13 February, 2010 at 09:21 (Uncategorized)

Lets take what we can get
I’m sign6ed up an6d signed away.
There are too man6y
winding roads
too much
blingding speed
and I’m trapped this side
of your wall.
Lets take what we can get away with
try to run though we haven’t got the time
and I’m blind to the future
and your loooking at me
like I’m supposed to know.
But the sun blinds me
an6d the sn6w is the same
you’re blowing hot and cold
Decide and go with it
this paths too far to ride
and I’ll go all the way with you
trapped too far
behind the wall
You o’er leapt


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12 February, 2010 at 23:10 (Uncategorized)

This is their gift to the future,
From their generation passed to hours,
a single command: honour us
and we obey.
The very lyrics tell us to.
It plays and we listen and we wonder
Every step of the way, it plays
and we wonder.
For it tells us how to live our lives
and we know,
the music tells us so
and we honour them.
Throughout our lives, lived knowing that theirs
was the Golden Age,
Mythologised the ten years they spent alone
and we have their gods as our own
taking them as the song says we should.
Honouring our own demons like gods
knowing that it is only in the music
and of course the drugs.
We’re not playing 78s anymore
but then, neither were they
when they wrote our liturgy
and every single song since,
every single poet writing love songs
for the beasts
we know how to treat them,
they told us how.
We’ll be singing
because they told us so
until the day that we die…
you know what I’m drinking.

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12 February, 2010 at 22:26 (Uncategorized)

How familiar. How unbearably familiar.
I read the words
and as if by rote I can hear the voices
we have all taken note
and we all know
what it’s like
when it’s your turn to take the hit
never gave it back
not even a little bit.
So you take what they give you
and you know
that you are the only one.

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11 February, 2010 at 23:58 (Uncategorized)

“You’re always so fucking miserable, that’s your problem.” he snarled at me over the sharing sundae.
I blinked, we had been eating chocolate ice-cream one moment and now he was…angry? Upset? I couldn’t quite tell.
“There’s never anything that satisfies you.”

“I quite like this icecream,” I began to object

“That’s not what I mean and you know it.”
I didn’t actually. So I just sat there and looked at him, scooping up the melting chocolate icecream with a piece of wafer.

“We go out to the beach and you look like that. We go to the cinema and you look like that. We have dinner over candlelight and you look like that. You never say a bloody word, you just look at me.”

“I like to…”

“Share silences yes I know.” he cut me off. “Well I don’t, you’re never happy you just have this nothingness to you and I can’t stand it anymore.”
I blinked again.
“Oh shut up. I can’t stand it, I can’t stand this. It’s all nothingness and I hate it. I think I hate you.”

“What do you mean you thi…”

He didn’t let me finish. “You’re not even crying, emotionless fucking robot. We could be shagging and you’d still have the same reactions. Oh leave it, I hate this.”

With that he stood and stormed out of the place.

I considered the conversation, such as it was, finishing the chocolate sundae as I did so. It had been interesting, trying out the whole boyfriend thing but I didn’t think I’d be doing it again, it had seemed to upset him so much. On the plus side, he had bought me several rather nice ice-creams.

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9 February, 2010 at 21:15 (Uncategorized)

Do you feel it slipping away?
The sadness is coming on now
for the moment
that solitary moment
has come and gone long ago
We only make our futures
we cannot make our nows
for they were long ago created
and are not really ours anyhow,
Do you feel the sadness?
Do you feel it yet?
It’s going to come on much stronger,
this isn’t as bad as it gets.

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9 February, 2010 at 12:09 (Uncategorized)

We are supposed to be buying a house today. Of course when I say that, this implies that he is here to add his little signature to mine and we give the lawyers the contracts and walk into a lovely little bungalowe that’s just right for the three of us.

I am here. I am right here, with the lawyers, one of whom is on a mobile apologising for being late for some meeting or other. One of whom occasionally glances in my direction. Sometimes, especially those times when she looks at me, beneath that oh so fashionably cut blonde fringe, sometimes I really hate other women.

I can read her every thought in those blue eyes which glance and then glance away. She’s thinking that my boyfriend’s chickened out, that he’s never intending to show and that this lovely little modern bungalowe with it’s nice sunny garden and bright cheerful, white plastic, double-glazed windows is never going to be ours.

I will for him to show up, somehow walk through the door, grin with the sparkle at his eyes and the bit where I think his teeth are going to go ‘zing’ like in cheesy comedies on tv. But he doesn’t. The lawyers aren’t going to wait much longer and to be honest I’m at a bit of a loss. I knew it was going to come down to this of course, but there’s no option for nipping to the toilet and having him appear, sign the papers and leave. They’d know it was me, there’s only one door in there.

So I’m waiting, exchanging oh so female glances with the blonde lawyer, and eventually they’ll leave. Next time we plan to buy some perfect little bungalowe where we could live out our dreams, next time I’m thinking it through, something that doesn’t require both our signatures. Either just mine or just his. Prefereably just his since if you look too closely into mine there’ll be legal issues, well, probably there will. I might get lucky.

I really hate other women sometimes. At least their unreliable boyfriends are other people. I’ve got nobody to blame but myself.

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The Stars

9 February, 2010 at 00:11 (Uncategorized)

Falling ap-art
Each section disconnected
From each light
a thread
where? somewhere?
There was a story here
and we who are speaking
not certain
The light left
and by the firelight embers now
there is
and the ash gives rise
to those murky murky rumours
and advice is given
by those who never understand
as the plastic people
are completely unaware
of what almost happened
and what the stars had planned.

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5 February, 2010 at 13:27 (Uncategorized)

Brother-mine til the end of time
I gave you my word.
Gave who my word?
For you are not who you say you are
and yet you are and yet
I promised her she promised me
You think I shall forget?
I gave my word
Will live my word
and this explains to me
How sides are chosen and promises made
and we have gone to sea.
The deep sea calls whilst I play
in the shallows still
and whilst I wish it was not so
I go where I have willed.

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The Opiate of the People

4 February, 2010 at 15:55 (Uncategorized)

First of all, I’m not insane. Second of all, he might be. Third of all, I am the kind of bitch who will use that.

Oh, fourth of all, I like the word bitch.
I didn’t used to, then I saw this TV show, well an episode of a TV show, one of those evil ghost is haunting the protagonist sort of shows. Anyway, the evil ghost haunts the pretty girl trying to get her to commit suicide and I’m staring at this with over two thirds of a bottle of vodka in me (one of those big ones from the offie). The girl’s on the floor and it’s looking like it’s all over for her, she’s sobbing and her mascara is streaked and I’m thinking ‘huh, I look a lot less pretty than that when I’m sobbing my eyes out’ and I pick up the vodka and I’m pretty close to having it finished when the evil ghost calls the girl on the floor a bitch. And this sobbing girl gets up and says that she is a bitch and finishes the ghost – this sounds a lot less interesting than the episode I saw on the screen (remember the vodka I’d drunk) also it was kind of empowering or something, strange the moods you get in. So I flushed the rest of the vodka and the pills and then spent the rest of the weekend in bed sleeping it off. On Monday morning I went in to the office and was a total bitch. Just like the girl on TV.

The snotty receptionist who does everything her boyfriend tells her and nothing any of her work colleagues say, well I told her I’d slept with her boyfriend and that if she didn’t smarten up I’d get him to leave her. What makes me laugh about that one is the reason she believed me was because I told her her boyfriend had the smallest dick I’d ever seen. It’s amazing what people will tell you if you let them.

My boss, the one who’s always looking down my top and making lewd smalltalk, I marched into his office, in my sexiest work clothes and a red hot teddy, and told him if he wanted me right there on the desk he could have me. He had a heart attack. No, literally. So I called the paramedics once I’d ripped a couple of my shirt buttons off. Then, once my boss was in the ambulance, his boss hurried over and I told him that he’d had a heart attack whilst sexually assaulting me. Which meant the rest of the week off and a tidy raise for me for keeping my mouth shut.

I spent most of the year being a bitch, it was fun, tidying up all the loose ends like that. Kind of like they do at the end of season TV shows. Course, it still leaves you where you started off, albeit richer and having a tidier life. So I called him up, I mean he really is kind of a fruit loop. He’s had a crush on me since school, and he’s still hanging around. Idiot.

So I fed him this line. About him being the only man I could trust, the only one I knew would understand and about how I was so scared but that he could make it all better. He believed me, completely, gullible little sod. So I kissed him and he was wrapped around my little finger for good. I’m about half way down the good merlot now, no sense in wasting that raise is the way I see it.

In a bit he’ll come back from the loo and we’ll do it. I can’t believe he came through for me but he got the guns alright. When he comes back I’ll finish the merlot. (He doesn’t drink – can you beleive that?) Then we’re going to knee beside each other, place the guns his next to my head and mine next to his, count down and shoot our brains out. Doesn’t really matter how much you empower yourself, or how much you dive into the chosen opiate of the twentieth century, you’re still just the same person you were when the ghost started torturing you, only this way out you get to leave a story behind. A whole mystery suicide pact for people to wonder about and tell stories about for years. Overdosing on pills and vodka just doesn’t cut that sort of story.

Oh, that was the flush, better make the most of this merlot, it’s going to be my last.

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