Ode to South Ken.
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