Listless hours

I look upon a pinhead and I see angels dancing.

#life

“Geniuses can be scintillating and geniuses can be somber, but it’s that inescapable sorrowful depth that shines through—originality.”

– Jack Kerouac

“What do I value most in my friends? Their continued existence.”

– Christopher Hitchens

The dawn
‘s too dark


when
you’re not
here

“If I had any guts I’d drown myself in that tiresome water but that wouldn’t be getting it over at all.”

– Jack Kerouac - Big Sur

The most all round beautiful people I’ve ever met are total assholes a lot of the time. And I love them.

“A sad soul can kill you quicker, far quicker, than a germ”

– John Steinbeck

Here, in hope
Lie cannon fodder
Now by and large
Their names forgot
Their hearts gone hard
Their eyes still soft.

Their snarls, by winds
Are borne aloft.

Borne, and echoed
Bonded in blood
Heart shaped holes
Puncture smiles
Heart shaped sounds
Caress the night.

And kiss the lids
Of kids left lost.

Their names left carved
On cherry trees
Their tears soften soil -
Give leaves their green
The blossoms give hope
But brown the earth.

Trod in muck
Lost, since birth.

Primal howls
Of holy lust
Lost in swirls
Of desert dust.

– Storm - Simon Fruin (First Draft)

Might be just me…

But I can’t find an aspect of life which inspires anything other than the thought “what a fucking shame.” I might just be jaded, but it really gets you down sometimes.

“The hate of men will pass, and dictators die, and the power they took from the people will return to the people. And so long as men die, liberty will never perish. Soldiers! Don’t give yourselves to brutes, men who despise you, enslave you; who regiment your lives, tell you what to do, what to think and what to feel! Who drill you, diet you, treat you like cattle, use you as cannon fodder. Don’t give yourselves to these unnatural men - machine men with machine minds and machine hearts! You are not machines, you are not cattle, you are men! You have the love of humanity in your hearts! You don’t hate! Only the unloved hate; the unloved and the unnatural.”

– Charlie Chaplin - The Great Dictator

“I mean, they say you die twice. One time when you stop breathing and a second time, a bit later on, when somebody says your name for the last time.”

– Banksy

BALLAD OF THE TWISTED CITADEL

My tender heart was rendered hard by
the shattered, seething city.

My friends and I laid low by the cruelty we
see most every night.
Drinking tea we watch the decay that
threatens the very soul of everyone who
risks staying in a town that simply
doesn’t notice.
Street people. Bums. Tramps! Leechers!
SCROUNGERS. Harsh words pour on
people who’ve known nothing better but
still sit in the driving rain on ripped up
crisp boxes hoping,
hoping for the kindness of strangers to give
them a few pence for a hot drink
and heroin.
Scattering a few tarnished old coins that
have rattled round my pockets for days
momentarily
softens my guilt at having more than I
need.

This is the time of the twisted citadel.
Half sit in flamboyant opulence, icy marble
columns shining outside old banks and
fancy cafe’s. Reflecting the low half,
distorting their features to the point that
were they not so harrowing they would
make you cry laughing.
A permanent hall of mirrors reflecting the
grotesque disparity that we all walk past
each unflinching day.

Gunchester! Gunchester!
Muggings and drugs
babies born in sin. Burned out cars
mark streets lined with shivering yew trees
and leak flaming oil
into scrub filled concrete yards

The Mirror screams, ‘vermin!’
in my face and it rattles off the
misted window.
The Mail brings more castigation;
claiming modern slums
and daytime knifings.
The Sun bears down on immigrants
who toil in place of natives
whose hatred renders them blind
claiming disability benefits
with carers who won’t deign to care.

The nights bring drizzle and Superdry.
Speed and sugared cocaine frost the noses,
bottles of Becks soak shirts and
wrap themselves round heads
making brittle stars burst in blood,
sprinkling the pavements with revered
mosaics; screams of ‘cunt’ pierce clouds
and bring bouncers running.
Girls with Chinawhite faces,
sugarbowl eyes
and flax hairstreaks mop brows
and take them home to ‘take care’
but share claps, and neither hang around
to share penicillin or unwanted children.
Children who grow to share abuses
with those who share wan smiles.

In care homes run by men whose smiles

are anything but wan.

– The Ballad of the Twisted Citadel (Draft) - Simon Fruin

“I hope you don’t think you have exhausted life. When a man says that, one knows that life has exhausted him”

– Oscar Wilde

“It’s either to the top of the world, or the bottom of a canal.”

– Carl Barat

“Civility is overrated”

– Christopher Hitchens

“I felt the sensation of each of the directions I mentally and emotionally turned into amazed at all the possible directions you can take with different motives that come in, like it can make you a different person - I’ve often thought of this since childhood, of suppose instead of going up Columbus as I usually did I’d turn into Filbert would something happen that at the time is insignificant enough but would be like enough to influence my whole life in the end? - What’s in store for me in the direction I don’t take?” - and all that, so if this had not been such a constant preoccupation that accompanied me in my solitude which I played upon in as many different ways as possible I wouldn’t bother now except but seeing the horrible roads this pure supposing goes to it took me to frights, if I wasn’t so damned persistent - and so on deep into the day, a long confusing story only pieces of which and imperfectly I remember, just the mass of the misery in connective form”

– Jack Kerouac - The Subterraneans.