From this to this

Its been some considerable time since I’ve written any commentary about the day to day. After all, the poetry is my documentary, and for the periods when the pen is silent, I am probably dead.

But, that aside, some changes have occurred. One that can be published here is that I no longer live in the original city of this place, having moved, last year, across the road* to a new place. This place. Of course.

*In this instance, the road is indicative of a geological boundary, as well as a means of transport.

The old place – or That Place, as it is now known – is a past whose memories can be kept alive as only the happiness of guilt and regret can muster.

Sunday Market

We looked into the window but the figure didn’t respond. Swathed in the most expensive of that season’s goods, it looked blankly to entice a materialistic world to enter the shrine and make offerings for the religion of credit. Nothing to do but to purchase. Besides, even the churches charged entry on a Sunday, now that God was just a figure selling entry to a tourist attraction.

Christmas decoration

Amidst everyone and
The chatter and charge of
Happy Christmas
He, alone in the crowd
Thinks
Quietly so as not to disturb
Or let loose the reflections that others could see

And when it comes
Down to brass tacks
The facts having been laid bare, or
At least
Presumed for another year
He smiles
Of the happiness ahead
And of its when, and where

What happened?

So. That went quite fast then; faster than I expected, and so I didn’t quite get chance to see in 2010 with any more than a shudder, and then, well, here we are in a new year. So happy new year to one and all.

Thus far, I have managed to break all of my new year’s resolutions, since I am neither sober nor fitter, and yet still retain a fear of social contact such that here I am, on a saturday night, compiling details for a tax return rather than doing anything more interesting with my life. We went out today, though, and I took photos. That is the new mission: to overcome the loss of creativity that took its cancerous grip in 2010, and to photograph, maybe to write, and perhaps sometimes to set fire to buildings in a particularly artistic way.

2011 brings with it the promise to shoot my second feature film. This is truly an adventure, and those can be good, once the panic of existence is put to oneside.

Perhaps poetry will come back. I miss the lines, and still compose, sometimes, in my head. But they rarely make it out, staying instead in the prison of imagination, awaiting the release of the iceman.

Welcome, then, to the new year. Welcome to the new old, to the promise of change and the reliability of not. Welcome to the hope that sometimes lasts until almost the end of the first month, before the self delusion is drowned and the new year turns to carbon of the past.

May it be happy, and prosperous, to one and all.

Happy New Year

Its 2010. The world has not yet collapsed under the weight of man’s stupidity. I think it will be saving that until at least February. I have many invoices to send. Well, 2. And I stall probably distractg myself slightly, by using PuppyBurger again (unless I change the URL to something new for this new start).

Happy new year.