For a few reasons, I'm going to take a couple of months off - well, more or less. I may post occasionally. But I'm doing this for a couple of reasons:
1, Luke and Nikki come first, and I'm running out of spare time!
2, I am completely unconvinced that anyone reads this.
3,I have started working on something I hope I can tell people about in a few months time - it's a writing project and I'm excited to have begun giving it attention. But I won't say anything else about it yet.
I'm still contactable via crackingcheese@hotmail.com, and the two other blogs attached to this one, Duplo Philosophy and Sir Leonard Beastly's Social Whirl will both be updated as normal...
http://duplo-philosophy.blogspot.com
http://sir-leonard-beastlys-social-whirl.blogspot.com
If you ever read this, please take a minute to let me know. It might influence when I start posting again. Otherwise, come and find me on www.facebook.com and let me know.
Chris.
Sunday, March 25, 2007
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
Warning: includes expansionist tendancies
Well, the "empire" expands again.
(I use the " " because the idea that I have some kind of blogging empire is bizarre and rather laughable...)
There is now a dedicated blog for my poetry. If you read this blog (I don't think there are many, if any, of you...) and you're interested, pop along to http://duplo-philosophy.blogspot.com to have a read.
For the lucky, lucky readers who haven't been introduced to my poems, let me give a little background.
I rarely talk about this without being pushed. That's not to say that its something I am ashamed of - far from it - its just something I hold rather personally. Over the last few years, I've been writing. Stories, sketched, plays, poetry - whatever occurs, really. I started doing it as a way of expressing myself - and for a while as a strange kind of self-therapy to forget depression. It just became a habit and something that I enjoyed for the sake of doing it, after a while.
My poems and scripts have been used in weird and wonderful places and ways - from church services to magazine space-fillers to being performed as street theatre at a national festival, and I've written things that have then been read in school assemblies (well after I'd left school, I have to add), and even one that made it all the way to the wall of a child's bedroom (no, not Luke's...).
I have read some of the poems in public before, but it really didn't occur to me at first that others might like them. So, all I ask is that if you read them, and you have an opinion about it, please let me know. I've found that more often than not, that poems I don't like are well-received by other people and the poems I do like are usually ones that noone else likes...
The poems themselves aren't anyting particularly complicated or impressively intellectual, and I don't pretend to be another Seamus Heaney or T.S.Eliot... I've been more influenced by poets like John Betjeman, Roger McGough, Harold Pinter, John Hegley and Michael Rosen than anyone else, and I tend to keep to a simple style, without a huge amount of rhyme - I like finding phrasings and sentences that flow nicely and sound good to me. A curious phrase or an interesting fact is more use to me than a metephorical pretext...
Some are quite obviously influenced by my faith, and some are not. Some look closely at emotions, some expressing my thoughts on an event, and some of them are about nothing, really. Some are experiments, some follow distinct patterns, some mimic the styles of others.
If you do decide to have a look: Thank you. I hope you enjoy them, and I hope you'll let me know what you think.
http://duplo-philosophy.blogspot.com
(I use the " " because the idea that I have some kind of blogging empire is bizarre and rather laughable...)
There is now a dedicated blog for my poetry. If you read this blog (I don't think there are many, if any, of you...) and you're interested, pop along to http://duplo-philosophy.blogspot.com to have a read.
For the lucky, lucky readers who haven't been introduced to my poems, let me give a little background.
I rarely talk about this without being pushed. That's not to say that its something I am ashamed of - far from it - its just something I hold rather personally. Over the last few years, I've been writing. Stories, sketched, plays, poetry - whatever occurs, really. I started doing it as a way of expressing myself - and for a while as a strange kind of self-therapy to forget depression. It just became a habit and something that I enjoyed for the sake of doing it, after a while.
My poems and scripts have been used in weird and wonderful places and ways - from church services to magazine space-fillers to being performed as street theatre at a national festival, and I've written things that have then been read in school assemblies (well after I'd left school, I have to add), and even one that made it all the way to the wall of a child's bedroom (no, not Luke's...).
I have read some of the poems in public before, but it really didn't occur to me at first that others might like them. So, all I ask is that if you read them, and you have an opinion about it, please let me know. I've found that more often than not, that poems I don't like are well-received by other people and the poems I do like are usually ones that noone else likes...
The poems themselves aren't anyting particularly complicated or impressively intellectual, and I don't pretend to be another Seamus Heaney or T.S.Eliot... I've been more influenced by poets like John Betjeman, Roger McGough, Harold Pinter, John Hegley and Michael Rosen than anyone else, and I tend to keep to a simple style, without a huge amount of rhyme - I like finding phrasings and sentences that flow nicely and sound good to me. A curious phrase or an interesting fact is more use to me than a metephorical pretext...
Some are quite obviously influenced by my faith, and some are not. Some look closely at emotions, some expressing my thoughts on an event, and some of them are about nothing, really. Some are experiments, some follow distinct patterns, some mimic the styles of others.
If you do decide to have a look: Thank you. I hope you enjoy them, and I hope you'll let me know what you think.
http://duplo-philosophy.blogspot.com
Monday, February 19, 2007
Do the words “Outstanding” and “Contribution” mean anything these days?
Hmm. How do I put this?
I was at a loss for words when I heard this news from last week's Brit Awards:
Outstanding contribution to music: Oasis
WHAT???! WHAT FOR?
FOR NICKING OTHER PEOPLE’S MUSIC AND THEN PROCLAIMING THEMSELVES AS BETTER THAN EVERYONE ELSE?
FOR LOOKING LIKE A BUNCH OF SHAMBOLIC DRUNK TOSSERS?
FOR NOT SHAVING AND/OR CUTTING THEIR HAIR BECAUSE IT’S “COOL” TO COVER THE HOOD OF YOUR FRAYED AND PEE-STAINED PARKA WITH YOUR MANKY DANDRUFF?
I just don’t get it.
What do people see in them? The attitude is irritating, and isn’t backed up by their back-catalogue. They’re amazingly intolerant of other artists and genres, especially seeing as everyone else has to put up with their own inane shamblings in the media.
I will concede that there are a few good songs in there – Wonderwall (although Ryan Adams’ version showed that the original was a poor version), The Masterplan (although that was a B-side…), Whatever, and Definitely Maybe was a good album… and I have heard very good things about the new album.
I will also nail my colours to the mast. In the whole Oasis vs. Blur contest thingy at the height of “Britpop” (yuck), I was firmly, and still am, fighting the Blur corner. They are infinitely more creative, more experimental, more popular. And yet, it’s Oasis that are honoured.
I assume they have been honoured for making sure people don’t forget how good the Beatles were.
I once heard someone on a tube train telling someone that Oasis were so good because they are what the Beatles would sound like if they were still together now.
I have a feeling that if the Beatles sounded like that, they’d have gladly given up music and gone to work in a fast-food restaurant. Which is what Oasis should have done instead of inflicting themselves on us and getting rich from being idiots that can shout over the squeals of a guitar being assaulted and then fight amongst themselves in the press conference afterwards.
I’d have thought an award for outstanding contribution to music should be given to someone who we couldn’t live without. I think I’d far rather try to survive without them.
I was at a loss for words when I heard this news from last week's Brit Awards:
Outstanding contribution to music: Oasis
WHAT???! WHAT FOR?
FOR NICKING OTHER PEOPLE’S MUSIC AND THEN PROCLAIMING THEMSELVES AS BETTER THAN EVERYONE ELSE?
FOR LOOKING LIKE A BUNCH OF SHAMBOLIC DRUNK TOSSERS?
FOR NOT SHAVING AND/OR CUTTING THEIR HAIR BECAUSE IT’S “COOL” TO COVER THE HOOD OF YOUR FRAYED AND PEE-STAINED PARKA WITH YOUR MANKY DANDRUFF?
I just don’t get it.
What do people see in them? The attitude is irritating, and isn’t backed up by their back-catalogue. They’re amazingly intolerant of other artists and genres, especially seeing as everyone else has to put up with their own inane shamblings in the media.
I will concede that there are a few good songs in there – Wonderwall (although Ryan Adams’ version showed that the original was a poor version), The Masterplan (although that was a B-side…), Whatever, and Definitely Maybe was a good album… and I have heard very good things about the new album.
I will also nail my colours to the mast. In the whole Oasis vs. Blur contest thingy at the height of “Britpop” (yuck), I was firmly, and still am, fighting the Blur corner. They are infinitely more creative, more experimental, more popular. And yet, it’s Oasis that are honoured.
I assume they have been honoured for making sure people don’t forget how good the Beatles were.
I once heard someone on a tube train telling someone that Oasis were so good because they are what the Beatles would sound like if they were still together now.
I have a feeling that if the Beatles sounded like that, they’d have gladly given up music and gone to work in a fast-food restaurant. Which is what Oasis should have done instead of inflicting themselves on us and getting rich from being idiots that can shout over the squeals of a guitar being assaulted and then fight amongst themselves in the press conference afterwards.
I’d have thought an award for outstanding contribution to music should be given to someone who we couldn’t live without. I think I’d far rather try to survive without them.
Sunday, February 18, 2007
Monday, January 22, 2007
A brief service announcement...
Over the next few days, at least, the blog will look rather scruffy, as you can probably tell by the picture at the top... This is only going to be while I struggle with html coding and some templates, to make the blog look a bit more like I want it to. Everything else should be fine, though, so please let me know if you notice something that's not right!
Sunday, January 21, 2007
a glimpse of light
Maybe somewhere,
In all this darkness,
There is a spark.
A glorious flame,
A wonderous glimpse of light.
Maybe somewhere,
Amongst all the dust and mud,
There is a glint,
A sparkling diamond,
A tangible gem.
Maybe there,
Under the moonlight,
Beneath all the shadow,
Between all the trees,
Amongst the long grass.
Maybe there is a flame,
That never burns out,
That doesn't dampen.
Maybe there's a spark,
A glorious flame,
A wonderous glimpse of light.
And maybe its a flame
So big, so mind-bendingly important,
That my tiny mind
Cannot comprehend.
That my widening eyes
Will not take in.
That my soul
Longs to embrace.
And supposing I used that flame
to light one of my own.
To carry the spark,
light my path.
Supposing that happened.
My soul will soar,
my spirit will sing.
My eyes will take all in.
In all this darkness,
There is a spark.
A glorious flame,
A wonderous glimpse of light.
Maybe somewhere,
Amongst all the dust and mud,
There is a glint,
A sparkling diamond,
A tangible gem.
Maybe there,
Under the moonlight,
Beneath all the shadow,
Between all the trees,
Amongst the long grass.
Maybe there is a flame,
That never burns out,
That doesn't dampen.
Maybe there's a spark,
A glorious flame,
A wonderous glimpse of light.
And maybe its a flame
So big, so mind-bendingly important,
That my tiny mind
Cannot comprehend.
That my widening eyes
Will not take in.
That my soul
Longs to embrace.
And supposing I used that flame
to light one of my own.
To carry the spark,
light my path.
Supposing that happened.
My soul will soar,
my spirit will sing.
My eyes will take all in.
superhero and superzero
I bet you could get up in the mornings.
I bet that when you had a to-do list
It was all done at the end of the day.
I bet that if you had somewhere to go,
You left on time, made good speed
And were standing outside with minutes to spare.
I bet you were superhuman,
It’s a given, seeing the miracles you did
And that armbands meant nothing to you.
I bet that you were a riot at parties,
That you were the talk of the town,
Resisting all calls for entertainment…
And I bet you don’t go wrinkly in the bath, either,
You don’t stress over stupid things
Or lose your car, sorry, chariot keys.
I bet you can go clothes shopping
And take your time, not just grab and run,
And I bet you don’t get bothered by telesales…
Well, I’ll just stick to being pale in comparison.
Just mediocre and happy with my lot.
I’ll keep struggling to peel open my eyelids
To stare at the time on the clock,
To warm up my voice with a groan
When I realise I’m already late.
I’ll just be content to be human,
After all, I’m not built to be more.
I’m not built for rescuing maidens,
Slaying dragons or creating drink to pour,
So I’ll have a lie-in this morning
And worry about it when I’m late again tomorrow.
I bet that when you had a to-do list
It was all done at the end of the day.
I bet that if you had somewhere to go,
You left on time, made good speed
And were standing outside with minutes to spare.
I bet you were superhuman,
It’s a given, seeing the miracles you did
And that armbands meant nothing to you.
I bet that you were a riot at parties,
That you were the talk of the town,
Resisting all calls for entertainment…
And I bet you don’t go wrinkly in the bath, either,
You don’t stress over stupid things
Or lose your car, sorry, chariot keys.
I bet you can go clothes shopping
And take your time, not just grab and run,
And I bet you don’t get bothered by telesales…
Well, I’ll just stick to being pale in comparison.
Just mediocre and happy with my lot.
I’ll keep struggling to peel open my eyelids
To stare at the time on the clock,
To warm up my voice with a groan
When I realise I’m already late.
I’ll just be content to be human,
After all, I’m not built to be more.
I’m not built for rescuing maidens,
Slaying dragons or creating drink to pour,
So I’ll have a lie-in this morning
And worry about it when I’m late again tomorrow.
the churchyard, st. enedoc.
I’ve never felt easy in graveyards.
But I’ve never sat here before.
Here I feel uncomfortable ease,
A peace (despite tourists laughing by).
When they cease, all is silent,
And I can pause to take in my views.
The names on headstones,
With fond verses underneath,
All return my stares while
I gaze in awe at Brae,
the guardian, jealously protecting
the souls in the yard.
The church – a Cornish curio,
Still points its crooked finger skywards,
As if summoning angels above.
And maybe it does,
For the long grass whispers and
The tide plays out ethereal rhythms.
This is public, but private.
Secluded, yet thronged with guests.
And they’re not tourists here.
They are guests, paying respects,
And almost all visit a man named JB,
Who still speaks through this landscape.
But I’ve never sat here before.
Here I feel uncomfortable ease,
A peace (despite tourists laughing by).
When they cease, all is silent,
And I can pause to take in my views.
The names on headstones,
With fond verses underneath,
All return my stares while
I gaze in awe at Brae,
the guardian, jealously protecting
the souls in the yard.
The church – a Cornish curio,
Still points its crooked finger skywards,
As if summoning angels above.
And maybe it does,
For the long grass whispers and
The tide plays out ethereal rhythms.
This is public, but private.
Secluded, yet thronged with guests.
And they’re not tourists here.
They are guests, paying respects,
And almost all visit a man named JB,
Who still speaks through this landscape.
Views and comments more than welcome!
As I am posting more regularly now, and that I also have a few poems lying around that I'd like opinions on before I start knocking on the doors of any publishing places to make myself look like an idiot... I thought I'd try a few up here. I'll add a couple tonight to get the ball rolling. If you want to leave a comment, please do - but if you'd prefer to email me, crackingcheese@hotmail.com is the place to send it to. Cheers.
Thursday, January 18, 2007
Are Jade and friends being racist on Big Brother?
Who cares?
Why bother watching something that's so desperate for viewing figures that its brought in one of the worst people it managed to make famous back in - presumably for an obscene amount of money. And now they're bullying someone who has worked hard to become as famous and as rich as they are, despite the fact that they themselves have done absolutely nothing to deserve their fame and good fortune.
Who the heck gives a crap?!
For once, I agree with the words of David Cameron: There's a very effective regulator of television - the on/off button.
Personally, we don't watch BB. And I'm certainly not going to when people like that are allowed to behave like this and Channel 4 are allowed to use that purely for publicity. The programme is a waste of time/space/huge amounts of money, and it makes me understand what motivates some obsessive people complaining about just about everything broadcast on TV. And that, in itself, is a horrible, lonely feeling.
Why bother watching something that's so desperate for viewing figures that its brought in one of the worst people it managed to make famous back in - presumably for an obscene amount of money. And now they're bullying someone who has worked hard to become as famous and as rich as they are, despite the fact that they themselves have done absolutely nothing to deserve their fame and good fortune.
Who the heck gives a crap?!
For once, I agree with the words of David Cameron: There's a very effective regulator of television - the on/off button.
Personally, we don't watch BB. And I'm certainly not going to when people like that are allowed to behave like this and Channel 4 are allowed to use that purely for publicity. The programme is a waste of time/space/huge amounts of money, and it makes me understand what motivates some obsessive people complaining about just about everything broadcast on TV. And that, in itself, is a horrible, lonely feeling.
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