Archive for the Music Category

Digital I

Posted in Music, Writing with tags , , on 17/11/2017 by GeoSolus

Jacked in little junkie
You’ve got the smarts
And smell a little funky
But no one cares

They like your shit anyway

Electro smack head
Roaming the streets
Looking for an ass to embed
Who cares?

They’ll eat your shit anyway

These digital eyes
Browse the digital lies
With a hand to the crotch
And a lot of hate for the wise

And here I sit and wonder
Waiting for a bus
To throw you under
’cause no one cares

You ain’t worth shit anyway

Just take a stand
Follow the agenda
Wait for the policies to render
Pretending to care

Who gives a shit anyway

These digital lies
All the prayers and cries
Mental masturbation
Wanking its way to first prize


Knot (First Draft)

Posted in Music, Writing with tags , , on 23/04/2017 by GeoSolus

When your confidence
Feels broken
Almost as broken as your heart
You try to escape
Dig a hole
Embrace the shadows
Chain down
The urge
To purge
The past
The present
And all you ever cared about

Be fearless or cease to be

When you’re full of doubt
Feeling lost
Almost as lost
As your soul
You try to reshape
Find a goal
Beyond the gallows
Stringing up
The lows
Of a life
You never really cared about

No Man’s Land (First Draft)

Posted in Music, Writing with tags , , on 02/04/2017 by GeoSolus

The cycle of your psychosis
Still haunts me to this day
A smiling lie on a twisted cunt
Who always got her way

You’re well gone now
But the damage still remains
As the strain of your memory
Never goes away

I’ll have my day

That’s what I used to say

Hoping that karma
Would lift up the betrayed

But the heart strings
Were snipped in their prime

A ragged cut
That would not heal with time

Oh how I wish to forget you

The Devil’s Notes

Posted in Music, Writing with tags , , , on 01/02/2017 by GeoSolus


You may pander to your priests and messiahs with the hope of being one of the chosen but the all seeing eye has you counted and when judgement is made, the devil takes all.

Nirvana – Rock’s Great Depression

Posted in Diary, Music on 17/11/2016 by GeoSolus


At twelve years old I found myself in a country where I didn’t speak the language, being mocked by a culture I didn’t understand and pushed in to a school that followed a religion that went against my nature. In class I would sit with a bilingual dictionary translating common words and trying to learn them by heart as no one was taking the time to help me communicate. When class finished I would get the bus back to the dusty little village my parents had moved us to and run up the stairs of the decrepit old school house we were living in to find my favourite audio cassette that I had saved up my pennies to buy when I was back in Glasgow.
The album was called: Appetite for destruction and it was my anger and frustration being vented for me. I would sit on the window ledge of my bedroom with it blasting out of a cash and carry tape player I had been gifted for Christmas. It was the best part of the day and became a ritual for my first year in the deep south of France.
As the years went by I made a few friends and we would swap tapes, record tracks off of the radio and spend hours talking about and listening to music. We started digging in to the new and the old, from Metallica to 70s rock to a re emerging electronic scene. If we could get our hands on it we would listen to it and an original copy of an album was considered a bit of a treasure. We were invested in music and it felt like music was invested in us. It spoke to us, for us, put on a show, inspired creativity and made us speak a universal language. If you didn’t know what to say, you’d put on a song to suit your message, your mood or as a way to help a friend discover something new. It was the 90s and musically speaking a great time to be a kid. That is, until we hit Nirvana.
At the time I didn’t understand what was happening. My best mate had said to me to check out an album called Nevermind and I did and I loved it. Here was what was going to be the next big thing and we all bought in to it as it sounded great. What we missed was what the messenger was doing to our psyche. A self absorbed junkie playing the anti cool to be cool and telling us all about how shitty he felt and we completely missed that he wasn’t talking to us. He wasn’t reaching out to us with a message or a warning or a story. He was bitching about his self loathing and discontent with his own existence. In short he was dragging us in to his depression and to this day Rock music has not fully recovered.

Fair Flames (Basic)

Posted in Music, Visual Art with tags , , , on 09/03/2016 by GeoSolus

Fair Flames Basic

Deliver Me From Faith

Posted in Music, Writing with tags , on 31/03/2015 by GeoSolus

Paul was a paedophile in the days when paedophilia wasn’t very popular. His taste for young boys could of very nearly cost him his job as a Physical Education teacher at the Baptist Secondary school for boys. As a complaint had come in from one of the pupils about his presence in the shower room after a football match. Fortunately for him the Head Master could see through the ruse of the young man complaining as he knew that the lad was far too old to fit Paul’s criteria for ripe and ready. As Paul and he had often sat in his office late at night, sipping sherry and discussing the Classical world and the importance of buggery. He asked him to pop up after class to discuss the matter.
“You know Paul, in ancient Greece, a good hard cock up the arse was what turned the boys in to men. I just don’t know what is wrong with today’s society.” He announced before striding over to the drinks cabinet with a guff of laughter and a slight shake of the trouser leg. “I knew that boy was full of nonsense as soon as he walked in. He had hair on his chin for Christ’s sake and he was ginger. I felt like telling him that you would have found him more sexually appealing if he had been a beautiful woman. That would of gone right over his head of course but anyway Paul, you must be careful. These are dangerous times for men of our good nature and our havens are under the critical spotlight. It was a grave error to let certain members of the media in to our circle. The media has always been so morally corrupt and those men are no exception. By selling secrets for personal security they have proven that they never understood our brotherhood and have indeed left it in great peril. Our young schoolboys believe all that guff in the news and some see it as an opportunity to embarrass teachers such as your good self. The parents, for the most part, still have faith in our institutions but I suggest that you abstain from your visits to the clubhouse until this whole thing tides over.”
Paul nodded pensively in agreement as the Head Master approached him with an ornate crystal glass of sherry. He took the glass, a sip then cleared his throat.
“Your mentioning of the clubhouse makes me wonder if Father John informed you about the last batch of hatchlings and how they had to be disposed of. You know that our friends in the church always do their best to stay ahead when scandal comes knocking. I do find their methods somewhat severe but I suppose they learned their lesson after that case in Belgium. We very nearly lost a couple of our judges there after that bargain basement find. Dead children always make big headlines as you know but are acid baths really the best way to avoid scandal? I know we are all on the same boat and all of this has come about due to society denigrating our ancient rites but…this is more Mafia than sacred to my eyes. The hatchling is to be sacrificed at the alter after the nine month sex rite. It has been our way for centuries and is written as such in our good book. May God forgive us for murdering those children just to keep ourselves safe instead of respecting the ritual he wrote down for us.”
Paul fell silent then took another sip of sherry. The Head Master had taken seat right in the centre of his large oak desk while Paul had been talking. He looked down on where Paul was seated with fatherly eyes. He saw him holding his glass of sherry with two hands in the same manner a Saint would be holding a chalice in a house of worship. His forty seven year old body had remained in good shape due to his enthusiasm for his work. His greying hair was short and tidy and crowned a clean shaven rounded face with dark devout eyes. The Head Master had known him since he was a hatchling and had watched him grow in spirit and intellect over the decades.
He had been born on the seventh day which meant he was destined to become part of the order upon successful completion of the twenty sacred rites. His mentor had been Father John the Baptist who to this day is considered a pivot in the uniting of the Secret Circle of Faith. John had heard rumours of a Catholic convent that was aborting the children of unmarried women before they dedicated their lives to God. As he was a man well versed in the many Faiths of mankind he thought of a way to make this situation a method of uniting the religions rather than divide them. He approached the Mother in charge of the order once he had confirmation of the rumour and a deal was made: The unmarried women would carry their pregnancies through to full term and John would take in the infants thus saving the lives of babes and the reputation of the convent. It was thus that Paul came under the guard of Father John while his mother’s head was shaved as she made her vow of silence…