The Line of the Circle #01

Join me from scratch on this song's journey as it develops.

From the most unlikely place, something exrtaordinary happened. A reality TV show.

…the one where they declutter peoples houses and lay it all out bare in a massive factory and marvel over how many hairbrishes and fondue sticks they own. Know it?

My wife and daughter are really into this. So much so that they have planned to clear out an understairs cupboard together this weekend for fun. Brilliant! In the process we found lots of lost treasures, artworks and cards and things, including an old notebook of mine boasting the following writings. I think I am going to try to convert the prose into rap poetry. Follow the process if anything strikes you as interesting, I will post updates on how it shapes up.

PART ONE

Where’s the Kaboom?

There’s supposed to be an earth shattering kaboom!!

I dont know if its cos im getting old, but all this boom boom music - is it me or is there rarely any va-va-voom in music right now. So any flatline band that had it, CLEAR, gets defibulated.

Meanwhile… every echoed repetition and platitude feels forced - like we’re trying too hard. Over-coordinated angles drop lines dangling. Man’s straight up waiting for a bite. Then again - some folk like hard cheese. Cos a stale thought solidifies beyond maturity into a pungent, yet tangy, granite edifice. You need strength to scale this precipice.

UHUH - SERVE IT UP

We’ve been tabletop plateaued. The menu’s infinite, if you cac think of it, order it’s perfection - YET - HUNGER

HUNGER for that feeling of being full. I’m fed up on fast food hot airhead parrots fashioning trend rhetoric pummeling mantric mystery into me like a beligerent verruca. (YOU KNOW WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT) No matter how many times you chop that bloodsucker out with a cutting word, it comes back guns blazing. Burn it with a could shoulder, or suffocate it in chiropodistic philosophies, it just eats deeper and grows. GROWS into a great unswallowable golf ball, bearing its teeth with steely defiance.

Then one day

You wake up and it’s gone. Vanished completely. HAH! This is my prayer. Something’s gotta give. And when it pops. ACUPUNCTURED heartbeats and rhythms will change the game. Yes! Def this rulebook.

PART TWO

I blame brick wall limiters. Utterly floodlit waveforms scraping paint from the headroom with their brilliance. I NEED dynamic range, GIVE ME SOME SPACE.

Where secrets can be kept sacred. Hidden beneath dark sheets. It doesnt matter; I dont need to see everything. My naked eye knows that in a black square second of night, in my FOV, there’s enough nebulous starlight to blind me - IF I had planetary retinas - THAT is deep fields.

But such is the modern landscape. And there lies its epitaph. Stone carved in V-cut precision. As digitally linear as Times New Roman. Man I hate that font - its egotistic default, stoically strutting the dropdown menu of my every electronic move.

Alea Jacta Est - So bold and crass about itself as it slyly dices my mind’s eye like an onion. This monolithic Kubric Masonic Boom Bap Pop Muso Fancy of Form.

CHOSE LINE OVER THE CIRCLE

Yet put ONE next to the ZERO

Wove its fibre optic NET to cast out darkness.

Through TOTAL INTERNAL REFLECTION

Yet every web is made of holes - Yes

Eery net is made of holes.

PART THREE

The soul breathes by candlelight. Softly unveiling its mystery. In cavernous passages. REALISE Revelation sounds like re-VEILATION or re-veiling, redrawing the curtain’s call so I wait for an applause - I WAIT

Craving succulent sustenance the substance of appreciation THANK YOU Stagelight.

It’s a one way mirror. It’s hard to see your faces like scanning scrag splintered hills smothered in smoke and all the while the wind wolf whistles through Angels teeth. Broken open jawed, eating the floor. And all I can see is me through your eyes, a giant trickling sweat. Where springs collect in muddy intellectual pitfalls.

HOLD COURSE - Follow the stream feeding ferns wet with arrogantly spat phantasmic phlegm. I wait for the message but all i hear is ——

Silence, nothing, but that ringing inner ear, that uninvited guest pestering midnight like a toothache, waiting to pierce sleep’s sphere, hit its natural frequency. Right on the hard edge of consciousness. And cycle round REVERBERATING.

Till the riddle tips off your own tongue.