A View from the tramp

The last notion ever to effervesce

From the non-knowledge of the globe

Consisted of the fact that

I...
Would manage to share your misery.

Wherever I went you were there,

Existing [that is all]...

Through all the small out-of-place things;

An obscenity, an Über-voyeur of anxiety,

Wrapping a world into an innocuous lump,

Waiting to be consumed by that scaly void.

But you don’t laugh or cry,

You just say:

“This is it – reality”, blink... blink.

To me that's just a chug chug of bass,

A dreary half-life dirge:

The soul stultifying fug of a non-

Composition; a No, a NO.

And when I think of you...

It makes me sad...not in a good way.

A View From The Monatgue Pike (random thoughts while waiting for Ian).

Blackwell's Books and Rush Hair
Drip drip of people passing
Bus, bus and a glimpse into the bright back window.
The West-End is always a drunkeness.
A guy sits opposite fingering a menu, trying to decide which steak to order.
Academic books and hairdressing, is there a juxtaposition there?
Is there a kind of link to be made?
The guy has been joined by a friend, he says to him:
'What if it was doubles, he'd be fucked...
'...And that's what I was waiting for: cake, not gang am style.'
They laugh, I wonder at the complex meanings they espouse
And where I should choose to place my opinion.
Idiots ripe for a slicing of my acerbic wit
Or a tragic form of human being valid in their immanent perception
Of this ridiculous existential morass we endure?
I'm superior surely? No, that is a convenient hidey hole in a perpetual desert
We are the same in our lolling pop of existence.
There is no 'better' just different stratergies
And by the looks of it, theirs is working better than mine.
But we both use Mr Al Cohol for company so what does that say?
A group of old people just came in, a whole brigade
They are chuckling and giggling and that is
Perhaps the best advice I have seen today.

Illegal in Leicester Square

The darkness sloshed up and down in our heads as the night sky rose before us over the newly refurbished Leicester Square - all the metal struts and luminous men had been cleared away leaving a great expanse that hadn't been glimpsed in quite some time. ALD and I stood on the kerb-like plinth that now bordered the main tumult of people that spurted incongruently from Piccadilly and Covent Garden; the marching bodies all met in the middle like some kind of disorganised, half-hearted, mediocre consumer battle. We watched and spoke our soaked words into each others faces, fresh from the pub we had decided on a tour of London's most obvious facial features and hence here we stood in the square, cans of cider in hand, swaying to the movement of the liquid playing sweet cacophonies inside our craniums. We turned to look into the area of grass at the centre, now locked up. We discussed how the fence keeping people out was pathetically short, about a meter high, we followed that with a short confab about how high we would each be able to urinate over the said fence. We turned back to facing the hoi polloi, just as two rather fresh-faced Community Support Officers were walking past, scanning with their hairless chins and bulbous eyes intent on ruining someone's fun; spotting us they looked at each other and with a nod of the head sashayed towards us.

'Did you know sir, that it is illegal to have an open container of alcohol in the borough of Westminster?'

'No', I replied, 'I didn't know that'.

'I'm afraid you are going to have to dispose of your drinks.' He wasn't afraid, but I was, the can was over half full, I searched for the magic words that would make the horrible men disappear - all I could hear was Westminster, Westminster, what if you leave Westminster as soon as possible. It seemed plausible. I would utter the words with a cheeky grin and Mr Officer would tut and raise his eyes and say, 'oh OK then, but be quick', at which point we would thank him and scuttle off into the crowd, safe to sup on our newly radicalised beverages and laugh at the stupidity of the repressive state apparatus.

Only something different happened, by the time the words had made their way to my lips, they weren't the gems I had initially found, but a rather offensive looking piece of coal.

'Yeah, but what if we run away.' The officer looked back with a seriousness I couldn't quite comprehend.

'Well, we'll chase you.' there was no smile no laughter, just a sombre stare. I tried again, I just didn't say it right, I held up my hands.

'No, No , No, I meant really quickly.' The coal had turned to shit, as if running away from the Officers really quickly would make them change their mind. I was trying to say one thing, but really saying quite another, I had to now give up didn't I? Yes, yes I did. ALD intervened and encouraged me to stop talking at which point we reluctantly tipped that most noble of liquids down into London's bowels through its grated eye ball; I guess London deserved it, putting up with all these people all day and their impossible dreams and dirty rubber soles. We put our empty cans in the bins and moved off into the crowd, liquor-less and chasing that subtle divergence in our splattered consciousness - I think it was annoyance.

London had won and I didn't begrudge it, the pavements seemed to smile that sloppy drunken grin and somehow I was pleased we had shared a drink - London was our melancholy comrade rolling and rising with the tides of our happily addled heads.

One drink for you, one for London, those are the new rules.

MG

night saturday my idiots company of in the

One Saturday evening after a most distasteful day of work I attended a rooftop BBQ to celebrate my Asian friend's house mate's birthday. I never really got into the mood of the thing, the brethren was compiled mainly of chavs and gays, not that that is a bad thing, but frequent attempts at conversation flaked away like tissue in water and left eyes floating to spy on the ever more dark but lucid sky. I was left with a deft certainty, as I took a step back and watched the flickering colours of socialisation exploding around me, that the only emotion I could feel for these people was disgust; I didn't care what they thought of me, and didn't believe they had anything to offer me, they had the pompous aura of certainty in their hearts, somehow untouched by horror,they were paper images, a conspiracy against that sublime darkness hovering above and descending in ever increasing quantities. They wanted to be loved, that much was obvious, but they wore it with arrogance, denying their own fragility; through my eyes their fragility was the only thing I could see as they spewed words and laughed into each others faces. I couldn't work out whether I was alone in a crowd of idiots, or the only idiot in a crowd of well adjusted, stable, happy individuals.

Anyway, my remedy to this was to take two rather large tokes on a joint handed to me by a friend (let's call him D-gong), D-gong only turned up for five minutes with two rather unenthusiastic friends before leaving, but before he did I was able to suckle at his herbaceous teet (yuck). This joint was expertly assembled and, after the second puff, I realised very very strong, after that I was out, there is pictorial evidence.

Below is a document of my evening through text messages sent to my girlfriend (let's call her Piekna). It starts just after a phone call from Piekna to Melancholic Georges (MG) where she informed him she would not be coming to the party; see if you can see where the joint hit.


[MG] is sad you are not coming and that he won't get to hear the slender sparkle of your laugh as well as the wah wah wah when he tells a crap joke :-(. He will have to comfort himself with 'Lucozade' and sitting in the corner all night scratching his own chest and muttering compliments to himself , such as 'I really like those shoes' (whilst chewing on sheep's head obviously). Have a nice evening sweets. [MG]

-

So I'm at the party right n there's loads of people here, mostly chavs and gays. All shouting and spilling their dribbling ego's into my face. Where is your lovely face? Boredom a smooth, long feeling like a white corridor, or the anticipation of the needle touching your flesh before a blood test. I bet you are warm and snug, I'm cold on the roof, I think there is a dog staring at me from a dark corner. Why are clouds? There is a particularly fluffy one that reminds me of you (in a good way) :-). XxXx [MG]

-

Running = Woooooooooooooooooooo. There's a hole in my pocket. [MG]

-

I just asked a brain scientist what would happen if I poked out his eye and came on his brain, he said he would feel nothing because the brain has no nerves. Should I put his theory into practice? [MG]

-

Stoned in the wired forest of the night, barking dogs whistling into the smiling void of their stupidity, why there is curling infinity, quivers on thigh high coloured material. laughter like holes, cracks in wood, slithers of craggy darkness. Eyes dragged by dripping weights, falling touching, smiling, [Piekna], sublime :-). [MG]

-

I don't think understanding is within me either, I don't believe it was a friend of comprehension. U are a lovely lovey. XxX. Goodnight sweets, [MG]

Finis

MG