You can steal my hat and beat me too. You can make a joke about no one wanting to take me to the zoo. You can tell me any number of lies, abuse me, spit on me, tell me how much I am despised. But you can go cluck in a hole, go buck in a hole, you can watch me quit my job and live in Yoevil on the dole. I'm no longer Being Scared of the fact that no one ever cared. For you can all get fucked, it's true - because there's 1000 microstories in us - what the fuck's in you?
Thursday, 22 June 2017
How many times have I brushed these teeth, pulled shoes on these feet and walked down this same street? How many times have I said today's the day, everything's going to be different - everything will be OK? How many times have I repeated myself, lied to and cheated myself? How many times will I still be here, looking in the mirror greying, increasingly filled by fear? Never again, never, This year is my year. And if not, then, maybe next year.
Sunday, 18 June 2017
You wake up and tell yourself that today is going to be better but then the postman delivers you a letter in between you trying to work out if you've got a hard-on for Aldous Harding or Tonetta. It reads: "Dear James, Did you manage to forget her? Are you starting to feel better? I guess now you haven't and you're not but be grateful I sent you a letter and not a shit-smeared sweater. I haven't written to you with a vendetta. I just want you to understand that you don't deserve any pleasure. You deserve to be miserable forever. Or at least until you fall off the end of your tether. I think you get the message so Fuck You etc etc."
Friday, 16 June 2017
As long as Adele is there to hug me, it doesn't matter if there's no God above me
As long as Adele is there to hug me, it doesn't matter if grief becomes a drug to me
As long as Adele is there to hug me, it doesn't matter if none of my exes ever truly dug me
As long as Adele is there to hug me, it doesn't matter if the woman I covet the most never loves me
As long as Adele is there to hug me, it doesn't matter if one day some deranged cunt guts me
And as long as her haircut stays the same, it doesn't matter if Katy Perry never fucks me.
Thursday, 15 June 2017
"What do you reckon about doing your hair that way, hon?" Ellen asked not noticing Portia had become dumb.
"Fuck you babe," Portia finally caved, "I'd rather wear my hair like Abu Ghraib than give you what you crave, you just don't get it for fuck's sake, thinking about someone else is basically rape!" She stood and stormed out from the room whilst Ellen looked longingly at a threadbare broom.
Wednesday, 14 June 2017
Arrest this boy
His Katy Perry hairdo
Is making me feel ill
And I'll spend another summer behind my windowsill
There's forever too much emptiness to fill
There's forever too many bad memories to kill
There's forever ways but never the will
So I'll just lie here perfectly still
I rediscover the thrill
Of forever traversing this earth downhill
And sleeping pills.
Tuesday, 6 June 2017
It may be cheesy but it's true that life ain't easy and love often leaves you feeling queasy. My disposition has always been more corpse-like still than bright and breezy. Very little pleases me. And what does, tends to tease or leave me. Could it be that the one thing I dread the most is the only thing that will finally free me?
Sunday, 4 June 2017
The old train just keeps chugging on, though it's best days have been and gone. Occasionally it fires steam into the air, reminding everyone that it's still there, but otherwise it makes its way, deviation is not within its métier, it grinds right by the pull of l'appel du vide, and shields itself within a chassis of roman-à-clef. It powers on, I know not to where,
nor does it matter,
nor does it care.
nor does it matter,
nor does it care.