Impromptu short blog post, they asked why I write and never stopped. How I came to buy more than I needed from the shop and wasn’t concerned if people there saw or cared what I purchased. I wasn’t worried if they worshipped liked or burnt it. I bought it for me, my writing, my freedom, my excitement, my right to space, to infinity.
There’s a world of imagination in here, in your head along with the demons, guilt trips, pixies, sexual harmonies and saving graces. There’s some angels beyond the crowd of faces and it’s there in the spaces where oblivion sails and heaven keeps pace.
It’s nice you pat me on the shoulder when I’m purchasing my own goods and tell me how good I look, how what I’m doing is right, how you agree or debate late into the night but believe me as much as I’m happy to conceive of your imaginary birth and throw hope to the growth of your toddlers worth. It doesn’t matter – it’s my church.
I gain hope and praise from my own personal rays the inner world but inside it doesn’t stay. I changed the delay and allow everything from fantastical egyptian mummified dignitaries to vulgar wishful thinking atrocities. There’s family fortunes and days watching the world go by as we spin on pedestals in the clouds sky. A perfect family and perfect lies there’s other times the anger is loose and it’s no use the fibres generate their own noose no matter what the cause too many people or too much recluse. The Fool’s poetry and an Empress’s truth.
Then you’re a platform against the norm, my own revolution to scorn the world and burn a new hole. It doesn’t matter the gleam from my own onion ring whether you use it to inspire and sing or cry your own perpetual sting. What matters is that it promotes “something” and please if it’s not don’t stop, walk on by and purchase your own rhyme or onion bhaji.
Whatever your taste here’s the condensed version. I hope you join in but if not persevere. I’m here for the ride and the ride’s an illusion. Look yourself in the face and smile at the delusion.
– You can always find my Instagram simply by clicking my name – © G.P Williamson 2018
Lets be honest.
Lets be honest.
It’s for me.
My personal time capsule.
Bobbing along on the deep blue, see?
Close your eyes.
What can you see?
A whale as big as the ocean floor, two crabs scuttle trying to stay on board.
Overheard a whale cry, disturbed my dream.
I’m running downstairs following the screaming and there you are still bleeding.
A memory I forgot I had, an open head cut and a broken spine.
A memory of a man they’d say is called dad.
I’m no boy of his.
I watch the memory bleed endlessly as reality slowly trickles back to me.
Lets be honest – it’s for me.
© G.P Williamson 2018