Blood on the motorway.

Be still now
I am with you,
I am deep within you;
You are at peace.
You cannot be harmed;
You will not suffer.
Breathe deeply,
Breathe in the healing love of the universe,
And breathe out the sickness which has taken you.
I am with you.

I press my ear gently against the stone wall and hear dot, dot, dash. Dash dot dot dash. I close my eyes, press my lips against the cold stone and reply, I know. A hundred yards to my left, there is a queue forming at a doorway which leads behind the wall. A hundred yards to my right, there is a queue forming toward my position. The queue to my right is a line of humanity, waiting to kneel before me so that they may be kicked in the teeth. I do not know the purpose of the queue to the right. All I know is the short message I am sent in morse code. I do not think, I just release, and eyes on the horizon, stride back out to walkabout country. I don't look back. I don't need to look back. What lies behind me is a vision I cannot escape.

********

I wake up and do seventy push ups. I have a shower, shave, and slide into my uniform. It feels wrong. I don't feel right in this uniform anymore. I open the kitchen window above the sink and fill it with water as I stare at my next door neighbour who is painting our fence. I think of someone, whom I know wants to run. I think, I will stand and fight.

At that moment, two things happen.

My next door neighbour stops painting and stares directly at me.

And I say out loud, What is there to fight for?

He looks at me quizzically, and turns to renew his brush.

Later, I sit on the edge of my deck, my bare feet nestled in the grass. Next to me, the cat drools and snores. On the apex of the Hills Hoist directly in front of me, a minor bird stands laconically attentive, and next door I hear the oratory of Junior the Scottish Terrier, telling the world that which it cannot understand. I smoke a cigarette, though I have given up. And at my feet I notice a dead moth, covered in dancing ants. I am not sad, though I wish I could have offered it a cocoon.

********

The best thing to do when you feel sad, is put the sadness in a pot with garlic, onions, veal, vegetables and ricotta. Drink some red wine and throw some in the pot. Eat crunchy bread, and enjoy the now. Take a bath and read. Tomorrow, you can take your book into a small room in the back of your house and let the sadness flow down to where the goldifsh and crocodiles live. Then you can have pancakes for breakfast and start over.

********

I ask The Godfather for a map and a key, and he gives both to me. Tomorrow, I will load up and fuck off. I will tell one person where I am going. I will even make a copy of the map and say, here be not dragons, but sanctuary. But I will travel alone, and cook alone, and walk alone, and let the water tickle my toes, and the sand massage my heels. And I will run. Fuck will I run. I will run the length of the beach as fast as I can, and I will leave tiny diamonds behind me like breadcrumbs so I can find my way back to the house. I will lose myself for three days in the serenity. And I will forget, for a moment, that a holiday is like a love affair. The pleasure of beginning it tempered by the gentle melancholy that marks its end.

********

When I'm driving, I am untouchable. Everything passes, and there is a destination. I could drive forever and be happy. I could walk forever and be happy. I like movement, I like change, I like growth. But now, for the first time in a long time, I love the thought of coming home. I like the the thought of standing on my roof so I can see the Emerald City. I like how above my decking is laserlight and tin, and now I pray for rain so that I can sit in my chair, in my backyard and just listen. I like that hanging by a wire is a Singing Telegram bicycle, with the words, "your's for a song" (that apostrophe is sic by the way...), and I like how I can switch my phone off and feel at peace.

Last night I was asked, are you going to the party on Saturday Night? The something something party where someone is playing and everybody will be there, and before the sentence had even ended I was already at home cooking.

That's what I am staying for.

For now.

********

I want you to write to me.

Everyone.

Let's write to each to each other.

Mite's ain't right.

From chatting up models in ridiculously short skirts as the DJ at a fashion parade, to snorting cocaine off a kitchen plate in a shed, to watching AND ACTUALLY ENJOYING Mission Impossible 3 (I'm so sorry creativity...), waking up in strange houses, fighting off gigantic chicken termites*...these are the days of our lives.

********

*Chicken termites: Chicken termites are very scary. They appear one or two days after you encounter cocaine (chicken). They do not have teeth, they have a mouthful of tiny chicken beaks and they eat at your insides and whisper doubt in your mind. They have tiny legs like a millipede, but they have itchy scratchy chicken feet. MILLIONS OF THEM. They are impossible to kill, and they are always hungry for more chicken. They're scratching at me right now to be honest. So I'm writing gibberish to keep them at bay. BEWARE THE CHICKEN TERMITES. AAAAAAAAAAARGH.

********

Finally, I am going to the coast tonight. I have a map. And apparently, there are bean bags there. I'm going to sit on them. And I'm going to walk to the beach and I'm not coming back until I have made some sort of resolution about shit. My friend is loaning me her laptop, which is lovely. So if there's wireless reception down there, I'll come on here n' say hello. If not, suck my fuck fuckos, I'm getting all Crusoe on yo' ass.

********

I'm going to test out a new writing style. Instead of writing long winded angsty posts, I'm just going to write SOOKSOOKSOOKSOOKSOOKSOOKSOOK.

It's art.

And I am the future.

And Jesus fucking wept...

Soundtrack: I don't know, you put something on...

The next time I meet myself we take a walk down by the creek near my house. I bring a book, in case I have nothing to say or I just feel like laying with the mosquitoes in the grass, but as the sun peeks through the willow tree and we sit on the grass, there is no thought of anything but...

Ah me oh my...

Yup.

This sun sure does make a man dizzy.

Giddy even.

Giddy. Delightfully giddy.

And a little bit...naughty.

Yes. Naughty. It's a shame...

...yes, shame.

That I am here with myself.

********

Since I have made a very important decision in my life, shit has seemed a little less...urgent. Intense maybe. This is good thing. A good thing. See, what I did was, I sat outside in my backyard and I took out every piece of me that lay within, good, bad, indifferent, and I...

made a jigsaw out of it.

And when I had finished putting all the pieces together, there was the solution. Not the ANSWER, but the solution. Same same but different. In bold colours bright as the sun reflecting on the water of my favourite beach. And funnily enough, the solution told me that there were no answers. And for the first time EVER, I was kinda cool with that.

So instead of worrying about shit, I watched some porn. 'cause sometimes, I'm just plain BAD.

I think back to the Bee's advice: Just fucking do it, if that's who you are, just fucking DO IT.

So I admit to myself that I'm a naughty pumpkin, and decide to get out of the house and see the world.

Because somedays I feel that if Jesus is weeping, I might as well grab a motherfucking surfboard.

Addiction.

Cold empty days as today
waiting for pay
when
my poverty lounges upon my shoulders
in conceited repose
a half sucked and damp cigarette
in its mouth
reminding me of the glorious day
when I saw beneath a table outside a cafe
at lunch
a tailor made
teasing me to take it
come get me big boy
it crooned
as the wind rocked it gently
to and fro
its hypnotic dance
a seductive show
for me to prove oh just how low
a man might stoop
or in my mind
another voice still
casts away mere opinion of them
for survival of my want
(more than need)
anyway I nant I weed that cigarette
it's lunch
and the white beach carrion
- buoys in the water and gulls leaning and preening -
spread rubbish across the sand and tables
and everyone is blinded but I can see it
an empty pack upon the table
and this treasure which has spilled unseen
and come to rest beneath an empty chair
now
will I sit
there and extend the act
perhaps I could use my nonchalance as feat achieved
I think no one noticed
so I'll take my leave
or
better faster sleight o' hand
without thinking
is what I'll do
I can
and I did
I walked straight past
I leaned down I grabbed it
Dunhill I noticed that
keep walking
someone saw
it's okay
I'm gone now
out of their life
a tiny instant thought
that man
he picked up
that cigarette
how disgusting
yes
there
are
voices
that
register
their
disgust
of
me
in
me
so I wait at least a block or two
in fact
I walk to outside my work
so that my colleagues
can see how well to do I am
with my fancy tailored cigarette
the golden bands and elegant font
which midas like turn my
fingers and teeth
to Gold.