Maybe again.

September 18, 2017 § Leave a comment

“I would to stay and chew the fat” Life in a glasshouse – Radiohead

Just one. Just one to set me up. Just one to get me loose. Just one to drive this as far it’s going to go and really let them have it. One for the whistle of the arrow to the target. Just to soak the moment in drama and really take it home with me. That’s all this is for.

They wonder why we drink and why we write. They wonder what became of those who didn’t and those who don’t. Those who sold it up and packed it all in and gave it all out. The devil makes work for those with their lives on repeat. We’ve all gone crazy in our own way, I’d say, anyway. The piano sounded broken from what I could make out through the haze. Every fifth note, then fourth, gave out that little whimper they give when the strings are fucked inside. It upset the rhythm of whoever was playing it. It upset the momentum and left us all slow. The workman with the right to blame the tools. The party is dead but the blood in some persists as it burns off what’s left of what’s new.

Hell – No kidding. She hollered from the back light in the room. No kidding. She seemed the type that would holler. She seemed the type to be a low flying panic attack. Someone pulls a camera and she looks down the lens the way she thinks she should. Like she wants to fight it. Like she wants bite it. But just for a second it seems real. Just for a moment it’s adrenaline, and madness and being 19 again. It’s the reason she left the house, just for a moment. And then it’s gone. Trying to catch a breath she tries to work out if it was work it, and looks around the room to see if there’s a way to get it back. Capture that moment again. I mean that’s all we are anyway. A collection of lost moments and what they left behind.


Primal screaming. Again.

September 2, 2017 § 1 Comment

I woke up to it again. I didn’t hear it at first, I never hear it at first. My eyes open in the darkness, the fear and sweat, the unsustainable, animistic panic. The adrenaline coursing through my veins worked at trying to peal confusion from fact and leave just two neat piles. One useful, one useless. I still hadn’t heard it. Then I felt the vibration. Like like my throat was trying to work it’s way from inside to out. I still hadn’t heard it. The adrenaline took hold. The haze from waking cleared and finally it came home. Like I’d been chewing on a grenade. Boom. I heard it. The noise was me.

Thank fuck no one was around to hear how crazy I am.


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


“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

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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


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.


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¬†


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

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