Creator / imaginer: Dabbler in art, literature and sound.
Dear Mr Earworm, nestled in my brain-meat,
Spinning those songs that I dislike,
Like some god-awful DJ stuck on repeat,
Over and over, but never the whole song,
Just parts that earworms like,
And you see, that’s what is wrong,
If you played the full tune, it wouldn’t be so bad,
But you tease with a few words,
And this drives me mad,
Next time you feel like partying with a tune that I hate,
Spare a thought for your home,
My brain-meat, that you constantly frustrate.
Music moves us unlike anything else,
A common thread that intertwines all cultures,
Families are bound by it, lives start and end to it,
Memories of each other are held within its embrace,
Solemn moments, music is one human language we all share,
It encompasses everything we hold dear,
It creates cultural connections and breaks down barriers,
The right song can embody a person’s life indefinitely,
Holding their memory and life accomplishments ever present,
It is also extremely personal, we all wish to share a song,
Something special that we wish to share at that final goodbye,
Music has always been a part of the human farewell,
Sharing our connection, heart to heart,
If you hear that song, you will think of me,
Music is human immortality.
Now I taught the weeping willow how to cry,
And I showed the clouds how to cover up a clear blue sky.
And the tears that I cried for that woman are gonna flood you Big River.
Then I’m gonna sit right here until I die.
– Johnny Cash
#Perfection
Eyes closed, my stretched form has become at one with the couch,
Keyboards pan and echo, blending with a deep drone,
Visiting from 1979, the guitar of Steve Hillage floats through time and space,
In the darkness, the sound of shapes form, morph, and drift away,
Rainbow Dome Musick gives every colour a soundtrack,
The pitch rises and the four ever rainbow meets its crescendo,
The drone lowers, the keys swell, and new sonic doorways are unlocked,
43 minutes and 49 seconds have passed since it feels like I’ve taken a breath,
The rainbow’s drone fades out into an echo, and I’m left in silence,
I am at peace; my mind feels like it has been through a Garden of Paradise,
Cleansed, pure, and ready for sleep.
Bright blue lights fill a darkened room,
Cool air flows from air conditioning,
The injured lay prone, away from the burning sun,
A swell of music creates a dreamlike state,
Eyes remain closed in this quiet healing moment,
Pink Floyd asks a crazy diamond to shine on,
The injured oblige, trying to block out the pain,
With a cold drink and two sleeping hounds at hand,
A sleeping bride breathes deeply in a nearby bedroom,
The injured drifts in and out of consciousness,
The summer heat outside is held at bay for now.
The serenity of this moment will soon be over.
I’m enjoying the quiet days as this year comes to an end,
Filling my days with music, and cataloguing my albums,
There’s a simple comfort to be had, in this time alone I spend,
I’m revisiting sonic memories from simpler times,
Passers by look bemused, what’s a 50-year-old supposed to listen to?
Thrash metal, nu metal, death metal, doom metal, black metal, there’s no crime,
Speed masters and slow doom crunchers can fill my ears with their call,
Dark Throne, Behemoth, Black Sabbath, Anthrax, Slayer, oh here’s Kill ‘Em All,
Early Metallica, followed by Megadeth and Slipknot, all rumble from out my front door,
Music is a sedative, an escape, a muse, but mine is not everyone’s cup of tea,
Rather than life stress, right now it’s big riffs, power chords, bass and drums for me.
Your silver face shimmers in my eyes,
The touch of your cold metal buttons is electric,
You’re uncovered, a needle is revealed, and my senses heighten,
My fingers dance across narrow spines, as I make my selection,
I first remove the sleeve, then the coal black circle,
Gently set down, the ritual is almost complete,
Of all the needle tracks, I choose the first one,
With one movement of your arm, the world spins,
A sweet sound fills the air and nourishes my mind,
I see green lights, orange lights, and golden-lit gauges,
As the black circle spins, I’m filled with powerful memories,
You are a portal, my time machine, my hi-fi,
You are my beloved silver Akai.
After a bad day today, I sat reminiscing about simpler times, about my youth,
When music was king, and most of what I did revolved around it,
I’d slide a record from its sleeve, put it on the turntable and sit back,
Nothing felt rushed, dreams felt ripe and reachable, and the music played,
Occasional trips to a record store, when they were plentiful and local,
Gazing at album covers, putting up posters, and reading lyrics, while the music played,
Bands influenced the way I dressed, the way I thought, music was everywhere,
My pride and joy, a silver Akai sound system, it was everything, it made my music play,
It was my best trade ever, a carton of beer, for the soundtrack to my teen years,
It’s something that I’ve tried to recapture later in life, but the joy isn’t quite the same,
New bands don’t offer the same appeal as they once did, when did I become so cynical,
However, like a time machine, my turntable takes me back to when the music played,
To when the air of life itself felt charged with electricity, music, and endless possibilities.
Sunday evening has arrived, rain lightly falls, and I find my mind adrift,
Thinking of places to soar to, and using my imagination to write,
‘Hmm, this may take a while today’ I say to myself,
My thoughts aren’t as pliable today as I would like them to be,
It is being inflexible, a cloudy numbness and racing of thoughts combine,
Creating a grey, washed out thought process, that isn’t producing,
So, I’ll sit with it a while and observe, I need to change my energy,
Perhaps a little music, Medwyn Goodall, the time of ‘new age’ isn’t over here,
Drifting keyboards, a constant drum, beautiful, slow and methodical,
A trilogy of albums begins, I lean back in my chair, I think and listen,
The sound is soft, medieval, Arthurian, and luxurious,
This is where my mind has been hanging out lately,
Escaping from a stressful reality, self-loathing and worry,
Lost in a pagan dream of early English folklore,
Pan flutes and a soft synthesized choir swell,
Yes, this feels ok, I won’t be crafting anything fancy tonight,
Just documenting my thoughts and actions, which is ok,
My racing thoughts remain viscous; however, I feel calmer,
Should I even attempt verse within prose?
I’m not really sure how that would transpose,
After the observational typing of thoughts,
Jumping straight into a lyrical fire of sorts,
Well, I’m doing it now and there’s no going back,
I’ll just have to keep typing, and try to keep it on track,
Medwyn’s music helps me with rhythm and rhyme,
Softly and slowly his drum is keeping time,
I should switch back to prose now and finish this ramble,
Frankly, this entire poem has been a bit of a gamble.
Just writing thoughts is also creation, and my mind breathes easier,
As Druid, Merlin, and Excalibur, Goodall’s Druid Trilogy, comes to an end,
My mind jumps back to 1990, I’m 16, ordering these cassettes from a catalogue,
That same year I found my first tarot deck, dressed in black for the first time,
And I found a me that I was comfortable inhabiting, I didn’t quite hate myself then,
My family were all living, it seemed peaceful, life was simple and uncomplicated,
My mother had just been diagnosed with an illness, in four years, she would be gone,
And after that, just like in Humpty Dumpty, all the Kings horses, and all the Kings men,
Couldn’t put things back together again.
Although this may not be very imaginative writing, typing it was personally instructive. The power of music, and searching for the right words, managed to dislodge some suppressed and kind of uncomfortable memories. The surprise for me was having control over closing that door of consciousness before the train of thought ran itself off the rails like usual. That control is quite an achievement for a Sunday evening for me, so, although not imaginative, I do feel better for writing it.
Thank you for reading,
Dan
x
There is a new barrier between us,
I built it to protect myself.
I use this numb armour,
So I won’t feel hurt any longer.
The disconnect has happened,
I exist outside of the world,
Outside of the pain you inflict,
No more will you have control,
No more will you hurt me,
The disconnect has happened,
I exist outside of the world.
The Disconnect is an 11 minute ambient-mechanical-heartbeat soundscape that I recorded and released in early 2024. Based on this poem, the soundscape was supposed to represent the separation of the physical and mental human self, into a colder, more emotionless robotic form that could cope better with regular human interactions.
You can check it out on my Bandcamp page.
Dan Verkys 