Scrapbook of Stars (13/12/08)

The constellations are clearly visible and the sky is alive even with the half crescent moon. Outside looks a totally different place to last night where all was black and dead tonight all is light and alive. The wine has started to finally take hold and sleep catches a breath with a yawn and I can see the stars behind my eyes ushering me into a land of memories and sins long since forgotten. The dreams and nightmares merging into a giant collage, a scrapbook of the life I have wasted, enjoyed and destroyed, of the life I do not deserve yet by some strange fate have been granted free access to.

It is becoming more scary to sleep yet at the same time more exciting to reveal that which I have forgotten or cast away, hidden or hid from. All is waiting on the tip of my tongue to escape into my consciousness as I sleep to dream and dream to sleep though never quite knowing where sleep is actually sleep or pure lucidity.

Resin (12/12/08)

Rubbing resin into my eyes provides a mild enough irritation and distraction to vanquish the thoughts that were fighting to take over.

The warm glow of the tea is long gone and the birds are singing a lullaby as my eyes start to play tricks of dancing shadows and rainbow patterns. These are the images of a day where I have loved, lost, become and become lost, a day which always looked the same and behaved as it would and as it should but a day that seemed oblivious to the simple fact that I exist.

Sleep and a world other than this is long overdue but through fear - fear of sleep, fear of waking and fear of tomorrow somehow being right here, right now colder than I would like yet still warm seems somehow better than anything else i can imagine.

Mr Nobody

When there is nothing left but the smoke who do you see but yourself - through a stained and tired mirror yet still looking crisp, smart, slick and organised yet totally lost. Transfixed by the reflection of a man i do not recognise.

The Police

Once again a phonecall from the police. This time it was with concern for my wellbeing.
I am not sure how to take or treat the phonecall so I have let it not concern me and return to my original plan(s)

The Intercity Luton Line

There is an abundance of shoppers flowing around the streets of Luton with the soundtrack that is stripping me of the last vestiges of sanity and dignity seemingly playing from every shop, stall and even police cars. Long phonecalls that have done nothing but rape me of battery and credit, begging, crying praying for a solution to the fact that with a pound in my pocket and the dark just creeping in homelessness at Christmas simply will not become an option. There were conversations with the dead, the soon to be dead and the very dead all whilst the words that dropped from my mouth were mis-understood, mis-con screwed and pretty much ignored. Family become a nightmare - a waking nightmare that is hard to escape and friends become in the vain of my life worthless and pointless.

Luton is handy in the fact that the intercity London trains fly through at over a hundred miles per hour not stopping until London not pausing even for the wreckage of a man haunted by his own existence. I was here a few years ago covered in bloody vomit from my stomach ulcer and the stress of sleeping and living within the extreme heat of an unusual summer. I managed to escape last time... i managed to find the emotional strength and support i needed to resist the urge to jump and watch my life finally flash before my eyes and that of a hundred onlookers. Its a harsh Christmas present for those around that see or hear of or read about in the future but hopefully it will make them look long and hard at their actions or lack of responsibilities. Those with all, or those with at least a sum of the part never wanted to add to the equation and the encouragement for my actions have been loud and clear. It is a shame we live in a world with so many constrictions and borders in obtaining pills that are actually worth taking on bulk, last time, it was just a bloody ulcer and painful morning. The wreckage of my insides still taunting me each day and the mess of my mind a constant reminder that all of this is for the best.

I woke once more with her drowning out my thoughts and her screaming into my mind and made the decision finally within a few minutes. A cup of tea, half a packet of fags and sitting on the cold balcony of another place I have to leave shortly. Nobody wants a Mr Nobody - not even himself anymore......

The Twelve Days Of Christmas (abridged)

Something is slightly wrong with my picture of festive cheer and time for goodwill to all men. Even the battlefields took time out to observe a degree of civility towards each other if only separated by hours and trenches. My view of Christmas is the view as of every other year - a lonely one ether spent working or simply alone in a pile of pharmaceuticals wishing for turkey and stuffing, bucks fizz and toast for morning, truffles and mince pies, excess and the queens speech. Every year is slightly different in guise yet the context remains bleak.

I am spending my time shooting pool and necking beer at my friends gay club in one of the many satellite cities dotted around London. Its grim, cold and empty but at least the balls roll for me and i remain king of this little domain for a time period. King of Pool. the crowd goes wild....

There is an element of hiding involved which include the elements, the environment and the mess I am embroiled within and hiding in the last possible place anybody would look for me goes a long way to provide safety in way of a security blanket.

I light another cigarette away from the pub and in the office upstairs pumping drum and bass out of the heavy duty speakers hoping it will take over the noise that is already clouding all rational and reasonable thought. Why I ever entered into this I will never know. The full circle of the journey is steeped in irony which at least brings about a chuckle wandering around a city that seems more black and gay than anywhere I have ever known. Its a fitting stop off point.

With Christmas literally days away and pressure upon me to be alternative once more words are the one thing that have yet to fail me. These words... well they are the start once more of a story that will remain accompanied with a baseline and rain and of that monkey once more with a miniature cymbal.

Alas the end........

I always imagined what she would look like in her wedding dress.
At least my imagination was spot on.
Everything changed in a second.
Everything ended in moment.
Goodbye all.

Flowers

"you can grow flowers from where dirt used to be..........."

Mojito pannacotta's

I spent most of my day regretting drinking the Havana 25yr old rum and the rest fucking until sore. The evening before a blur of images yet to be deciphered and the persistent smell beneath my fingernails, in my hair and stained on my sheet a flashback worthy of exploring.
It is a few days before my birthday and although walking a fine line it is a brighter shade of grey with momentary explosions of sun. It's a strange time and place. Somewhere between nowhere and anywhere. Once again a bubble existence surrounded by punting and picnics yet shallow and transparent to the point of glass. The scars ae healing but the stitches resemble a stevie wonder hatchet job. There is still a long way to go. Mojito pannacotta's and foie gras ballontines capture the tastebuds and gorging on new season asparagus, jersey royal potatoes and cromer crab helps just a little capture all and every reason why i still do this shit.

I

I ate, I fucked, I smoked and fucked some more. This way and that, nothing sacred, hours upon hours, water, ice-lolly's, a long suck, a hard fuck and a mouthful of come, this way and that.

Insomnia

I remember it well - creeping and lurking, kicking and screaming and not letting me get a single restful eye of sleep. It consumed for nearly seven years and seemingly now is back, three nights of turmoil and thinking of ways to fill the hours until dawn makes its appeareance and sleep takes that natural urgency. I think there may be things on my mind. I fear the worse!

fucked up

It has been a geographical and emotional nightmare to date with specks of fairy dust to leave that lasting chasing taste on the tongue. It has been a rollercoaster, eternally scary, impossible to get off, controlled by the mystery hand of another and it has been bliss in a fucked up kind of way. Now.
Its sedation.
Mourning still consumes and throughts are banished, trod upon, jumped out until so distant and dreary they lose any real meaning. It is a point where everything should matter more than it does but in reality and in feeling, i feel nothing but an aching pain that morphs and evolves, mutates and spreads and finds different ways of fucking with me.

Sleep

There is no hope for a civilization which starts each day to the sound of an alarm clock.

Swings & Roundabouts

Indeed things are different.
Almost strange.
Following on the bandwagon of perversion into a world of school uniforms and al fresco activities the summer starts here. Where it finishes...... will be very interesting indeed.

Police

There was a phonecall from who was supposedly a police officer, warning, politely to stay away. So i did, have and will..............

NeverLand

Nothing is the same. Everything is different and that difference is a little disturbing. It is not a good frame of mind as the tears of a clown spring, dancing merrily through my active yet subdued mind. A man of contrary I am indeed. All is not well in the garden of My Nobody but at least its a garden, cloud with a silver lining kind of viewpoint.

I miss her eternally and I am not sure how anyone or anything is ever going to fill the hole she has left gaping in my life. Crying at hollyoaks at teatime and sitting in the rain under the garden tea lights at three, stars everywhere, flies nipping at my tears are not good places to be. Free flowing and energising yet filled with the sorrow of yesterday.

There have been so few that I have been in love with out of so many I have loved but out of all of them she was the one and its that singular fact that haunts and torments me daily and I can't seem to shake it. I sometimes manage two days thinking that everything is best but mostly i barely manage to make it past two hours. Her name resonating in my head, her smile atomically burned into my mind. Her voice carried in the wind and her smell, randomly and strangely stopping me in my tracks. I miss her more than the pain can be explained.
I am sure I am not alone in my misery and for all of her smiles, her candy smiles underneath lie the tears of a clown. I miss Pippy as intensely as her, the package seemingly wrapped in diamonte and shrouded in stardust. I miss my Wendy in my neverland kind of life.

Mr Nobody is for one night only Peter Pan, the boy that never grew up and learned not to play with love as you will only end up covered in fairy dust.

Hollyoaks

I found myself crying during Hollyoaks, in all fairness it was an emotional episode, but still, it is a very bad sign especially with a full restaurant about to pile in expecting food i wish i were not cooking.

Tundra

Tundra filled the cold room - the breeze icy and arctic a welcome contrast to the heat of the kitchen. The sun is fighting for existence, poking, hinting and then retreating... and still the drums roll and tundra hurtles through like an S&M roller coaster - studded and coarse, a sledgehammer to the senses.
It soothes, calms and clears the mind eventually becoming part of my soul. The windows rattle, the bottles shake and Archie is scared, ears twittering and tail nervously jigging.
It seven minutes of eary madness leaving me breathless and every time - a thousand more since nineteen seventy seven - leaving me wanting more.

Skag Knife

She pulled out her skag knife. It glinted, it appalled, it looked dirty and I longed for a closer look but it was gone as quickly as it became and once more i continue to look for the touch of the filthy skag knife.

Cats

Do cats like bad people?
Do they just like everybody that treats them well?
Are cats just like himans?
Or are humans just like cats?

London

I watched London leave through the dirty coach windows and all I could think about was her. A restaurant we loved yet failed to return to since. The cravings for nicotine, tea and sex and those mornings of love seem like some other time. Somebody Else's other time.

A few seats forward the shadow of a man lurches violently with a cough that is a pleasant reminder I should smoke less and less reds. It would irritate me but I felt sorry for him and wished I had some water. A bad cough is a terrible thing. Irritation came from the Saville Row suited kid or hormone deficient man sat to my immediate right. Tapping into his phone with an annoying repetition of a man who has to be doing something. Music too loud floating into the fan-assisted silence, I even heard our song but that is becoming standard these days. Almost like a ticking time bomb. A Japanese couple sleep on each other, curled up in the way only couples can on a coach and it made me realise that we had never had a chance to leave this filthy city, we had never made time. Bubble love. London is.
It seems a shame one city, one moment in time defined us. Sad.

London speeds by and sooner at this time of night rather than later it is Hillingdon - a pit stop, a a benchmark, a landmark to a better place. Soon it is the motorway and soon it is home. Though I cant help but feel, cliched as it is, that home is where the heart is. A basement flat in Peckham of all places, somebody elses home as it always has been.

I miss acting on a heartbeat.
I do miss being me.
I think one day I may find myself again but until then i shall remain Mr Nobody.

Mariah

Mariah, mariah, you set my heart on fire little alice lost in wonderland you are.

Interpol

I listened to the back catalogue of Interpol whilst staring out into the grey of a season that just sits between February and April. The lost season of greys and winds, rain and a cold that is not quite winter. The lost season of secrets, recoil and hibernation. The surreptitious season.
It has been a day of organisation, meddling, tinkering and amusement, as ever, at the antics of others and the backbone that life seems to rip out of the majority - that fear, intricately consuming the conscious mind. So many closed minds and empty souls trapped in a purgatory of their own creation. Desires and needs suppressed by the conformity of the masses - blinded by the destination and oblivious to the journey.
Interpol are a fitting soundtrack to a day I find myself wishing for her to complete my jigsaw and free me from this purgatory of my own creation.

Kumquat

I was supposed to be writing but was distracted by the array of infused oils, local cheeses and Moroccan spices being delivered to my kitchen. A fine way to wake, stumbling into an Aladdin's cave of produce, dripping with sea water, covered in dirt and smelling of a thousand great things but so many fuckin boxes to open.

I spoke to "her" yesterday, the cats mother, about Pippy and when she should come and live with me. It was a point which faded to the background. It was our first conversation in months but our first real one this year, last year we were so much more than the little we were today, but that little was good. I left a part of my heart and soul in a basement flat in peckham with Pippy on guard protecting the parts I need to love again. I feel cold without them. I feel like a clown with frozen tears - stored for another day/week/another time maybe.
I stare into the skin of a Kumquat trying to work out if I can really do without Star Anise and wondering if i will ever be the same again.

"It feels like home"

It sits next to a nunnery, behind an old peoples home and a few plots up from a park with crazy golf and an athletics stone throw away from the neon of consumerism. It is my home sat on the border of new and old somewhere outside Oxfordshire. Its the kind of place where a shark hangs out of the roof of a local house, hosts a reputable theatre, festival and farmers market.
People talk instead of ignore and are curious not recluse. Loneliness is becoming a hard to find commodity once more but a simple ramble and it just opens up before me - sprawling spring greens as far as the eye can see. Mr Nobody is still so. An anonymous shadow behind the service door but with apple ketchup and Thai scallops on the menu a smile starts to form and with the arrival of Pippy - my ice-skating kitten that smile begins to be pinned once more.

Caterpillars

I like them and she did to. Where the sense was. Nobody knows.

Its A Monday

It seems its true about people in the east of London. They have their clocks and watches set ten minutes behind the rest of London. Its going to cause terrible chaos with the Olympic games but perhaps they will be made to change. I am not going to imply they are backward after all my coffee is good and non-branded, the strokes fill the air and for a brief moment in time I feel like myself. Altogether somewhere backward. Waiting fo something to happen.

Careless Whisper 2

Careless Whisper now floats in through the window I must close and once again today I feel ten. I just need dallas, snooker and the smell of ironing and everything will be complete.

Careless Whisper

Careless Whisper floats through the cold and empty black prince road and with big ben chiming in the distance its hard noto to feel weird.

Saturday Morning

I spent most of my Saturday morning masturbating and smoking instead of going to work. 

It just beats a fourteen hour shift and serving hundreds of breakfasts. 

I'm getting too old for this shit.

Handstands

I wasn't sure what to do with my morning so I did handstands in the living room until I went dizzy. No time at all, a mere ten minutes and it took me twenty to recover,

Cockroach

Crawling across my keyboard in an internet cafe down a back street in Soho. Immature and non-threatening it was hardly the horror story I always thought it would be. My first cockroach. I watched it scurry about for a few minutes with sirens wailing behind me and the chatter of a score of different nationalities around me, wondering, if any of them like me have just seen their first cockroach.

Secrets & Lies

"The truth is like the sun, its benefit is entirely dependent on our distance from it"

Resignation

(via text)

Boss: Where are you?

Me: Hiding in a bush

Boss: Which bush. I will come and get you.

Me: A bush you can never find me in

Boss: What the fuck you on

Me: Goodbye

"When the consequences out weight the advantages it is time for change"

Codeine

I was taking Codeine every day for a month. Letting each tablet melt onto my tongue and the effects wash away the woes and wranglings that have been dragging me down. A life of opiates far beats this shitty life.

Blog

It was going to be a movie script and now it’s a blog.
Here’s for the humble potato where so many great things can be created with meagre hands.

The End 2

It’s the natural order of things. Well, they say.
Everything ends.
Everything changes.
Not one single thing remains the same.
Except this was supposed to last forever. We even made a pact. Perhaps in retrospect it would have been better etched in blood. At least there would have been a sign for the future, a sign that it was all going to end up like this – in the worse possible way.

The Doughnut Man

I once knew man who made doughnuts. Original American recipe. He sold them for the entire time I knew him until he was pushed over a bridge in a supposed robbery. I never tasted his doughnuts.

Oh Sweet Canola

I am running out of everything, even the strawberry jam has gone. i miss the sweet smell of truffle oil and the sight of green Tabasco that instantly brought a smile.  There are not even any lentils left and the potatoes are moldy. It has got to a stage where there is only one thing left to do......

Dismantling

Its amazing how fast I can dismantle my life. Well practised I guess. Wires unravelled, clothes in bags, big stuff in a pile and knick knacks scattered in every which way possible. Its chaos but
with a quiet subdued order to it. Well-rehearsed, emotionally cold and caught well within the moment of homelessness.

I am sat her in my underwear thinking that nothing really matters because I will wake up soon and the rain will have gone, the cold will be hot and the pain will be happiness.
Somebody pinch me I seem to be paralysed.

The End?

I’m almost stoned enough to forget that anything matters but right now. This singular moment in time where the sound of a London that returns home drifts in through window, the smell of a hundred dinners fill the room and fight for airspace with smoke. Nothing, nearly matters.

The thing is that it’s not quite enough to let me forget that the next few moments in time are ones I can’t believe are happening. It is always the way. Whilst one is planning for the future the other is wanting away for their future. Tabloid problem page stuff. Nice to know that your life can be so neatly categorised by the experience of others.

It’s never expected. Sometimes more, sometimes less than the previous but one can never describe is as expected. Expected is a birthday. Its Christmas. Not this whole falling out of love thing. Even those moments have managed to morph themselves into many after. The uncertainty through her no show have caused for more weed and now alcohol – the devils drug. Frantic phonecalls, text messages and even facebook gets a look in but sadly realising. Realising now with the aid of massive attack and near darkness as it all starts to sink in. It is all futile and wasted breath. It is more wasted time that would be spent crying and moving on. Moving on is difficult when all and everything was her including the future I was building around her. It is sadly all over. Not from the devils mouth but in feeling and that is enough.