“Oh God. I was just a boy.
I saw him in my dream.
He said he wanted to play.
He opened me and I invited him and he came inside me.”
~ Leland Palmer
Sweet silver-somersaulting-CGI-Spiderman, it’s nearly 10pm and I haven’t even written the Sunday Song Poem yet! What ever will I do? Hang on a sec, let me just unwrap this glossy club flyer folded into an origami envelope and…WOOOO DAWGY!
Okay, what you just witnessed was a dramatic interpretation of an instance in which a person might be driven into the position of partaking of an illicit substance to make good on its supposed attributes and utilise them for their own gain. But when you take a drug, you gain nothing, the only outcome in this game is to lose. And it’s a game of death. And we all know how that game goes, just ask Bruce Lee. Oh that’s right, you can’t, HE’S DEAD, and he only took an aspirin…
Sunday. Seven revolutions round the sun for our insignificant little orb. Circling our inevitable infernal-murderer. The Song Poem – Aural encapsulation of a delicate, all pervasive balancing act, evident throughout all God’s creation. Like so many things, it’s indicative of the eternal juxtaposition; Black and white. Sun and moon. Good and Evil. Cobra and Mongoose. While the Earth adheres to strict physical laws, Outer Space on the other hand, is a vastness more mysterious and chaotic the further away we get from our lowly point of origin. The known solar system is orchestrated precariously by forces unknown in a delicate cosmic ballet. Did you know that Pluto could one day abandon its erratic orbit and go hurtling off into space?