The drowning voice

Where’d you put my man? I hear the mute sing. And there he is, blurring at the edges, ghostly double vision. Swirling with the cloud cross breeze, in the sun his edge is hard.

You are his sun.

Take him, love him, feed him your smile. And breath. Don’t leave him to explore the drowning voice. No more itching flitching waiting lonely. Shout be a corpse! I’m coffin! Or cremation. He will rise.

You are his sun.

 

And Love

I dip my face into clouds. Smile through the sharp wind. Isn’t it wonderful, the miracle of flight?

And love, comes out of nowhere.  Takes you where you dreamed.

And dreams, feel strange when you’re awake.

I can see the harbour. Full of toys and tans. Poisoned by man. And entertainment.

But love, comes out of nowhere.  Takes you where you dreamed.

And dreams, feel strange when you’re awake.

Found myself think=ing, other peoples thoughts. Found my body feel=ing, other peoples froughts. One day I’ll be clean. One day I’ll be pure.

And love, comes out of nowhere.  Takes you where you dreamed.

And dreams, feel strange when you’re a-

Your Voice

The clouds around my head and face are moving so very fast. Is this a race? I feel I’m in a race. Without an end. Here comes the swirl, down I go towards the plug. I try to stay up, but you’re not there.

And every window I look out has spots of rain like diamonds.

She said “Smile when you know you’re sad cos I’m not there”

You know where I am, I’m just waiting around, I’m stuck in a box.

Tell me again what I’ve missed. The sound of your voice makes me warm.

When will I hear it again, in your arms?

Karma

Young man on bus, bouncing imbalanced indifference, ignorant in his chair.

I stand. I am Karma.

At once, slow vertical wobbles of time spent 5 cent man tremble towards me.

Young man remains unmoved unmoving.

Gently, into the long old hairy ear I declare…

“I made him forget his keys. Heh heh.”

I am Karma

the evening of a sunday

Turning your head on purpose to say you can not see injury, bleeds me into your world.

Take. Take. Take.

A mirror cold and shallow, you fit right in. White teeth perfect skin chest out pushing them back you front.

And Fake. Fake. Fake.

Slack (nah)

Slope (nahh)

Sloth (nahhhh)

Sleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.

I’ll do it t’morrow. Telly’s on now n I’m not n the mood t y’know… anyway…

I’m kinda busy. TV guide crossword n fresh cuppa coffee.

Nah instant. Nescafe tho. Mmm. Nah I’ll do it t’morrow. Promise. Got any tailor mades?

Hm. Nah sweet as, I’ll role one.

(breath in)

(breath out)

The Night After

Yep. The Night After. No Blog last night because…? Styx was “working”. One of the joys of being an Artiste is that going to watch a great show is research and therefore classifies as work.

It was a good day yesterday. Full of surprises. The most mentionable was the surprise visit and ensuing gift of a friend. My friend was sick, his partner was sick, he had two tickets to see the marvellous ”Brigette” perform. He gave me those tickets. YIPPEEE!!!!

And so instead of sharing my thoughts with yous, I was swinging my pants. If you don’t know Brigette, you better check them out..

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NDchKlVQZ4A&feature=artist

They are amazing. Wonderful performers, delicious voices, cool band, happy, sexy, slick, harmonies as soft and as perfect as angels feathers. Very yummy indeed. And original.

So, I am tired. And lacking desire to remain eyes open. Very soon I shall concede defeat to the slumber lords.

I bid ye well. A demain.

Styx out

Winter

I awoke at 3am, in the grip of winters wrath. She had slithered to my mouth, down my throat and whipped my tonsils raw. Unkind winter. Unsatisfied, she visited my sinuses. (Poor sinuses) With a venomous laugh she spat all manner of poisons upon my unsuspecting snot machines. Who did of course react as anyone would, they puffed themselves up with disgruntled pride, they coughed and sputtered their protests before eventually beginning the slow process of vomiting themselves to death. (Or so it feels)

How can a man sing with tonsils whipped raw?

He can not.

But he CAN croak.

And so dear friends, sooner than expected, after living in the land of frogs for a mere 6 months…

I have become one.

Ribbet.

Or as we say in France…

Cwah……………..Cwah……………. Cwah

Styx out

Hello world!

Styx Growler is pressing words. What juices shall come? Will the juices be sweet?

“Who can tell!” 

And so, dear friends, I shall commence my first blog. I will confess here and now, I am crap at most other ‘social networks’ BUT!!! This is a new year. And I have a new website. And I have a new zest to connect.

Let’s get it on!

Styx out