The Ghetto Defendants

This is the band I was playing in before I left the UK. We were great.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UuW47P_kjNs

Left At The Coast

What would’ve happened if we’d stayed in bed?
Would I be worrying about the things we’d said?
Would I be lying as I stroked your head?
The garden path seems an attractive place to be led.

Did you climb inside my head that night?
And weave a web while I just stood and sighed.
Reformed indifference seems mighty high,
Were we to be or did my mind unwind?

And travel to near awkward clouds and doubt,

The things I knew once to be flummoxed above,

And look down as if I’m not laid on the ground,

Wish somebody else manned the decks that morning.

Now I see me as an inferior being to thou,

Raise my glass to it, how;

I considered the boast to be left at the coast

A worthy remark to confide in my host

Were we too different to be kept alike?
Too far engrossed to see the tide’s in sight.
To fit new motors leaves me tired and blind,
And vision’s what keeps this flame alive.

To torch it all may seem the right thing to do,
Avoid the premise we both lingered to.
I hope the boats know which way to go,
Awoke to see that leaving time is slow.

But nobody’s calling them this way or that,

Encouraged by stars to evoke all the rats,

That ruined my brain, let my ships sail off course,

And encounter a truth-telling force.

And now I’m left talking in singular prose,

A crucified garment, no use for these woes;

I considered the boast to be left at the coast,

A worthy remark to confide in my host,

I considered the boast to be left at the coast,

A worthy remark to confide in my host.

Dining Alone

I can’t confess

I’m not missing the breath,

That seems in time with the rate and the depth,

That lends me to,

A whole new wavelength.

I’d not invest all the thoughts we had sketched,

I’d edge my best to prolong interest.

It’s strange, people tend to

Absorb the vice they’ve lent to.

I’d second guess,

all you were was impressed.

I’d test my best, it was all in jest,

And I’ve stretched the lines out

Until tomorrow’s sun’s down.

They span the globe like a tarnished rope.

Each spoke elopes, replaced with hope,

That has little input,

Await the group to be cut.

We’re dining alone

We don’t know house from home

We’re dining alone

Would it be criminal to call your phone?

It’s not depressed,

it’s these thoughts I have blessed.

And even best I’ve let them win contests,

To claim the throne

Inside the nubile home.

Could not believe I could fell like this.

I sigh relief, a century’s too brief,

To see fighting,

Amongst red wine lightning.

Killer Fatigue

If you could see it, you’d know, that there’s nothing here but turbulence.
To see it would show all you know to be ill influenced,
Believe it could grow to a pattern that is lacking all scope.

Yes you received it in votes; they knew not of your incompetence,
Your competence flowed, like an ancient robe in ancient Greece.
You knew not to show, yes you knew what not to show.

-But if you see through a glass heart, is that a good start?

-But if you see through a glass heart, is that a good start?

Time has not proved, that there’s painlessness in ignorance
To coin it in 2 vein fractions would not make much sense
If timeless is loose, let me loose, but let me not lose the love we used.

Could be assigned to the fact, that you’re back but don’t know where you’re at.
If I’d let you in, could we still record each other’s sins, as pacts from within.
Would we spin and head off into routes we both should choose?

-But if you see through a glass heart, is that a good start?

-But if you see through a glass heart, is that a good start?

Killer fatigue in your lips as you talk,

And the words, they go trailing to parts we don’t walk to,

I'm too far in front to position myself back,

And back then I never knew hearts could make impact.

Killer fatigue in your lips as you talk,
And the words, they go trailing to parts we don’t walk to,
I'm too far in front to position myself back,
And back then I never knew hearts could make impact.

Funny, You Never Looked Like Trouble

Never has a glass been broken,

Or a promise gone unspoken.

I’d claim heather was the means that you’d use to nail termites,

But in hindsight,That method’s not proved.

To lay ley-lines,

upon a fine mind,

To great impressions of a leisure that’s loose.

Finders keep greater measurements of telegraphed news,

And all that sweeps is the flee to the streets.

-------------------------------

Roping two together bounds both unfit,

To claim an independent debt to resist.

And plying lines to find the pieces stored in time’s imbalanced,

Both structural and divine.

As rating dates,

relays self-hate,

Upon a calendar ear-marked for debate.

To time the distance speed sped up my life has fractions way off line,

Now we’re trailing off to somewhere sublime

.-----------------------------------

Candy-coated visions lets me plot how the clot thickens,

While the rock that you destroyed’s hit the void.

We’ll let chaos be the force you can source when you’re in bother,

But never bother to upset the herd.

--------------

The day beckons,

it’s our lesson,

To put the precious thoughts to one side,

And I reckon,

if you listen,

You’ll hear the screams of a safe future denied.

All Bow Down To The Leader Of The Great Depression

Oh don’t tell me your woes,
And I won’t talk it in prose.
We know more than we oughtta say.
Say we’re safe in the rhyme,
And there’s good within time.
Stay embraced to this worthy game.

I don’t think I thought about all the side-steps that resign me.

I’m not faking automatic loss and that just confines me.

Instead, we’re letting language lose all my lines that evade me.

I’m not crying out for duties passed out to reconcile me.

Pray there’s sweetness denied,
That didn’t peater behind.
We laid down all we thought was true.
And encased in the pride,
Is a feature retired,
I can’t picture that feature fried.

I’m fresh, preciously cornered off to all those who love me.

We’re less, than what we thought, and I guess that re-crowns me.

We’ll sell nothing more than what we owe, which flounders so greatly.

We’re lost in the dark without a clue of what it is that we’re craving.

I’m fresh off the breath off the tide that continues so slowly.

I got a villain inside that’s denied, he can’t hide he’s so lonely.

He’s gotta rip from the curse that it’s worse if he’s answering to me.

I gotta replay the source of the course that allows him to break free.

Time won’t lend me a hand,
Needs all 3 to break plans.
Leisurely lunging dance to dance.
Can we incite a dial?
To play dead when we smile.
Can we capture each playful mile?

And I bet all the sweat off your collars’ a reason to know me.

I’d say “lord, what a law that allows 1 to boost up to 30”

Numeracy’s a joke that I toast when a metaphor’s beyond me.

I can rely upon time to bounce back and to bite where it hurts me.

Impressed by the stress from the force that you favour so greatly.

I’m in debt to the nerve that absorbs all your talents intensely.

And the threat that allures is in terms both reversed for you and me.

I won’t climb up a wall that you toiled with and layered with soiled leaves.

I’m expected to style all your cavalry tiny sly insults.

There’s a term to describe how you find what’s in mind when your plan halts.

But no words are discussed, it’s unjust, just positioning new holes.

For the pigeons to mould and take hold of and envision you new goals.

The LogicAL Radio Competition

The LogicAL Radio Competition idea came about through a misconception of some kind of raffle, where a prize was won, not really that bothered about, brought up in a reference to left-out music of the eighties, that was somehow linking back to a tale of a mixtape, or a meeting, or some kind of detail. In it's truest sense, the LogicAL Radio Competition was actually unheard of, in absurd manifestos it was claimed it was put out just to test someone how many times they had to type competition, or say competition. Last checking it was neither, or neither, however you say it.

The LogicAL Radio Competition commences with......
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r4yFWBbG_ZA
Ace Dennis Wilson song and a slideshow to aid enjoyment.....

Set The Controls For The Heart Of The 5th floor.

So here I am, but in all other rational elements, where else would I be? I wouldn't be there with you as you read this, otherwise I could just tell you what I'm gonna write, and there would be no point to me setting up this blog.

So, here is Barcelona. I'm about to study a TEFL course and begin teaching out here. I've been here since Tuesday. I've done the typical Englishman abroad thing and got burnt within days. I've bought soft cheese thinking it was hard cheese. I've got confused by the lift in my block of flats and just given up and walked the 5 storeys, numerous times, but am now super-familiar with the heavy duty doors and their new found relationship with my aggressive right foot swinging towards them. I've found myself frustrated at tourists even though I've only been here a few days. I've found my ears still prick up every time I hear English being spoken. The first occasion nearly resulted in me saying "Oh....you are English too. We can be friends surely", and the best was hearing some Landaners talking about "bettin' on de 'orses". That one made me walk a bit faster.

I've found a record shop which has nearly become my second home, and I think I'm already annoying the owners by just flicking through the vinyl, getting excited at obscure Krautrock (wow....Future Days....on vinyl??...holy cow!! Ege Bamyasi too!!) and LP's consisting of psychedelic versions of 'Beat Classics like you've never heard them before'. My only slightly redeeming moment was holding a Julian Cope record and considering saying to the owner..."I know him....He knows me"... Even in moments of inane desperation, I remembered I'm quite a cool person, and this would not be cool at all. Quite worryingly I nearly spent 40 euros on vinyl, knowing full well I have no turntable in my flat....and everything in the world is now on Spotify anyway.

Musically, I've been immersing myself in the improvisational stroke of genius that is Keith Jarrett's Koln concert. Around 40 minutes of gushing piano intricities and the fella groaning at his own beautiful mayhem as he creates it. That, and quite bizarrely, the work of Frank Turner. I toured with this guy a few years ago and generally consider him to be an egotistical arse, but a damn good songwriter he is. This song especially...

This Town Ain't Big Enough For The One Of Me

A free house, a sound-system and a fridge full of beer;I've known how this story ends for a good few years.The night lays out before my eyes, there's no new faces, no surprises.This town is growing old with me, so I'm making a move.

Everybody round here's been out with everybody else,Which makes talking to girls hazardous to my health.They've been in this genepool so long they've got wrinkled toes;I don't want all her exes to be people I know.There's millions more fish in the sea, so I'm making a move.

I'm bored of this town, bored of this scene, bored of these people, yeah.I'm an expert at pretending that everything is OK,But I'm just a kid and it seems as if I've signed my life away.I need to get out and see what the rest of the world is about.This town ain't big enough for the one of me, I'm making a move.

Every guy with long hair round here is a star,According to his girlfriend and the way that he holds his guitar.If anyone gets out they stick in the knife, I don't want to get stuck here for the rest of my life.I'm sick of these fuckers, I'm moving on.

I still want to be buried here, just like I said, but I'd prefer it if you'd wait until I'm actually dead.It's easy to get caught inside a town that seems to have a hive-mind,But I'm packing up and moving on,When I move out from my parents' house I'm gone, yeah fuck you guys I'm gone.

This town ain't big enough for the one of me,So why don't you get from in front of me?We're all going to move to london anyway, so I'll see you in town.

-------Very nice huh? I guess that's where my mind was at on leaving Swindon. I'm off to my balcony terrace to smoke a cigarette and listen to Mr Jarrett freaking out on the ivories. Alright alright.