21st Century Technology

Entwined on a porcelain sheets
the tears dripped
down
the side of her cheek
I tried to swallow
their salty
bitterness
to the pit of my stomach
to taste away her pain but
we just lay there in the 21st century
with 21st century love
with 21st century technology
searching for quotes
from Sexton
Brautigan
Neruda
whilst the cat
purred contently
unaware of the shift in patterns
as butterflies with anchors
fluttered
delicately in the wind

The Muse

Undeniable structures
have led me to this place
to the softness of her neck
Lasting marks are burnt on my skin
Slowly, delicately
I have returned to love

Scents

The remnants of our night are stains
traced in fingertips upon my body
Indelible moments
crystallised
They are bruises on your skin
sleeping
In the folds and creases of time
Mirrored for eternity

The scent of our sex is branded
tattooed upon my body
Our night is etched on my back
In the softness of our kisses
with time
this will be shadowed infinitely

The Night Shines Like Fireflies

There it goes
and here it comes.
Say goodbye to the past and
welcome the future with a wide-eyed smile.
Welcome today with open arms.
Whatever it brings.
Whatever pitfalls,
be it screaming naked in tears,
banging your head against the wall because she decided to leave,
clutching clumps of your hair and pulling hard at their roots.
Wiping tears from the stained and cracked wooden floor
or just staring into space in a daze for hours on end,
whilst sombre songs float delicately around your room.

Whatever triumphs land on you.
The joy of opportunities that drip down from the sky.
Whether they bring success or failure.
The spark of a new love igniting a freshness in your stomach
or the realisation of being happy in one’s contorted body.
These are the moments when the secrets of life are revealed,
they open up and announce themselves in all their unashamed glory.

So constantly scrub at your skin that seals the pain and
rub away the past to reveal something new,
something untouched,
something clean and pure.
Fresh from a world of regrets, where choices were made through fear,
realise that this is a moment to embrace.
Whilst yesterdays are filled with sorrow and girls on mortuary slabs,
know that today is filled with blossom from autumnal trees.
Each day brings light so treat yourself to those pleasures
the ones you have negated before
the ones you believed you didn’t deserve.
Feed yourself the sun,
don’t be afraid of this light.
Love people
oh the glorious people
who enter your life and delicately push you forward.
Cherish the moment you are in
for once,
start to live,
start to breathe
and start to believe that
it doesn’t matter whether you choose the right road.
All that matters,
all that counts,
all that really counts
is that you pick up your weary feet from the floor
and move forward in a direction.
There may be mistakes and regrets,
glories and failures
but there will be love and laughter,
tears and heartache
and whilst the mornings can sometimes be filled with darkness
the night shines like fireflies.

Corridors of Love (Longlisted for the Fish Short Story Prize 2007)

I sat at the bar and turned around to the woman sitting next to me
She had little pigtails, a weird Mohican spike and a beautiful jagged red fringe that dripped down over her left eye. She wore eyeliner in dots that trailed away like stars chasing each other across the sky.
I sipped on my gin and told her
‘You love me’
‘What?’
‘You don’t know it yet but you love me’
‘Excuse me? You’ve got a real nerve’
‘It’s true, you love me’
‘Well If I did, which I don’t, then what you’re saying now would instantly make me fall out of love, how fucking presumptuous of you?’
I then looked at her in the eyes, directly, intently
‘Secretly you love me’
‘Piss off!’ she snarled

I began to explain to her about the corridor in her brain.
I motioned towards her ear.
‘Inside your head, there’s this brain and surrounding itself there are thousands of corridors. If you walk down one of those alleyways it’s hung with the art and loves of your life, your ex’s, your parents and your memories.
You will see that there are doors to the left and to the right,
thousands of doors,
different sizes,
small,
large,
oak,
metal,
frosted glass doors that seem as fragile as sugar paper
entrances with numbers,
letter boxes,
doors of your past and
doors of your future.
So see that door at the end, the one with the number 11 on it?
Lets open it’

I sucked her into my world,
she was listening intently to every word,
every subtle nuance.
Descriptive words dripped from my mouth, as I painted the room we had entered.
It was like a principals office, a filing cabinet rested against the far wall and a leather couch hug tightly against a partition mounted with paintings and photographs of people I didn’t know. She instantly recognised each and every one of the faces, she spun around in circles and had to prop herself up against the desk to stop from collapsing under the weight of memories.
Time and distance didn’t make sense in this room, everything was out of sync and a haziness started to form.


I started to pull at the files in the cold metal cabinet.
Blank bits of paper flew out the window,
they flapped their crisp white wings, soared up into the night’s sky and turned into dreams.

Then I explained to her,
that in her brain there is a corridor
and in that corridor is a sequence of doors
and in one of those doors
there is a desk
and in that desk there is a drawer
and in the drawer there is a piece of paper
and on that piece of paper there is a note to yourself

We slowly
crawled
creeped
stuttered
stumbled
Towards the desk,
pulled the drawer open
and there it was.
A piece of paper, folded in four.

‘Unfold it’ I said.
She slowly opened the nest
and read the words out

‘Note to self : secretly, silently, I didn’t know it then, but I love him’

BANG

Suddenly we were back in the bar,
she looked at me
and her lips motioned the words
‘I love you’
But before I knew it
I was in a corridor again.
This time it wasn’t hers,
there were faces of people I knew surrounding me.
My old economics teacher,
a football coach and
an actor I never really liked.
The doors panned out around my body like flowers blooming in a field
I pushed the door open
and there was the same room,
with the same desk,
the same couch,
the same paintings, but now I recognized the faces.
There were my best friends
my parents,
my pets and
my dead relatives stared intensely at my feet.

I walked
slowly towards the desk
and opened the drawer.
The paper floated up in the air and landed on my palm.
I didn’t want to read the words,
I didn’t want the truth,
but the paper unfolded itself
and there were the words…
Stunned and shocked,
I choked and read them once more
…before everything zoomed out
and I was being pulled out of my brain.
I dug my heels in but the force was too strong
I propelled
back thru the doorway and
out of the corridors.

I opened up my eyes expecting to see the bar
and to see the woman I had met about five minutes before
There was no barman in sight.
I did see her though, but she was older by about half a century
I looked at my hands, they were wrinkled, my nails were withered and I could hardly breathe
but she was next to me
and it gave me great comfort.
I was in a bed, her bed…our bed.
I could hear children running around outside
Playing.
Laughing.
Chasing paper dreams of their future.
I looked around and there she lay,
her red hair dabbed with grey draped over her star-crossed eyes,
which were silent and closed.
She breathed slowly in her sleep
as I wiped the dreams from my eyes.

On my lap was the piece of paper.

I stood up and walked towards the exit,
opened the door
and headed towards the desk.
I pulled at the drawer, folded the paper in four,
and placed it delicately on the other notes that lay dormant.
I then walked back to the bed, where my wife, my lover and the mother of my children was dreaming about corridors of love.

Preparations for a Suicide (Part 1) (First Edit)

The rows of houses spawned out into the distance like a sea of gravestones; there was a military precision to their layout, all on parade and all standing to attention. Every home was a mirror of itself, the outside walls of the buildings painted yellow with a red trim and glossy white front doors reflected brightly off the distant sun. Something about this place seemed engineered, it was soulless, devoid of individuality and the people here seemed robotic, going about life as if creature of habits. They’d visit the same restaurants each week, eating identical meals and having the same arguments with each other. Everyone’s eyes were cemented grey and their heads faced South, shoe gazing.

John looked at the clock for the tenth time that hour, the time showed 4.53pm, he was waiting for his second wife, Joanna, to return, he would then walk slowly to the hallway to look at his reflection in the mirror. His salty dry tongue licked his index finger which then proceeded to moisten what small bit of hair he had left, he slicked his fringe to one side. Occasionally he’d pace the floors of the house they acquired 5 years ago, then sit down, stand up and sit down again. He couldn’t keep his hands in his pockets. She was late, again. The mirror reflected his pain. John Hope was 45, his dark hair was thinning but he wasn’t worried about going bald, that was in fact the least of his concerns. Above his lip slept a moustache that had adorned his face since his first wife left him 10 years prior to buying this property.
’30’ he thought to himself
There was an element of hope when his first wife, Lisa, left. A new beginning, young enough to start again but old enough to have the wisdom not to make the same mistakes. ‘It’s funny’ he thought to himself ‘how life has it’s little way of playing tricks on you’
John raised his hands to the mirror; they were like shovels, coarse and strong. Hands that had cradled Joanna, the woman he now loved, when her marriage had failed she came running to his arms. John remembered the times he was there to hold her, his hands used to brush aside her hair and his fingertips mopped up the tears that fell from their cavernous womb.
His hands showed signs of a man who had worked hard all his life, not like the children he had nurtured and bequeathed to his first wife, Lisa. John had always used his hands to make a living, working the fields, manual labour. After the ‘incident’ at the farm which led to his dismissal his shovel like hands seemed useless in the modern world. Bereft of a trade, his disintegration from society was swift.

John caught himself looking at his hands and noticed how they were shaking nervously. His eyes met in his own reflection and his left eyelid starting twitching. He checked his watch one more time. 4.55pm. His heartbeat sped up, he peered out of the window waiting for the return, waiting for her return. She’d be the same she was everyday, slightly dishevelled, he’d noticed many times that her shirt would be hanging out the back of her skirt. Many times he had watched her in the car applying make up, covering the traces of the act she’d just committed.

The paranoia slowly crept up on John, swiftly, he ran up the flight of carpeted stairs and started undressing methodically, placing his clothes neatly on the wooden chair by the bed, which hadn’t been used for it’s purpose for months. The shower spurted into life as the water threw itself over his naked body. John began scrubbing hard at his body to the point where his skin became red, small spots of blood began to form under the surface of his skin but he kept scrubbing harder, trying to wash over the thoughts that consumed his mind. The soap felt good over his body as he washed harder and harder, trying to clean himself from the thoughts that dirtied his soul.

Naked he stood in front of the mirror, looking at the creases and folds in his body. 45 and this was the point of no return, his body was diminishing in front of himself, the scars from the self-inflicted wounds over the years started to look like the map of the underground. Different coloured veins represented different journeys, that had travelled through his wiry body to his heart and back again.

For a moment there was silence, a stillness in time and all John could hear was the thumping of his heart beating against his ribcage. Then there was that thought again…
He knew where she was. He knew who she was with. His mind vibrated at the speed of light.
‘The Bitch’ he shouted out aloud
There she was with his best friend, Paul, screwing. Her noises set free and flying into the afternoon’s atmosphere, their faces contorted with pleasure as she cums over and over on his best friend’s cock. The seedy hotel room on North Street couldn’t confine the betrayal. He’d often driven over there to listen to his wife have orgasm after orgasm, just to torture himself. He’d sit opposite in his beaten up car, listening and waiting for the last shudder before speeding off back home to wait for her return. He knew the truth. She knew he knew the truth. Paul definitely knew that he knew, but yet they all carried on, as if nothing was going on. What made it worse for John was not the sexual pleasure she received but the laughing afterwards, the mocking, post coital they would laugh at John.

The car lurched into the drive and abruptly ground to a halt, John checked himself in the mirror once more.
‘This was the night’ he thought ‘this was the night he would reveal the truth’
In his jacket pocket slept an old colt .45 loaded with two single bullets, one for her and one for him. As he peered out the window and watched his wife go through her routine of denial, he brought his hand up towards the gun that rested against his heart. The cold metal helped slow down the pace of the beating rhythm inside his chest. Joanna’s black heels clicked noisily against the grey concrete path that led to the door that led to John that led to the end. The key inserted into the lock and the door swung open, in walked Joanna Hope.

‘Darlin’ I’m home, how was your day?’ she said without flinching, as if nothing had happened, as if the small trail of her husband’s best friend cum wasn’t trickling slowly out of herself and down her thigh.
John replied ‘I’m in the dining room, come in, I have a surprise for you’
‘Oh darling’ you shouldn’t have?!’ knowing full well that there was no surprise.
Joanna walked into the room and there was John, dressed in a suit, the same suit he wore everyday she returned home, the same suit he’d worn for the last 3 years upon her return, the suit they got married in ten years ago.
John approached her, kissed her gently on the cheek and said
‘I love you dear, I hope your day wasn’t too hard, would you care for a cup of tea?’
‘Yes dear…thank you’ she replied

John walked by his wife who was living a lie, entered the kitchen, pulled out the gun from his inside pocket and hid it in the same drawer he always hid it in and had done for the last 3 years. Glancing at the clock it was 6.07pm. The colourless liquid gushed out from the arched metal tap that glistened in the evening sun, John’s fingers were now steady, devoid of emotion, he smiled inwardly as he filled the kettle with water.

Waiting for an Epitaph

Never have I been so inspired
the words flow freely
how the heavens rain down with a beauty
the freedom she has given me
singing loudly once more
unashamedly
dancing badly
in my front room,
whilst the cat watches
the black bird
circling,
whilst other writers
sit contorted
in front
of Remingtons,
the ribbons
ripped and brittle,
the hammers rusted
and asleep.
The writers
wait for a sparrow to fly down
and spark them into life,
whilst the ink dries on this page
I find a calmness
in this emptiness
so I stop waiting for an epitaph
and start to live

The Bird of Paradise

For years,
From a distance, I’ve admired you
Whilst up close
I was uncomfortable and contorted in my own skin
Twisted inside out, upside down
Weighed down by the weight of rejection
I was ballast
A memory skips into view
An offering. A book.
Returned ridiculed by a friend

For years
I’ve wondered about you
Whilst curled in bed
Entwined in the arms of others
And in passing there has been
A drip feed of emotions
Slowly
Softly developing
Revealing themselves in all their beauty
Softly yet slowly presenting
The opportunity that you accepted
Leading to the weight that lifted itself

For years
I’ve desired you,
To end up spending one night in your company
Adjacent
Parallel
In the newest of surroundings
No kisses but the gentlest of embraces
Our lips never touching
Just patience I say to myself.
because for years to come I will always admire you
Be it close
Or be it from afar and
I will dance like a bird of paradise for your affection

Open Your Heart (Final)

The capacity to love is hidden within.
It's better to be open and hurt,
than to be closed and numb.
There is so much beauty in the smallest of moments,
the capacity to love is concealed,
open up and let the world in

Bukowski Underground

Encased on the tube
I saw a young man
He must have only been 23
Stubbled
Prickled
Slightly pickled
Sitting there he read Bukowski
Oh how it filled me with hope for this world
As long as his words are read
We all have hope
even if religious warmongers and
zealots kill each other whilst
politicians
betray us and each other
As long as his words still inspire
We all have hope

The posters screamed by
Actors with chiselled looks
Carved out of stone
Names that continue to sell tripe to the masses
Movies that numb
And I just sat there
Wondering
How it would feel to be successful
To be a name that is known
But for me the path is clear
The choice is simple
My destiny rings true
I am here to inspire
one singular
drunken broken hearted man
who sits vibrating at the speed of light
through the clotted arteries of London

Saturday 29th March 2009

With a heart full of hope, of
a newness being fulfilled
Finally our lips collided and
It set me on fire
Sparks glittered from the pit of my belly as
I traced the embers
around the edges of your eyes whilst
your fingers
shadowed my tattoo

I whisper to myself
Closing my eyes and breathing in,
breathing in deep,
so the cool salty sea air
tames this blaze.
I whisper to myself
‘Patience…
…enjoy each meeting, each caress,
every
delicate
embrace.
Be patient but be yourself,
honest and open.
emblaze the love you contain across star filled skies
shower yourself
in the beauty that has entwined itself around you
cover yourself in her.
Yet,
let her see you at your worst,
unshaven, scarred and
down with despair at the lack of success
with nowhere to turn.
Yet,
let her see you at your best
painting words that you hide
in secret places,
flowers arriving at her doorstep,
dance together
out of time
out of step.
Laugh joyously whilst walking
hand in hand, arm in arm along the horizon.
But above all, let her
rest her weary head against your chest
as the evening becomes morning
and as the cat sings for food,
brush her fringe from her eyes and tuck it behind her ears
let yourself fall and believe that love is held in your arms

Asphyxiation on a Tuesday in November

I was climbing up the walls
whilst the sound of the wind
battered against sheets of glass.
Fragile sands kept us separated from
the darkness
that engulfed the night.

Tonight was a night of parting.
All we had between us were paper walls and
the realization that we couldn’t continue like this.
We were just a shell of a relationship.
I remember you couldn’t look at me when you told me that it was over.
Your head faced south,
ashamed of the decision you were making,
it wasn’t what any of us wanted but it was what had to be done.
We had to murder our relationship
to try and give it the chance to be resuscitated.

So you reached over with your beautiful hands,
placed them gently around my neck
and started choking.
The world went hazy, my thoughts expired
as the asphyxiation took hold,
the edges blurred, as I dropped to my knees.

I saw your face as I drifted off into a deep coma
I watched the darkness engulf me as we died in front of each other.

1 bird ,1000 begonias and half an erection...

I dialled the number
punched the digits
just to hear her twang
and she told me that there were birds outside
black ones
and that her flowers
had bloomed
white

the doorbell rang and a guy handed me a package
I wiped the sleep from my eyes and
glanced down
my half erect cock was poking out of
her baggy pajamas that I was wearing
I gave the guy a crooked smile
and shut the door, taking both packages inside

I peeled the skin off the envelope and watched
1000 snow dripped petals cascade from their nest
and onto the floor
I inspected the letter
there was no sending
or receiving address
it was blank

I pulled myself downwards and onto the scented
fingernails
I breathed in their muskiness
I breathed in their life, then
I drifted into a deep sleep
and dreamt of birds and begonias
and I dreamt of her

Captured

Captive to the captivated
perched
upon the very edge of my
precipice
Tears filling my eyes
Fears consuming my mind
My stomach
empty
a vacuum, hunted
by the haunted
pale and gaunt
trembling
with knees scrunched
inwards
rocking back and forth on the damp bed
where she once lay

my words are too much
my words are too much
I push push push
impatience
I rush rush rush

How I long to be real
To be consumed
completely
in all my glories
with all my failures stripped and laid
by my bare bleeding feet
How I long to be consumed.

Raw As I Am

Throughout the hard times
the depression
moments where we were so low
where we couldn’t even communicate like human beings
just humans dying
whilst you sat with knees bent and
Northwards
scrunched up close to your chest on the bed
where we rarely made love
sitting there
silent
inhaling from the rolled joint
and 10 metres away
I sat listening to The Smiths
head buried in my arms
across
the tattered desk whose dark skin was peeling and fading.
The desk, varnished when we moved in together.
Throughout the love
throughout it all
I’ve done everything with love
never mind how misguided
never mind how many mistakes
throughout the deceit
and the lies we told
there was hope
there was a belief in this precious love we held in our now shaking palms
As the tears stream down our cheeks
as the blood drips along my star and scar covered arms
as our hearts break not for the first and quite possible not the last time
we sink into an abyss where there is a
very
fine line
between love and hate.
Raw as we are, we must prevent this.
Raw as we are, we must be bigger than this.
Raw as I am,
I love you.
Raw as I am,
I love you.

12th December 2007

It seemed like it was years
since I picked
a bouquet
of flowered kisses
out of her mouth and
placed them
into a dawn coloured vase

Let It Bleed, Let It Flow

Let it bleed
Let it flow
the pain of doubt
the consumption of fear

Let it bleed
Let it flow
Close your eyes,
inhale the muskiness of the
room you are confined in.
Slow your heart rate and
exhale
Eyes closed
focus

Let it bleed
Let it flow
Softly
Slowly
Start to believe
Open your eyes and with
a calmness
pick up the phone
punch those digits
dial those numbers
wait for her voice to answer
then say it
lay it on the line
tell the truth
and then say it
let it bleed
let it flow