First time for everything

Blinded by artificial lights, I was thrust forward into a sea of faces. Each face looked upon mine with anticipation and I froze for a moment, feeling the intense gaze of the masses. I took a breath and it cascaded down the microphone and echoed around the room, bouncing from wall to wall in the eerie silence. I was a preacher and this dilapidated community centre was my chapel.

Suddenly, with only a casual nod from me, the bass drum kicked in and the magic began. The atmosphere changed. Youths began flailing to the rhythm which screeched from the vintage Gretch instructing their feet. It was my moment; I opened my mouth and sang the lyrics which I had penned for hours previous to this. Lyrics which spoke of teenage heartbreak, problems with the government, of which I had no control as at the tender age of fifteen I was not within my voting rights, and the narcotics which I had never taken and probably never would. My insides buzzed with the feedback from the crowd. Although anyone past the first couple of rows remained a blur, I could tell from the sway that we had done something right. As one song blurred into another my mind was on auto pilot so that I could best soak up the atmosphere, just in case this moment was to be the only one of its kind.

Although my interior felt perfectly at home up there on that stage, my exterior translated a very different view. Holding the microphone stand as if using it as a barrier between me and those who watched on expectantly, I clung on for dear life in the fear that I may drift away on the dream which was unravelling as I stood. The rush of adrenalin can be experienced or recreated at no other time than when one is performing in front of a captive audience. This feeling again would send shivers down my spine and play havoc with my stomach but somehow in a lesser form than the very first time. First experiences are ones which shall never be forgotten for this very reason.

Super Super !

Forgot to mention that some of my writing got published in the latest Super Super! :)

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Killing in the name of?

Unless you've been living under a rock for the past week then you will have seen/ been/ heard of the protests on the G20 summit. You will have heard of the drastic measures taken out by the government to try and keep violence to a minimum (that is not including police violence of course). Closing tube stations, boarding up shops etc and the drafting in of three police forces for back up. As I heard someone say, it would have been a good day to rob Essex...

By craftily putting out a headline to the London Paper a couple of days before that London was on high terror alert, Gordon and his gang ensured the city was like a ghost town. A trip on the tube for me was almost enough to give me a small stroke, finding myself watching fellow passengers' every move.

So, there were two protests today, one for the banks and a later one to end the war on Gaza. After the harrowing pictures from the morning events, showing effigies of bankers being hung and printers been thrown out of the RBS' top floor windows by folk in balaclavas the afternoons efforts seemed rather pathetic. Now there isn't anything gained from violence but an eye witness (flat mate) said that the protesters on Regents Street, marching against the war on Gaza didn't seem to be too sure on what their aims were exactly. Anti war slogans turned into booing at a nearby McDonald's and the celebrity guest protester...every ones favourite hell raiser (ahem) Russel Brand shouted, 'revolution!' which to me seems rather not what that particular protest was about?

Protesters are still waiting around now and the sound of an overhead helicopter tells me that 'maximum' security is still ongoing. While the campers sleep rough, the bankers live in their lap of luxury. Is throwing a printer out of a window enough? Dare I say does Brand possibly have a point?...


Image AOL News

Stay Tuned...

...never fear, I am alive and well. Currently undertaking an internship at Super Super magazine and to that effect have been Super Super busy so posts will return next week after a long awaited rest. Blackburn is once again calling in it's dulcet tones and my flu has mutated into a chest infection. Have had visitors this week, a fear I have began a small northern community in Whitechapel. Soon we will be known as a small klan or a sect, I'm sure. Anyway farewell for now.