the alarming sensation of an old stranger’s flesh pressed against mine, only trousers between us…
I was sitting on the train in Bristol, reflecting on how many people’s lives I’d destroyed, damaged or merely tarnished, and wondering how bothered I was by that. After I minute or two I had to conclude I was really not that bothered, and almost definitely not as bothered as I probably should be. I should have been bothered about my girlfriend, who’d been on the point of vomiting when I left. I should have been worried – and had indeed sent her a txt expressing what was an entirely counterfeit concern – but I wasn’t really worried. I asked myself if I’d be devastated if she died. I wouldn’t be. I didn’t know what I’d feel. Nothing, probably – maybe a vague sense of relief that the occasional pressure to behave like a normal human being had been removed, until the next one came alone. The train is just sitting here beneath the malevolent sun, reeking of scorched metal and blackened grease.
and at last it’s moving away from kisses and cuddles and sex and the weary pretence of love and the futile
and it’s the 13th July 2014 and it’s very, very hot
with little piles of dried tobacco, little shreds of cardboard, and I’m remembering now the nights sitting on the rug, drinking wine and smoking in front of her fire, talking, beautiful, and I was lucky, lucky enough to feel it lucky enough to feel surprised and stupid and like I was somehow getting away with something. Another county nearer home and blessed drugs. THE TIME IS SIX TWELVE. Over and over and over. And wrong. A butterfly. A pigeon. A swallow. Jolly good, jolly good. Two horses wearing coats. A field of cows. A crow. Several blackbirds. A man in a hat and a terrier, sitting on a beach and waving at the train. Work tomorrow, wasting my life. More cows. Another crow, nodding on a fence. A thin conductor with a beard. A house cat on the prowl. More cows. The smell of cow shit. Endless cows, black bagged haybales like giant liquorice. More cows. Probably more cows, glimpsed through the smear of rushing trackside foliage. A sound in my head like a baby screaming.A crow. A sewage processing plant. None of this moves me.
I lost my light, I lost my way – that’s how I got to where I’m not today
It takes a special kind of useless to live the way i do.