LIFESACLOWN

Life's a clown,
With an insecure personality,
Driving feelings home.
Life's a clown.
With a painted smile,
to disguise the frown.
Life's a cliche,
Life's a clown.

Life's a clown.
With an unobscure personality,
Mascara tears roll down.
Life's a clown.
Like a trapese artist,
That falls into town.
Life's a cliche,
Life's a clown.

Life's a clown,
With a juggler that fails,
And a crowd that you can't save.
Life's a clown.
When the lion bites your head off,
Life's a clown.
Like a big top, in a big tent,
Life's a cliche,
Life's a clown.

The Lights In This Ward

Don't die,
Will my one request count?
When the radio plays,
Are we the hospital ward?

I'm compelled to plead,
And applaud.
I'll applaud,
When the tomb goes into
the ground.

I'm eighty-seven years old,
And she moved me.
I'll meet her on the other side.

I feel bad,
That turning on my side,
Is harsh to the point,
That I hurt what I had.

No-one visits anymore,
Except my grandkids.
Are they're all out chasing girls,
As the lights in this ward turn off.

Good luck to them.
It's what I'd do,
If I I had the heart left.

And I really hope one of them
finds the girl of his dreams.
And tears himself away,
When it comes to my funeral,
next Thursday.

I really hope one of them
tears himself away
from my funeral
next Thursday.

Cry To Search

Please don't hurt me,
I only want to die in peace.
I'm sorry if that girl walked by,
And I moved,
I'm lonesome if I loved.

Please, don't cry now,
I only want to cry in peace,
I'm lonesome if that girl smiled, ah!
And I looked.

I'm sorry that I cared,
And I cry now.

And she goes to church,
And prays for the love
Her God can't give her.

And I only want to die in peace.
I'm sorry if that girl walked by
And I moved,
I'm lonesome if I loved.
Please, don't cry now.

I only want to cry in peace,
I only lived,
To look out for her.

Ignorance

I like a blank canvas,
It means I can paint a heartache.
And it means I don't know
what a painting means.
I'm a blank canvas.
I have no idea,
What a painting means.

Put Me Off

Never mind shuffling,
I'm only trying to help.
And all that ruffling,
Puts me off.
Sorry for the show,
I'm a sideshow,
I'm no-one,
Singing now.
I care so much,
the keys unlock the doors.
They put me off.

Never mind shuffling,
I'm only trying to help.
And all that ruffling,
Puts me off.
Sorry for the show,
I'm a sideshow,
I'm no-one,
Singing now.
I care so much,
the keys unlock the doors.
They put me off.

Only Love's Headstone

Empty bottles then
the letterbox rattles
and you leave the mail unread,
then pull the pillows back
over your head.
Pour a drink at 10am,
switch the news on and
pretend you care
about current affairs,
Then go back to bed.
Listen to the rain seeping
from the walls,
And the ghosts
creeping up the stairs.
Down the dregs
of last night's drinks,
and vaguely recall
the messages you sent,
when you were too hell-bent
On saying nothing at all.
Put on some smart clothes,
And feel OK.
Think about "that",
then put those thoughts away.
Drink some beer,
And drink some more,
And drink some whisky
before kicking around empty bottles.
Then kicking around the graveyard,
Then collapsing,
With your arms draped over,
Your only love's headstone.

And you cry, and wail
Till the lights come on
In the neighbourhood,
And everyone hears you,
but her.

Flowers at the end of the bar

There are flowers at the end of the bar where you once were. Not in memoriam, just as a matter of fact. You are not missed by them, but I am left with an aching wound the size of your heart. The loss you left me is the worst and only gift you ever gave, but I treasure it as shared disappointment we both feel at the end of these things. The liquor doesn't numb the pain, nor do I want it to, every drop of sorrow in my endless tumbler is a part of you that remains. Here in this bar you are alive in me, at home in the cold my frailty shatters with a harsh reality that I am scared to confront. What I lost in you should teach me, carve routes to my heart. But I shiver with dread that the way is lost, that I'm alone in the dark.

Memories

Don't leave or smile,
Stay clear, in the fog.
No sudden movements,
Or my hopes may die.

Don't cry or fade,
Stay here, in the pool.
No sailing homewards,
Waving goodbye.

Stay just as you are,
In your red dress,
In the green field,
Under blue skies,
With the smoke tumbling,
From the power station,
In the background,
And the breeze,
Moving your black hair,
Over your brown eyes.

Wait, so I might hear,
The amber bugs
Whirring in the heat,
In the blue skies,
With the fog forming,
From the power station,
in the foreground,
And not your smile fading,
In the background,
Moving your brown eyes,
And letting them close.

Don't disappear,
Stay here, in my mind,
Do not disturb, please -
I am alive, for once.

Don't leave or smile,
Stay clear, in the fog.
One sudden movement,
And my bones will die.

Blue Monday

This is no way of introducing myself, but important things need pushing in front of pleasantries. It has come to light that the world has seen the last of Daniel Stairmaster. A complex man, equally uncomfortable with people or by himself, Daniel sought refuge in an online version of a world he could never understand, but through his own oblique prose he tried to meld together what little he had deduced from years of literary abuse and over stimulation of the temporal lobe. From what boffins have been able to sift from the wreckage that was his abode they tell me the final straw was the announcement of a forthcoming remake of 80's movie The Karate Kid, Daniel Stairmaster willingly contracted the Marburg Virus and was last seem heading into a forest near Varna.
One of his last actions was to delete all of his work from his computer using a Duncan Fearnley Cricket Bat, but one piece of work remains, I shall post it here in memory of a man most described as "the dude with the moon in his stare".
I am Chainz and this is the end of Daniel Stairmaster


"We are born alone, surrounded by strangers we must learn to know, united by blood and need. We die alone, surrounded by faces familiar to the person we were before those final moments swept up in a moment only the departed can empathise with.
Few travel the worn road between those two bookends in a similar state of seclusion, enforced accompaniment from relatives, the loved and the loathed providing punctuation to a story where the end is known from the beginning.
Is willingly shunning the cosy predictability offered by these seemingly obvious truths a prolonged suicide? A drawn out procession for a funeral with no tears? A fear of connection, a fear of loss, a fear of fear itself. Or is it a disappointment of such a short time and such underwhelming use of a world full of possibilities waiting to be moulded by a visionary to see beyond the life we are bound to. Are we animal? A sole purpose of procreation and defecation satisfying the question of why we must be?
Or do the wheels of evolution keep turning on our own roads? Is the circle of life meant to spiral: forever changing on, moving away from a start to an inconceivable end drawn by painters with colours we have yet to imagine and shapes we see only in dreams.
The curse of such a way of living is in the lack of understanding from the world around you. Too cosy in their animated journey to the grave and too desperate to confine the world in visions familiar to themselves, the unseeing turn on the quiet revolutionaries stacking them in boxes meant to hack off their creative branches before they blossom, not for fear of the change they could engender, but fear from ignorance, fear turned to mocking and whispered abuse, they are seen by everyone, but not for who they are but for what they aren’t."

Hope Springs Eternal

I wouldn't want you to find me in summer,
Hiding from the sun,
Laughing at the rain,
I wouldn't want you to find me.

I wouldn't want you to find me in autumn,
Marching through the leaves,
Crying in the dew,
I wouldn't want you to find me.

I wouldn't want you to find me in winter,
Hiding from the blizzard,
And hiding from you.
I wouldn't want you to find me.

I wouldn't want you to find me,
Spilling my emotions,
And writing back home,
I wouldn't want you to find me.

I'm breathing in the mustard gas
praying hope springs eternal.
Whatever that means,
I wouldn't want you to find me.

But Surely We Go On

This parting day we spend, too few hours left to make ammends.
Is it down to us, or is there a bigger picture we cannot obstruct.
The finale fall behind a black velvet curtain ushered into a backstage of uncertainty.
Last orders at the var for a party I wasn't invited to nor barred from.
Time doesn't care if I wanted more, it hurtled past my victories and lingered on my ignominies.
I can't help but feel I should have been around more, it's a huge world outsie of my cautinary walls.
Tell everyone we knew, the old and the new. That my reason for living was always...
You.

The Black Forest

The traditional escapes my irrational leaving me with a pocketful ofsupposed places I should be that I will never be because of the real me not the public me that everyone thinks they see on a normal day the everyday I act the wrong way that turns you and them off me but I cannot help you see the way I want to imagine I be. I am Daniel Stairmaster and I regret the nothing that makes up my everything.

Long Live Tumbleweed Memories, the home of the free.

It has been a pleasure.

翻訳で失われる

Là nous étions encore,
la nuit dernière Lisant différentes pages du même livre
vôtre dans le latin, mine dans Lorediakarkar -
ou au moins nous avons pu aussi bien avoir été,
Et I ne faites pas comprennent.

Là nous nous étendons encore,
la nuit dernière Rêvant différentes étapes du même jeu
vôtre dans le latin, mine dans Lorediakarkar -
ou au moins nous avons pu aussi bien avoir été,
Et I ne faites pas comprennent.

Toujours, nous nous sommes réveillés encore,
aujourd'hui différentes réponses de recherche dans la même langue,
vôtre de la raison, mine par mon action d'éviter.
Vôtre dans le latin, mine dans Lorediakarkar,
Et I ne faites pas comprennent.

Silver Girl

I love you,
And when I die,
You can tell them all
I typed these words -
Do what you will.
It's not as though
You're gold.

New York, My Love

Central Park runners,
March in the air,
March.
Sleeping in and the rain coming through,
Bars with The Strokes playing loud and late,
Away from Times Square,
And dark enough to feel aware.
Times Square
Feeling scared.
Yellow cabs,
And flea markets in Hells Kitchen
Funny accents and figurines
By the fast-food stalls
Harlem and the subway
And the blues
Penn and Washington Square,
And Alphabet Street,
And grid systems and
Beatniks and balladeers,
Embracing pianos at the Sheraton
I never dreamed my senses
Would ever meet.

Eyelashes freezing,
And tears burning.
Hands pleading
And everyone giving and
New York City receiving.

Dollar tips in the Al Gonquin,
And the Met,
And the people we met,
And those we haven't met yet.
Jazz in the Manhattan air,
And hip-hop in Harlem
And the mad-haired kid we played "soccer" with
In the park
Where the rollerskaters rule.
Little Italy where we played it cool
(and we played it cool).
New York, My Love,
Until the next time.
Don't forget me,
It's not like I'll forget you.
You're only everything
After all.

Windmills

Sometime-actors wave their arms in front of me,
Accentuating dramas with the weaving of their words,
I'll sit upon the sidewalk and observe,
Until such times as I'm in awe of them,
Reminding me I'm still in love with you.

Sometime-lovers wave their wares before my thoughts,
Apologising lately for the passing of our hearts,
I'll sit upon the sidewalk and observe.
But mannerisms move behind my cares,
Reminding me I'm still in love with you.

Sometimes, windmills turn their sails before my eyes,
Accumulating pictures from the patterns in the air,
I'll sit upon the sidewalk and observe,
While writers craft their postcards of the past,
Reminding me I'm still in love with you.

Daniel Stairmaster's Final Thoughts

Just a question loyal readers, which is worse, the death of the flesh, or the death of the mind? Think on as you stumble through the gutter of 2009

Last Years Goodbyes

But it was December, snow and catechism, end into beginning, twilight yearning and frozen morning. It was possible you were right, that I was eleven months of Sunday with no respite. I can't help living a life of remorse, but your disappointment in me doesn't make me feel worse. As December fades my frailties linger, the changed locks, reversed clocks, the mourning country singer. You listened to everyday except to me, but what did it matter with nothing to say. When I look back I think of the good and the bad, the ugly was in my head, or was it in what was said, or was it how you saw saw my mind, how I pawned a life that had greatness in the palms of it's grave. The Spruce's leaf, the season's remember, that when you left me, it was December.

New Year and all is unwell

I have tired of a little too much conversation, sated my appetite for spewing syllables to mask the silence that enshrouds our lies. Too much that matters needs mentioning, but I would rather stare into the future and reinvent the past than tell you it is we who cannot last. The tedium drags me to a realisation that I am not meant to know, that I am not meant to love, that I am not meant to show myself to a world to dead to earn my concern, to learn what it means to yearn for a life we should want from birth. The problems of two mean so much to you and little to them in a world of clashes between war crazy men. I cannot calm down, I cannot adjust, to a place without thought, a life without lust. I sacrifice myself to a life undone by a love for you that will never be more true because of who you are to me and who I was to you.

The World Won't Save You

Goodbye, troubled girl,
Don't look back from your path,
I remember you from a video, back in days when
The tape would twist in the machine.

I watched that recording the day before last,
You were laughing at the moment the tape stuck fast.

Farewell, former love,
Don't cry now - I'm in the past.
But I'll allow that smile to make me cry, on the TV screen,
This last time.

I remember me from a memory, back in days when,
Your smile would murder my heart.

I recalled that moment the day before last,
Where I lied as I wished you well,
And I watched the tape burning, singing:

So long, broken girl,
Don't look back,
Don't weep for the loser that cared.
For he never really did stop caring -
He just chose to take care of himself.