I’m weary, tired, shadows near,  
But like the song, I’ll persevere.  
Sick of the struggle, longing for peace,  
Yet I’m still standing, my heart won’t cease.  

Though feeling done, there’s still a spark,  
You know I’ll rise, igniting the dark.  
With every challenge, I’ll find my way,  
Just like the lyrics, I’ll seize the day.

( notes on darkness) more fairy lights is all that is needed, radio music, and padding about really….

I don’t want to sound like a ******
Accidentally pretentious
I sense this, prevent this
With pausings in musings
But consciousness, man
It’s a whole thing, isn’t it?

Moving, zipping, travelling
Across time and place
No shifts in space
Ultimate game of Pong
Bats are half images,
ghosts of smells,
light or heavy ****** impacts,
sounds, songs, poems
Triggers lightly but firmly bouncing us from
now to then,
then to when,
but always here to here
Across time and place
No shifts in space

Sometimes transitions are smooth and buttery-safe
-- I didn’t even realise I was thinking about trains and now about dinner
-- ping, pong, ping, pong
-- a metronomic, Wimbledon soundtrack
But then one player hits the ball too short and too high
and then the
Echoing crack
Bats us into sometime somewhen darker
The feckless defensive player manages to scoop the ball
just before it touches sod, but too short and too high
and then the
Echoing crack
Strongly, crisply, sharply
Smashed into jangly memory
Clear and incomplete
Real and impossible
Laser focus on The Bad Thing
Other details, window dressing
Breathing quickens, heart keeps the beat
The Image, or
The Smell, or
The Grip on My Ankle
Is faithfully replayed
Full colour, Dolby surround sound, Memory cut
The Grip on My Ankle
Is faithfully replayed
The Grip on My Ankle
…
…
…
Mind taps out for a bit
Consciousness slide into foggy nowhere, no time
Breathing slows, heart keeps the beat
Might just stay here
Cool, fuzzy fog is my best friend
Until fog-resistant, persistent stimulus insists
that I return
Ping
Clear-eyed now
Pong
Pasta sounds nice
Triggers lightly bouncing me from here to here

nailed to the mast
hoisted flag

feet on the earth
head in the sky

a shared fulfilled vocation
- giving birth to songs.

Parfois, j'ai tellement peur.
J'essaie de me cacher dans ma chambre.
Recroquevillée sur moi-même, les yeux fermés.
J'essaie de me cacher de mes peurs et de ma douleur.
Le monstre ne se cache pas dans mon placard.
Il n'est pas sous mon lit.
Il est à l'intérieur de mon cerveau, caché au plus profond.
Il est le fruit de mon imagination.
Il me laisse terrifié.
La cause de tous mes cauchemars.
Un monstre qui semble bien réel.
Je perds peu à peu le fil de ma réalité.
J'ai du mal à réfléchir.
Je vais me débarrasser de mes peurs.
Avec l'eau de l'évier.

(Sometimes I get so scared.
I try to hide in my room.
Curled up, eyes closed.
I try to hide from my fears and my pain.
The monster isn't hiding in my closet.
It's not under my bed.
It's inside my brain, hidden deep inside.
He's a figment of my imagination.
It leaves me terrified.
The cause of all my nightmares.
A monster that seems very real.
I'm gradually losing touch with reality.
It's hard to think.
I'm going to get rid of my fears.
With water from the sink.)