Part Two Book Five Epic and Autobiographical (A Versified Finale)

An Autobiographical Narrative: 2000s

In (what I think was the summer of) 2003,

I wrote about an hour's worth

Of Rock songs in response

To a request from my dad

For songs for a possible collaboration

With the son of a close friend.

They were as far from Hard Rock

As it's possible to be,

Being influenced by such relatively

Benign and melodic genres

As Folk, Pop and Soul.

The songs, some new,

Some upgrades of old tunes,

Were recorded on a Sony

CFS-B21L cassette-corder,

Which I think has been discontinued,

And were generally well-received.

Most have already been featured

In this collection of writings;

While all exist as MP3s,

Except Think the World of She,

And Love, You've Left Me Once Again.

So Lovelorn in London Town

 

From morn to friendless night

He tramps the streets

Just in case he might

Come across her he's a tragic sight

But he don't care

Love gives him might

He haunts the cafes and the discos

And the bars so lovelorn

 

He knows that he won't find her

But he's got to keep on trying

It gives some meaning to his life

It gives some substance to his time

It is his motive and his project

And his plan so lovelorn

 

He only met her once

But it changed his life

And it changed his type

And it changed his mind

 

They say he once was

A successful man

But he threw it all up

As if he'd gone insane

And he took to the streets

And another man was born

 

They say love comes but once

For some but when it does

It's like a mighty

Atom bomb inside

A disease that seizes

A gentle soul

And when it comes for him

He'd better try to hide

 

From morn to friendless night

He tramps the streets

Just in case he might

Come across her he's a tragic sight

But he don't care

Love gives him might

He haunts the cafes and the discos

And the bars so lovelorn.

 

O Lover Mine, Where are you Going?

 

O lover mine, where are you going?

O lover mine, where are you going?

Look, see the signs of summer coming,

You can't leave me at this time.

 

O lover mine, did I not please you?

O lover mine, did I not please you?

I tried so hard, tried hard to reach you,

Hoped that we were doing fine.

 

O Lover mine, I'll always love you,

O lover mine, I'll always love you,

No matter where, how far you're roaming,

I'll be here when you return,

I'll be here when you return,

I'll be here...I'll be here...I'll be here.

I Think the World (of She)

She's precious as can be,

She means so much to me.

She spells generosity,

and she's always

been a friend in need.

Been so many years

Since we met in our heyday,

So young and so free,

Sun-soaked days,

No tears, no cares,

Back in our heady heyday,

what I'm trying to say is,

I think the world of she.

She's tender as can be,

Her kindness is for real,

So real for me,

She sends warmth to me,

Like gentle poetry I can feel.

The thought of her makes me happy,

Because of all she's done for me,

I guess you'd say that I've been lucky,

She's one in a million, can't you see.

Been so many years

Since we met in our heyday,

so young and so free,

Sun-soaked days,

No tears, no cares,

Back in our heady heyday,

What I'm trying to say is,

I think the world of she.

I'm That Kind of Guy

If you're looking for a guy who will honour you,

I'm that kind of guy,

If you're looking for a guy who'll be moral too,

I'm that kind of guy,

I believe in what's right,

and should I take you out day or night,

You can be sure,

Should I come to your door,

You are safe with me.

I believe in pre-marital chastity,

I'm that kind of guy,

I believe in old-fashioned chivalry,

I'm that kind of guy,

and in the midst of romance,

Should I take you out to a dance,

You can depend, I will defend,

Our honour to the end.

So, come on, angel, take a chance on me,

A man who'll uphold your purity,

Ain't no kind of bad boy,

Some might see me as a sad boy,

But there's more to love than just you and me.

I believe in courtship purity,

I'm that kind of guy,

I believe in the sanctity of matrimony,

I'm that kind of guy,

And in the midst of romance,

Should I take you out to a dance,

You can depend, I will defend,

Your honour to the end,

I'm that kind of guy, I'm that kind of guy.

Love, You've Left Me Once Again

Love, you've left me once again,

Gone to catch an early plane,

Where you gonna fly this time,

In search of the perfect clime?

I am the one you leave behind,

Worried out of my tiny mind,

I was the one who saw you through,

I need your care and loving too.

Love, you've left the happy home,

You've pledged your solemn word you'll phone,

But I would rather you were here,

You've no conception of my fear.

Halfway across a crazy world,

Is no place for such an unknowing child,

If only you could see me cry,

Then maybe you'd stop to wonder why.

An Autobiographical Narrative: 2000s

Ancestry Culture Nationhood (All of Them)

Is the only full piece to be lifted

(And subsequently doctored)

From At the Tail End of the Goldhawk Road,

which has as yet only been published

as an eBook. And which will

Almost certainly cease to exist

In its present form in the very near future.

Its origins lying in the concluding passages

Of Spawn of the Swinging Sixties,

An early version of the memoir,

Rescue of a Rock and Roll Child,

Both it and Spawn also being part of Tail End.

Ancestry Culture Nationhood (All of Them)

1.

As a perfectly foolish young man I wanted...to prove to the world...something...I tried too hard...to do and be everything...to prove to the world...something...

I was a peacock, swathed in decorative gallant dandyism,

of which I was an acolyte.

I've learned to love and honour inner masculinity at its purest...leadership, strength of will and purpose, protectiveness, compassion for the weak, courage and chivalry...Thanks to God.

I feel nothing but gratitude towards all the components which have gone into to making me unique in terms of my gender

...ancestry...culture... nationhood...all of them...

2.

There are those who might look at me and see an individual who treated some of the most precious gifts a person can be blessed with during the prime of their young life with a nonchalance so utterly cavalier as amount to blatant contempt.

In terms of natural endowment, these would include the kind of intelligence that produced an articulate speaker at just two years old, as well as health so robust that all serious childhood sicknesses were kept at bay until I was 13,

when I caught meningitis following a spell as a foreign exchange student in St Malo off the Brittany coast.

By my early twenties anyone who knew me then would be forgiven for believing that if anyone was destined for ultimate celebrity it was me, "le futur celebre," as I was described in a letter in late '77 by a former friend from France,

or something similar.

These theoretical critics of mine might make mention of the fact that for all my lavish good fortune, I've finished up a lost soul haunted by the past, and tormented in the present by unfathomable regret.

That is far, far from the way I view my situation.

Some people in this city don't even have a roof over their head.

As for my being a lost soul, nothing could be further from the truth.

While I won't deny that I'm inclined to the occasional remorseful mood, the fact remains my soul has been salvaged not lost, which means that one day all my tears will be wiped away...for all eternity.

At least, that is my hope.

I'm not the most social of beings I'll admit, and yet paradoxically perhaps, I love to wander among crowds of people, gaining great comfort from doing so.

The truth is for one reason or another, I'm relatively incapable of pretending to be anyone other than myself in a social setting.

This in marked contrast to the myself of thirty years ago...a gifted social enchanter...

...as a perfectly foolish young man I wanted...to prove to the world...something...I tried too hard...to do and be everything...to prove to the world...something...

That said, I consider myself to be a person of far greater integrity today by the Grace of God.

At the same time, I've never been more aware of the necessity of my reliance on God, nor that He'll never leave me nor forsake me.

When all's said and done, I'm a deeply blessed man for all my superficial so-called woes, because my heart's desire has been fulfilled.

As for my supposed melancholia, this particular thorn in the flesh has been afflicting Christians for centuries.

To cite some examples for the sceptical...Martin Luther suffered for much of his life from a tendency towards dejection of spirits which he attributed to a variety of causes including spiritual oppression in the realm of the mind,

founder of the Quaker movement George Fox was by his own admission "a man of sorrows" in the early days of his walk with God,

poet and hymnodist William Cowper was a lifelong depressive who endlessly doubted his own eternal salvation,

Prince of Preachers Charles Spurgeon was prone to inexplicable anguish accompanied by lengthy bouts of solitary weeping, and so on and so on.

What though are the tears and trials of this brief life when compared to the fathomless joy that awaits the true Believer in Heaven?

3. (A Definitive Finale)

If I've given the impression over the course of this piece that I no longer see myself as an artist, then I've done so purely by accident.

What I resolutely don't do however, is subscribe to the theory of the automatically tormented nature of the creative artist.

Could God, the Creator of the universe, possibly condone such a role, which has legendarily entailed a variety of tragic conditions deemed to be characteristic of the "tortured artist" including addiction, depression, mental instability?

Perish the thought.

God wants artists to work for Him, the supreme Artist, to seek refuge in His love and care, where the sensitivity that is so often their undoing can be a blessing rather than a blight to them.

I can't deny I'm still deeply drawn to the creative genius of artists, but not in the way I used to be, which is to say from the position of one who worshipped them at their most turbulent and self-destructive, and thence sought passionately to emulate them...

...as a perfectly foolish young man I wanted...to prove to the world...something...I tried too hard...to do and be everything...to prove to the world...something...

...but from a distance, still appreciating them, but having a heart for them at the same time.

I especially feel for those artists whose sufferings have resulted in their lives being wrecked by alcohol, my own one-time near-nemesis.

I'd like to think that there were those, whether artists or not, who in consequence of reading my writings, come to the realisation that escape from alcohol addiction is possible through faith in the Lord Jesus Christ.

I'm not saying I haven't paid for my past in a worldly sense...

As a perfectly foolish young man I wanted...to prove to the world...something...I tried too hard...to do and be everything...to prove to the world...something...

What though are the woes of this brief life when compared to the fathomless joy that awaits the true Believer in Heaven?

What though are the wonders of this brief life when compared to the fathomless joy awaiting the true Believer in Heaven?