My good friend & writer Anthony Anaxagorou managed to get one of his poems read on BBC News Night this week. His poem was selected out of 5 other poets all of whom were published and established writers.
This is excellent news for Anthony, and stands him in good stead for the release of his first new book "Card Not Accepted", a self published book which will be availible online very soon.
You can find Anthonys blog here: http://www.farinsidespace.com/
Well done mate.
I cannot tell you how excited I am about the release of this film.
Ive been following its progress since early last year, and a new trailer has just been released that I would like to share with you.
Follow this link: http://thespiritmolecule.com/gDMT.html,
then click on 'Media'.
If you are unfamiliar with what DMT is, its bible is written by Rick Strassman and is easy to get hold of from Amazon.
Apologies for the current lack of posts, things have been rather busy of recent.
I will be posting a new piece of writing early next month, but until then, here is a rather dark poem that I found floating around the depths of my computer. Unfortunately the poet is unknown to me, but I still feel its worth sharing. Apologies I cannot give due credit to the Author.
Bile on my dirty shirt,
nails are ripped and torn.
Meth is flowing through my veins
my baby kicks unborn.
Many strangers judge me
snub my matted hair.
All to selfish to help me,
instead they gape and stare.
We dont need their charity
even though I'm poor,
I can kick this habit
Just give me one last score.
Walking downtown east side,
heels clicking like a clock.
Pregnant woman are sexy too,
I'm the whore who works this block.
When the drugs have worn off
my body starts to tick,
time to make my rounds again
and suck another dick.
Alone in my alley way,
I take a blade and draw...
people want to forget
the pregnant mess they saw.
My face is sinking in now
my teeth are falling free,
the alley takes my baby
it dies amoung debris.
Hit the meth harder
shaking on the ground,
waiting for the minute
when our bodies will be found.
Labels: Dharma Bum Quotes
Another guest spot this week from another very good school-hood friend by the name of Nils. See more writing by Nils at his blog: Nils’ London
A Girl On The Train
What would she think of me? Aggressive hair, yellow fingers stained from a decade of nicotine addiction and the smell of vodka pungent on my breath. Is she too conservative for a lost soul, searching for answers, searching himself?
I think about writing a note about her smelling nice, folding it neatly in half ad handing it to her as I step off the train at Clapham Junction.
With no flirting or temptation on my mind, the thought is one purely of benign curiosity, what would her reaction be, would it change her life, or would she dismiss it as yet another broken hearted attempt to be the merry provider in her life.
Is she someone who appreciates the artistic poetry of a wanderer’s ranting prose?
Am I that good? Am I Arturo Bandini?, struggling to be published, eating the oranges I keep hidden beneath my bed?
I’ve got a soul on my sleeve, attached to my heart, but my tailor is reluctant to remove it through fears of madness.
The contents of the note would have to involve intricate, elongated thought, to search through my creativity to create the single greatest single-lined phrase ever read. How much can one single piece of paper, torn from a spiraled note pad make a difference in somebody’s life?
How wonderful it would be to know the outcome of such a situation, how her mind would revel in a stranger’s gift of words on paper.
Could I change her life?
The course of history could be dramatically shattered, for better or for worse, and I would never ever know. The more I contemplate the rather strange yet heroic (?) act, the more I consider it a good idea.
But I am no literary God, non-omnipotence leaves me in a predicament too hard to evaluate.
I am but me, a lowly scholar, reading my own words over and over again with no inclination as to whether any of it is any good.
Labels: Creative Writing
This is a short story that im very fond of written by a good friend who goes by the name of 'Just Another Guy'. You can find more of his writing and poetry here.
I thought I would share this piece with you all.
There was once a young man who dreamt of freedom. Yearning to embrace such an idea he began a quest, wondering through concrete metropolises where capitalism and money governed. He ran the rat race with all the others only to tire out half way through.
He packed his belongings and headed to foreign lands in search of alien traditions and undiscovered wisdom. He sat with simple men and shared their sweet smoke; he drank from their humble goblet and dressed himself in plain robes. Each night he would listen to their words of truth and peace in a desperate attempt to unravel anything that would be of use.
Thinking he was now getting closer to discovering his freedom he ventured onwards through snow and sleet. He climbed Glacier Mountains and hunted wild boar. He cooked on dry wood beneath a naked sky where around him stars seemed to be scattered like roaming ascetics. The sound of the gentle lake lulled him into another dream of everlasting freedom till the morning sun broke, and shone high above his young face.
30 years had past and the man was no longer as quick and as eager as he used to be. His mind was calm and his thoughts more clear. He had encountered rain and snow, mountains and canyons, fought loneliness and despair, hunger and fatigue. He had met the pompous rich and felt compassion for the poor. He had listened to tales of joy and misery, struggle and redemption and had lived amongst hostility and prejudice. He had seen the world in its most brutal and honest form. He had sat with the night and ran with the day. Drank from clear springs and climbed mountaintops till the earth could be seen forever.
As he sat contemplating the idea of freedom he heard a rustle coming from the trees. His immediate thought was it could only be a wild animal of some sort. He shot up and reached for his knife. As he looked on he saw the figure of a boy immerge from the shrubs. He seemed to be well groomed and moved with conviction and purpose. The straps of his backpack tightly wedged into his armpits showing the pockets of perspiration that gathered around his shirt. Waving a small machete he cut his way through the trees till he noticed the old man.
“Hello friend, I don’t mean any harm, I’m just passing through”
“That’s fine you carry on young adventurer, the wilderness is yours to explore”
The young man paused and took a water flask from his backpack
“Im on a quest to find freedom, iv been out here for about a year now, soon I will be as free as the hawks that swore above us”
The old man stopped and looked at his fresh face, he seemed so eager and full of energy and determination. It brought back memories.
“What’s your business old man, how come you’re sitting in the middle of this wilderness? Where is your home?”
The old man paused. Nobody had ever posed such a question, the old man knew there was no answer so he replied in a soft voice
“I am of the earth young adventurer. How confident are you that you will find your freedom?”
“I have to find it, its here somewhere, all I need to do is dig it up and its mine”
“You make it sound like some kind of buried treasure”
The young man laughs
“Its every mans treasure, its every mans goal and ambition, its our sole purpose”
“Your right my young friend but your quest has just began, brace yourself”
“You talk from experience old man, is there anything you wish to share with me before I move on, the sun will be setting soon and I must find food”
The old man paused and looked over into the distance. He thought of his own quest and his own journey, where it had brought him and what he had learnt about freedom.
“I will tell you this young friend, life is a journey for this is not unknown. However we as individuals learn to fool ourselves into believing that what is in front of us is not necessarily the truth. We conjure up ideas of what we believe to be things such as happiness, freedom and success and devote an entire lifetime trying to make them real. These notions are not something we find, they find us at their own pace and when they see fit”
The young boy stops to think
“My ambition is no illusion old man, I know exactly what freedom is and I will not stop till I’m sitting face to face with it”
There is a silence. The old man responds
“Your are at the peak of your greatest endeavour young friend. All you need to do now is open your eyes. I travelled the globe searching for something I found whilst sitting at this very spot. The whole time I thought the answer was out there, but the answer was always in me”
“What was your quest?”
“The sun is setting, your truth is out there. When you find it send it my regards, ill shall be here waiting with the stillness of this wilderness and all the freedom life could ever offer”
The young man picked up his backpack and bid the old man farewell then off he went, back into the shrubs and trees searching for his freedom.
For more visit: www.farinsidespace.com
Labels: Creative Writing