EXISTENTIAL POWDER

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AND THE WAKING HOURS,

THE POWDER-LESS WONDER OF SLEEPLESS DREAMS…

WHERE THE HEAD IS BUZZING WITH THE NOTHINGNESS

AND THE OVER-BLOWN GESTURES OF  THE MEANINGFUL,

JUXTAPOSED ABSTRACTION AND INSTRUCTION,

AND WE ARE LIVING,  I SUPPOSE,

IN A WORLD WHERE EVERYBODY HAS READ THE MANUAL,

EXCEPT YOU… AND ME.

I HAD A MANUAL,

I HAD AN INSTRUCTRESS,

SHE, THE IMMORTAL SHE,

READ THE MANUAL…

SHE POINTED TO THE SALIENT,

BUT I WAS BLOWN AWAY BY THE BEAUTY…

I COULD NOT FIND MEANING.

AWE-STRUCK AND AWESOME,

LIKE THE CHILD IN THE CATHEDRAL…

WHERE ADULTS PLAY OUT THE RITUAL,

AND THE CHILD SAYS,

“IS THAT IT?”

ALL IS PLASTIC PORNOGRAPHY

AUTO-EROTIC WITHOUT DIDACTIC INSTRUCTION

IMAGES FLICKER THE 30 FRAMES A SECOND

REALITY, WHICH IS NOT REALITY,

IS THE ABSTRACTION.

STUCK IN THE MUNCH SCREAM…

THE SIREN SOUND OF THE 20TH CENTURY,

OR THE BECKETT ‘NOT I ‘,

WHERE JUST THE LIPS

AND THE SOUND OF THE LIPS MOVING,

IS THE VACUOUS POLEMIC

OF MODERNITY.

 

AND I CAN’T SLEEP, A WEEK OF UNSLEEP,

TAKES IT TOLL,

I LIVE IN THE POINTED POINTILLISM

OF IMAGES LAID SIDE BY SIDE,

AS IF MEANING CAN BE MIXED BY EYE OR EAR,

BY BLURRING THE EDGES,

DISTORTING THE SOUNDS…

BUT EACH UNMIXED LAYER

TAKES ME FURTHER AWAY FROM ANY MEANING.

WHAT IS MEANINGFUL?

LOVE DIED IN A MEANINGLESS WAY…

ON THE WAY TO A MEANINGLESS JOB,

AND THERE IS NO MEANING IN THAT…

SLICED BY THE METAL DISC OF A MUCK SPREADER…

AS SHE SLIPPED EFFORTLESS BENEATH A DARK TRAILER.

THERE. THERE IS A MEANINGFUL IMAGE.

THERE IS A REASON WHY?

WHY I CAN’T SLEEP.

 

IT’S HORROR IS TRIVIAL,

IN A WORLD WHICH IS MONUMENTALLY HORRIFIC…

DAILY.

AND I, THE IMMORTAL I,

STRUGGLE TOWARDS THE AWE,

AND AWAY FROM THE AWE.

AND I STRUGGLE TO FIND BEAUTY AND LOVE,

WITHOUT BILE.

 

AND I PAINT LIKE A BULIMIC,

GORGING ON THE MID-TONES OF GREY,

UNTIL I HAVE TO THROW- UP WITH COLOUR.

DON’T DIE OF BOREDOM.

DIE IN HORROR.

 

DALE ‘M’

GUILT

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I KEEP THINKING THAT ITS ALL MY FAULT!

I WANTED TO BE WITH HER SO MUCH

THAT MY WISH FULFILMENT WAS AT THE COST

OF HER LIFE.

THAT GOD WAS PUNISHING OUR PRESUMPTION,

THAT OUR HAPPINESS

COULD NOT GO ON.

 

BUT THEN I THINK OF HER,

MY BELOVED,

AND REALISE… IT WAS WHAT SHE WANTED!

I REACTED TO HER DECLARATION OF LOVE!

I WOULD HAVE STAYED AWAY,

STILL LOVING HER, BUT LETTING HER LIVE HER LIFE.

SHE HAD MY NAME TATTOOED ON HER SKIN,

SHE MOVED TO BE CLOSE TO ME,

ALL I DID WRONG

WAS LOVE HER WITH ALL MY HEART AND SOUL.

I NEVER REGRETTED BEING WITH HER FOR ONE SECOND!

BUT NOW I REGRET…

AND I TURN ALL THE MOMENTS OVER AND OVER,

TRYING TO SEE HOW HOW I COULD

EFFECT THE OUTCOME?

SHE CRASHED THE CAR

AND LEFT ME HERE.

 

DALE ‘M’ BELOVED HUSBAND, HAND-FASTED FOREVER.

SHRUNKEN SKULL

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SHRUNKEN SKULL

THE FATUOUS HOURS BETWEEN 1 AND 4 AM

HAUNT MY ACHING BRAIN AWAKE.

SCOOPED OUT MIND AND STUFFED BACK

WILLY NILLY INSIDE A SHRUNKEN SKULL.

A NOODLE NOGGIN.

 

THE FUZZ OF ALCOHOL AND PAINKILLERS,

UPSET MY STOMACH.

MAKE ME THROW UP :

LUCID TORTUOUS DREAMS!

AWAKE AND BOLDLY CRUMBLING…

 

THE SQUEEZE OF MY MIND,

EVISCERATES MY SOUL.

I TREMBLE AT YOUR ABYSS,

THE VACUUM OF YOUR SPACE.

I TRY TO FILL IT.

 

NOTHING FILLS IT,

NOTHING CAN FILL IT,

I HAVE TO OCCUPY

LIKE A PENITENT PILGRIM…

ON MY KNEES.

 

DALE ‘M’

SCATTERING THE ASHES

 

Took my beloved’s ashes to scatter at Dovedale in Derbyshire.  It was a nice morning and I needed to do something to lift my despair. So I scattered her ashes in the river and bade her farewell, have a good journey down to the ocean my love… catch you up on the next tide. Of course I ended up wearing some of her… Things happen that way for me. I make everything difficult for myself. At least my dogs got to have a good walk!

In the end, the ashes are not her. The ashes are no more her than the contents of the vacuum cleaner. I was holding on to them as if they were her, but the her I love is now inside me, a memory of true love. I will cherish that part of her for the rest of my days.

Dale ‘M’

HALF-LIFE

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HALF-LIFE

DON’T KNOW HOW TO BE ME,

WITHOUT YOU.

IT’S LIKE I’VE LEARNT THE ROLE,

BUT FORGOTTEN THE SCRIPT…

I WALK THROUGH LIFE

LIKE IT’S A REHEARSAL,

IT WILL COME INTO FOCUS,

WITH PRACTICE.

 

BUT THE WEEKS GO BY,

AND I’M WELL VERSED…

BUT THE EDGES ARE SHARDS,

OF EMPTINESS AND UNLOVE.

BEFORE MY LIFE WAS STRUCTURED,

BY LOVE, COCOONED IN A FIXED SPOT,

THE SPOT WHERE YOUR SOUL

MIRRORED MINE,

AND OUR LOVE WAS ETERNAL.

 

ETERNAL?

 

DALE ‘M’

TOGETHER PLAYLIST

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TOGETHER PLAYLIST

  1. EVERYBODY GET TOGETHER – DAVE CLARK FIVE
  2. ALL FALL TOGETHER – BIG COUNTRY
  3. ALL TOGETHER NOW – THE BEATLES
  4. ALTOGETHER – SLOWDIVE
  5. COME TOGETHER – SPIRITUALIZED
  6. EVERYTIME WE LIVE TOGETHER WE DIE A BIT MORE -HOOVERPHONIC
  7. GOOD TOGETHER – JOAN AS A POLICEWOMAN
  8. HELP ME (GET MYSELF BACK TOGETHER AGAIN) –  THE SPELLBINDERS
  9. LET’S GET TOGETHER – JEFFERSON AIRPLANE
  10. LET’S SPEND THE NIGHT TOGETHER – DAVID BOWIE
  11. LET’S STICK TOGETHER – BRYAN FERRY
  12. OUR FIRST DAY TOGETHER – CARLY SIMON
  13. PUTTING IT TOGETHER – BARBARA STREISAND
  14. SLEEP TOGETHER – GARBAGE
  15. STAY TOGETHER – SUEDE
  16. STICK TOGETHER – KRISTINA TRAIN
  17. STILL TOGETHER – MAC DEMARCO
  18. TOGETHER ALONE – CROWDED HOUSE
  19. TOGETHER IN ELECTRIC DREAMS – HUMAN LEAGUE
  20. UNTOGETHER – BELLY

 

UNTOGETHER

JOINED AT BIRTH

OF ADULTHOOD,

WE LIVED UNTOGETHER

FOR THIRTY THREE YEARS…

UNBEARABLE AS A HALF,

WE JOINED TOGETHER,

AND FELT WHOLE AGAIN.

 

AND NOW WE ARE UNTOGETHER AGAIN,

STOLEN FROM MY ARMS,

STOLEN FROM MY HEART AND SOUL,

I HAVE NO WAY TO BECOME

A COMPLETE ENTITY…

A HALF-LIFE HYSTERIA…

A MINDLESS DRONE.

A FREE RADICAL.

DALE ‘M’

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

GRIEF 4 MONTHS ON

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You know that thing people say? You know… Time’s a great healer, or Time heals all wounds… Yeah that thing, well it doesn’t! Time is a fiction we tell ourselves to make us believe we are making progress. Four months have passed since that fateful night when the knock of the law brought my world crashing to earth, four months of dealing with all the grown-up stuff which is supposed to come naturally to grown-ups but… doesn’t!

It’s like this, imagine somebody runs you through the heart with a dagger, and then before you can get any treatment for the wound you have to spend days and weeks going through interminably byzantine red tape, just to get a nurse to give you a band-aid.

Or imagine playing whack a mole, but every time you hit one it splits into three more, so much so that by the end of a week you are infested with moles or insurmountable problems if you prefer, and you just want to scream,

LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!!!!

Yeah, that’s pretty much how it is. Four months on, and I still have a pension fund to negotiate, with requests like, can you get the original copy of her father’s death certificate, I never met her father, he died before we got together, and so consequently never met her step-mum, because she didn’t maintain contact with her after his death; and her full birth certificate, which must have been lost in the early 60’s as all she had was a replacement created in 1966, when she needed a passport; or can you send us the decree nisi from her last divorce? As all of these things had very little to do with me and as I have produced her Death Certificate, wtaf has all this to do with me… It’s like the pension fund is run by Vogons… Heaven forfend that they will read me their bloody poetry next.

Another piece of wonderful logic, this time from the good people of talk talk… I cancelled my contract with them at the beginning of April, and cancelled the standing order accordingly, last week I got an email saying that they couldn’t get a payment from my account. YEAH thats because I have cancelled the account. I spoke to an advisor on line, he was from East Africa, he didn’t really understand what I was saying, so I asked for a phone number where I could speak to someone. I rang the number and got an Asian girl, very pleasant, she said I had to pay a full month’s subscription so that they could give me back my money later in the month. I said, When does my month’s notice run out?

3rd of may, was her reply. I said how about in the middle of the month you send me a final bill, for the three days I have not been using your facility and I pay that, that way I’m not going to be left relying on your good practices to get the money I don’t owe you back?

Similarly, I phoned the council with regard to council tax, at the beginning of April to say that as I was no longer domiciled in their area I wanted to end my council tax payments.I was asked when my lease was ending, I said I am leaving on the 23rd April or before.

Yes but when does your lease end, I said I have extended the lease for an extra month, because given my mental state the last thing I needed was people coming around to look at the house whilst I was there.

“Oh well, if you still have the lease til the 23rd May, you still have to pay council tax until then.”

“But, I won’t be living there…”

“You’ve still got to pay…”

“WHY?”

“Because the lease is in your name.”

“But, my friend, the whole raison d’etre of the council tax, is that it helps to pay for amenities which I will be using, but as I am not going to be domiciled in the property or within any property within your bailiwick, I should not have to pay the tax.”

” You still have to pay…”

“WHY?”

“Because its the law.”

“And you sir are making an Ass of the law. Thank you so much for all your help.”

This is a joke, but its also the truth.

In the four months since my beloved died, I have dealt with funeral directors, humanist preachers, (so for the oxymoron), police, coroner’s office, telephone companies, utility providers, insurance companies, solicitors, doctors, pension fund managers, banks, and so on… ad infinitum, and what have I learned… modern life is rubbish! In a Nutshell. I have had to become as adept with the law as a barrister, every single thing you try to sort through is not just a minefield but a minefield written in triplicate. Every single adventure into sorting out the details of modern life is a quagmire of mixed media, you start on the net; go to phone;ping around the world in 80 call centres; answer queries by email; the return e-mail, requires another phone call and so on… La Ronde (play by arthur Schnitzler about the sexual roundabout we all live) keeps playing but it ceases to be fun long before the end.

I was once told the difference between heaven and hell was this… In both places there was all the food you could possibly want but you had to eat it with six foot long chopsticks, in hell, the people were in torment, because no matter how hard they tried they could not get anything to eat. In Heaven the people were all happy and well fed,

HOW? Because instead of trying to feed themselves, they fed each other, and everyone’s needs are met.

This allegory is pertinent because Customer Service in this modern age is another oxymoron, it does not provide any service to the customer, but rather seeks to serve the company’s needs. It seeks to obfuscate rather than illuminate, and in the end leads to dissatisfaction with the company involved…So they will all eventually end up losing the customer they seek to keep. Hell indeed.

So, four months on, yes the initial shock and awe of the accident has abated to some extent… I still miss my beloved every day, Some days are still untenable, some days are bearable. I have lost my love, my job, my home and my friends are all miles away…

I have my family, a home with my parents, my brother and my dogs, and friends who are still within touching distance. I have my painting, have plans to go fishing with my brother and I still have Art galleries to visit with my old friend Janet, and I’m trying to look forwards. Not easy…

NOT AT ALL EASY, but I’m trying.

live in love my friends

Dale ‘m’

SORROW

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Sorrow sits like a nightingale waiting for dusk,

As the sun slips archly from the sky,

It’s lush lullaby drifts through my mind…

A familiar refrain :

An earworm of sadness.

 

In daylight I can enjoy the memory of you,

I can smile at the things you said,

Relish your love laden ways…

But the night is a landscape of loss,

And the empty choke of misery,

Is the vacant space beside me,

A black-hole that sucks out light,

From body and soul.

 

At dawn,the fingers of love,

radiate and illuminate,

A stealthy sustenance which turns the night terrors

Into vague misty shapes only half-baked,

ungainly, and unworthy,

I don’t want or need them,

Sorrow is a pustulent sore…

A recurrent disease not cured by modern medicine…

only time will heal it…

only time… And love.

 

DALE ‘M’