Pictures

The End of The Pier
(Brighton)

Pictures

Recent gig at Clubzoo, Cheshunt.

words #4

CHANGE


Shaky future in Utopia
You & me, we need to think again
Days have drained our dreams away
Rainbows fade & just leave rain

Change

Losing sight of all our shared ideals
Only magnifies the things we fear
Painting Hell in shades of grey
Dressed in silence, night & day

We Change

Nothing matters when your sharp eyes smile
All our darkest days are brushed aside
Time to face the light again
Time when only hope remains

We Change

words #3

The End of The Pier
(part one)




What's on your mind?
What can I say?
Rain in your eyes
A weekend away




Counting the waves
Adrift on dry land
Dreams that you built
Like castles of sand




Surrounded by sea
The sun disappears
I'll hold your hand
At the end of the pier

words #2

BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE

*

Skin deep, skin deep,

like the wool on us sheep,

we're surrounded by images of beauty.

In clubs & bars,

see the fashionable scars,

on the clones of those images of beauty.

The talentless, tame cockatoos on TV,

flash their airbrushed perfection in cheap magazines,

To be one of the beautiful people.

But beautiful people are boring.

***

Skin deep, skin deep,

got a life going cheap,

we're seduced by the images of beauty.

The grail we seek,

is the useless elite,

of the blandest of images of beauty.

Pampered and plastic and perfectly posed,

the sold out celebrity everyone knows,

To be one of the beautiful people.

But beautiful people are boring.

***

Shaking fake asses to "I Will Survive",

the orange skins wait for the press to arrive,

to confirm that they're beautiful people.

But beautiful people are boring.

words #1

Morning? I wasn't sure. The thick red velveteen curtains blocked any light that might help me judge the time. I was lying on a carpeted floor, surrounded by mugs, bottles, cans, cigarette boxes, newspapers, rizla papers, clothes, and an overflowing ashtray; the small square table to my right was covered by more of the same. As my eyes adjusted to the lack of light I started to see more - a bookcase with maybe four or five books and a cat ornament, a television on the floor, a couple of posters on the walls, a broken chair. I didn't recognise anything except the chrome lighter on the table, which I picked up and sparked into flame, yes it was mine. Taking a cigarette from a box, I lit it and got to my feet, I almost fell straight back down but managed to steady myself enough to trip towards the window; pulling back on the unusually heavy curtains, the light seared the back of my eyes and made me turn my head sharply. When I forced myself to look I realised that I was quite high up, maybe four floors. The scene below was totally alien to me, a chilly helpless feeling engulfed me but had to look again - no, nothing, no idea where I was. Sitting back down on the floor I tried to work out what to do, tried to remember what happened last night, but again - nothing. After another cigarette of worrying I finally decided to sit and wait, convinced something very soon would happen to put things in perspective.

Me

Me - 2007


The creative act lasts but a brief moment, a lightning instant of give-and-take, just long enough for you to level the camera and to trap the fleeting prey in your little box.

Henri Cartier-Bresson