I, like many others out there I am sure, had an imaginary friend.
We did everything together, and a better friend a boy never had.
We would make up songs, draw pictures of each other, ride our bikes through the leafy alleyways behind our house (though my bike was not rocket powered.)
We shared a bedroom, and I suppose that's where the problems began.
We would target each other, snipe with remarks calculated to wound,
Our passive aggressive back and forth tore at our respective self esteem,
Until the night.
One I shall never forget, the tension released, all became hazy yet somehow clear.
The wild passion, untamed desire, the cause of our problems suddenly revealed,
but in the light of the new day a whole new set assembled.
Clumsy and awkward, eye contact evaded, shame nagging like an unappreciated wife.
Our world had changed, we were foreigners in our own kingdom.
We eventually lost touch, but I still sing the songs.
I had an imaginary friend,
One I shall never forget.
This was originally meant to be a joke, now it just seems weird...
Oh well, if the plan falls through and a statue that plays a selection of my best-loved catch-phrases on the hour isn't chosen as the replacement for Nelson's Column, at least this will serve as a monument to my bizarre mind.
Wednesday, 9 February 2011
The chicken didn't really cross the road...
I was on a date with a girl last week, I say girl, I suppose woman paints a clearer picture.
Yes, she was a bit older than me, and had a six year old, just to add some tangible baggage to the usual swirling cacophony that is the female psyche. (Note to female readers, I am not sexist, I've got loads of female friends... Mmm creamy and post-modern, take that conservative agenda!)
Anyway, it was a good night, we hate all the same music, we've shared a few bottles, we both prefer red, and she tells me about her son. He has special needs.
I have had the privilege in my life of meeting and working with many special needs children, for the most part I have got on with them very well, some were assholes, proving that they are as normal as anyone else.
Unfortunately I chose to display my easy going attitude to this potentially awkward topic in the only way I know how, with my usual brand of surreal wit.
"What, you mean he only breathes argon?" I laugh, she doesn't, my laughter begins to fade, it's awkward.
"He has muscular dystrophy" I am no longer laughing, the bar suddenly seems very quiet, the dim light, cosy only a few moments ago, suddenly casts intimidating shadows.
I search for something else to say, anything that will make the last ten seconds rewind. Sympathetic remark? Too much of a U-turn. Story about a boy called John I used to work with who has the same condition? No, he's a miserable bastard. Surreal wit? Too late. It comes to me and out of my mouth, in a quiet voice wrestling against the great monolith of tension we have erected to this perfect moment of good old British embarrassment.
"Of course, it's inaccurate to say someone would only be able to breathe argon, it's denser than air, it would make more sense to say one could only respirate argon, perhaps as a result of a mutation of the alveoli or atrium, or through a system of anaerobic respiration." She gives me the same look I get when I walk into a crowded lift and don't turn around.
Empathy! I hadn't thought of that, relate to her plight...
"My cat is on prozac..."
Still nothing, she must be a dog person, I desperately try to recall an episode of the Dog Whisperer I saw before I fixed my TV arial.
"Did you know that Great Danes..."
"Please don't."
"Fair enough."
She tells me it was lovely to meet me and shakes my hand, she gets into a black cab, twilight is fading, muted laughter echoes out of the bar door.
Did you notice too? She said it was lovely to meet me, not 'nice' or 'good', lovely.
Maybe fairy-tale endings are real after all, she'd look beautiful in white.
This story is based on true events, I really did go on a date once, I really know a guy called John with muscular dystrophy, he really is a miserable bastard.
The chicken didn't really cross the road.
Yes, she was a bit older than me, and had a six year old, just to add some tangible baggage to the usual swirling cacophony that is the female psyche. (Note to female readers, I am not sexist, I've got loads of female friends... Mmm creamy and post-modern, take that conservative agenda!)
Anyway, it was a good night, we hate all the same music, we've shared a few bottles, we both prefer red, and she tells me about her son. He has special needs.
I have had the privilege in my life of meeting and working with many special needs children, for the most part I have got on with them very well, some were assholes, proving that they are as normal as anyone else.
Unfortunately I chose to display my easy going attitude to this potentially awkward topic in the only way I know how, with my usual brand of surreal wit.
"What, you mean he only breathes argon?" I laugh, she doesn't, my laughter begins to fade, it's awkward.
"He has muscular dystrophy" I am no longer laughing, the bar suddenly seems very quiet, the dim light, cosy only a few moments ago, suddenly casts intimidating shadows.
I search for something else to say, anything that will make the last ten seconds rewind. Sympathetic remark? Too much of a U-turn. Story about a boy called John I used to work with who has the same condition? No, he's a miserable bastard. Surreal wit? Too late. It comes to me and out of my mouth, in a quiet voice wrestling against the great monolith of tension we have erected to this perfect moment of good old British embarrassment.
"Of course, it's inaccurate to say someone would only be able to breathe argon, it's denser than air, it would make more sense to say one could only respirate argon, perhaps as a result of a mutation of the alveoli or atrium, or through a system of anaerobic respiration." She gives me the same look I get when I walk into a crowded lift and don't turn around.
Empathy! I hadn't thought of that, relate to her plight...
"My cat is on prozac..."
Still nothing, she must be a dog person, I desperately try to recall an episode of the Dog Whisperer I saw before I fixed my TV arial.
"Did you know that Great Danes..."
"Please don't."
"Fair enough."
She tells me it was lovely to meet me and shakes my hand, she gets into a black cab, twilight is fading, muted laughter echoes out of the bar door.
Did you notice too? She said it was lovely to meet me, not 'nice' or 'good', lovely.
Maybe fairy-tale endings are real after all, she'd look beautiful in white.
This story is based on true events, I really did go on a date once, I really know a guy called John with muscular dystrophy, he really is a miserable bastard.
The chicken didn't really cross the road.
Friday, 8 October 2010
What happened to Fridays?
This is becoming a habit, but it's got to be better than meth. Maybe not crack, but definitely meth.
Look for what is there,
Through the shroud of broken ice,
The glacier melts.
And another, from my best friend.
Friday's upon us,
Force a smile for the masses,
I'm crap at Haiku!
So ends another Haiku Friday, I hope everyone learned something.
Kids, don't do drugs that are also jokes.
Look for what is there,
Through the shroud of broken ice,
The glacier melts.
And another, from my best friend.
Friday's upon us,
Force a smile for the masses,
I'm crap at Haiku!
So ends another Haiku Friday, I hope everyone learned something.
Kids, don't do drugs that are also jokes.
Friday, 1 October 2010
Too Late
Friday again and still no one gives a shit except you and me. Fucking hell this is depressing.
Too weak to kill time,
we all must wait to scavenge,
on that which remains.
Actually that's not bad...
Too weak to kill time,
we all must wait to scavenge,
on that which remains.
Actually that's not bad...
Friday, 24 September 2010
Just...
Haiku Fridays are here to stay... apparently.
Fridays are rubbish,
So much expectation,
Just disappointment.
This is such a crap idea.
Fridays are rubbish,
So much expectation,
Just disappointment.
This is such a crap idea.
Saturday, 18 September 2010
I know it's not Friday
A friend of mine declared this Friday the 17th of September in the grim year of our lord 2010 to be the first Haiku Friday. So it shall be, she brought this horror on the world.
As is fitting and just the first is about her. Out of context it is a certain shade of crap, please remember I am but a pawn in these twisted games.
Lucy is loco,
She redefines renegade,
She's Lucy Cannon.
Wait, why did I do this?
As is fitting and just the first is about her. Out of context it is a certain shade of crap, please remember I am but a pawn in these twisted games.
Lucy is loco,
She redefines renegade,
She's Lucy Cannon.
Wait, why did I do this?
Saturday, 4 September 2010
Wise, Good, Wild, Grave.
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rage at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Old age should burn and rage at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
This was obviously written by Dylan Thomas and not me. It is one of the many reasons that I choose to stay alive.
Thursday, 2 September 2010
Friday, 27 August 2010
When The Dog Bites, When The Bee Stings: Part Three
Cigarettes:
If you used to smoke but quit then shut up. You're like an ex gang member who became a youth worker.
I'm going to see this through to the end, by the time I get lung cancer it'll be a simple operation to fix me, it's you people dying of nothing that are fucked.
And remember, while you're sat inside the nice cosy pub feeling smug I'm outside huddled under the shelter with the hotty you clocked at the bar, making her think I'm a decent guy and telling her I write poetry, and we already have something in common.
I stole a joke from Bill Hicks because he is funny and I like his jokes they are good. We went to the pub and I had a pint it tasted like cold fizzy bin water and cost all my pocket money. The girl I met in the shelter she was nice she had a tattoo on her back. This Christmas I would like a sword and for daddy to stop making mummy cry and a Thomas the Tank Engine I have been good all year.
If you used to smoke but quit then shut up. You're like an ex gang member who became a youth worker.
I'm going to see this through to the end, by the time I get lung cancer it'll be a simple operation to fix me, it's you people dying of nothing that are fucked.
And remember, while you're sat inside the nice cosy pub feeling smug I'm outside huddled under the shelter with the hotty you clocked at the bar, making her think I'm a decent guy and telling her I write poetry, and we already have something in common.
I stole a joke from Bill Hicks because he is funny and I like his jokes they are good. We went to the pub and I had a pint it tasted like cold fizzy bin water and cost all my pocket money. The girl I met in the shelter she was nice she had a tattoo on her back. This Christmas I would like a sword and for daddy to stop making mummy cry and a Thomas the Tank Engine I have been good all year.
Sex Advice with Dr Nadin et al
This week our palatial offices have been literally swamped with bog like standing water and marshland flora and fauna. One plant that sprouted during this freak occurrence pollinated a filing cabinet and the resulting offspring were all annoying letters asking for sex advice from Lucy Pinder or another annoying oxygen thief running around without her vest on.
I have come to the conclusion that it is now my responsibility to answer these questions because it's my blog and I can write what I want.
If you are offended, you should probably get yourself sterilized for the good of my sanity and the human race at large.
Q: I allwayes get cramp in my fooot wen sheez rydin me, wot shud I do?!
A: Admit that you like the pain, plan a romantic evening complete with nipple clamps, hot wax and if you're feeling adventurous, a strap on. If she's into it too, why not try some self-immolation play? The horrific scarring will bring you closer together as a couple and there's a potential for a new career path in the niche porn/freak show/channel 4 documentary field.
Q: Me gf givs crap hed, wot shud I do??!
A: Throw her in at the deep end, literally. It's easier if she can't swim, otherwise a hessian sack filled with bricks can speed up the process. Make sure to use acid to burn her fingertips and use a sledgehammer to smash her jaw and teeth. Don't get stingy when it comes to bin-bags, the thicker the better.
If you think that she wouldn't be into this, just force it down her throat and go to town. If she bites it off, there's always the niche porn/freak show/channel 4 documentary to fall back on.
Q: I wanta doo me gf up da wrong whey, what shud I do??!!!
A: Trade her in for a boyfriend, you can still get good part exchange deals even in the current economic climate.
Seriously, get out of the closet, I know it's a big step, but it's got to be better than crying every time you have a wank, and the extra salt in your semen probably makes it taste terrible. Try drinking pineapple juice.
After reading this back I realize that many people may be offended, if you are then I suggest hanging as the most effective remedy.
I have come to the conclusion that it is now my responsibility to answer these questions because it's my blog and I can write what I want.
If you are offended, you should probably get yourself sterilized for the good of my sanity and the human race at large.
Q: I allwayes get cramp in my fooot wen sheez rydin me, wot shud I do?!
A: Admit that you like the pain, plan a romantic evening complete with nipple clamps, hot wax and if you're feeling adventurous, a strap on. If she's into it too, why not try some self-immolation play? The horrific scarring will bring you closer together as a couple and there's a potential for a new career path in the niche porn/freak show/channel 4 documentary field.
Q: Me gf givs crap hed, wot shud I do??!
A: Throw her in at the deep end, literally. It's easier if she can't swim, otherwise a hessian sack filled with bricks can speed up the process. Make sure to use acid to burn her fingertips and use a sledgehammer to smash her jaw and teeth. Don't get stingy when it comes to bin-bags, the thicker the better.
If you think that she wouldn't be into this, just force it down her throat and go to town. If she bites it off, there's always the niche porn/freak show/channel 4 documentary to fall back on.
Q: I wanta doo me gf up da wrong whey, what shud I do??!!!
A: Trade her in for a boyfriend, you can still get good part exchange deals even in the current economic climate.
Seriously, get out of the closet, I know it's a big step, but it's got to be better than crying every time you have a wank, and the extra salt in your semen probably makes it taste terrible. Try drinking pineapple juice.
After reading this back I realize that many people may be offended, if you are then I suggest hanging as the most effective remedy.
What the fuck is post-modernism?
Bill: Ok, ok, I've got one...
Ben: Go on then.
Bill: Well I will if you'd fucking shut up mate.
Ben: Don't try and undermine my masculinity just because you're insecure about being a fictional entity.
Bill: I'm sorry, I wish I could be more emotionally articulate, I think my problems stem from the fact my fucking father was never around and I worried about the size of my fucking penis all through my teen years. I don't even have a discernible fucking character apart from saying 'fucking' and having a crap sense of humor.
Ben: I understand.
They stare into each others eyes before kissing passionately for 4 minutes and 28 seconds
Bill: So anyway yeah, Bob told me this fucking hilarious joke the other day...
Ben: Which Bob?
Bill: White Bob, now would you let me tell the fucking joke?
Ben: Tell it then.
Bill: Right, so, how does a vagina expand?
Ben: Is this the joke?
Bill: Yeah of course it's the fucking joke.
Ben: Oh Jesus.
Bill: Do you want to fucking hear it or not?
Ben: Well not really to be honest.
Bill: For fuck's sake it's like new year's all over again.
Ben: Fine, I don't know, how does a vagina expand?
Bill: Any which way but loose!
Ben: That's barely even a joke.
Bill: Well you fucking tell one then.
Ben: I can't, that joke has forever corrupted my sense of humor, I'm off to watch Horne and Corden.
Bill: At least I make the fucking effort.
Ben: You're just crude.
Bill: You're wearing the fucking cheerleader outfit tonight.
Ben: Fine, but wash the gag first.
Bill: I love you.
Ben: I wish we could live forever, just so our love will never have to end.
Bill: It never will.
They embrace as the burning building collapses around them.
Vote yes on Prop 8, or no, whichever one means people have equal rights.
Ben: Go on then.
Bill: Well I will if you'd fucking shut up mate.
Ben: Don't try and undermine my masculinity just because you're insecure about being a fictional entity.
Bill: I'm sorry, I wish I could be more emotionally articulate, I think my problems stem from the fact my fucking father was never around and I worried about the size of my fucking penis all through my teen years. I don't even have a discernible fucking character apart from saying 'fucking' and having a crap sense of humor.
Ben: I understand.
They stare into each others eyes before kissing passionately for 4 minutes and 28 seconds
Bill: So anyway yeah, Bob told me this fucking hilarious joke the other day...
Ben: Which Bob?
Bill: White Bob, now would you let me tell the fucking joke?
Ben: Tell it then.
Bill: Right, so, how does a vagina expand?
Ben: Is this the joke?
Bill: Yeah of course it's the fucking joke.
Ben: Oh Jesus.
Bill: Do you want to fucking hear it or not?
Ben: Well not really to be honest.
Bill: For fuck's sake it's like new year's all over again.
Ben: Fine, I don't know, how does a vagina expand?
Bill: Any which way but loose!
Ben: That's barely even a joke.
Bill: Well you fucking tell one then.
Ben: I can't, that joke has forever corrupted my sense of humor, I'm off to watch Horne and Corden.
Bill: At least I make the fucking effort.
Ben: You're just crude.
Bill: You're wearing the fucking cheerleader outfit tonight.
Ben: Fine, but wash the gag first.
Bill: I love you.
Ben: I wish we could live forever, just so our love will never have to end.
Bill: It never will.
They embrace as the burning building collapses around them.
Vote yes on Prop 8, or no, whichever one means people have equal rights.
When The Dog Bites, When The Bee Stings: Part Two
Johnny Cash:
The guy owns your soul.
He was singing about blowing people away when 'How Much Is That Doggy In The Window' was at number 1 in the US.
That's like The Sex Pistols releasing 'God Raped The Queen'.
I'm going to start listening to Pig Destroyer just so I can be one of those old guys that stands at the back of gigs with a thousand yard stare that says 'You can never, no matter what happens, be as fucking pimp as I have spent the last twenty years being.'
I realize that I have just contradicted myself, but a girl can dream...
I mean boy...
I mean man...
I mean bloke...
Blokey bloke bloke, ooh the wife the car the football DIY mortgages Carling The Sun David Cameron fucking hell I wish either I or everyone else was dead.
I stole jokes from Bill Bailey and Tommy Gill for this post, in that order. I'm not sorry. In case you're wondering, they were the jokes you didn't think were very funny.
The guy owns your soul.
He was singing about blowing people away when 'How Much Is That Doggy In The Window' was at number 1 in the US.
That's like The Sex Pistols releasing 'God Raped The Queen'.
I'm going to start listening to Pig Destroyer just so I can be one of those old guys that stands at the back of gigs with a thousand yard stare that says 'You can never, no matter what happens, be as fucking pimp as I have spent the last twenty years being.'
I realize that I have just contradicted myself, but a girl can dream...
I mean boy...
I mean man...
I mean bloke...
Blokey bloke bloke, ooh the wife the car the football DIY mortgages Carling The Sun David Cameron fucking hell I wish either I or everyone else was dead.
I stole jokes from Bill Bailey and Tommy Gill for this post, in that order. I'm not sorry. In case you're wondering, they were the jokes you didn't think were very funny.
Something Serious
'Always' by Nadin et al
Soft, sleek and so dark,
The heat holds me still.
Moving through water to rise in the wake of the morning sun,
A gentle caress smoothes rough features,
The will becomes shadow.
Our welcome defeat dances and plays against the world,
Walls are banished,
And the dust skips to the tune of a glance,
As one smile lights half the world,
All the while a side, left abandoned, remembers.
Longing for the miracle of what,
So suddenly gained,
So soon moves on.
Soft, sleek and so dark,
The heat holds me still.
Moving through water to rise in the wake of the morning sun,
A gentle caress smoothes rough features,
The will becomes shadow.
Our welcome defeat dances and plays against the world,
Walls are banished,
And the dust skips to the tune of a glance,
As one smile lights half the world,
All the while a side, left abandoned, remembers.
Longing for the miracle of what,
So suddenly gained,
So soon moves on.
Thoughts on Death
I stand in the middle of a huge warehouse, the last of the survivors scales the swaying rope ladder to the sanctuary of the roof and leaps to the safety of the waiting helicopter.
A grenade in each hand, their quiet clicks count the last seconds of my life as a scream built of pure rage fans out from my mouth and echoes back the the meaning, never changed, from the beginning of the failed experiment called man.
The slavering horde, hungry for my flesh, streams in from all sides, accelerating, desperate for the temporary reprieve from the insatiable lust that grips them.
The last quiet click is lost beneath their footfalls, the whirring blades of my companion's salvation and the bellow of defiance, regret and fear that still issues from my doomed neck.
My last tear has not had time to hit the ground before my body is ripped apart in a flurry of blood and shrapnel, the bodies of my enemies caught in the blast fall in its place.
Those I have left behind, flying into the sunset, they do not shed a single tear between them.
When you have seen what we have seen, you will understand.
If I die in any other way I'm going to ask for my money back.
A grenade in each hand, their quiet clicks count the last seconds of my life as a scream built of pure rage fans out from my mouth and echoes back the the meaning, never changed, from the beginning of the failed experiment called man.
The slavering horde, hungry for my flesh, streams in from all sides, accelerating, desperate for the temporary reprieve from the insatiable lust that grips them.
The last quiet click is lost beneath their footfalls, the whirring blades of my companion's salvation and the bellow of defiance, regret and fear that still issues from my doomed neck.
My last tear has not had time to hit the ground before my body is ripped apart in a flurry of blood and shrapnel, the bodies of my enemies caught in the blast fall in its place.
Those I have left behind, flying into the sunset, they do not shed a single tear between them.
When you have seen what we have seen, you will understand.
If I die in any other way I'm going to ask for my money back.
When The Dog Bites, When The Bee Stings: Part One
Protests,
I have only ever been to one protest, and it was a complete accident. To this day I have no idea what it was for or against.
It was a fantastic time and a great experience to be part of, people are so happy to see you it's like talking to dealers and hookers all day, or wearing purple at a Gogol Bordello gig.
So next time there's a protest, drop in, get drunk, dance, hug people and remember that you, yes you, sitting in front of your computer clicking the next blog button like it injects heroin into your genitals, you are the one that controls the world.
I have only ever been to one protest, and it was a complete accident. To this day I have no idea what it was for or against.
It was a fantastic time and a great experience to be part of, people are so happy to see you it's like talking to dealers and hookers all day, or wearing purple at a Gogol Bordello gig.
So next time there's a protest, drop in, get drunk, dance, hug people and remember that you, yes you, sitting in front of your computer clicking the next blog button like it injects heroin into your genitals, you are the one that controls the world.
Bukowski is better than me
A poem is spoken with a dirty, whorish mouth,
It sucks you in with it's double entendre,
While it strokes your soul and tickles your intellect,
Until it has you, fully to attention, in it's grasp,
A poem isn't always bad,
Sometimes they're just misunderstood.
It sucks you in with it's double entendre,
While it strokes your soul and tickles your intellect,
Until it has you, fully to attention, in it's grasp,
A poem isn't always bad,
Sometimes they're just misunderstood.
The Star Wars Thing
I'm Obi Wan, The Emperor, Boba Fett, The Storm Trooper and a puppeteer.
Someday maybe I'll make something good.
Someday maybe I'll make something good.
Things that would be nice
To own a second hand bookshop
To have realistic division of political ideals in parliament
To be less insecure
To be less arrogant
To tell Stephen Fry something he didn't know, and make him laugh
To be foreign (not to be something else, just somewhere else)
To understand grammar
To understand quantum mechanics
To own an elephant the size of a rabbit
To have more tattoos
To be able to bring Carl Sagan back
To write something that doesn't make me want to throw up on myself
To have a day off
To go one day without (accidentally) cutting or burning myself
To have a dog
To feel a sense of achievement
To not have to explain evolution
To be able to explain the categorical imperative
To be able to spell diarrhea without the aid of a spell checker
There's more, maybe I'll get to them someday.
To have realistic division of political ideals in parliament
To be less insecure
To be less arrogant
To tell Stephen Fry something he didn't know, and make him laugh
To be foreign (not to be something else, just somewhere else)
To understand grammar
To understand quantum mechanics
To own an elephant the size of a rabbit
To have more tattoos
To be able to bring Carl Sagan back
To write something that doesn't make me want to throw up on myself
To have a day off
To go one day without (accidentally) cutting or burning myself
To have a dog
To feel a sense of achievement
To not have to explain evolution
To be able to explain the categorical imperative
To be able to spell diarrhea without the aid of a spell checker
There's more, maybe I'll get to them someday.
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