Monday, April 24, 2006

The Prince of Ten

They reached an agreement over fifth-date-coffee; they would separate before the magic faded - while there was still some passion left in the relationship. They would separate in two years.

At six months they found a house they both loved and signed a one and a half year lease. They lived together happily enjoying each others company. They lived together passionately enjoying each other physically.

They had been together 22 months when a letter arrived from the estate agent reminding them that their lease was due to expire. After the letter things got a bit awkward; tensions were high and they would argue for no good reason.

The day arrived. He closed the lid of his suitcase and pushed the latches shut. Click. Click.

He reached across the bed to shake her hand. She placed her hand in his. A familiar hand. A soft and strong hand. A hand that had touched and caressed him.

Her eyes were red and he felt like he was about to cry too. This wasn't meant to be hard!

“Well,” he said to himself, “it’s better to have loved and lost than -”


He was still holding her hand, still looking into her eyes when he said. “Listen, how do you feel about ten years?”

Monday, April 10, 2006

The Mighty Arms of Madness

I’m not really reading the newspaper. I’m not really focusing on what I’m eating or what I’m doing. I’m watching them. I can only just see them out of the corner of my eye. I’m dying to turn my head and watch them properly.

I can feel the heat they’re generating. I can smell the warm intensity of their lust. I can hear their lips, their tongues, their mouths.

I want to know if his hand is on her leg, on her waist. I want to know if his hand is in her hair. I want to know, does he bite her lip? I want to know, does she bite his? I want to know if there is blood, the taste of blood and saliva mixed together.

I hear them stop. I hear her give a small laugh – a laugh thick, almost drunk. I hear her laugh and it says “Gee that was full on. And in a cafĂ©!”

I can’t resist - I turn my head. I turn my head and I see his face. I see his eyes clouded with passion. I see that he is not looking at her; he is looking at her hair, her throat. I see his eyes move to her breasts and stay there.

I return to not reading the newspaper.

I hear him say her name. I hear her laugh at him. I hear that she is gently trying to calm him down. I hear her talk of work and of weekends and walks in the park.

I hear him whisper her name.

I hear her say “Perhaps we should go?”

I sense that he may have gone too far.

I see her stand and walk to the door. I see him struggle to keep up with her.

I want to know.

Summer May Yet Come

Someone told me once that pretending to laugh has the same affect on your brain as actually really laughing. I test this theory out in the car.


A half hearted attempt by all accounts. No effect.

“ha ha”

Still miserable. Grey clouds, grey hills in distance, emptiness of existence.


Hey – I think something happened. Yes, definitely a little less gloomy.

Some green grass appears.

My next attempt at fake laughter starts me really laughing. Instead of seeing a gloomy and cold day there is a stoic and mysterious day before my eyes.

Problem is though; I’d expected the experiment to fail. I was rather enjoying being in the miserable / emptiness paradigm. I had to change the CD I was listening to. I had to go to the pool instead of catching up on sleep.

Worst of all I was starting to think about the upside. The upside I tell you! And then I realised I was wrong about some things, and I hate being wrong.

So, if you’re feeling a little blue, take my advice – steer clear of laughter. Focus on the pot of dirt at the end of the rainbow.

It’s just easier.

Still Music

I just thought I’d lie down for a while - have a quick snooze before I went to the supermarket. When I woke-up it was night and nothing was as it should be.

Drifting into sleep a sweet female voice had whispered in my ear.

“Do you want to come with me?”


The path before us quickly curved away – there was no way of seeing what lay ahead. It turned out that we were at the start of a complicated maze. Our first steps were slow, hesitant, tentative and we were right to be uncertain. The path was blocked by a string of terrifying monsters and complicated traps. And yet as we approached these things they vanished as if they had been mere illusion.

Eventually we reached the centre of the labyrinth; a forest glade. The area was filled with light, dark green and gold, and soft warm air wrapped itself around us. A brook ran through the centre of the scene, gentle and strong. It told of its journeys in the ancient language of the water spirits.

My companion sat down on soft grass and beckoned for me to join her. As I sat she started to sing to me, a tune full of joy and peace. I listened and felt completely happy and safe.

How long she sang for, I really don’t know - at least a day maybe more. I do know there was a point where I did not exist apart from the bliss of that song.

A time arrived when I knew I must return. I was scared. I thought I would have to face the labyrinth alone. But there was no return journey in dream-time. I awoke.

I awoke to the deepest loneliness, loneliness that comes through having and then not having.

And yet, oh and yet! Despair, yes, but still music.

Tuesday, April 04, 2006

The Gangster

Driving along with the windows wound down and my stereo turned up loud. I’m singing along to the music 'Come on everybody. Put your hands up in the air. Just move to the rhythm. Join in people everywhere’. I entertain myself with the idea that the band is advocating armed robbery.

I imagine myself walking in to a bank dressed in tight black clothes with a big bag in one hand and a sawn-off pump-action shotgun in the other. After I had gained everyone’s attention by shouting ‘Come on everybody. Put your hands up in the air’ I would ask a teller to hand over all his notes. Then I would lean against the counter, rest the shotgun on my shoulder and eat an apple. Eating an apple is cooler and healthier than lighting a cigarette.

My black Diablo would be waiting outside and I would drive off in to the desert.

But then I remember the bank robbery victim impact statement I heard once. Suddenly the whole thing doesn’t seem like fun any more.

That’s the thing about rock musicians - they don’t think about the consequences.