Archive for Feb, 2023

Last night,
I went for a walk within my dreams,
Traipsing through that dreamscape,
With nary a hand to hold,
Under a kaleidoscopic sky of grinning clouds,
Through violet and teal oceans of grass,
Crossing bridges suspended over fuchsia streams,
With the breeze singing sweet tunes in my ear,
It was a lonely trek,
But a euphoric one,

The dream ended,
As the sun returned me to grey,
But does that world still remain?
Can I go back?

The wound you left,
Though invisible to the eye,
Is still festering and bloody,
As malignant as any other,
Just as replete with maggots,

Let there be no doubt,
The pain is very real,
Though no grimace rest upon my face,
Scarification by romance,
That is the cause of this wound,

My wound
A cavity where a heart once lay.

These days,
I’m more of a marionette,
Twirling on puppet strings,
Performing to no audience,
Jigging upon stained-glass,
Acting against my own interests,

These controlling cords,
They descend from somewhere above,
Puppeteer unknown,
Like veins pumping demonic blood,
Piercing my hands like stigmata,
Wrapped about my limbs like tentacles,

I’m so tired,
Yet here I pirouette,
I’m on puppet strings,
And I don’t want to dance anymore.

To an unassuming sun,
I awoke to some disturbing chill,
An inner cold I couldn’t place,
As if something intrinsic had dissipated,
My colours were dimmed,
My routines felt hollow,
My quills edge dulled,

All felt artificial,
My skin turned grey,
My eyes marring to silver orbs,
Like an unfinished fetish,
The magic was gone,
Supressed perhaps,
But for now out of reach,

The cause eluded me,
Had I wronged some witch?
Been bedevilled by some curse?
I knew not,
But the outcome was the same,
My own sorcery,
It’d been cruelly dispelled.

In sombre moments,
Some lament never being a first choice,
Looked over,
Beaten out by better picks,
Like in a jazzy gameshow,
A glitzy competition,

But if they are contestants,
What does that make me?
Am I just invisible?
A hidden option off the board,
Not even seen or considered,
The survey never says my name,

It seems the way,
I’m never in the running,
I’m shrouded like an anonymous player,
Whilst the others are on a showbiz stage,
I remain in the basement,
Unable to make out any live applause.

My worldly colleagues,
Fill me up with kerosene,
Give me paraffin,
Provide me that chemical incitement,
I want to fly,

The dirt never suited me,
Neither did the cold,
So allow me the skies,
To flit between sun rays,
And skip along currents,

Despite my fiery wings,
It’s not that I want to burn,
But to feel that ignition,
To chase the sunset,
And be applauded by the star-studded firmament,

With that glorious kerosene,
I’ll be a phoenix,
Salvation through immolation,
Finally burning up,
Finally being free.

Hello there inmates!

How are you all doing this week? Very well I hope. With any luck, you’re having a more interesting week than me. It’s been something of a slow week here at the asylum. Not bad by any means, just uneventful. Even the weather has been surprisingly neutral, without anything particularly standout. It’s definitely beginning to feel closer to spring now though. I suppose I should be glad in a way, uneventful is better than negative eh? Speaking of which, after my little tangent last week about grief a few of you left some insightful words in the comments. You didn’t have to do that. I really appreciate it though and it was exactly what I think I needed. You’re all very kind.

Before I become any more sentimental and the voices start whining, let’s get on with the point of todays post eh? It’s the Harlequins writing music today don’t you know?! Did anybody see the clue for todays musical theme? It was so adorable, I just had to pick it. Honestly, it was just precious! Go and have a look maybe? Hehe!

Well, the musical theme for today is quite a cool one honestly. I’m amazed I hadn’t thought of it before. Unless I did and forget… Bleh, I have no idea. Anyways, the musical theme for this week is animals! The clue was a photo of a Quokka, an adorable little critters that I believe are from Australia. You won’t find any songs about those today (that would be niche, even for me) but there are many artists who have written about animals or have used animals as some kind of metaphor. As with the natural world, the wildlife living within it has captivated humanity forever I would imagine. They’re our friends, our food and even our colleagues. Some are so much like people that they are treated as such. Some are feared about all else whereas some are angels in fur. I don’t think I need to go into too much detail, you all know about animals I’m sure. For the record, I’m a big fan of doggies, chameleons and owls. Shall I get to the music? Ok, I’ll get to the music.

Please, join me as we delve into the musical minds of wild artists the world over!

America – A Horse with No Name

The B-52’s – Rock Lobster

The Cure – The Lovecats

Shakira – She Wolf

Ghost – Rats

And there we have it! I want to go and cuddle with the dogs we have at the asylum now! Bit impractical as they’re asleep right about now but still. I hope you enjoy the musical choices I’ve presented this week and check out all of these artists out. You won’t regret it I’m certain. I’m sure you’ve heard of one or two of these, but still. Give them some love eh?

Speaking of love, mind allowing me some too? Perhaps not love, but some minor attention at least? The asylum really needs the help my friends. I really want to get my writings to more people and I can’t do it without you beautiful peeps. The asylum has a page over on Facebook, an account on Instagram and lastly a page over on Twitter as well. Please think about giving me over a like and follow over on those. Also, maybe tell your friends as well? That’d be lovely. Last but not least, if you really enjoy what I do here at the asylum, please consider supporting me over on my Ko-Fi page as well! Thanks for everything!

Until next week, have a very crazy day inmates!

I am overcast,
A sky of slate illuminated,
Gloomy yet somehow beguiling,
Backlit by an inner fire,
A sun of whimsy,
A haze of oddity,

There is a chill to my air,
A sullen and awkward disposition,
But the louds cannot bury every flare,
There is flesh and blood pumping,
Some inner effulgence eats through,
A candle in the dusk,

When you look at me,
Eyes straining,
There is a sun there,
I swear it,
It’s cloaked by grey,
But there is warmth.

Unknowing confidants,
They asked me how I was,
Not knowing the affront they presented,
I doubled over,
Finally spewing the blood of Olympians,
A flood of viscous ichor,
Black running down my chin,

This raven tide contained all manner of darkness,
Demons and skulls and unspoken nightmares,
Repressed personae clawing from the ink,
Certainly nothing holy,
These bleak waters held memories,
Hopeless images in every swirling bubble,
Cries for help,
The stygian contents of a soul,

Peering up from my knees,
We locked eyes,
I spoke no words,
But they knew what I had said,
What the ichor had revealed.

If there is one thing I’ve learned,
Existing in this grey world,
Being oneself is paramount,
To follow the drones,
Is to run cold,
And risk the soul freezing in irrelevance,

To the world I say,
Withhold your brands and pigeonholes,
Save your derision,
Let the weird be weird,
Let the artist create art,
Allow them their eccentricities,

That freedom,
It can set a spirit alight,
Igniting the cosmic symphony within,
A supernova of myriad chroma,
A big bang,
Birthing a new universe of their art.