I do wonder, How does a church tower make you feel? They are undeniably marvels of architecture, Centrepieces of the county towns, But they are more than stone and mortar, Do those spires inspire fear or reverence?
For some they are houses of the highest order, Chapels and shrines and cathedrals, Timeless communities for the faithful, A shoulder to cry on, An attentive ear to listen, And allegedly the ultimate moral high ground,
Others see them as nothing other than cults, Denouncing them as archaic, Icons to injustice and control, Harking back to worship being weaponised, Where once were censers and sermons, Are now bone piles and ballgags,
So now, My dear reader, I must ask, Are they vice or virtue? Or perhaps indifference? How does a church tower make you feel?
You know, There is no love betwixt spiders, No sentiment betwixt black widows, No tenderness, Arachnids are predators after all,
Given the chance, They’ll eat one another, Mandibles like knives in the back, Harsh words like venom, Feasting on one another’s vascular core,
The need for self-sustenance trumps all, It’s every invertebrate for themselves, Hunting for number one, And it makes me wonder, If you take away the eight legs and webs,
When next you smile, Spare a thought for the discontents, The pessimists, The sad ones, Don’t feel guilt, Your elation is no insult, But know what you possess,
You know the ones I speak of, The loners and heartbroken, Those prisoners of their own minds, They who wear dark clouds as halos, You see them every day, They pass like autumn leaves in a stream, Grey faces churned up in the worlds maw,
These sad ones are in pain, And like cornered beasts they lash out, What manifests as brusque manner, May be a call for help, A rupture in the shell, So consider mercy, No need to strike the bear with a sore head,
The world is foul enough, So I urge you, When next you see a discontent, Why not spare a smile?
It’s been a rather emotional week already. Yesterday in particular was certainly a long one but we got through it. Yesterdays poem was rather important for me to write about the particular situation, but as I mentioned before I won’t be going into any details. I hoped the poem would at least give some clues without being all “Oh, woe is me!”, you know? So how about all of you? How are you all doing? I hope all of your personal and creative endeavours are going as well as they possibly can out there. It’s rather cold again, with some places getting a lot of snow so I’ve heard. You better be keeping safe out on the roads! The island generally tends to avoid snow most years, only receiving a bit of frost or sleet. As a bike rider, it’s a bit of a godsend.
So it’s the day of the week for the Harlequins writing music y’all! Did anybody see the clue today? It was something of a red herring in a way. The theme of the day could have been one of two ideas that I had and the clue kind of related to both. I can’t say it was planned though, it was just me being indecisive!
The theme of this weeks writing music is, in fact, vampires! It was either going to be vampires or canines. You see what I meant about the clue now? But yes, for this week, we’re talking about those bloodthirsty lord and ladies of the night. From Dracula to Nosferatu. From the Lost Boys to 30 days of night. From Queen of the damned to… I’m not going to say that sparkly vampire film because hell no! However they appear, they are most certainly a staple of the horror genre, though they often find themselves in other scenarios as well. As with many horrific creatures, they obviously have inspired artists of all kinds, not just musicians. It’s easy to be afraid of a creature that looks like us, but is something a whole more savage and unknowable. Musically, I think the mind would probably jump to the gothic subgenre, but there is other stuff out there. I’m going to attempt poorly to do that for you today. Want to see what I can do? Or rather the music artists can do?
Well then, join me as we delve into the musical minds of nocturnal artists the world over!
And there we have it for another week! What do you all think of these choices eh? Anybody else have a thirst for blood all of a sudden? Only me? Oh bugger. Well, remember if strange pallid looking gentlemen in old clothes knocks at your door, be sure to not invite them in. On the other hand, I hope you check out all of these artists and send them some love as well!
Speaking of some love, would you kindly allow me some? The social media kind that is! The asylum has some sites that are just salivating at the thought of you following or liking them. It would mean a great deal to me if you did check them out. The asylum has a page over on Facebook, an account over on Instagram and lastly and leastly a page over on Twitter as well. Also, if you enjoy what I do here at the asylum, please consider supporting me over on the Ko-Fi page as well. Thanks for everything!
I’m something of an outsider, I never did quite fit in, Though not for want of trying, Aspects of my being, My voice and visage and victories, Regarded with awkward glances, I’m kept in the shade, Disregarded,
But perhaps it’s a boon in disguise, A spectator has a different viewpoint, One can see paradigms invisible to others, One can speak from a position of indifference, On romance and hatred, On social mores, The drivel of clergy and politicos, And the ways of the world,
Over the years, I’ve had my training in spades, My eyes see much, And the separation is a gift, Perhaps it takes an outsider, A pariah, To see the true world, The true humanity.
We as a race are a broth, A primordial soup of sorts, Despite the delectable taste, It’s an uneven brew, Unequal in its very composition, Poverty and fracking reflected in its surface,
The ingredients are indeed all present, The boiled water of first breathes, Chicken stock and upbringings, The ever reliable starches of the working class, Spices from every corner of the Earth, Taken and gathered, Governing herbs to hold it together, Theoretically, Chopped vegetable and bankers tax cuts,
Inequality is a salt, An unfortunate seasoning, In this broth of a nation, In this broth of a world, The majority blend delectably, The scum invariably rises to the top.
The people and clergy preach righteousness, Blame all evil on some fallen angel, As if all malice is inflicted upon them, Coming from humanity though, It drips with hypocrisy, Like drool from a rabid dogs mouth,
It’s a deficit in responsibility, Man does not approve of the devils work, But it was they who gave him the job, Gave him his horns, With their idle hands and dark thoughts, Arms deals and genocides,
But alas, I say this not to absolve Lucifer, Simply to enlighten, That in all his infernal majesty, He is but an accomplice, And we are on his shoulder.
Spare a thought for the terraces, The rows and rows of townhouses, Laid together like crops, Young families and single parents and renters, Elbow to elbow, Like sardine cans of red brick,
And like a harvest, They are the Mans bounty, A store shelf of useful bodies, The working class of corn and hops, Average Joes and Janes, Meat for the stock market butcher,
These people, In their streets of grey, They weren’t born to work, But they need work to subsist, Captive livestock so to speak, And the terraces provide.
Oh you old patriarchs, With your blue pill brawn, Do not test that dame, For her body is her own, Your book has no sway over her, Nor her every sister,
She is not cattle, She is an alpha, She heeds no leash, She is beautiful but fierce, She is primal but regal, She is every woman,
Even with your pewter gavels, Never think you can tame her, She speaks to wolves, And she sees you, She has her fangs bared, And she’ll tear apart your fetid podium.
Society has a way of corrupting the best of us, It is unclear how, Opulence seems to be insidious like a stalker, Turning all to gaunt consumers, Even bastardising superheroes,
Gods brought down to our level, Awash in vice and stigma, Their powers become trademarks, Capes and super-suits degraded to mere logos, Reducing them to intellectual properties,
Through our modern lens, They shift from paragons of virtue, To arrogance personified, No better than us mere souls, Full of hollow want and indecency,
Like us they chase the next high, With nobody to tell them no, Who could argue with Superman? Tell off Thor? Hold the Hulk responsible?
Who could save the day, When the heroes are instead pursuing dollars? It is a sad day indeed, When heroism is about numbers and shares, Rather than the act itself.
WorldofHarley 