Of course and things through dreams of death in cathedrals and back alleys...
Mother prays from a background pew as a priest holds a knife above my prostrate self...
Father watches as I bone a woman against a brick wall beneath a gutter drips rain water and cream onto my head...
floating between intermittent groups and Thursday’s collection of baggage on the outskirts of a vast urban sprawl...
the brow of a giant hill overlooking the past, the future, all the way down I every direction, with only the clothes I have on for the journey to my destination, wherever I terminate...
brought to my knees
SUPPLICATION
- accumulate
- money
- ego
- nothing
AMEN
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
AN OPPORTUNITY MISSED
'We're going to the Hillgrove,' he said of himself and the woman'd come all the way from Italy to be with him when he collected the belongings he'd left behind at the weekend.
'Nice pub,' I said.
'You ever go there?'
'Not anymore,' I said.
'You barred?'
'No.'
'Oh,' he said, disappointment in his voice. 'I thought you might have a story there.'
FRIDAY SATURDAY SUNDAY
We met in Kino’s. She was there before me.
I put my bag on the chair opposite where she sat and said, ‘I’ll get myself a drink,’ she already had one.
Whilst ordering coffee a man in a skirt came up beside me at the counter.
Back at the table I fiddled with the chairs and my bag before sitting down. I was nervous. I hadn’t seen her over ten years when I’d driven her to Benidorm where I bought a case of Spanish brandy took me two weeks to drink.
‘I usually use next door,’ I said nodding towards the Arts House.
We talked for two hours until after winding down the last twenty minutes we said goodbye and a brief hug.
‘Keep in touch,’ she said.
Saturday we left about nine-thirty arriving Gunnersbry Lane and parking by the sports ground at five to twelve.
From the tube we joined the march at Piccadilly and for the next five hours: walked to and from Hyde Park; stood listening to speakers, a brass band and Show of Hands; perused stalls; bought badges; picked up radical left wing papers and pamphlets; and mingled at Speaker’s Corner.
Sunday I paid for Saturday. Stiff, and up an hour later than planned forgetting to put my watch forward missing the first half of the Archer’s omnibus.
Afternoon on the allotment: planting; weeding; planning; sun; difficult to leave.
'Nice pub,' I said.
'You ever go there?'
'Not anymore,' I said.
'You barred?'
'No.'
'Oh,' he said, disappointment in his voice. 'I thought you might have a story there.'
FRIDAY SATURDAY SUNDAY
We met in Kino’s. She was there before me.
I put my bag on the chair opposite where she sat and said, ‘I’ll get myself a drink,’ she already had one.
Whilst ordering coffee a man in a skirt came up beside me at the counter.
Back at the table I fiddled with the chairs and my bag before sitting down. I was nervous. I hadn’t seen her over ten years when I’d driven her to Benidorm where I bought a case of Spanish brandy took me two weeks to drink.
‘I usually use next door,’ I said nodding towards the Arts House.
We talked for two hours until after winding down the last twenty minutes we said goodbye and a brief hug.
‘Keep in touch,’ she said.
Saturday we left about nine-thirty arriving Gunnersbry Lane and parking by the sports ground at five to twelve.
From the tube we joined the march at Piccadilly and for the next five hours: walked to and from Hyde Park; stood listening to speakers, a brass band and Show of Hands; perused stalls; bought badges; picked up radical left wing papers and pamphlets; and mingled at Speaker’s Corner.
Sunday I paid for Saturday. Stiff, and up an hour later than planned forgetting to put my watch forward missing the first half of the Archer’s omnibus.
Afternoon on the allotment: planting; weeding; planning; sun; difficult to leave.
FREE HAND 230311
Why hasn’t it taken so long to come to my senses?
Omnipotence, denial, idealisation…shields against the onslaught of reality…a moments hesitation…
‘Hello,’ she said.
‘Hello,’ I said.
She was speaking to a customer as I went in, and continued making his coffee saying that if she had a day off she didn’t know what to do with herself so preferred to be working. When she’d finished with him she started making my drink without asking.
No words passed between us until she said, ‘You busy?’
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘Oh,’ she said.
‘How about you?’
‘Yes,’ she said.
We said more but the exact words unusually elude me as mostly I remember to the syllable the conversations I have and report.
Then I said, ‘What days are your busiest?’
‘Monday and Tuesday,’ she said. ‘For most people it’s the weekend but for us it’s the beginning of the week.’
‘Lunchtime or what part of the day?’
‘Lunchtime,’ she said. ‘Working people…’
‘…who aren’t around at the weekend.’
She smiled.
She put my drink on the counter, turned, went to and rang up the cost on the till, came back and said, ‘Two pounds,’ and held out her hand into which I put two pound coins.
'Thank you,' she said.
‘Thank you,’ I said.
‘Have a nice day,’ she said.
‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘Bye.’
I opened the door with my free hand.
Omnipotence, denial, idealisation…shields against the onslaught of reality…a moments hesitation…
‘Hello,’ she said.
‘Hello,’ I said.
She was speaking to a customer as I went in, and continued making his coffee saying that if she had a day off she didn’t know what to do with herself so preferred to be working. When she’d finished with him she started making my drink without asking.
No words passed between us until she said, ‘You busy?’
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘Oh,’ she said.
‘How about you?’
‘Yes,’ she said.
We said more but the exact words unusually elude me as mostly I remember to the syllable the conversations I have and report.
Then I said, ‘What days are your busiest?’
‘Monday and Tuesday,’ she said. ‘For most people it’s the weekend but for us it’s the beginning of the week.’
‘Lunchtime or what part of the day?’
‘Lunchtime,’ she said. ‘Working people…’
‘…who aren’t around at the weekend.’
She smiled.
She put my drink on the counter, turned, went to and rang up the cost on the till, came back and said, ‘Two pounds,’ and held out her hand into which I put two pound coins.
'Thank you,' she said.
‘Thank you,’ I said.
‘Have a nice day,’ she said.
‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘Bye.’
I opened the door with my free hand.
MORE THAN NOBLE 230311
Where do I go from here?
There are places I can and can’t go depending on what I have and haven’t done up to this point. Experience provides structure through opportunity and limitation.
Such delicious time spent indulging my self-loathing and self-disgust. It makes me feel alive, ploughing this fertile furrow, mining this rich seam, this narcissistic feast, the quality of which has changed recently: it doesn’t last as long but it’s deeper, more profound.
Life isn’t infinite, nothing lasts forever. My appreciation of what I have received leads me to focus my previously self-centred efforts on working to contribute to the life of others and the benefit of the greater whole.
Noble sentiments?
According to Melanie Klein creativity is an act of reparation resulting from anxiety about imagined damage done to the life-giving good object. It emerges from the depressive position in which the individual recognises the object as incorporating what it previously perceived as unconnected good and bad parts. The subject’s mind, having internalised this whole object, can now contain conflict rather than defend against difference through splitting and projection, which leads in turn to discriminating thought and freedom of choice rather than kneejerk reactions and right-wing ideologies. Concern for the welfare of the now whole other is because the subject comes to know that the bad object it hated and wanted to destroy is also the good and loved object. It isn’t hard to see how guilt would arise at this realisation.
Throughout our lives we can return to the paranoid/schizoid position at times of stress and personal threat resorting to primitive defences, in degrees dependent on earlier emotional successes, to ensure our survival.
Achieving the depressive position is the beginning of separation from the object, of becoming independent beings coming to know our own minds. If we fail to make this developmental move in a substantial way we are stuck in dependency which in later life can manifest as (and I’ve taken some leaps here) seeking refuge in drugs and alcohol to escape our difficulties and to sustain our infantile wish to be merged with another.
Dependency is acted out by resorting to and remaining on the bottle. We can witness creativity and self-destruction (an envious attack on the object that gave and nurtured life) on Stokes Croft, which taken in its entirety is a whole object: all life is here, depressingly and otherwise.
So these sentiments aren’t noble, an act of redemption and an acknowledgment of the divine in Stokes Croft.
There are places I can and can’t go depending on what I have and haven’t done up to this point. Experience provides structure through opportunity and limitation.
Such delicious time spent indulging my self-loathing and self-disgust. It makes me feel alive, ploughing this fertile furrow, mining this rich seam, this narcissistic feast, the quality of which has changed recently: it doesn’t last as long but it’s deeper, more profound.
Life isn’t infinite, nothing lasts forever. My appreciation of what I have received leads me to focus my previously self-centred efforts on working to contribute to the life of others and the benefit of the greater whole.
Noble sentiments?
According to Melanie Klein creativity is an act of reparation resulting from anxiety about imagined damage done to the life-giving good object. It emerges from the depressive position in which the individual recognises the object as incorporating what it previously perceived as unconnected good and bad parts. The subject’s mind, having internalised this whole object, can now contain conflict rather than defend against difference through splitting and projection, which leads in turn to discriminating thought and freedom of choice rather than kneejerk reactions and right-wing ideologies. Concern for the welfare of the now whole other is because the subject comes to know that the bad object it hated and wanted to destroy is also the good and loved object. It isn’t hard to see how guilt would arise at this realisation.
Throughout our lives we can return to the paranoid/schizoid position at times of stress and personal threat resorting to primitive defences, in degrees dependent on earlier emotional successes, to ensure our survival.
Achieving the depressive position is the beginning of separation from the object, of becoming independent beings coming to know our own minds. If we fail to make this developmental move in a substantial way we are stuck in dependency which in later life can manifest as (and I’ve taken some leaps here) seeking refuge in drugs and alcohol to escape our difficulties and to sustain our infantile wish to be merged with another.
Dependency is acted out by resorting to and remaining on the bottle. We can witness creativity and self-destruction (an envious attack on the object that gave and nurtured life) on Stokes Croft, which taken in its entirety is a whole object: all life is here, depressingly and otherwise.
So these sentiments aren’t noble, an act of redemption and an acknowledgment of the divine in Stokes Croft.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
ADJACENT PARTS 090311
ADJACENT PARTS
I’ll exchange your spine for my bladder, he said
- You’d split a cat
- Depends how big you are, she said
- Bath’s better
- Painkillers are good, morphine’s especially the one, he said,
- Battlefield medicine’s the one, he said, what it’s all about, not the pharmaceutical medicines
- Indeed, she said, landing on the fucking shore, you’d look a right cunt if you didn’t
SNORTING LAUGHTER
- Good skills, man, show lots of love and get others to do it with really sharp knives
(THERE SHE IS, CROSSING THE ROAD, SHE’S WEARING THE BLUE COAT GOES WITH HER HAIR)
- You’ve got to look like a homeless guy
- That’s your excuse, she said
- Usually I’d be hanging around in a suit today
SHE CAME OVER TO THE TABLE WHERE WE BOTH NOW SAT
-You want your change?
- (singing) ‘What a wonderful world, what a wonderful world, like lemon drops, somewhere over the rainbow, what a wonderful world, (singing) ooo, ooo, ooo, ooo
- There you go, she said, putting her tea on the table in front of her
- Thanks
WE CHATTED A WHILE
‘Can you do me a favour?’ said the man sitting down opposite.
‘How much do you want?’ I said, not wanting a long preamble to the bottom line.
‘Well, I’ve got,’ he said counting the change in his hand, ‘about two eighty and I need fifteen for a bed at the hostel.’
‘Oi,’ said one of the men round the adjacent table, ‘Fuck off,’ to the man asking us for money.
‘I’m just asking,’ he said, ‘I’ll be gone in a minute.’
‘I’ll give him a pound,’ I said to her. ‘Have you got one too?’
- I felt a bit anxious, irritated he’d interrupted us, keen to get back to our conversation, annoyed at the man saying ‘Fuck off,’ what did she think and want?
We each gave him a pound and he said, ‘Thanks.’
‘Go on, fuck off.’
‘I’m going, man,’ he said now tucking his shirt in by the door.
‘He must be cold,’ she said, ‘not wearing a coat.’
‘Travelling light,’ I said, embarrassed at a glib comment about someone asking for help and being told to fuck off.
‘That was a bit hostile,’ she said, ‘wasn’t it?’
'I know,' I said. 'He was asking us for help not them.'
I’ll exchange your spine for my bladder, he said
- You’d split a cat
- Depends how big you are, she said
- Bath’s better
- Painkillers are good, morphine’s especially the one, he said,
- Battlefield medicine’s the one, he said, what it’s all about, not the pharmaceutical medicines
- Indeed, she said, landing on the fucking shore, you’d look a right cunt if you didn’t
SNORTING LAUGHTER
- Good skills, man, show lots of love and get others to do it with really sharp knives
(THERE SHE IS, CROSSING THE ROAD, SHE’S WEARING THE BLUE COAT GOES WITH HER HAIR)
- You’ve got to look like a homeless guy
- That’s your excuse, she said
- Usually I’d be hanging around in a suit today
SHE CAME OVER TO THE TABLE WHERE WE BOTH NOW SAT
-You want your change?
- (singing) ‘What a wonderful world, what a wonderful world, like lemon drops, somewhere over the rainbow, what a wonderful world, (singing) ooo, ooo, ooo, ooo
- There you go, she said, putting her tea on the table in front of her
- Thanks
WE CHATTED A WHILE
‘Can you do me a favour?’ said the man sitting down opposite.
‘How much do you want?’ I said, not wanting a long preamble to the bottom line.
‘Well, I’ve got,’ he said counting the change in his hand, ‘about two eighty and I need fifteen for a bed at the hostel.’
‘Oi,’ said one of the men round the adjacent table, ‘Fuck off,’ to the man asking us for money.
‘I’m just asking,’ he said, ‘I’ll be gone in a minute.’
‘I’ll give him a pound,’ I said to her. ‘Have you got one too?’
- I felt a bit anxious, irritated he’d interrupted us, keen to get back to our conversation, annoyed at the man saying ‘Fuck off,’ what did she think and want?
We each gave him a pound and he said, ‘Thanks.’
‘Go on, fuck off.’
‘I’m going, man,’ he said now tucking his shirt in by the door.
‘He must be cold,’ she said, ‘not wearing a coat.’
‘Travelling light,’ I said, embarrassed at a glib comment about someone asking for help and being told to fuck off.
‘That was a bit hostile,’ she said, ‘wasn’t it?’
'I know,' I said. 'He was asking us for help not them.'
A NEED GREATER 140311
A NEED GREATER
Coming in the top entrance he was standing outside his front door shopping bags on the floor around him. She was next to him.
‘They’ve taken my front door mat again,’ he said after we’d said ‘hello’ to each other.
‘How many times is that?’ I said.
- she went back out, to get more shopping, I imagined (literally) –
‘Ten,’ he said, putting a key in the lock.
‘That’s a drag,’ I said.
I got in the lift had arrived and as the door closed laughed to be friendly – a nervous laugh, felt a little creepy, demanding even - when he said, ‘They probably need it more than me.’
Coming in the top entrance he was standing outside his front door shopping bags on the floor around him. She was next to him.
‘They’ve taken my front door mat again,’ he said after we’d said ‘hello’ to each other.
‘How many times is that?’ I said.
- she went back out, to get more shopping, I imagined (literally) –
‘Ten,’ he said, putting a key in the lock.
‘That’s a drag,’ I said.
I got in the lift had arrived and as the door closed laughed to be friendly – a nervous laugh, felt a little creepy, demanding even - when he said, ‘They probably need it more than me.’
MEETINGS WITH FOUR (OF THIRTEEN)
MEETINGS WITH FOUR (OF THIRTEEN)
I hadn’t seen Four for a while then he got in the lift where I stood against the back rail as we made our down to the ground floor.
‘Hello, haven’t seen you for a while,’ he said. ‘How are you?
‘I’m well,’ I said. ‘Though I was ill a few months over Christmas.’
‘What was it?’
‘Flu,’ I said. ‘Well a virus of some sort that included a heavy bout of flu kept me in bed a few days. I had three months of it,’ I said. ‘Took me that long to shake it off.’
‘Oh,’ he said. ‘One of the cleaners came to work with the flu and gave it to everyone else, though I didn’t get it, but I don’t know why people come in when they’re ill.’
‘No work no pay, is it?’
‘Yes.’.
‘That’s why then.’
‘Hmm,’ he said.
Outside it was windy. I’d known it would be.
Four put his hand to his head, said, ‘I’d better hold to my hat or I’ll lose it.’
‘I love the wind,’ I said. ‘Getting blown about…’
‘Hmm,’ he said or something.
In the lift on the way back a little later Cee with a bucket and mop.
‘Still windy out there?”
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I love it.’
‘Hmm,’ he said.
‘Thank you, thank you, thank you,’ I said reaching the front door to the block Four was holding open for me from since I passed the last lamppost on the right.
‘You’ve just missed the lift,’ he said. ‘But it’ll be down in a minute.’
‘Thank you,’ I said again.
Through the door I expected him to follow but when he didn’t him holding it open for me was extra special.
I hadn’t seen Four for a while then he got in the lift where I stood against the back rail as we made our down to the ground floor.
‘Hello, haven’t seen you for a while,’ he said. ‘How are you?
‘I’m well,’ I said. ‘Though I was ill a few months over Christmas.’
‘What was it?’
‘Flu,’ I said. ‘Well a virus of some sort that included a heavy bout of flu kept me in bed a few days. I had three months of it,’ I said. ‘Took me that long to shake it off.’
‘Oh,’ he said. ‘One of the cleaners came to work with the flu and gave it to everyone else, though I didn’t get it, but I don’t know why people come in when they’re ill.’
‘No work no pay, is it?’
‘Yes.’.
‘That’s why then.’
‘Hmm,’ he said.
Outside it was windy. I’d known it would be.
Four put his hand to his head, said, ‘I’d better hold to my hat or I’ll lose it.’
‘I love the wind,’ I said. ‘Getting blown about…’
‘Hmm,’ he said or something.
In the lift on the way back a little later Cee with a bucket and mop.
‘Still windy out there?”
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I love it.’
‘Hmm,’ he said.
‘Thank you, thank you, thank you,’ I said reaching the front door to the block Four was holding open for me from since I passed the last lamppost on the right.
‘You’ve just missed the lift,’ he said. ‘But it’ll be down in a minute.’
‘Thank you,’ I said again.
Through the door I expected him to follow but when he didn’t him holding it open for me was extra special.
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