Untitled & Unfinished (I think)

Life measured by the backlight timeout
Life measured by remote control
Life measured by the cigs I'm smoking
And the sense that somehow I went and got too old.

The Bad Man Doesn't Cometh

Have you ever begun to wonder whether you are actually a bad person?

I mean seriously, do you ever think to yourself 'Actually when it comes down to it, when faced with an option, I have no morals. I really am a scumbag.'?

Even true scumbags must have come to a point where they thought to themselves 'Wow, I really am a shit.'

So what, you probably don't wonder, has brought on this moment of existential realisation? Hmm...well to provide the two minute version. The thing with Geneve in my last post below kind of died on it's arse. Nothing too dramatic, we just came to an agreement that it wasn't right for either of us. Then she went off to Cuba for three weeks.

In the meantime, I kind of found myself in a relationship with my old friend 'Gorgeous', a woman I've known for about five years now, who has always been a friend, nothings ever been 'on the cards' and I love her to bits but crucially up until about six weeks ago always as a friend.

Until, one night, we kissed and before you can say 'Bob's your tranvestite aunt'! Everything changes.

Yes I know I said this was the 2 minute version, so I waffle, live with it (or don't).

So now I'm rocking along in this new thing and frankly it's all going very, very well. Little scary, I mean we have been friends for a long time but all good.

Then Geneve comes back from Cuba. Nothings happened, nothings been said but I find myself thinking of what it would be like to perch her on the edge of her desk and etc etc

How shit is that? (Well not that crap obviously, but you know what I mean)

It's not even that I want to be with her. I know it's purely physical and we didn't even have sex for fucks sake!

I haven't with Gorgeous yet but that's a different story.

So while I'm at work I'm thinking of ravishing Geneve over a desk and when I'm not at work I'm thinking of ravishing Gorgeous over every damn surface in her house!

Maybe I just need to masturbate more.

You get my point though, right?

I am a bad, bad person.

Oh dear, oh dear.

So What Now?

Well, this is a little unexpected. Sat at work. Empty office.

3/4 of an hour to use with no interruptions. Don't panic, my post isn't that long.

Managed to get half an hour alone in here with... well with her. Her? I really can't call her 'Her'. That's crap, but anonymity should be retained of course. Hmm...something flattering, and amusing, possibly romantic too, (or erotic? No. Too weird). Definitley can't go with anything that's been used obviously.

So.....what?

Of course, it was staring me in the face all along.

Geneve.

It's a variety of her favourite flower. Perfect. Oh and my secret petname for her.

Yes, yes, I am a fucking daft hopeless, desperate romantic (probably should capitalise 'hopeless'). Even did something that I haven't done in years.

No, not that. Something far far worse.

I wrote a love poem.

Yes, that heinous crime against the rhyming art the love poem. Now I don't know much (anything) about poetry but I have read some of Oscar Wildes' and as far as I'm aware the general consensus is that he should've stuck to witty comments on the class structure in Victorian England. So probably not the best person to be basing my own then?

Ha! You're probably right but here it is anyway.

The Angel and the Man

The Angel came to the Man and to her he did say:
'Take my hand, my Geneve and we can run away.'

The Angel sadly shook her head and this was her reply:

'Our love is a forbidden thing that cannot ever be.
Our love it is a beacon light that none but us can see.
Our love it is a hidden path that only we can walk.
Our love it is a silent tongue that only we can talk.'

The Man cried out,
'It cannot be!
It cannot be this way.
Our love should be the midday sun,
On clear blue summer's day!'

The Angel fled but not before the man heard her reply:

'Our love is a forbidden thing that cannot ever be.
Our love it is a beacon light that none but us can see.
Our love it is a hidden path that only we can walk.
Our love it is a silent tongue that only we can talk.'

Onto his knees the Man did fall,
All hope now gone away.
No words would ever come to him,
His love had gone astray.

Then into his heart an angel's voice did sigh:

'Our love is a forbidden thing that cannot ever be.
Our love it is a beacon light that none but us can see.
Our love it is a hidden path that only we can walk.
Our love it is a silent tongue that only we can talk.'


Slate it if you want but Geneve fucking loved it so I'm really not going to give a toss about criticism on this.

Hopefully, see you soon.

A Total Lack Of Respect For The Heart

How life changes.

It’s been a long time since I’ve been here. It’s been a long time since I’ve been in a place where I’ve had the time, inclination or opportunity to be here.

So much has happened. Trauma and joy. Love and heartache. Here’s a very brief rundown.

Miss Potential became Miss Actual became almost Mrs Journeyman. For a brief, brief moment my life was complete. Had the family, the kids, the home and the future that I realised I’d always wanted.

Then it collapsed, fell apart. A combination of self destruction and betrayal. The person I thought she was didn’t exist, the person I thought I could be was further away than I realised.

So the past couple of months have seen me sleeping on my friends sofa. Pieceing my life together slowly whilst making a determined effort to leave the shards of the recent past where they lay.

I’ll be starting a house share with some friends next week.

My own room again. Woohoo.

A decent kitchen to cook in. Hooray.

The opportunity to have a space of my own again. Cheer.

Just to keep life uncomplicated I’ve just started on a relationship with a girl at work. She already has a partner. Dear god check the irony. He is a shit, in case you’re wondering. Controlling, jealous, he even headbutted her in a drunken jealous rage recently. Maybe that sounds like I’m justifying my actions, maybe I am. But you know what?

I don’t give a fuck.

She makes me happy, she loves me and I want to show her what it really means to be loved by someone who truly values you.

I’m such a hopeless romantic. Is there a word for someone who gives his heart away so easily? Apart from ‘fucking idiot’ obviously.

I don’t know when I’ll be back here. I hope it won’t be too long. We shall see.

A Dream - The 'Roach Is Mightier Than The Sword?

I’m in a car, on the driver side (I don’t drive) and having a strange fit/vision in which I’m writing on the steamed up window but instead of ink flowing from the pen it’s cockroaches. I’m looking into the car at myself writing, I look detached and vacant. I can’t read what I’m writing. The roaches are fascinating though and as they emerge from the tip of my pen or finger, they moved around as if trying to form words and I’m incredibly excited as if I’m on the verge of a great discovery. I stop writing to watch the roaches better and move with purpose as if they are about to come together and reveal their pattern. There is an interruption, a voice or a sound, and they scatter and rush away into various cracks and crevices in the scene and I watch as they flow into a dark hole in a pile of scrap metal.

I found myself back in first-person view (I was in a strange kind of 3rd/1st during the vision sequence) and surrounded by a half dozen people who are telling me I’d make a great boxer and I should have some photos taken. I’m a bit chuffed and a bit confused, ‘Me, a boxer?’ not exactly built for it. I’m still trying to put meaning to the cockroaches and wondering what the people around me would say if they knew about my ‘vision’. Someone’s trying to persuade me to take my top off for a photo, I hear someone say ‘We want to be careful we don’t make him look like some kind of arrogant upstart.’

I take my top off to find myself briefly surprised that I’ve a t-shirt on underneath (my patterned off-lemon one with the white sleeves that’s sown together to make it look like it’s inside out. It’s brighter than I normally wear, and cheerful). The photographer shows up and while he sets his tripod up joins the general banter about the photos. He’s a bit like the old trainer guy from the Rocky movies, rough voice but gentle with it, incredibly wrinkled features, a blue top and possibly the hat I’m not sure. Stockier than the Rocky guy though.

My back’s turned to him when he comes up behind me and gets me in some kind of hold. I can’t move, I should be afraid but aren’t, I’m feeling very awake (ironically). He’s very close, his body is pressed against my back but there’s nothing sexual about it. He starts prodding and massaging my neck and the back of my head in very specific places, it’s weird but not unpleasant. All the time he’s mumbling to himself then he says, ‘It’s your Attitude. You’ve had a good day today but are keeping things locked up to here.’ He prods my neck on the left hand side just where it joins my shoulder.

I have that feeling again where I’m about to learn something crucial.

Then there’s a scene change.

I’m in an indoor market, in fact I’ve got the feeling that I’m back in the indoor market of the grim northern town where I lived for about 11 years from age 14. It’s not pleasant and the other person with me is actually searched on the way in. I’m not, the bouncers seem to know me well although none of them are familiar. One does question my attire though, it seems I’m not smart enough (I’m in tracksuit bottoms and my long sleeved black top, no shoes just baggy scruffy socks). I plead a little and he/she (?) relents. My friend, although not one I recognise, says ‘Jesus, [insert real name here], you could’ve made an effort.’ I don’t see him again. I wander round the market looking at all the stalls rammed with bric-a-brac with a growing sense of unease. I become very self-conscious of my floppy socks and appearance generally. There is a subtle sense of malevolence building around me. I decide to leave, pushing through the thickening crowd, I’m being followed I’m sure of it. The looks from the people around me are hostile and silent. I reach a fire door and taking a breath push the handle.

I wake up.

Note: Anyone I’ve ever told about my dreams has always been a little surprised at the strong narrative element. I don’t have these kind of dreams often although they are pretty much guranteed when I oversleep. It’s weird I know. I’d really welcome any comments on this.

Romancing the MSN way and Ninjas of the Mind

Ok, for those of us, me included, who’ve been following the saga of me and Miss Potential here’s the latest. This won’t be the full theme of this post but it’s definitely worth mentioning.

I’ve got MSN messenger.

Oooh, I hear you whisper. Look at the bright shiny thing the spaceman has got. Ok, ok I know I’m probably the last person in the western hemisphere to get but still, it’s a novelty to me.

I digress.

So me and Miss P have been having some long, deep and revealing chats in msn. And, in short, we’ve both admitted that what we want is very similar e.g love, trust, a kid and a long term commitment.

I didn’t quite run screaming from the room but it was certainly a bit hairy.

It’s odd and I know that chatting on the internet is a whole world away from actually spending time with someone (at least it’s not literally) but it’s also a massive improvement on the sporadic text message relationship we’ve had so far.

I feel we’re getting to know each other now instead of waiting to know.

And it feels good. (

P.s. Miss P also told me that she feels like a schoolgirl when I see her at work, all blushing and silly.

Cool.

So, the other thing? Well really it’s about what I haven’t been putting in my blog lately.

Did you know I had a training day a couple of weeks ago?

No, of course not. I didn’t blog it. And I’m still not sure why. Was it not worth blogging? Well maybe but that’s never stopped me before. Was it particularly emotionally wracking? No not really and again that’s never stopped me. More importantly, my training is why I started this in the first place and to let it slip like this is worrying. I’m hoping it’s not my sneaky internal saboteurs up to their sneaky tricks again.

I have my next session on Saturday, I’ll make a point of letting you know how it goes.

G’night.

We're Sorry To Announce That The Flight To Romance Has Been Delayed By Approximately 7 Days

Well, the date was cancelled.

But I’m still hanging in there. It was her lad having some major strop that meant she had to leave work early and the possibility of going out, or me going round there, was out of the question. I wished her luck with her boy and asked her to drop me a line.

So it was Aberdeen Angus rump steak for one.

Arse.

Went to a mates instead and got hammered on a ¼ - ¾ mix I made of the dessert wine and sparkling Cava I’d bought for the date. It was a reasonably recovered night.

We’ve sort of provisionally rearranged for next Saturday but I remembered afterwards that my next training session is that day. I come out of them pretty emotionally stirred up and in need of some time to myself to process the day. Not really conducive to the sparkling fount of wit and charm I usually am (haha).

Well there is only two options, either I fake it. In which case I slap on my happy mask and try to act my way through the date, which would be fine if there wasn’t alcohol involved. Or I stay true to how I’m feeling, let Miss Potential know that I may not be the sophisticate she was hoping for (haha again) and see how it goes. Hmmm…risky strategy definitely but, you know, I think I’m going to go the honesty route.

I keep saying that I want to see where this relationship goes, well what direction would it head off in if I felt I couldn’t show the least small part of my true self?

As is my habit, I've taken a scooby at these blogs and they are all places I will go.

the cloned corpse of marcus tal

I find this blog bizarre, unique and stimulating. I like it. You're old enough to decide for yourself.

evie's corner

The photographs here are powerful, sensual in the true meaning of the word (to me) and provocative. Go, take a look.

Paper Tigers

As a rule, I've never read much poetry, it's just one of those things I've never got to grips with. However, I've got this strange feeling that it's blogs like 'Paper Tigers' that will change that permanently. Funny, caustic, intense and mellow all in one blog. I couldn't really ask for much more.


P.S. As I re-read the post above I realise that there is a distinct possibilty that I may be coming across as some poncy, blog reviewing arsehole who seems to think that casting his eye over a blog makes him some kind of critic.

Hmm...

All I can say is, these are genuinely my thoughts on these blogs. I've not deliberately tried to be extra complementary because, well, what would be the point? Besides they really don't need me to tell you how good they are, look for yourself.

P.P.S. Maybe I need to trust my own convictions more.