spittlerattle

stuff i write

Month: March, 2013

Know thyself

Supposedly, I’m on a mission to find my true self. Then, when I know what it is, who I am, all that, I can be like that all the time. Or when it suits me. My self is, apparently, actualized or organismic; it’s as elusive as when I try to catch myself smiling. I’ve done the background reading and I’ve narrowed it down to sometime just after I slopped, messily, (but with some relief), into the world; the social world, at least. I guess I was pretty happy beforehand, floating around in nutrients, devoid of lists.

Anyway.

So, there was air, whatever that is, and the vast expanse of my mother.

She’s not fat, I’m just saying I was little. ‘She Loves You’ by the Beatles was No#1 in the Hit Parade. What could possibly go wrong?

(Don’t trivialise with pop music! Focus on the thing).

So, Here I Am! I’m out, born, the cord is cut. I could’ve made a run for it right then and there, scurry whilst still slippy and icky, head for the nearest treeline and get raised by badgers.

(Concentrate!)

There I am, apparently the owner of a new universe. Whatever all that damp red stuff was, before, it has been replaced by lots of colours, and noise and smells…. and hmmmm… *smack-lips*… what’s that funny feeling in my belly? Oh, no, I don’t like that!!!!

And right there it was done, I was lost. What was, briefly, the perfect, all harmonious world of the universe as my play thing, suddenly became corrupted by urges, needs…sigh, other people.

Hunger, cold, whimper whimper, I need help.

Enter into negotiations for the breast. Plea bargain. But notice it’s me that does all the pleading? Yeah, fine, go on, teach me about routines, deferred gratification, sharing, patience and respect. I’ll just hang around, check my voice messages.

So, anyway, object-relations theory suggests it was about that time I started developing a passive-aggressive attitude. My baby gurgles were tainted with sarcasm. While I was struggling with the good breast/bad breast dilemma, and experiencing some perverse polymorphousness 😉 the world paid me no heed, being otherwise bothered by JFK, Daleks and the Great Train Robbery.

I’m left with a plan (the hard bit), for the sake of catharsis. I shall regress myself, perhaps using vodka and cheap hashish (the easy bit), and imagine myself clamped to my mum’s nipple, twiddling my cute toes with delight, humming happily to myself –

She loves you, yeah yeah yeah
She loves you, yeah yeah yeah
She loves you, yeah yeah yeah
And you know you should be glad.

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After 50 tobacco free days

In my lifelong quest for a buff bod’ and strong regular Cardio I have a semi-religious exercise schedule every night. Steroids and sweat, just in case I forget. 10, count them, TEN push-ups, nose to the floorboards. Last night I could barely get to 7. They seem to be getting harder to do.

Then I realised I had my phone in my back pocket.

That was obviously it.

Took it out, put it on the edge of the bath.

I need a thinner phone.

What have I missed?

I hate the deflating flatulence of arriving late:
Noxious obsequiousness,
Prattling apologies,
Scrabbling for pen and paper
And a glance at someone else’s agenda.

Li

“Liberal doses of lithium,” he said, “that’ll sort you out. It’s natural.
It’s an element for fuck’s sake!!!  It’s in the periodic table. Purer than the herb.
It’s physiological.
Like iron deficiency and anaemia,
Not having enough lithium makes you want to die.”

Give it a rest

Sometimes it’d be nice to leave my brain at home, tucked up warmly reading a book about psychiatry, and go out for the evening trusting my cock to make all the decisions.

On once living with a New Age hippy

Good Lord, she’s got the charts out,
Things must be worse than I thought!
My life has just been connected to…
All sorts.

Oh no, not the tea leaves,
What if I don’t want to see what’s coming for me?

Yes, there might be lines
Dissecting the heavens,
That when joined up
Will answer all of my questions,
About when,
About what,
But mostly what can I do to make it stop?

Fuck, now she’s got the cards out!
And no, not the clubs, the cups;
Let’s see what the number six says
About my future influence.

Oh no, not the tea leaves!
What if I don’t want to see what’s in it for me?

There may be truths to divine
That aren’t so divine,
Thinks to be thunk
That are closer to crimes;
I’m hoping against hope,
Or at least entertaining the possibility,
That the arcana might be working against me.

The Far Side - Charlie Parker's Private Hell

1973

On late summer days I used to lay in the grass – facing the sun, clouds rolling past – and I used to wonder about the colours on the insides of my eyes, like black spots in my blood, jerking like flies, like grasshoppers, just out of reach.

And the skylarks would sing of their secrets.

I’d have a blade of grass at the side of my mouth, with the smell of the heat on the wind from the south, and I’d wonder about the spiders, hiding in the corn, and what must it be like to have never been born – like a grasshopper, just out of reach.

And the skylark would sing me her secrets.

Then I’d go down to the river, swim to get cool; I’d get back to the haybailing soon, but there’s one who’s got freckles like she was made from the sun, just one, like a grasshopper, just out of reach.

And the skylark would sing me my secrets.

Spiralling, spiralling up,
Singing of signs and wonders.

Finmere Little Tingewick

Making an appearance

It’s Spring but the snow is keeping me in. New life is gathering its forces and amassing resources, waiting. Crows are picking up sticks, buds are pregnant paused on the twigs; ponds frozen in armoured plating full of sluggish creatures coming out of hibernation. But the smothering snow stiffens them in suspended unanimation.

Anticipating.

Hungry.

I am reminded that there will come a winter’s day I won’t be so lucky. The sun, when it comes, will shine without me.

I promise that post-thaw I’ll be fresh, hypersensitive and raw. I’ll roar that I want more. Another green season of seduction and febrile rutting to keep the spectre of the reaper from my door. Blood will warm, my muscles will unknot in the sunshine, even my genitals might come out of hiding.

Lapse #472

I can’t keep up good habits.

My best intentions are about as robust and courageous as rabbits.  I should force the issue, put my foot down, not take No for an answer, talk myself round; I’m a rational man, I think, therefore I am.  None of this should be beyond me but my Will Power is an illusion.  A sham.

I could say so but I probably won’t do.

I am weak at the knees before you.

Sunshine eating machine

Well,

There’s mathematics
Or charismatics,
And since I don’t have to choose
I guess I won’t.

I am feeling at ease.

It’s an absurd world
Full of number-crunchers
And dunces
And ponces,
But since I don’t have to choose
I guess I won’t.

And I am feeling at ease.
I am feeling at ease.

There’s two kinds of people in the world,
There’s me,
And y’all asking favours,
But since I don’t have to choose
I guess I won’t.

I am feeling at ease.

And I’m alright on my own
In my comatose poem.

I am feeling at ease.
I am feeling at ease.

Feed the black spots with sunshine,
And spoonfuls of good times.

I’ve got dolts and shifty grifters
Fucking with my sisters
But since I don’t have to choose
I guess I won’t.

I am feeling at ease.

You’re all teachers or preachers,
Seekers or leeches,
But since I don’t have to choose,
I guess I won’t.

And I am feeling at ease.
I am feeling at ease.

I am symbiotic with neurotics
And most of the psychotropics,
And since I don’t have to choose
I guess I won’t.

I am feeling at ease.

We host parasites,
Not holy ghosts.

I am feeling at ease.
I am feeling at ease.

Feed the black spots with sunshine,
And spoonfuls of good times.