Hell and high water.

June 19, 2017 § Leave a comment


 

I came back to write. To clean. To feel at home. To feel something more. To keep pace and spill whatever it is that has become of me. To make a little room, clear a little space. Aim to rebuild. Maybe that’s life’s dirty little punchline. The older you get the further apart your moments become. The ones that remind you why you do this. Why you came here. Why you love these people. And you do – You still do; Time with them is still an tranquil island in stormy weather – But it isn’t cocaine. It isn’t blood dance. It just isn’t that whirling wind of passion and poetry that propped you up in your formative years.

It’s left me in a troubling bind. So made my choice. I made my decision.

Write everyday. See if you feel it. See Mexico again. Find out if this is it.

You came here to die

September 23, 2016 § Leave a comment


banksy-7

“You came here to die.”

It was written in foot high, jagged black letters on the wall in front of me. I imagine it started life as flash across the synapse in some THC drowned mind – this is a good idea, a good line – That person though before scribbling it across scrap paper only to find it days later. Inspiration takes many shapes, every size. When she found the scrap she burned with excitement, another mark she could make. The line wasn’t just words. It was a window to an opportunity. It was a goal, a drive, a focus to be more than just drunk at her desk job. A cause.

She went through the day. Got through the day. Swinging from branch to aimless branch in a world of jargon and buzzwords, abbreviation made by people too busy to spend an extra superfluous breath on a syllable. Each and every day she loathed it; But not today. Today wasn’t the office. Today the office was a necessary evil. A means to an end. A cover story of sorts.

She didn’t care about make-up or nails. She didn’t give a fuck about what she wore. She didn’t have to. It was stupid but she didn’t care. The key of time turned in the lock on the cell door and it became acceptable for her to leave for another day.

The night drew in, the black coat and the gloves, the scarf and the black hat. She always worked on her eyes before she went out, the only part of skin showing, if she was going to get caught she wanted to go down glamorous. If she had to lose control, she was going to

Out of the door, head down, over the street. She knew the mark, a block and half away as she put it. She’d see it every day. It’d give her hope everyday. She didn’t need anyone else to understand. She knew the street lights from her walk home. The dark space, the opportunity. She arrived and sprayed and left. She was cold and efficient.

She knew what it meant. It was a reminder to her in foot high letters. She was reminding herself she’s too comfortable. Too numb. She risked the comfort to rattle the cage.

She’d planted hope.

It read; You came here to die.

 

 

 

 

An absence of sadness

August 29, 2016 § 1 Comment


Image result for alone

I heard it said that the writing would set me free. It would give me back what I’d lost and what I’d being look for; That peace of mind. It took my mind off it at least. In this short quarter century I’ve come to learn very little but the things I have I don’t mind sharing. I can’t but feel that my most important lesson is my recent.

Gone are the days of that teenager whirlwind. The bloodline and those wild eyed moments of wonder. That isn’t love. That’s just a chemical imbalance that comes hand in hand with being young. No, love was never about being terrified and twelve other feelings all at the same time while your body whizz and fuzzes and pumps it all around the system.

A wiser, more intelligent man than me shared a theory. He said that darkness does not exist, all it is an absence of light. When you grow past those roller coaster teen years you realise that, for some people at least, for me at least, happiness doesn’t exist; It’s just an absence of sadness. That peace of mind that she brought now lost. Back to default.

Here come the dark days.

Aeroplanes; Night sky; Shooting stars

April 22, 2016 § Leave a comment


mlbf_23727537_th_45

Die young – in the dark – That’s poetry.” Conor Oberst – too drunk to reference even half properly. 

I tried to keep note. Above the noise of the guitar and the crash of the drums I tried to maintain; To hide exactly where I truly was. I could hear it crashing around me like waves on a shoreline. I heard the bass try to keep time. I nodded and grinned and licked my teeth as I swapped one word for another and moved forward with the whole operation. At last something that made sense above the forms and confusion. Clarity at last. I’d come a long way to find it in all this noise.

Then I heard it. That steady Bm over the rattling drums and tambourine. I was back to the devil, back to before her, back to where I knew this path would ultimately end. Done being done with a funeral at least for now. Another. And another.

I tried to think in a way that would make sense written down but instead it just flowed out of me. Just words. Sentences. Maybe they made sense. Maybe they were just words. Maybe they would only make sense in that glorious retrospect.

All I know is that the grave and that telecaster are sure looking sweet right about now. Sure looking easy, sure looking free. I hope aguest sticks around, I hope they are around still.

Oh me? I don’t want to live without teeth. I don’t want to die without bite.

And just die at close range.

Phone in the ending.

Call it quits.

Loses cut.

Bang.

This box is empty.

March 24, 2016 § Leave a comment


“All that caffeine causes bad dreams” The Man the Wife the Former(Financial planning) – Desaparecidos 

robert-dinero-licence-taxi-driver

I wasn’t drunk; My head was clear, clean and ready yet still I felt it. The infamous it. That haunting it. That it that makes me want to climb from the comfort and rattle hard on the cage. The it that you feel when you’re blood is equal parts Tequila, Whiskey and youth. When you want the fight. When you’re desperate for the fight. You know there’s a reason, you know there’s a cause for this burning, wild lust to escalate this situation. It may be to make the other person take notice, it may be satisfy a bloodlust that you thought was a long time lost. Whichever way, in the moment it doesn’t matter. It’s all words and thunder and boiling blood and clenched fist and that desperation for that instant to lead to another instant greater than the last. To take these feelings and swing the intake to the right, to open the floodgates and let it wash all the poison out.

Let it wash away all the resentment that you don’t dare ask where it’s from. You don’t dare face. You just let it creep up on you in your lazy moments. You hide and beg and let it tear you limb from limb out of the way of everyone.

I sat alone and thought about the spiral I’d become. Like gasoline in a puddle. In the right light the colours were beautiful, but you had to get it from the right angle, otherwise you’d just see a polluted mess.

The opening notes of another backwards play. A prologue we didn’t read. Warning signs missed, red flags passed up.

So I faked it out on paper, hypothetical and safer.

Project X

Just the devil and me

January 18, 2016 § Leave a comment


“I do as I please, I lie through my teeth, someone might get hurt but it won’t be me” – Take it easy (Love nothing) – Bright Eyes

Bowie

Of the night I remember very little; I heard the C climb to an easy G and then I let the devil take hold. Let him shake those cobwebs loose and try and find us some common ground on which to talk.

We’d get twisted, we’d loose sight of what we’d aimed for, but were full of fight. One of the few things that we really knew is that we’d earned our mentality and, should it come down to it, there are worse things that can greet a man then a beating and more often than not the other guy doesn’t know that. All talk, no experience. All movie star front, no broken face, no capped teeth.

It’s a mentality that the outsiders can’t understand.

We fight, it’s what we do, it’s what we’ve always done.

 

 

Drinking the poison, smoking the cartons (A pack and a half a day).

August 18, 2015 § Leave a comment


“For sale: Baby shoes, never worn.” Ernst

At the end of the play, the trees all get wheeled away.

At the end of the play, the trees all get wheeled away.

 Hemingway. 

Reach for the moment. Hope that, when it comes, it comes clean. It comes forgiving how much it has found itself lost and ignored. Blessed are hopeful and cursed are the delivered, hell hath no fury like a dream succeeded and complacency left to rot these halls and sink this ship. I had lost the tenacity, the madness. The belief and that cock eyed confidence. The magic that I’d let define me for so long. I’d let myself drift. I’d papered over the cracks and been left adrift at the mercy of the tide.

When I was all bravado and madness I wasn’t happy. It’s not that I’m not happy now. It’s that it’s slipping. I’m slipping. I’d lost the belief. The time to believe in me. I was too busy. Too busy to make my heartbeat a little faster everyday. Too busy to find that blissful moment before the deed in which I knew there was no returning and I was yet to embark on any knowledge of the outcome. That stomach dropping moment when you step from the cliff edge, leave the comfort of matched gravity and find it sucking you into a huge, open abyss which was once the thing that kept you safe. I was in danger because that was the choice I made. I was in danger because I wasn’t ready to be safe yet.

Is this happiness? It’s duller than I thought. It’s foe, it’s fake, it’s an imposter. I’m a liar and a charlatan at constant war with the words of my past. The wants, the needs, the attitudes that I let get worn away. I was a parody of me riddled with whiskey and self loathing. The core doesn’t change, you just get better at hiding.

But then a warm relief washed over me. I had my hope, I had my fight. I hated me, but for good reason. I hated me as a motivation to change. I wasn’t worn enough to embrace what I had become. And sure, maybe that is the inevitable fate that will follow and seal my transition into what I will become. But for now, for now at least, I find great comfort in the hate I feel for myself.

It’s riddled and twisted and pissed and weird. Untouchable at times and lost over and over again like it’s the only word I can type. Jaded and tired and full of holes, still afloat, still fighting the tide and spitting in the wind.

%d bloggers like this: