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Forlorn- she was not a tree

She didn’t know it then

she knew now.

Woken up with on a  loop blasting around her mind in surreal sound-

 the Russian bass choir chanting in all surround.

An apt app unconsciousness knew her well.

A year ago, life had been different.

Mirthful, optimistic playful

 Now,  rooted to the spot with foliage, branches, lush leaves taking in the vagabonds seeking shelter.

Lost souls in need hidden by darkness

these nomadic souls plotting their next move.

Time for souls to gather there their thoughts

 the continued search of their dreams and pursuits.

Forlorn found herself lost in her own shades of solitude.

She was alone. Tucked up in her double bed -a pattern of flowers – all Huey reds and purples.

 Forlorn – wrapped up in a ditzy forlorn pattern matched her current mental state.

She could feel the bubbling creeping up to death by poison ivy- curling it’s away from the roots of her feet upwards.

It would not stop until she was mummified into silence.

She knew it wanted to make sure her mouth, eyes & nose covered  in bondage to the soil solidly planted her roots.

One day she had an epiphany.

 Moments of clarity were few.

 A  possibility to be something purposeful meaningful for her.

She had given life sustained it for those souls.

Yet she was weary, ageing.

Before she was forced to put down roots in an abode that spoke in foreign serpentine tongues;

Forlorn had forgotten she used to be a road runner girl.

A girl was taken by flights of fancy on a whim.

Ready to outrun her nemesis wanting to keep her hostage in a place she knew she didn’t belong.

An elder had kept her close to her.

Fearful to let her be free

To be whatever She wanted to be.

 She begged her ancestors to rouse the beasts of deforestation to seize her keeper.

 she could get a clean break – start over.

Feel movement not in height but in fluidity.

Nostalgic fragments of past it feelings -fragments

a pair of wings

A pair of  arms

Even a pair of legs again.

 Seasons passed still, she lay rooted to this spot. Full and plumaged as ever.

Ready to entice wanderers to seek shelter for without telling her a reason.

 

 She fidgeted, yawned, stretched willing pine bristles to deter these unwanted vagrants.

 Her heart had almost given up. She had succumbed to what she supposed was her last winter.

One eve she looked at the bees collecting sweet nectar for the unseen Gods.

Forlorn conceived a sapling of hope

Mental Rummaging a sense of Deja Vu.

I know it’s here’- impatient, sighing.

 

A piece of technology from the world she was once a part of.

A means of magic.

A way to communicate her distress.

Tangled hands finally caught the pointed end of a carved, wooden wand.

Slim, compact light.

Her true form to be again.

Stretching open her eyeballs could be made simpler if she had the eyelashes to wipe away the moss interfering with her vision to flee..

Diminished another sense

She would forget who she was

 what she wanted to be

 She drifted into a frightful sleep.

A woodpecker hammered a hole of her  bleak existence.

The epiphany.

The start of her new life was in a gestation period of fewer than 12 hours!

How did I sleep for so long? Christ! berating her herself under the twilight

Suddenly a swarm, around her were a fleet of fireflies.

 One eyeball strained

and out into focus confirmed  her impending anxiousness starting to emit it’s familiar disparate gas into her trunk form.

The final place she held on to her liberty – her mind.

Thoughts ploughed at her – like a farmer attacking a poorly harvested crop.

Not fit for tendering

Nor the soft touch of her keeper.

 

Soiled ground.

Soiled soul.

Soiled mind.

She fought with all might

Absorbed more -light, water, words…

The elder’s I told you so voice pulled her back into the darkness of her gloom.

Just like a car needs fuel to keep going so does the body need food… photosynthesize.

Try and be what you are destined to be. A tree.

Blasting  those voices back into the void from whence it had snatched out

Reaching over – without much of a search

 Rustled her leaves  -A call  out for new bosom firefly friends.

A loud moan persisted from her innermost pit.

Hunger.

Hunger to be free in the form she still chose to be.

Chronic cramp. If only for the longing desire she had for her legs or wings to ease the pain of being motionless.

It wasn’t enough that she contributed towards sustaining other life species.

This stagnant obsession never seeing a sunrise from another part of the world again.

She looked down at her well-worn form.

How hard can it be to throw herself back to a time when she had legs?

Gills?

Wings?

a moments thought yanked her back like leashed like a dog to this home she felt no affinity .

Forlorn inhaled the scented berries, unravelling the mask of sight at the  ivy,

A glimpse an assortment of psychedelic fleurs initiating that it was time to wake up.

One more push, one more fight.

Forlorn no more she’d set herself free.

Creativist Andrew MCg -The Rage

I wanna write something new

I wanna write a poem that’ll make me forget

Just like the alcohol use to

I wanna write a poem that’ll make me regret

Just like all the one-night stands did

I wanna write a poem that’ll make you feel dirty

The kind that makes you get dressed, leave immediately than go get tested

I wanna write the kind of poem that is as hard to listen to as it is to recite

I wanna write a poem that’ll leave my skin crawling and my ears bleeding 

I want this poem to bleed as much as I did

Let these blue lines be my veins, the bleached paper be my skin

This poem doesn’t have much left because my heart is paper thin

Let the ink run deep, leave this page looking like a murder scene

I wanna write a poem like murder she wrote 

Right before she broke her knife off into my back

I wanna write a poem like a sneak attack

The kind that catches you by surprise in the middle of the night

Like a nightmare with no way out

I wanna write a poem to allow my darkness a way to scream and shout

It’s not meant to be loud, it just is

This poem doesn’t care if you listen

This poem will slit the wrists to any awkward silences out there

Beware of the dog its bark is far less than it’s bite

I wanna write a poem as long this line of crushed up valium

Let this poem leave me just as high and as numb 

I wanna write a rain dance than bring forth the dark clouds

Drown out this piece of paper and wash away the doubts 

I wanna write a poem like a one-way road

Then bulldoze everything in its path

I wanna write a poem like a cold body in a warm bath

Then give it 13 reasons why it never should’ve been alive

I want this poem to be a fit of my desolate rage 

That still burns even after I exit this stage.

Floating Points

Floating Points has come under my radar in 2019.

  1. Coorabell- visual & ear galactic delight. It took me three listens to fall in love with the track. I kept coming back to it  Why?  4:21 mins is the moment I fell in love-100%. Sam Bishop (birth name) drops in hard techno yet still maintain the spirit of not becoming lost to the machine of electronic music. Electronic Ambience with a holy mother of God punch.

Turns out Floating points is a Neuroscientist turned D.J.  -(He studied the Neuroscience of pain)  He’s managed to gain respect with the likes of Four tet, Kode 9, and Theo Parrish in the current electronic/EDM movement.

He has a classically trained background he describes as ‘classical, baroque, romantic renaissance’.

He discovered through improvising  & experimenting on the piano  with what he later identified as jazz compositions.  That was how he learned to break the rules.

He cites he was influenced by the  Brazilain sounds of bossa nova of artists such as Gal Costa.

He was challenged to explore electronic music (which didn’t have the instruments such as the clarinet or violin) because the music still moved him.

He describes it as making sense of ‘organised noise’. He started finding music possibilities that he felt in every day, organic  sounds such as being on a train

The second track I listened to of Manchesters, Sam Bishop ( Floating points) was

Les Alpx -The video explodes colours of plasma have a calming effect to contrast to the tempo of the track

I love the energy. It’s bordering hardcore techno yet retains a melody I can relate to

Something I can only refer to as  -the  ‘soul clap’.  I’m not a huge fan of hardcore techno

If a track brings on a feeling resembling the soul clap then that is what usually wins me over.

What I like about his music is that he has insight into how he produces music  – there is a methodical approach creating music with science and using visual media create an immersive experience of sound and using visual imagery to create a space where we can see music. Music that engages multiple sensory stimuli.

I feel like Science x creativity with a touch of esotericism is a perfect equation for experimental music – He named his debut album-  Elaenia. (after having a dream about) a tropical bird.