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.