March. All that matters is lifetimes.
Miss (another wedding). Running through the options…
(a) An honest confession […not enough money, time, energy…and there’s a slam…]?
(b) ‘Sleep’ beyond bus time?
(c) Fake a sudden and debilitating illness?
I’ll take (c) for chicken, please, Bob. Not that they believed you, anyway. Too patient, too good for you, to you. Failing/falling. ‘Surround yourself with the people you want to become.’ fuckoff. he needed to sleep it off. Jon Sands and Ken Arkind. This Is Not A Heart, It’s A Volume Knob. Failing/falling – to be on time, to be writing, the PEL meetings, the SPL g/job, Gareth and Lissa’s wedding. Drinkdrunktramp.
And then. Slam. Decide. Deliver. Deliver.
This is when it starts to feel like it’s happening to someone else.
[…in 2007, you wore a wedding band. Linden Arden stole the headlights. Cor ad cor loquitor. Head down. No nonsense. Let’s boogie. Let’s just boogie. Sorry, chefboy. You’re beautiful though. You are beautiful. And man, you make me laugh.]
Head filing, cataloguing. Sorting the pieces, scraps, violences. The Greedy Organism Of The Self, Reaching Across The Table, Trying to Understand. What are you saying/seeing?
Wilful for once. Wear your life out on a canvas shoulder bag and understand the meaning of a slogan.
OhFuck. My boys, my boys. Facing me across the table. Hide beneath the Gatling Gun. Humiliation Games, and a Fist Raised Piss hidden down the motorway lane.
Interviews and stuff, and people who care.
The long coach trip home. The Tree That Bleeds. The long sofa hangover. Your dad worked at home until 1am and was away to work at 6am. I don’t know how he does it. Neither do I.
‘…out there past men’s knowing, where the stars are drowning and whales ferry their vast souls through the black and seamless sea.’
[Cormac McCarthy – Blood Meridian]