Holding Hands? By: TomB No comments

The Surprise

At your hand’s demise,

Now flooding my fingers with life

After that Non-stroke/Soft stroke.

 

My hand is now numb.

The only one left is my thumb,

But as your numbing skin leaves –

I cannot grasp.

 

Your eyes now open wide.

My hope now subside

With the slowing heart inside,

As if it were sand in a tide.

My hand dies –

My heart dies –

I die –

Then, I sigh.

PRINCE By: TomB No comments

Prince - June 7th 1958-April 21st 2016

With music prodigy, Prince, passing on recently, countless artists have been inspired to pay their respects to the artist. To be alive when this sensation was alive was simply an honour, and I know future generations will look back and be jealous, in the same way my generation is envious of our parents living in the time of music legends, such as John Lennon, Kurt Cobain, The Clash (in their prime), and the list goes on.

I had obviously known of Prince prior to his unfortunate death, I mean, how could you have not? Knowing Prince classics like 'Purple Rain,' 'When Doves Cry,' and 'Corvette' was, and still is, second-knowledge. His humble individuality and extravagance rippled through the music industry, as I said, inspiring many for years to come.

Personally, I think people are reluctant to even attempt his number one tracks, because, to taint them, or not reach the standard of Prince when performing them, would be to disrespect his career. Some songs, only Prince could play, and, honestly, I think it should be left like that.

Such tracks that have been covered (absolutely excellently) include 'Pop Life' (Neon Indian) and 'It's Gonna be Lonely' (Mac DeMarco & Jon Lent).

Listen to Neon Indian and Friend's Rendition of 'Pop Life'

Listen to Mac DeMarco's Cover of 'It's Gonna be Lonely'

Mac DeMarco: Love, Mania, and Fascination By: TomB No comments

Upon first being shown clips of a rather strange, extroverted, uncomfortable figure, I found myself instantly in love. "Who is this strange, extroverted, uncomfortable figure?" I thought to myself, "I must know more!" 
Well, who else other than the one, the only, the legend, Mac DeMarco. It was 'MTV's weird vibes' videos on YouTube, in which I encountered this strange specimen, and in him, I saw myself. This man could find a single fuck how people thought of him. He acted the way he wanted, when he so desired. So comfortable in his own skin, it really made transparent how reserved other people really are.

After excessively binging on these few clips I had been watching for a few weeks, I decided to plunge myself into the musical universe that is Mac DeMarco's mind, or Spotify, as some people will know it as. Prior to this 'plunge', the band had just released their new album, 'Salad Days,' and, oh boy, was a storm a-brewing. Listeners were gathering in their thousands, in their millions, just to listen to hot summer numbers like 'Let Her Go', and chill out in the cool evening to a calm and, what I can only describe as 'wavey' tune, that is 'Chamber of Reflection.'

However, personally, it will always be '2' that I resort to for comfort. Whether it be on the way to work, submerging yourself to 'Stars keep on Calling my Name,' or just kicking back with a brew and a cig to 'Ode to Viceroy,' Mac has got you covered.

Recently though, I've been listening to some of classic Mac. From the days before Captured Tracks captured Mac, the days when Canada was a very, very special place to be. The days when Mac produced under the name of Makeout Videotape. We're talking completely loose and refreshing material that just makes you wanna thrust and go with the flow.

The first time I saw him live was on the 25 November 2014, at the Forum in Kentish Town. You don't realise how electrified I was that Mac is coming to London. So I got there, with a few friends and that, and what I saw was not Mac, but a constant rampage of mosh-pits blocking all sounds and sights of him. I want to be angry, although that's what Mac is about. He epitomises freedom and activity. If people were reserved, and simply stood in one place, it just wouldn't be the right vibe. The next time I was to see the band was around a year later in September, but instead, in the enormous Roundhouse. This time I was prepared. Bring on the mosh! I had drunk and smoked a little bit before going in, you know, just to get me in the right mood for it all. I had brought a few props with me this time, though:

1. A Crayola Costume
2. A spare pack of Cigs to throw to the band members

I was ready. As anticipated, I got separated from my friend immediately, and somehow advanced to the front of the crowd, right by the stage. Half an hour in, I decide to throw the fags on stage. It hits Pierce's (the bassist) arm and there is a slight look a surprise and delight as he opens the packet. Pierce has/will smoke my cigarettes. My life felt complete. Half an hour later, I attempted to really impact their lives and threw my crayon costume onto the stage.

I had pushed too far. Mac had gone to my head. It didn't quite make it, and the Roundhouse officials gave me a talking to. Not going to lie to you, it put a downer on the vibe.

Nevertheless, I pursued on in my conquest to embrace Mac with open arms, and you know what, I think I managed it. It was a cracking night.

Mac's performing again later in June in Brixton, but I just don't have any money, nor have I for a long time, but that's a story for another day.

Till the next time, and look at for that band. I think they're called Mac DeMarco.

Tom

She, the One with Patience By: TomB No comments

When I grow old and withered

And have nought, but me, myself, and I;

And have lost all: mind, courage, be it strength or wisdom,

I will have her.

She, who comes and goes fortnightly, and pierces

A perfect hole in that dark-night,

Making brighter this dim-light.

She, who accompanies me when all is silent, yet ever-violent.

Her white which stands lone, in the even lonelier black.

 

She, who makes even oceans reach for her glow. This moon

That calms my thoughts which her mute tune—

'Criticism of a Hollow Pond' By: TomB No comments

This was a poem I entered for a competition a while ago. It's inspired by the style of WB Yeats and written about my walk to and from the local pond in the evening. It's a spot for smashing sights, as well as doubling up as a dogging-spot. What more could you ask for?
It sounds incredibly pretentious looking back on it, but I spent a over a month endlessly refining it. May I present you with a 'Criticism of a Hollow Pond'

I

I wander by the water

When amber turns to blue.

The Earth and her Daughter,

Whose younger light that shines

On the eyes, blinds

The body’s confines.

It is then, my mind starts to cogitate

Nature’s attempt to germinate

II

In the air, where I now rest.

I shall not move, I shall not tense.

Floating-Swaying-Possessed.

The wind forgets my skin and passes as she please,

Rinsing me of this unforgiving disease;

Invisible yet visible-She transcends the human eye.

You really have to die, to perceive

The wonders that whistle-by.

III

The crackling stones stop –

When my hide sits

And my body drops.

Those tap, tapping waves,

Through the gravel it slaves.

Those pebbles, it brings,

The sounds that echo.

The pond that sings

IV

Those winged creatures that glide and greet

Without a sigh or a cry,

It is with them-I leave, with them-I retreat.

Terrifying up close/Beautiful from a distance

But the quality I treasure, is their acoustic resistance.

Oh, how tho’ those feathers plucked from summer’s white cloud

Make green this wolfhound, of their beauty renowned.

Existing now softly without any, but breath.

V

A change of scenery is due,

Thus, I tremble on the cold burnt ground,

Where humanity’s print punches through

My shoe, my skin, my keratin.

An irruption without origin.

A home away from home

Where only the travellers roam,

Their confusing faces and paces – What do I know?

VI

I wonder by the water

Back to when the void was void,

And my sanity, I had caught her.

I should leave the water

But as much as I ought to,

I cannot outrun my half-mind

With its tsunami thoughts

Collapsing heavy, like chains.

My mind now starts her unwind

Of the past behind.

End of the Beginning By: TomB 1 comment

 

The Academic year has finished. In fact, it finished quite a while ago now. Although, I still go to school everyday just to revise and sit in those seats that I've known for so long now. I've been there for 11 years, and now it's all coming to an end. I don't know what I'm going to do. Uni, I guess. I hope.

I had my first exam the other day, Philosophy, and it went well, don't get me wrong, but it was a reminder that Economics is just around the corner.
There. Is. So. Much. Of. That. Subject. 
I worry about it, however, I'm sure it'll be fine. I'll just revise every waking second I can from now until then. 
#yay...

11 days from now and I'm done. The school prom is after that, on the 2nd July, then Interrailing at long last. We fly to Budapest on the 9th, then my 3 weeks of relaxation begin. It'll be phenomenal, without a doubt.

BUDAPEST - VIENNA - PRAGUE - BERLIN -AMSTERDAM

I've decided that this is to be my professional 'portfolio' of writing that I intend to show my future employers. I wanted to just continue with my previous blog, but that's rather personal and I don't like others reading it, despite around 1000 people already having read it. You can't comprehend how I absolutely dread family and friends potentially finding it.

I'll write my poetry on this blog, and if I'm honest, it will be awfully similar to my other blog. Just writing about the different episodes in my life etcetera because, quite frankly, my days are full. I'll tell you that for free.

I wrote this first entry because I thought an uncomfortable, rather forced (and cringey) entry must be written introducing oneself and whatnot.

I think this has been enough procrastination for one day.

Till the next time, and please, stay tuned.

Tom