Category: Aside

5 O’ Clock Transit Zombies

The voracious crush of bodies.  Like a mad rush by starving zombies . A numbing mindlessness in their gaze,  as they charge towards the light. With stoic stares and silent closed mouth shrieks. They  make a incongruous  dash to rip you to shreds,  or merely to board this 5 O’Clock train.

It is hard to tell –  they all look the same.

As I stare into the gaping maw as  the door glides open, I am blinded by a light: A safe haven. Suddenly I can  feel the frenzy building at my back. I hesitate to head towards the salvation it offers. I can feel the urge of the masses  ready to charge  in a mad cavalcade.

Eventually  I move forward only to end up in a small tight space;  rubbing elbows with patrons with whom your eyes will never meet. I am overwhelmed by the Musk of eight-hour perspiration, cheap perfume, even cheaper cologne  and halitosis mixed with the sickly sweet scent of various  shades of  Edu De Pepé Le Pew.

In short, it was a journey of olfactory molestation, too horrific to portray.  Or, at least, that is what my sinuses informed me.

When egress is finally  achieved from my personal Zombie Apocalypse – I felt like Brave heart.
Bellowing a deep and soulful: FREEDOOOMM!!


2:09 Am Outside The Box


What is creativity?  How is it tempered and harnessed into a concrete element that can be labelled: skill?

I have thought about writing more, Perhaps  – it is safe to say – I have thought more about writing than I have actually written.

It seems pondering is the sole skill to which I have some degree of competency. Yet, my pondering lacks the essential catalyst needed to coalesce thoughts into ideas and ideas into actions.

I have a real respect for those who create something through personal ingenuity. My creative process is rife with periods of frustration. I am often stymied into inaction.

As I write this, I have no particular aim. Where others would speak their thoughts aloud.

For me… I write them.

Classical Motion

I’ve been intrigued by writing. Perhaps, it is better to say I’ve been intrigued by great writers who inspire me to want to create something memorable.

To that end, I am currently reading  Finding Your  Writer’s Voice. A Guide to Creative Fiction. by Thaisa Frank & Dorothy Wall.

They suggest free writing: writing whatever comes to mind. Writing for a past or current experience.

To clear my head, I was – and still am at this very moment – Listening to

this is the result of my efforts – I thought I would share.

taking steps to waltz to Rachmaninoff, tentative motion flowed into explosive elegance.

Like a path in a garden littered with detritus of musical instruments. Flowers in bloom of multiple colours: Burnt Orange, Dusky Purple so intense it’s almost black – or black so deep it is almost purple, Electric Blues  and Yellows but no green in sight.

It’s a garden where one gets lost.

In getting lost, the crescendo builds. Each step a punctuation of piano keys, each breath a note that signals symmetry, of creation of motion. As the fingers running across they keys  slows. So does the garden Runner.  Chest heaving, palms sweating, heart beating.

The dance has ended.There is no partner.

It is a dance by oneself. Alone. There is no sun. The garden is sheltered from all, sheltered from reality.  It is  a garden of the mind.

The Cynics Litany


Utterances of affection and guile

Subsumed under priapic preoccupations.

Am I to love because I am loved?

Or do I love, to profess and proclaim, that I have loved?


Why Ask Questions?

There is an age old question, that I always found intriguing. A question I must admit, though intriguing, I never quit understood.

I understood that it creates an awareness that there is order to things. A place for everything and everything in its place.

But not the logic of asking the question in the first place – I thought the answer fairly obvious. Making the question clearly rhetorical in nature.

The question is: What came first, the Chicken, or the Egg?

On a very subconscious level, I would presume we all have an idea of the process of things. A process, which would indeed make this question irrelevant.

The issue, is that a part of the equation is missing from the question. There are – or should be – three pivotal points in that equation.

First: The Chicken

Second: The Progenitor – in this case the Cockerel.

The results: The Egg

I shall endeavour to shed some light on where I am going with this  questions on whether or not the Chicken or the Egg came first.

It should be obvious, the one that came first must have been the Cock – erel. A Cockerel is what is known in layman’s terms as a Rooster.

While there are many animals in nature that produce asexually – I say many ,but I know none. However, I know, poultry is not among that subset of animals.

Based on this I would assume there must be a chicken and a cockerel to create and egg. You may find this to be crude. The questions is: can you disagree with my conclusion?

Mind you, I never arrived at this conclusion on my own. My aunt , a very demure woman. Had a T-shirt which engineered my arriving at this obviously very “profound” answer.


If you have ever been in a rural area that had a Cockerel. You would have noted their obstreperous nature early in the morning.

However, their obstreperousness has nothing to do with what was on that T-shirt.

If you cannot figure out what it means, or how it led me to this point. You are obviously too young to be reading this.


To destroy, is the first step to create


What is it about the artistic among us that makes them volatile? It is almost as if the quality of ones artistic talent is directly proportional to the one’s self-destructive tendencies.

It seems the ability to create art lies entrenched within the ability to channel and mould intense and oft negative emotions.

A notable example – for those who value popular culture – is Heath Ledger.

I certainly did not see the transition from the guy in “10 Thing I Hate About You” to playing what is one of the most dark and baleful characters ever created:

The Joker

The Joker is an interesting character simply from a design standpoint.

There is a distinct dichotomy created from his malevolence and the symbol of his physical presentation as being a Clown. Clowns are generally portrayed as happy, humourous and as caricatures.

The Joker  stands as the antithesis to this, as his insidious and psychotic disposition is merely a shroud for what is a decidedly macabre ‘humour’.

Perhaps, because of this fact, the Joker  echoes a famous line from T.S. Eliot’s “The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock”
And indeed there will be a time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,..

The Joker is a character that , while he does not have Dissociative Identity Disorder, he seems to oscillate between different facets of his personality.

It is then intriguing to think about the mental space one has to occupy to accurately portray a character like the Joker in an increasingly jaded society.

Where creativity is often juxtaposed with an inability for some members of society to manifest a suspension of disbelief.

The reality is, the darker the art that you create. The more one has to inundate oneself into the dark and malevolent chambers of ones own mind.

After an artist has travelled on this journey to create, how does he then save himself? How does he return to the entity he was before?

In some ways, since I do try to “create”

It is, perhaps, fitting that I’ve created the perception that I am volatile as an individual – or so I’ve been told.

It is without a doubt accurate to say I can relate to the idea that art can be created through the search for catharsis.

My cathartic drive is shrouded in the precipitation of negative emotions.

Therefore, my art reflects my reality as my reality is reflected in my art.