The colours of thought
deep inside our minds,
behind the facade –
black, white and blood-red.
We can sing the rainbow,
we can paint the rainbow,
we can talk the rainbow…
but they remain
behind the eyes,
deep inside the soul,
the colours of emotion –
black, white and blood-red.
As we adapt to our world we also define it,
bending the space around the shell we build.
Spirals are best.
Birds live in the light,
clear and bright;
freedom of flight.
Fish live in the depths,
swathed and complex;
joy of orgasm.
We live in-between,
under the skin;
over the chasm.
I would like to make you a present of fog.
This fog, surrounding us now.
It makes our world small, hiding everything further than arm’s length,
yet things disappear in it so softly and smoothly –
there is no possible way to define the border,
there is no horizon,
there is no end.
It is vague and cosy – a down-soft infinity.
Join me.
I would like to make you a present of this light,
a sudden splash of colour in the fog,
defining the piercing beauty of a tree-branch,
its intricate form alone in a sea of shapelessness –
the sudden joy of discovery.
Gasp with me.
I would like to make you a present of my world,
of all that I learned over the years,
patiently collecting shapes and colours,
thoughts and feelings,
moulding them together,
creating something unique and precious.
Look at me.
But you can only have your gift returned so many times
before you finally realise that this person REALLY doesn’t want a silver toast rack.
And that a silver toast rack is all that you have to give.
The fog condenses into tears on my cheeks
and evaporates in the bright sunlight.
One of the main tasks of childhood is to learn how to deal with monsters.
This is why dinosaurs are so fascinating for children –
they are monsters, concrete and palpable.
There is nothing human about them,
they kill with teeth and claws, not words, greed and cowardice.
They are easy, training monsters,
a menace you can understand, a threat without ambivalence.
What do you do if you meet a monster?
Do you run?
Do you fight?
Do you train to be stronger than them?
Do you learn to be smarter?
After going to the Museum of Natural History
and learning about T-Rex
you couldn’t stop laughing:
running around with your arms pressed into your sides,
waving your hands feebly at chest-level,
saying, ‘itty-bitty hands!’
I think you chose the best option.
I think you will be all right.
Walls are designed to divide space.
Here from there.
Inside from out.
Safe and familiar
from dangerous and unpredictable.
Me from you.
I am walking up the winding staircase
in an old castle.
Castle walls are solid.
Really solid.
There is nothing metaphorical about them.
They are rocks and bricks and mortar,
built up over the centuries,
fortified.
These walls are very definite
about keeping things out.
They make me feel contained:
warm, wooly-headed and slightly dizzy;
like a sick bed –
I am not at my best, but there is no need to be.
The space of illness is small and manageable:
eat, drink, sleep, stay alive…
There is a light at the top of the staircase,
it leads out onto the battlements.
I am tired of climbing.
The light at the top is too bright,
the space – too large,
the height – too vertiginous
and I am already dizzy…
I think I will sit here,
rest
and consider my options,
half way between the dungeon and the battlements,
well within the walls.
What are people made of?
What are people made of?
Pictures and words,
Hopes and hurts,
That’s what people are made of.
What are people made of?
What are people made of?
Clothes and skin,
Mind and machine,
That’s what people are made of.
What are people made of?
What are people made of?
Cultures and schemes,
Mirrors and dreams,
That’s what people are made of.
Who am I?
Am I reflections of the world or the mirrors reflecting it?
Where do I begin?
What is inside and what is outside?
Inside and outside of what?
There is no one answering.
I hope there is someone asking.
