Wednesday, August 24, 2005

An end, a beginning and all points in between

Soundtrack: Leftfield / Song of Life

I sat holding her hand and laughed at the ironic analogy. In front of us, a gigantic fucking concrete wall. Mocking us with its permanence, its vastness laughing grey black steel stone at the tiny two humans below.

I introduced myself.

I'm not who you think I am. I'm not who YOU think I am. I am afraid and I am lonely.

I am sad. And I have been for as far back as I can remember.

The dam broke, the dam broke and down my slipway, my cheeks, the torrent, the waves, the tears crashed down and I opened up like never before and it was a physical endless fucking black hole that could no longer be closed.

Her finger touched my cheek. And she lifted it to her mouth and tasted my saltiness. My dirtiness. Unclean and raw is my essence and after that first taste she leaned closer and licked the remainder from my cheeks and held me tight and here she was my French Resistance Belle, all beret and jacket and secretive missions to save those poor, stranded, broken souls behind the lines of War. Or life. Or are they one and the same for some.

We were in a place of unspeakable beauty and wrapping her arms around me I saw in her the same.

I love you, she said, SO FUCKING MUCH.

I laughed the laugh of a man in tears.

I sobbed with giggles.

I cried with laughter.

And she was as present as she has ever been. This friend, this lover, this fucked up kid. And that is the gift that has been bestowed upon me, looking back. Presence. Truth. Reality. No crushing weight of complications can ever take that away. I have seen in her what you may never see. I have experienced something that, no lie, God's Truth, I am not sure ANYONE is lucky enough to have experienced.

It's our secret.

But that aside, I am at an end, a beginning, and there is nothing in between.

It is...liberating in its devastation.

I've been cloaking myself in various diguises for many, many years.

I am complicated. Bitter irony, sweet fucking beautiful Life. How I fucking adore you though you throw me such ravaged bones. I am a Cunt, I am a Mess, I am a Hard Stone Heart. Nothing can touch me, nothing gets in, nothing will break me.


Cack. It's a cack. I like that word. It's sharp and to the point, something to be soaked, bathed, drowned in.

So. I have to start to tear away at the layers of skin, the mutliple personalities, the endless fucking disguises that I have created until only I remain. Bare chested, bare legged, a codpiece for my modesty (yeah right), my humility, before I take up that sledgehammer and turn my attention to that gigantic fucking wall in front of me.

It's going to be a long road. It's going to take more than just day to day living to discover what lies behind.

Born an old soul is an acursed blessing. Born an old soul means tearing this life down and in its destruction finding the pieces, the rare fucking rough diamond, which gives you but a start, a hammer and a nail, with which to begin to build.

It's my choice to avoid a life of mediocrity. But having made the choice the rose covered glasses lie smashed underfoot and you see the road and its distance is dizzying.

So you take one step, and you better fucking make sure it's forward.

But at least she makes good company on a road trip. The best actually.

This is Mathew James Barker.

Signing out.


  1. *cherishes*

    *in a seductive way*

  2. fuck, sherriff.....i'll be there tomorrow night, get your lap ready

  3. *readies lap*

    *in a seductive way*

  4. complicated is good, right? you two mean a lot to eachother, either way, which will always mean something. beautiful.

  5. fuck
    matthew james barker
    i love your writing like this.

    bless your bones