There's only one person to blame for it...

So, I always wanted to write, right? I had the yearning to express, to tell a tale, and to grab someone's imagination like mine had been so many times as I'd read a book or a story.

When I was 12 or 13, I used to write little adventures that my best mate used to read. They were serialized accounts of Old West shenanigans. They were inspired by my afternoon routine of watching old re-runs of 'Kung Fu', and influenced by my having recently read 'Roots' by Alex Haley. The general theme was freedom, as I look back. It wasn't political though. Hell no. It was a very general sense of getting out and being free. Maybe it seeped into my political views later, but at the time it was all about the open range, jail breaks, and adventure.

Later, I tried to write mysteries or tension-filled thrillers but I never had the patience or discipline to see them through. Not to mention that I had no idea where any of these tales were going! I'd introduce characters and then grow bored of them sharpish.

About 2 years ago, 'he' seemed to seek me out. It was on one of those late nights which I returned from a session with just enough of a buzz that it was absolutely imperative I not waste it by going to sleep. I scoff at that idea. It's not on as far as I'M concerned. Sleep? I can do that on a night when I'm sober. So, there I was sipping a bottle of Ken, headphones on, wanting to ease into a mellow state.... and there 'he' was, introducing me to another avenue, another way, another manner of expression, free, like the themes I wrote of in my youth... yeah... Free... of restraint or rules or restrictions on what was possible. I could get my point across any way I felt. Felt. Feeling... It was about feeling, what one felt. For the first time in my life, I realized that writing, as I learnt it, was not something to be guided by some handbook on how to force out some dire and tedious research paper. Writing was, and always has been, expression. It is art. Bob Dylan convinced me that my writing could very well qualify me as an artist.

That was scary as hell too. I wasn't sure what to make of it all. The pretention in the mere idea was enough to make me wary... of myself. It took a few days, but one afternoon, I grabbed a pen and a notepad and started riffing. Iraq, Cheney, Bush, this, that, ambiguous references and things I wasn't even sure I knew of. I ripped off his style on that first piece, and I let myself go, let my ideas and thoughts run wild, just as he had once done. I felt my way through, and whilst the result was dodgy at best, it was a start.

See? I knew, and still know, fuck all about poetry. And I am NOT a poet by any stretch. I refuse to use that label for myself now, and I never will in future. However, it slowly dawned on me that a lot of the literary devices that I deeply appreciated, like metaphor and ESPECIALLY allegory, were all firm components of this poetry thing that I was cautiously flirting with. It was welcoming me after our informal introduction by Dylan. And I, being raised with impeccable manners and a subtle, natural hospitality, did my best to accomodate and further work with this new aspect of my life. It took me a while to embrace it, and even still, I do so warily. So whenever I write a piece based on poetic principles or some random expression vaguely resembling what some might loosely call poetry, there's only one person to blame for it...

This guy...