POEM for a Souther Girl

 Southern baptist bound and tied 

For a life that has forgotten 

The wounds of young too deep and true 

American blue, red white and cool

From a father who didn't know mercy 

And a mother who couldn't find freedom 

Free-mom R.I.P. the chains with growing pains

And rid yourself of the pasture times and pastor’s lines 

Poised and coinless left to devices of her own

She strives when and if the time is right 

Or wrongly strongly holding onto a glimpse 

Of a future worth fighting for 

Tangled wicked web of stitches

Snitches get a glimpse then twitch

For the Pastor’s voice still holds its valore 

Shell never say a work about what happened in those parts

Not today, nor not ever 

City Wasted

 You left me out there in the cold

Shook me to the core

There not much left anymore

I’m a slave to your love

Broken the bottle open wide

Drank til I was numb

Nothing heals the pain that lasts

Tactless bastard of the aftermath

10 Thousand miles yearning for touch

Never learned to play the game

All alone, utterly alone

You took me out to the city 

Made me crazy and fucking wasted 

I did this

Plane Spotting

 

Fickle Presence

 She lays mostly asleep in an early morning slumber, the heat pushing against the dew on the windows opposite of the cold London November air. Is she dreaming? I wonder, are those dreams like mine - the ones that stirred my brain and pulled me out of bed like a fact defying inertia. Or does she sleep soundly as I hoped to; caressed and cared for by the beautiful subconscious, euphoric restful bliss. Is it the calm before the storm, before the maladies of life evoke their innate purpose and stir the momentary dead? I pray for her while sipping lemon ginger tea from a Zara home cup, profoundly unoriginal and serving its purpose. 

Sleep deprived but still I wake, with pupils dilated and bags like elephants hanging from sky she parachutes - I wonder...What does it feel like to be present in sleep? Is it a state of nothingness; unscathed by the wrath of virtuous thought and incessant desires? Is it dreamlike, or Dantes Inferno, is the fire blue or orange, or envy green? Is it speckled light and paisley dripped kaleidoscope art, illuminating the back of eyelids shut firmly but ever capable of lifting? Oh, I wonder. Is it a painting canvas asking for a beating, to be drenched like an orgasm? Is it that ecliptic moment right before release where all you want is to achieve nirvana knowing it's gone quicker than it came?

Sunrise, east side, come again today - be my unnecessary alarm, guarded soldier without a war. Rise from the same side of the bed and feel the wooden path to morning glory. Shit, shower, shave, take meds, breath, eat, pray, plan, act...be. But can we be? Why does the present feel so different from our distant dreams where one part is vivid and the other is a blur in a windstorm, suffocated memory glands of dust from the dessert. Attempt to live the dream from notes which look only like ripped projector screen images, but try nonetheless. Since if we cannot choose our sleep, nor our dreams, nor our lives - all we have control over is this moment which passed by before we ever saw it coming. 

Young Man, Old Bill

30 days he said in the room, thats how far I have come. It feels like eternity as I sit back in this chair waiting for the right opportunity to give a share - a bit of knowledge I feel I amassed. See, I am the clever one in this room. The mighty lion who has conquered addiction without affliction, everyone should listen to my roar. Young woman only 3 days clean sits back, glued to her fucking Samsung flip phone screen. She isn't even clean, nor serene, taking up a seat in the den and eats, where all the real addicts meet. 

Im sleeping well, with my emotions at bay - easily finding my way to every meetings across the town. I find the winners, or so I think, but they'll probably relapse as they are not as smart as me. I thank baby Jesus, God, or whatever is thee - give over  my self will, and see that higher power be. 

Presently content and innately perturbed, confused why no one is talking to me. No coffee invites, sponsors, or suggestions about new great TV. While I sit patiently for my time to speak, for everyone to sit back and notice me; I twiddle my fingers at the commiserated nonsense, who better than I? 

Each story of misery, plotted and twists, sitting with abated breath and clenching fists -  Is life all that bad huh? You need a drink. You left all your family to ponder and think. While your kids did their homework and fastened a meal, you drank and you drank until you couldn't feel. So what they're older, they've stopped talking to you now, your sons a divorced heroin addict and daughter a Munchausen syndrome cow. You made a choice just like to be here today, pissed, drank, fucked, shot up everything away. 

I'm not as bad as you, I can safely confide, since i only drank myself to hanging and nearly died. Im alive in this room as I look at these two buffoons - sipping decaf coffee counting years of loneliness reciting prayers to be on the offence. You cannot be serious, taking advice from the hacks, ripped * stretched shirts and outdated pleated slacks. See I have 30 days in these rooms and they should be thanking me, for all the advice that I can bring with blissful glee. 

Its just then it struck me what my purpose must be, alone with my 30 day chip, I can clearly see. That all these poor saps are just like me - a different number in their pocket and a crippling decree. Do not take that first drink they say, or you'll end up like me, a drunk washed up punk - the universal wannabe. 

So just for today I take a seat, 30 days clean, bitter and serene. Listen to the drunks, the liars and the defeated, like looking into a mirror, this is what I needed. 

Day 5 - The Court

 The Court 

Trying to shake the itch that sticks and twitches at my skin

Pure addition, void of fiction - this is real life

Face it, We Can

Stop lying, You’re losing track 

The weight is even on both sides at the local bar 

Choose We Can

Stricken and afflicted by my past 

Trying to last without the glass that always FEELS empty

Don’t fill it. We Can 

Emaciated faces locked in by gates and fates

that we can control but, we don’t

Eat, breath, speak, love. We Can

Disease does not mean we cannot cease, 

To escape the tape, rope and ties -  to fix our lives 

DO it, We can. 

That Sexy Motha Fuckin' Coronavirus

Years later I am surely to look back at the title of this and marvel in its childish nature, but after months of isolations my ethereal and adolescent brain just wont let me attach a mature naming.

So its time, its been long enough to write what I do recognise as cliche' yet compulsory, obligatory even - thoughts on covid and the experience of self isolation. Rather than drone on with endless paragraphs of prose, which while purple, I promise you are missing out on some stunning vocab works. But, rather than being enlightening, charming, well spoken and driving couples from coital slavery, I'll go with a list. A list of of observations and experiences throughout this joyous opportunity for solitude and confinement. Mom - not everything I write is true or about me. I've learned these precursors are necessary when engaging in such a piece.

So "here it comes" in my best Alex Turner Sheffield England accent.

Observations of a lonely dickhead in isolation:

1. There is a new found obsession with keeping devices 100% charged. Its like there is this imminent fear that at one point the electricity is going to go out and I'll be left with 4 hours of macbook pro juice, and if I am lucky 9 hours of iPhone life before Im digging through the drawer of junk trying to find a fucking kindle which, mind you, has zero connectivity capabilities other than connecting to amazon. Which may allow me to buy another phone without batter therefore depleting my bank account and still being deprived of social distancing interaction via the virtual world.

2. Everyone is now attractive. I went for a run yesterday through Victoria park where typically Lovebox is held every year. The irony of social distancing in a park that is used to hosting 5,000 people dry humping each other listening to house music is comical. However being in isolation opens up your mind into whats attractive. For me as Im running about ANY boob bounce was a turn on. Small, big, uneven, nipples only. I was starting like a dope fein out in Santa Monica boulevard praying for a quarter drop. How long will this last? As soon as I am able to touch in the words of superbad an actual female nipple, will this dissipate or am attracted to any and all - ambivalent throughs leave me dizzy, but oh the boobs will save me.

3. People don't want to be alone. There is more connectivity than ever. As I speak with clients who live alone or partners who wish they lived alone for a day, there is a innate desire to be around other humans. Its gives credence to the commercials, social media posts, and profiteers who promote "us" and being there for each other. It's show that we cohabitate for a reason, that love is not lost and people should not fear change with one another but fear the notion of a desolate universe.

4. Anyone else have a sweet tooth? Last week I had a kit kat bar pre 9am every day. I woke up at 4am this morning started drinking sweet orange juice from the bottle and chased it down with a chunk of M&M bar with crispy bits. If you have not tried that candy yet, get yourself a mask, bandana or comdom, wrap that fucker around your face and get your virus susceptible body into an off license to buy one. They are delicious.

5. Friends are the best. Prior to this two men calling up each other on Tuesday, Thursday and Sunday would be considered "gay" or even questioned by our partners as an excessive catch up. I have about 3 calls a week with my good friend Dom - who I think is probably gay. His hair is now growing out and he is using his fiance's hair tie to push it back. Sadly its not long enough to do so, so its more of an act of feminism but I love him anyway. Dom - when you're ready to come out of that closet I will be there...two homosexual meters away. Not because I am worried that you are going to try to butt hump me, just because its the rules. You understand.

6. Online dating is for the birds. I started off the first couple weeks in a full rabit hole. I was like Anthony Kiedis in Scar Tissue - there was not a drug he wouldn't try shooting, not an app I wouldn't give a look. It was not until after my friend Freddie recommended some app that turned out to be all people with bisexual fetishes like feet, pee-pee, and in some cases beating each other with cooking equipment that I had to take a step back and question both my sexual orientation and prowess. There are some advances beings in this crazy world of sex. I highly recommend putting the apps down.

a) if you meet you'll get sick. If you are thick enough to believe that they have decided to risk their health for you and only you because of your uncut hair and 4 inch dick, you're wrong. You are likely guy number 4 this week and not only do you have COVID but you have Chlamydia.

b) Take this time to be alone. We never have that opportunity to be truly alone. Masturbate.

c) No one tells the truth on these things. Even if you end up on an emotional rollercoast of whatsapp transition conversations, they are saying what you want to hear and vice versa. You'll meet in 3 months and realise you like her friend who isnt a cunt.

7. Speak to your family. If you hate them or love them, they are thinking of you. I lose my grandfather during this virus, and to the virus. When he was on a ventilator against his will the nurse help her mobile phone up to his ear so that each one of his grandchildren could say goodbye. From London to Virginia, to Connecticut, and California we all said our final words and an Irish blessing. As if almost planned by a god I can't call mine, he passed just as my father said his final words. I hope no one reading has had to experience a loss but if you have, you're not alone. Call your family often, kiss them if you can. This virus is a motha fucka but its not going to ruin all our plans.

So I'll leave it at lucky number Sleven which is a great movie on Amazon Prime if anyone is keen on horse racing and Josh Hartnett, yes he did another movie outside of Pearl Harbor. Stay isolated and stay sane. If you feel sad call a friend, call a family member. Guy -  don't be shallow or try to be omnipotent, we all need help at times, and this time is no different. Whether it's on facetime, zoom or micro teams, whilst on 30mins of exercise, or yourself in the mirror. Ask that person how they are doing with genuine passion - you never know when they need a friend more than ever. Let love win.

R