I know where I want to be
I’ve been there before - once only
But the climb into that longed-for place
Is steep and hard and stony.
The scree slope calls to me
‘Just slide for a while,
Continue to bide for a while.
Start tomorrow on the climb
Slide down to the shade below,
Where the green grass and flowers grow
And wax fat there in everlasting
Never-fasting repose.’
I know where I want to be
I’ve been there before - once only
But the climb into that longed-for place
Is steep and hard and stony.
And the footpath calls to me,
‘Descend by my easy way
Leave the too-bright light
Concealed will be your decay
Avoid the burning light of day
Stretch out in dappled shade
Where all your fears can be allayed
Sleep there in ever-dreaming never-waking slumber.’
The voices calling me to ‘climb’
Are weak and muffled and easily ignored
Resolution turns to diversion and then to regret
And dreams-ambition still is not met
I’ll fear that I will still be in this circle-trap
Until the voices grow silent
And I eat my final feast and take my final nap.
(c) Cosmic Gorilla, 2018
Priests administering sacraments
Even if it is what God wants
It's not right
It's just not right
No priests, No idols, No masters!
No one has dominion
Over another
We're not sheep
We don't need pastors
The Kingdom of God
Is Anarchy - Anarchy!
Idols controlling humanity
Even if it seems good to me
It's not right
It's just not right
Masters accumulating property
Even if they give to those in poverty
It's not right
It's just not right
The beast in me is free
Not caged by frail or fragile bars
God helped the beast in me
I've never learned to live with pain
I'll never be restrained
God helped the beast in me
(c) Cosmic Gorilla, 2017
My present brings peace
Loving those who love me too
A heart full of grace
Isaiah 46:4 And I'll keep on carrying you when you're old.
I'll be there, bearing you when you're old and gray.
I've done it and will keep on doing it,
carrying you on my back, saving you.
And I thank you for carrying me.
I believe that you are there, ready to bear me when I'm worn out.
I trust that you have done it that you will keep on doing it.
Riding on your back, being saved.
I reject organised religion, that which crushes and bruises.
I reject those who would put themselves between you and me.
I reject the dark thoughts that spoil my peace.
I reject the need to be a part of something other than my family.
(c) Cosmic Gorilla, 2017
Your gentle blue eyes
Watching me floating near you
Our soft feet touching
Cool water - warm hearts
Floating there still, holding hands
Smiles and peaceful words
Between my feet - you
Washed away - water rushing by
Eyes closed sunshine breath
Figs shadow the sky
Clouds floating as we pass there
Happy photographs
(c) Cosmic Gorilla, 2017
The holiday is over before it's started, the M6 is covered in chemicals and closed
Our taxi driver shrugs and says not to worry but I'm in a hurry I have a plane to catch a holiday - peace and sleep to snatch from the speeding hand of my life's clock
He looks shocked, I have my bags and I've paid him his £90 then we're gone
Marching down the carriage way we will not fail today!
Climbing up through the brambles up to the bridge and waving at every tradie that passes by
One good guy picks us up and takes us to terminal two - we came through and now we are cut and bruised waiting at our gate, not even slightly late feeling elated, not frustrated.
Learning a new alphabet, every road sign a Rosetta Stone
Cyrillic characters in all their cold-war redolence spelling out the things I need and need to avoid
Smiles when I say 'dobrey den', 'kaxi', and 'merci.'
Every interaction a lesson impenetrable words - practiced and heard, repeated and then forgotten
Britain's bariatric, prematurely-geriatric generation
Plates piled high with anything fried
Chips and chicken bits to plump up their giant moobs and tits
Looking at my encroaching future deciding, yet again, to hit the gym, eat a lot less and get fit and slim.
Kids who weigh more than the lift will allow
Spoiling our summer break with their screaming and pleading
Eating squid because they think they're onion rings
Their shouting zings through our ears whilst they are feeding
Ten-year-olds bursting out of their pushchairs, spitting out their dummies, screaming for their mummies, filing their faces smelling of faeces - floor covered in spilt food and vomit.
Bulgaria is really nice
Especially at the price
But this reflected, dejected, disrespected society looks back at me through the gluttony of this bariatric Jeremy Kyle generation.
Unbelievably my presents this year sum me up completely - I smell nice today, L'eau D'issey, I'm trying to find Jesus in a book - I'm having to look and look - eating chocolate olives .
I'm resting my head, in a strange bed, in a strange country, with the love of my life my wife for 29 years less seven days, spending the day in haze on the lazy river, floating round in circles finding sunshine and picking fresh figs from an overhanging tree.
Reading 5 Go Gluten Free, seriously, starting 5 Go to Brexit Island when I'm done - loving being 51!
Sitting in the autumn shade, Greek salad and calamaris eaten
Views of the Black Sea with boats floating in the sun
Our holiday seems to have just begun
We are having fun
Walking and talking, sleeping, snoozing, ignoring the news in the BBC app - looking at the map for hidden Bulgaria
And taking mental videos of this beautiful, place.
We were short-changed, over-charged, sold portions that were clearly too large - not great but, eh, ice cream is sold by weight!
Others had their pockets picked - bags and cameras nicked
A county pulled between tradition and modernity
Swarthy rudeness lack of empathy
Passed from the Ottomans to the Russians and now to the EEC
Where is their national identity except in their hearts?
Walking in the sea, weaving in and out of sunbathing humanity
Nudists with arms and legs akimbo, putting on a big show to all the passers by,
Winking with their nether-eyes playing wrinkly castanets.
Taught and saggy skin, fat and thin, all as nature intended them - I'm keeping my eyes off their body parts - especially the parts of the tarts and the extra large tinkles and old men's pinky, crinkly, wrinkly... winkles.
Drinks a hundred feet above the sea
Smooth music enhances the silent breeze
Portrait mode pictures with tracing paper mountains - blurred into infinity
Unflattering pictures of me - cropped - five stone dropped - with a few clicks and pinches inches lopped and looking hench again.
Nessabar is so much more than we saw before
The oldest city in Europe - more churches than people an art gallery at every breath
Rough-hewn stones beneath our sandalled feet, offering opportunities to trip and stumble
Figs desiccating in the September heat
Hanging on the trees, whilst the birds and the bees eat
Nature's grandiosity making us feel humbled and, sort of...complete
On the sea front, sitting in the boat-taxi back to sunny beach
Only ten levs each
Waiting in the sun bobbing about on the waves eyes blinded by the glistening silver sea
The angel looks down on me, covered in cormorants and screaming gulls
The gentle rocking lulls my spirit and brings me back to myself before we even leave Nessabar not far from the hotel but a million miles from everywhere.
The engine starts and the vibrations vivify, reverse thrusters and the smell of fuel on the sea
Advancing into the sun but the trip has just begun, I'm hoping that we are on the shady side.
Cormorants in our wake, speedily we take the course to Sunny Beach.
Chugging around Nessabar and over the water - ozone smell - choppy waves and sea spray
I can see the quay, beckoning me back to our all inclusive paradise.
Roasted duck, roast beef, chicken, fish and sweet and sour pork
Soda water, cups of tea no pudding for me.
Just an early night listening to the sound of Tom Jones fade away Smoking on, choking on, taking a token toke on the green green grass of home.
The animation team made indistinct as I slip into a cosy, dozy sleep dreaming of Hidden Bulgaria with all that is to be revealed, reviled seeing villages that have been defiled by many conquering notions.
Morning comes early today, first in for breakfast excited to see all the new ways the travel reps will swindle me - authentic manufactured poverty, national-costumed women with underwear from M&S, men driving donkeys in the day and white BMWs at night.
Spending their ill-gotten gains in a thousand sports bars, eating caviars and throwing what's left down the drains, playing games with poverty as their aim, feeling nice, throwing dice, playing black jack - the crack that keeps them driving the donkey - and keeps them coming back.
We are buzzing, bees making honey, climbing up our legs, I'm scared they'll sting my eggs!
Runny honey and a liquor that makes me feel funny sort of woozy - time to drink my tea - wash down the wax.
Apparently the drones are lazy, they just eat, inseminate and sleep away the day - I say 'it works for me' the crowd goes crazy.
Mellifluous voices speaking calm into the hive, 14 times transferred from bee to bee until it's only one in five water.
Stored up against the winter but plundered for our table - a stable form of income for the shoeless ancient man.
I catch a glimpse of him, he wears flip flops and a tatty yellow hat.
We hide from the donkey ride, too heavy to feel right about it but I'll still write about it.
Like capitalists riding on the backs of the proletariat our fellow travellers disappear over the horizon - we sit in a mountain breeze under the applauding trees and contemplate the bees.
Silence up here - a world away from the hustle and bustle, hassle and jostle of sunny beach.
This sort of peace is out of reach for fifty weeks of the year, it's clear that the smell of burning wood is good for the soul - a feeling of wholeness freedom from stress and anxiety.
But our bus is out of sight right now, just a few cows munching on the last of the season's dried out grass - fear of being forgotten, left behind in this tranquility.
OMG food, wine, brandy - feeling fine, there's a sort of shine everywhere - I think I've had too much to drink.
I just can't think of all the things we've done.
Snatches of memory come back to me, costumed ladies ululating to the sound of bagpipes too much brandy at the winery.
Coach home to the safe zone where I can shower and then sober up under the air conditioning whilst listening to the bingo caller sing to the ones with the bingo wings who bring their kids to listen to this all night.
29 years married, we wake up early wish each other a happy anniversary then go back to sleep.
Breakfast we chew over our favourite times - Skegness when the kids were small, birthday cards framed and hung for years on the wall.
Packed away in a memory box, mentally unpacked today.
Full 'english' with tea on tap, pancakes for the gal, as I take a sneaky look at the map.
I can remember 1997 perfectly but for the fifth year running I forget to buy a card - looking hard - for a supermarket in Cyrillic script.
Cards and hearts opened, counting our blessings and looking forward to more.
A day by the pool, sun/shadebathing, talking and finally walking back to our room.
Bendy Wendy at the Khan's Tent, she gets bent out of shape in unusual ways doing contortions
Getting her chin to her lower portions, stands on two chairs then bends over backwards to get a bouquet.
She lifts the flowers up in her teeth stands up straight and to our relief she smiles, waves and the bending over is over.
Four course meal and all you can drink, entertainment all night the music so loud you can't think and don't blink because you'll miss Bendy Wendy disappear in a wink.
The juggler from France makes his glowing balls dance, stacking the spinning things three high then throwing them to the sky, catching them miraculously.
Acrobats, circus acts and dancing girls in funny hats.
The coach back was quite sedate, not many had enjoyed the food, many saying their waiters were rude, but everyone of us had burst into song, why, why Delilah, caught in a trap with lyrics, I'm sure, that went a bit wrong.
Although the band wasn't much cop most of the oldies got up for a bop, nothing to loose, kicking off their extra wide shoes, shaking off those Sunny Day blues.
Khan's Tent is the last of our trips, the coaches were late and the drivers want tips.
The aircon was off whilst away from the coaches, doors left open for mosquitoes and roaches.
No one but the Brits had the concept of queueing, we looked aghast and said 'what are they doing?'
But each was worthwhile, Nessabar, Kahn's Tent and Hidden Bulgaria delivered more than food we caught the mood of a mobilising country.
A people used to extremes of hot and cold but building on dreams of prosperity from tourism, economic integration and short changing tourists the poorest of European countries the EU-converging, emerging dragged forward by the cancan girls, kicking and screaming, into the twentieth century.
Hotel almost empty now, hundreds left last night.
Those who have arrived either still sleeping or weeping because the clouds are keeping the paid-for rays from their pallid pelts.
Even though it's grey today we will have a great day today, Nessabar is not far away and it's cool enough to walk, hold hands and plan and talk and kiss and reminisce on previous beach escapes
It was too late last night to drag the past out into the light but in this pleasant grey we can plan our future - map it out until we are as old as the hills and as grey as the day
Walking to and from Nessabar cool breeze on warm skin, velvet kisses, Greek salad and a perfect sea view.
Everything is closing down, end of season sales, waiters like wasps flying around in their last spurt of life before the cold comes.
Red onion kisses as we soak up the sea, millions of silver waves glisten, a cooling breeze - the sun's broken through - the song of the ripples rings out as we listen.
Holding hands on the golden sands we walk on to the ancient watch tower up the hill, then sit still for a while in the square where the birds sing louder than my tinnitus - they sing for us, out of sight but filling our ears with their never ending discourse.
Just what the doctor ordered but of course the birds' song could just be recorded and played back for the ambiance. 12 mile walk all the way back, holding hands, talking, enjoying the craic averted our eyes yet again.
Playing genital alliteration until we get to X, and then...Armenian Anuses; Belgian Bums; Canadian Creases and Dalmatian Dum-dums - Egyptian Ellies, French lady's Fuzz, German Gonads and Hellenic Huds.
Iranian Innies, Jamaican Jugs, Kenyan Kukus and Lebanese Lugs - Micronesian Mammaries, Norwegian Nuts, Omanian Os and Peruvian Pups.
Quebecian Quims, Romanian Rude Bits, Swiss Sausages and Tasmanian Tits - Ugandan Urethras, Vietnamese Vs, West Indian Winkles and and X...erm, please.
Don't ask Y we never finished we're on our sun bed sleeping soundly soon and making Zeds.
Bulgarian night in the restaurant.
All the good stuff untouched except by us.
We ate with looks of ecstasy on our faces, the flavour the quality was just amazing.
I asked for the chef and gave him a hug, others walked by with a tut and a shrug.
Looking for chips and their fried chicken bits.
Whilst we ate the meatballs and licked our lips gazing at the salads, the cheeses and meats.
The halva and Bulgarian Delight was a real treat.
Drinking a cuppa right now at the table.
We will go to our rooms when we are quite able.
Full up with all of this lovely food, leaving any behind would have been rude.
Lightening ricochets through the beach, each of us jumping, hearts thumping, Shell let's out a shriek but I hide my fright and pretend I'm alright.
What seems like hours later our bodies shake and vibrate with the boom of thunder coming from above the clouds - Shell cries out loud full of fear, I draw her near and tell her the storm is too far away, we escape death yet again today.
We stop for a while under a shelter and put on our army-black ponchos.
We do up each others' press studs and tie our chords, looking into each others' eyes and kissing.
Hand in hand walking in the rain, me singing that 'I'm happy again' waving to the people in the train - the hot sun drying us and spying on us through holes in the clouds.
Cocktails by the sea, eating almonds and taking portrait mode pictures of me, I look good from that angle - she looks perfect but hides her face - one day she will realise that in my eyes she is an angel in glory, my Mrs Chorley.
Sitting in our favourite restaurant, food ordered and on the way.
Seagulls float, a fishing boat bobs along the waves.
The sun comes out making a brilliant island of light in the bay and the music plays 'I've got a good life, a good life with you.'
And I agree. Hands held, bonds never broken but in Bulgaria renewed, stronger - eyes and hands that never part.
She has my heart, she had it from the start from 15 to 51 a palindromance that still feels like it's just begun.
Coffee espresso and English tea I belong to her and she belongs to me, completely.
She had salmon, I had the lamb, iran, yogurt and green fig jam, the clouds gone and it's time to carry on with this unending peaceful journey into life - husband and wife - forever, together the Cyrillic абц [ABC] Lexicon of Love encircling us.
We took the boat back - giant jellyfish bloom - wobble wobble in the sea - I look at her and she looks at me.
My planned swim in the sea put off for another year, when I've got my diving gear, stinger suit - the one that makes me look fat and funny, just like a telly tubby.
A swim and a few drinks, I think that this has been a perfect holiday. Home tomorrow night, check out at 21:00, today the sky thundered out that Bulgaria is an area where the air is rarer than you'd think, sink into it, drink it up, it'll quench your thirst and fill you up.
Just scratch beneath the iron curtain and, for certain, you will feel the warmth within the people, they are nicer than you'd think; just like us Brits except they don't eat deep fried chicken bits.
Shark and chips / potatoes with cheese and spinach lemonade and crém brûlée for desert then an early night dreaming away the last fortnight of discovery.
Breaking the night's fast on pancakes, honey and fresh-picked green figs.
Eaten slowly over English tea and plans for our final day.
Once more into the lazy river, a dip in the pool, well-earned tips given in love and gratitude.
Then back to the room for a snooze until nine, when the bus will arrive to take us back to our wonderful lives, our dog and our girls and our mum's and dads, and the work I love.
Looking forward to tasting the latest cider and eating the now-mature corn on the cob.
Pumpkins swelling to their maximum size before they are turned into lanterns, Sunday lunch and pumpkin pies.
Goodby Bulgaria, we will always remember the opportunity that you afforded us to just be.
We will return like the proverbial bad penny one day before we are older than mount Pirinsco and greyer than the greyest day.
Sunny Beach you are more than casinos, brothels, erotic bars and cheap cafes.
The Skegness of the east but with more sunny days.
You are beautiful, energetic, hard-working and kind.
Your children study at university and, will sadly, leave the old life behind.
Your smiles, your beauty, your ambition and energy are lodged in my mind.
My memories of Bulgaria always will be kind, memories of restful-peace, happiness and scenic tranquility.
(C) Cosmic Gorilla 2017
