Wednesday, 29 November 2017

Depressing xmas #2

"Please pass the butter," my daughter smiled, bread roll in hand.

"There is no butter," I reply, unable to service her demand.

"No butter on Christmas? What do you mean?"

It meant her mummy left me but I didn't want to make a scene.

"Um, sorry, I must have just forgot."

She checked the fridge and saw it empty, she saw that quite a lot.

"I don't know what I'm doing anymore," I wanted to break down and cry,

But she didn't want to see that, so I kept it all inside.

Monday, 20 November 2017

Saint Peter At The Pearly Gates, Gave Me A VHS And Told Me To Self Evaluate - But I've Only Got a Blu-Ray Player Mate, Guess I'll Just Give Myself An Eight

Be kind, rewind, record over all the shittiest memories that are clogging up your mind. Press slo-mo, take some time, to enjoy the things that make you happy and then fast forward over the grime. Press pause, at sleep time, take all the rest you want, let your mind re-prime. Take a look, see what you find, let all your most treasured memories unfold in real time.


I'm pretty sure I'm the only one alive. I'm pretty sure if everybody else suddenly died, I'd be the only one left who survived. I'm pretty sure if I drove my car into a lake I'd somehow find a way to miraculously escape. I'm pretty sure this is all just make believe - I mean, how could there be a world as miserable to perceive, a species so intrinsically hateful and diseased, and then to lump them together with me? As if I could possibly conceive that I was just growing here on the same trees as ordinary as any of these other slowly dying leaves. Please. No thanks, I will continue to disbelieve. On every one of your whacked out philosophies we will have to disagree.

Thursday, 16 November 2017

I Fell In Love With Your Instagram Bot

I wrote my deepest thoughts and posted it up
You wrote "heyyy nice" with red hearts in triplicate
I wrote thankyou so very much
and you returned a quick thumbs up

I thought my life was really changing, everything suddenly felt amazing, where previously I'd spent most of my life lazing, now I was positively blazing, due to your unprecedented praisings.

I began to feel new things inside - a small lump of undeniable pride, a crush that swelled up like a rising tide, and a joy that my face failed to hide. And then, thereupon I spied, a comment on a friend of mine:

"heyyy nice ❤️❤️❤️ "

A comment exactly the same, written under your same name, and - oh! - there on another friend again! What on earth is your game? You follow and you unfollow me, I thought you actually liked what you see, but it turns out you're on a follow spree. Did you ever even bother to read, that post that meant so much to me?

Seven thousand five hundred follows on the clock, when will you ever stop? Will you ever turn it off, this mass liking, generic commenting automated bot?

Wednesday, 15 November 2017


I was crushed. Watching you from the kitchen in disgust. Your tyres spun and kicked up a swirl of dust. It lingered in the air like the silence after you first cussed. A last 'up yours' to my broken trust. I grabbed the kettle, hand shaking, noticing the rust. "Stainless steel" I scoff, nonplussed. I remembered my words when our lips first brushed: "take my heart if you must, but always treat me just, don't make me feel rushed, please understand that I am slow to trust." And away you charge, flippantly as I combust.


I give up, it looks like you win. I cut the branches back, let's begin again. Let's burst forth from our grafted stump, let us bloom from this wasted lump. This time, let's do it all the way we planned: careers, kids, house, a car that cost fifty grand. We'll spend up big and our love will grow, we'll hone it into the perfect topiary hedgerow. Our bark will heal, where sap once seeped, when I hit us with the cleaver. The cuts were steep, for our rot was deep, but our love was surely deeper.

The Eternal Battle Still Rages in 2017

I love her so much I want to strangle her to death. Watch as her eyes go pale as they beg for another breath. Why should anyone else have the chance to end her flesh? Bad drivers, serial killers, or cancer would only make a mess. Only someone who loves her could have the right finesse, everybody knows that fingers play their best when they have someone they dearly wish they could impress.

Sunday, 12 November 2017

Guilted Lily

All she wanted was a hand to hold, but my hand was busy, tapping on my phone. Now she's all grown up and I am all alone, my fingers are too arthritic to even message her to come back home.

Tuesday, 7 November 2017


I'm aware of how annoying I can be, there's no need to tell me. There's no need to avoid me. There's no need to go out of your way to destroy me. I'm already under so much pressure on my own, living by myself, hating myself, all alone. I already know what it feels to be distressed without you going out of your way to make my life a mess. I already know well this feeling of desperation, of drowning devastated when I get stuck in quiet contemplation, I know I'm too awkward to hold up my end of a conversation, I don't need you to laugh at and point out my consternation. I just want to die when I'm with you, I feel like you're keeping me inside a zoo, like I'm a freakshow made just to service you.

Wouldn't It Be Nice?

Life is rough.
You have to be tough.
The hardest part is dealing with all of humanity's dandruff.
The flakes, the hangers on,
The desperately un-sprung.
They all add up to a life that's so decidedly wrong.
The angry and depraved,
The Facebook commenters who can't behave,
The car drivers who are completely and utterly deranged.
How the world would be a pretty place,
A lovely, desirable, gorgeous space,
A globe without any trace of prejudice about a race,
Without sexism and celebrity disgrace,
Or cars who can't park in their own space
A world of people who are loyal and chaste,
Without the after taste of the poison laced toxic waste of these two faced lying sacks of shit based human garbage paste.

Monday, 6 November 2017


"ARSEHOLES DON'T HAVE ORGASMS, DICKHEAD!" screamed Creg as he charged down the hill, one hand raised above his head, the other formed a fist out in front of him. His eyes squinted tight as he charged, which gave his intended target plenty of time and opportunity to move slightly out of the way, turn side on and trip Creg over as he passed. Creg hit the ground and all the air went out of him.

"HUUURP.......I'M..........HUUUUURRRHHHHP.... DYING.......HURRUPPP" Creg gasped as his lungs tried desperately to refill. He rolled on his back, staring up into the cloudless sky. If this was TV one of his heroes would be jutting suddenly into his vision, performing CPR, or pulling him to his feet to held fend off the bullies. "Tell...huuuruupp... Charlene.... I love.... huuuurrrrrrppp..." Creg felt a sharp pain in the side of his bum. Instead of a hero, someone had instead kicked him in the arse. A final indignity as he felt his life drain away.

"I ain't never seen no-one give up on life at bein' winded 'afore," said Nigel the Janitor. He had been watching Creg's flailings as he pushed his cleaning cart about, looking for the post-lunch rubbish. Creg had gone still, not even bothering to try and breathe anymore. "Ah wonder if aI'm meant to do somat?" he said, before kicking Creg in the arse again to try and restart his breathing. "Ahm not putting mah mouth on his," he said to no one in particular. He lifted Creg up by the arms and folded him over his garbage cart. There's a certain heart racing panic that only being upside down in a rubbish bin can bring. Creg discovered his will to live as he kissed up against a half sucked strawberry roll-up, a smelly egg sandwich, and a half eaten tub of expired yoghurt. He gasped deeply and drew in all the foulness of his current prison. "WHERE ARE YOU TAKING ME?" he yelled.

"To the sickbay you little blighter, jus' sit still."

Creg paused his thrashing. Perhaps Regina would be at the sickbay still. Perhaps this was all going according to plan. He relaxed and let his chariot carry him to his queen. Besides, at this stage the fumes and lack of oxygen had all but overwhelmed him, he was slinking in and out of consciousness.

"Creg? ........... Creg?" a voice was calling him. A voice that seemed to be everywhere and coming from no place in particular. Creg looked around the whiteness, "am I in hospital?"

"Ah Creg, you're here, with us, you're safe now." This time the voice came from one place, Creg wheeled around and came face to face with an old man in white clothes.

"I'm here? Where is this? A hospital? Am I OK?"

"You're fine, now, my child," spoke the old man with a surprisingly deep and commanding voice. "I called, and you answered."

Creg began to panic, he suddenly came to the realization that he had died. He was in heaven. This was an arch angel - or maybe even God himself judging him on his sins. The thought of sins suddenly threw all the horrible images back into his mind, of all the horrible things he'd done over the years. The dimple in the doorframe. The killing of his grandmother. The horrible things he'd wished upon his god-fearing mother. "I-I-I'm sorry!" he stammered. The old man smiled.

"All is well Creg. You will soon be fit and ready to return."

Creg let out a long sigh. So he wasn't dead yet! But he'd be damned if he let this opportunity slip him by. "God....wh-what's your real name? Why am I here, why are any of us here? What's the point of all this?"

The man smiled again. "Ah Creg. I am Jáim Sandom. You're here because you needed me. Without me there is no life. There is no resurrection from the garbage cart of humanity. There is no... how do you say... blessed... beloved... sorry I have learned most of my English from the catholic mass. I will tell you though, regarding the point of life, life is pain. Life is suffering. Either you suffer, or you make others suffer. Happiness is a lie. It's a fake emotion that sweets and greeting card manufacturers sell you. It's not a feeling at all, it is just a moment of neutrality between sufferings."

"That's it?"

"That's it. What more could anyone want."

Creg was astounded. Mother would never believe that he had met God, let alone knew his real name. Mother would, however, definitely believe about the pain and suffering part, that part made sense. If there were two things his mother knew well, it was about either inflicting or being afflicted by pain.

"Thanks Jáim Sandom," said Creg finally, but he was gone. Jáim had wandered back into the whiteness.

Footsteps approached now, this time a woman came toward him. "Craig?" she said sharply.


"Okay Craig..." she shrugged, "roll over it's time to insert the hose for your enema."

"Enema?" Creg wondered if he'd fallen back to Earth.

"You don't have to repeat everything I say. Wait, you are Craig, right?"


"Oh? Creg? Right. The bloody hospital is out of beds so we're sharing space with the mental health unit. I thought you were a different patient. This is bloody typical, they don't give you the info and then when you get it wrong, it's you neck on the block isn't it? They don't come down here and lend a hand do they, the bastards."

"Well, no I mean, I'm sure you're probably right," said Creg not wanting to make a fuss. "People often just get my name wrong and write it down as Craig."

"You're right Creg, I shouldn't second guess myself. Thanks. Well, roll over then. Try to relax and imagine rabbit trying to fit down a mouse hole."

I'm Aware I'm Wasting My Life

"Dad, what did you choose to do with your life?"

"Well son, I married my wife, I had you little shites, and I came to the conclusion that lemon squash is better than Sprite. I could tell you son about how hard I worked one night, stayed back till late and got something over the line, how I swelled with pride, how I'd felt more accomplished then than I'd ever felt in my life. How I came to realize that regarding that achievement no one gave a flying kite, that the only way to be recognized is to write a book about your Everest fight and how you had to chew your own frozen fingers off on account of your frostbite. I don't know where I went wrong son, so its hard to tell you where to go right, I've always felt separate from the world as if I'm a satellite, doing my best to hang on and help out but I'm always out of everybody's sight. I'm sure I've helped someone somewhere but nothing really comes to mind, the only advice I can probably give to you is about your hairline. Flaunt it boy, whilst you've still got it, one day it'll be gone and you'll have lost it - everything about you that makes you attractive, make sure you marry before your follicles become inactive. Once your hair decides to stop growing on your head, it'll grow out your ears and out your nose instead. And no woman wants a hairy nosed koala, it won't matter how flirtatious your palaver, you've got one chance my little man, marry fast whilst you can."


The melancholy mists roll in and begin to fog my mind. They make me wander aimlessly and lose my sense of time. My enthusiasm for life suddenly is obscured by all the haze, and so I shift and shamble as I slip into a daze. All my goals that were before me now have gone concealed, I let my body rot, fall down, and congeal. I'd lift my head and drag myself atop the tallest tree, from up there  surely I could see, if only someone was up there calling down to me.

Saturday, 4 November 2017

Don't Be Afraid To Catch Feelidaes

I wonder what is wrong with my cat - every time I let it in, it just wants to go back. I guess love is a bit like that.

Thursday, 2 November 2017

I Don't Want Anyone To Come Between Us (Especially Not Somebody With A Penis)

He was here with you whether I liked it or not. There was no way now to make it stop. I'd told you I was fine with this, that I was happier alone, that loneliness was a bliss that I could savour on my own. You laughed, and said that you'd figured out that fact, by the way you'd pulled at me and I had just pushed back. I wasn't quite ready then to simply accept your ardor, I needed you to pull me just that little bit harder. But how can I blame you when you at least tried? When all I did was turn away and force my love to die.