Brain fart
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
Is it something for nothing?
Out at lunchtime with my head up my ass. Old people and kids and kids and more people. Those teens they call emus. Or emos. Just because I buy the Big Issue it does not make me a saint. I’ve hugged a big issue seller before. That does not give me a godlike status. I do silly things for my friends, for strangers. Doing good things can be selfish sometimes I believe. I’ve wanted to move that shopmobilty sign for elderly drivers for ages, and today I got the chance. Yes it felt good. It’s fucking heavy. How do they expect them to lift it I don’t know… But then the shopmobility staff do run out to move it most of the time so they can park. Nice people. There’s a lady who works there, a great beauty, who’s confined to a wheelchair. Why is it so much more tragic when it’s someone good looking? Is it that good-looking people have lost so much more opportunity or something? There’s an old lady with a full beard I used to see moving slowly with her shopping trolley. I don’t see her anymore. Despite feeling for her I was also quite amused by her full beard. No one is guiltless. The Big Issue seller tells me today ‘thanks for your support’. And I feel bad for only letting him keep the change, 60p or whatever it was. I overheard one of the sellers say ‘you see so much ignorance in this job’. If you watch one for just five minutes you see how true it is. And still this chap made me feel good for doing very little… Massaged my ego for £2. Maybe he wanted to keep my custom. I lost faith in beggars quite a while ago, after watching scammers in places I used to live. I think I’m a bad person for this. ‘I am a genuine beggar’ ID cards will never be a reality. I used to be such a soft touch, tipping out my purse to men with dilated pupils to mutterings of ‘idiot’ behind me in the bus queue on the way home from college. How things are different now. Genuine Big Issue sellers only these days. I sometimes wonder, ‘what is a genuinely altruistic act?’ You would have to sever all feeling to make sure you were not doing it to feel good. But what else would motivate a human to do something for another for nothing? Well, apart from looking good of course.
¶ 9:27 pm 5 comments
Monday, August 21, 2006
Meow
Sink your teeth into my bloodstream, splash the ache to the ceiling and back. Become my feline goddess at the window, putting her tiger skin back on in shameful haste as the light races you to the front door. Marks and moisture will become a hardened skin of mine, which I will wear with pride as I smile, touching your claw marks dazed on the way to the bathroom. Crumbling into a hot pool of water, one hour’s sleep next to a wild cat satisfies my need for exhaustion. Every night is the same, attacking the warm black fur of home makes you screech, and retaliating you reach up into me as if you are trying to grasp my thumping heart like a catnip toy. My feelings will evade you as I flip you onto your reddened back to tease, you bat me with your soft hands as eventually you curl into a warm damaged ball beneath my armpit as I stroke behind your bitten ears.
¶ 8:49 pm 0 comments
Nearly Autumn now.
I’m going to elaborate on a leaf. A slight twist and curl on both sides. A tip just perfect for teasing a nipple into life. Green is the colour, waxy is the feel. It’s slightly yellow where the tree cut off its water supply to let it go. Much prettier than the bright blue crisp packet waltzing by. Rough is the bark I lean against, soft is the lap the leaf decided to fall on to. Warm are my lover’s lips; looser is my grip on the waxy feel. Serrated are the edges and serrated are the words I now stupidly decide to growl at my lover. Full is the red bin nearby, the man clearing his dog’s mess is distracting for a while. Then red is the ladybird on my shoe, folding its wings back up into its body. How cruel the leaf is as I try to make it a platform for the insect. ‘Look’ I say to my company, I hold up the now dented leaf. The ladybird climbs to my hand, how tiny its feet are. My lover is engrossed, how cute it is… Cumbersome are my hands. How crisp packet blue her eyes are. Remorse is the feeling, apologies for words…I make a silly gift of the leaf and the ladybird. How kind and hearty her chuckle is... :)
¶ 12:57 pm 0 comments
Sunday, August 20, 2006
It's all about you
As self involved as a Siamese cat you lick yourself with a pretentious tongue of self-obsession. You preen yourself with art and high society pidgin philosophy. No one wants a chunk of your flesh. In your head you live, looking out of a hole the size of your anal sphincter. You are a pinhole photograph of yourself, holding a pose in beautiful black and white. Contrived self-deprecation you speak with a smile and a coy flick of the eyes, I know you are a lie. Does anyone know but me?
¶ 2:21 pm 5 comments
Friday, August 18, 2006
The club on Stratton Way
Edit: I wrote and posted this when I was pissed at work on Friday...Please bear that in mind as you read... It's not perfect! I didn't want to remove it as it represents a certain point in time. xxx
Oh look another squaddie. Oh look you’re pressing your dick against me. Oh look I’m too drunk to comprehend stuff. Oh look I’m making a big show of telling you to fuck off. Oh look, yes I am too young to be in here. Oh right I can’t really understand what you’re saying. But I’m going to press myself against the speaker cos it looks cool. Oh yes I’m a great dancer. Copied that girl off the Ministry of Sound album ad on the telly. Oh look you’ve got your hand up my top, yeah right in front of the whole club. No my mates don’t care, they think it’s funny. Not that it’s any business of yours, but that girl over there… my best mate. No one knows but I’m so in love with her. She’s snogging that man… yeah but I don’t care. I’m too fat for her anyway. It’s none of your fucking business if I’m a virgin. Oh look she’s so beautiful… She told me she loved me for the first time in here. Ages ago. Put her arms around my neck and told me she loved me, right in the middle of the dance floor. Yeah she was drunk. No one’s told me that before that’s not my mum. For fucks sake get off me. Yeah Malibu and coke please. No I’ll have a vodka please, thank you. Yeah the sticky carpets are minging… Can’t dance over there. Oh look she must only be 14… Seen her at school, couple of years below me. Disgusting. Like a bloody youth club in here. I’m just going to join my mate… Yeah we touch all the time. I don’t think there’s anything in it. She’s very affectionate. I love the way she feels in her leather jacket… I can’t understand her sometimes in here. She’ll be talking at me and I’ll kind of glaze over…God it’s like a meat market in here. Did you hear about that guy who got stabbed here the other week? Died on the dance floor, everyone thought he’d just passed out. Yeah they’re banning the army in here now. But I don’t think it’s working… Oh look she’s really into him… Yeah I’m hoping he’s not going to be around long …she’ll probably loose his number anyway. They often have to move on quite quickly. Manoeuvres and stuff. I’d better go before they kick out. You know someone thought we were a couple the other day, sitting close in a bar. Oh I’m really SO not interested in a hot soapy bubble bath with you. No I don’t want to be ‘all soaped up’ for fucks sake. Did you know it takes me less than a tenner to get pissed in here…yeah 80p a drink for girls. Oh right you’re gonna go and see her over there… ok see ya. I’m just waiting for my mate. ¶ 5:58 pm 1 comments
Oh look another squaddie. Oh look you’re pressing your dick against me. Oh look I’m too drunk to comprehend stuff. Oh look I’m making a big show of telling you to fuck off. Oh look, yes I am too young to be in here. Oh right I can’t really understand what you’re saying. But I’m going to press myself against the speaker cos it looks cool. Oh yes I’m a great dancer. Copied that girl off the Ministry of Sound album ad on the telly. Oh look you’ve got your hand up my top, yeah right in front of the whole club. No my mates don’t care, they think it’s funny. Not that it’s any business of yours, but that girl over there… my best mate. No one knows but I’m so in love with her. She’s snogging that man… yeah but I don’t care. I’m too fat for her anyway. It’s none of your fucking business if I’m a virgin. Oh look she’s so beautiful… She told me she loved me for the first time in here. Ages ago. Put her arms around my neck and told me she loved me, right in the middle of the dance floor. Yeah she was drunk. No one’s told me that before that’s not my mum. For fucks sake get off me. Yeah Malibu and coke please. No I’ll have a vodka please, thank you. Yeah the sticky carpets are minging… Can’t dance over there. Oh look she must only be 14… Seen her at school, couple of years below me. Disgusting. Like a bloody youth club in here. I’m just going to join my mate… Yeah we touch all the time. I don’t think there’s anything in it. She’s very affectionate. I love the way she feels in her leather jacket… I can’t understand her sometimes in here. She’ll be talking at me and I’ll kind of glaze over…God it’s like a meat market in here. Did you hear about that guy who got stabbed here the other week? Died on the dance floor, everyone thought he’d just passed out. Yeah they’re banning the army in here now. But I don’t think it’s working… Oh look she’s really into him… Yeah I’m hoping he’s not going to be around long …she’ll probably loose his number anyway. They often have to move on quite quickly. Manoeuvres and stuff. I’d better go before they kick out. You know someone thought we were a couple the other day, sitting close in a bar. Oh I’m really SO not interested in a hot soapy bubble bath with you. No I don’t want to be ‘all soaped up’ for fucks sake. Did you know it takes me less than a tenner to get pissed in here…yeah 80p a drink for girls. Oh right you’re gonna go and see her over there… ok see ya. I’m just waiting for my mate. ¶ 5:58 pm 1 comments
Thursday, August 17, 2006
Through the hothouse
Hothouse flowers, jardinières, an exotic creature sits on a bench. Processed heat pumps out of sweaty radiators. Goldfish laze around contrived jungle pools amongst soggy pelleted food and shiny coins irretrievably sitting on the bottom. Fancy language is now needlessly being used. Dad’s glasses always fog up. Annual Boxing Day trip drags. The hothouse is my favourite spot, a reprieve from the cold outside and I can escape my parents a little. Bleeding heart pigeons are my favourite in here. Often at Christmas there’s someone my heart is bleeding for, unknown to my folks. They’re a lot like ordinary English Wood Pigeons, but with a bright red bleeding mark rolling down each chest. Slightly out of place with the bright pinks and the peacock shining blacks of the other birds. Perhaps hothouse is a metaphor for a hot heart. Like any hothouse it’s tired and sludgy around the edges, with a stagnant stuffy smell of rotting fruit and bird poo. No butterflies. I loved going to see the butterflies when I was a child. They sold dead ones pierced through into a piece of cork, set in transparent plastic boxes. My mum and dad assured me they died of natural causes at the farm before they bought me one. A bright yellow and white one. Its name escapes me now. The huge platters of over-ripe fruit attracted huge butterflies the size of my dad’s hand. Even now butterflies hold a huge fascination for me. They can never hurt you as they have no moving mouthparts, just a tube to suck up sweetness. They’re unaware of the delight they bring, or the sadness felt when I find a dead one. I remember seeing my dad’s softer side after church one day, leaving sugar out on top of a tomb for a trapped butterfly. It was flying too high up against the stained glass for us to catch it, but we tried. Sharp contrast to the nasty grumpy bugger he often was. He’d be unnecessarily militant at the dinner table but then show such concern sometimes when I couldn’t sleep and came downstairs to find him. When he rarely brushed my hair he'd be unbelievably gentle. It’s just me and Dad in the hothouse, I moved towards him feeling guilty affection. Mum’s still outside looking at other strange creatures. Exotic birds swoop through the awkwardness. I don’t think my pa knows how to talk to girls.
¶ 7:56 pm 2 comments
Friday, August 11, 2006
Two theatrical realities
Rise of the red curtain. What's on stage tonight? Precious egos, dainty heads, pretention. Rise of the red curtain. What's on stage tonight? Passion, talent, and a visual feast of escapism. Why am I working here? Because i'm stuck, uninspired, lack of confidence. Why am i working here? To live, for my beliefs, to be myself. Why am I paid badly? Because they're tight, they get away with it, they think nothing of us. Why am i paid badly? Because they spend money on education, we're underfunded, we will work for what we believe in. Why am I not trying harder to move on? Because my confidence is low, stuck in a rut, feel I have no prospects. Why am i not trying harder to move on? Because I love it here, familiarity is cosy, the Campaign Administrator means the earth to me. What do I want to do next? Take the easy option, vaguely look elsewhere, have a drink. What do I want to do next? Take on the world, work with my passions, show em all how it's done. What could you be? Mediocre, complacent, a waste. What could you be? Amazing, incredible, the best thing since anything sliced.
¶ 4:12 pm 2 comments
Too cutsie for Rosie
Beyond the bed lives a dream. Follow the haze to the pointed roof top, slumber and be still. flesh is closer now, I feel your skin against mine in the night, above my house, I think the stars are pointing at us. There's a garden sometimes, and solid metal victorian chairs, I'm rude to you with my hand as we sip tea on the terrace. Flowers curl around the conservatory. It is a summer evening. Sweetness of lips leaves it's impression most, we are 15 again and you are my first kiss. My body is young and small and I can please you with no inhibition... Waking is no sorrow, dreams of you are as good as the real thing.
¶ 11:38 am 0 comments
Thursday, August 10, 2006
A relationship in a nutshell
I say 'my love for you is bubblegum pink' She says 'you are not worth fighting for' I say 'Take a little fresh green new chance' She says 'i love cock and dear old hairy bollocks far too much' I say 'this feels rather familiar... Are you 17 too?' She says 'you are still not worth fighting for' i say, 'my self esteem is feeling rather apple dented' She says 'I still love you though, let me touch you between your legs' I say 'I am not a lesbian platter' she says 'I am aroused by you' I say 'Take my clitoris, you'll take my soul, too' She says 'I'd lick chocolate from your heart, I love your heart' I say, 'you are not worth fighting for' She says, 'what's wrong with me?' I say, 'you're not really looking at me now' She says 'we have a connection' I say 'the only place we connect is any variation of hands, mouths and genitals' She says 'I hardly ever have sex with him' I say 'I think you may be a screaming homosexual' She says 'I will never love another woman' I say 'your life is short' she says 'you are not worth fighting for.'
¶ 11:09 am 0 comments
Monday, August 07, 2006
Negative Creep
Whats wrong? 'oh someone pushed past me earlier' 'Oh right I thought your kitten had died... Poor you. Here why don't you drain me for half an hour... Hold my hand, I'll make you a cup of tea, too...' Emotional vampires. Unhelpful patterns of thought ingrained by teenage years, self destruction still pours from vains, down throats, up noses... Blame your parents for their human behaviour. How old are you? I listened to Reef when young, pointed me in a good direction. Simple tunes in a positive light, showed me I was choosing to be that way. 'Choose your life, choose it well' they said. They were right. 'The fire in you has a right to burn' they said. They were right about that, too... 'I've got a fucking great life' Gary Stringer said, in a battered copy of Kerrang. My weekly dose of hardcore rock, and a bit of Reef. Unnofficial Reef poster I looked at daily. I wrote to Kenwyn, and told him it was a shame he boasted about drugs all the time in magazines cos young people like me read them. Told him Reef had saved my life. Funny cos he never mentioned them again. Maybe it was a coincidence. Maybe everyone needs a bit of Reef in their life. To show them the way.
¶ 5:27 pm 1 comments
