You said ten pounds.

“A starter, a main, any naan and a pint of beer, your choice.”

“Here I am again then. Soon I’ll be standing beside the pond at Decathlon, that cold, sad block of water, hemmed in by concrete. If only the Moorhens were bothered but they’re not fussy. I cannot believe this space opens up each time and asks me to die, yawns out at me. Any eyes that meet mine are not worth it, what are they looking at? A shirt? A pair of glasses? A body? They see whatever they want to see and make my shallow stare seem cavernous. It’s an empty word that clogs my bowel, not even bad Brick Lane curry will shift it. No. No poppadoms thanks.”

Categories: Miscellanea

Created: 4th October 2012
Edited:

Where are you? You are here.

“Love is massive. And everything else is so pointless.”

“Have you been in love?”

“I don’t know.”

Categories: Miscellanea

Created: 27th August 2012
Edited:

Greenwich

“I got as far as the peninsula then turned back, it’s nice out, but hot. I wanted to get a beer but what’s the point?”

“Which flavour would you like?”

“Strawberries and cream cheers. I suppose I should just enjoy not working, pottering about, enjoying new things. I just can’t get my head into looking forward.”

“Sauce?”

“No that’s fine thanks. It all feels wasted, time wasted feeling bad, my ratio is shit, ten percent good, ninety bad or some such.”

“Two fifty please.”

“Here you go. People are worth all the shit but fuck me am I miserable right now.”

“I haven’t got any change, you can just have it.”

“Really? Thanks. Sorry.”

“It’s ok.”

Categories: Miscellanea

Created: 26th July 2012
Edited:

18 mins lft

“Drunk? Yeah drunk. Yeah, any way. OK Ok ok. I can’t remember now, I had it all laid out earlier, in the cheese, old cheese, fleet street, pleased.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Yes yes yes, shut the fuck up, I I I get it.”

“You’d think.”

“You would think I’d want to talk wouldn’t you? I guess. They can sit out in the garden and shoot the breeze and I’ll just offer up some shit to you eh?”

“Eh? Eh what? What the fuck do you sound like, correcting every spelling mistake, splatting a punctuation error here and there’er. Smug cunt. The door, I guess huh?”

“yeah, beaten, in a small lettered . tired.”

“Come on, walk it off a bit, we’ll get a second. Only two days to the Olympics, they might quote you on that.”

“Time to not bother some more; more not bothering.”

“Shut the fuck up you fucking stuck in the the fucking sad little prick cock sucking loser fuckwit prick ugly shit breath cunt…”

“I get it.”

Categories: Miscellanea
Subjects: , , ,
Created: 25th July 2012
Edited:

The 24th and Stubbs and Horse

“What would you say to her right now?”

“It doesn’t matter, it really doesn’t. You say one thing one day, something else the next. It’s all just words, language. It’s all just confusion, emotion making sounds that change it and that and turn it all into a confusing mess. Saying things out loud, it’s just not enough. It turns it into something else, something you don’t recognise, out here. I hate you, I love you but I hate you, I love you but you’re no good. It’s all so … glib, so untrue. Other people’s words do it better, random ones. Lines from cheesy songs. The way I see it is you form an emotion, you negotiate the words, you say them, then you hear them being said, they change what you think, which changes how you feel, and feedback loops form and you have no idea what to say, what is said; when they join in the whole thing becomes a fucking nightmare. Taking words from elsewhere is easier, cuts out a lot, a dialect based on montage, more tactile, comfortably abstract.”

“Art.”

“Yeah, I suppose. A communication that takes in a lot more than social language games. A shared reflection. We can hold up the thing and feel something together without language, without conclusion. That horse. The Stubbs at the National. Every time I’ll look at that and it will convey something about us, about her, in words all I can say is, ‘It reminds me of blah blah blah’ but the horse will do something to my innards, it will go right in. And in that communication with me no part of it will be conducive in a descriptive sense. No amount of labouring will be needed. I don’t need to think or say anything about its scared, doleful eyes; the weight of its poised body; the grip of its legs on the empty canvas; that denied landscape spread like a wall to trap Whistlejacket, pinning him in his fear in front of us, gawping at his size and strength with subtle pity instead of fear. Because he should be able to run yes? Or his rearing up to this massive size should instill enough fear to protect him, but it doesn’t, we carry on gawping. Anyway none of that matters, he just needs to be the sum total of the force instilled within the intention to convey some thing, any thing. And that’s enough for me to stand there and feel something and not have to say anything.”

“Stubbs.”

“The whole fucking National Gallery to be honest, just breaks my heart. Just makes me want. Art can make you want to kill yourself without really knowing why.”

Categories: Miscellanea
Subjects: , , ,
Created: 24th July 2012
Edited:

Monday 23rd July 2012

The stairs from platforms 1 and 2 at New Cross Gate (1839-).

“Could you give me a hand up the stairs?”

“Seriously? I’ve been carrying things up stairs all friggin day… e-yar give us an end.”

“Thanks.” … “Can I get to Elephant and Castle from here?”

“Oh yeah, the bus stop up the road, I’m walking that way.”

“Do you live here?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I moved here with my girlfriend, because I needed to move on but didn’t know how. So here I am.”

“Do you like it?”

“Yes, at the moment I do, the place that is, the time not so much but hey. I like the place, it feels like a town but it’s also London. I liked it even in the rain, more so, there was a lot of noise where I was before and I was surprised to find less here.”

“Times are good and bad and places are just places.”

“It would seem that way, but they connect so’s to make it more interesting for us. I wish it was a better time though, because I like it here and it would be nice if it was perfect. The colours are different and there is so much to do, which is what I wanted, but it was supposed to be a challenge, not a task. I’m still up for it but it seems like a job now, I have no choice, I’m rolling the boulder when I wanted to be building a shed.”

“Don’t get bitter though, you don’t know where you’ll follow the boulder.”

“Yes. Easy to say that when you’re passing through. My eyes are here. And despite the colour change they can’t see over the terraces yet. I feel short, buried up to my knees.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No. No thanks. This is your stop. Get the 53 or the 453, it’s not far.”

“Thanks. I hope you get better time soon.”

“Me too.”

Categories: Miscellanea
Subjects: , , , ,
Created: 23rd July 2012
Edited: