Quarter past 11...

To hug them goodbye, and I lost a part of myself somewhere between the car door, and the street sign saying "Slow".

To the floor! I'll fall, to the floor... and leave myself there for a few hours, hoping the weather stays just as sour, wondering whether my feelings will let up, and whether or not to just give in and give up, all together...

Old Russian music plays in the background, a theme, for a day of contemplation, of frustration... a realisation of something more, than what I found whilst lying there on the floor, besides the bunnies of dust, and the nails of rust, protruding from the wood, to stab and reject, weapon in disguise, my demise, has changed.

Someone lies down beside me, their silence is pulling me out of my selfish spite and I turn and look into the face, and say "I'm not a believer"... and they say "neither am I".. "so what now?".. "let's sneak out the window and pretend we're spies"...

We jump out the window and watch for black cars, hearse-like, cop-like, anything with bars... we're on the run, and it's quarter past 11.... I'm hoping we'll still be alive and awake at quarter past 7.

I whisper to that someone: "We've got hours to make a scene...so kid, let's keep this one clean". We're in this together, hands tied tightly way down low behind our backs....and with that I forget about the car door, the floor and the street sign saying "slow"...

I forget about the street sign saying slow...

The Bands Around My Wrists..

I didn't sleep well last night.. noise from the tv in the other room with it's fake laughter, mocking me and my mind that wouldn't rest...

As I walked home today I saw an Autumn leaf....just floating along the path...I wanted to be that Autumn leaf.. moving where the wind decided to pick it up and make it dance without regret to where it was going... and my heart, it did dance, but it was pushing against my ribs in attempt to be free from its want.

I'd been in the pool earlier on in the evening, swimming, swimming.... trying to wash away that feeling that surrounded me... grabbing at me, just missing so as not to leave fatal wounds but close enough to leave scratch marks on my body as a warning...I floated around on my back for awhile staring at the white ceiling at its cracks and peeling paint, hoping to clear my head of it's worries and mess...

The water floated over me as I let myself sink under and everything was quiet, peaceful. As I resurfaced I kept a little of that solace with me... but it didn't last long.

In bed I felt as if ropes were bound around each wrist and and they are pulling me in opposite directions... leaving their marks... hoping to drag me away into each their own suffocating vortex.

Sleep found me eventually... and then before long it was morning... the bands still as tight, and I was losing feeling... and could no longer differ light from the dark....the truth from the lie...

Has anyone a knife....

Thankless Marriage

She stood alone, waiting, waiting... for a promise not to be fulfilled.

He came across the square from the wrong direction, a place he should not have been.

The questions started to fly, and the hands with them.

She wanted explanations, of his lateness, his secrecy.

His avoidance started in his eyes, and finished on the tongue...

Raised voices. Hurtful speech.

Hasty steps, hurried lies.

Desperation, in the form of a wife. Grabbing after his arm, his heart.

Shrugging off accusations, and her.

Forgiveness?

----------------------------------------------------------------------

I don't know how this ends....

Listen to: Spokane - Thankless Marriage

Alone in the Summertime.

Cups of Jupiter

Cups of jupiter tea... swirls of colour in the bottom of my cup..

Burning lips... A constellation in my hands..

Sinking battles, ships at sea. Woman by the windows... waiting. waiting.

We carry what we need, and lose the rest... along with our minds.. and our dress.

Sense and ability to leave.. now it's gone.

And we walk on.

But never forget, the scars on our arms, our hearts... the dark hooded cloaks that we will forever have covering our faces, so as not to look into the eyes of the ones who used the knife...and severed us apart.

Of filaments of light & space

Cotton sheets, uncomfortable holes.

Electric bands that tighten the heart strings.

Soft skin touches & reaction stills.

Blinding noise, quiet drones.

The waiting, the wanting.

Scrap metal & twisted binds.

The scent of earthy skin.

Burning hot liquids on the tip of tongue.

Escapism. A lonely tree.

Cracked tiles & bloody feet.

Moments of Polaroid moments.

Screaming, shouting, dancing & dancing.

Red wine filling the inside heart.

Obstructions in the road.

Rainy windows. Bus journeys.

Problems that exist when living with Unicorns and girls.

The first Ristretto of the day.

The ache of muscles.

Of Death.

Of Life.

Of filaments of light & space.

Of Swedish Origin.

So I am here. Alone amongst strangers in a place owned by some guy named Richard (Richard's on Richards). In my own head, listening for a pulse, in time with the music coming through the speakers overhead. It's almost African-esque with it's syncopated rhythms and off kilter baselines. I like it. My Gin and Tonic is in a tall glass tonight, stretching it out that little bit further, for a fast drinker, it'll have to suffice. I hear snippets of conversations, some very ordinary and I digress, to others, of smoking being looked down upon, of student loans, and moving to new places to make one feel alive. The room is finally becoming more full, a loud hummmm is rolling over me, slow anticipation, as words flow out of people, pause lightly over me, and move on to a new host. The lights are purple in colour, Red EXIT signs over each accessible door, and some not so accessible. They lie.
Maybe we are to be trapped in this dimly lit world forever.
Then the music changes to live... as a man stands on the stage... his quiet presence along with his music seems to be putting people to sleep. I watch. And listen.
And soon he is finished, the crowd around me pushes in closer, like a herd of animals trying to fight off the Cold Swedish Winter.
He was only the support. Then we see who we have been waiting for and the atmosphere changes from a sluggish appreciation to fearsome screams.
He greets everyone, somehow making it personal to the individuals that make up the sea of faces. And then bang, he's straight into his set.
As the time progresses, he has the crowd sing harmony with him. The grin on his face making everyone sing that bit louder.
An encore is not in question, as soon as he steps off the stage, the crowd goes into a dramatic fit, yelling and screaming and stomping feet, how the tables have turned. Quiet talking is of the past.
And he delivers. He comes back out, with that same grin of recognition and graciousness for such an appeasing audience. And then the night comes to a close, and the big men in outfits of SECURITY tell us to leave. But he promised to come back and talk to us. He promised.
And everyone is standing their ground to the Security, who are agitated to say the least. And with that we see he's well dressed lanky figure emerge from the back door. And he talks and hugs and thanks us for making his evening there a wonderful one.

But in return we say: "Thank you O Music Man of Swedish Origin for making our night."

If You Ever Need A Stranger (To Sing At Your Wedding)

Ask Jens.