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Monthly Archives: January 2009

dear i fear we're facing a problem

dear i fear we're facing a problem

you’re right its all wrong, its not, but it is, i’m the far scorching sun, you’re the one that i miss

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its my wife and its my life

its my wife and its my life

writing another script, the scripts keep coming like a horny old man watching ktv. i sat at the cocoon last night watching comedy, drinking vodca, the city in the distance, all bizaare lights whilst back home trauma, tears, tarantulas and a ticking clock fought each other for space. i don’t remember driving, diving. i was thinking about the boy again..This boy with the soft smile, with those features that you could write about for days, the boy with the pearly eyes, the shy laugh, the feminine build. His touch changed everything. I spoke at length about the past 8 years, the trials, the highs, the journey of the wounded soldier holding a limp flag with a portrait of my face. He listened and nodded, his attention spellbound then broken, i wondered what he was thinking. Did he see through it all, did he remember me before the city lights had swallowed me up, before the long drives, the breakdowns, the rehabs, then the glory, then the reputation, then the Aids, then the rape, then the awards, then the travels, then the fall, the stagger into the bedroom which only has space for one disciple. Could he feel the inititation that was upon him if he decided to hold my hand again. And if he did was that why he knew he must run. Run back to Soho, Kings Road, Brick Lane, the tubes, the rain, the gigs, the palace where all can be bought but only your love can be sold. Did he leave me behind because he knew it was over, it was all in memory, it was all still wrapped up in that bed where we met in the sky, swopped stars, gazed into the abyss. I can’t feel love i can only remember it. Maybe thats enough. Maybe its ok to only breathe out.

up the sky

up the sky

What is the point of managers, agents, all of them. Why do they call when they shouldnt and shutit when they should. yeah, i’m supposed to be on call on call. I am, the bastard.  I DID, I AM , i write that extremely large because it is an action, yes active as in moving, be it ahead, behind, side to side i am still moving regardless of all the bad decisions, i have grown up …slightly….  i have put work into these words, that formed thoughts in this head, that caused volcanoes to erupt that told my limboed caretaker to go get fucked. He just lay on the bed, a swollen little boy trapped in middle age, make that later middle age, for middle age implies the middle of a life, a life that has been passed by like he floated passed the dividing mark unless he lives to be a hundred and sixteen which aint going to happen, well not today. It must be a nice life where one can lie down when one feels like it, talk when one feels like it, destroy a pleasant atmosphere stabbing steel spikes in it  – oh stay within close distance the assertive foghorn, protect your dear little lass from interrogation, from the menacing letters of others from writing in the blackout from the sunlight. Did I tell you I was in the middle of salvation when the stop button got pushed, where what was next door now no longer lies in store and alas they do not call me anymore. For there are babies to be fed, there are others scripts to be read. You best get back in line, oh fuck it lets just have another line. Daydream with a gegenschein, fumble though the nights seeing the remnants of moonshine. I woke up thrice in 5 hours. Once at the friends unaware, then on the floor next to my bed, them talking in the next room not cared if i was misunderood or dead, third was the same as the the last but everyone was asleep and i lay in bed overdosed and undressed Shhhhhh, whilst we sleep in this dark bed They cannot see what they remember and that’s okay if my face could look at yours to day Shhhh we are sleeping in this dark bed the kids are supposed to be bad they say,  its you with the problem, its me with the problem, funny problem to have.  friends deliver their deeds at the greenest of times. When the buds are about to open, when the police commit crimes, Its a double entendre – its a wit thats not smite its the far beyond yonder Its the bark without bite I wonder if these friends of mine take time to figure it out or do they just pretend my lines are sublime, my manner a whisper disguised as a shout where are all the good time girls they say? fucked off and fucked in the night of  yesterday

 I'M IN DEBASEMENT YOU'RE IN THE SKY

 

I’M IN DEBASEMENT YOU’RE IN THE SKY

 

 

It was one of those all encompassing heat waves that take out the brain, the finer workings of the back of the head, the skin crawling, desperate for simple respite, as if taking liberties with the fine sprays of the sprinkler was some kind of traitorship. I knew i had to rid the body of its poison and there was no other way to do it but through the sheath that keeps everything in its place. But god was i tired. Approximately one and a half years now of getting totally wasted, up the bracket, under the covers, bouncing off the planetary plan, overstepping the mark, begging, borrowing, slandering, being slandered, passing out in the black, in the light on the chair at that place on the corner. Didn’t matter where we went in the city, it was all the same as long as we had gear we were happy. I could chat to gamblers, nurses, one of the most interesting ones was some middle aged blonde haired bird who regulated your air temperature. Fuck i wish i had a personal one of those especially in the days you relent to the come down, when the skin’s scratchy, weak, the legs tired, the braindead, the ache in the neck, the eyes watering, the nose running, the blanket on then off, the pain of kurt cobain in the middle of the sneezes the dull dull head. The Winston became a new home. Its loud metal music pulsing through our ears, the screams, the pool playing, the oh no not another metal band, the run to the toilets, the oh shit, i dropped my gear down the toilets, the guy at the bar i found amusing, the cat getting a call and then fast as sparrows out of there. Back in the back seat, i would laze into that deprived heroin sleep be woken up by roadblocks. Going to fast,no licence sorry officer here’s a couple of hundred hows to let it go. No more money for gear. No worries, hit the road once again, drop off all over town,  no we’re never coming down. A house party filled with kids in the pool. I spend 45 minutes in the bathroom trying to find a vein. A knock on the door, we’re running again. Don’t forget to be the way you are. Back rooms filled with backs and low dirty mattresses, broken computers playing the same song over again. More crack arrives at the back. A couple of rocks a couple of hits of sunshine. Need more. Jump on a taxi hit the inner city streets swop a phone a loan a packet for more racket ball. Telephone a friend, go for a 9am beer, its only the third day i’ve been stellar.The everlasting sunday. My face is starting to change, my minders are hassling again. A sleep over at home, found on the floor next to the bed, couldn’t make it all the way up there. Burnt curtains, tv on, music off the stereo drowning the quiet of the neighbours dreams. Run the bath water loud till it breaks the edge, still no vein still no damn try another needle,this one is thinner, this one goes in, thank god i’m hanging with the feeling again. This constant trip, guy taking my car home. The guy in the bed that is dead that died because i was off my head. We can’t make it stop its the pull of the race, some think its childish, some think its insane. I know that is i know it leads to the grave but for one little taste i’d do it all again…no i wont…i will i’ll prove them wrong, i’ll believe his songs, i’ll manipulate their calls, i’ll push on through the walls. Another blank night, the sun up again, the sweat, the legs like lead and the snort just to get out of bed. We’re scamps of our city. We’re in opposition to their change, we’re running our own little world where we argue, lash out at ourselves, lash out at the grim man on his way to work, that doesn’t want to catch eyes in case he realises those eyes are spies. Intoxicated like alien spawn, wondering around together and alone he calls every day, i got credit you see, i no longer write, i can no longer breathe. Don’t want to bath, bath is as bad as bad breath, two teeth now are missing, they couldn’t stand the lack of hygeine. Why would i care, whats in my head is much more obscene. Too many weeks, months, its 8 year with the smack, i love it i hate it i need it its wack. I can’t remember what things were like. Have i always been a fiend, did my brain work without poison, aah its a sweet poison, its a prison, its a.prism, its my own little paradigm, its the boys that come over, its the girls that never leave, its poetry, its not practical its the only thought i believe.

 

I never loved you anyway. You’re the lover that slams down the phone, you’re the partner that  leaves me alone, you’re the bitch and the thief, the too many eggs in a basket case of a broken pace,  your face on the other side of the phone sounded like hatred and despise, like my kisses, my eyes, my friendly demise.

 

Yes the race. But have i spoken to you about the initiation. I know i have i know i’ve forgot often sometimes maybe all the times baby. The initiation is the pinnacle for the young judas graduate. The chances are always how long you’ll last. I’ll last a life time, a life line, what a  sordid squalid, swallowed little scene we have.

 

The air is biting my shoulders, its  a rash piercing sensation. it runs up the back of the spine. I’m looking backwards into tomorrow but all i can think about is tonight.

 

 

the evening air is soft. beautifully soft, it delicately whispers on the cheeks, it’s so utterly divine that the eyelashes would willingly commit suicide if it would freeze the moment committing it to the archives eternally, the feeling of complete contentment, the mirage of the mirage. why do i feel this way, i feel this way because of four black packets holding the nectar of poppies, the dried, sorted seed, the genesis of what humans try so hard to attain that of  placidity, the final stage of mohammed, jesus, buddha, siddhartha,

 

 

 

 

i won't look in

i won't look in

I was a try hard, try harding, starling, darling little boy with the fringe in the dirty pool with red worms under his fingernails. And I know I loved yesterday but I’ve forgotten it already and the sun is in my lashes and tresses. And I’ve just retired to the bathroom and turned all the taps on to drown out the sound that surrounds me. Water is a strange substance I tell you, it can cleanse, it can change, it can vibrate next to bare skin and cause shivers. It alienates, it moves. Its funny I tellyou. More should have been written about water. Last night I couldn’t get my fingers to type. All strange sparrows were falling from the nails. Misspelt words like the misspelt sentences that had spewed from this tongue earlier on. I vaguely remember. Something something. I lost money at the shops, I lied to the pharmacist, I produced tears, I tried to correct the wrongs but that badness inside stopped the action. have i mentioned that i am a bad bad man. a bad girl that deserves centuries of damnation, hell and brimstone, show me fire.  I spoke to dragonman’s best beloved, I heard from Caterpillar. I tried to forget the fake stones I had stolen, that had been left all magical like in a packet next to the drive. I tried to get to bed, but the duvet was soiled, the pillows under my feet and the light of the mushroom farm in my retina. I am a retina. I am the all believing, seething nightmare I’m running from. For twenty minutes peace I would sell my mother to the wolves, I would cut a straight line on my forehead, let the thoughts pour out. I was in the city briefly yesterday, just in time for a couple of lines, a talk by the bar, a very important meeting with the foreign nationals, not the ones that were thrown from the window. These are west Africans I am dreaming about. Then back to the meadows, the hills, my little pocket of insanity. Wondering around the night like an insomniatic beast, roaming the outside of your window, I won’t look in. no I won’t no matter how hard the sorrow the seether the stretcher, the men in white coats, and those in green that cut the grass before the snakes can find you, no matter how hard the pace, the last breath, the times of monsters and miracles tries to strangle me, no I won’t look in.
Did I tell you I fell in love. Summer romance with a sweetheart, yes a sweet heart. One of those untainted undoctored lads, that see the chaos and hold, mould then betray it. I don’t know what he wants with me, must only be trouble. I cannot think of another way for us to carry on. Ay my pirates, we shall see where that penny lane changes. but to you my love, think of me often and pretend that i can look after you. pretend that i am the one, the two the shade and the glade. i will stop this ranting, i will stop the longing the wanting. its a phase they say, my phase has lasted days and days, but i will try once again for you, if you promise to remain black and blue.
I am snorting white lines on an unreleased tracks of the velvet underground cd, do you feel the irony, snorting some sense of serenity, some stench of brevity. Mr lou reed start talking to the media, I’ll find you on the purple mountain, castrate you and drink the juice of the time. I wish I lived in a time. What a time I would have. I told you I spend my life in toilets. And the orange of the light, and the sheer oppression of this heat makes the boogie man creep out in the early morning. I must sleep, i must gain a sense of perspective, I must tell that boy that I love him and I only wanted a kiss once he had gone.