Free.

I'm free.

Free from you.

Free to be me.

When it breaks.

I dreamt of you. God, how strange, to dream of someone like you. It's been years since I've transcended from a dream into another dream, and carried it on with someone else as well. You stand, 5 " 5, red coat, brown duffel bag, black floral tights and a pair of dolly shoes. Red hair as well. It's cut, jagged but styled.

So there you were, standing in an airport terminal, surrounded by people and noises, yet still you remain alone. Just there, knowing that you'll see someone soon, and you'll be going away from it all to somewhere far and wide.

Now, I ask myself nothing, I just do. I walk towards you, grab your hand, and you grab mine. We run, hearing echoes of whistles of fat security guards, their boots treading the ground hard, whilst your dolly shoes and my Vans fly.

We're nearly there, ready to board and depart, just waiting to leave this dream, and enter the timezone of another. You don't know why but you laugh constantly, and I follow suit. We don't know each other at all, but we know we want to run.

So, we board the plane, but it's a shell of a plane and a doorway to another world. A land of autumn. Leaves of Japanese blossom trees all shed their bodies and fall to the ground as we do too. The whole crew is sitting on the concrete floor as we look around us. A forest of blossom trees all performing for us.

I close my eyes and know you do too. Tighter grip on your hand, we descend further, and land onto a road, and you open your eyes. You can vaguely hear some television in the background but ignore it. Instead, you pirouette as I spin your elegance a few rotations, back and forth, giggling away and smiling.

"Come on. Let's go," you say. I follow. "Ok, Levee."

"Levee, not Levee."

I won't make the mistake again, as we walk through and past all these abandoned apartments. We sight your favourite restaurant, and we enter the Chinese place. You find a place to sit and light a cigarette. I find out I've been chain smoking. A hell of a lot it seems, the cough I've got is quite a wheezy one.

But I order, and you sit there, elegance defined. Your smile hides a wink, and then reveals it, and I knew that as the phone rang in my pocket, the dream was over.

Line after line.

She finds the times
To tear a hole in our life
And make my words seem sublime
Now there's a line where they arrive.

It's hard to understand the line
When you see so many drift by
Holding onto dignity so fine
Until you let go of it and fly.

Godforsaken yet always sublime
Hard to the skin yet so soft to the mind
A certain ease she slips into time
Cushion the thought now, its not so blind.

words

as i traipsed around the whole of portsmouth drunken and carrying my kens chicken i notice how dumb it looks the landscape the scenery the drunk lads on the drunk slags and all those cabs waiting to rape your money away acting dumb and naive wasting ten pound notes whilst you try to direct your way home its such a joke now you think why the fuck did i spend that cash on chicken it tastes so shit but i like it and i feel like drinking more but shes here and she wasnt here for chicken shes here for someone me i dont know but i want it now the food is so warm and also the cab is and i want to get out now and sleep eat or fuck but theres nothing to do right now except wait and lights are bright they seem so bright so loving and harsh as well jager bombs wow so many jager bombs the trains sound themselves here like klaxons and warnings so loud like an explosion why am i here i dont get it anymore am i drunk carried away or just wasted so wasted talent gone to a tack a hack i need something calm a cup of tea id kill a man a dog a tree for a cuppa now why do i wait so long for all this im home shes here shes looking for somthing to get out but she tags hands hold and food is eaten doors open we assemble out its cold but warm and food is warmer and drinks are drunk we are upstairs lights on off now touch and sleep.

Here's to you, kiddo.

We come to regret the things we said when we were young, but never regret. Never feel like you've got to have an explanation. Fuck explanations. Who cares what you think anyways?

Today I had an epithany. Looking at Alfred Lord Tennyson's 'Ullysses', I realised, that everything we do, at any age, doesn't matter, as long as we see that it gets done and we get pleasure out of it. Because as dumbassed as it sounds, we always question the meaning of life. We all want to get the best out of a situation, mostly one that gets us what we want.

A tale of midlife crisis can also appeal to a 20 year old still. I mean, in those days, we'd be seen as ancient. If you lived to 40, you'd be heralded as the old wise man who no one really cares about opinion-wise. Right now, I'm contemplating about what really matters. Right now, you matter. Yeah, you, person who for some odd reason decided to peek at this rubbish blog. Usually, you get some piss poor attempt at poetry or prose, but here's some profound love instead.

I mean it. I appreciate that you care enough for a minute to glimpse at my predicaments, my issues, my troubled and always fucked up love life, and also the moments of happiness and joy. Your dedication is my muse.

So, here's a cigar. Raise an invisible glass, and wish yourself a happy day, and a night you'll remember.

Adolescent Youth

Child was I, now adolescent youth
Sixteen a dream of uselessness in time
Played such mindgames, drinking without a care
Become a man: now leave your past behind
Naivety and foolishness of pride
Once lust was love attainable in life
But bittersweet it seemed to me a lie

I Remember.

There was nothing unusual about that day. It was still warm for September, but I reckon that was about it. The windows remained shut in Mr.Cooper's class and we were all waiting for our texts books to be delivered so we could start History. 

But something happened. Screams, wails, sounds of hysterical crying from nearby seemed to spread across the halls. Somehow I knew something big had happened, and a lot of commotion seemed to come out of nowhere. outside the room, suddenly the door opened and the whole class was taken to Ms. Lyons' classroom. For what reason, I didn't know, but everyone suddenly seemed to be dead silent.

Weeping, but still silent. I was around 10 years old at the time, and it's nearly been over a decade since, but seeing something so shocking and life-changing with the words 'LIVE' at the bottom of a screen can change everything. I was crouched on the ground surrounded by about 20 of my classmates, sitting right in front of this beat up 1970s coloured screen. I was watching the second plane crash into the second tower of the World Trade Center.

Some people laughed. Others cried. But mostly everyone stood or sat in shock. That's the one thing I remember, more than the colour or size of the explosion of the plane, or the buildings collapsing, or even going home (which to this day I can't seem to picture) or even having those tears stream down my face. It's something you expect to see in Hollywood movies, not at the age of 10. To see something like this happen on live television, it remains to this day the most shocking and vivid event I've ever witnessed.

It's as if time stood still. Someone behind me said "Wow", another had to be taken to the nurse, who I'm sure of now needed a nurse herself after seeing that. We all did. 

What's made me angry is not the attack itself, don't get me wrong. What made me angry after all these years is that I know that was the moment my childhood innocence was taken from me and came to an abrupt end.  At age 10, of all times to end. To see such utter devastation, complete carnage and chaos, and that amount of human suffering, it was something out generation should have never had to face.

I've also thought about why the teachers put us in that room to feel the need to let us witness something as horrific as this. It's the worse comparison I could ever want to say, but in a way it was like our generation's Moon landing, our freeing of Nelson Mandela, our Berlin Wall collapsing. Why were we made to see this?

But we did see it, one way or another. I'm sure the person sitting next to you, behind you, or near you seems to be able to picture where they were on 9/11. All I want to say is, that after nearly a decade since the event, after 10 years of growing up, I can say that this moment will forever remain a part of me, like a stain that never fades completely. But with time, this stain becomes less and less, as I'm sure whoever is reading this feels as well.