixed and muddled by the divine DJ, each evening a simple collection of repetitive sounds. Throw a net entwined by truth into this ocean of strobe and the sheer amount of pressure induced boredom caught within will widen your eyes. 

Everybody looking for a love of some description, or seeking an escape from our currently unresolved issues. Choking on alcohol, popping pills and puffing joints seems to be the most desirable wingman. Chatting up the exaggerated concept we call sociality placed importantly upon a pathetic pedestal. The phrase 'what the hell' quite ironically appropriate. 

A blurry mind and a pounding head usually the first sign of clarity for what feels like a lifetime. Is it worth becoming best friends with the bathroom floor and being greeted by the unlikely partnership of sunlight and vomit? My patience diminishing faster than the 90mph taxi ride to that place we call home. 

I feel like the fly on the wall of this repetitive omnibus and quite frankly, I'm bored...

From Beneath the Mound

An often unpleasant unknown,

Distain camouflaged by a constantly misguiding influx,

Stuck beneath a mound of destructive tedium,

Dust invading my lungs.

Choke.

Liquid soothe calms cranial peril,

From a complacent existence to an acidic diversion,

A sudden burst of courage melts claustrophobic rubble,

Precipitation of desire adds weight to the cause.

Breathe.

Eternal downpour of the not so spotless mind,

Clouds set to clear at the next expected chime,

Realisation has not always contained best intentions,

These intentions though hold the path not the crossroad.

Trust.

Vision now visible due to a reliable spontaneity,

Confusion dispersed by a foreign light,

Whose hand is it embracing my outreached mind?

Whose face is it blurred beneath the empathetic sun?

Control.

Pleasantly refreshing my soul,

Rehydrating my unshackled and thirsty heart,

Palms entwined like strangers amidst a crowded circus,

Finally in command of a personal expedition.

Soothe.

Complacency can massacre passion,

Trusting in change thus far incomparable,

Instinctual self-confidence the most blissful reality,

We as ourselves are the most precious creation.

Believe.

Imperium capere vitae.

Adoration of Hope

Fragile slumbers beneath a humid quilt of salty strain.

Beating claustrophobia birthed from a surrounding cluster of bedlam.

A soft cruel chill hacks intently at an icy sanity.

She keeps my nerve contained within her innocence.

The chain that cages a potentially prevailing panic.

My strength stems from my adoration like a rose from the shrubbery.

The stabilizer upon the unbalanced scales of the soul.

Conjoined palms continuously screaming for a majestic miracle.

Briskest winds blowing away the doubting debris left upon cerebral pavements.

Already answered questions require no squints.

The warmth of a broadened embrace felt at the core of every individual.

Encrypting faith into our very being.

This magnificent mystery the provider of solidity.

Our beautiful calm defying shady mutterings.

Such an unfaltering grace coupled with a magnetising elegance.

Sparkling through dire circumstances with pride and ease.

Unified by the failure of prying eyes and sealed lips.

Peeping Tom blinded by the severity of an untethered passion.

Brushing through whining crowds like a brush to a palette.

Absorbing brutal downpour and bathing in clarity.

'Together' seems such an underrated ideal to the misled masses.

A generation consumed by selfish promiscuity. 

Such a prominent distain at the concept of sharing love with youth.

Misguided and misinformed minds guarded by vicious virility.

Envious femininity ignorant to the truest joys of a shared life.

No word or whisper will chip at our desire.

No wandering eye or wicked wink will avert our gaze.

Our palace of grandeur all that now remains.

Built upon the ruins of past mistakes and surrounded by a thousand suns.

Together we shine through the generic dullness of false reality.

Weakness truly is extinct.

Mother Harlot

Peering passively from her dusky tunnel,

Entranced by breathless raindrops making love to the pavements,

Comprehension of love now a warped fantasy,

To seek peace in chaos is to collide with madness,

Who are we though to judge the true meaning of madness,

Our understanding of such drastic proportion is minimal,

Fabrics begin to shimmy beneath the damp debris,

A chill so strictly adhered to,

A half full life glued together by half empty shells,

Hidden morality torn apart at the hands of the Devil,

She needs Him just like He needs her,

Desirable opportunities sparse,

Required choices limited,

This world of obtrusive politics leaves no room for her testimony,

Her beauty reduced to powdered insecurity,

The purchase of flesh a grotesque reality,

Body snatched at the drop of his hat or her blouse,

The completion of each sordid transaction the provider of infantile merriment,

Childish innocence her saving grace,

The meaning of worthwhile tested to breaking point,

An exhalation of true prominence,

More meaning than any boast or belief,

Stalking the moonlight with paternal motivations,

This graffiti prison a home away from home,

Nobody looks beyond the static frame,

Total numbness providing more sensuality than the flesh of the shadows,

Composure extensively challenged by an overwhelming vulnerability,

When was the last time somebody asked her name?

The Marrow of Life

Life,

A muddle of words, actions, ideas and consequences,

Amidst all cliches though lies inexplicable beauty.

To be extraordinary is to truly live,

To seek extraordinary things is the bravest quest to endure.

Being branded a romantic or the exception is no fowl trait,

To be notable within conformity is to die before death.

Seize but do not be seized.

When you do find love do not dismiss it or doubt through fear,

Always test love but never compromise its importance,

Testing leads to strength but to compromise will lead to dissolution.

Cause ripples in stagnant puddles,

Change the world with your own ideas and words,

One day somebody will listen and one day somebody will believe,

Belief instills confidence,

Always dilute confidence with respect or respect will not be returned.

Nobody is owed happiness,

To pursue happiness is to experience the real meaning of lifes' journey.

As seasons pass us by like the hands of a clock the colours of the leaves change with them,

The trunk and the roots though will always stand firm until it is time for fresh bark.

Rivers may seem like they flow in the straightest of directions,

Tedious and unchanging,

Always look at life from a birds-eye view and you will experience all twists and breaks,

To comprehend each disruption is to be aware of a steadfast destination.

Trust in your own heart and mind because trusting yourself is the hardest aspect you will face.

Your Father is your maker and your teacher,

A world without learning and faith in knowledge is an untameable war.

Begrudge nobody and nothing,

Build the grandest fountains on the most tarnished ground.

Through strife and strain the rawest of human emotions will take flight,

Find peace and strength within these truest of truths.

Miracles can happen if you truly want them too,

Do not try to understand everything though,

Sometimes it is the unexplained that can bring the most joy.

Time spent trying to walk on water is time wasted,
Wasted time is the plight of friendship and love.

Make sure you invest enough time with your feet placed firmly to the ground,

There is nothing wrong with comfort but never forget to break down the necessary barriers.

Laugh and smile in all possible circumstances,

Always remember though to take the time to soak in reality.

Never embrace vacuous tendencies,

Limits are there to be pushed but boundaries should always be noted,

Challenge after all is what keeps us breathing.

Opinion will always be in battle with fact,

Despite one being the catalyst to the others' survival.

It is the differences that make every day worthwhile,

Make sure you feel invincible in your youth and exalt in your oyster,

There will come a time when regret will knock at your door,

Your ears though should be blissfully deafened by defiant memories.

Never forget your passion or falter in attaining its fullness.

Contribute your verse to every part you play but be sure to perform from your own script,

You are both protagonist and director as much as many may dispute.
The outside does exist,

As does love and as does life.

More importantly though so do you.

You do exist,

So live deliberately.

Inspired by the 1989 Peter Weir film 'Dead Poets Society'

James Vincent McMorrow @ Epstein Theatre 19/05/12

Every once in a while on the music scene, you stumble across one of those shows where artist, sound and venue blend so perfectly together that you are left well and truly amazed. On the 19th May during Sound City 2012, James Vincent McMorrow delivered exactly one of these performances in the stunning backdrop of the Epstein Theatre.

From start to finish McMorrow had the audience in the palm of his hand. With his finely tuned and effortlessly precise five-piece band behind him, the Irishman's vocals began swirling around the Epstein Theatre with ease and grace. The wonderfully sculpted lyricism and flawless consistency of the set-list left every member of the crowd in a state of complete pin-drop silence; apart from the effervescent applause at the end of each track of course. Aside from the performance, James' Irish charm also shone through as he set up a very personable rapport with his audience only adding to the intimacy of the gig. The venue itself also very much played into the hands of McMorrow as its' ambiance and image fitted perfectly into the musky, smoky tone of his voice. In a time were a new wave of Acoustic and Folk acts are flooding the music scene, I couldn't pick a better city venue to experience such a spectacle.

The haunting emotion established in McMorrow's critically acclaimed album, Early In The Morning, was mirrored perfectly throughout this live performance. His rawness and ability to bear everything in his music was heard in equal measure in understated tracks such as Follow You Down to the Red Oak Tree and more lively tracks such as Breaking Hearts and From The Woods!! At one point, despite issues during his sound-check, which were only noticeable due to him shyly and endearingly professing them to the crowd, McMorrow's band wandered off and left him on stage alone. The anticipation of the crowd hit boiling point. His lone performance of the infamous Higher Love really presented the crowd with a simplistic yet incredible overview of his vocal capability and totally captivated us all. The hold that he created over the audience was clear for all to see in other crowd favourites such as We Don't Eat and his sign-off track If I Had A Boat.

Beauty is a concept that is so often wasted on music in this day and age but the performance given that day in May was very much beautiful to the truest meaning of the word. The understated sound of his female conterpart with her subtle vocals and sweetly played mandolin were definitely a treat. On the other side of the scale though the spine-shaking drum-soaked instrumental climaxing seen in numerous tracks equally hit the spot. The key to this performance though lay mainly at the feet of the man himself. The raw emotion, plain enjoyment, endearing confidence and intimate relationship he strived for with his audience is what made Liverpool swoon note after note.

After his acclaimed sellout performance at The Kazimier back in February, McMorrow took to the almost unknown Epstein Theatre stage to a crowd with incredibly high expectations. It is safe to say that collectively, the lucky ones that managed to attend this masterpiece, were not disappointed. James Vincent McMorrow may have even just written himself into Sound City folklore with a performance that, in years to come, deserves to be the topic of numerous 'do you remember' conversations.

His Blessed Existence

His eyes shaded over by satin curtains,

This master sees and lives through the vision of sound,

His corner is his world,

The vibrations of dancing passengers paint an image more glorious that anything we can comprehend,

Each note the auditory birth of a majestic memory,

The masses that pass by initially see heartbreak,
This soul-man though represents something that so few will ever understand,

Although his eyes are blinded his ears swallow the incomprehensible orchestra of life,

His beret laid out at the forefront of his stage for loose change at the interval,

A hundred evening gowns gracing his hall of grandeur in every waking moment,

He pictures face after face,

Beaming and tearing,

Hands clasped beneath every blushing cheekbone,

Each day another encore,

He lives for his passion for it is his way of embracing his blessed existence,

A planet surrounded by aggression and misery calmed by his fingers caressing his gleaming mistress,

It is then that all around truly see his euphoric ideal of a spotless life,

Music is appreciated by many but so little truly fall,

This conductor on the corner devotes everything,
His visible impairment is nothing to be pitied; he deserves more than that,
His days are spent seeing a world that we cannot,
He dwells in the grandest of theaters not the cold inner city cobbles,
His princess more divine and elegant than any female form we may conquer,
Sharing a lifelong mutual understanding that shows no sign of breaking,
His world as heavenly as he wants it to be,
A concept more romantic that the crackling and creaking of a treasured vinyl,
Imagination is forever his reality,
The Prince of the Pavements and his Beautiful Brass Bride.

TwentyTwelve B.C.

A city bruised up and bloody due to black hooded bedlam,

Caring less about handshakes and politeness and more about violence and ounces,

Walking in mass with their 'fuck-the-system' mentality,

The irony though is that hierarchy has never been more apparent,

A childish game of follow the leader,

Spending just as much time looting themselves of logic as they do thieving from their neighbors,

A strut of raw belief that they rule the roost with their ruthless riot regime,

A gang of thoughtless caskets living in a life of cluelessness and ignorance, 

No concept of society or propriety,

Controlled by the desire of breaking every bone in that patient helping hand,

Blame is put upon upbringing but it is conformity that is causing this generational genocide,

Baa Baa Black Sheep and a passion for pointlessness,

Faceless miscreants hidden beneath that infamous cloak; intimidation or shame?

Roaming the streets with eyes visibly wide but a severe lack of direction,

Possessed by the power of excuses and blame,

Fighting against a government as alien to them as the concept of respect,

Tagging street corners with profanities,

Professional pricks handing out bad names like dime bags,

Racism more fashionable than rationalism,

Aggression more likely than compassion,

Hours complaining about foreign forces stealing occupation,

No minute to spare for the idea of ambition,

Complacent dole dwellers with lazy limbs,

Their black and white attire representing their dull and unwilling minds,

Each thread an emphasis of a boring waste of existence,

Come forth then brave soldiers,

Fight a war you know nothing about,

Reek havoc around your own home,

Close your ears to the choirs of human decency,

Imbecilic cavemen taking us back to BC.

 

Beurstraat 11

The crackling of herbal incense inserting itself into the irritated fragments of our conscious.

Curvaceous canals curling with cautious currents covered in the remnants of a calming yesteryear.

Countless sandals and espadrilles have wandered, walked and wondered where they were before today.

Wooden oars the only disturbance; dancing delicately deep beneath the delightful depths of a Dutch landmark.

Leaving us are the weighty worries of the wicked world we once knew.

On our faces the sweet sizzle of a sensual sun setting itself on our browning shoulders.

The beautiful breeze brushing through our blood-stream and becoming a brilliant catalyst for a disappearing breaking point.

Untethered from life and loosened from the locks of limp limbs and exhausted lines.

Who knew repetition could render a ruined soul into relaxation.

After all it was repetition that ruined relaxation in the first place.

Irresistible calm where dreams wander so blissfully.

The canals of settled minds.

Berry St. Blues

Teacher inflicted teachings to make the taught few wise.

Intellect though has became corrupted to his Scrumpy Jack Generation.

Percentage fades from dissertation delights to the quantities of chemical imbalance at the bottom of his tin prison.

Sober means somber in the same way that brain cells mean nothing.

A euphoric escape for the masses is a daily lethal liaison with a liver fighting a losing battle.

Depression, the dreadful dealer of distraction.

Focus fades over and again at the chime of every hour.

His home on that filthy seventh step of that mangled mortar frame.

The insides bombed out by the Weimar; his internal mauled by ignorance.

White Lightning and acid rain melting away the tiny remainders of his functioning mind.

The cause of his presence a mystery.

The story of his past a myth, even to him.

A mirage of memories lost beneath the greasy wire that surrounds his window; his soul eternally hidden.

Misunderstood warblings and the frequent quest for powder currency his only occupation.

Counting leaves and marking benches with forgotten names of forgotten friends to maintain his grip on reality.

Making foes over a circular piece of copper cruelty. 

Ignored and irrelevant to the naked eye.

Swallowed by pity.

Disappearance goes unnoticed.

Another victim of the streets.