hold.on.world

Disposable generation's distant call

Screaming - 'there's nothing like losing it all.'

Stop looking, Start living. Erase the mask.

You tap a screen to get to your next task!

Disposable generation's disposable truth

Not tested, nor tried, just blogged - for god's struth!

Stop looking, Start living, there's a world right here

Nature needs us and vice versa - don't follow controlled fear.

Disposable generation's only certain

Is to be veiled by miscommunication's curtain.

Stop looking, Start living, Not Soon, NOW.

You made the choice not to drink the milk form a cow.

So own the morals that you tap 'like' on

It's just another one of those Corona days

Get out your bed, smoke some weed, feed the haze

Turn on the TV and don't prepare to be amazed..

It's just another one of those Corona Days.

When it was day one I thought this was just a joke

I stood closely to my friend as we spoke

By day 5 though, it was clear;

There may actually be something to fear.

Day 9 and day 10 for me became one

As need to timetable for anything was gone.

The only thing that's documented now is staying alive

Steering clear from metallic handles where bacteria thrives.

Day 11 was spent, bent with a toothbrush in hand, scrubbing

The bathroom tiles' grout glistening and I was rubbing

All the way through to day twelve

Such extravagence in cleaning never before did I have time to delve.

Dive into day 13 - feeling like a Dancing Queen

To me the importance of education has not before been as obvious.

The pattern of the white man's ideas, inherently, are oblivious

For it is He who the world rotates around - It is His Earth.

That is melting, flooding, freezing and drying up Other's worth.

Our great, great grandparents did colonise, rape and pillage,

The white man tries to control the resources, people, towns and village.

What a Privilege, (What is privilege?)

What an Honour, (What is honour?)

What does Glory look like in the face of a goner?

Skin colour's status bubbles once more into the foreground.

POC, A WORLD MAJORITY, laugh at the weakened pound.

A nation with history steeped in others blood.

A country obsessed with the bleaching Vanish effect on mud.

Dirt is taught in schools to be filled with disease.

In reality, the soil carries nutrients to trees.

There is no strength in the whitening effect

Morals twisted, stomachs sinking heavy in regret.

Another young life lost through engrained hate.

Post code wars and skin tone ties cruelly lead fate.

What a Privilege, (What is privilege?)

What an Honour, (What is honour?)

What does Glory look like in the face of a goner?

Piles of flowers tower on the corner of the street

Tears gathering on faces - shuffling of twitchy feet.

Our bodies are all the same - we're made of the same stuff

It' the stories shared in society, the narrative that's rough.

Kids are only copying what they think is true

When you were a yout' did you listen to your crew?

Individualism is being choked out through capitalism's grip

Is it not time to change the conclusion of this trip?

I have a dream... and Still now it ends in equality

Martin Luther King would shudder in the face of modern society.

What a Privilege, (What is privilege?)

What an Honour, (What is honour?)

I must let go

Stop caring what anyone is thinking

And go back into my flow.

Allow the waterfalls to come

Tumbling on down,

Know when to let go

And turn that frown around.

Stop hiding in the Jesster clown;

The mask is slipping,

The coat is ripping -

There's no majesty left now.

England is sinking,

My eyes half blinking,

This isn't how I drown..

When I go

I want to EXPLODE

Millions of fragments scattered

On the road,

On the road,

On the road Again.

I'm picking up pieces,

Puzzling over this species

To which

I belong.

Stop THAT!

Overthinking.

Day by day, face by face, everything a run-through

I'd be bored of the same old stories, told with the same old view.

I'll be real, I would feel...

Nothing.

And by that I mean I've got no clue,

What would have happened if I was not with you.

Days spent wondering what would pull me out

A heavy daze filled with clouds of devils' doubt.

If you couldn't tell, I was in a Hell

Trying to shift the bits that they couldn't sell.

I'm an entrepreneur, a chip off the old block

I don't give a crap if you hate on my crocs and socks

I'm comfy, a little lumpy, now, but I'm doing fine

I've got something, less lumpy more wow, that I call mine.

Some rats get trapped and I've got to watch them rot,

You think I can forget how tight we tied that knot?

It's a lot.

(It's a lot!)

Some rats escape and disguise as mice

I'd do anything for you to kick that vice.

You're too nice.

Last sunny day of the summer holiday:

Packed into the car, drumsticks in the cool bag and tight bend steers.

Sweat forming on the top lip as the window, open wide, buffets our ears.

The walk down to the sea, a tradition, a procession of lobsters to the pot.

Soft white to red, fleshy feet hobbling on rocks "Ouch, fuck, oh shit! It's sharp and hot!"

Angled-as-one, facing ceremonious waves and pre scheduled tides,

Sediment layered up, pushing old fruit skins into pebbles - for now it hides.

Another layer of rock uncovers itself aiming its landing on top of a head

Sweet red blood oozing out, fossils screaming, "It's lucky they aren't dead!"

Time to pack up the sticky tent it took dad 2 hours to erect.

So what if my style is saturated with omnisity?

It's only because my brain works in waves with no simplicity.

Its torrential upturns, downturns, spirals recline

(They take a backseat)

Otherwise these words would never last the test of time.

Frivolous japes of course are my common plan

It's just there's so much happening up here

I'm live and fucking kicking man!

Always questioning and naturally, always wanting more.

Finding acceptance through hippy embelishments

Sometimes feels to me like a chore.

I just am, and will be, this me.

A tad pessimistic but still striving towards all the best things to see.

In this crazy hubbub that we call Earth

And even without New Age cliches I feel Worth.

The greatest worth; the power of freedom,

It's within us all it's just some choose to heed them.

Teachings, beliefs, stories explaining the Big Ones

Like when, why, how and what happens when we're gone?

Into that next place, the space, so unknown

The taste-test throne. Will we be alone?

Nothing of this is known.

Our endings are already sewn.

So why even bother to cover the tone

Of this most natural happening.

A beautiful circle of this thing that we must lose ourselves in.

And accept what we have because

They've called me a New Age Druid

My style's remaining fluid

So you can't categorise me,

I'm just flying high and free.

Toking all the biggest zoots

And clad in blinging tracksuits

But raising awareness far beyond

The council estate's duck pond.

Skipping in forests, foraging food,

Diving in bins with payments spewed

With Finery, Fine Dinery,

By the sheep's spines, that's where you'll find me.

Collecting bones, for the children's homes.

Sometimes in groups, but mostly alone.

Taking chances and losing it all

For all of the Mightiest ones get there from a fall.

The number 27, blessed are those in Heaven,

My birthday's powerful alongside number 11.

27, 11 but where is 23?

We live in chaos but truly, that sets us free.

So this is my numerology;

Rules that I have created and with synchronicity related

To theories more commonly dredged,

Extracted libraries' banal knowledge

And anally I pledge to accept my OCD

And so, in wrong I can find right.

In the reflections of fractured light

Diffracted from the books once read,

I choose instead to write.

The teachings were violently learnt

Now there's roles reversed and tables turned:

I teach in reach of everything I've learned

Dualities of wrong and right, writes and wrongs.

The impact of attempting acceptance

Tani’s smoke whisked from the tips of her fingers as she flicked the fag to the ground floor.  Seven stories up and still not high enough?  4:13am.  The deep blue shone its atomic blacks casting shadows in open doorways.  Why were the doors open anyway?

‘Pffftt stupid twats, wasting their lives on that shit’, Tani murmured to herself as she rolled another one.  ‘Better off smoking me herb than poking fucking chems!’ she snorted.

Deep down Tani felt alone.  She felt tired and scared.  She wondered if she should, you know, open that door way.  Her morals had always been tough, and despite temptations, she’d never given in.  But things were different now.  Now she was alone.  Now they’d left her - the city was deserted - all that was left were rats.

‘Rats and Addicts. Addicted Rats, NO! Rat Addict, THAT’s what I’ll call them’, she joked.  The thing was, Tani wasn’t a Rat.  She was more of a cat.  Her tenacity flared through quick movements and razor claws.  No one would dare fuck with her.  So here she sat.  On the 7th floor up, in this empty 1970s council flat - it was her mansion, her home, it was her freedom.

It hadn’t always been this way - the apartments were once filled with families, young couples and co-workers all living out their own petty lives.  Petty to whom you may ask?  Petty to Those People.  Those People in Power.  You see, as rent rose, prices of food increased, fuel rocketed and very quickly the previously perfect lives of every day people - the pawns.  The pieces that moved around the chess board sliding square to square, social occasion to shop, keeping the facade going.  The Kings and Queens (Those People), had some pretty dirty tactics when it came to playing games and sent an onslaught of doomed Knights - inflating darkness to the brink of destruction.  There simply was nothing left.

And then guess what Those People fed those poor sods: ‘The chance of your lifetime - to live on Mars!’ What the fuck!  Why weren’t they fixing their problems created here first?  Before the excessive removal of any and every willing ‘petty’ person to move to fucking Mars!  For the simple reason and obvious answer; they had no respect, no dignity and no clue about how to own their shit.  Their honesty lay somewhere at the bottom of a pit of starved children and blood-stained bank notes.

Ever since Tani was little, they’d always known something was severely wrong.  They felt outcast and unfairly judged for their muscular biceps and rugged stubble.  They were tired of pretending, so one day, they did the hardest yet best thing they ever did, becoming Tani.  All of those lines, those boundaries and rhythms were broken.  For once Tani wrote her own song, and it went something like this:

‘Fuck your walls

Cuz I’ve seen it all,

And if you try to Call

I won’t every fall

I AM NOT YOUR PRISONER’.

They can take away our freedoms from day to day

But they can’t censor our writing, nor what we say.

Or how we say it, more to the point,

Inhale, slowly, before you splutter your joint.

They can take away our jobs, leaving us with no money

But the plants can still grow

And bees can continue cooking up the honey.

So do your bit and speak your truth

(Kick out any Tory hiding under your own roof).

If they can’t learn, cast them aside;

The idiotic, thieving greedy tides

Of BULLSHIT.

Now we can go back to a Thatcher,

Preferably a Haze, not bloody Maggy -

Why are we even here again, now I feel aggy!

FUCK THE TORIES 

AND THEIR CORRUPT SYSTEM.

WHEN THEY ARE GONE

NO ONE WILL MISS THEM.

They’ll be outcast; uprise and revolt.

Remember kids, “never fuck a Tory”

What are we doing here?

I thought it was clear,

My eyes are masked, 

Limbs bound.

And I’m enjoying this Stillness

That I’ve found.

Within You, it’s in you. 

It was right there it was the Whole time.

Years spent in cyclical rhyme.

Now, snapped out of routine,

And living a real-life, real-time dream.

What are we doing here?

I feel like it’s becoming clear,

Now my eyes are becoming un-masked,

Limbs becoming un-bound.

And I’m enjoying this Stillness

That I’ve found (With You).

I kept running. I kept fighting.

I kept Hope in my writing.

Keep believing, Keep seeing

That true Love is ultimately being

Free In Wandering.

What are we doing here?

I know now, it’s oh so clear,

Now my eyes are un-masked,

Limbs un-bound.

And I’m enjoying this Stillness

It’s 2022 and we’re supposed to feel new...

Still we sit on this pew

At some church we’ve never signed up to.

They’re taking our freedom,

We’re not supposed to see them

And they’re having parties in public view.

Whilst even paid word for us, falls few.

No money. No jobs. No protests. No rights.

No back-up, no get-up from unjust fights.

It’s 2022 and we’re supposed to feel new,

Still we sit on this pew...

At some church we’ve never signed up to.

If this isn’t indoctrination, this must be a Cult following;

Of racist bigots, discrimination for dinner, with paedophilic-porn-pudding.

Plus most of the affordable stuff is stuck over There.

Brexit and cuts make imports of goods bare.

It’s 2022 and we’re supposed to feel new,

Still we sit on this pew

The wind that woke me carried me through an awesome gorge erupting sweet flavours of the late summer fruits that flower, for us.

***

Betwixt the faces of the mountains the fairy pools cascade

Fountains of bountiful pure water.

Lilac heathers and dragon flies parade

Droplets of water that hold such power.

As the winds sweep new air into a bedazzled shower,

Swirling, whirling, the way I always dreamt.

Deep gorge-ous views that I grasp onto

Showing what’s Real and what’s meant.

To be kept sanctified, 

Ceremonious forces of Nature.

Feel Gaia in her elements in the way she intended yer’,

Bonnie Isle of Skye, I can feel ye’ within me.

You’ve opened my eyes: there’s always more to beauty to see

Not just Now

But in the future too

A new dawn is rising on 2022.

***

From the Isle of Skye: a perfect composition where the clouds mirror the mountains and waters’ edges.

A piece of Stillness nestled in the North West of a wild, old land.

Though no seas need be crossed, the border that divides creates a line

Of contrast between raw, jagged rock edges and soft, curvaceous cliffs.

Aqua-marine waters with Peace from shadows, breed fauna; from dolphins to

Eagles that rise above our heads.

To feel alone, though practically simple, becomes impossible as you breathe the same air as millions of microcosms.

True meditation after relentless let-downs both of my petri-colony and the entire globe’s day to day occurrences.

This trip was special to me for more reasons than possible to explain.

Allowing the souls that have flown to pass through my memories, leaving their silhouettes laughing with my core.

Feeling truly at One with the Greatness of the world again, and the stamp of approval that I could never be a bore.

Scotland, the land of Lochs, bogs, mountains and Sky.

Here I feel a natural connection to my own rhythms.

A meter that’s continuously ticking and that I will never deny.

***

Get lost, get stuck in a bog.

Heavy as the armour that shields me from open blows

I carry your weight in battle because this is what I chose.

Each clink and the clamour of sweat drips

Underneath steel which easily rips

Through flesh and bone as razor blades to skin

Remind me of the truths that lie within.

The honour that I remain set to serve,

Paths lead me forwards away from a curve

Of self pity, self denial and misunderstanding.

The traits which you’ve been demanding.

Instead, I lay my sword down and step back.

Finishing this blow would be my final attack

And this is not my story or my happy ending

There’s more knights out there that deserve my befriending

As night draws in and retreat opens up

I raise my glass to this half filled cup

50/50 promises were never my intent.

Now in this spot I can feel the stillness

Taste, smell it and touch its likeness.

To the beginning of Time; that one blast of chance

Giving life a space to laugh, to cry, romance.

The heart’s its own entity, with rhythmic blood

That can make everything bad, or everything good.

Feeling that link between its force and the brain

Sometimes helps to ground and sometimes you feel insane.

But stopping and listening to ultimately, that nothing, 

Brings you back to your self, the Self that you’re centring,

Noticing the sunlight as it shines through the trees

The butterflies dancing, birds singing, a branch falls, with no breeze.

It’s a sign, they’re all signs, of the spirits watching.

One with their world with Mother Gaia highly cotching.

Holding Us all with strength, we always know...

It’s just sometimes we’re weak, we can bounce back though.

Stronger from each blow.  Take time to sew.

There’s always more ways to grow.

Sit back in this flow.

Sometimes we’ll feel low.

Life’s crazy:

In times like these it’s hard not to get lost in a dark pit of negativity.

Snakes slithering, as beasts with bulging eyes become the protectors of your reality.

Pupils dilated with no brain functioning behind them, an army of drones

Who’ve forgotten that they too were raised by fathers and mothers in different class homes.

The Peace is shattered, as shields and batons swing - cutting skin, as pieces of chess.

The realisation that we’re all pawns to these unjust knights on high horses and nothing less.

This battle must continue and somehow, the patriarchy broken, allowing another set up.

Where the people stand for the female, see black lives matter, wearing a liberal get-up.

The ware and tear on skin, purpling, cut as red drips drops of blood: the current watercolour. 

This presents the vulgarity of the now: no one involved even cares about the weather.

The main question is whether the media will be able to justly portray the pain

That is real, that is shared, we need apologies!  Not an update on the sun or rain!

The police are nothing more than pigs to the slaughter.