I've just added two new Melted Rubber Humans songs, Out Of Primeval Chaos We Are Reborn & The Tribes Will Rise Up Again to our new VIRB site, which is at http://www.virb.com/melted_rubber_humans_3 

Also, I've just completed a huge re-vamp of the art pages on my website, uploading several hundred artworks that haven't been available before.  You can see these at http://www.rimbaud.org.uk/artmainpage.html

The wind, you say, does not whisper in your ears,

does not confound with conundrums, nor exalt,

rather it chafes, rubbing rough channels

of bruise coloured, brittle ice

down through the ductus cochlearis

into the lightless kernel of your being.

 

Of course we have no soul, you divine:

a mind, maybe; consciousness, barely.

We are a race of grinning golems

sleepwalking towards our own extinction.

There is no animate spirit,

just the dull raging

of imbecile instincts.

We are born, we struggle to survive

and then we die. 

We assume and consume,

in a desperate, blind rush

through the corridors of loneliness

to the grab sale of empty promises,

sating ourselves with pathetic comforts

that are scant protection,

for in the end

the thin darkness

will still consume us,

as it must.

 

Ah, but the wind does whisper in your ears,

it insinuates itself into your soft core,

through the staunch castle walls

of your meticulous cynicism.

           

How do I know this?

 

Well I too have been touched by the wind,

in the deepest, most secret of places;

with the sultry syllables of her sibilant fingers

she stoked up an inferno

of absolute uncertainty.

 

Listen to me, she commands,

can you hear her?

 

Listen to me...

open your legs and beg me to enter in,

for together we will bleed as one,

together will be poetry,

an infinite verse

that traverses the universe,

singing like the Rosenbergs in Sing Sing,

like a Stradivarius violin,

snapping to the beat of violence,

to the absurd silence that commences

when the words end,

when the rhythm finally moves through you

like a monk walking through boiling waters

wearing only feathers for clothes

and dreaming of wings.

 

So let me confound you with conundrums,

let me exalt you, like an angel of melting ice,

let me excite you, let me entice you,

for I will swim through the lightless channels

of your stoppered up ears

and my whispers will grow fierce,

throwing up a tumult

that will ignite the smouldering embers

in your no longer lost or lonely soul.

Check it out:

A good place to post your music or, if you don't make music, you can form a virtual record label, gather bands to your label. Either way, you build up points and then you can take part in auctions to win prizes - everything from a set of guitar picks all the way up to fancy electronic goodies like iPods or even studio time with a world reknowned producer.

 I've written a new tune, "In The End, Just Radio Waves And Static", which you can hear on Garage Band, here.  It's a post-apocalyptic vision.  A hopefully not psychic vision of our future, but something born of a cold, small fear.  Something born of watching too many You Tube videos about the prophecies of Mother Shipton, Nostradamus and John the Apostle. 

 

I'm not frightened of dying exactly.  I had that fear dampened down in September 2001, when I nearly bit the big one, with a brain haemorrhage.  I saw "death", and it was not nearly so big and terrifying as one has been led to imagine.  I also saw the seeds of our planet's death, as I lay in my hospital bed, with that second plane hitting and hitting and hitting the second twin tower, in constant action replay.  Even in my fevered state, I knew a bunch of mad mullahs could not orchestrate an attack of that magnitude against the most powerful, most well-defended nation of this planet.  Sadly, my first fevered thoughts proved to be vindicated.

 

Maybe we all deserve to die, for letting these murderers and psychopaths take control of our lives.  Maybe we are just not evolved enough to be able to peacefully co-operate and co-exist.  It seems painfully inevitable that we will eventually wipe ourselves out.  If it isn't with weapons of mass destruction - as stockpiled mainly by Saddam Hussein's accusers - then it will certainly be because of the climatic (and maybe even seismic) havoc we are reaping, as we rape and despoil our planet.

 

In some ways, I might have welcomed this collective self-destruction - after all, it is the pettiness of our skin, the blindness of our belief in our individuality, our isolation, each from each other, that causes such untold misery.  In death, we will all be brought back to our true form, which is spirit, not flesh.  Spirit recognises no boundaries.  Spirit has no divisions.  It cannot go to war with itself.  It cannot steal from itself.  It cannot neglect a part of itself.  It cannot inflict pain upon itself.  And yet, that is exactly what Spirit does, while encased in these separate bodies of flesh.  So yes, part of me would have welcomed our collective death.  Except....

 

Except that same month, September 2001, I became a father.  I became blinded by the little parcel of flesh that I had helped to co-create.  I became blinded by bio-chemical love, as all procreators do.  I became jailed by the illusion of flesh.  Like all fathers, like all mothers, I see myself as a guardian.  I guard the little life that is my daughter's, just as preciously as any other parent.  I may even kill to protect her, if push came to shove.  I may even lay down my own life for her.  So sucked in have I become to that bio-chemical illusion.

 

Yes, I see the bigger picture.  Yes, this is all illusion.  But what a beautiful illusion it can be; and I want my wee daughter to enjoy her allotted span of three score years and ten (and hopefully many more) before she shuffles of her mortal coil and joins the amorphous otherness of Spirit again.  I want to shake George Bush, Dick Cheney and Donald Rumsfeld.  I want to sake Gordon Brown, Tony Blair and Alasdair Darling.  I want to shake the slimy, cold bodies of every politician from Downing Street to Darfur, from Beijing to Washington, from Stockholm to Sao Paulo.  I want to shake them until some dormant part of their brain wakes up and they realise the consequences of their actions (and their inactions).  Like me, most of them have children.  Many of them will have grandchildren too.  And surely - even though their blood is colder, their hearts more calculating than the rest of us - they must at least love their own offspring.  They must surely want them to thrive, even if they don't give a rat's as about the rest of us.  Sure, they do deals with multinational corporations and line their own pockets, to ensure that their offspring inherit their wealth and power.  But what use will wealth and power be in a world that is no longer inhabitable?  I'm guessing that all those politicians and big business people just live day-to-day, that they truly are blind to the consequences of their actions, because I cannot believe that they would willingly sacrifice the happiness and well-being of their children for the sake of a quick buck.  Cold-hearted as they are, I cannot believe they are that cold-hearted!

 

It is with these thoughts rattling round my head, rattling round my heart, that I compose my latest tunes.  It is also these thoughts that drive the words I put down in poetry.  The poem below goes with the tune I mentioned above.  Click on the link and listen while you read, if you want to get the feeling in its totality.

 

 

 

In The End, Just Radio Waves And Static

 

What will we be in the end, but radio waves and static,

chaotic patterns of interference, perhaps detected,

but not understood, many years after

we have finally extinguished ourselves.

 

Maybe, high-powered telescopes will be trained

upon the dim star we once worshiped, long before

we were sophisticated enough

to bring about our own destruction.

 

Maybe those far off others

will be sufficiently technologically advanced

to be able to detect the cold mass

that was the planet we used to inhabit.

 

What will they suppose

when they hear the static encrusted voices

that once belonged to our leaders?

 

Will they try to decipher meaning

from those alien voices

that hiss and crackle through their atmosphere?

 

Will they speculate upon the reasons

for our demise,

or nod knowingly, sadly, sagely -

glad they had the luck to be so far away?


(You can hear more songs from The Melted Rubber Humans latest album, "Tunes To Play As The World Goes Up In Flames" at www.virb.com/melted_rubber_humans_2 )

 

                                                           

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

You can hear a few Melted Rubber Humans tunes by clicking on banner above

Six new drawings. £100 each. Email me at dee@thunderburst.co.uk if you are interested. See more at www.rimbaud.org.uk/artmainpage.html

 One of my projects is to select and edit from 50+ hours of family video footage, the best moments of my daughter, Rosie Sunshine's life.  To date, I have produced 177 clips, all of which have been posted up at http://uk.youtube.com/user/rosiesunshine2001

It's an ongoing project that will take some time.  So, I do it in fits and starts.  The latest edited videos have been pasted in below.