Forgetting how to remember but learning how to learn.

December 3, 2011 § Leave a comment

If only to say this to myself, go easy.” – Ryan Adams and the Cardinals. 

It was around 5am local time when I stumbled off the plane from JFK. It’s cold in Heathrow but not as cold as it could be. I have already been sick twice. I should have learnt by now that drinking and being drunk are not cures for jet-lag. I have a bit mark on my arse and scratches on my back. Is it bed time? Or daybreak? Whatever it is, I’m going to need another drink just to level out and see this whole situation a little more straight. New York always does this to me. Vodka, double, furnished lounge in an airport. Around me stag-dos and in matching bright shirts are greeting the morning in the same way as me. Business men are reading papers and acting like they don’t want a beer. Mcdonalds is doing a roaring trade despite the early hour. At times it feels like airports are timeless, that’s not the case though, it’s just there’s so many different times running around. Different bodies on different clocks. Tick tocking away. Some was alcohol when some want orange juice. Some want toast when others want meat. Some want sex when others seek cigarettes. It’s a strange metaphor in a way, as if to say that not everyone will be fitting under that same umbrella. We are too many, too different, even if we are all waiting for the same thing. That shiny plane that will take us away from this place to the next step on the journey. If there is destination to be arrived at, or even a plane, or even a journey. This metaphor is becoming stretched. I’m starting to see the long thin white scars in the text. My body is pushing and pulling in all directions, wanting the best from each body clock. Usually in this state I bottom out, reset, wake up and go from there. It’s London. It’s the morning. It’s approaching Christmas. I could go down to Camden and watch the acts. No, I will go to Oxford Street, find a bar, drink till I’m steady, eat, write it up, then hit the sack around 10. Where ever that may be. If home is where I hang my hat that not only do I need to find a peg but I’m also going to need a hat.

No Longer an Astronaut.

Simon Blake.



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