Into My Sea

I had dinner with my self last week. She wasn’t great company. We sat there and talked of nothing, and when we ran out of that, we talked of nothing else. I played with my fork and looked around the restaurant, she fiddled with her napkin and coughed twice. Why didn’t I bring a book? Because that would have been rude. People should eat out more often, I am. Can you past the salt please? I ask myself. I SAID CAN YOU PASS THE SALT PLEASE? Thank you. It doesn’t always have to be like this. I can be anything I want to be, I tell my self, just don’t fuck above your own status. Everyone around me is alone, they just have company. They wake up at 4am too, cold, sweating, terrified there’s... nothing out there. Why is it that sometimes things happen and we can’t get over them? They scar and stain us and from that moment there is no more story for us, it stops dead and we play out the rest of our time as ghosts, walking around, merely in motion. Our lives lived, waiting for existence to catch up with us, to file the paperwork. To let us unexist. My feet used to be smaller than this.

Jaded

She sashays across the floor, bam bam bam. Forks are held mid bite, conversation vaporises, small talk dries up like a puddle hit by an a-bomb. A thousand strings shoot from our eyes to hers and she pulls them taut with each step she takes. Later, I go to her table and perform a ten minute set. I can't keep my eyes off her and nor can the audience, my magic is a pale comparison next to her porcelain skin. I leave and she goes for a cigarette, I offer her a flame, and she pats a chair and asks me to sit. We talk and she laughs softly. She's here for three days, she tells me, I choke, and hide it with a cough. Then I abandon. I forget about it. I put it from me. I cannot cope to find and lose so much in three days. I would rather go without. Later, I leave and walk to the tube. She is standing outside with eight of her friends, heading the same direction, I have no choice but to follow. We share a cigarette on the walk, and when it is time to head our separate ways, she steps away from the group, leans up and embraces me. I hold her for a few seconds in silence, as she kisses my cheek she whispers a thank you into my ear. I walk away with no more than her first name. As soon as I am out of sight I realise my mistake. One dinner, one meal, and where it would have ended was not mine to decide. Maybe she might move here, maybe I might move there? Who was I to predict our fates? I turn back, but she has gone. Wait! I know where she is staying, she told me in passing. I ring up the hotel, I select options from an automated menu, punching numbers, a voice picks up. I need to leave a message for one of your guests. Of course Sir, what room number? Umm, I don't know. Ok, her surname? Err, I don't know. Pardon? I just met her tonight, her name's Jade, she's australian, blonde, 5'6, slim- Sir we have over one thousand guests here- I'm only after one, she's just come through the door an hour ago- I'm sorry Sir, like I say, we have a lot of guests, what makes you think I'd know who you mean? A small thing called hope, I reply and hang up the phone.

In Bad Taste

Tasty. As an adjective, what gets me most is it's lack of ambition: Tasty? It is a wholesale failure. Adjectives are there to enlighten and illuminate our nouns, to give them character, shape and power. Tasty does none of these, try describing a food using it: What did it taste like? Err... tasty? What, it tasted of taste? It's sunglasses for the blind. All culinary efforts are scorned by it, damned by the faint of its praise. Imagine if we did that with our other sensual descriptions: What did she look like? Oh, looky! Yeh she was pretty looky alright. How did it feel when your wife left you? Well, kinda feely, ya know, I felt a lot of feeliness. So please, it's vague, it's lazy, it's badenglishy.

Colourblind

I am on my third glass already, it is nothing, it doesn’t affect me, I am unaffectable; smoke, drink, weed, crack, coffee, smack, both kinds of coke, lemsip, rides you must be over six to go on, a baby’s first smile, none of these things have any effect on me. My body is immune, oblivious to all stimulants, and so I stand, staring out the world. Oh I’ve tried, believe me I’ve tried motherfucker. When I was four years old my sister and I drank two bottles of Seven Up. Each. She squeezed the cat so hard she broke its leg. I sat down with a carton of milk and poured it into my sandpit, I traced shapes with my fingers, waiting for the rush. It’s still not here. I pop two more pills, for affect rather than effect. I close my eyes and make like I’m sleeping. I fool everyone except myself. In the morning when I wake, I look at him sleep for a long while. I have a shower. By the time he comes downstairs I am on my third bowl of sugar-frosted cereal. As he shuffles around the kitchen I bend the spoon so hard I bruise my thumb. It’s nothing. I am unaffectable.

Don't Call Me

I’m training to be a Jehovah’s witness. It’s early days, but I’ve got my foot in the door.

Head and Shoulders

So, Crabs. I gotta say, I like ‘em. And not the beach variety either, I'm talking about the undercover lovers here. I mean really, what are they but the jaunty little creatures of the STD world? All they need is a bit of PR and they could be the new Tweenies! Hands up anyone who’s got crabs? Nope? Too busy scratching I guess. They're not like lice, lice are mean and prey on innocent school children. Crabs aren't like that, they're shared through love! How can they fail to be friendly? Maybe we could start some sort of exchange program, so these creatures could share their cultures and learn from each other:

Teacher Louse: Ok class, let's all say hello to our visitor!
Class: Hello Mosseur Crab.
Crab: Bonjour! Je suis un crab. Ja mapelle Cristoph. Ja’beat au scrotum.
Teacher Louse: Now class, Cristoph comes from down under, just near the pubic region. Has anyone been there?
Jimmy the Louse: Yes miss! My dad once got lost and fell off an ear and and and he said he went there and saw a giant-
Teacher Louse: Thank you Jimmy. Oh look it's snowing! Let's all go outside teach Cristoph how to build a snowman!

Animal Crossings

There's a woman at Waterloo station with a cat on a string. And the cat is not best pleased. Actually, he's considerably miffed. If he had the bone structure and flexibility, I'm sure his paws would be crossed. The woman tries to drag him along with her as she leaves but he remains motionless, implacable. Unfortunately for him the floor has been freshly polished, and as fur offers very little resistance, he slides on his ass, like some conveyor belt kitty. Humiliation piled on humiliation. Cats should not have leads! Dogs, ferrets, piglets, even a hamster or guinea pig can be led. A cat? Never! You might as well put a badger on a keyring. It's like the old saying goes: you can lead a cat to water, but he'll piss in it when you get there, and possibly trip you up on the way home.

Get me Take Out of There

Eating out is becoming a problem. Somehow I manage to turn the staff against me quicker than a Britney Spears cover at a Black Sabbath concert. Today might have been a record, I managed it within seconds of walking through the door as we walked down the stairs. Maybe we didn't follow her quick enough, or I was frowning in the sunlight, but by the time she us stomped to a table, plonked down the menu, and demanded I 'enjoy!' I felt distinctly unwelcome. I mean, sure, I was in Pizza Express, but please, all I wanted was a smile. It's not like I was asking for a phone number. Our waiter came over and said 'hmflaluderimpafnic?' Pardon? I said. He said 'mfladerumbanquot?' I'm sorry? I replied. He huffed, sighed, and then loud and clear, as if he were talking to a two or eighty two year old shouted 'WHAT WOULD YOU LIKE TO DRINK?' Water!! I cried in despair, Just bring me water... The best was yet to come though, because when the food arrived it leapt off the plate, literally. Wildlife was flourishing faster than in my laundry bin, and I know which one I'd prefer to eat too; there was an ant in the Coke, one on the knife, and one in the pizza. Excuse me, I say, I asked for 'anchovies', not 'ants or peas'. I mean, I've heard of a garden salad, but that's taking it too far.

Holey Logic

Pentecostal churches are a bad place to be if you’re epileptic. If you happen to start fitting, people just gather around saying ‘more lord! more of you!’ You'd better look elsewhere for assistance. Foam at the mouth and they start casting out demons, pinning you down and anointing you with oil. They should provide safe words, like they do in S&M (or so I've been told), then you can shout ‘cornflakes, cornflakes’ and everyone understands. Although having said that, they’d probably just pray for healing instead.

Love is in the Air

I was waiting for a friend today to reassure me about life, limited companies, and how not to scream in terror of it all, so I went for a beer in The Westbourne. The barman drew me a pint of Hoegaarden, I said I'd rather have the drink, so he gave me that instead, I'm kidding of course. I sat in the sun next to two friends, a girl and a boy, catching up, filling the other in, going over the details of each other's mundanity to make them feel that little bit more real. Anyway, this girl was describing her new approach to finding lovers, it's pretty novel... She's scratched looks, personality, job, status, pretty much everything; now it all hangs on one vital ingredient: smell. And not the shallow aspects of smell you or I might consider, like freshly showered and not smelling of Old Spice, oh no! She is basing her attraction solely on the pheremones of the immune system. Apparently we are drawn to people who have strongly dissimilar disease fighting make-up than our own, as this will lead to a well-rounded offspring who'll fight all infections and possibly reduce Lemsip to a mere slightly bitter lemony hot drink. However things aren't going well for her. She can't find anyone. Her companion asks what was wrong with the last guy. He smelt of coathangers, she replies. Coathangers? Yeh. But what do coathangers smell of? You know, all coathangery. Musty? No. Metallic? Sort of, but more coathangish. You got rid of him just because of that? Yeh. Did you like him? Oh yeh, he was perfect apart from that. Are you seeing anyone now? Well I met this other guy... And how does he smell? Wow, he smells great. Thank God. He's just such a twat.

Wireless is more

I have a new place to be: The British Library. It's great! It has lots of books to make you feel wise, lots of people to frown upon to make you feel elitist, and lots of comfy leather chairs to plug your laptop in and feel busy. So as I'm here, I open my iTunes, to listen to a bit of Kate perhaps, when I see a list of names! People are sharing their iTunes!! I plug myself into Catherine Hall's collection, and she has great taste! I listen to Nouvelle Vague, a band/act that my friend is off to see tonight. This is very strange. Which of the people surrounding me is Catherine? Is she opposite me, tapping away on her Vaio, her blonde hair parted over blue eyes, her lips drawn in thin pink lines? Is she the stern girl in the stripy top and glasses, cross legged, frowning at the guy on the phone? Whoever she is I want to get a message to her: I love your tunes, I love your taste. In one action we are brought so close together, and remain so far apart.

Sleep Quiet

My bed has jaws. I climb in and it swallows me whole. I don't sleep for hours on end. My eyelashes are malting. Is that a sign of sleep defiency? On the tube everyone looks the same, washed out and nameless. I am forced into a corner by a man sitting so spread-legged he takes up the space of a small boat. It must be difficult having testicles that large. I feel real sorry for him. I read my book and the words float around the page, I can't focus on any one of them. Wow, I need some sleep. I spend a day of nothing. I come back home. I sit there watching my bed, ready for any sudden move it tries to make. It's trying to catch me out, play all innocent like, but I know it's game, and I'm not gonna fall again. I'll stay sleepless for as long as I need to.

Forgotten Times

The boy is looking where he cannot be found. He is looking for what cannot be remembered, searching for nothing. He sits in a bed and remembers making men from pipe cleaners in the dresser, stealing chocolate and raisin pieces from a brown gold tin, taking the postcard of the naked woman from the shelf when his grandfather was too old to see anymore. I am speaking of death in this house, and unspoken relatives who I never knew, sit here, unspeaking, as we get to know less and less of each other by the second. I miss him, my grandfather, even though we never got on. All the flowers have gone from the garden, the bushes, the pond, the tree. His study has been knocked through, I never knew what he did there, but there were maps, and boards with pins in, and cold, metal things that smelt of grease and must. The only thing that remains is the smell, it’s still so here, it lingers, like it’s waiting for its owner to return, it is one more ghost that haunts this house, and strangers come and strangers go and none ever realise what that scent is all about, about what gave birth to that fragrance. I am speaking of death in this house.

Dry Rot

The air is brutal, heavy and heaving, charged with loaded static and beatings ready to be unleashed. This is the type of weather you have no choice but to punch or be punched. It becomes almost impossible not to beat your fist into some soft skull, to knock blood and teeth to the street. We are seething with that energy, prowling around eyeing each other up; who will be the first to crack and unleash that brute force, to rip shirts and tear skin? Wait til dark, stay off the pavements, the heat leads to madness.

Two Sides

Why did you come?

I woke up with her this morning.
My eyes found out quicker than I did.
They told my brain but he scoffed.
And then he screamed.

How did you wake up with her?

Slowly.

Don’t be facetious, how did you get there?

The same way I got here.

What did you do next?

I got up to get a glass of water.

-

There are so many things I want to take back.

-

this is how I woke up this morning