Editor Christopher Writes – #PoemADayForAYear: 01/03/15

For the first time in a long, I am writing with The Virgin Suicides EP by Air on. This is my writing album. Should be a good one tonight. So, some things that happened this week.

The Brits. This is something that I have been plagued with at work for the past few weeks. Radio One have been all excited because some people who do some singing and stuff are turning up at a place for people to tell them how good they are when, in actuality, they are underwhelming. The big thing Radio One focussed on was the British Breakthrough act, voted for by the public. They did a Live Lounge with each of the five nominees. I was surprised by how much I liked a few of them. George Ezra has a wonderfully incongruent voice. I could listen to his voice all day. I would love to be able to pay him to cover some of my favourite songs. Metallica’s ‘Don’t Tread On Me’ would be phenomenal. Royal Blood, to say there are just two of them, are loud and brash and brilliant. I do not really hold with music that isn’t made with real instruments but Chvrches are fantastic. An electro dream. FKA Twigs has a silly name but a great voice. The one who won, Sam Smith, I don’t really have anything to say about him. Nothing seems to stand out with him. I know I am coming into this modern music scene a little late but I do not see what stood out about him. His voice isn’t distinctive. His music doesn’t say anything. He’s just a thing in a place. Ah well. That’s the general voting public for you. Bland. No wonder we never elect the right man to run the country.

All of this was overshadowed by The Fallen Madonna. There has been a lot of sexist and ageist remarks about this. Yes, she very well may have broken a hip in the fall, it was a bad one. She may have broken other things in the fall too. To be honest, I know it happened, I don’t know much about what happened after. to focus in on the hip though is ageist. the real thing to focus in on though is this: she’s a clumsy dick head who was paying more attention to strutting around like a peacock than adhering to basic health and safety. There was go. That could be said about anyone. No prejudice involved. She fell over. That’s it. I fell over a few months ago. I slipped in the kitchen on some water that had leaked from the washing machine. I went really high up in the air and fell with negative aplomb. Where’s my f**king meme with Gerard Butler screaming in my face? Is it because I’m not Madonna? Who’s the sexist now?

Yesterday, Keri and I spent the afternoon watching documentaries about life on other planets. There was one revolved around something called The Drake Equation. It has close-ups of Ian Drake writing it out with mathematical symbols of a sort all relating to different conditions that would make life in other solar systems viable. They were all made up. I didn’t see one single ‘x’ or pi symbol in there. What’s the point of us learning that s**t in school if it has no application in the real world, in real jobs. It doesn’t even have an application to jobs where’s maths is f**king used?! Then Drake started ‘plugging data’ into his equation. He was just making it all up. Plucking numbers out of the air. ‘Best guesses’. Woah now, Drakey-Boy. You’re a scientist. We rely on people like you to tell us how stuff works. Not just make it all up. Any silly b**tard could do that. Give me a job looking at space all day. I can make numbers up too. I’m more than qualified to do that. How many planets in the universe could harbour life? 10 to the nth balloon. There we go. Job done. Funding for research now please.

Here is a poem.

There are as many atoms

in the human body as there

are stars in the sky.

As many tears

on this blue-green orb,

a wave of fondness that for

83 years, the world was brighter.

As many specks of dirt may

cover your coffin and bury your body

but your effervescence can

not be dimmed by any amount

of particles, densely packed together.

As many smiles from people who’s

life you altered, made warmer

and lighter by your energy.

As much energy in 83 years

as one man can radiate.

As many perfect moments

from those who’s life you touched,

preserved in memory’s garden.

Tonight, that many stars, bound

and jostling for position in celestial battle,

will put aside their differences to make room

for one more supernova.

Live long, sweet star, and prosper.

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