Naked beauty, bedtime fun
Another notch etched in my gun
Vague regrets with morning sun
Baby, I have got to run
Of those regrets I have a few
It’s never what I meant to do
Remember that it’s me not you
I think that you already knew
The very nature of our fling
That I would dance and I would sing
That I would promise anything
Love, though, I would never bring
This in response to Laura’s suggested technique
Another life time ago I had a casual relationship with substances which transformed me into a genius. Such was the magnitude of this genius that it poured out onto the page like lava and my fingers burned late into the night with the effort of harnessing it and recording it so that, after a little editing, it could be shared with humanity and I might then assume my rightful position on the world stage amongst the other literary heavyweights.
The morning’s editing process invariably proved to be a little more complicated than the enthusiasm of the previous evening might have suggested. Quite aside from the fact that the handwriting was virtually indecipherable and the grammar non-existent the content itself was unintelligible. In this state of non-heightened sensitivity I could not recognise my own genius. It seemed unlikely that the world would either.
I tried doing things the other way around. I would write the usual rubbish with sober fingers during the day and then wait for the magic to arrive at night to extract the diamonds. This didn’t work either. For at night these pieces would transform themselves into works of art without even a touch. “Are you kidding?” I would ask myself when viewing them through the eyes of the genius, “This needs no editing. It is already fucking brilliant.” I could then sit in a comfy chair and watch re-runs of Gilligan’s Island. Or The Beverly Hillbillies. It turns out that they were comic masterpieces as well, and this observation may have provided further insight into the process.
I found myself chatting to William earlier today about times long ago and, at some point, reference was made to the words above. I recall few of the lyrics but realise, as more time passes, that they apply even more to me. A bit sad really ……
What I recall is….
Have to do something about these rock and roll scars
Got them standing too close to rock and roll stars
And they’re getting harder to hide
**************************************
And they are
I don’t know why I post this ….
Just a random confession
and trying to continue a regime of posting (almost) every day
This possibly requires explanation. A photo prompt from Lovely Curses came to me as a blank page. Due, I suppose, to the limitations of my phone. A technical glitch, in other words. But after reading Marquessa’s creative non-fiction I wondered if there might actually be another message hidden in there for me……
There was a beautiful girl there in the photograph.
Not perfect. Beautiful beyond perfection. A gap between her front teeth. And I wondered if she might look at those teeth in the mirror some nights and wish they were otherwise. But perfect teeth would have ruined the smile. A smile that, just for a moment, might help you forget about the world that you lived in.
But here’s the thing. The first time I looked there was nothing. A blank white moment in a frame. And somebody else said that black was never meant to be beautiful. And I wondered, for that moment, if I might still, sometimes, look at life through a lens.
And I was horrified.
