Chocolate Button Fights

He was a vegetarian (oh I’m sorry let me make that a pescetarian) and she didn’t like vegetables, so her friends could always see that it wasn’t going to work out. Not that they told her that though. It’s not your place to have an opinion in these matters. But it had finally got to the time for her to reluctantly sample some spinach, she was bored of laying the blame for it all on his rock and roll image, the bells were deafening in their ringing for him to make his mind up, whether it was meant to be, for he was the only one in that relationship with the power to write their ending . The master of balls, it was time for him to be coronated. He had to man up. Or make it a “MAN OVERBOARD!” type situation.

He patted her head. He wrote them off. Relieved, he was set free, to go join the rest of those slippery creatures inhabiting the sea.

And with a startled “Oh, I’m sorry, my mistake, I thought we were in love?”
She found herself unwillingly departing, on the journey to the broken hearted.

But let’s skip a station or two. It’s no fun to listen to them go on and on. On and on about how much it hurts, how they would do anything, be anything, anyone, as long as it made them their someone.
Come on baby we can make it work, what do you say?
Because we all know what it feels like, and we all know that no one else ever hurts as much as we do over it, because no one truly truly understands, although we give friends small smiles and hand squeezes to show that their relating nonsense is helping.

So we fast forward to the time when there is someone who always holds her, someone who does everything in their failing, imperfect, mortal power to make her feel bolder. That someone she had been so sure had been him for so long back then, but now realises that was just her imagination’s whim.

They read books on the beach and paddle in the sea, and he pretends to push her in and she gets angry but she smiles anyway, it’s infuriating and a little nauseating. And for supper they eat out of newspapers, watching the sun giving them some alone time at last, and the only other voice is the wind, but they don’t listen to him, he’s just a load of hot air.

In the dark they feel safe and so talk through life plans and lives past, every grievance that has gathered at their head stones; and somehow he manages to take the chip off her shoulder “I promise to always hold her” he’ll say on that best day of their life, reminiscent of the words he whispered now when she had emptied her bucket of baggage onto the sand. And whilst she had shared he had wondered how any of that had ever come to be, because he’d do anything for her, build her a castle and make her queen of his bed, the ruling voice of reason in his head.

Sometimes that will annoy him, and he’ll want to cut her loose. And sometimes she’ll want to make him jealous, so that he can see just how great she is again. But it’s all just chocolate button fights, like who has the right to read the arts section first each Sunday “BUT YOU READ IT FIRST LAST WEEK” “THAT’S BECAUSE I ACTUALLY GET OUT OF BED AND GO BUY THE BLIMMING THING”
None of it means a damn thing.
Empty but strangely entertaining, it’s just a soap opera daily drama for the ears.
And after everything they will still be having scrambled egg mornings together in seventy years.

x

Some Golden Oldies

Oh No

I tripped and fell into boiling water
when I got locked on your face,
with stumbling words and dirty cheeks
I unwillingly joined the race.
My courage has deserted,
along with the wit,
run off like the plate and spoon
so i feel and sound like shit.

Shit and wank and fuck and crap
uneloquent uneasy ungraceful,
bumbling lumpy awkward desperate
this is sickeningly unbearable.
laughing too much, too loud, too hard
or you to notice me,

but half doesn't really want you to

feeling obese, obscene and green.
Changed utterly into this

who is she and her and them?

when i look at you

are you in turn looking at that supposed friend?

And I wish I never saw your face,

or that I was the girl you wish you knew,

because I could have been beautiful,

until I fell for you.

x

POW

POW!

Now,

what did you do that for?

Another, on mass, unprovoked war.

I don't have a problem with you,

do you with me?

How can you,

I don't believe we've met,

here lets shake hands,

slap on the back,

see you and me,

we can be alright.

So, what are you doing that for?

Here, hands up,

to your self-afflicted supreme power I give up.

Honestly, I don't know, boys and their toys ey?

POW!

Now,

If you really, really want me,

come and get me!

Like 1066 stylee,

see the fear in my eyes,

the child's, the grandparent's, the blissful bride,

see if you could do it then

when

you had to witness life evaporate,

POW!

Now,

CONCENTRATE

kill me with your hands,

be a man.

Bullets just distance

so no compulsion for penance,

fly higher than the kids kites

so you can get sleep at night,

we're mere ants up there,

easier to not care

about the bodies and souls

you've just teared.

NO.

COME HERE.

Near.

No bomb.

No Pow.

How many could you kill now?

x

And You... (finally)

About a million years ago now I came up with the idea for this little book called 'And You' where I was going to leave little notes everywhere, all starting with the phrase 'and you' because I found it fascinating how people who would one day end up spending their lives together are presnetly living completely separate lives, unaware of the other's existence... which lead me to think about how you might have walked right past them in the street, that if they met now then it might now work out because they're not who they are going to be yet... lalalalla

I have finally left one somewhere! Having typed up lots already, this is a very minor achievement, as I've had plenty of opportunities to leave more, but have been to lazy to make sure I have both one of the slips of paper on me and some form of camera. But nevertheless here we are, this one I left in La Tacheles (a wicked art gallery/place for people to graffiti in Berlin), here are the photos:






And this is the first finished page of the book:

It probably would have made more sense to do the first page first as this might not make any sense to any of you, but now I've started I'll do some more asap and hopefully you'll be able to follow my train of thought better

thats all for now x

Now Wash Your Hands...

(inspired by the sign I saw on the back of the loo door in the covered market that said "now wash your hands" I just found it slightly amusing that we still needed to be told what to do. mixed with some of the eyes i've witnessed led to this...)

Now wash your hands...
Of him.
Because if the eyes show the strength of the soul
He's dying
When was it you started lying?
Did any of it
mean anything?
Nothing.
Fuck, it was me.
I. I wasn't enough.
And what up bruv?
Doesn't need to be said
We all know what's going on in his head.
An accidental arrogance accumulates
As he lies
Every day and every night
In that memorial bed.
Because we're not talking about just anyone
We're talking about us
We took the height of love
And raised the bar the fuck right up.
But honestly love,
You need to wash your hands,
Wash away the stench of your shared stale skin
So the overanalysation stops
And the burning can begin.
Because right now every chapter
That truly mattered
Is you.
All you.
His brain is suffering under depression
The skull acting as a compression
Causing an oppression
of the pointless conversations
That swim around him on the outside,
But he can't hide
He's slapped and slap bang in the middle
Far removed in social situations,
Everything in this life a mere obligation.
So give him back to us,
His life around you we can't trust.
Gotta stop giving in to your boredom
borderline lust.
Can't help the hope inspired by each and every one of your glance,
His brain is working overtime
Turning you into an untouchable mirage
So reason won't listen
So you better wash your hands.
He's not going to realise
Until you sanitise
That you are just friends
He needs those irritants of time and space
To recompose the components of your face
For your actions to be militant
Cutting him off with a harsh vigilance.
And though his eyes are blank
They speak more than a million words ever could
Because this is an emotion that existed before vocalisation,
Time, and even the whole of creation
What sparked our existence.
We get that you care, and that's why you're hesitant
But he'll come back to you some day,
But right now, can't you see
You really shouldn't stay.


x

Just The Way You Look Tonight

"The way you look tonight"
... and other such romances
tumble out of his mouth
into your heart,
And as you drain that tumbler
of courage thats a tad too sharp
Your eyes read his
"You. You are mine tonight."
Tonight being the operative of the unscribed sentence
Because come that morning wrinkled nose
and squint of the eye
You realise
with a shrug off of his actions
You are still not his mine.
Again.
Again.
And again.
You fall for that block in your path,
The aura that stops you
from acting like you know you really, really ought to
and you can see it in the friends hesitant smiles
that none of you are acting wise,
neither participants
nor spectators.
But there he is again
On your doorstep
of your rationality
ringing your bell
of your insanity
And you always answer
To that smile
To that line
"The way you look tonight"
Because he's loving you in the old romance
That you've been taught to seek
By our dear Mr Disney
Oh, dear Mr Walt,
With you I have to lay the fault
It was just plain unkind
To condition our young minds
To expect such impossibilities
To evoke us into showing each other the lights of our cities
And other such romances
Like
"The way you look tonight"
We've got it all wrong,
You're all messed up,
Shook up,
In a blender of emotions
but there is nothing healthy about this smoothie
Just another smooth talker
Just another look in his eye
Just another line
"The way you look tonight"
Just another time that he blurs the line between life and fantasy
Just another romance.
But it all means nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
Because you are
not
his
someone.
You are just anyone
In his arms.
A mannequin of pure physicality
You are being deluded and confused
Changing this whole ordeal
of an ideal
into HEADLINE news.
Because to you it is.
This infactuation you just can't quit.
But you're barely a fragment in his head
Just a hot water bottle of a body in his bed.
So it doesn't matter what look is in his eye tonight
They'll be vacant again under that harsh morning light.
Oh love,
It was,
It is,
And always will be,
Just the way
You look
Tonight.

x

What becomes of the broken heaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarted...

Take one sleepless night.
One random babbled and scribbled stream of consciousness.
One sharpie pen.
And one trip round Norwich.

The result?

A little book entitled: A Hopeless Little Love Story

These are the images in the book...














And if you're really nice, I might just make you a book...






x

You might want some colgate with that...

I am actually going to sort my life out and put into action a plan thats been brewing for far too long...

A plan that goes a little something like this:

Basically, I find it weird to think about how you could have encountered people who you later become close with, but just don't realise that you've technically met/seen each other before. Like, you could've walked past them in the street, sat on the same seat on the bus... etc. This thought led to me thinking about how the person you are going to marry/spend your life with (if you happen to be so lucky) is quite happily living their life without you in it, dating someone else, perhaps thinking that they have found the one... when they haven't. Because that one is you. And how your paths could have crossed but you just never realised...

This is where my plan comes in. I'm going to make a load of little notes that all start with 'And you...'

e.g. 'And you might have stuck your gum right next to mine'

...I am then going to leave these all over the place for people to find, take photos and make a little scrap book called 'And You'.

This was inspired by Rob Ryan's book of paper cuttings called 'This is for you' an absolutely beautiful book.

I am very aware that this is sickeningly cutesy and sweet and eurgh, but just go brush your teeth afterwards yeah?

Avoiding writing, reading, unpacking, tidying...

...So yes, this is what I did instead. A very productive couple of hours i think.