The Plague



Summer nights of wine and filterless cigarettes as the town danced outside our window. Balmy hours of strange new music and the distant hum of London that pushed and pulled our adolescent heads in all directions. Those days of painting. Those moments of oil on canvas and the first steps of trying to make energy made visible just like Pollock fifty years before. Fuck, just to think how long it would take, but those balmy evenings, they existed outside of time, and they still do. What’s more important, is that I too exist outside of time. While others grow old, I’m moving to a different beat, and the reckless obsessions I surrender to still burn as bright as they always have done. And those obsessions. They feed my irregular mind and conjure visions others would rather ignore. And ignore them they do. Because who wants to live a life that revolves around what can’t be seen? Who wants to believe only in faith? PlayStation 2 and cheap noodles. Black coffee and windows that overlooked playing fields I would spend so many happy days playing football and feeding ducks while walking hand in hand with you. No money. No sense of style or good taste, but I was a bud, and that’s what counts. Blade Runner on VHS and porno stolen from the pub I used to work at. Taxi rides through streets littered with drinkers and the damned, and doorways that reeked of piss and shadows. More cigarettes and the glory of an energy drink to take away the familiar horror of yet another hangover that eats away at aching bones. More obsessions and the silence that comes and goes from not knowing just where the next footstep is going to lead. Wasting time to make time. Loving others knowing there’s only one. Afternoons in the breeze turning to lost hours talking on balconies overlooking dead pigeons and stores selling corked wine and cheese and onion flavoured crisps that will always be my favourite. Those dreary curtains. The patterns on that cigarette-burned carpet. They make me smile. They make me feel warm inside just thinking about them. And that energy. That same moon shining down upon me just the same as it shone down on Pollock. It draws me forwards and ignites my soul when others have long since turned back.

A Journal for Damned Lovers Volumes 1 & 2 on

A Journal for Damned Lovers Volumes 1 & 2 on

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