sunday afternoon innit
a hungover nowhere
mind in the biscuit tin
drive down southend pool hall
sky grey as carpark cement
conversations a heavy cloud
that wont rain will it
dust floats in pool halls green gloom
there is no time
down backstairs a nightclub waits for dark
( or a darkclub
waits for night )
soft drinks and cigarettes innit
i am in a reformed bubble
feel like spam dont i
last nights dried onto my jeans
last nights memories are grainy
theyre a bad fit
( i remember -
childhood beach days
kodachrome colours
wet tiles on toilet floor
abrasive sand in short socks
that sharp band of stones before the surf
a fish and chip restaurant after
near a wall falling down )
hit the balls with the stick
tie crisp bags into bows
dont ever win do i
later fish and chips takeout
whisky and beer
sit in
tv on innit
the words rain
its all softer now
dusk allows a vibe dont it
getting fucked up early doors
tomorrow is monday you see
and we have to pretend dont we
to give the week a chance
from yell.com
so depression is a thing
maybe evolutionary
maybe natures hard brake on a mad curve
maybe a circuit breaker
maybe its systems down for essential maintenance
maybe its the black pool of everything that it feels like
maybe its truth lifting the veil and slapping you in the face
forcing a healthier recalibration
maybe its the kid shouting that the emperor is naked
maybe its karmas hand on your shoulder
you look round
and karma is shaking its head
maybe its that painting The Scream
maybe its tungsten drill bits in your frontal lobe
maybe its an extreme diet
ha
it had upsides of course not many
fags were one
fags tasted GOOD when i was down in the white noise
staggeringly GOOD
cold sweat and cigarette smoke are brothers like fish and chips
i would sit on the back step looking at wet autumn leaves
enormous dread would tie my gut into a tight knot
overhead a stork would fly by so very very slowly
he came the same time every morning
i never named him
and cos i am on a hill in the distance the stork was in the sky
so when he got here he was only rooftop high
he could have been an upside down flamingo
i wouldnt have blinked
anyway fags i would EAT the smoke from my fags
blow it out my nose like cold morning exhaust
blow smoke out in place of speaking
i was like a campfire without the stories
in those puffing moments i was doing a Thing
i was Occupied and it made sense to the frayed edges
something to do instead of wishing for a zoned oasis
wishing for an eternal pool hall afternoon
not that you believe in these things anymore
fags dont just fill time
no
they ARE time using it up taking it away
and when tv was nonsense
just mad pixels
i would smoke
and when music
poor music
was just a racket
intolerable
i would smoke
and dinner
lunch
the meals
remember meals ?
i would smoke
at work i was outside all the time
i was behind the compactor
where the student drs smoked weed
theyd made a shelter from damp cardboard
well they laughed when i found them cos they were high
and i smoked
didnt blink
could have been upside down flamingos for all i cared
like that little black cat who came to live with me
he was keen for refuge
and he came down off the top kitchen units at last
and he scratched the hell out of my new leather sofa
i just watched
smoked
he could have been an upside down . . . well you get it
but fags oh fags
well they rule the bad lands like old kings
whatcha doin ford ? smokin . . .
it was a good enough answer for those days i think
from www.treehugger.com
