Miss. Triss. Direct. Input.

Someone mentioned to me that they didn’t really understand this here weblog. He wasn’t the first to say such a thing, and, I hope, he won’t be the last. But hey, for one post only, here is an explanation of how what I write is put together. Part one.

Well I seen you out there parading
In the streets of your distant land
In your strange caps and clothing
Shouting, “I don”t understand!”

And with that italiacised opening, we get to the first standard way I do posts. Through music. Lyrics. Oft times poetry. Chosen to represent some state of mind? Or just what Caitlin was crooning to me on my way to and from werk? Either way, a snippet of something I like, followed by a bit of my dense and impenetrable prose. Which has taken years to perfect. Which is a lie, actually, I just write straight from brane to keyboard. Another lie, it comes from the brane in my fingers, bypassing the old grey matter entirely. Which my long-time, and no doubt long-suffering, reader is aware.

But you, you look so loaded
It’s something I can’t feel
But I’m into some God action
And maybe yours is real
‘Cos I’m falling
I need your God on my side

Then we have the angsty posts, which invariably contain a message. First letter simplicity, rot-13 not-so-much-more-than simplicity, and various other slightly more devious ones. Some people get some, some people get others, some get none. Layers. Onions. That sorta thing. Although noone has yet to get any of the messages embedded into the jpgs. Which is just as well, really.

Well I see you objecting so strongly
To the ways of the liberal disease
And your armchair satisfaction
As you narrow the meaning of free

But to be thought of, by some of the like-blokes-but-with-lumpy-jumper brigade as a know-it-all, is quite depressing. On many accounts. The main one being it isn’t anywhere near remotely true, the second, well, to be seen in that way is awful. Me? In that way? The horror. I really mean that. Ranty? Sure. Bitter? Quite so. Cynical? Hell yeah. But a know-it-all?. No way. Why does this upset me so? After all, there is always a chance…

And I dream of a home that is tidy
And a church full of money bees
And I wonder about the suppression
That you get when you’re down on your knees
And I’m falling
I need your God on my side

I got my 500^th email at NewNewWork last week. Not many in the time I have been there, I know, but I am cossetted from the cut and thrust of many things. Left to rant in my own corner, mostly. But the subject of this mail? A discourse on chicks and booze. So what else is new?

Well I see you thought we could change the world
If we gather round and pray
But it’s just like sending one letter
to more than just one place
But, “Dear God can you help us”
Must be the opening phrase
Cos we’re falling

The reasons I started this weblog are well-told these days. Currently, however, it has gone beyond me me striving for those original aims. Neither a learning curve for writing, nor a look at the world through my eyes; neither a journal of my life and exploits, nor a treatise on how to fix my head; neither meaningful nor insightful.

Just another part of me. And I am legion.

Need your God on my side
One I can call my own
I need my God on your side
Make a happy home
We need their God on our side
In search of him I will roam
Need our God on our side
Mine got up and left home
You need our God on your side

So I guess I can say, in probably all honesty, that, no, my wife doesn’t understand me.

And in these new weblog clothes, I like to end with a picture. (There was a time I used to thread multiple pictures through posts, but not these days.) So have an ending picture.

A published poet lives in our house