Monthly Archives: April 2015

Hiding the evidence….

They are so weird, beginnings. Where does a thing start? The first time you do it? But surely most things aren’t spur of the moment? Isn’t there almost always a thought before the deed? So, where does that thought come from? When does a seed get planted in the mind? How long does it take to germinate?
“Come on! Hurry up! You’ll get us caught!” The heavy set guy in the long trenchcoat panted as he waited at the entrance to the alley beside the large, red brick building.

“I’m coming as fast as I can! Carrying this thing isn’t easy! You could have given me a hand with it!” The second figure, smaller, dressed in jeans and t-shirt, the faded band logo on the front almost gone, a rose entwined around crossed pistols, staggered under the weight of a large cardboard box, passing the larger guy and disappearing down the alley into the shadows.

The larger guy looked up and down the dark street, the overhead lights making the dark appear deeper outside their radius of illumination. The location was perfect, halfway between lights, on a slight bend in the road, allowing him to see anyone approaching from either direction. Behind him in the deep dark of the alley he could hear the box being set down, the scrape as it was pushed into position, the scrape of metal on metal….a grunt of effort…

“It’s no good, you’ll have to give me a hand” the smaller guy whispered, his form barely discernible in the gloom. The larger guy glanced both ways again, seeing that there was no movement on the street, turning and moving back into the alley.

“Give it here! You’re useless!” He grasped the long steel bar that the smaller guy was using to try to lift the large cast iron manhole cover in the middle of the alley floor, straining for a moment as years of encrusted detritus gave way and with an audible pop the cover began to move.

“Fuck this thing is heavy! Get out of the way, I’m going to have to drag it…” The scrape of the metal cover on the tarmac of the alley seemed unreasonably loud in the quiet night and he moved as fast as he dared, the utter black of the hole below revealed as he shuffled backwards….

“Quick! Open the box and we can get out of here” He whispered urgently as the smaller guy took the box cutter from his pocket and slit the parcel tape holding the large carboard box closed. As he did so the box jumped, shifting as though something inside was trying to get out, and he sliced the tape faster, grabbing the sides of the box and tipping it towards the hole. As the box tipped the flaps opened and he felt something heavy moving inside, a slithering sound of plastic on cardboard, the flaps pushing back further as he caught a glimpse of the sleek, slippery looking shape, illuminated even in the almost total dark, perfectly reflective, uniquely strange, before with a splash it disappeared into the sewer system.

“Let’s go, I’ve had way to much of this for one lifetime! Never again!” He sliced the sides of the box, folding it and dropping it into the hole as his larger partner pulled the cover back into place, slamming it shut as far below there was a second splash as something started to realise it was finally free….



Sometimes you have to make the hard decisions, the tough choices, you have to face the thing that frightens you and confront it head on. There are some battles that need to be fought to the bitter end, and that end can be very bitter indeed. I know this because I’ve had to do it, had to be the one to be strong, had to be the one to say

“Enough, no more, this has gone on long enough!”

And it isn’t easy, it never is and never can be, but sometimes the hard option turns out to be easier in the long run….

….”I can’t do this any more, I went and saw him to try to end it but when I got there I looked into his eyes and the words wouldn’t come…” she, trembled as she spoke…

“You know you can’t keep doing this to yourself don’t you my love? You know I can’t let you keep doing this to yourself? What did he say?” I asked as I held her hand, the coffee shop we were sat in fading into the background as we became wrapped in our own private World, cocooned from the reality outside, the coffees cooling as we talked…

“He told me I had to choose, him or you…. but I can’t! I simply can’t, I love you both too much….”

A deep breath, a pause, the lump in my throat almost too much to bear as I looked into her eyes, knowing that what I was about to do would break us both, but knowing that there was no other way, no other option to give us both the resolution we needed…

“Look at me….you know that I couldn’t do this if I didn’t love you, that if I didn’t know that you loved me this would be impossible…don’t you?”

Her eyes, bright with tears, looked into mine as she bit her lip, no words would come but I didn’t expect any. Squeezing her hand for the final time, feeling my heart breaking I nodded slowly…

“It’s over my love….” and standing, releasing her hand I turned and walked away….

The end….

Be a good boy….

“Do as you are told!”,
“Don’t make a fuss!”,
“Don’t do that!”

The list could continue on and on, the barked orders, the harsh tone, the limits and restrictions placed on an eager young mind, keen to explore the World, confused at not being allowed to, bound by rules that seemed to make no sense! It is one thing to have the rules explained, to know why something must be so, he made rules all the time, thinking through a series of options and decision in his head to find a safe route from point A to point B, extrapolating from previous experience, modifying and adapting existing rules, constructing new ones where necessary, every move mapped out with the precision of a chess game between grand masters. When he created the rules himself they made sense and felt safe and gave him the security he needed. When the rules were imposed from outside they didn’t and so he broke them, over and over again, dischord and rebellion the only recourse for a mind that was impossible to limit, a mind that raced every minute of every hour of every day, a mind that never stopped, never rested.

He had tried many times to explain how his mind worked, what he needed, how he liked to order things so that they made sense, so that they were logical. He tried to open up to people about how he felt but the words never seemed to fit in their heads, never seemed to help them understand. So, they kept making rules and he kept breaking them, he kept making his own rules and they didn’t suit other people, the frustration built and over time turned to anger, the anger turning to rage, the rage eventually turned inwards, becoming a simmering self loathing, an understanding that it must be him who was wrong, that everyone else seemed to get it, that everyone else could cope with society and its stupid rules that made no sense, that it must be him who couldn’t cope, who wasn’t nice, who made mistakes….that he would never, could never be a good boy….

Pushing boundaries

It’s what I’ve done my whole life. Tell me not to do something and you can guarantee that’s exactly what I’m going to do at my earliest opportunity! I can’t help myself! It’s build in, part arrogance, an “I know best” attitude, part insolence to authority, my “Fuck you” mindset, part instinctive creator of chaos and disorder and a significant part of it comes down to a self destructive urge that drives those around me to distraction if I let them see it. So I hide, deep in the shadows, half seen, glimpses behind the facade, the mask, and I’m good at masks, I’ve learned to be, studied the masters of the art, the actors, the singers, the social chameleons, and I learn quickly and well. When you worry people, when you scare people, when you confuse and bewilder people and put them off balance you learn early to push all of that down and let people see a more balanced, rounded, controlled version. You learn to mirror the people around you helping them feel comfortable and secure, and you get very good at it. It isn’t real. The thoughts, the urges, the impulses never go away, the dark inner self, the grotesque, the part that stops me seeing myself as others see me, because I know what they see isnt real.

The anger and frustration at never being able to let anyone see me keeps me going, it is the fire that drives me, the passion that fuels me, that allows me to push myself, push the work that I do, push sleep away to create more time, push people away when I need space, push, push…..pushing boundaries