display your love

the beach

2007-04-01T14:02:00.002-07:00

Imagine your walking down a beach barefoot and carefree, hair tangled and drying against your neck, lazy thought swimming in and out of your mind.

There’s nothing important to worry about, nothing urgent that needs your attention, nothing you have to waste time on. Twisting love beads around your fingers and listening to the whisper of the ocean you walk on. Your face moves to catch that last kiss of the setting sun.

You pick up lost shells and throw them back into the sea; they are swallowed by the green blue mass of water.In the city, people rushing around, angry drivers and agitated mothers. Their noises give way to silence.
Just the hush of the waves and your own steady breathing, in perfect time. You climb the bank, wonder through the palm trees and watch for fish in the pools.Multi-coloured and laughing, reflecting in your eyes.

Just imagine it.

Imagine the content happiness of your whole life.You standing there, drinking in every beautiful drop of your beach.Imagine holding me. Holding me and never having to let go.

strange days

2007-04-01T14:02:00.001-07:00

Your dreams slip away and twist into the complicated fragments of your unconscious. You try and grasp at them, you want to remember but each time you try they swim further and further away.

You throw back the curtain; a thousand cameras erupt in flashes, catching your devil eyes and invisible angel wings. You step up to the mic, cup your hands around it and put one foot on the base. The girls stare at you, hypnotised by your fluid movements across the wooden stage.
You close your eyes and twist the cord around your arm.

The lights cut out with a soft click. You stand there swaying in the darkness; the only visible thing in the hall is the neon light declaring the exit. There’s a suffocating silence weighed down with anticipation, they’re aching to see your face and feel your velvet voice breaking through.

A single spotlight shines down on you, illuminating your face, shadows fall past your eyelashes, cascade onto your white shirt, white as snow, and wrap around your tight leather trousers. You touch your beads and close your eyes. They can all see your silhouette. No one is moving. No one is talking. Just a mass of flower children breathing. Waiting for your words.

You lick your lips and give them what they want so badly.
“Is everybody in?”
No one moves a muscle, they are transfixed on you. Some close their eyes, some stare. Girls look up through their lashes, flirting with their bodies. Totally detached from their writhing minds.
“Is everybody in?”
People start to sway, you can see flashes of skin that twist and turn. Glimpses of flowers being thrown across the room.
“Is everybody in? The ceremony is about to begin”
The tension climbs to a climatic state, people want you, right now they want you, they want your mind and your body, your voice and your emotions, they want your love in their beds.
You can feel all of this, you know it, and you have them in our hands to do your will. You take a deep breath and let out a blood-boiling scream as you throw yourself into the air.

“WAKE UP!”

the circus.

2007-04-01T14:01:00.003-07:00

This is not fiction.

My life is a circus. Plotted in the middle of the universe and always spinning. Dark moody clouds wrap around it so it has to be lit with torches and candles. The tents are old, their red and yellow colours faded to brown, the surface ripped to shreds by lightning and strong bitterly cold winds.

In my life, there is never a calm day.

Big smiling clowns welcome you and stamp your hand, your in now, and they’re never gonna let you leave. You stand on the sidelines and watch the shows…

The mimes fight imagined battles and break through glass boxes. Their faces are painted with chalk white faces and black diamonds over their eyes, even when they smile you can feel their confusion, their total lack of security. They wear small white gloves. You see them and can’t help thinking that when they show you their palms you will see blood dripping down the inside, staining them, making tiny little streams in the cotton. That flash of metal.

You all know these people.

You pull back the curtain of the biggest tent and catch a glimpse of fire. These clowns. They jump from their stations and stand to attention, the jokers of the circus. You see the crowd transfixed with them, adults and children alike. No one is moving, no one is laughing. You feel the pull of all that excitement, that thrill, that I-want-to-be-that-fun pull but you turn your head. You can’t let that happen to you again.

Yes, you all know these people too.

You stand on the edge of the circus and you want your refund.

Everyone here is just playing a part, a character in a scene in an act in a play. Scripts, actions, reactions, directions are all spoon-fed. Thoughts don’t come into it, emotions? Don’t even go there.
They are all controlled by one thing. They are trained in their area so hard that they forget what they really wanted, what they really need. They chase only power, acceptance and wealth.
They paint souls on their faces. They become a clone of a human.

And all your thinking is; I want my fucking refund.

Everything here is crazy, a copy of a copy of a copy. It’s blown up out of proportion, want becomes desire, desire becomes love, love becomes passion.

We are the pawns. We’re all going through this together, yet we stay in our own little cycles like monkeys shot into space, press this press that, have a banana. We all react differently. The mimes, the clowns, the cast, the director of this whole fucking thing.

And all your thinking is; I want my fucking, goddamn refund.

a note to say i love you.

2007-04-01T14:01:00.001-07:00

The lace rips so you can see her, all of her. He tips her onto the bed and she pulls him down with her. His tight muscles working under his skin as he slips the rest of the black lace over her head. She moves her hair from her eyes and presses up to him, kissing him. He can’t keep his hands from touching her, lust or love it doesn’t matter, she has the softest skin, think of silk and your nearly half way there.

He strokes her lips; she looks at him and puts his fingers in her mouth, licking them. She takes his hand out and slides it down her middle, all the way down. Her back arches, her muscles tense up and she grabs at him, her eyes closed.
He moves both hands to her face and kisses her on the forehead, cheeks and lips. She runs her hands down his ribs and peels off his tight t-shirt, revealing cut marks and old scars. She strokes them all. He glances down at himself and looks back up at her, pain in his eyes.

They stop smiling and look at each other. She’s never been one to question and he’s never been one to answer. They stare, willing something to break this up.
The moment has gone, that feeling that makes your heart race, that feeling that makes your mind go crazy, your body ache with anticipation. It’s all gone, replaced with a silence, a mutual understanding.

He looks at her hurt. It’s our last night together, please don’t hate me for this.
She looks back at him, I hope one day I can help you.

She turns over and curls herself up, hugging herself she closes her eyes to stop the tears making little pools on the sheets. In the darkness she feels two hands slide over hers, two arms wrap around her and then a whole body push against her back. He grips her and he shakes, too thin to be this cold. Her thoughts become hazy in his warm hug.

It was one night for him, he only wanted one night of her all to himself and he had ruined it. His own body giving away his minds secrets. He was shivering because he was scared, terrified that someone had found out his little games. Not just anyone either, the only person he felt close to.
He felt her body relax and peered over her shoulder, her eyes are closed and her breathing is steady. He slips his arms from around her and puts on his t-shirt and cons. He opens the door and looks behind him. She’s still sleeping. He walks back and puts the sheet over her. He kisses her on the forehead. She looks so sweet, so soft when she sleeps. Her hand touches his, he looks down and realises he’s crying, his tears fall onto her hand. He just sits there next to her and the tears don’t stop running down his hot cheeks, he sits there for hours not daring to move in case he wakes her.

In the morning she wakes up to find him gone. The bed is still warm.
There is a flower on the pillow next to her and a note.

Three weeks later two policemen knock on her door. Her eyes red from crying she looks at them, worry spreading on her face and through her heart.
The neighbours say they saw her collapse into the policeman’s arms, crying and wailing until she had no energy left in her.

baby girl.

2007-04-01T14:00:00.002-07:00

He could hear muffled movements and quiet murmurs.

He moved himself under the covers a little more to block the light that was blinding him. His hair gathered around his lips so his breath was hot against himself. He brought his knees to his chest and curled himself up.

His mind was still wandering, lazily snatching up memories. Her laugh, her smile.. He sighed his big sigh and slowly pulled the covers from his face and blew his hair from his eyes. The room came into focus, the window was open letting in the warm air, his door was closed to the world. He scanned the floor for his jeans and a stray t-shirt and pulled them both on.

He looked to the corner of the room.
She was still asleep, their baby. She was so small. His heart ached every time he set eyes on her, his eyes filled with tears when he thought of her mum. He knew she’d never get to see her again.

He reached out and picked her up. He stroked her cheek with his thumb, that soft skin. He held her in his arms and walked silently downstairs.

He sat in the chair and laid her in his legs and stared at her. Her little hands and feet, her smile, a mirror image. Her eyes opened and blinked in the light.

He looked straight into them and started to talk to her.

She sat there and listened to him, silent as anything. The only sound she made was her tiny breaths, making her whole body rise and fall; her eyes followed his when he moved.
He was talking about her mum, moving his hands and smiling at her, he looked so childlike; he was full of love, full of excitement as he remembered every last detail of her, everything he could just to tell his baby girl. Every single morning.

He stopped suddenly, his sentence running dry, thoughts running from his mind. His whole body going numb.

Except one single tear.

Running down his cheek.

It dropped to her face.
And she began to cry too.

bloody handprints.

2007-04-01T14:00:00.001-07:00

He sprawled out on the floor, bottle in hand, fag in the other. He took a swig, ignoring the dark honey coloured alcohol dripping down onto his stained t-shirt and the burn of it as it slid down his hoarse throat. He shook his head, trying to rid the demons that were whispering inside.
He checked his watch, it wasn’t Saturday anymore.
He turned his head and licked his dry lips; the static on the TV was making fireworks in his eyes. They were faded and bloodshot now.
This was the bit he enjoyed, the numbness in his mouth and fingers, the exploding chaos in his head, that thirst for pain.
He raised his head and looked around; the room was barely furnished, barely a room. His records lay smashed and scratched around him, the small TV stood proud in the middle of the room, its cord tracing the cracks in the wooden floor. He had a solitary sofa, sagging and dead, which was sitting next to the wall. Bloody handprints were still stamped across the walls from the night before.

I understand why, the final truth, world, end, you did.

He stood up and pressed his body against the wall to keep himself upright and crept towards the shining handprints. He pressed one of his own hands against one.

It wasn’t me, just psychotic ramblings, coping, lost boy chasing clouds.

There was a slam of the front door and footsteps coming closer, he turned his head in time to see a figure stop suddenly in the doorframe. The figure stood there for a moment but he could see its hands shaking. Its face lifted and met his eyes, in the dim light they glowed a bright blue and perfect white. A familiar wave of anger and sorrow washed over him. He stumbled towards her, grasping anything he could for stability. He chuckled to himself, a black ghost of himself, he turned into a monster, crawling and coughing towards her, daring her to do something to stop him, breathing power and control.

He caught her by the wrist, his face pressed close to hers; she flinched when he touched her but she didn’t move, stood her ground. She spoke to him, with confidence, with purpose, with hope.

I love you. There’s no need to argue anymore. I don’t want to fight with you. I gave all I could and I’m sorry, but I can’t cope anymore. And I knew, I’d lose you. I knew it, but I held on for us. It just hasn’t worked.

The words she said. She was so cold. So scared of what was happening. She walked steadily away from him, her arm slipping out of his grip. She walked to the handprints and lifted her hand to one.

These are mine. Last night. You did it, you did this to me.

Those were her last words for him to hear. Purposeful and meaningful last words, not words of hate or love or sadness. Not words of any emotion.
Then she left. She disappeared.

When he awoke the next day, his face was tear stained and the bottle was smashed. He remembered the blood, the words and searched for her around the house, shuffling from one empty, filthy room to the next. He sat down on the sofa and stared at the bloody handprints. They were cracked and dark now against the shock white wall.
The prints formed words and sentences two foot high, they were rushed and messy, scrawled all over the biggest wall, they were overlapping, crossing over one another and squashed into the corners.

He lit up a cigarette and started to read.
It would only take him an hour to decipher the prints but a lifetime to understand.

dazed and confused by the roadside.

2007-04-01T13:59:00.002-07:00

Dazed and confused by the roadside. One arm raised in hopeful
solute.
Jeans covered in dust, leather too hot to wear.
Cons ripped and beaten. The bags slips off your back and lands in
the scrub.
This desert highway. So many hitchers have walked in your path; the
forgotten, the homeless, the drunk and the lonely.

How are you any different?

You look north and the road swims. Noise is a thing of the past but
something shatters the silence.

You stick your thumb out, the car slows. Stops.

Black. Mustang. If you must know. Must be a hundred degrees inside.

The window glides down, driver’s side. Blue smoke spills out and
blows away in the breeze. Chaos effect.
Her eyes meet yours, glasses hide nothing.
Eyes, lips, waist, legs. In that order.
You don’t wait for hell to freeze over. You jump the bonnet and
slide in.
The engine roars, the tyres skid and the dry road and make little
mushroom clouds of dust.

Night falls fast and she starts talking.

She once owned a dog when she was a child and her parents paid
someone to cut its ears and tail. She says she cried when the man
took her dog away.
Just think, she said, think of this man driving across the country
with knives and drugs hidden in the back seat of the car think of
him pumping drugs into her puppy and leaving it bleeding and dopey
in a rusty bathtub in some cheap motel off this highway.
They pay a stranger because those dogs will hate that man for the
rest of their lives. Imagine, a million dogs must hate this guy.

You tell her to drop you here.
You scream at her.
You cry and you scream through your tears. Glasses hide nothing.

Skip to you looking dead by the side of the road.
Skip to you waking up and seeing blood next to you.
Skip to wishing your dad loved you, your mum understood you, the
love of your life never left you.

Skip to two hours later when you find the courage to sit up and wait
for your next ride.

Red and White. VW van. Strawberries and cream. If you must know.

You jump in the back and are met face to face with the most
beautiful man you’ve ever seen. Jean cut-offs, no shirt, no shoes.
Just jeans, beads and a surprising amount of scruffy hair. Glasses
hide nothing.

He passes you the joint he was holding.
He says, tell me your story.
You take a look around the van; a guitar lies out on the back of the
seats, some drumsticks, and some weird piano.
You tell your story, the heartbreak, the sadness, isolation, regret,
betrayal. You tell your story and you fight back the tears. You tell
your story and you hide the anger.
When you have finished he speaks.

“Now your going to tell me your story like you just did. Write it
all down. Tell me the story over and over. Tell me your sad-assed
story all night, when you understand” he says, “that what you’re
telling is just a story. It isn’t happening anymore. When you
realize the story your telling is just words, when you can just
crumple it up and throw your past in the trash” he say “ then we’ll
figure out who you’re going to be”
He pauses, leans back in his chair and closes his eyes.
“Ride with us, we can help. And we’ll have a lot of fun on the road”

into my faith.

2007-04-01T13:59:00.001-07:00

Into my faith.

The clouds shifted aside and single blazing rays beat down across the fields. The wheat swayed silently in great waves, glistening and golden. The air was warm and pleasant against my skin; cool as it blew back my hair. The age-old radio, scratched and silver, played elegant guitar melodies and cool, crisp beats as we drove down this winding country road.

I was wearing your white shirt, it smelt of you still. It’s cuffs hung past my hands and it fell past my waist by a couple of inches but I loved it. Silver and coloured rings on my fingers shone onto your face creating a patchwork of light and colour. Beside me was an acoustic guitar; it looked tired and beaten but well played.

I wound down the window a little and a burst of air blew through the car, we both smelt the salt in the air. Your smile. The way you looked at me. Jim’s words fill our heads in the hazy morning and the hotness of the car.

We arrived at the beach and set up our things in the sand. You spread the blanket out as I got changed beneath a towel. I let it drop and you flashed me your smile again, those little lines. I sat beside you and took in the sights, the sounds and the smells. It was the sunniest day that year.

******

The rain is pounding against my windows now, the lightning illuminating the room for seconds before disappearing again. I light some candles and watch them burn for a while. I sit back in my chair and glance at the TV, still on and silent; the weather being a more inviting sound, those strong booms and flashes suit my mood much more. I feel dark and upset, sad and angry, bored and empty.

I pick up one of the photos. The one with the sun, the sea, the salt. There’s you and me, our faces pressed together, huge smiles and the freshness of youth. You took the photo yourself; you were always good at that.

If I stare at it enough I can remember the whole day, everything we said to each other, every expression on your face, every move of your smooth hands on my body. I guess holding on was too much for you, was I that hard to get on with? Was I that bad? The tears well up in my eyes then disappear almost immediately.
The doorbell rings again.

******

I walk to my door, my eyes hurt and my throat is in agony trying to hold back the tears, I need to cry, I need to try one last time to let go of that memory, the memory of you. It’s been so hard. Every room of my house has something that reminds me of you. Your beads are still on my bedside table, your white shirt still hangs in my wardrobe, your pictures are still stuck on my wall and your letters, all of them, are still very close to me.

I search for my key and slip it in the lock and turn, opening the door…

My head feels light as I stare at you. The rain smacks the tiled floor and my feet. You smile at me and hold out your hand. I take it; it’s cold and dripping with rain.
We just stand there, holding hands, staring at each other for what felt like hours. Suddenly all those years of pain and emptiness disappear, you’re here and back, your back for me, all mine again. My boy. My god, the nights I’ve cried for you, all those nights wasted, waiting for you.

I pull on your hand and wrap my arms around you. You start to cry and say your sorry; over and over you say it. You shake and shiver in my arms but I refuse to let go, I need this, you owe me this at least. All those nights I prayed for you to come back.
My tears mix with rain as we meet each other’s eyes, I love you, I love you, and we say it over again. We believe ourselves this time.
My world has been given back to me, my love is back and my faith has been relit and restored. I’ve started singing in the shower again, badly I might add, I now make meals for two, with candles and conversation, I can cuddle up to you when we watch TV, wrapped in one of your shirts, feeling safe because you’re here again and finally when I want to sleep, I can feel you pressed against me as I stroke your back and you tell me how much you love me and want this to last forever.

she walked across the room.

2007-04-01T13:58:00.002-07:00

She walked across the room, slow careful steps. She stood silent and still next to the bed, you could only just hear her breath, see the rise and fall of her breasts underneath her white dress.

He walked up behind her. He kissed the back of her neck, feeling the warmth against his lips. His lowered his hands to her hips, gripping and pulling her against himself and rocking her from side to side.

He moved his hands up to the straps of her dress and ran them past her shoulders so it dropped to the floor.

He could feel her body getting hotter through his clothes; all of her pressed against him head to foot. She turned around to face him. Her eyes glinting in the darkness looking up at him through her long lashes. She looked hungry. Wild.

She unfastened his trousers and pulled them down past his knees and tugged them from his feet. Her hands massaging as she went.

She stood back up, waiting for him.

He pushed her against the bed so they both collapsed onto it, their minds overrun with lust. They kissed, hard and furious. His hand resting on her breast, her hands stroking his back and sliding down his boxers. He kicked them off and pressed himself against her. She moaned and brushed hair from her face, her hands stroked his back, his chest and his stomach. He pulled back and touched her face. He ran his hands down the middle of her body, all the way down, between her thighs. She was warm. And wet. She grasped the sheets with both hands and clamped her eyes shut, gasping for air. He knelt above her, one leg between hers watching her face. Her lips parting between each little breath. He could feel her muscles tighten and relax. She opened her eyes suddenly and pulled him to her side, up close against her. She rolled to face him and they kissed again, their breathing hard and heated. She slipped her hand underneath his back and felt him stare at her, he knew what he was going to get. She kissed his lips, his neck and chest, crawling further down. She licked his hips and gripped him, he was shaking, waiting for her, passion building inside of him. She flashed him a mischievous smile and started to massage him, he was lost in pleasure, moaning and biting his lip, his eyes shutting tight. She pressed herself against him again; he could feel every curve and sweep of her body moving with him. He gripped her back and pulled her tighter to his side. She slid her leg tight in between his and brushed her fingertips against his inner thighs, his moaning became louder and he held her so tight, his whole body feeling every bit of pleasure she gave him, she grabbed his hand and pulled it down to her stomach, he opened his eyes as he felt her back arch, he stayed where he was and she pushed against his hand still using hers.
They couldn’t take it any longer; she pulled him on top of her and let out a moan as he pushed himself inside. She wrapped her legs around his and pulled him hard into her. He slipped his arms under hers and held her there. She gripped his back with both her hands and whispered in his ear. All he could do was listen and feel. His instincts and senses had been taken over long ago. He could feel every inch of her as he pushed against the bed, her skin smooth and soft, he couldn’t open his eyes but her face was etched in his mind, he couldn’t think straight. He had a steady rhythm but pushed harder on her demand, he could feel himself growing hotter, crazy with desire, wild with pleasure, his muscles tensed and his eyes closed tighter, he held it for as long as he could, that intense, steamy happiness.
He collapsed gently on top of her and felt the sweat between them.
He gazed at her face as she held him close, not wanting to let go. He held her around her waist and lazily stroked her skin. They pulled the sheets over themselves and kissed again and welcomed their sleepiness.

learn to drink.

2007-04-01T13:58:00.001-07:00

He kisses the bottom of my lip, lingers and leaves.
Who does he think he’s kidding?

When your husband doesn’t give a damn, take a drink.

He doesn’t walk really, mostly struts. He stands sometimes as if poised, ready for action, ready to take on the world. When he wants to fight. And win.

When your husband turns his back on you, take a drink.

His face has soft features, his eyes are gentle and warm and when he smiles he has those little lines, those creases. You just know he laughs so much. One happy guy.

When you live a lie, take a drink.

I’ll never forget the first night it happened. I went out with my friends and came home so drunk he had to come downstairs and open the front door for me. I stumbled in and hung up my coat, which fell down moments later. He looked appalled, disgusted and somehow cheated. It was like he was seeing a whole new person. We hadn’t been married long. I realised this through the fog of the alcohol and walked up to him.
Rage took over his whole face, what was once that happy, smiling, cheerful face was now contorted into some unfamiliar emotion. I had never seen him so angry. He shook with it.
He grabbed me and slammed me against the wall; his iron grip was making my wrists hurt and red. My brain caught up with my body and made me try and move, I was wriggling and pushing out of grip.
I didn’t notice at first but then a wave of hot pain spread through my face.
Later that night, without a word he went to sleep next to me.

When you blame your problems on something else, have another drink.

After that time, after all those apologies and tears of that first time it became more frequent. After that there was no turning back. Everything I did or said was monitered and criticised, I was told never to leave, if I did he would have done something about it.

When you’re too scared to talk, take a drink.

I realised I had to plan out my every move. From the time, place and fucking cutlery I used for breakfast, to how I would try and fake ecstasy when he had sex with me at night. I had to calculate what I said or how I reacted to news. I learnt how to be silent.
I learnt how to lose my friends and family. I learnt to be alone.
And I learnt how to hide in a bottle.

When your sad enough to die, take a drink.
Take that drink.

please.

2007-04-01T13:57:00.001-07:00

Holding on to the wall for support I inched towards the swinging double doors. There were tears in my eyes, fear twisting its ugly face through my mind. My eyes flitted past everything, the shitty lino floor, easy to clean off the blood I guess, until it gets old that is, it traps in the smell, that metallic, shiny, sickly, smell of blood. The nurses swept past, dealing with other mystery patients, frowns on their faces, that light tapping noise of their oh so sensible shoes getting louder, then fading, fading....fading.It wasn’t meant to happen, not to us. We are good people, we try not to hurt people, we take care of our family, me and him, and our baby boy. I love them both so much, even in this haze of drugs they have given me, I can’t feel the pain left over from them cutting into me, trying to save me but I can still hurt, I can still cry.I push through the double doors and walk slowly to you; I sit on your bed. The sheets are soft against my skin. I lay down and slip my arms around you, like we used to do when we were teenagers, do you remember? All those times in your room with music playing and the breeze coming through the window, we would talk, we could talk for hours, our plans, our dreams, us. We used to cuddle so much, scared that anything would happen to us, we used to hold on for dear life. That’s what I’m doing now. Can you feel me? Can you hear me? Please wake up, I love you, please. Just wake up. For me.Please.Our baby, he’s ok. He wasn’t harmed at all, he cried so hard but he’s ok. When the ambulance came, do you remember? Were you awake then? When they came they took him first, they looked after him.I stroke your cheek, still so soft. How many times have I stroked these cheeks? How many times have I kissed those lips? Been held in those arms? Been loved by you? How long has it been?It can’t end now!I’ll stay here until you wake up, I promise that, I’ll stay right here, I’ll be the first thing you see when you wake up, I’ll have our baby with me, so you can see him. I promise.I’m watching the machine that you’re attached too, those little mountains of green and that rhythmic beep. I close my eyes and listen, and listen.The beeping stops.I feel a nurse or a doctor pull me from the bed, my hands slip away from yours and my arms feel nothing but air. My eyes are still shut, shut so tight that I can pretend I’m not here, I hug myself. Tears stream down my cheeks and drop to the floor, the noise dies away, the nurse’s cries for doctors, the bump of machines and the frantic muttering, your in the middle of all this, silent as the time you first held my hand and smiled, silent as the time you hear I was pregnant, silent as the time you slept so deeply next to me all those years.I don’t want to open my eyes, I don’t want to watch this, I don’t want to do anything. I’m numb, I’m in shock, I’m drowning in my own tears. But I have to see you; it could be the last time, oh please stay alive, for me, for our family, please.

hello.

2007-04-01T13:52:00.000-07:00

i'm using this blog to help me write my book that i've been working on.
comments are very much welcome.

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