Wednesday, 21 March 2012

A metaphor for Love.

People are like liquids.
When two people get together, it's like mixing two liquids, and you have to let them settle.
And then the two people are settled.

And then something comes along and drinks it. 

Saturday, 8 October 2011

Monologue on Time

Time is stepping back, he doesn’t stand there beside me now, in his happy-elephant garb, I know he’s been here of course, he has that distinctive smell of cigarettes and shower gel, I don’t think he likes my girlfriend either, she doesn’t pay him attention, she only talks to him when she wants something, when I’m waiting for her he stands there beside me whispering ‘she’s a bitch, she’s a user, you can do better’, and when she’s there he’ll shout in the window, or try calling me and send me texts asking what I’m doing with my life, and it’s nice now that he’s here less.
We used to be the best of friends, I wouldn’t talk to anyone else, I lost a lot of good friends because of it, I had somewhat betrayed them for the company of time, and I can understand why he feels a bit betrayed too now that I have suddenly stopped caring for him. He has loads of friends though. “Friends” It takes a certain type of person to be friends with him. It was never easy getting to know him and very complicated when I did know him. It’s funny now, I kind of find myself forgetting what he was like, like an ex-lover you have in those ‘low periods’ of your life and nothing really makes an impression on you. I think we used to stay up late into the night and he’d be glowing, wildly animated, and I would carry him around on my back, me sweating, him laughing. I was drawn to him because of his intelligence, but he’s bitter really, I can see that now that we’ve fallen out, all his cleverness was really just spiteful complaining.
I’ll still see him, it’s not like he’s dead or I’m dead or we’re both dead, it will just be much more courteous and…business-like, it’s much easier that way anyway, I can finally be alone with my friends and family and my beautiful girlfriend and her child and I know that if ever I’m fading away on a bed he won’t be straddling me trying to get me to look into his eyes because we don’t have long left and we have to spend it together, because I’ll be holding other people’s hands, my family, whatever combination they will be in, and they’ll have loved me in ways that he couldn’t, and he won’t get past the doctors because it’s only extended family allowed to see me, and when he’s summoned as Time Of Death he can look on and say that he knew me once, before I asked him to step away, and that I was a good man, and he will be accurate, down to the millisecond, just like he used to be when we were the best of friends. 

Thursday, 6 October 2011

...meanwhile in the dictionary...

Jolly melancholy and mean congeniality,
Met up in reality to tear themselves apart,
‘Are you mad, coming here with that old melancholy air,
And skipping through the streets as if a dance you’re ‘bout to start?’
Said congeniality in his most meanest tendency,
While jolly melancholy turned to cheerfully retort;
I refuse to be accosted by your words; you have lost it my congenial
Remedial to kindness, you’re a tart!’
So they circled one another, both in bother, bitter, bettering their biting
Of the other until day had turned to dark,
‘Happy bastard’!
‘Crappy lover’!
(Clever quips from quirky monsters)
And the youngsters whooped and wheezed
And wheeled about them like the breeze,
And the dumpsters all went silent (curiosity and cats)
Animosity (by the bathful), possibly was running free!
Melancholy shouted folly (clearly he was off his trolley)
Slammed his brolly on congeniality’s forehead,
‘Is he dead?’ he keenly said,
‘I have him bet!’ (Now out of breath)
When congeniality shockingly said, ‘oh I survive’,
And he wet his lips and puckered,
‘Lets take five you jolly fucker’,
But an oxymoron came and ate the pair of them alive.


How now, night’s cow, smalled by the oak tree?
You’re big to me,
We are all smalled by the oak tree.

Wednesday, 5 October 2011

When the pain subsided; I saw death

Sickly, twisting tinges of the torso’s crispy hinges,
The pain, the constant pain, pain appears and sets to work,
Just a pleb for one great curse, each division working harder
On the bones, on the muscles, on the kidneys and the lungs,
Yielding yawns, growing groans, and mining moans, 
But the spawn of the faction never dawns on me, just lends me to the lessening
Less and less the love, the lively risings, heavy are my limbs,
The cramps and creaks are vultures laughing on a freshly fallen scarecrow,
I have done this; I have made the body bleed,
The breath reduce,
The mind induces only hope, such strong and silver hope, irrational!
But such a cloak to cushions daggers, such a cloak to keep the darkness warm,
And arm in arm we cape and grope the devil’s days, the hangman’s rope,
The blackest dogs of sweet mislay,
Super, we are hero, hope and I, hopeful heroes, getting by, learning to cope,
Who knows where the next bad hand will come from, stretching, taking,
Seizing, choking, who knows when that hand will lay upon my neck its tightest hold
And gently sway and rock me far away,
Far from sickly, twisted tinges of the torso’s crispy hinges,
Far from all dismay,
Who knows when I’ll hate the hand that takes my pain away,
And hope, still blowing in the absent-minded wind, she asks of me
To be a pessimist,
To be in the right mind and to be wrong of all the things that do me wrong,
To be wrong and to have life again, however long,
However long a life I’ve left, to use it to be wrong of all the things that tell me youngness is long gone and set in stone is death’s strong throng,
To be wrong too of the hand that longs to take me far away,
And the sickly, twisting tinges of the torso’s crispy hinges would be oiled and I would bow, down as low as I could bow, and kiss the ground and would not rise until my eyes had cried a night of cries, and with them washed I’d watch my water dry in new sunrise,
Under a sun that never shun before, a sun that didn’t spell ‘goodbye’ that wasn’t counting down when it came up, just rose in all its glory, just to say I am the sun and always will be, there is nothing man in me, and hope and I could say the same, that we’re the sun,
And when we’re up we’re up, we shine, and when we’re gone we’re gone.

Tuesday, 27 September 2011

She's The Man For You

If you're feeling like something new I got just the girl for you, 
Bet she'd make you rethink the book with just one look, 

Don't use lipstick, her hair is curled, the girl's a mystic, out of this world, 
Someone told me she's twenty nine; don't waste no time, 

Jack of diamonds, Ace of spades, she's seen all the cards been played,
Take a gamble, take a shot, raise the pot,

I hear she came from New Orleans, here she's treated like a queen, 
And she's playing with her new toys: The Irish Boys

She's got extras added on, all of her bad bits are gone, 
There's nobody could be her match, quite the catch, 

Well she'd be wearing eight-inch heels, still as cute as a baby seal, 
More than able to chew a bone; a Danger Zone,

And all the girl's are driven mad, 
The boys all say she's the best they ever had,
She wouldn't be seen not in your wildest dreams, 
Every time I meet her I think; 'Girl, you're bad', 
So if you're looking for something new she's the man for you,

'til old age is dream

Oh won't you wait 'til the morning comes, 
It's only a moment away, 
You're too busy thinking your time here's a race,
But we're all heading for the same place, 
And it's only the body that tears at the seams, 
If you let me, I'll sleep in your cradle 'til old age is dream,

'cause darling it's dangerous shutting me out, 
We're seven years into our merge, 
We don't have perfection; we'll do fine without, 
Just come away, dear, from the verge, 
Bodies bend and then break, faster than blinking it seems, 
If you let me, I'll sleep in your cradle 'til old age is dream,

Love, I'm told, is not ours to own, 
It's heralded and held hard with heaving hanging hearts, 
And if love won't keep us together,
Then love won't keep us apart, 

But the days; they move, to where from which they can't be redeemed,
If you let me, I'll sleep in your cradle 'til old age is dream.