The devil takes care of his own.

May 19, 2013 § Leave a comment


"The Hangover" (Portrait of Suzanne ...

“The Hangover” (Portrait of Suzanne Valadon) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

“Freedom isn’t free, and neither is apathy.” Anonymous – Desaparecidos   

Evening was drawing in when I stumbled from the porch to the garden. My head was light, I was half cut and started to spill over with these shrapnel memories. Things I thought I’d done, might have done. Places I might have been. Face that carried words but no names. I sat own my own and looked up to the sun setting and marking the sky. I felt alone but alone was what I needed to feel to pick part these memories. To separate the simulated thought from the reality and from there sort the reality into the things I want to remember. Hopefully, by the end of this process I will be left with what I want. I became aware of the cling of my clothes. The whole things feels numb on me. Like a passing memory. Someone else’s dream with their face turned towards the heat.

When I came too I picked myself up, dusted myself down and set on my way with all the intent of someone who has somewhere that they need to be. That’s isn’t to say that there isn’t somewhere that I need to be, it is to say that I don’t know where that place is or how to get there. Last night was still bleeding out of me in sweat and smell. I had the look of someone who was on top of the situation, years of practise. In honesty I was struggling to say on top of the ground. Stay on this side of it. Mid twenties is a delicate age. Hell, it seems the last 15 years have been a delicate age. An egg-shell floor of emotion. Hate, love, fight, fuck, cut, bleed, drink, smoke, duck, cover, roll, run, sleep, do it all again. For 15 years it feels like I’ve been spinning in circles. Sometimes, when you’ve been spinning so long the only thing that makes sense is to keep spinning. To stave of that dizzy, just for a few more days. I told myself that this was a good idea. This is what every film, every book, every song told me I should do. Spin. Because when you stop, you’re old. I was starting to feel old.

It was more than this. More than running from the dizzy. I felt it in my cold cynicism. The way I’d started to react to women. Cold, charm, take what I need and go. More clinical and clean than light headed and love struck. Maybe I’d given up on all of that. I shouldn’t have. I don’t know why. I remember how it felt. Like someone shot electricity into your systems through eye contact. Once you’ve felt that there’s very little coming back. But look at me now. Bleeding once again onto a white page. This is just survival. Letting the loose thoughts slip out. Getting it down, trying to find sense in the snippets. Trying to make contact. Trying an escape plan.

21 and feeling down. I’ll tell you nothing in a thousand words.

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