The Lathe of Ignorance

For my friend Mark...who never gave up. 


Funny how, when someone who polishes a lathe down at the factory tells you they are working…everyone has to genuflect.  

But when a writer is working & can’t be interrupted?  All of a sudden…he is ‘anti-social’, or 'up himself.

I also love it when someone wants you to write something for them…for free; as if it’s some kind of fuckin’ hobby we do, like stamp collecting or panty sniffing.    

We’re not playing here, people.  This is life or death.  

What do you think we eat?  Words?

We are NOT better than you...but we aren't worse either.  

This shit 'aint no joke. 

We are building things that have never been built before, things designed to encourage mankind to take another, harder look at itself. 

We are the Shamen, who delve into the dark places to bring back the light of insight to the village, so you don’t have to. 

You, the critics…

YOU are the hollow men; you are the stuffed men.

We are Prometheus. 

We are the alchemists, who grind & polish the lathe of ignorance, that we might uncover the gold of wisdom, and understanding. 

The light of Transcendence. 

Forgive us if we can’t do it on command like a magic trick…to eulogise your dead grandpappy…

Or to adorn your wedding invitation.  For free. 

You want the words…you pay for them. 

You ask yourself how important that anniversary really is;

if you won’t pay for a tailor made invocation…

then you need to question your love.

See if you can find a plumber who will repair your shitter for a kiss on the cheek or a BJ.  If you can find a plumber.

We writers are not dancing monkeys. 

& if you think this stuff is some kind of joke...then you are the grinders of only one organ I can think of. 

We choose this life. 

If we don't like it?  We can leave it alone. 

But we don't deserve to be insulted or disenfranchised for our choice.

We are NOT in our garret to piss anyone off.  

Because we have chosen a tough racket to be heard in...

We have to work harder than most.  Put in more hours. 

At strange times of the day. 

While you are out in the sun playing footy with the kids...

We are madmen in a dark room, sweating the word.  

Until we can get it to work. 

We don’t stop for Easter. 

We are the warriors of the word, charged with dismantling such imaginary constructs…to get to what is ‘real’.

So…if you don’t get it…kindly go back to polishing or maintaining something someone else built decades ago, designed to poison the atmosphere or dump filth into the waterways or manufacture dubious foodstuffs that give little children DNA altering allergies. 

Go and polish your lie.

While we try to understand, and offer solutions to correct the infrastructure that allows such degradation and destruction. 

Yes, writing is real work.  Requiring very real concentration.

We are not better than you...just different 

So next time you hear us in the next room tapping away...we are only anti-social so that the next time we see you...

We can look you in the face through the eyes of a man justified...

Self satisfied with the value of his work. 

His contribution to the betterment of mankind.


Good day to you.