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..............