The best-laid plans of mice and men often go awry.

June 25, 2011 § Leave a comment


This is the sound.” – Get cape wear cape fly.

I had a relapse. Those of the more regular visiting would have noticed me almost levelling out of late. “Poorly written but compelling.” That was how someone who doesn’t know me talked this blog once when they didn’t know they were talking about me. A compliment I took. I realised that I never told you what happened in Iowa. So here it is, for anyone who held on.

The bunker threatened to flip the car. I’ve never been in a car where it felt like the back tyres where going to come over my head before. As the driver you always feel the weight distribution in the wheels but it’s an odd and unusual sensation to feel all of that weight in the front two wheels as the back comes off the ground. We didn’t flip. But we rolled. Fuck me did we roll. Maybe three times I think. The belts held us in place. It’s not a common experience, the rolling of a car, of this I am glad. As the driver you feel the magic moment of control pass as you tip the angle beyond the point of no return. Gravity starts to roll us. Gravity always wins. You feel it in the first spin, the viciousness and the speed of the roll. I knew we were going to do it again from the little time we spent with the roof to the floor. We rolled again and slid to a  stop on the roof. The car was hissing the throttle was jammed on. The wind shield was put through along with the sides. These old jags don’t come with roll cages. You take a moment in these situations to gather your thoughts. The pros and the experienced know this. They suck the oxygen in deep and they check the body for any bumps and knocks. My face was cut a little below my right eyes but other than that I was fine. I realised that I hadn’t done the gentlemanly thing  and checked on the woman’s welfare before my own. She was breathing hard, glass in her hair, but she nodded to let me know she was fine. We then realised that we were upside down. It’s strange how seconds before you could have been dead and now your worried about the fact your upside down. The car was hissing like a pissed snake and white smoke started to waft out of the engine. When it comes to engine smoke you only start worrying when the smoke goes black. The problems started to work back from still being alive, are you ok? Is Rosey ok? Is that smoke anything to worry about? Is that police car still anything to worry about? Fuck. The police car. I checked the mirrors that weren’t fucked. That skill full bastard had held it on the green and now had that fat old passenger door spotlight shining bright lighting up wreck up like a Christmas tree. We popped the seat bleats and fell to earth with all the grace of a fat man falling down stairs. We were in state for this kind of punishment. The Cop was shouting something in the dark but it was all a blur to us rolling around on what used to be the roof. We both knew he would be standing prone with the gun fixed on us. We gathered our thoughts and Rosey gathered the money. The cop was still shouting with that light fixed on us, he wasn’t approaching the car on his own. ” I have an idea ” Without another word Rosey put a slug into the dashboard. It scared the shit out of me. Thick black smoke started to pour from the engine. She could have said something. But she was one of those people who won’t warn the person next to them that they were about to unload a shotgun round into the dashboard of the car they were sat in. This is why I liked her so much. The smoke was our cover. We ran for it with the cop none the wiser. Money and all. We were about 200 yards away when the car took to flames. You could still smell the burning coke through the petrol and plastic. The dark would get us to safety. Through the woods. They never saw our faces. Not once. Scott fuckin’ free.

 

Ernest Hemmingway once said that morality of the deed lies in how you feel afterwards, this is how you determine between the good and the bad.

Bought a borrowed suit and I learned to dance. I was spending money like the way it likes to rain.

June 20, 2011 § Leave a comment


“I had the strangest dream last night, I was drinking with you.” Bright Eyes.

It was somewhere between the eighth and the ninth, certainly before the eleventh that I lost count. You know when I mean, when the thoughts start to roll and blur and swim around the head. But it’s different. The last few times it’s different. That mind crippling and tortorous angst and stiring hate and bile, it’s not that it’s gone, it’s just that it isn’t there anymore. That madness has faded I think. Maybe I just stayed away from the things that set me off. The brains still working. I’m still here. Just a little madder than usual. I think. Perhaps. Relax. Smile. It’s all fucking dandy. Just for now. Enjoy it while it lasts. It’s all fucking dandy. Speak soon.

In the ear of every anarchist that sleeps but doesn’t dream, we must sing, we must sing, we must sing.

June 14, 2011 § Leave a comment


“I found out I am really no one.”- Bright Eyes – At the bottom of everything.

Often while writing this blog I have been inconsistent. Consistently inconsistent if you will. I disappear for long periods of time. The subject shifts from mad stories to lonely thoughts, private and personal thoughts. It hasn’t even been up a year and it’s already seen over 50 posts. If I’m honest it’s a blur. I know my standard goes up and down all over the place. The words are rushed and often misspelt. If I’m perfectly honest with you I don’t know why I am doing it. I think I had to point my life at something. So much is forgotten, I think that maybe I just had to write it down. I’m scared I think. Scared that should I die, there would be nothing at all left. I know I am not alone in that. Rare is a human who is happy with his contribution to the world. I read a story about some American kid who wrote a blog where he pretended to be an oppressed lesbian in Syria. His fictional character became a focal point in the struggle for equal rights for homosexuals in the country until she was exposed as a he, setting the gay rights movement back in that area another 20 years. People were pissed at him to say the least. Microblogging was a large part of that movement that has now been undermined. I just want to outline that I am not a Syrian lesbian. Also I am a real guy and that all this shit, even the most far-fetched, is real. Mad I know. I just wanted to reassure you. There’s a solid core fan base to this site who seem to miss me when I’m gone. Honest to god. Just to think that my writing has effected anyone in the slightest way, has given them even the slightest kick that I get from reading writers I like, is an extraordinary feeling. I love it and I thank those few. You know who you are even if I don’t. Thank you. I used to messy as fuck. Maybe that’s why I started this shit. To indulge in vanity. Blogging. That’s all it is really. What I’m trying to say, badly and indirectly, is that the relevance is that I’m glad you read this. Seriously. On top of that – there’s more of these, flick through, you might like them.

Thank you.

I love you.

Simon Blake.

No Longer an Astronaut.

To be young is to be sad is to be high.

June 8, 2011 § Leave a comment


“Smile, your on tv”

We had been through Idaho, Wyoming, South Dakota, Kanas and into Iowa before we saw the blue lights in our mirrors for the first time. It might have been the broken tail-light from when Rosey was drunk in Wyoming, it might have been the cracked rear window from the bar keeper in Omaha who didn’t think we were paying our tab fast enough, it may, and probably was, the fact Rosey was in the process of throwing up out of the passenger side window. That strange fizzy pale green sick you get when the last 72 hours were made up of nothing up Tequila, cigerettes and being awake. I think we were on Route30, 220 street, near Perry, Quebec route, somewhere near there. I was aware of the car 30 seconds before the blue sirens flashed across our car. It was around 1.35am. I noticed the it, she pulled her head into the car. The site of a police car will drop that strange mix of fear of authority into the blood of even the innocent man, imagine what it did to a man whos boot was full of cocaine and unregistered guns and his partner was a mess with dinner plates for eyes.  We looked at each other. A look that said “Fuck it, here we go, I mean it this time, death or glory, we have torn a whole in four states, four is a shit number to be stopped at, it isn’t even five ( for those of you unfamiliar with the basics of counting. You only live once. Life is too short. Regret what you do not what you don’t do. And every other pissy shitty cliche that makes it onto birthday cards and t-shirts and morons facebook statues throughtout the land.” It wasn’t a long look despite the script. I looked forward. Gripped the wheel, and slowly pushed down on the accleorator. The engine noise built up with my heartbeat and the nose of the car started to point up. The lack of sleep was suppressing the fact that I knew the jag was old and the police car was probably well maintained with a quicker engine. It didn’t matter for now. We were straight lining it. Rosey put on her seat belt for the first time on the trip and we roared into 90mph. The car gave chase on. In the corner of my eye I saw Rosey reach under her seat and slip two shells into the barrel of the shotgun and put two more into her mouth. This shit was going to get serious. She clicked the saftey off. 100mph. The sirens kick in. We pull out around a car into on coming traffic the car in front in about 5 seconds away, I hold it in that lane for 3 just to show the cops I mean business. 110mph, I didn’t even know this car could go this fast. Rosey leans out the window. Before I can stop her she fires a clean slug into the night sky. I don’t think the cop was expecting it. He slows up and gives us more room. He stays close all the same. Rosey tucks back into the car. We take another car with an eratic swerve. Assistance must be on it’s way after the shot. We didn’t have much time to loose the car. They had the horsepower on us, but they didn’t have the crazy. “Hold on” I told her. I span the wheel towards the dark roadside, the back kicked out and the cop followed us. We bounced off the road side and onto the grass. Jags weren’t built for this. The cop started to shoot low for the tires. Rosey put another slug into the sky to try and discourage him. Then we hit the grass verge bounced up over the wall and onto the green of a golf club. The police car followed. Both were in bad shape. The tires were struggling to put the power it had on the road down on the short grass. We started to spin in the dark and clipped the side of a bunker. ( more to follow.)

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