Live and love.

April 23, 2011 § Leave a comment

“By the second verse dear friends, my head will burst my life will end so I’d like to start this one off by saying, live and love.”

There was a place reserved in hell for us should we have fallen foul of whoever’s guns, car and cociane it was. Of that we were certain. We maintained no illusions. The price to be payed for taking the items would be constantley looking over our shoulders. We had a plan this morning. It was simple. Drive to the nearest town, buy a car, any car, with cash. Torch the Dodge. Sell the coke? Take the coke? Take the coke? Sell the coke? Keep the money. And the guns? we might be needing the guns. I’ve never had to fire a gun in anger in my lifetime, I would love to think that if it came down to me or him it  would always be him, but I’m not sure it would. We hit the road hard. I was driving she was watching the road, for fast approaching cars, cops, anything at all. She had tucked the shot-gun and the shells under her seat after firing off a few rounds at some beer cans in the heart of the desert. She was a natural. The pistol was in the glove and the money bag was in the boot with the coke.

We where on route 95 I think, going towards Fallon. We found a place called Edington motors and parked around the corner. Rosey waited with the coke, the cars and the guns. There was a moment, I’m not going to lie, when I saw in her eyes that she thought I would take off with all the money. “Leave half here” She said. ” You the car, the coke and the guns.” I told her “And anyway, I saw you with those beer cans, I wouldn’t last a second on the run from you.” She smiled and I was free. I crossed the street and walked into the office. It was clean with electric fans going all around and pictures of famous race cars on the wall. I was greeted by a middle-aged man, confident, sleazy, your typical used car salesman his name tag read “Eric” He swaggered over to me with that “I got this one guys, another sale for Eric, this is how it’s done” walk. “Hi there sir!” he said in his cheerist voice, “Hello” I replied, and walked over to the shy looking salesman in the corner. He was young and nervous, his name was Steven, he had the least starts on his sales chart. Within one hour he would have another. An old Jaguar JX-S in British racing green, a convertible. “We have an old Jag sir, would you like to test drive it.” Steven told me, “Does it run” – “To be honest it’s a little old, but it’ll run.”- “Do you take cash.” And that was that. I stopped at the shop to buy petrol in a can.

I pulled over next to Rosey who was in the charger. “Nice wheels.” I nodded. “You follow me.” I told her and wheel span away towards the strip on road we had just come down from. She chased. The Dodge had more power. It was real fun, to have a tag partner of the desert road. We played for a good hour with our new toys till she span the Dodge and started taking it off-road. I pulled over by the road and watched her drive the Dodge 200 meters out into the desert. She was mad. It was charming. I took the Jag over to near where she had parked. She picked up the mac and the cocaine and put them in the boot of the Jag. She then took the shotgun and fired off a few rounds while smoking a cigerette, straight into the Dodges window. She really let rip. I covered it in petrol, calm as you like she flicked her smoke in and it took. It was like a scene from a movie.

The coke and the guns are a different matter for a different day. Me and Rosey are out of Nevada now and we seem to be getting away with this. Steven is the only real paper trail we have and that’s if they make it as far as Fallon.


And it’s true we named our children after towns that we’d never been to.

April 21, 2011 § 1 Comment

 “Your just like Crosstown traffic.” – Crosstown TrafficJimi Hendrix.

By the time the hangover passed Sacremento was a headache memory and the roads were empty when we hit a town in Nevada called Lovelock. It was in Lovelock that I would learn a lot about Rosey Graham. A belief I have always had is that the definition of being comfortable in the presence of a person was not the end of awkward silences but in fact, for me, it’s when you are comfortable in the silences. We went hours without talking, just the chit-chat of the changing local radio stations which came in and out of signal. I wasn’t even sure if I had a job anymore. I thought as that old dodge ate up the miles about how I was ignoring a job that a few years ago I would have killed for just so I could drive a stolen car with a strange girl in a different county. Anyway, I’m rambling, the incident at hand. So we pull at a small shop in Lovelock, I needed some alcohol and food to take the edge off the lack off sleep. I asked Miss Graham if she would be alright and if she wanted anything, she was looking away at a man pruning a hedge with a chainsaw on the garden to our right, “I’ll be fine.” she said. I went into the store and bought crisps, bread, beer, whiskey, coke and a pack of cigarettes for Rosey, she smokes by the way, Malboro Red. I was in the store for all of three minutes. When I emerged what should I find? just guess? in your head now, guess. No, your wrong. Miss Rosey Graham with a chainsaw above her head just finishing the job on the roof of the dodge, taking it clean off it Nevada sun, making our stolen car a convertible. I just watched as she cut clean through the back passenger side. She pushed the roof clean off the car. Then she saw me. “Hey, it looks better like this. Also, the cops aren’t looking for a convert.” We smiled. Flawless logic if not a little drastic, she passed the chainsaw back to bemused gardener and we both took our first opportunity to jump into the car. We left the roof where it fell. The car was a real beauty, it was a classic, even if it was a little beat up. We started heading south onto the desert roads towards Vegas. Vegas isn’t our destination, we’ve been there, we’ve done that, we’ve lost all our money. We don’t have a destination. I suppose you could say our destination was the road, and we were already there.

As the hangover started to clear we started to think clearer and clearer as we got further and further into the desert. The car was a beauty and someone would be looking for it but we just didn’t care, we would cross that bridge when we came to it. The lack of roof would maybe buy us time. We pulled over to the shoulder to sleep. If you’ve never slept in the middle of the desert it’s something I can’t recommend it more. There’s no light pollution and no people. The stars are all yours. Night was starting to draw in and the sun had just disappeared when I pulled over on the long stretch of road in south Nevada. We could see for miles, this is a good thing in a stolen car. No roof meant we could see the sky from the comfort of our seats. When we left California Rosey had tried the glove comparment in the car but it was locked, obviously with the keys in the ignition we had to wait until we stopped. It had slipped our minds in Lovelock and that petrol station near the Nevada Cali border. I passed her the key and she unlocked it.

Cocaine. Lots and lots of cocaine. Now I’m a gentleman who has seen a lot in the nature of drugs and this was a lot of cocaine. Easily a kilo, wrapped tight. I was shocked to say the least. We dug deeper into the glove box. A small black sports bag filled with $100 bills and a Mac10 sub machine gun. We had stolen the wrong car. We had fucked up big style. There was easily 20 grand in the bag. The kilo was worth around 20 grand. The car was an easy 5 grand. And a Mac10? People who carry mac10’s in their glove boxes are not to fucked with. Those of you unfamiliar with guns, it’s a gun for very bad people, it’s small and can unload a 30 bullet magazine in around 4 seconds. Now I know what your thinking, why the fuck would you put all this up on the internet, well firstly I was bored, but secondly, honestly, of all the people who read this, it won’t the owner of the car, I’m sure of it, and if it is, fuckin‘ a, what a story, hey there fella, I got your coke your car and your gun.  Someone will be looking for this stuff. Someone will be looking for us.

“Holy shit.” She said. “I fucking know.” I said. The conversation went round in circles like this for a good hour. During which time the gun and the drugs totally clouded the fact that we had around $20,000 cash. We relaxed a little more as this kicked in. We had a head start on the people we stole it from. We started on the whiskey. “You know what this means don’t you?” She asked after her first sip. “We’ve got enough for a new car, something shitty and second-hand, pay in cash, no questions asked. We torch this one and we’re scott free.” The girls logic was flawless again. She was becoming useful to have around. “Wait” she said. I turned. We both clocked it at the same time. “The boot.” we said together, well, she said “trunk”, she’s been in the states too long. We nervously walked around the car to the back-end. Key in, lock turned, it clicked open an inch. Nervously I started to lift the lid.

It could have been worse. I was seriously bracing myself for a glass-eyed body to be staring back up at me. But, it was still pretty bad. Cocaine, not much more, about 5 gram bags in the center of the boot. Laid across it, a pump-action full barreled Beretta shotgun with a couple of boxes of around 25 cartridges. Far be it from me to predict the line of work this person was in but they were a drug dealer, at best. Needless to say they would not take kindly to us stealing their stuff. Then it dawned on me I had just driven hung over, probably over the legal limit, in a stolen car full of cocaine and unregistered guns. Despite all my bad luck I have been a very lucky boy. It’s really extraordinary circumstances. We bitch and moan about how boring our lives are then things like this happen and we just want a warm chair to sit in. It’s never boring.

Much love.

Simon Blake

No longer an astronaut.


Leave the liberty in that broken bell, today.

April 19, 2011 § 1 Comment

“Leave those bad ideas in your troubled head, today.”- I must belong somewhere – Bright Eyes.

Last night was all broken glass and pistols, a real train wreck, just like the night Maxi died. I woke this morning at the end of a bed in a motel room on what I thought was the outskirts, the place was a real mess, people all around stirring, smashed furniture. There was no one there I knew. I stumbled out into the harsh sunlight, my jeans were stained with what looked like booze and my shirt was dirty. That familiar voice came out butted into my thoughts “Your going to be sick.” Fuck. The mouth goes dry and the heartbeat picks up. Legs engage, to the alleyway, you have less than 10 seconds. I wretch by a dumpster before I force it all up, then its just the after bits, the stomach lining coming up with all the oxygen and gas. I always feel better after that. Up off my knees. Half digested alcohol in front of me. The unfortunately familiar smell of vodka warmed by the body. Where the fuck am I? No idea, California somewhere. I checked my pockets for my phone and wallet, they are there, along with an electronic car key. I stumble into the car park of the motel, look around at the cars and just click down the “unlock symbol” away to my right a car springs into noise. A 1970’s Dodge Charger was the car the key belonged too, the owner must have fit a modern locking system to it, it looked pretty run down and beat up around the edges, but it was my ticket out of wherever I was, so I jumped in.

It’s not my car so I really didn’t give a fuck, I find reverse on the heavy old gearbox and ram it into it before dropping the clutch and bursting out of the parking space across the car park, the car may have been old but the engine still had a kick. I was about to put it into first when I saw her, the messy brunette, shirt skirt, ripped shirt, long legs and stood in the doorway I had come from, as far as I could tell she was in the same state as me, in a lighter gearbox I would have left her behind. “I can get a lift?” She asked through a squint, obviously the light was not kind on her eyes either, Australian, I was sure of it. “Sure, hope in.” She took the long walk around the car and into the passengers seat, first gear, wheel spin, gone. Straight forward onto the main road before I even knew where I was going. The car was quiet with a comfortable hangover silence, just the engine and the wind through the open windows. It took about 15 minutes before she spoke again “You don’t remember me do you?” I was bad with people at the best of times, drunk is no where near the best of times. “No, I’m afraid not.” “I’m Rosey Graham.” She replied. I looked at her cock-eyed to try and stir memories of the night before. “Nice to meet you Rosey, so is this your car?” – ” I have no idea who’s car this is.” – “Well, I think we have about two hours before the owner recovers enough from his hangover to report it stolen, so where do you want to go?” – “Anywhere, I don’t care.” She replied. Sometimes people say things that just stick in your head, defining moments in relationships that stay with you and help define in your mind who that person is and what that person stands for, like some sort of profile, those four words caught my imagination. Rosey Graham. We smiled. I floored the power and we started eating up the miles, we still had half a tank. I had no idea who this girl was. I just knew we were running away from it all together and that was enough for me, it still is.

Guitars and Drums and desperate poetry.

April 16, 2011 § 1 Comment

 “I still believe in the saints, yeah, in Jerry-Lee and in Johnny and all the greats” – I still believe – Frank Turner.

Fuck. Jesus Christ help me hold this one steady for only a few miles more. It’s those times when your really need it that you reach out for help, that divine intervention that has to save, because in that moment we accept and embrace god for the sole reason that we feel he owes us big, but to be honest I need all the help I can possibly get tonight. It’s a rush. A mad rush tonight. The engines screaming at me as I’m hunched over the wheel. The motorway is flat and clear and I’m propped up by red bull. It’s a popular misconception that the young thing they know every thing, well that is too say that when I was younger I was under no illusions of grandeur in regards to how much I knew, I just knew how to act like I knew it all. I missed a gear. Fuck. That crunching sound of disappointment and lost speed. Lost potential never bothered me in the long term, but here, now, in the long term it’s tragic and acceptable. I have to make it down to California coast to review a hotel or they may fire me. More importantly there are matters to be attended to. I will keep you posted.

The glass-eyed passing boats and helicopter gunships.

April 11, 2011 § 1 Comment

“I love you Triple Spiral.” – Triple Spiral – Bright Eyes.

Doesn’t it worry anyone? I mean really really worry you that should Obama have lost the election to McCain then Sarah Palin would have been an old mans dropped heartbeat from the presidency? Holy god. Far be it from me, an Englishman, to pass opinion on another countries politics, but the fact of the matter is that events in American politics affects us all. An economist once told me that they have a saying ” When the American economy sneezes the whole world catches a cold.” This is the same for her politics. I hear she may run next time round. God save us all. How? Please god tell me how, in a sane 21st century society how can she wing any election. We can’t have that soccer-mom gun-nut up-and-at-’em let’s-go-shoot-some-terrorists crazy woman with her finger on the button to the world’s largest collection of weapons. How can the tea party gain momentum? Please, I want to know.

P.S If I got a twitter would anyone really give a fuck?

News is dead. Twitter did it.

April 6, 2011 § 1 Comment

“Maybe we could break your ankle clean and unsuspiciously, an E.R trip, a doctors slip and could share your pills with me.” – The Next Four Months – Okkervil River.

At times on this website I have been distant, distraught, strange, often making little to no sense, sometimes even suicidal. It may have worried anyone with half a mind to care which seem to be few and far between on here, not that I am complaining. But I post tonight from sober mind. Not that my sobriety and levels of making sense are in any way parallel. Nor is my levels for sobriety and happiness. In my opinion the whole deal with drink is that it takes what your feeling, even if you don’t know your feeling it, and it blows it up. It multiplies it by the amount of units you have drunk. It’s scary. Honest to god. Lonely and scary. I haven’t been in a stable relationship for a very long time now, sex with strangers is losing the edge it barely had in the first place. It’s just sex with strangers. I’m yet to work out if the people who are staisfied with living like that are mentally stronger or weaker than I am, either way, that shit’s taking it’s tole on me. Maybe it’s a moral thing, I wouldn’t really know. Some people turn to god, but I never could. It’s not that I don’t believe, it’s just hard to explain. I once heard a quote that said “I’m not afraid of God, but I am afraid of him.” That sums it up for me. Fear drives us in some cases, especially in religion. Catholic‘s can splutter their last and if they don’t sin between then and the light and the end of the tunnel, then that’s it, you’ve earned heaven, all liberty bells, congrats, maybe that’s why so many have put children through so much shit, how do they sleep at night? Asking for help is not really in my nature. I have only ever done it drunk off my ass. I question my best friends, I’m suspicious that they only listen through pitty. Bad. Bad. Bad.

The dedicated to this will noticed that this blog has stopped really talking about my life, stopped naming the places and people that I personally meet, I’m not really sure why it has taken this direction, maybe it’s a subconscious way of telling I’m bored of my life and that you would be too. All this really is is self-indulgence, is that what the internet has been reduced too? Twitter stories about celebs going for a wank? News is dead. Twitter did it.

Thank you.  Simon Blake. No Longer an Astronaut.

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