Wednesday, 27 April 2016
I'm Worried That When Red Dead Redemption 2 Finally Comes Out And Turns Out To Be Shit, I'll Have One Less Reason To Live
Dear Dom. Hey, it's maybe your favourite Pom? I just wanted to say - isn't it typical they finally confirm a sequel once my excitement has gone. And it got me thinking as to what else in these intervening years we've lost. In 2011, at least Debra Morgan was still alive and there was a twinkle in my eyes. I guess I should be grateful that nothing more important than our energy and enthusiasm has died. And you now have a reason to feel some pride. But I must confide that still I can't help but feel unsatisfied. I thought by 2016 we'd have Twitter accounts that were verified instead of just a collection of 500+ suicide notes that no one can be bothered to read or even find. When I lived in the countryside I yearned for the seaside, now I live by the seaside I yearn for the countryside. But really I just want to lie down next to the flowers along the roadside, that are as withered as my bones, and rest my eyes.
Friday, 22 April 2016
I never had anything to lose before, and even now that I do I still can't seem to scrape myself off the floor. I always thought life's greatest moments were excruciating chores; birthdays, gatherings, families, and life events all of which I totally abhorred. But now, each one of those feels like picking at a sore, scratching my way down toward the wound that's at the core, and at that core, there at the bottom, everything I've never gotten: the years past that were all so rotten, and the future that awaits: fleeting, and soon forgotten. My parents always did say that I was wasting my life, but what was the alternative? A stable pointless job and fifty something years with the same slowly ageing wife? I'd rather end it all my way with one quick slice.
Tuesday, 19 April 2016
Today I woke up and today, today I actually gave a fuck. Today I basked in the sun. Today I was so full of love that today when people nodded at me and said "alright bruv?" I didn't want to stab the cunts. Today I had no desire to see blood. Today everything fitted like the perfect glove. Today my heart was purer than the whitest, uncut dove. If only today could stay a bit longer... until tomorrow, the day after. Then my tears would only ever be the result of too much laughter.
Yeah, where exactly do I go from here? I'd say I've lost all that I held dear, only if they were all that dear surely I'd be able to squeeze out at least one fucking tear? Who knows if death is near but it's no longer something I live in daily fear of even if I still haven't built up the courage to throw myself off the end of Southend Pier. So here's to another year of seeking solace from my drinking problem with women and finding solace from women with beer. Cheers!
Sunday, 17 April 2016
Hey, it's Dom. I just saw this - I just wanted to say - I was driving home the other day, along a stretch of road that had no intersection or even any turns to mention. I had to slow down though, because it was full of flashing lights - police, ambulance, two tow trucks, all pulled over at the side. And as I drifted past I saw a group of them, serious looking uniformed men, watching the tow truck drivers and then, and then I saw what they we doing - the tiny mobility scooter that they were maneuvering - winching it up onto the tow truck's tray. Whoever was driving that, I guess, was having a pretty bad day. Reminded me of that old dear, driving face first off the pier. Or perhaps it was just two old friends, riding double-dink until the very end.
Friday, 15 April 2016
Where do I go from here? I'm lost, but finding my way again along the same old path is my single biggest fear. To stumble blindly down along that rickety old pier, the only exits end in drowning and the end is fairly near. And on the way a series of disappointing years that I walk through, bobbing to the soundtrack of varying intensities of jeers. Just for once I'd like to hear a single person cheer, to lure me down another path, to take over from me and steer. But I'm lost and the only guide I seem to find is at the bottom of a beer.
Tuesday, 12 April 2016
I know there isn't life after death but as I watched you struggle to take one last breath, I whispered "I'll see you again," and I wanted it so much that part of me almost believed it then. Now, though your name is forever scorched into my brain, I can barely even see your face in my head. Life is full of chapters we're always forgetting and there's no index to find our place again. Sometimes it's for the best, other times I can't breathe for the pain bearing down on my chest. You may think I'm prone to hyperbole and over-sentiment but one day the agony of it all will catch you off guard when you least expect it. I just hope when that moment comes to you, it's not all that you're left with.
Monday, 11 April 2016
In no order because I can't even alphabet
Lately I've had trouble finishing my. I've been busy wondering whether I should make a grand entrance or a quiet exit like I do their bedsits before they wake and ask me what I want for breakfast. Everyone's problems, and desire to talk about them, are relentless. It seems sex is just foreplay to them wanting to moan about their ex, friends, job and parents. Unlike them, I think I've reached an acceptance that most of my life is spent at work and online and as such it would be hard to argue if God were to suddenly decide that death was a better use of my time. But before he does, I hope one day I manage to finish one of my stories with the perfect
Everything is restless yet static when you are fatherless. When everything is going wrong, you ask yourself what reason you have to carry on. I put my life into reverse and think of all the ways, I can try and kid myself that I'm at least two generations away from the hearse. As I travel from A to B and B to A, with the occasional rest stop in which to decide how I want to waste my money, I wonder if it's worth the effort and whether, once I decide it's not and I'm gone, my online presence will betray my essence. For it would take a room full of everyone debating and comparing notes for them to even come close to discovering the man I am as opposed to the man they each individually know.
Thursday, 7 April 2016
BAD CALL MATE! Death sure as shit wasn't worth the wait. And to think every day you woke up and spent it planning your escape. What a fucking waste. So to all those for whom it isn't yet too late but who are speeding towards the grave, I'd put the brakes on post-haste. This life may be far from great but it's all you're going to fucking get mate.
BAD CALL MATE, keeping up the hate. Whilst all the other fuckers were playing in the sun, you were hiding in the shade and now it's too late to even contemplate a life all that great. Those shoulders weren't built for so much weight, that heart wasn't created to hate . Try getting the balance right, there's always too much or too little on your plate.
GREAT FUCKING CAKE MATE! I could happily sit and let this shit go straight to my
hips waist. I'm so stoked we put our differences aside after that business at the wake so we can now share a taste. And I'm so glad I can now stomach looking at your face to finally see beyond everything about you that is fake. Aww shit who am I fucking kidding mate? I just came to visit for a piece of this delicious cake. Once it's digested, I'll realise soon enough that it was another mistake.
Wednesday, 6 April 2016
GOOD CALL MATE! This website you recommended to me is pretty fucking great! Every day I wake up, turn on my nearest available device and wait for theinternetsux.com to update. Shit yeah for misery I've got a taste, an appetite no amount of world atrocities and deaths can placate. Happiness seems such a fucking waste of a good story, if I could I'd have every happy memory of mine erased.
Monday, 4 April 2016
You're always driving in the stake, twisting up my words and calling everything a mistake. You're always saying we should take a break, as if I'm nothing and your sporadic tolerance for my existence is completely fake. I'm guilty of nothing more than being slightly awake - how easy it is for the stupid to find their solace and their slake. I'd like it if just for one time that your shouts could make me shake, but I feel nothing, not even a desperately precious little ache.