…the earth abides..

The Earth Abides

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Our cells talk languages of time across the ages.

Our sad history belies the word of countless sages

Our wild diversity trickles and dries drop by drop.

And we become the devastating mono crop.

Verdant glades and warm wet earth erodes,

We the fat obscurant wheedling nematodes

Consume in weeping sliding slashed gashes,

We cut and burn and slowly drown in ashes.

Molecule by molecule we denigrate our worldly rule.

We are the greatest of the great, the ignorant fool.

Forest photograph by kind permission of JD

pollution

Hope

A real gem amongst many

The NK Collection

aza shadeI buried myself in the bath to see if I would grow past the banality of the monotone grind. Here I am hugging my arms together, bracing myself to be shot through into the alternative, yet only reality I want to be a part of. I carried the earth in my rucksack from the cemetery. I figured the soil of the dead could be revived into new life. I sat like that for 2 days, transcending my mind to that other space, abstract freedom. The truth. Eventually they bust the door down, yea, just like you see in the movies. I was lucid as hell, let them believe I had lost my mind. Think I might do it again next week, better than sitting on a park bench staring into space. Photography by Asa Shade, words by Nkiki.

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It was that sort of day when…

It was that sort of day when:

 

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All the music you listened to on the radio sounded as if it were being played by depressed dogs on violin.

You waited for your toast to toast in an unplugged toaster. You plug it in. And the toast is incinerated. Not quite to the point of flames, but sufficient for carbonised particals to drift in smoking testiment through out your house, hours after the event.

 

The cat decides that what your house lacks is a bad tempered Adder in the living room. An Adder, to those who need to know, is Britain’s (exclude Northern Ireland – St Patrick got rid of them apparently) only venomous snake. 

 

StrikingAdder
Striking picture

Your 16 year old daughter wants to discuss “that after the prom sleep over” with Jack (new boyfriend) The same conversation you thought had been satisfactorily exhausted at least twice before. But apparently not.

 

The dog thanks you for leaving the chicken to defrost at the right height for a snatch grab and run exercise.

 

You loose your patience with Mr Heinz Ketchup, having not noticed that the ‘anti tamper’ membrane hasn’t been removed. Verbally venting your frustrations as you unsuccessfully tried to sqeeeeeze the f**king contents from its rediculous unecologically sound stupid plastic body. And equally, you never noticed that the window, you threw the still full and unyealding bottle out of, had blown shut. But, you did become very aware. Very very aware!

 

The day that the £45 unpuncturable tyre on your bike split, the inner tube previously pressurised at 120 psi exploding against your carbon forks with catastrophic results. A “personal best”, “elegant dismount” apparently, so the other guys said. Or tried to whilst unsuccessfully attempting to control their mirth.

 

Yes. It was one of those days.

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A Fathers day of a day.

 

 

 

 

And (When)

And.

(When)

Things become suspended.

(When)

Look for the balance.

I’ve a whale I made.

From tin cans it be.

And in the dimming of the glimmering light,

It spy hops free from that simmering sea.

I said I’d put it in a blog one day.

I make such things

(when)

Life. Life. Is hard. 

And.

Occupying may hands is the only way.

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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4IrA9HqPNlM

A Shared Privacy (?)

This is private.

 

Please don’t read any further

 

I write of what I can not speak aloud. I talk into the empty spaces

 

There’s hardly a day that goes by, even now, even when so many years have passed, there’s hardly a day that passes.

 

Are you still here? You shouldn’t be. Please      leave          me

 

Those times you would ring. You left me breathless more hopeless less much less. Those late night calls. Long slurred conversations of regret. Of short term intentions and plans and. The silence. And. All I could hear would be your breathing. As if in sleep. And I’d press that phone hard to my ear. And my heart would beat for you my brother.

 

And you would call. And I’d listen to your soft words. And I’d will you to continue. And when my words were words and nothing nothing more to you. I’d will you to, and not to. And we would listen to each other. In our different places. From our different places.

 

This is too hard to bare. Please.       go 

 

Kit.

 

Dad.

 

I’ve some bad news. I’m so sorry R took his own life. He’s dead.

 

Kit

 

Kit

 

Kit

 

I’m falling now. Don’t catch me. You can’t

 

If each floor was a year you would not have completed your journey yet. That day. Seeing further than I ever could. That day you stepped free. Started a new.

 

Air leaves my lungs. Winded. I ache. I ache. I.       There’s a noise. Its small. I can not understand it.

 

Where. Where. How. When. Why. Wherehowwhenwhywhere. Shut. Down. Slide. The floor is cold. I feel it. But I don’t. I don’t know it yet. But I don’t feel. It. I. Feel. The emptying

 

Breathing now. That noise. That small noise, its leaking from inside of me. It still is

 

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Suicide is now the biggest killer of young men in the UK. Statistics show that the numbers rise significantly each year. 

On average there are three young male suicides every single day in Britain.

 

http://www.YouTube.com/watch?v=VH9CxMCo-el

 

 

 

 

 

So

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So, some days stand out.

 

For good reason. 

 

Then there are days that stand on their own two feet, grim and fat, with a malignant life changing potential.

 

Having an unexplained ignored pain for a few days (OK a week, two weeks…maybe three, but no more than that. Honest) I sit on the GP’s plastic chair, my back stuck to it. He’s carefully washing his hands. His wrung out word’s, seeming detached from my world, float and push against my ears. Small variations in air pressire. Sound; minimal energy disturbance of matter, travelling through a medium, changing my world. Such an intense irony.

 

“How long have you been waking with night sweats Kit?”

 

I listen hearing through my sensory density. Sound pressure. Particle velocity. Particle displacement. 

 

“Your test demonstrated a high level of ….cells”

 

Is this what they mean about the four stages; Sensory denial. Pressure of anger. Velocity of depression. Displaced acceptance.

 

“Further tests will be necessary. I’ll arrange these”

 

On the other side, I find myself staring, unseeing consciously unconscious, at the off white ceiling tiles, whilst equally not listening to the not quite grey music machine singing in diagnostic prognostic frequencies. It was, all a mystery.

 

“We can rule out…but. Further referral to… I’ll arrange this”

 

And the dog on the bike? He might look improbable, but he’s definitely more self determinate, in a relative way.

 

So. Some dogs stand out