Scummy

I stood in the hall, small as it was and scattered with shoes, bags and bits of bacon the cat had dragged around, playing as she does. The glow of my cigarette the only light as day became night and finally I could rise but for now standing smoking is as good as it was going to get. Step at a time. Slowly but surely. It was never supposed to be so. I was never meant to end up here amongst the scummy people and their scummy lives of sniff, pints and spliffs. I always wanted to be a nice boy. Not scraping by trying to reach the surface.

Sex On Tuesday

We’d have sex probably every Tuesday.
The routine was what I liked about her. That precise attention to detail and time.
Oh how I loved her. So very much.
She reminded me of my mother with her fastidious nature and icy manner.
Oh how I love her and how I think she loves me.

The Old Women

Battered and haggard well before her time she stumbles around the street with her wonky shopping trolley and rat faced dog.

Shoplifting

I think you forget skills.

If they are not used, or ignored – maybe abused or neglected.

They fall from the conscious mind lying dormant, hibernating until they are sparked again. Needed again. Relied upon again.

When I was a kid, an adolescent really. A tortured teenager on the estate I stole for all reasons but poverty. I stole because I could. Because I wanted to. Because I was bored.

It wasn’t in isolation either. I stole with Mike. My best friend.

We stole shirts, shoes and all the music we could lay our hands on. We loved books and movies, hats and sunglasses. Chocolate and alcohol fuelled a summer bathing on the old school yard rich with our spoils and smug in the last real summer sun I can remember.

A long decade ago.

Stealing was our shopping.

Then we stopped. One or two many close encounters. We were asking a lot from luck, permanent requests and citations, we danced on a very thin patch of land that seemed eternally blessed from harm.

We faked fires, used decoys and hired circus performers to assist in our more and more outrageous and outlandish behaviour and all for a few more spoils.

So we stopped. Before anything bad happened and besides – it stopped being fun.

The Ninja & Other Friends

The demons and the Ninja fighting in my bathroom.

The sound of an approaching ghost train threatens to consume the amusing commentary, banter so to speak, between the Ninja and the Demons.

The sun and the moon jostle for a seat sink-side and the crowd is dotted with stars.

Heaven and Hell are here in , daytrips of course, but with the sun and the moon here already who knows what time of day it is.

The animals of the world form a bandstand, confused by the lack of any-light, they watch, like everybody else the mighty battle. The monkeys talking fervently and sensing this may be their time to attack. Never trust the monkeys. They are far too clever. Clever I tell you.

Copper, No Silver

I managed to count out ninety eight pence in copper. No silver. That’s a luxury at the moment. Only the dull and dirty copper stained green, blue and black. Its become a sad state of affairs recently. Where I have to walk twice as far to the local shop because I owe fifty pence to the closest and my self-loathing and pity stops me going in there. I just need milk and bread and that will get me through the day. I bought tea bags yesterday. Sugar the day before. I have no butter but stole some Strawberry Jam. Each day I figure if I search all and everywhere I will find enough loose change to get me through the next day.

Beetroot

Beetroot stained fingers of scars and warts hint towards the abyss of abandonment that this life brings - gift-wrapped with blunt wrappers and tied with the entrails of a pig.

Lighter Conspiracy

Where do all the fucking lighters go?
Really?
If everybody is asking the question, then surely, it can only mean one thing. There is the biggest conspiracy being perpetuated before our very eyes. Somehow lighters are the experimental first use of nano technology. Lighters that are In fact a million little specs no bigger than a micrometre. Engineered, programmed with instructions. Access to Google Maps and Swiss Army Knife. Nano like of course. They just run back to the shops. Its experimental technology. Sometimes they get lost. Sometimes it all goes wrong but mostly they make it back safe. Safe to the shops for us fuckers to buy them again.

Peckham - The Land of White Gold

The sun is glaring. Its evil intent to off guard London and its malice smile burn and blister a population carrying umbrellas to work. I leave shortly after the rain has fallen for what seems like an eternity, The pavement feels sodden and the trees lining York Grove hung heavy and tired. My nose is warning my of the impending stream of symptoms I will start to feel as the day unwinds unfortunately not with the gently lullaby accompanying a dancing ballerina but more with the sound of an ancient torture device being used slowly and with great precision on bone. My bowels ache and my stomach is churning. Nicotine, nicotine and nicotine feeds the pain and the codeine gently starts to weave its magic on my stoned, tired and jaded mind.

I look into the street dotted with big, expensive black cars. Peckham. Land of gold it would appear if you are willing to accept gold is sometimes white and brown.