January 18, 2016 § Leave a comment
“I do as I please, I lie through my teeth, someone might get hurt but it won’t be me” – Take it easy (Love nothing) – Bright Eyes
Of the night I remember very little; I heard the C climb to an easy G and then I let the devil take hold. Let him shake those cobwebs loose and try and find us some common ground on which to talk.
We’d get twisted, we’d loose sight of what we’d aimed for, but were full of fight. One of the few things that we really knew is that we’d earned our mentality and, should it come down to it, there are worse things that can greet a man then a beating and more often than not the other guy doesn’t know that. All talk, no experience. All movie star front, no broken face, no capped teeth.
It’s a mentality that the outsiders can’t understand.
We fight, it’s what we do, it’s what we’ve always done.
August 18, 2015 § Leave a comment
“For sale: Baby shoes, never worn.” Ernst
Reach for the moment. Hope that, when it comes, it comes clean. It comes forgiving how much it has found itself lost and ignored. Blessed are hopeful and cursed are the delivered, hell hath no fury like a dream succeeded and complacency left to rot these halls and sink this ship. I had lost the tenacity, the madness. The belief and that cock eyed confidence. The magic that I’d let define me for so long. I’d let myself drift. I’d papered over the cracks and been left adrift at the mercy of the tide.
When I was all bravado and madness I wasn’t happy. It’s not that I’m not happy now. It’s that it’s slipping. I’m slipping. I’d lost the belief. The time to believe in me. I was too busy. Too busy to make my heartbeat a little faster everyday. Too busy to find that blissful moment before the deed in which I knew there was no returning and I was yet to embark on any knowledge of the outcome. That stomach dropping moment when you step from the cliff edge, leave the comfort of matched gravity and find it sucking you into a huge, open abyss which was once the thing that kept you safe. I was in danger because that was the choice I made. I was in danger because I wasn’t ready to be safe yet.
Is this happiness? It’s duller than I thought. It’s foe, it’s fake, it’s an imposter. I’m a liar and a charlatan at constant war with the words of my past. The wants, the needs, the attitudes that I let get worn away. I was a parody of me riddled with whiskey and self loathing. The core doesn’t change, you just get better at hiding.
But then a warm relief washed over me. I had my hope, I had my fight. I hated me, but for good reason. I hated me as a motivation to change. I wasn’t worn enough to embrace what I had become. And sure, maybe that is the inevitable fate that will follow and seal my transition into what I will become. But for now, for now at least, I find great comfort in the hate I feel for myself.
It’s riddled and twisted and pissed and weird. Untouchable at times and lost over and over again like it’s the only word I can type. Jaded and tired and full of holes, still afloat, still fighting the tide and spitting in the wind.
May 15, 2015 § Leave a comment
“Fear is the heart of love.” – I will follow you into the dark – Death Cab for Cutie
Should the responsibility ever be mine I wouldn’t sugar the pill. I’d look them in the eyes, tell them straight: There’s no justice here. Don’t expect it. I’ve heard it said by many mouths that a man makes his own luck, I’ve found this to be true. Add to list of things a man makes justice. The rich craft their own, the middle classes fight, the poor take what’s thrust upon them. “There’s no shining super heroes here son” I’d say as I prepared him for the fight and desperate times ahead. “Look to your friends, fight for your loved ones, scream if you have to, die if you have to.” Trouble with advice is that for those giving it it’s too late and it’s lost on those listening, just as it was lost on the advice giver the first time around. That’s all this is really. A fucked up carousel spinning on it’s axis through space all the time swinging fists, drinking shots, shouting loud, making an impression. A man makes his own impression.
In that moment I wanted fear. I wanted that feeling back, it’d been so long. I’d got so comfortable. I want that feeling that takes you and makes you flex and twist and scream and do things you don’t want to. That feeling that makes you turn tail and run. That fear of conquering it. The beautiful heart dropping moment when you lose control of the situation. When you become a passenger to the momentum around you. The bliss of the ignorance as the responsibility leaves with the control.
Hell, I could hit my stride from here. Writing sober again, who’d have thought? There goes my excuse. There goes my reason.
April 29, 2015 § Leave a comment
“So roll, roll down rob a rail road train, lil’ ol’ Robert Ford did Jesse James” – Love is only a heartbeat away – Jamie T
Through the haze and hum of the booze in blood I could hear a familiar chorus. The speakers had blown long ago and it was left to leave a shaking buzz over the heavier bass notes. With my brain struggling to stay above the clear spirit lake that I had set it swimming in I could place the band, or the song, or even the lyrics. It’s was just familiar, that was all I had as I stared through the crowd and dark and the bodies criss crossing the spot light beams in some basement bar. In it’s desperation to stay above the flat line my mind throws out a memory of my childhood. Six year old me, dwarfed by the surrounding trees, watching a bird cut and glide through the scattered sunbeams under the canopy of a forest. A body crashes down next to me onto the battered bar sofa and breaks my train of thought.
I skip the bar and slip out in to the street. Past the smoking Oxford kids and their fucking ditch water political opinions, not one original idea between them. They’ll never know common people. They’ll never know anything outside of their comfort zone. But who I am to judge, there are things they get in a heartbeat that I don’t get near. Focus, motivation, application of themselves. We should all be so lucky. I get away from it all. Down the back streets as the thick bass notes fade with the laughter of the kids under the heaters.
I’ve always been more Robert Ford than Jesse James. More George Milton than Lennie Small. More Lee Harvey than John Fitzgerald. I never really bought into all that Bonny and Clyde stuff, sign me up for Frank Harmer.
February 19, 2015 § Leave a comment
“Don’t leave me high, don’t leave me dry.” High and Dry – Radiohead.
It was early Sunday morning and the room hung dim with that strange period between asleep and awake. First conciousness, then as that blissful ignorance which comes with waking faded I felt that familiar drop. That sink. That horrible, rancid, bitter feeling. It had been awhile since I’d felt it. It hit me hard; I was out of practise. I rolled my eyes and held my tongue and wondered how I managed with this back when it used to be so frequent. Then the hangover rolled in. That didn’t help. The feeling wouldn’t pass. It wouldn’t sit. It rattled around my blood. It was on the run from me, I couldn’t pin it down, I couldn’t hold it still, I couldn’t deal with the problem. She was in the bed but she was distant. She was loading herself up to do that thing were she pushes me away. She knows I’m getting too close for her emotionally, she’s going to put the barricades up. I know her now. It’ll be drawn out, and confusing. It’ll be bitter and messy. I’m too deep under her skin, now she lacks the composure to keep it clean. So I know, I know what will happen here. You’d think I’d make move to stop it. You’d think I wouldn’t drive around in a car with the brake cables cut. You’d be wrong. I can’t cut and run. I won’t. Oh fuck. “Here we go again” plays my brain on a loop. It spins and cycles and hurts and drinks and pukes and fights and drinks and pukes and goes at it all over again. I bitched and moaned when I was lonely. Now, I have been delivered from that loneliness. Now, I find myself at the very end of that blissful, beautiful part. Now, I embark on the sharp, deep, steep dive into being lonely once more. To be drunk. I see it in her eyes she doesn’t know how to deal with this. She’s going to cut and run.
She sees these visions. She feels emotion. She says that I cannot go, she sees my plane in the ocean.
January 26, 2015 § Leave a comment
“With no singing, with no swinging to. There’s no dancing, there’s no missing you.” – Bright Eyes – I woke up with this song in my head this morning.
I’d learnt a long time ago that when the moment gets hold of you there’s no time to pray that it never lets you go. Don’t waste the moment praying that it doesn’t pass, you’ll regret that. You don’t spend your fleeting moments of happiness pray that that creeping madness of sadness doesn’t take hold again. You could, but you should. Got to read more. Got to think more. Less tv. Less noise and sound and colours and shite in. Shite in shite out. More Hunter Thompson, less Jeremy Kyle. Less whiskey. And in that moment of laying down exactly what I need I realise that she’s just there to fill a void. It’s not a deep, sophisticated, emotion void. No. She’s a bad fix it job. She’s lost time and madness and loss prevention. She’s heartless and guttless and that suits me all the way down to my soul. That’s what I need. Drunk enough to dance. I’d forgot how to live. Just doing isn’t living. I need the pulse of other people. That’s the deal with me. For the new ones to meet the old ones. Hell have no fury like me lost and alone again. Actually, it’s not fury. It’s a response. It’s a defence mechanism. It’s me holding my knees and praying to god for safety. I write the words and hope to push them into sense in the morning. They’re not for you. They are for you. Or for me. Either way, I’m not going to try to make sense of this in the morning. I’m just going to push on through. Not read it. Smile. Hope to bleed less. Do less. Here comes the slack. Cut me clean. I need somewhere to point this madness.
January 26, 2015 § Leave a comment
“What if it’s all just jokes? Casper the holy ghost. What if it’s all just stones we get to throw.” – Kevin Devine – Between the concrete and the clouds.
I waited for the drums to die out before I really started to think about what was going on. There’s no thinking to be done with the heavy rhythm so prominent at the forefront of my brain. The symbols smashed and the snare and the weight of that bass drum would have to cease. They did, and for the moment at least I was able to hold and form and move the thoughts around my head like unwanted food on a plate. Just pushing, no progress. I asked the same questions. I was stuck for the same lack of answers. I twiddled my thumbs and crossed my arms and breathed heavy and felt that temped frustration in the front right of my brain. Like dragging it all over carpet just in an attempt to feel something new. I’d smiled, I’d laughed, but I’d got no where. Was that the point? Was that the destination? No. It wasn’t. I’m in a lucky enough position to know what I want. Is that lucky? At least those who don’t know are afforded the blissful ignorance that allows them to dream. I’m stuck in the realisation that my salvation is not forthcoming and is boxed exclusively to one hope. One saviour. It all just became twisted wires along the way. That’s her problem. No fucking charm. No fucking love. I see it in her. I see the restless madness, I see the lost hope and the clinging and the wild eyed madness of a story that she thinks she’s finished but in actual fact is still just bleeding away. The story is her life, and it’s so far from over. Like mine. Like yours. Fuck, this one is starting to spin out of control.. Better pull it all the way back in here. The whiskey is starting to twist me all the way over. How I’ve come to feel a feeling of loss I don’t know. I miss her? Is that a thing. No you clinical fuck. You are emotionally stunted. You haven’t missed a person in years. When you did you were lying. You were exploiting and making capital. You are a cold hearted bastard. Just. Like. Everyone. Else. Fuck – Whiskey madness and blood dance. Things are about to get real weird around the – above the neck – region. My crooked mouth – my swollen tongue. For Brooklyn and madness and smith street and the way the statue of Liberty looks with the sun coming down behind it. The way it makes you feel as you trundle out of Manhattan. I’m pretty sure you could feel this one going of the rails. I’m pretty sure you could pull out your red marker and show the world where we started to slip with this one. It’s easy, you’re no talent, Freud would have a field day.
Let me stay ’till the morning I will sleep on the floor. And we can talk in circles no dollar figures, just what is owed and paid. Tonight’s not happening. When I got dry as a desert I got mean.
Tonight I am drinking all piece and warm.
The sun came out of nowhere, like a bar fight. And it knocked out the wind and it bruised me with light.
– And I felt grateful for living just like I feel tonight.
No Longer an Astronaut.