Monthly Archives: December 2011


‘She’s been like that for days, motionless. It is like she just shut down. She came home, sat on the chair and stopped.

I called the doctor and they can find nothing wrong apart from a shallow heart beat and a decaying pulse.

Maybe you should come round, talk to her, nothing I say is getting through. I don’t think she is listening any more. It looks like she is staring at the clock on the wall.

No, not eaten for days, she is just wasting away in that chair. Tip it over? I am sure she will just lie on the floor where she falls. At least in the chair she uses less space.

Of course I have shaken her, pinched her, punched her, all I got was a single tear.

I just don’t know what to do any more’


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So here it is again, forced smiles and the bitter after taste of sprouts and sherry in the back of your mouth.

Come on, it’s Christmas, I’m not going to be a grumpy git about it. Now, pick up your glass, enjoy the turkey sandwiches on Boxing day and remember you probably have another week off work.

Lucky bastards, remember to buy your favourite bar wench a drink, she probably wants a week off too.


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Tiredness starts to envelop me, eyelids heavy, as if a piano was tied to a lash and dropped at 50 feet. I lie in the recovery position and wait for the sinking feeling to dissipate. Stomach churns, skull burns and there is still less memory then usual. I come to the conclusion this is it, how it should be, how the world turns and juts, so I wait. A moth beats at the window feverishly craving the light bulb that hangs over me, new fangled, long lasting, colour of warmth drained from it. I should be somewhere, other then here, people relying on me to wake up, walk out and help them through their day. Not today, not another day, so incompetent and incomplete, inefficient in every way, shape and form, a whole blank generation, walking on their coffee filled knees. If I stay like this forever could I turn to stone then sand and float away on the breeze.

So I stand up, sway left and then right and take a foot forward. Back into the fold, back to earning, no learning and we all do it over again. Hahaha.


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Should have stopped while I had the chance

And all these new people don’t know me

So hidden

Best way to function

No one like surprises

And I’m sick as a dog, but I’ll soldier on

Dipped in runny yolk

Situations we put ourselves in

All so misleading

And I have to wonder which way is out.


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Sometimes you have to choose

A simple life, a 9 to 5, a wife your fond of and who will never stray, children to make you feel achievement, a mortgage, a car that runs, though you always wanted a Bentley. No tricks, no surprises, no real hope, almost contented, you will never be alone. Flatline

A life on the edge, no fixed abode, imagination, love, passion, creativity, spontaneity, highs so high and lows thunderously low, no time to catch a breath, so many thoughts, never quite catching up, a real muse you can probably never truly have.

I choose living.


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And as the hail and snow kicks in, and resolutions are made, the hidden questions in your mind spring out like broken Jack-In-The-Boxes, the ones you had buried all year, the ones you thought you didn’t have to answer.

Where are you going? who do you trust? how can you love in a world like this? Is it all just pointless? is there a goal we all score in our final days? What is the reason for it all?

And so you pick up your drink and trying to drown out the voices, become numb again. It makes more sense when you’re cold. No answers and no questions, just speaking bollocks to anyone who will listen and not remembering the words in the morning. Then, like a broken record, do it all over again as soon as you’re able to stomach it.

Just keep on running.

And then a quote from a film makes you laugh – “I stopped believing in God as its Dog backwards” and you can suddenly tolerate the world just a little bit more then normal, and maybe without that pint in your hand.


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Aqua Rouge

It’s all planning now, no more 9 to 5, no more twiddling your thumbs while your arse spreads fatter on a swivel chair behind a desk. Can you wear heels on a Friday night now? Do you remember that she loves him, but he is with her, and everyone knows anyway but we all pretend we don’t, and that Mr George will be in at 2pm every day for his ‘Aqua Rouge’, a copy of the Guardian and the seat next to the window. Then there is Simon who is at his seat at the bar bang on 5.05pm, he has his special Fosters glass cause it tastes better in that. His wife will turn up at 5.15pm with a sneer on her face and then they will both do the Times crossword til 6pm. Then they wander into the night, to go do what real couples do.

And have you ever seen women who drink bitter lemon? A perfect description.

A wink here, a few free drinks there, the promise of the moon, a number on a barmat and we do it all over again tomorrow.

Goodnight folks, time at the bar.


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