Is this Living?
An ode to depression, miserablness and general unhappiness. As promised
Is this living?
I wake up I go to work I come home, go out, come home sleep…
I wake up I go to work I come home. go out come home, sleep…
Yet the twin clouds of loneliness and despair hang in the air
Threatening to destroy the illusion of happiness I concoct around my existence
I attempt to fill my free time with friends, computers, cars, laughter
I commit myself to worthwhile endeavours,
Surround myself with people who can understand and yet…
Is it all a show?
Am I trying to escape from, or deny the underlying cause of my unhappiness?
Am I just feeling sorry for myself for the sake of it?
I have a job, I have a home, I have friends, I have everything that I need
No reason to be upset, or wonder where it all went wrong, so why…
Why do I allow myself to be ambushed by these pointless periods of self pity?
What do I hope to achieve by moaning, by endless questioning of what’s in my head
Beating myself up over doubts and uncertainties that I can’t quite define
All the while projecting an image of carelessness,
while watching my emotions boil beneath the thin Veneer.
What is the point of becoming so lonely and cutting myself off from the world
When my friends are only a phone call away?
What Is the point of questioning things I can’t change,
or worrying about things I can’t do
Long time no post
Now that I'm back on line, I intend to be much more disciplined with this. To that end I promise to post my latest poem tommorrow, but be warned it is very bleak.
For now you're going to have to be satisfied with then next bit of my novel. Yes I know it's a year since I posted the first paragrapghs.
Enjoy
He was found in the park. It was a beautiful day, and I had been walking the half-mile home from school with some friends. The first thing we noticed was the noise. The park was unusually loud for 3:30 on a Thursday. On a Friday, with people heading home early it may not have been noticeable, but a Thursday was usually quiet. We then noticed the extra people. You can’t have that much extra noise without extra people. They seemed to be pushing past us into the centre of the park, or moving more slowly away.
Well what was a group of five boys to do? We followed the crowd to see what the excitement was all about. It took us about a quarter mile out of our way, and we knew there’d be trouble when we got home, but something was happening and we wanted to know what.
Being small has its advantages in the crowd. We were able to push through and get right up to what was going on. The more people we pushed past the quieter the people became. We came to the yellow police tape, and a great dark shadow loomed over us. It was almost as if someone had turned of the sun.
My memory suggests it was a giant of a police officer who stopped us, but it was probably just the way he loomed over the small boys. He was probably a junior officer pushed to the side for crowd control, only too pleased to find someone who he could order around, but to my child eyes he was a giant.
“This is no place for boys” he rumbled. “Why don’t you just push off home, you don’t want to be seeing this”.
He grabbed a friend and me by the shoulders and frog-marched us to the edge of the crowd. Can you imagine any two things more likely to make young men more determined to find out what was going on? He had ensured that we were more curious than ever. Remember most of us had been playing in this park since we were knee high to a grasshopper, and it just so happened there were trees that we were used to climbing nearby.
It was the work of minutes to scramble up these trees, see over the crowd, over the police officer, and see what all the fuss was about. That image was burned onto my memory for the rest of my life.
He was curled up as if he was asleep. There was a small trace of blood from around the neck, and he’d been stripped to the waist. In the centre of his chest were carved two crosses. The police I overheard seemed to believe these had been carved after his death. They were much more interested in the small neck wound.
Has it really been 9 months since my last post? Apologies to anyone who ever looks at this.
Anyway.....
Work has finally begun on a new song. Hope you enjoy the lyrics (so far)
How do I begin to change who I am
I look in the mirror and I don't understand
I can see all the hurt I can see all the pain
Why did I let this happen again?
I followed my heart instead of my head
Wore my heart on my sleeve and I held nothing back
committed myself my heart mind and soul
Why did I let this happen again?
Well I did say work had started. Will update when I get the next idea. Oh and don't try to phscho - analyise what I'm writing, I'm not saying this is true!!!
Robbie's Rant 1
Finallt got a subject I feel like a rant about.
Stupid drivers.
Every day I drive to work. Just before I get there I go along a dual carriageway to where there is a set of traffic lights with a filter that marks the enterance to my hospital.
Yesterday, a bus had broken down a little way behind me and there was a tailback on the other side of the carriageway. So I'm driving away from the tailback, thinking how luck I am to be going away from town rather than towards it, and see the lights are red on my filter, so I slow down and stop. I watch car after car stop at the lights until there is a gap on the other side so as to keep the enterance to the hospital clear incase the lights change. If you were one of these people thank you.
Unfortunatly, just as my filter changed to green (the lights are badly weighted but that's another rant) a big Gold car went past the red light in the outside lane (ie the one nearest me) and blocked my turn!
Now sometimes I have made similar mistakes by accident. In such circumstances I've tried to push in as close to the car infornt as possible to create room behind of reversed as far as I can. Where I'm stuck I've raised my hand to acknowledge my mistake and apologise. This driver did neither, he just sat there. He didn't save himself any time, his only achievement was delaying me by about two minutes.
I wonder how he'd like a skip to park outside his drive one day so his car can't move (evil cackle) sorry, unworthy thought
Anyway, rant over. Next rant, will be on the FIA, this one would have been, but this idiot gave me better ammunition.
un named song
Sio this is a song I wrote about a year ago which I came across while unpacking the last of my things last night. I hope you enjoy!!
I swore that i loved you
Said that I needed you
Swore you'd be mine
till the end of all time
You said that you loved me
swore that you needed me
Said you'd be mine
till the end of all time
So why are we packing our bags
Why are we saying our love has no chance
Tell me why?
Whay are we saying goodbye?
I admit that we've made some mistakes
I admit that I hurt you, admit that I cried
But I'm reallt not sure
Not sure about saying goodbye
[ My heart was yours when you first smiled at me
My heart is yours even after all this time
I can fool myself to believe I'll live without you
I can fool myself to believe I'll be fine
Can you fool yourself to believe you'll be fine?
I'm really not sure we should let our love die
I'm really not sure that I understand why
I'm really not sure that I want this to end ] rpt
So let us unpack our bags
remember the good times, forget the bad
Say you'll stay
Cos I don't want to say goodbye.
There you go. I hope you like it. Gotta go to work now.
Ode to Unborn
Good evening.
As I was sitting in my car on the way home I relised I had not put on this site much that I have actually written, then I started thinking about how little I've written lately. Both these issues are going to change.
To that end I am putting on a poem I have written for my Sister's unborn baby. I hope you like it.
Ode to unborn - by Robbie Craig
Sometimes the World will bring you down
Sometimes the light just can't be found
Sometimes you won't know
If you should stay or go
Sometimes the world will bring you down
But when it does just call my name
Call my name and I'll be there
Cos I will always Love you
I will always care
Just call my name and I'll be there
I want to dry your eyes when you cry
And hold you close to me
I want to make the world to shine again
Clear things uo with a gentle breeze
I don't ever want to see you hurt
I want to hear you Laugh
And I want you to know I'm there for you
through the good times and the bad
Sometimes the world is full of Joy
And hurt and Pain seem far away
The sun is shining
The birds are singing
Sometimes the world is full of Joy
That's the point of life my friend
When pain and joy go hand in hand
Sometimes you'll win
and some you'll lose
Cos that's the point of life my friend.
So that's it. an original poem by Robbie Craig, oh and Stephen, if you read this, could you try to put some music to it? I've failed dramatically!!
Goodnight all.
Spoken groove (2)
OK. So this isn't my words, Ok so it's not even set in my country, however, this song by spoken groove, who I still think are brilliant, sum up my feelings on red heads.
RED HEADS RULE!!!
Carrot top
She couldn’t have said anything worse
There were no lines she could have rehearsed
To bring greater damage to my heart that Sunday after church
I’d just been introduced to Rebecca
And made a comment about her nice red hair
When she dealt the blow that brings me here before you today
It’s still hard for me to say
“Oh yeah I guess you’re hair is sort of red”
I remember the first time anyone tried to make fun of my orangey red hair shining fair and bright in the summer afternoon, my six-year-old nose and cheeks covered with cute patches of freckles.
She called me carrot top. That little girl kept hurling it at me as if I possessed some sort of bulbous, grotesque deformity, or contagious disease or maybe she felt it her duty to be the one oh so snidely and funny and the enormity of her stunning discovery of like “oh my gosh my hair isn’t blond like how is that possible”
“Like for sure”
But I was ready…The six glorious years I had lived were rushing together in a culmination of that savoury moment of childhood satisfaction when I would hurl her down from her high an mighty pedestal of fun making. I may have looked sweet and innocent but I was completely prepared to anilate her in the warfare of pre pubesant verbal battle. I would rattle her brain with my ribald repost clothe her with shame for the mere thought that she was allowed to make witticisms about my God given birthright of beautiful red hair. I merely maid plain the obvious truth her little ignorant eyes had overlooked. “Ha, you’re stupid, carrot tops are green!”
And it was done. Her tongue lay helpless in the Texas dirt. I never saw her again but those words must have quickly spread to all humanity because no one ever dared call me Carrot top. From that point on I took up the red haired badge of courage, conducting the research on our history, collecting the wisdom of red haired sages of the past who persevered in the path of persecution, paranoia and abuse. I was the first to speak up at local rally’s, the last to leave protests demonstrations and sit in’s.
When we marched on Washington, hair burning a trail into the heart of America I was on the front line and every time I hear some kid in the mall point me out and say I look like shaggy do well I make sure I let them know that it’s not his lanky limbs, sgraggly goatee baggy clothes or the way his nose and throat keep his voice forever sounding like he’s like going like through like puberty man, that makes him cool zoink scoob, oh no, it’s that slight hint of redness in his hair.
Words within when trying to convey the depth of pain and hurt I’ve overcome in the struggle we all face to find quality, so when those words twisted their knife in Rebecca’s mouth to the soul of who I am, I felt the fury the rage the exploding rage of revenge that I wanted say like that summer day with another little girl so long ago, but I’ve learnt to grow past the wound and hope that she discovers soon that even though my hair isn’t as red as some it’s not about what’s on my head it wether my hair is red in my heart. Thank you.
