Bored

bored

Sitting here
Not sure what to do
I could start something
Or I could do nothing
At all
The truth is I am bored
Bored with my life
I’m looking for escape
Seeking excitement, or nothing
At all

Been half a century
Actually a little more
Been here, been there
Actually, almost everywhere
It’s all bland
All pre-canned
So fucking boring
Listen, I’m snoring

Bored with the politics
Bored with nationalism
Bored with the fighting
And jostling for position
Bored with the arguments
Bored with the song
Bored with almost everything
It’s been too long

Sitting here
Still wondering what to do
Shall I start something
Or do nothing
At all
The truth is I am bored
Bored with it all
I’m wanting excitement
Or nothing
At all

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UDI For Me

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All my life I have worked so hard
I made some money too
But I spent it all on you
All my life I wanted something
A certain way of life
But caved in to the wife

U D I
Sick of living this lie
U D I
For ME!

All my life I did what others asked
Lived for them, not me
Is that why I’m so unhappy?
All my life so totally stressed out
Trying to make ends meet
Heart beating a different beat

U D I
Sick of living this lie
U D I
For ME!

I’m going to do what I want
I’m going to go where I want
I’m going to live for me
I’m going to please myself
I’m gonna spend money on myself
Yes, I’m going to be free

Life’s Junk

Just over 7-years ago, I arrived in the Czech Republic with one suitcase. Later, I shipped one box to myself. It wasn’t a large box. I left a large house stuffed to the brim with stuff and do you know what, I didn’t really miss any of it. Anything I did miss turned out to have a connection to someone in my life. I did miss being able to look at certain photographs of my family, my boys, my parents, my college days. I did miss the framed picture bought for me as a gift by my Aunt in New Orleans as it reminded me of my Uncle who died too young. I missed a few items – trinkets mainly – given to me by my father and by my mother. All of these have since been retrieved. I also did subsequently panic about where my Ph.D thesis was again because its a one off put together the hard way before word processors and easy printing. My son has it so its safe.

So here I am 7-years later and we begin to pack to move back to Brno from Prague. Once again, I am surrounded by life’s junk. The stuff you think you need but really don’t. The stuff you keep because you may actually one day need it but never do. How did I accumulate so much crap again? Why?

What is it that I really value? That’s the question I ask myself right now. To be honest, it is again the small treasures probably worthless to anyone else that have an association with someone special that are the only things I value. The photograph of my Father on Eigg, the photo of my eldest son sat in the cockpit of a 747 mid-atlantic (shows how dated that is!), the electric guitar that I spent more than a year delivering newspapers at 1GBP per week to purchase, the photo collection of my boys, my parents and my brothers, the letter Gabriela sent to me with a 4-leaf clover in it and perfumed, the family history notes my Dad made as we worked on our ancestry together, the drawings, paintings and scribblings of my daughter saved in folders….. you get the drift.

At the end of the day its about memories but more importantly its about people for the treasured items are people-focused and trigger memories. Those memories are both good and not so good but they are strong and vibrant. When I move, I take with me my memories. I don’t need to pack them in a bag they are just there and a certain item, a certain smell will conjure them immediately in my mind. I suppose these memories, experiences, are the treasure that we accumulate in life while we somehow also accumulate so much bloody material junk.

junk-pile

Astral Messages

The Wacky World of G. Michael Vasey

Deep and deeper into the fiery depths
Down and down ‘neath the cooling stillness
Where obscured symbols serve for words
And standing stones encircle scented voids
Ancient primordial creatures stir
And other strange images form down there

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Midst blue and emerald mind mists
And the elemental mysteries of inner Earth
Where fires’ flames lick and dance
And the shimmering air swirls entranced
Crystalline waters trapped as precious opals
Sublime and regal royals enthroned
Through all eternity as cold and darkened stones

astral-plane

Images move and rise and fall
Emerging, emerging and then not at all
Half-formed figures born floating linger
Whispers and soundless sounds as tinder
To spark and fuel those inner flames
Astral messages calling ancient names
Billowing, enduring truths exclaimed

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Mystery and Conspiracy

I don’t particularly like conspiracy theories or the people that like to propagate them.I have always found that the logical explanation is the most likely and I have no need for cults, lizard people, worldwide conspiracies, aliens or any of that ilk to explain things. Until now.

Like many, I have been following the tragic story of the Malaysian Boeing 777. Now, I can understand how conspiracy theories occur as, let’s be honest, it hasn’t been handled very well by the authorities. Even worse, I can’t think of a single logical explanation for what seems to have occurred. In a world where we have ready answers for most things, Flight MH370 is a true mystery. It must be absolutely impossible for the relatives and those impacted directly by this event and our thoughts are with them but how can a 777 just go missing like this?

You can think of any number of quite logical scenarios but each and every one is flawed. If something went wrong, how come the plane flew for 7-hours undetected and no one made any kind of call for help? If the pilot hijacked the plane, how on earth did he do it with a plane full of people with cell phones? Why would anyone fly into a deserted ocean and wait to run out of fuel? There is no explanation unless there is something we are not being told. And that is how conspiracy theories are born isn’t it?

I’m hoping that sooner or later something will turn up and explanations will be forthcoming. Relatives need closure. Fliers need reassurance that if this was a catastrophic failure of an amazingly safe so far airliner that the cause is known and fixed. If it was really a pilot or people hijacking the plane then plainly additional security processes are needed. No effort should be spared to find this aircraft for any number of reasons. Just as importantly, what is known needs to be made public and any misconceptions need to be squashed and corrected.

mh370

I for one am sick already of hearing about alien abductions, black holes, Government plots and the like, but until someone lays out what is known and more importantly, until that aircraft is found, such theories will abound. Take a look at the wacky theories already out there. It didn’t help that Iranians traveling on stolen passports photos were obviously photoshopped either with both men sharing the same legs….

legs

Three Books of Poetry….

I have three books of poetry in print. All are available on Amazon sites in paperback and Kindle formats.

This is their story….

I began writing poems when I was a boy. It was an outlet. A few years ago, I found a huge pile of handwritten poems that I had written dating back to 1974 and, trust me, some were just downright embarrassing! Some, however, weren’t all that bad. I put these in a pile and typed them into MS WORD for better keeping and put them all in my poetry directory on my PC. I had about 50 poems there so I once again selected what I thought were some of the best and made them into a book. It was self-published off course but it was a nice little book of poems called Weird Tales: Other World Poetry (Booksurge, 2006).

Weird Tales Cover

A few years later, and many more poems later, I had what I thought was a bright idea. Poetry doesn’t sell well but what if I combined the poetry with some nice photos in an over sized book and targeted people who like to have the odd nice book in their lavatory! The idea came to me visiting a friend who’s little room had several quiet nice books in it including some short poetry books. This is how Poems for the Little Room (Lulu, 2012) cam about would you believe? Unfortunately, the paperback version is quite pricey via Lulu and I have never figured a way to get it into Kindle format so its only available via Lulu.com or from me either directly or from Amazon.co.uk.

BookCoverImage

Finally, this year I saw that I again had a lot of poems stacked up, some of which I thought were good. Again, I thought I would publish them but with another difference still trying to see if I could find a workable formula. This time, I would combine poems with articles from my blog Asteroth’s Domain in pairs. The poem and the article support one another and perhaps provide a basis for some meditation. The result called Astral Messages got a little lost in the marketing of my novella – The Last Observer – but nonetheless is out there…..

Cover

Now, to whet your appetite a bit, here is a poem from each…

Weird Tales – Heaven

Lips brush
Noses touch
Wrap myself around you
Tie you up in knots
And never let go

A hug
A kiss
Was all that it took
My knees go weak
And the heat rises

Life change
Motion
Headed in a new direction
And happy about it
Happy to be with you

A moment was all
How did I fall
Into the depths of love
A single meeting
An amazing greeting
And it was done

Darkness
Passion
I find myself enrapt
How I want and need you
And that look in your eyes

Hotel
Room spins
Kisses turn more urgent
And the smell of your skin
Surely, heaven is here

Poems for the Little Room – In My Head

I used to dream and imagine
Places I had never seen
I used to make up tunes
And sing them in my head
That world was real to me
More real than this one
I could be anyone
And do anything
In my head
I could be you
You could be me
In my head
In my inner world
In my deepest thoughts
Inside my head
I yearn to go back there
Visit more and more
What I create in that world
Is reflected in this one
What I am inside my head
Is what I become here

Astral Messages – Life’s Tapestry

The lines are blurred
And faces merged
The funniest thing you’ll see
Moments in time and space
Held close for eternity
Just pictures saved by memory
Like silent movies played
Flickering images passing by
Do these belong to me?
Or is everything I see
From another, not me
The colours and the smells
The angles lacking symmetry
The sounds and sights
Images bound in space
The inner revelries revealed
My life’s tapestry
Unraveled
Untied
Betwixt and between
Reality

Moments

A little reminiscing
Passing of a life
Not even thrilling
It’s been a long ride
Dancing through time
Losing my pride

Where did it go
Where did they go
All of those people
All of those places
Those ups and those oh so downs
Times and time, sand grains falling
Moments of glory and moments of hell
Moments when you knew that you’d done well

Listening to second hand Bolan
A Child of his revolution
Just like that Jean Jeanie
Crossing the Atlantic Ocean
Houston, I heard you calling
Or am I confusing you with the Clash?
All that trans Energy wasted
Never did make my splash

Where did it go
What did I really do
All of those faces
All of those names
The heights and the valleys
The passing of my life’s graces
Moments of glory and moments of hell
Moments when I knew I didn’t do so well

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