October 26, 2011 § Leave a comment
“While scribbling my poetry, like art could save a wretch like me, with some ideal ideology and it’s never real it’s just a sketch of me.” – Waste of Paint – Bright Eyes.
The most poetic say “Let it be.”. I’ve spoken from some dark places. Held court at some really low points. It’s strange how in times of desperation we turn to our art. Like art could save a wretch like me. It could you know. Just maybe. But that’s not where I’m speaking from today. I’m not lying in some pit of anything today. Just me. You know. Shit I ruined it.
October 22, 2011 § Leave a comment
Hold her steady. Just for this one. Steady as she goes. As we go. As we are. Hold we steady. Whatever. Shit Cling the fuck on. HOLD STEADY. Dam near killed me. Shit. Hold tight. Fuck’s sake. Shit. Fuck. Bollocks. Think man. There is any escape programmer. It’s us. It’s you. Relax. Breathe. Slow and softly. It’s you. This song is ours. Relax. Calm it down. There is no use your heart going so fast. It’s just the cocaine. The booze. The promise of bad sex. The promise of whatever. It’s us. It’s you. When does the plane go down? ‘cos I’m going to ride it until it hits the ground. Shit this. I’m going to see who’s downstairs. Diction man, it’s yours. It’s mine. It’s ours. If we don’t have it who will? The taxi came early the cocaine came late the bad letters lined up in the wrong way don’t help the alcohol. No commitments tomorrow. I see the way your brain works. It ticks it tocks. It’s ok, he has the measure of you. He see’s what your are up too. I’m glad. He’s a bright boy and I’m glad he hasn’t let himself down. This bar is ours. This bar is ours. HOLD HER STEADY. And me. I used to fight. Hard. I used to be a fucking mental case. I made sure that bastards were scared of me. I made sure I was to be feared at least in the knuckle dragging cunts that botherd my shorter friends. Fuck you. This life is mine. These tears are my own. I remember when I was young. When this bar was ours. When we cared for little more than tequila and drugs. Anything to make us a little less steady on our feet. Anything to make her a little less worried about the way I feel. Hold me back. Please. SHIT. Ssssh. Oh fuck. I bought a guitar when I was 14. It means more to me than anything. Ever. It is mine. Hold tight. It’s still mine. I love it. The frets are fucked. The strings are old. The body’s chipped and bruised. These tears are mine. I love you like I love her. Shit. This is mine. It’s all I have. These words. This attitude. It’s so hard to maintain. Some would say it’s the last grasp of a well meaning addict. A well meaning, but temporarily lost bastard. You used to be you. You used to be you. But now it’s all change. swap up. This bar is ours. Shit. Fuck. Help. That’s what I want. What I need. What I said. Indeed. Mine. I need help. Not rehabilitation. Help. Help. Help. 457. 461. Words. It’s just words. Shakespeare was just words, some say. A 1000 monkey’s and typewriters would come up with Shakespeare eventually. That is true but it misses the fucking point. Shakespeare was a stone cold genius. Shakespeare wasn’t 1000 monkeys. He was one man in 58 odd years. He achieved in that time what a load of monkeys can fuck off and try. Donner meat is a cunt. So are monkeys. Fuckmonkeys. And mondays. Shit HOLD HER STEADY. Indifference is entailment. THIS BAR IS OURS. Fuck. This is a serious. Hard bastard rant. Fuck. Ace. Pull out rory. Pull the fuck up. I need you to grab the stick and pull it up! Harrison Ford. This. Bar. Is. Ours. I don’t want you to see me like this. This. Bar. is. Ours. FUCK. Ok. This has deflationary been one of the crazier ones.
October 16, 2011 § Leave a comment
“Only if your lucky now.”- Ryan Adams – Lucky now
When the night started fading I was alone. That is too say it was just my words rattling around inside my own head. It is in these moments we confide in two types of people, ones we love and ones we don’t give a fuck about the opinion of. When I am king you will be first against the wall. Radiohead. What a band. What a journey to perfectionism. What a way to be. Imagine not settling for the mediocre. Imagine only accepting the best. Imagine being in love. We are lucky because we are indifferent. The ignorant are blissful, they feel no injustice. No betrayal. Just flat what is and isn’t. No lies. Just love. I envy them. I longed to become one of the for-mentioned. This bar is ours. It is. It is a beautiful place. It’s ours. There’s a bar in my brain. Everytime you read this we sit down there. You and me. Literally. Me and you. And I try and be poetic about the shit I am dragging myself through. You just sit and drink whiskey like a saint. Thank you.I love you. I’ve woken up in all sorts of states and places and states and landmarks. In dumpsters and cars in toilets and bars. In beds and motels and hotels and feds and cells and hells and walls and tall tails. I’m for you. There is little ventilation to be had anymore. Such little liberation from this. My fans are my friends but they are a means to an end. An end that may be drawing in like a bus at a stop. Shit. Fuck. You wait for a bus and then it makes no sense. I will return with happiness and love. Just for you. x x
October 2, 2011 § Leave a comment
“All the parties we were at I got us invites to!” – Ciara Haidar – Ode to South Ken.
Blood. That strange cooper like taste. My head heavy on a carpet. That’s how I woke up this morning. I pulled up to my knees a spat up what was still dry of the blood. London somewhere. North I think. Tequila. In the blood, I presumed was mine, and in the sweat, that strong taste, that strong scent that twist up the morning nose. I dared to dream a dream. Just to keep my eyes closed as, at the moment at least, no fresh external hell was threatening to get worse, so I was free to focus and manage the internal hell of what was left of my organs. “Just the one hell for now” I thought. That would do. For now. The majority of the blood in my mouth had clotted up. It’s rare for me that that should happen so well, usually the area is so moist it’s hard to heal, which lead me to believe that this was an injury that I had sustained awhile ago. Fuck it. Open them. Let’s look down this gun barrel. Bang. Light. Fucking day light. Too much, you always seem like to much in moments like this. I know, you traveled along way to be here, but no, too much, bad sunlight. Standard fair. Drunken bodies slumped on chairs. Bottles on the floor. A broken guitar. A dirty mirror. Leave. No good can come of a place that you have no recollection of being at. Leave fast. It doesn’t matter if they are awake if your gone. Just go. I get to my feet. My head feels like it’s my center of gravity and it’s starts swinging like a pendulum, my hips follow. I fall down. Up. Get up man, get gone. Gone. Stairs? A good idea. Now, stairs seem like a good idea. Tequila seems like a bad idea. Kensington. I’m in fucking Kensington. Right, towards the tube from here. It’s messy. I’m messy. But my hearts still beating. x