i had a connection with a neighbour, in the sense that she is a neighbour who lives on the same street as I accross the road and a few doors down, about 11. anyways, she was walking her dogs round the block and i noticed her looking at our house, i was upstairs and she was peering into the front-room window. she must have sensed i was watching because she suddenly looked directly at me. I was a bit taken a back because i hadn’t noticed i had been watching her. she walked on and the whole affair was over before a second had passed. i felt i had been perceived as a peeping tom and she would go to the neighbourhood watch if there is one and inform the rest of the road. Drastic i know, but then i thought why should i not be looking out of my window into the world. i have every right to look where i want. i am sick of shielding my eyes for the sake of others. i do not want to feel like i can not take an interest into what is going on in the world outside myself. as much as it scares me.

i don’t know what to be afraid of anymore.

i have misplaced passions, but have not lost them. i feel them in my chest. i don’t know how to use them.

it fell from the tree

it falls from the tree

its a constant habit, its constant. its hard to see its end, but it must. at some point. surely all things will. but i find that hard to believe. i find it hard to believe because i believe it is not true. that may sound obvious, but some obvious things are hard to decipher.

melodramatically, melodrama. microwave ovens.

thinking fast on my feet. knowing what will happen next, following the path., leading the way. falling down, once twice. falling down four or five times. in the same trip. in a journey full of pot holes and rainbows and gold and things.

leaking obsessively. freely. flowing, hardy at-all. cobwebs of bleach. cobwebs of stalls. cobwebs of sofa’s.

making space in things and loosing space in time and time in fractures. fractures of air and fractures of spiders legs. fractures of ankles and ribs and toes.

be careful now. watch around. sense with all senses. smell taste touch hear see. know.

aching limbs forcing situations. wanting and pressing and feeling and holding and warm and cold and breathless and harsh and full and loving and loathing and crying and weeping and shrieking and containing and smiling and laughing and following and leading and trying and failing and coming and going and seeing and creeping and crawling and writhing and talking and smoking and joking and croaking and longing and needing and screaming and leaving and making and doing and toppling and funding and sucking and licking and thinking and creating and cocooning and crooning and booming and following and crying and crying and toking and wrecking and smacking and packing and groping and hoping and forgetting and gorging and pouring and snoring and floating and noting and snorting and courting and flying and dying and crying and crying and smirking and lurking and tracking and lacking and wishing and failing and finding and loving and loving and loving and trucking and mucking and clutching and burning and turning and learning and taking and forgetting and wishing and wishing and hoping and loving and smoking and croaking and poking and pushing and smothering and pulling and loving and minding and climbing and winding and craving and wanting and smelling and healing and peeking and seeking and lying and lying and crying and loving and loving and needing and loving and longing

from the throat it erupts and transfuses and settles and rests. it follows onwards and upwards and from south to north and left to write and east to west and not getting lost but gaining all the time

remember to gain

remember to loose and be lost.

be lost

smoke.

Once there was a boy who new he loved too much.  Its a sad tale, and the ending probably wont suit.

you see, when he was a very young boy he resided in a world of his own, in this world everything looked special. the leaves on the ground looked like they belonged to someone special. the rubbish on the street looked delicately placed. the fog in the air enveloped him in sparkles and niceness and the moon was his best and only real friend.

Except of course the moon was not his real friend. The leaves had fallen from the trees and the rubbish was just rubbish, but you see how this boy lived. In his own special world.

Content in his world of the moon and the dolphins (that’s right, he talked to them as well, through the power of his mind) this little boy never needed to love or feel loved too much. On his travels through the lonesome playground he met another real boy, who was in many ways similar to him and in many ways different. for whatever reason, and without much conversation the boys would walk around in their own little worlds together. something strange was happening to our young boy, we shall call him Charlie, Charlie was feeling something different, and i think, in my humble opinion it was human connection. something new for young Charlie, new and exciting, and before long he ran with it. but not fast, just at a jogging pace. He never spoke about these rushing fluid feelings inside his chest, he never mentioned the sickness when he was away from, lets call him Ted. then one day Ted died. Charlie, not really knowing where to go next turned to the moon again, but alas, the moon had found other friends during its time of neglect, and so Charlie began his search for another Ted, as the years went by so did Charlie. He grew and slipped into the folds of society. he courted young ladies and befriended old men, he soon became confused with the runny feelings in his chest that he was having for everyone until one day Ted came back, but bigger and stronger and better and in another persons body. Instantly Charlie was glossy eyed and in love and oh how he wished it could be this way forever, and for some time he thought it would. again he wandered round in his own little world with new Ted and was happy once more, and without realising what he was doing he began to dote on New Ted, and this was unfair, after some time he realised what he was doing and realised that he could not stop it, there was no end to the love he had to give and it was beginning to drown him and Ted, and for some reason, no matter how hard he tried he poured and poured until he and Ted could no longer breath. Charlie tried his hardest to divert his attentions to someone else and in doing so found Ted 2, who was perfect and wonderful and all the things he could of wished for. Alas it was not meant to be Ted 2 had other plans and other worries and it would be silly for Charlie to add himself to those worries of poor Ted 2, so again the love was left to roam freely until it found someone to latch onto, Like Ted 3, who looked promising but somehow fell into the same category of unwillingness as Ted, New Ted and Ted 2.

Amongst all these Ted’s there were Rosalind’s and Gertrude’s and Daisy’s and Beth’s. there was one girl for whom he would die. But all he wanted was a Ted.

Not that interesting a tale i know, but it passed some time where i had no choice but to sit at this screen.

‘why did you grow a beard? why did you grow a beard? i can’t leave you alone for five minutes, what the christ, what the devil.

and that is where i will end.

there is a small child, i can see her through the window, she is wearing a long red dress over some blue dance trousers, her hair is brown and plaited and in bunches. she is carrying a brown bag, it looks the same as mine, but mine is grey. she is smiling at me and has waved twice and said thank you once when i directed her to the cafe. she is a pleasant girl.

there is a smog, one that is always here, but today it is being penetrate by a battling ray of sun. the clouds are against it. the smog is against it. but it is pushing on regardless, good sun ray. how nice of you to make the effort.

the girls is entertaining a group of grown ups at least 4 of them. they are laughing at her grown up ways. she just wants to be a grown up.

don’t we all.

the street is chained to push bikes, and the little girl is riding them all.

It never lasts long, for the rest come crashing down upon it with such force that the confusion takes over and everything looks like a cloud of smoke, like small particles of gas fighting around each other to find a space in a vacuum of endless red flesh.

wearily it pauses, it takes breath and it settles. A few make there way at a slow mourning pace back to the throat, but with no real urgency. no real malice, almost mockingly. Mockingly and tired.

Elsewhere there is a rising storm, it begins to swirl small and meaningless. dislodging loose bits of tea and dinner from nights before and carrying them away. Maybe a bit of pasta, a green herb from the pesto, tarnished red by the wine. It is going nowhere, the journey is short and pointless and at the end of the day lacking in enthusiasm. It dies away, its attempt at destruction is thwarted by the total realisation at the pointlessness of its act. A useless cog in a useless machine.  

I’m not even trying to achieve anything, I am just waisting time, filling the space with words, filling the space with words not feelings, although in truth they are actually feelings, but i can feel them. Sometimes there are feelings that people think they can feel, but really they can’t. like the hate and the hurt and the anger and the giddy excitement. of course you can feel these, but then can you actually feel them. if they fell out onto the table would you be able to touch them, define there shapes. feel the texture of there outer skin or muscle.

i don’t understand how it can be that a memory that you might not have could evoke and emotion in you worthy of  writing about when you have been given so many memories that you know are real and could share.

i don’t understand why i think i keep seeing the same person in separate places at the same time.

i don’t truly believe i understand what I’m doing and why I’m doing it yet I’m 1000 sure i am doing it and i know why.

its these contradictions that i guess i live my life on, i teeter on the edge of them. like in Brighton. like in stow, like in all the places where there has been something with an edge or a ledge and i have teetered. they could be viewed as my physical contradictions, my tools of contradictions.

there we are, two forms of talking shit.

it was nice, last night, when i brushed past your thigh with my knee.

it was nice, last night, when your fingers rested gently on my throat.

it was nice, last night, when your nose was next to my ear.

it was nice, last night, when you lay on your stomach and held onto my arm.

it was nice, last night, when the moon turned to sun and you were still holding my arm.

it was nice this morning, up untill i could not see you through the window any more.

but it will be nice this night, I’m sure. 

my phone rings every now and then but has no reason to interrupt my day. no one actually phones to speak with me, they just want to be redirected to someone more important. i am not bitter, i am a little hungry though.

my thoughts turn to Mars Bars and i realise that i used to hate the sickly sweet chocolaty treat. now however i eat them all the time, ever since i heard a song by an artist who means more to me than she or i know, sing about them that i started to indulge in them daily.

and it is this that i dream of now, but i have no access to it, and i will not be able to gain access to it until at least lunch time at which point the desire would have burnt out like a candle if left outside in today’s weather.

and so it comes to the point, where i think of the things that i should write about and what i should say and why am i saying it and what does it mean and where will it lead me if anywhere at all, and if i get there if its led me then what will i do. but of course i am not writing anything at all. all these words are for you. my friend across the water.these words are for you, and although they may seem like nothing at all to others, i hope they will mean something to you, even if it reminds you to eat a chocolate bar or to take your candle in.