A Song A Day For A Year

Sun glare eyes

Spinning in one of those chairs

Wallet safely nearby

Friends across the room

Should go see them soon

See how the Christmas break has been

Need to not think about food

Too hungry for that

Keep my eyes on the screen a little longer

Feed my blog with marvels

Coffee cup. Coffee cup with blue and brown flowers on. Coffee cup on coaster. Coffee cup lifting higher and higher. Coffee cup lighter. Coffee cup not his. Coffee cup hers. Coffee cup in the hand of a nervous twenty year old. Coffee cup for first day on the job. Coffee cup to calm nerves. Coffee cup to drain the cold. Coffee cup beside the storyteller’s pen. Coffee cup on the workdesk. Coffee cup makes iPod feel small. Coffee cup looks at the message on the Android screen and stays quiet. Coffee cup is a little lighter. Coffee cup stares across the keyboard at Bowl, but Bowl is too busy with spoon to notice. Coffee cup swirls milky bitterness. Coffee cup is not a friend of the cold. Coffee cup stands bold. Coffee cup has many leaves to protect its delicate insides. Coffee cup would die in the rain. Coffee cup doesn’t have much left. Coffee cup fears the end. Coffee cup can’t see the light at the end of the tunnel. Coffee cup can only see brown. Coffee cup has nothing else to say. Coffee cup lifting higher and higher. Coffee cup lighter. Coffee cup, time for another.

HAHAHA SPICE GIRLS COVER!

My version of City and Colour’s ‘Comin’ Home’ with an England twist!

Interpolation. We’re going to introduce the monkey to the main group soon.

Quit calling me names! Wait don’t say that, youu’ll make him mad. I don’t like him mad, he starts swelling up and spills wine on the carpet. All I wanted was a cosy night in, but he dragged me out to this horrible club, with all its strange ladies making me offers underneath the tables. Anyway, he started telling me I needed to loosen up and accept one. It won’t hurt he kept whispering in my ear, his strong tongue tickling my lobe. I started shaking my leg, the beer doing funny things to me with drunken men throwing coins over my ears at Miss Gabriella onstage. Her dance wasn’t as exotic as her name. She was wearing a velvety number she dismissed of quickly, throwing it on the chair behind her and bending down to show us something i’d only ever read about, a buttcheek piercing. It was gruesome, and she spread her cheeks and it bled a little. Then out of some kind of disjointed ability she threw her head between her legs and licked the blood away. I was ready to share my breakfast with the rest of the crowd, when he stroked me. He stroked me with his pinky from my mouth to my breasts. Then he held my hand and told me it would be alright, for some reason he needed this and if I loved him then i’d let him do it. You’re my Gabriella he said trying to get me to agree, how dare he? How dare he call me that, I’m anything but a buttcheek pierced princess showing my… Oh dear, a young man on the table in front is licking the blood of her now. I look back at him, smiling at me. I puke on his nose.

I gazed in through the window at him, sniffing the chimney as he scratched his back. The glass was smudged in all different places like some orgie happening had recently run rounds in his creepy little bungalo. He scratches again and sniffs the chimney, his nose is black with soot and his hair musty grey from the back-blow. I see the door to the room open and turning his back on the fireplace looks over at the tall lady with a droopy black eyes. He doesn’t move an inch, he’s old and he has half the chimney up his nose. He pulls a pose to attract sympathy and she falls to her knees crawling to meet him at his level. She scratches his belly and kisses it thouroughly, injecting him with all the pleasure a woman with such large lips can provide. He claws at her face to show affection, but accidentally scrapes her chin. His fingernails too long for playful afternoons, she tucks away from him, looking with a sting at his proud mouth hanging open. She barks something at him like ‘Henry you dumb dog!’ but he doesn’t listen, he rools onto his other side and starts scratching something nasty between his legs. He’s at it for a while until she interrupts with a coke can, thrown graciously at his head. All this accomplishes is speeding up the chimney nose problem, with black snot firing at the chimney, hanging from its iron bars like fairy lights. She looks disgusted and mutters more about Henry, how he needed to quuit the smack and find a new place to live. Henry kept his mouth shut and she sat there trying to stare out a response. He responded in flatulent glory with the kind of rhythm that takes years to master. Suddenly this cheeky little pidgeon flutters down the chimney to say hello to Henry. Henry wants it, but this pidgeon in his sights has got one mean temper. It starts flapping its wing at its side like a cowboy whipping his steed. My wristwatch alarm has just gone off, i’ve gotta go Henry, been nice seeing you, maybe tomorrow Jill will let me in.

Waking up to christmas tree full boom with lights, twinkling terrors that sparkle in the mid-morning sunlight. I inspect the time on the mantelpiece clock, its five minutes faster than my phone time. I think some time ago I did this on purpose to get my engine running in the morning, but now its an inconvenience I can’t stretch myself to fix. Diabetes is a pain in the arse don’t get it. Every morning I have to go through this sodding ritual to remove all hair on my body, every trace of dna that can lead back to the real me, the me i’m not allowed to be right now. To even mention the name of the man who did this to me pierces something gentle inside and I rage about like a beast unchained. Marianne, my wife, I don.t know where she is, I have to keep working till he sets her free. I finish my cold toast and tea and button up my blazer for the ride ahead. Each morning two men in black suits and shades arrive at my front door with the limo to work. It’s his way of making the new me more comfortable. As we pass through my north london town all the kids take a look, some even rub it for good luck, or so ive heard on the grapevine.

… If it was cold she’d have put on her fur coat, I remember there being a period of a week where she’d barely take it off. I was a good boyfriend. I gesture to her to show me the wrist again but then she starts saying it was best if she left, happy that we’d cleared the air. I hold her wrist as she rises, I tell her that if she ever needed me then she knew who to call. Her face curls up into a pre tear position, and I smile back. As she departs the restaurant I smell that smoke, that smoke from the night her house set on fire, I smell it only when something dangerous is usually about to occur. I pay the bill and get the hell out of there, no need to stir the muddied memories of me and her, as I poke my straw at my remaining icecubes. I’m going to take it, ive had enough of fear in the shadows. Just one shot of my formula and i’ll be a force like no other.

I’m sat in a south london pub, a wetherspoons surrounded by dreadlocked women and dying men. No one cares about the riots here, no one cares about anything. I cant hold a conversation with someone for long without wanting to retreat into solitude. I find peopole like to either discuss the most unknown literature or political development to which I find myself on my android tapping away for answers or possible conversation starters. Either way by the time im done surfing they’re done drinking and im abandoned at the sticky pub table. The other end of the spectrum cant stop running their mouths on who should win x-factor, in fact divide the sexes and you create far worse compositions for this kind of cadaver. Guys tend to back on about who is ‘shaggable’ and girls spend a unique amount of time discussing the artists attire before reassuring themselves that they have better features than those stars they’ve spent countless hours staring at a glass box admiring. Well im out of the house, its a big step for me, but I need to calm the tide with an ex. Speaking of which she’s here and she’s coming over. They say to act natural in awkward situations, but I think the word natural doesnt quite fit the bill. She sits opposite me, her big white teeth are the first thing I see. Her hair is bigger than usual, framing her face in the way that makes her look like one of the ewoks from star wars hiding in a hedge. Except she.’s never seen Star Wars and has never seemed bothered by that fact. She does look good though, which is horrible. She tells me how her families been, her pet bird Rocky and the fact she has come across a large amount of money in the past couple of months. Then I notice it, her long sleeved top was covering it before, but obviously she made the error of sliding them up because she hid it seconds after rolling them up. “Its nothing” she tries to say making awkward sentences like “Actually it is cold in here”. If it was cold in here