‘The day before the asteroid hit’ by Zoolon The news that some sicko coward morphed into the big man because he carried a gun into a synagogue and randomly killed loads of innocent people leaves us relatively normal people wondering ‘Why?’ I had this random thought about the ways certain humans try to justify carrying … Continue reading A COAT OF FEW COLOURS
‘Rainbows End’ by Zoolon Stella was addicted to breathing, so you can image how pissed off she was when the world ran out of fresh air. A few nights earlier, by candlelight, she had plugged in her Les Paul only to discover there was no power. No power = no music. She took a look … Continue reading STELLA & THE RAINBOW
‘Branch Lines’ by Zoolon This is all true. For reasons I won’t bore you with, at some stage most days I find myself visiting the local Post Office. It’s not a place that sparks creativity, that’s for sure. Quite the opposite. Generally I end up in a queue, often with a smelly person in front … Continue reading POLE DANCER OR WEIGHTLIFTER?
‘Sun Day, Sunday’ by Zoolon I’m taking a short break from blogging. A working break as I’ve a bespoke new business website project to sort and a mass of other things to do, so rather than just sit here dripping on about the pressure I’m under I figure I'd get it all done. I’ll be … Continue reading ONCE I WAS A UNICORN
‘The Allegory of The Night’ by Zoolon A new lyric about an important subject. It’s themed on the homeless crisis in the UK that’s getting worse every day. The song is near the recording stage, but for now here’s just the raw words - not a poem, I stress – I’m still playing around with. … Continue reading NO ROOMS, NO ROOF
‘The Bits the Bomb Left Behind’ by Zoolon I’m cursed with allergies to pollen and dust. I do all the right things, take Loratadine tablets, live in sunglasses 24/7, stuff Vaseline up my nose, encase all the bedding. Stuff like that. Nothing works. This time of the year when pollen levels are off the scale, … Continue reading STINGING NETTLES, BOMBS & A CAGE
When I discovered it in the fridge I thought, ‘Brilliant, it may look like it’s been in the hands of a sculptor whose polished it a bit, but it’s a proper French croissant and it’s mine all mine’. The first clue that it wasn’t a croissant came when I picked it up and it weighed … Continue reading AN AFTERMATH & A PHOBIA