Flag Of No Country

What am I, in the eyes of most…

She forms such intriguing shapes when consumed with desire. She will snap her spine to feel. Unhinged from the vertebrae, unhooked from the ravages of opposition. I pull out a silenced pistol – the latest and greatest in handheld killing machinery – and I aim true. I shoot the stilettos clean from under her wrinkled bridges and she remains poised, an uncouth and indifferent ballerina. I can smell the gunpowder and it isn’t coming from my lubricated barrel.

As it were.

I walk to the end of the pier smelling like fifty years. Beneath my feet the sea churns and writhes in catatonic ecstasy. Across the water are forgotten friends now old enemies, and soon that hatred will fade if it hasn’t already. To be honest, it would be fantastic if L still hated me, but I fear I am barely a footnote, not even a twinge in the middle of a shared song. I didn’t mean to forget but then I never mean for anything to happen. I am not mean. I am trying.

The boiler in my little cottage has given up heating the place and committed itself to a new career of Really Japanese Noises, lots of low gurgling and grinding and what sounds like a thousand vengeful young spirits converging on a single point of derision. So I wrap myself in many layers and stare at a distant ceiling. Let’s toast the new year. Chin chin 2015. Thank you for the memories. Good morning 2016. Sit down, have a whisky, and let’s discuss our battle plan for the next twelve months.

Jamming my hands deep in pockets, I ignore the sand and salt on my top lip and walk unobtrusively between tall buildings. Searching for the footprints and ignoring the echoes. We dream of challenge and conflict. We seek those punishments to the senses that are embraced like an old enemy. Throbs and smells, stings and grazes. I long for warm fingertips and ice cold eyes. Being a small fish in a tiny pond, the challenge is staying sane in a narrow and closed world.

Dilute it with sex if you will, but like homeopathy it is all so much distilled water. Two glasses of wine can throw one a few decades backwards. Connections become like handholds on an unforgiving mountain, desperately grasping for crevices towards a summit that may not even be desirable.

Nothing truly matters when you can abolish everything that has happened since and focus on a single moment, on a warm summer evening, when a young man sat on the roof of his car playing the guitar and a lone saxophone player opened their window and began a jamming session – neither player ever seeing the other. When you look back on a memory and realise their pupils dilated at the exact moment you laughed. When you hug someone and you gently pull your hips away because the embrace has aroused you in such a way that it is embarrassing and yet all you wish to do is to give this person an intense pleasure.

a nobody…

Maybe this is the year when I climb a tree, at thirty three, and I stay up there long enough to make the next edition of the local news. Surrounded by so much floating debris, the driftwood of indifference and not a complex carbon to rub together.

has in his heart….

I had more to say but I am tired. It’s been a long year, 2015. To L and to C, to be and not be free. To write, to paint, to draw, to snap. Here’s to 2016, with much love to those who they are (and They Know Who They Are.) We are a strange band of misfits looking for history. It cannot happen until we are gone – so in the meantime let’s create a story that will hardly be believed. Let’s create a narrative so unreliable it can only be true. I walk back from the end of the pier and smile at the lights. Underneath the sea is quiet.

The stars wink.

We Are Total.



Happy 2016 x


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