Biography

I write words and music for Patchwork Rattlebag... #YouMakeTheConnections "...song-driven, psychedelic, electronic music that touches on themes ranging all the way from dogma to Dada." https://www.facebook.com/patchworkrattlebag

Samples

The Author’s Room and the Radio in Mine I return from the fringes of a dream Remember this universe Lie back down And wonder what the next universe will look like In the corner a prosaic but spectral voice Incants a lean philosophy Pragmatic for efficiency Self-assured in its conceptions Its versions loaded with malign satisfaction Static and therefore stagnant Conceited enlightenment There is only the finest veil separating the days from the nightmare The Author’s room was cluttered and in disarray He manoeuvred towards me unsteadily Looking as though he hadn’t slept for days ‘Where have you been?’ I enquired gently ‘Working sporadically, erratic without purpose Brooding on the synchronisation of birds in flight Measuring the thickness of the present As you imagine As you but… An image We traded a rib once And now you have taken it from me.’ Through the equiprobable spectral roar A phantom incants the daily crisis Can common sense exclude me If it is truly commonality? I imagined them in a back alley Kicking a blind tramp to death I saw the night but could not connect With the complacent damnation In the disembodied voices ‘Any sane… Any right thinking…’ I did not speak I wanted to tell them That I had seen the orange moon loom above a pasture And wondered what the stars were But I could not ask Because they would have answered There is only the finest veil separating my nightmare from my days ‘The world ends when sequence ends Just as it began with it …You know that.’ He seemed distracted, disconnected ‘Alpha, omega, et cetera, et cetera …I’m bored.’ ‘But they seem so…’ I began ‘Remember perspective! 120° binocular vision What is common sense divided by seven billion? Where was common sense in the Planck Epoch? Common sense in the Sombrero Galaxy? And when was I? We traded in ribs once Your image.’ I could not convince myself it was a dream When had I been sleeping? The Author’s room… ‘Just because you… Just because it isn’t you… Doesn’t mean… I mean… It does not prove what is out there To cite disproof of you.’ And when he answered he seemed wild; Hunted… And after all that I had said I felt an affinity; Was ashamed of my presumptions ‘This is a poor incarnation Many times I have been awesome, awful If you would have seen me your eyes would have been reduced to ash All would coalesce into incandescence and abject terror.’ Desperate… ‘Is it all you?’ ‘It all started in the same place At least that’s what they say Doesn’t that make it all the same?’ ‘All you?’ ‘Maybe, or all you … I don’t know!’ He retorted with disdain ‘Ask your radio It sounds like they know! I am an image As you… but an image You gave me a rib once I gave you a rib once And that fucking radio a rib once And now it just doesn’t seem so important.’ © John Lowndes 2014 This poem was published in tHE zEEN, Issue 10, April 2014. http://www.thezeen.com

All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.

Blog entries by John Lowndes

On the Nature of Inspiration II (14/09/2015)

On the Nature of Inspiration III (14/09/2015)

Second Song (14/09/2015)

Joyce's Umbrella (14/09/2015)

Individuality, Categories 1-7 (30/11/2012)

Reflections of an Overfed Man (30/11/2012)

Forms to Frame It (30/11/2012)

She said "I am a Vessel" (30/11/2012)

Blog link: https://www.writeoutloud.net/blogs/johnlowndes

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