Love pt.II (deux)

The night lay outside your open window,
the sounds of the city were letting themselves be known;
the revelry of intoxicated traffic,
adorned with occasional sirens urgently, wantonly calling,
whilst you both lay naked on the bed,
lights off, allowing the street-lights to send their halo-
their electronic, ethereal glow –
through the panes of your window,
trying to illume all that lay inside.

You were laying naked with your woman,
your limbs entwined around each others natural states;
touching each other sensitively, finding the secret places,
as if each of your bodies had been mapped before –
you each knew where your fingers should go,
could go, did go…

Finding the warm, wet, moist circle;
exploring tentatively, lovingly, gently-
probing the initial discovery with a thrill,
the thrill being met with a low, sensual, moan.
She reciprocates; her fingers grip your sex,
and both in unison, as if predetermined,
you lips touch –
gently at first, then the deepest passion takes control…

From both your deepest desires you met;
your bodies start to crave each other,
your sex slowly, but with an urgent purpose,
enters into your lover.
You fill her with a passion, a longing;
a deep rooted enchantment,
something both your souls feel from deep within…

That these memories, this recollection,
this time – was twenty years ago,
makes this time glorious, nostalgic;
but it leaves your soul feeling so forlorn,
so lost on a distant shore,
as if waiting for some vessel to rescue you…


‘Its that time of the month…’

Well, I missed my twenty-second of the month deadline to update this blog; I was trying to keep it at this date right up until my Birthday, which is two months away – I am a June boy – however this is now ruined. I would have liked to have said something on the day of my Fortieth Birthday, my first day as a middle-aged adult, despite that fact that I feel, mentally at least, still in my twenties. I never lost my youth (although one could argue that I never grew up, and again there are merits in this argument as well, mainly because I was forced to grow up very fast at too young an age).

Here in the UK we have had, once again, very unseasonal weather; yes, it has been hot over the Easter break, but I believe as well as some articles I have been reading in our media, that it is too hot for this early in Spring. It is as hot as mid-summer and it is only late April. Global Warming, that such contentious issue, again rears its worrying head, or rather I should call it Climate Change. Whatever, and whoever you believe, something is wrong with our Eco-System, no doubt; have the years of intensive Industrialisation over the past two-hundred years, with the pollution thrown into our atmosphere damaged our planet to such an extent that it, or rather, has nature reacted against being poisoned? I believe that we must start to take a good look at what we are doing to our planet, where technology is leading us, what science has led us into and that the massive humanitarian disasters over the past two and a half years is none other than a big huge warning that we must change and become more respectful towards our planet and Mother Earth, to stop eating away at its resources.

My days do not change. My Father once told me that ‘the road to hell is paved with good intentions’. Maybe, as a youth, I never really took this in, but now I can see what this really means. I wake most mornings, early, usually feeling very ill from the previous nights alcohol intake, so this puts a damper on my mood for the whole day until I get that next bottle of wine to take the edge back off. And it is a vicious cycle, one that when you become trapped into its hazy, delirious grasp, becomes all the more difficult to focus on what needs to be done and to try and break free; it leads into a whirlpool of ruin, one where you try and grasp and hold onto bits of timber from the ruined vessel that you once proudly sailed, in the vain hope you can cling onto something that a long time past remembers you, that will stop you being dragged down into the black abyss of total ruin.

I read; if you read the right books or at least any book actually, it can do good things for your imagination, your soul, your sanity, your education. I have always from my early days been a book lover. I never forget my Mum reading to me as a boy and we had a living room in our house that was piled high with books on bookshelves my Dad created. I also had a family that were all book lovers as well as music lovers, so this really made an impression on me from an early age. I grew up loving learning about history, my best subject in school, reading Tolkien when I was in the first year of secondary education (the first book we ever read for English Lit was The Hobbit…captivated my imagination extensively), buying my first books from a school book club and so on. And these were all very, happy, loving years.

I approach my Fortieth Year. Two months remain until I hit that important event, that day in our lives that for most normal people is a milestone in our lives, a time that we start to look towards retirement, planning our pensions, being successful in our careers, seeing our children grow up and so on. Is this too idealistic? It is for me. Or rather over the past two years it has become so. I was headed towards this until my marriage went down into a sure, but probably predicted, demise. I do not want to go no more into this because my blog is full of it; if I were to go into this again I would start to become angry at what happened to me after living with my ex-wife for fifteen and half years. Fini – stopped – ended.

The grappling hook is thrown from the proud ship sailing, a ship heading toward that very dark whirlpool which is unavoidable; in a vain hope of trying to catch a something that will save it- an Albatross perhaps? But then would that same Albatross end up around your neck to also try and drag you down into the depths? Perhaps it already has and you don’t know it?

‘Water, water, my kingdom for some pure, spring, water…’


Something I wrote, a few words, stuck my mind last evening. These words were ‘…nearly four decades old’. It caused me to ponder over my life for a while, whilst I was sat in my chair nursing a glass of wine with an open notepad and pen in front of me. I decided to write a few notes about my life, trying to summarise what I had experienced in each decade, or at least starting from the 1980’s, the most arguably important decade I had experienced. My life is quite unique in many ways and again I would argue that compared to most of my peers I spent those adolescent years with, it contained more hardship, trials and tribulations than any of my old school friends.

You see, during the mid 1980’s I lost my Mother to a long illness. I believe somewhere on my wordpress blog I wrote about this, so there is no need to retrace old ground and besides it is too upsetting; my memories are sacred of those early years. However, three years later when I was at the tender young age of seventeen my family probably could not deal with my rebellious attitude caused as a symbol of discontent from the total rupture of my life due to my Mother passing, and so, probably for wrong reasons and because we were all pretty distraught, I ended up leaving home. I spent my most important formative years growing up in bedsit-land and it was only when I reached nineteen that I started to form proper friendships, work for a good company and experience a degree of happiness that I never have experienced again since the age of twenty one onwards. That is a long time, no? They say the brightest light burns brightest but goes out quickest, and this I can relate to because I never ever was happier in my whole forty years than when I was dating, fucking good Women, working and having friends that back then I believed I could trust in for those brief two bright years, years for me which were an awakening that I have never ever experienced since.

If I could turn back time, if I could have the opportunity to speak to myself when I was twenty years old, if I could listen to my old young thoughts and try and influence him, if I could make HG Wells’ Time Machine and turn the date back to 1992, then I would. I would probably then kidnap him.

A Poem and an update.

I have missed a month in posting or updating this blog. I think my muse is either dead or drunk in some gutter howling at the moon with a gang of winos, which is where I am headed myself if I do not sort out my life. I guess I need to start doing something, but again this is always easier to talk about or discuss rather than actually taking steps to rectify the situation I am in. Actions speak louder than words they say, and this is true. I could probably write a few hundred words moaning about my current life situation like I have done previously on my blog, but I shall spare you the moan this time. Two years since my marriage disintegrated, and I have more or less turned myself into a wreck because I am still quite frankly reeling from what happened to me when I became homeless. They say forgiveness is divine – after all they claim Jesus forgave his abusers and his betrayers, and that would have been a very strong thing to have done, especially if Mel Gibsons film ‘The Passion of the Christ’ holds any semblance of historical truth, which is a very barbaric and disturbing movie of the final days of Jesus. But I digress. Some things I find hard to forgive and probably always will. I also presently feel as if I am under some kind of Sword of Damocles. I find this hard to explain, but I have this ‘feeling’ of impending doom, as if something bad is about to happen. My sensitivity picks things up and always has done. I try not to dwell on it however.

Next month is National Novel Writing Month (nanowrimo) and I have one or two ideas floating around to maybe take part, to try and write fifty thousand words in thirty days. That is just under two thousand words a day, and if my muse sobers up then I would like to give this a go. Someone once told me that we all have a book inside us, and this I believe is so true because I think we are all just slightly unique, each one of us has different experiences we can draw on. I see it as a way of producing a first draft, or at least a method of actually getting one of my ideas down on paper (or rather Microsoft Word), and I am not in it to ‘win’ anything, or even probably to find a publisher, but rather I think I will attempt it for my own sake, my own challenge. Wish me luck.

I was going through some old poetry, and I suppose this is what sparked me to update wordpress. After all it is national poetry day today. I try to update this blog at least on a monthly basis, sometimes that doesn’t always work out. But re-reading some old things made me want to share one of them on here. There are a few poems currently on this site,  and one of the old ones is at the end of this post. This particular poem I wrote several years ago when I was reminiscing about my youth; it deals with a time of my life that was very important to me. A time when I was starting college and learning about society whilst I studied a Social Studies course which was an Access Course that allowed me to go onto University. That was nearly two decades ago. That, when you think about it, is a long long time  but to me it seems like it was almost yesterday  – such are the vagaries of time.

I am reading a lot of historical fiction presently. Bettany Hughes book on Helen of Troy is a must read, and puts new light onto who Helen of Troy could have been and her status in Bronze Age society, a status that Bettany Hughes argues was just as equal as men back three thousand years ago. An interesting read. Also reading a lot about King Arthur and the formation of Britain during the years after the Romans left these Isles, when the then Roman Emperor Honorius told us to ‘look to our own defences’, to defend from Anglo Saxon incursions. Really interesting period of UK history. Anyway, time to go. Poem below, titled ‘The Age of Enlightenment’. Comments are always pleasing!

The Age of Enlightenment
during youth;
questions about the rights
of man and beast
(but mainly about beast)
swam around the receptor
and archive of memories.

Diet was altered;
dead animals now
never entered the lithe, sprightly
holy temple,
causing an enhanced awareness
with a permanent fix.
Oh, dear narcotics
don’t you wish you were as clever?

Questioning words
flittering across wide open eyes,
creating a Brave New World
of alternate thought.
Mr Huxley, sir,
you lit the match
to start the fire
which spread fiercely,
consuming old habits
and thoughts,
turning to cinder
the ‘muck of ages’.

Like tendrils of smoke rising
and vanishing in the wind,
The ancien régime of
hindered thought
unhindered itself.
Enlightenment was here!


Lets reminisce

I guess this is my June blog. My last two posts, when I reminisce about them and re-read, were very personal and emotional and perhaps this was too much information. I have not been that prolific in updating wordpress this year; a book review and two in-depth posts about my life situation is all I have posted in half a year. Perhaps since my marriage separation I have become more introverted, more nostalgic and more thoughtful about my past. I suppose that if anyone had experienced the struggle I have endured since August 2008 then they too would become just slightly more aware of things, more deep and still trying to fit their jigsaw pieces into place hoping to make them fit, to continue building their puzzle of their life. When those pieces do not fit, when they are the wrong shade of blue to fit the right part of the sky for instance, then we start over and search for that right piece to allow us to move ahead.

I set up wordpress a few months after my marriage split. My original intention was just to post a few reviews, short stories, works I had created whilst I studied a creative writing course. I never really was out there looking for loads of people to follow my blog, I just posted things as I saw fit. Since setting up Twitter, it has opened it up to a lot more people; if this is a good thing (for me), and I hope it is, then it is not without regret. However I am fully aware it is easily readable by all and sundry and so maybe this is not so good. But these are the sins and consequences of our technological age. Our internet history is quite an unsecure thing and we must always think twice about what information we care to release on the medium of our digital highway. Our own blogs, for some, are an expression of ourselves; it is a fantastic way of creating an online digital journal, a diary, a method of expressing our creative talent to the world. And what do we gain from this? For some (hopefully not myself) notoriety; for others an ability to be able to express themselves, not only to a small circle of friends or followers, but, at a very base fundamental level, the whole world. It is so interesting how the internet has shaped our lives, our methods of communication for the past decade. And it is still in its infancy.

I am fast approaching my thirty-ninth year (in less than a week from when I post this). Nearly forty years old. Middle Age approaches at a speed that even time travel might envy, or at least it seems this way to me. And yet, I still feel, mentally at least, that I am still in my twenties and this is good, because when I was in my late teens and early twenties I never wanted to become old because when we are young and impressionable we always perceived that those ‘oldies’ were fuddy-duddy, were out of touch with youth culture, with the ‘times’ and suchlike. Perhaps this is partly due to my upbringing, perhaps being part of a subculture when I was young did have an effect on me that still lasts to this day. Maybe also it could be partly due to the fact that when I was a twenty year old youth I had an intense, very sexual relationship with an older woman? I am certain this helped shape me. It is also very interesting that when I was that youthful guy, that grunge loving animal rights freak, I related more to older people than I did with my own age group, and this I believe was mostly due to the fact that since the age of seventeen I had lived on my own. I had to grow up very quickly or go under and hence, my old friends I had whilst I was growing up as a teen, quickly disappeared because they still lived at home and we started not relate as we once did.

Time: some call it a healer, some equally a curse. Whatever way you look at it, it always marches forward; healing for many and a major cause of nostalgia and possibly regret for some.

‘Add a couple of years…’

It has been over one year since I blogged and wrote ‘A Brief Testament’. In that blog I described how I was mainly the sole child-rearer, almost from the day both my two sons were born, and my subsequent marriage disintegration and how I felt wrongly cheated. It was me who was the primary parent during the day; doing the main tasks (changing nappies, taking to nursery and school, doctors appointments and so on – all those little essential, important things) whilst my ex-partner was at work, progressing her career, which she did remarkably well. Not wanting to tread old ground here, but yes, later a feeling of being housebound was making itself present in my life, a form of frustration that I could be offering the world more, earning money and using my skills. It was not anger against her (I am the least aggressive man you could ever wish to meet, truth), but it left me feeling a dreaded sense of helplessness against the direction my life was leading. Why this was so is probably because I was a professional IT worker, studying nearly two years for a Computing Degree – I considered myself a really skilled worker within the IT sector – but I never gained full time employment from it. I do not know why and it certainly was not through want of trying. I think that is another search deep within myself to find those, more or less, elusive reasons which led to my predicament. And there are many, so many.

In the twenty months since I have been separated, I have gone through the most brutal time I have ever known in my whole thirty-eight years of life. To find the reasons why this is so is no easy task, and it goes back a long, long way. To live with a Woman for fifteen and half years, being married for seven of them and producing two of the most gorgeous, happiest children I could wish for and then ending up in, quite frankly, a hell that I never ever want to discuss, really began to make me question everything I was and had become – and that is no small task for someone who had never had an easy life. When you begin to reminisce about your youth, your happiest times and see from beyond those years, in your mind, a time of wasted opportunities, then I think we start to become ‘unhealthy’, both in our minds and in our soul. What you perceived yourself to have been in those early, formative, character-making times and what you became before your life took a direction that was forced off the beaten path, then it does not become easy to fit the right jigsaw piece into place. They become two different opposites, pieces from two different puzzles, two alternate directions; the one path screaming at you, the other enticing you into certain demise and ruin.

And I suppose we are all guided by our own instincts, or our own moral code, with our behaviour and personality being the main character formers. Looking back, it sometimes seems as if I was led down that wrong path with deliberate intentions to ruin, becoming misled and ending up being misguided. For me however, it is pure conjecture on the reasons why I ended up in such a messed up state. Again, as I mentioned above, it becomes unhealthy to dwell on these matters and alcohol addiction does not help things either. So, nearly two years since I split from my wife and I am left asking the question where does it go from here? I have had one failed relationship since then – it lasted all of about three months – and in view of that I have not really looked for anyone else. Perhaps I feel too hurt with what has occurred in my life since 2008, possibly I find it hard to trust anyone anymore? Maybe I don’t know how to form a relationship because I still am reeling from what happened to me? Whatever the reasons, whoever the culprits, I feel deep down that I am really, utterly hurt with what has gone on. I feel a wreck.

We have just had an election over here in the UK. Thirteen years of New Labour has now ended with a hung Parliament with the Liberal Democrats forming a new Government with the Conservative Party. If this was the correct thing for the Lib Dems to have done, I don’t know. In my opinion, I see rifts and divisions in the future – I think that is certain – but how they deal with the economy will, I think, be the key factor to their success. I may blog a bit more on this. Perhaps it may give me something to focus on.

‘Has the moon lost her memories?’

Memories have a habit of resurfacing on experiencing things, such as smells, sounds, pictures and so on, that we are subjected to on a daily basis. All these small little events that happen day by day for instance can send you back decades to when you remember it as but a mere child. Those hastily grasped recalls through the maze of your memory can cause you to shudder as they send their brief but shocking kick into your consciousness. It appears sometimes as if your memories are stored up within a vault, each contained within their own little safety deposit box with those small little daily remembrances being their own personal keys into the vault of your personal depths, the museum of your life.

And our memories are the most defining thing about us, being formed from our experiences throughout the path of a lifetime. A life’s journey forms you, makes you what you are, becomes you even. What type of personality you develop probably is made, formed, set into stone from your early years as a child, the love you receive from your parents being a very fundamental aspect, a character forming one. No one can really rupture these formative years however, even though some may try hard to belittle them, to plainly forget what you once were. Those early memories are timeless, never to be forgot, a most treasured possession.
As we travel through life, as the years pass by offering new experiences, we accumulate both knowledge and possessions, a material reminder of our lives. What I believe to be most sacred however, in the time I have lived, is memory. Material items and possessions come and go, but nothing can replace your childhood memories, nothing at all. This is not to say that possessions have no importance, on the contrary, they are most certainly fundamental too. But to me, my childhood recollections are like gold dust, something so valuable, so treasured, that their memory is invaluable, a priceless artefact buried deep within the sands of time – their archaeologist being relived incidents that occur throughout your life.

We all are subjected to life’s hard knocks at some stage in our lives, and I suppose how we deal with them really depends on how tough we are. It is easy to fall to pieces over harsh, unjust, wrongful treatment, and, I expect many people do. I believe it is a true test of Faith whether we succumb to these discriminatory occurrences, maybe dealt by an unlucky deck of the playing cards of life, or maybe something working deliberately against you, and that Faith could be either a belief in a higher authority, God if you like, or even a strong conviction of who and what you were prior to this treatment.

I write this now, at a stage in my life where I have been dealt a bad hand. I suppose I write to keep myself relatively intact, but I believe, or at least I sincerely hope, that we are all strong enough to overcome the difficulties presented to us in life. In my case, my difficulties arose I believe because I had a pretty traumatic childhood, loosing my Mother when I was just a young teenager. My Mother was everything to me, my whole world, the one parent who guided me, taught me, read books to me as a child, loved me unconditionally as her son. She showed me love and warmth; she made me feel that I was such a special, special child. Loosing her when I was just a mere thirteen year old boy had an effect upon me that really, when I search deep within myself and look back, totally ruptured my life – and still has an effect on me to this day that is so profound in its significance that there rarely is a moment that goes by that I do not think of her.

Again, these are memories, and to me they are relived through daily events, their safety deposit boxes searching for the key that sets them free. Sometimes these keys are old photos, pictures now faded through the passage of the years, images that expose a time of happiness and joy; faded, certainly, but never ever forgot, cemented into memory for all of eternity, or at least your time here on this Earth. Memories that I believe that are so vital to your soul, sanity and existence.