The 20 night stand

It started out fine like any normal burgeoning rela-friendship,
cheeky texts, late chats, and max’d out phone contracts.
true there were some subtle signs that this could be a wind up
well then you just choose to ignore/ not to think about it.
You focus on the positives, and that’s what I did;
getting drunk at a bar at two in the afternoon on Estrella, your white wine pinot grigio
and other weird and wonderful concoctions the fella behind the bar gives you.
True; it hurt my bank balance a bit but
you focus on the positives; and that’s what I did.

Meeting the parents a little early-on should’ve been a warning sign
This relationship was in fast forward before we’d really had time
to get the proper introductions sorted.
You and I took it in our stride this time and the next meet went just fine
but it had raised some questions in the back of both our minds I think;
although what questions you found I couldn’t hazard a guess, the moment
one thinks he understands a woman he is undone you see.
But you focus on the positives, and that’s what I did.

Now when the issue of sex was raised it seemed to give
the effect of a bright white bulb light of reality
to the skittish darkened eyes of school-girl virginal naivety
and the pressure certainly must have gotten to you.
That was never the issue for me, calmly sitting at the end of this
tactile conversation in my courageous restraint.
you focus on the positives and that’s what I did.

Before that conversation ever happened there was the issue of my past
carefully framed historical recanting of old flames,  pursuits of happiness,
burnt wings,  recreational drug use and the ‘never again’s’.
You reception was sincere I’m sure but one’s mind fails to deal adequately
with reasoning the things it has not experienced.
It seems you were hung up on my old loves but moreover the drug-use
and that of my friends, you judged them prematurely merely
because they knew of ways and means to an end.
But you focus on the positives; and that’s what I did.

Exams loomed and revision soon took a toll, and I was the distraction
your studies sorely could not afford.
A pragmatist’s solution would not be the conclusion; no you took it upon yourself
to end things clinically and painlessly.
Took me a while to understand that though, but I respect your decisions,
especially in the face of the fissures and frictions that had arisen in the wake
of our skittish battles without munitions.
I’ve always said it was lucky it ended when and where it did
without consummation and alcoholic liver poisoning.
On the flip side I felt anger and frustration at time lost and potentially wasted;
but you focus on the positives and that’s what I did.

4th May – 24th May 2011
I called it my (sexless) 20 night stand.

 

A vicious cycle could be a spiral without a visible third dimension…

Refuted in love; lost in its personal hell.
A burden to my friends and family.
And my smiles reify no joy.

Haunted; I try to hide
from perfectly rendered photographs
that cascade in view of my mind’s eye;
Black and Grey postcards simulating the past
“passed-up this time; next time; again?…”
Yes
“…this really will not do, my friend”

I saw the earth as a mote of dust.
loneliness recruiting the lost to its swollen ranks,

I was feeling so foul I couldn’t be honest with myself;
“You’re miserable and alone”

Thoughts of self-destruction spring into action;
Lacking investigation, lacking in detail or finesse.
Till finally it snapped, I snapped.

And with careful thought:
Took as many anti depressants as I could,
A measly 4 week supply was all I found.

“This really will not do, look for something to supplement;
build this chemical kosh’

As much cider as I could stomach,
and a heady lit up roll of blunt cannabis.
“Finally….,” as I took a hit, “…Rock bottom”

On the spot they found me; my street corner.
Supping cider, hallucinating, trying to keep it in,
almost devoid of a coherent care or reality.
soon I heard different voices;

“Daniel, listen to me, you’ve taken something bad
and we think this could make you very unwell…”

“That was kind of the point” I replied.

“yes, well, we’re going to call an ambulance,
… and we’re also informing your parents…”

My last meal it could have been
but for Sertraline, which I later found out:
is notoriously difficult to overdose on.
750 mg won’t bring your journey’s end -
perhaps a half remembered ride in an ambulance
A night in observation at A&E,
Months of the same  old medication and therapy…

Psychologists at Abbey View talk to me
my parents with the best of intents talk at me
my friends I forget to rely on all talk among themselves
The girl I like doesn’t seem to want to talk at all.

A few months of ignoring the facts help me relax
but it’s all part of a vicious cycle
or is it more like a downward spiral?

Report/ Block this person…

How many missed calls, ignored texts,
unread messages and one way conversations
does it take to substantiate neglect;
To satisfy the intellect drip drip dripping
inside the walls of our heads saying:

‘You’re being ignored, You’re being
ignored, You’re being ignored…’

How many vaguely disparaging responses
to those banal dead-metaphor coded questions
for ‘WHY ARE YOU NOT TALKING TO MEEEEE!’
Do we need before we heed the icy voice
of a cold stone-like silence.

Is the cutting edge of social etiquette
not a dark implement when it’s held in contempt.
As you might ignore a friend for a sly status
because you know what they really meant;

‘so fucking bored’ translates roughly as ‘entertain me’
or that uneducated ‘guess life just sucks’  which screams
‘I HATE ME, but I want you all to tell me I’m wrong’,
because instant self expression leaves you to sometimes ponder
often with wonder on reflection at the sheer stupidity
and malignant antipathy for the bulk our so-called ‘friends’ list.

‘Colder’ and ‘Mad’ – Two Poems long over due.

“Colder than the climate”

I’d like to get to know you better,
but I’m too cold and so’s this weather
the summers gone in this lonely town
all the leaves left the trees to hit the ground
I’m full of dreams I can’t remember
when I wake they’re gone like burned love letters
full of insane promises that we never meant
and the kinds of things we say just to get sex.

Promises that help you sleep
Promises you just can’t keep
Promises that meant less than self respect
Promises you starve yourself for someone special.

Love is bullshit, lies and sex don’t believe it any other way for a second.

“Mad at the TV”

Gaudy, shining, stupid faces tire the TV (and me)
constantly screaming at the screen
beguiling, our eyes smile at the picture
perfect on-screen dreams, flattering
the obscene, green eyes lost to normality,
it’s bubble of corruption taints reality.
fe fi faux fum,
conformity keeping you under it’s thumb,
do you feel alive? or are you already dead?
you listened to the lies till they filled your head.

Watched too much TV for reality to please me
soap-box soap stars standing off on soap-opera dramas
breaking out the barrage of emotional roller coasters
constantly cloning old story lines. The bastards.

Too mad at the TV now I’m gonna try and sleep.

unfinished something.

Melt into the world and disappear,
instead of clinging into a false hope
and feelings of attachment
like the leaves of a tree in the last
days of autumn,
Wait for spring, it will always precede
winter’s depths, hold on for days
that seem like hours, wait for years
when they drag like minutes
which will eventually decay

MMXI

Twenty Eleven, countdown from Ten
It’s here for another year.
Twelve more months for the killing;
endless empty wish-fulfilling thinking
because life’s there for the taking.
If I’m not mistaken we’re all faking;
pretending that what we got has worth
means something, matters,
all things being equal. It never was.

Slip into the slipstream of a quick dream
to let it fall against the window panes
of all your mortal sins and pains
time over time till your aching and breaking
nerves shaking for just another chance
to contend when it’s all ultimately in vain.

Cause we’re all ultimately the same
and we’re all ultimately in a game
and no one’s agreed there are rules
So if you think you’re playing fair
then you’re just another fool.

Fool enough to attempt to convince yourself
your life is worth a mote of dust,
Not intrinsically worthless
populating a tiny rock we lost respect for
corrupting the surface; a stain, rust.

Withdrawal.

 

No silver

Taken for granted
my feelings and reason
recklessly supplanted
Perhaps I deserve it
when I speak how I feel
and maybe I regret that
lack of love made me ill,

No one takes the risk with me
to let a relationship with me succeed
there’s no silver lining buried treasure
when nobody loves me

There’s no silver lining
when you don’t eat
There’s no silver lining
when you can’t sleep
There’s no silver lining
when you don’t take your meds
There’s no silver lining
when you stay all day in bed
There’s no silver lining
when you forget your favourite song
There’s no silver lining
when it feels like all your friends have gone
There’s no silver lining
when there’s no silver lining.

Some CR would resuscitate some reason
but I’ve got no reason for reason
like I’ve got no reason for believing
there’s no faith based religion
no faith based healing
no faith based logic and reason
no faith based reason for believing in faith based religion
no reason for believing in faith based belief and religion
that has any of the answers for me.

I know me, and I know what I need.
So here it is (the problem) Finally:

No one takes the risk
to let a relationship succeed
they’ll never truly see
The best of me.

Another dream another hour

Another dream about another
girl, one more brief delicious pearl
of insanity; besides the technicality:
I’ve never met her.

We ventured through what could have been Belgium
across Europe and into what I think was Germany
on the hunt for a spy (I think).

Instincts serve you well in your dream world
but usually lack detail,

We took chartered boats through
chartered canals, Met an old man
with a peculiar misplaced accent.

There was dysentery, intrigue, and
mystery, and our companions left us
when they got bored of the pursuit

But it didn’t matter we were together
and nothing could stand in our way.

Except for that marsh with unreliable
duck boards that we ran into on the way,
The stench hung like the mud on our shoes
in the back of our throats

We came across a deserted camp and
decided there our quest was at an end
we parted ways without saying a word

and I was roused by the sound of the real world
passing perpetually through my open window
and that’s when I then noticed I was cold.

So I tucked my self back in
another dream for another hour
till I decided to once again greet the world.

State.

Most of our life is a poetry that lacked ambition and with leaky vision opened
the doors to pseudo ideas and ideals, the glue preventing chaos (or truth)
getting through faiths seals. The real questions don’t mean much to most
people, have they ever? Where did this other idea of a pastoral idyll,
an Arcadia lost forever, spring from?

“Let’s alls all look back to when we had it better” forgetting the strikes, hunger,
poverty, and bad weather. It’s an unfunny joke that’s had its punchlines
remembered wrong, misheard words from a popular song; we find them
amusing and suddenly there’s a new Youtube ‘sensation’ and a trend on twitter.

We look for patterns, for we are pattern seeking animals, and we habitually
look for answers in all the wrong places.
Two dimensional caricatures of hedonism are now considered wholesome and
the promices that aren’t delivered are rarely considered ‘news’ now.
The x-factor mentality of a young society brought up on moving pictures of
human brutality, dumbed down with a media frenzy of simultaneous political
correctness and dehumanisation: so that we can choose not to feel responsible
for any part of it now we all own a larger piece of the pie than we care to
acknowledge. Instead pay our homage to a pastiche of god, art, or altruism
and for some bizarre reason this is considered totally fine!
I asked my friend if there was really a point to anything and she said:

“No, there isn’t…” the answer I had expected from her, but she continued:
“…so we make the best of things; try being nice to each other and make the
best possible lives for ourselves and our children…”

So, must we all eventually be sucked into a status-quo of misguided charity to
strangers, but only when there’s no personal risk to us and our ‘Western
behaviours’; characterised by a paradoxical post-modern solipsism, or our
banks balances?

And now more than ever the question defines us and our celebrity
is to be; to be perceived, or to perceive?
And now more than ever we should ask ourselves, when we see
another product placement, another marketing system
and you’re wondering why you’re not as happy as those people on TV;
Ask yourself: are they the deceivers or the deceived…