malcolm

He was cremated at 9am this morning. That's the slot in the crematorium that nobody wants. So, he had no mourners to recount tall stories and no high praise for his charitable acts or simple acts of kindness to strangers. But in truth there couldn't be any stories or praise as he was a self-absorbed recluse. A man who lived apart. A man who was and will be easily forgotten. In his past, he had loved and she had tragically died. They said he never recovered. He then blamed his parents for imagined sins and found solace in alcohol. He lost years of his life to this self-abuse and finally ended up in a flat in Brixton. Alone and surrounded by music that he never listened to and books that he never read.

This morning they slid him into the cremation chamber, locked the door and at the flick of a switch, incinerated his flesh to ash. He is no more. His evil, for there was some, lives on. His good is lost and unrecorded. But he was no Caesar. He was just a man. Troubled by a life that never caught a dream or found a love. Yet he was a story that is often told and a life that is duplicated by millions. I didn't know him and I never met him. I can only wade through the detritus of his life and bear witness to the squalor in the rooms he inhabited. I can only formulate a theory as to how he lived and know with absolute certainty that he died alone in a park.

But he was an artist. He had an eye for capturing the essence of a skyline or the gentle curve of a woman's lower back. And he was also a writer haunted by deep black depressive thoughts which were wrapped within a desperately lost soul. Yet he was still someone's son and he was loved by a woman he called, Mum. So, in my heart I put aside the sins and the crimes he visited upon others and instead imagine a newly born child in his mother's arms. Then in that one perfect moment I whisper a silent prayer for them both.



(For Sue and Malcolm)

the things we don't eat for love

Throughout my life I have been influenced by the women that I have mercilessly adored. It is my "Achilles Heel" or more accurately a rare strain of emotional oscillation, which ironically almost always ends up as emotional isolation. At its extreme this weakness in the "presence of femininity" has seen me converting to Catholicism and at its mildest saw me agreeing with the importance of "New Romanticism" in 80s culture. Needless to say, I am now a militant Atheist and if someone foolishly plays Spandau Ballet at a party I feel a strong urge to kill the Kemp brothers.

This urge to mimic a passion or religious zeal in my dates is clearly based upon a wonderful weakness within my personality. I freely admit this as when it comes to love I tend to test the depth of a puddle from a springboard. That is where I actually find some solace in this incurable condition. For I am the eternal optimist, who believes that the puddle is not only deep but warm. I also firmly believe, like the proverbial bullet, that there is undoubtedly someone out there for me. So even though I approach love with the same trepidation as most. Once I get a bounce from my board I am airborne and performing triple somersaults with half twists. As I hurtle like a rocket towards my very shallow icy puddle.

Anyway, back to my latest decision and its physical and mental ramifications. I recently became a Vegetarian and to the outside world that monumental gesture is currently being miss sold as a health choice and a one man effort to combat global warming. But, I am far more fickle than that. I changed my diet because of a woman. I am now in fact more soya than man. I also know what Tofu is and how best to cook with it. Two years ago that would have been like admitting that I have watched an episode of "Keeping Up With Kardashians". I would like to make it clear at this point that I have never watched an episode of this nonsense and if pressed I could not tell you which one of the women was formally a man with a very large arse.

But unlike my decision to seek enlightenment from an omniscient entity who has numerous outlets worldwide and my short and painful dalliance with Kajagoogoo. I do at least feel that this woman has given me something of value. I am losing weight and my concertina chin has been replaced by a face I remember from my past. I am sleeping better and I feel healthier and stronger. Yet even though I know it will only ultimately lead to nothing more than acute "vegetarian warming"; the glacial retreat of visceral fat from my abs. The fact that I am beginning to look more like me and less like Jabba the Hutt is emotionally gratifying.

There is no grace in my failings or crust of wisdom to, break, bless and share. I am a man who aspires to repeat his best mistakes. I do this without any hesitation and whilst being fully aware that the odds are and never will be in my favour. I am becoming the physical personification of the "final futile gesture" and I truly expect to be listed in the Oxford Dictionary as a sub entry under "Hopeless" in 2018. Be that as it may, I am and always will be the hopeless romantic and the most loyal friend. Searching for love in places that people have long since abandoned or marked as radioactive. Befriending and defending the hopeless and vulnerable.

One day I will undoubtedly die and I will drop kick that tin bucket knowing that there is no God. But I will also know that "Enjoy the Silence" by Depeche Mode, is sublimely ironic "wake music". As for whether I will still be a sad, single vegetarian; well that remains to be steamed from what remains of my new and healthier life.

a Dublin dream

I watched the sun rise across a Dublin sky

and from my bed I heard her voice

asking if I wanted tea, coffee or something softer

so much to take in

so many senses unnumbed

so I peel back the sheets

and walk into her arms

sleepy and warm

surrounded by the smell of fresh coffee

and a voice that pulls me apart

piece by piece by piece

through the window I see the river

through the window I see her walk away

she turns

she smiles

and as I finish my coffee

I long for her "something softer"

laughing through my days

occasionally
but not often enough
I feel my life lurch forward
within a laugh
and sometimes
but not nearly enough
I laugh with someone else
and we lurch forward together

the perfect gin

somewhere over Germany

an easy smile with a gentle voice

asks "would you like a drink sir?"

I suddenly realise the benefits of middle age

and greying hair

a little respect at last

albeit compulsory

"I would" I reply

but I leave her waiting for my choice

"a gin and tonic please, heavy on gin and light on tonic."

she serves it within a fragile plastic cup

which she rocks with ice

then within my pressurised world

within my little life

that hurtles towards Berlin

my perfect gin

lubricates a weary mind

and makes a hard landing

very smooth indeed

an empty hand

he held my hand

as a child

he gave me gentle hugs

and gentler smiles

he listened

to my first words

and in my youth
he gave me his wisdom

to use

to discard

to mock
he cared for me in ways
I never understood

until parenthood was mine

but as an adult
I ignored the greying hair
and his fragile ways

for to me he was immortal
a man who would never leave

and then one morning

I looked upon a giant
whittled down to a fragile man
asleep
never to awake again

and in that moment of loss
I felt the fullness of his heart
and the emptiness in my hand

(For my Dad)

light bulb fruit

walking between tools and nails
that I didn't need

I turn a corner

and fall into a corridor of blinding light

hundreds of lights
burning fiercely

in the middle was a woman

reaching up

reaching up

reaching high

reaching into the light

picking bright light bulb fruit

so bright

so unbelievably bright
so painfully bright

she turned
she looked at me

with eyes filled with mercury
and a pure white smile

my buddhist buddy

I met
a buddhist teacher
he was old and grey
but his wisdom
was fresh and minty
he spoke of fearlessness
and compassion
I listened for a while
but there was no truth
in his words for me
so as the others chanted
I turned to the sky
and as the afternoon
drifted into the night
I found myself
beneath a bowl of stars
and a single shinning truth
the days are often warm
and the nights are often cold
we are born
we eventually die
but inbetween
there's fun to be had

just say goodbye

just say goodbye
and move on
turn the page
close the book
burn it
or add it to the others
we never read
just say goodbye
and let everything go
watch it fall
or don't
it doesn't matter
because the wrong things
aren't meant to last
hold the bitter
I'll take the sweet
forget everything
I will not respond
I will not engage
I will not write a solitary word
for I can feel goodbye
in your words
and this silence
move on
keep walking
and put distance and time
between us

a question asked

I defend myself with words
punctuated with borrowed wisdom
from minds with original thoughts
my beliefs are composed
of actions and inactions
but enlightenment eludes me
I fumble and claw at ideologies
that have wrestled kings to their graves
who am I to fight this noble battle?
I care not for odds
or for the soldiers who fight beside me
I care not for honour
or the greater good
for I know I stand alone
an outsider
who was born to not belong
so ask your questions
decipher my answers
then unravel my life
but I can not be known
for the key to my mystery
is missing
and locked within
my sardonic smile