Harmony Devoured

So there it goes, yuletide's furry backside disappearing over the horizon taking the sickly baubels and sugar highs with it. Skin the reindeer, papa wants roast! In plain speak? Im happy Christmas has buggered off, its like coming up for air after a week lurking in the depths of Swiss Valley reservoir. Don't get me wrong, its great if you have children, creating special memories you had as a child (some children are not that lucky of course) but for me? Im happy its gone. And it used to arrive with such a potent buzz that no drug could ever hope to match. When out delivering cards with my late mother, I swore I could hear bells ringing from the star freckled night sky, there was a mystic energy that only children posses but alas it has left this rust bucket I call a soul, magic at zero and doubt it will ever return.
Arrives with age some would say but I'd wager that even the hardest Ebenezer Scroodge had at least heard a Christmas carol or watched a television "classic" during the festivities.
Want to know something? I didn't. Dim byd. Nothing. Not even a sniff of a mince pie. To my mind (and this is important because it was only in my company, with loved ones it was different) Christmas day might well have been a rainy weekend down the /Mumbles. Ah dear Mumbles! Escaping the silly season might seem impossible to most but I swear its doable. I just did it and to be fair, I wish a pill existed to get the spirit and excitement back but take enough happy tablets and you'll know that even chemical rainbows have limits.
So again it goes with a nary a farewell and no alchemy can ever dress bones. Its been a blast throughout those milky years, almost was the perfect drug, a never ending agent of harmony but one day all magic dies and for me (just me I hope), I can be happy with that. And I am perfectly happy.


*Please forgive the often heavy spirit this post was written in. I assure you gentle reader that everything is fine in the funhouse. Dark lines always make for better scenes and in family company the scene was different.

Lemmy: Killed By Death

Lemmy is dead. Cant quite believe I had to type that. Ian Kilmister seemed indestructible, the Keef Richards of heavy metal if you like (although the man himself didn't think Motorhead were geavy metal). Ageing gods like Lemmy, Ozzy, Rob Halford don't die, they can't, its not part of the plan. Or this is what I had always believed in my 35 years as a metalhead before last nights news smacked me around the head.
Crazy as it sounds (and this is something else I can't believe im typing) I wasn't much into Motorhead, in the beginning, preferring instead Iron Maiden, Saxon and Judas Priest. There is room for all of course but the younger me wouldn't have it and snobbishly I always looked down on Lemmy's crew. I loved Ace of Spades and Killed By Death but there my appreciation ended. Luckily it didn't last and when I finally succumbed to the iron fist, I went to HMV and hoovered up every Motorhead album they had. Ah those wasted years, but I put it right in the end.

No more Motorhead. Funnily enough, half an hour before the sad news broke, I was listening to the older records, so one might say that I was with Lemmy when he passed.

No more Motorhead. I can't believe it.

*This is just a quick post, I will tidy it up when im less stunned. The music is all that matters anyway.

Diamonds in Earthly Bones: Organ Donation

Today Wales becomes the first country in Britain to introduce a different approach to organ donation with a presumed consent ‘opt-out’ system. And if I wasn't already a supporter of it, then hearing people in desperate need of a transplant call in to radio stations to applaud our "brave new" approach would certainly have swayed me. If I could wrap my arms around my beloved Cymru to give it a big Cwtch (hug) I would do so.
How could I not be proud? That last earthly act of unrivalled genorosity is a perfect good; a love that truly has no end. To wear my poetry clothes, a Spirit of the heart eternal. Not everyone believes in angels (and this is why I wince a bit on mentioning them) but surely in this selfless act of love supreme, this is where such beings would walk?
How incredible! To welcome new life as yours makes an exit, to live not only in the hearts of loved ones but in strangers too! I suspect I could type a million words but they could never hope to do it justice. Saints and heroes have no need for them, the deed is enough.
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Kindness in words creates confidence.
Kindness in thinking creates profoundness.
Kindness in giving creates love.

Lao-Tzu Poet and Philosopher of ancient China.

Paris: Perfect Hope through Wild Cruelty

Its difficult to keep a sober heart in times when we see more gravestones than horizons, and those dreadful scenes in Paris barely a week ago, has made that foul brew of tragedy more bitter. More soul crushingly dark. It would be all too easy to mould our hearts into fists of vengeance and get lost forever in a carnival of blood and anger.
Fortunately the descent into chaos is slowed by exceptional souls. People like Antoine Leiris, a Parisian who penned an open letter to the terrorists telling them that they will not win his hatred. The achingly sad letter has gone viral on social media, and gives us a glimpse hope in purest form. I have read it five times now and each time the reading forges what feels like solid tears anew. I won't copy it all here because I feel that would somehow intrude on his Facebook post but here is a snippet:

"I saw her this morning. Finally, after nights and days of waiting. She was just as beautiful as when she left on Friday night, just as beautiful as when I fell hopelessly in love over 12 years ago. Of course I am devastated by this pain, I give you this little victory, but the pain will be short-lived. I know that she will be with us every day and that we will find ourselves again in this paradise of free love to which you have no access."

And I am crying again now. Such a beautiful force to make the darkness tremble! A lone voice among the fiery bones of despair. Pure hearted spirits like Antoine Leiris are truly the lifeforce orld needs to crush evil, keepers of a diamond light that can, and will, banish send hatered howling into the void.

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Antoine Leiris. Your strength and courage brings hope with the power of a tempest. No words of mine can ever describe the love. Godspeed your healing.

Wales Win World Cup Shocker!

I had all these fancy titles ringing around my head but in the end I chose a cheap headline grabber. Please forgive me and read on, you know I love thee really.
Sport doesn't have the same magic for me as it seems to for everyone else. Even in 2012 when everyone had Olympic mania and the Queen impressed the planet by arriving at the Olympic stadium via parachute with James Bond, sport barely registered in my dusty old mind. Winning trophies? The pulse of a cheering crowd as victory calls? I don't 'get it', and never have.
I remember as a boy being taken to Wrexham to see Wales play Russia in football and all I remember was that I was cold, bored and shocked that so many grown ups would willingly choose to waste their time with such a misery. So much dreary, dreary.
But that was football. Rugby was a different beast. Being Welsh and having lived all my life in west Wales, how could it not be? Everyone loved rugby in my sleepy corner of the world. The stunning defeat of New Zealand at Stradey Park in 1972 when the pubs ran dry (true story) after Llanelli beat them 9 - 3 was still fresh and though only a year old in 1972 the cheer carried on for many a year (even today).
I love rugby. I went to Strade comprehensive which was across the road from Stradey Park, our teachers would regularly take a class over to see the bigger games. Local legends Ray Gravelle and Phil Bennet came to the school, rugby was religion.
A force to channel a surge of passion and excitement, and bring some sunshine to a soon to be winters soul. Cawl for the spirit if you like.
So its pretty depressing to wake up every morning (2015 rugby world cup has kicked off) to hear of yet another injury to the Welsh squad. Do the rugby gods not want a Welsh win? Or are they planning a spectacular run of victories? Who can tell?
Life has a funny (and sometimes tragic) way of showing us what is and isn't important and for me I only need think back a week when the news was full of pictures of that poor child washed up on a beach dead. Real life is heavy and though the soul can withstand ferocious heartbreak when called upon, it was not made for such unbearable weight.
Naturally I want Wales, Cymru fach, to win and feed the dragon but ultimately its not important. Its not in the slightest bit important when we see others going through so much hurt.

Oh and remember! I am not saying this with defeat in mind and trying to pass it off as "there are other more important things to worry about" (here you can picture me winking knowingly). I don't play that game, as honest as the day is sharp, I can take both sweet and sour in equal measure and face them naked in my honesty.

007 Elba

The love for all things 007 has always left me standing cold. I have never even watched arguably the most famous Bond, Sean Connery in the iconic role. The adventures of cool British secret agent (or whatever he is), doesn't interest me in the slightest. Hang on scrap that, I did watch Daniel Craig in Skyfall and enjoyed it (mostly) but then he could have been playing any secret agent and I would have thought the same.
I wouldn't normally bother comment on who the next 007 should be but this fuss over the author having said that British actor Idris Elba wasn't "sauve enough" to play Bond has me pulling my fingernails out. And its exactly the kind of nonsense I knew would come from trying not to offfend anybody. The compassion of a "new age" has all the ingredients to hurt everyone but I digress slightly and move back to film.
Many moons ago (before political correctness was hip) I suggested to a group of friends that Wesley Snipes would make a cool Bond. Naturally I was shouted down but I still think it a good idea today. Snpes might be a black actor, and he isn't British but it wouldn't bother me if I was a fan of those movies. So you can see that having Elba in the role wouldn't be an issue for me.
Saying that however, I DO see where others are coming from when they say he's not right for the role.
And before someone tries saying it, no this isn't me going down the "im not racist but..." route however much saying that makes it easier for people to cast my opinion aside. Racist louts are easy to dismiss, common sense and stone cold sanity are a little harder.
I am a huge comic fan but would a black actor playing Superman or Batman cut it? I doubt it very much but am I suddenly racist for thinking this? Of course not (at least I hope you wouldn't think it, otherwise we've already turned down the road of no return).
One of my favourite films, which funnily enough stars Wesley Snipes, is "White Men Can't Jump" and what I got from that film was "hey, we're all different but you know, thats okay" and im totally fine with that as its the world I love living in. Things like colour shouldn't be a problem, especially in entertainment and I am convinced that some of those who bang on about equality and fairness, are the people who are really against it.

Just my thoughts.

Oh and for the record, eventhough im not a big movie guy these days, I consider Idris to be one of our finest British actors (and no, that's still not me saying "im not racist but..."

Goodnight, Wes Craven

Horror at its brutal best

Ah, it had to happen. Wes Craven, director of some of the most iconic horror films has left us for the last great adventure in the sky. The young Dai Jakes grew up in the 1980s, when the summer blockbuster and slasher pics were born and A Nightmare on Elm Street was the first movie I lied about my age at the local video shop. Those were the days before this splendid beard and I was rather surprised my 14 year old baby face passed for 18. But im glad it did because it was the beginning of a love affair with horror films that was the perfect partner to my other love of heavy metal.
We could sit here and list classic 80s movies until teatime, and I doubt anybody would argue that the Elm Street films don't belong way up there on the shelf marked 'iconic'. Freddy Krueger is the Pac Man of its genre, sitting comfortably at the bar with fellow gore obsessed villains Jason Voorhees and Michael Myers (just don't go spilling their pint).
If I was to choose one Craven movie that stood out the most for me, it would be the Hills Have Eyes. Many say its not his best work but it stayed with me because it strayed into reality, the audience knew a scenario like that could actually happen and no matter how bad Freddy Krueger got, we knew no fiend could murder us in our dreams. Also there was the unforgettable Pluto played by Michael Berryman who was a popular bogeyman in many 80s films (still going in fact).

Anyway its best not to dwell too long in memories and eulogies, you can cheapen the words. Better to leave the great directors impressive body of work to do the talking. Im off to find out if Pluto is free for a date tonight in them thar hills.

Nos da/goodnight Wes, the world is the poorer this morning.