Mr Nobody

Kaleidoscope

2010-09-07T06:43:00.000-07:00

A Kaleidoscopic viewpoint of the world is what I wanted and for the last fourteen years it is what I got, the entails and all – the well documented life of a Mr Nobody.
Despite a deep down feeling, a knowing almost that my path was defined, I have struggled with that definite. I have tried to run away from the end stop, the halfway house, the hostel - old and lonely, decaying and dismissive.

A ladder, a path, a journey or a voyage, however you view life I have never been able to shake that feeling I am certainly not alone in this. I am not the only Mr Nobody. I am not the only one that cannot maintain relationships, I am not the only one who doesn’t want children. I am not the only one with ideas of grandeur or delusions of insanity. I am not the only one that struggles. I always wanted this blog to be from that perspective whilst in reality it hasn’t been. It was a mourning to a life I thought I was entitled to just because love entered my life. A divine right that was never real from the start. Spinning and twining my misery around an event, a moment of time, so brief and fleeting that it would hardly make a decent chapter in a book. Becoming further and further isolated from what life was actually about and that was always something, mostly anything more than I had.
What I always had was a gutter perspective of the world with the better days being at street level and whilst I stand by the fact I don’t believe people can fundamentally change, times do though, as do perspectives and it only seems right to move home both literally and within the digital world.
They say you always come home, and home is where I am, slapped right bang in the middle of suburbia. With kittens playing at my feet the crinkle of the leather sofa brings about a wave of contentment never felt before and the need to start writing and creating from a different perspective. One with a little bit more light than darkness and actual documents of work rather than half scraped together thoughts and extracts. It is all work in progress as is the life of My Nobody and will be ready soon. The Red bubble photos are a start of a life from that different perspective. A teaser. A trailer. A pre cursor to something hopefully better.

Watch this space.

Purple

2010-05-01T07:37:00.000-07:00

The familiarity behind a mechanically reclaimed sausage led me out into a world looking less than ordinary and it made me realise the transition and change. It could be any day as every day is the same as the one before but briefly punctuated by sporting events or visits from faraway friends. It is not a glum existence as the routine and mundane implies as beyond the routine lies a magical place of my making. A sharp contrast to the way I have lived, survived, to date as the relative Mr Nobody this blog has always been about before.

So this would be a fond farewell to a person I have known and loved and loathed over the last decade. There are those of you that know me, have known me or think that you know me that read this, check in with it, to see if perhaps I am still alive, still disillusioned, lost or unhappy. Perhaps to see if things would change. There are those massive regrets, the lows and the loves lost and thrown away, there has also been a lot I have blamed myself for and failed to look past the end of my own nose maybe into the direction of somewhere else. Things change. People don’t. We find ourselves though or lose ourselves more. We settle or accept contentment. Happiness being more a marketing gimmick that an actual destination. As a feeling it has its merits.

It is literally the light I see blinding me each day reminding me of the progress, evolution and eventual endpoint. Mr Nobody is no more and a somebody is forming in the distance.

To be continued.......

?

2009-11-14T14:28:00.000-08:00

This life is getting to me.
A slow suicide diet of codeine, beer and weed is not what the doctor ordered and nor a healthy way of living. Trapped once again when I thought I was free. How ironic and the new kitten keeps smashing glasses which is not good for my temprement. Oh sweet winter. Oh sweet Woolstone. What the fuck next?

Mr Nobody

2009-09-24T15:30:00.001-07:00

I need to be a better person.
I care about the wrong things.
I take joy in problems and chaos and forget what it is that I have until it is always too late. It somehow does not feel too late. It feels about the right time.....

Mr RAF

2009-09-16T14:15:00.001-07:00

I really want to tell my boss to go fuck himself as I know inevitably he is only going to do the same to me. It’s not an engrained paranoia but more a simple and cold business reality and business has always been a grimy place to be, so many lies hidden within those pinstripes. I feel as if I am a puppet, much the same as most I guess, but most, do not have their boss peering through the window or knocking on the door, most do not have to put up with mood swings that should only be attributed to severe menstruation or crystal meth addiction not that of a pub landlord. Once again his simple presence has left me with a dirty feeling that I am finding hard to shift, that slimy feeling of spending too much time near or around those that are directly responsible for paying my salary. At times, especially now, I feel no more than the salt whore I am, clutching the grains between my clenched fingers, hanging on for dear life hoping not to lose any but just like water eventually they all disappear, what is left is barely enough to season my chips.

My secret drawer is becoming fuller, close to overflowing with the evidence of my sins, torn and ripped, plastic and empty and resembling that of the monster it has become than the drawer it always has been. It’s endemic of this situation I find myself in, perhaps a case of borrowed time. As usual it may seem just waiting to be screwed and fucked over once more, protection pointless, wasted, a bore of ones time, living, pretending, hoping that things will get better.

I find myself miserably lost within the mis-management of others in such a small environment that means I am mis-managed and feel like a sheep without a flock. I wait for a degree of normal, rational decision making to take hold but instead each horrible incident is followed by another of even bigger magnitude. My boss who is completely oblivious to the fact that at times he is very bad at his job makes decisions that make my life uncomfortable at best and currently untenable and almost a severance is necessary. I sit and lose myself within the magic of the remastered copy of Sgt Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band by The Beatles wishing for a simpler time and one in where I had followed the music rather than this humble and shallow existence. I try to fit in but no matter how hard I try I simply do not want to.

Freemans Close

2009-08-31T15:36:00.001-07:00

The centre of attention I find myself once more and a situation certainly not of my own seeking or wanting. Nursing the lives of those around me with a stuttering care born out of a selfish desire for an easy life, where at least a small portion of it, I can sit, wonder, and revel, cry and laugh, in my own company, maybe sharing it with a musical hero, but ultimately my own company,my own thoughts, the warmth, the comfort I am mock building around me as if in the style of a mock cartoon cuckoo. All i seek is a let up from this summer madness that seen me settled in a corner house in a quiet village on the very outer rim of oxford. A chance to breathe and reflect, pause and thought, plan and action, composure, deep breath, start again only in winter clothes.
I find myself lost within marvel recently delighted by the choruses that remind me of a band I still love and a memory long ago, in a borderline like club, the bright lights and neon for the first time, the bite stuck and forever I am drawn to the neon, tacky and overcrowded that it is. Billy Talent sound very much like Ether should have been, both as an overstated and ambitious authour, are highly recommended, as is the corner house with conservatory in a village that absorbs your pain and provides flowers and good mornings. It has been a near three week stint working every day in a hell hole I proudly call mine and a five months that has stretched my patience and resolve every day to the limits and still all I can think about is that flower and Pippy. I do wonder, whether that symbol, was much more, or whether it was simply a kitten and with "house full signs" up at Battersea I think, and I do think too much that it is time to return for a forage around, a rustle and a stir. To see what lies dormant and what is still active and to find a new Pippy and perhaps the missing jigsaw piece to content and soothe when a winter batters and the winter will batter, the senses, the mind, control and motivation, the winter is always one of discontent but in all fairness perhaps at least winter will live up to its billing this year, spring stunted by snow, summer seemingly over by the start of June, autumn, well I can see that being consumed by Summer spreading itself a little more thinly, a warm October hopefully. It is a ramble. That makes sense to me, as its a vent. You are secret. Perhaps.......

Tolstoy wrote it first...

2009-08-30T14:39:00.000-07:00

"I know that most men, including those at ease with problems of the greatest complexity, can seldom accept the simplest and most obvious truth if it be such as would oblige them to admit the falsity of conclusions which they have proudly taught to others, and which they have woven, thread by thread, into the fabrics of their life"

Desire

2009-06-29T15:30:00.000-07:00

It has been a love affair. It is still a love affair as I write. Ash falling off my naked body, smoke swirling all around and that taste, like the ash and crack taste that addicts find so difficult to never taste again, this tar and slime that coats the inside of my mouth has been there for so long it is normal. It is hard to break normal as then it becomes extraordinary, by default maybe, but nonetheless, the habit, the smoke, the skins and packets, hard tops and soft tops, different brands for different moods, plenty or none, scrapings of tobacco, the love affair has to stop. It is a two front battle though with smoking being both the mighty tobacco and the weed and both have had their day like the pink cardigan I should never have wore as a teenager or the gola trainers I insisted would be cool in twenty years, its more irony than observation I was right and that I still wear Gola trainers. Smoking has been with me since I hit twenty and taken hold like a monster that is never quite fed, always hungry, snarling like a beast. My cravings for all and everything smoke related has always threatened to manifest health, mind, body and spirit problems but only now am I starting to see their slimy marks all over this crazy thing I call my life. There never appears to be enough air anymore and wind is a total relief although a sporadic weather force in the height of summer. Those scurrying little things that only come out at night and under extreme duress have started to surface in the days, sometimes brazenly winking until I look and then they scurry and the mind, well the mind is perpetually unsettled like it is trying to work out a math problem just out of its reach, as so often it is the difference between the gutter and the stars. There is a financial aspect to it all too which many would argue is long overdue, but those many probably do not read anyway, so still a Mr Nobody I am. Smoking is soon to be a thing of the past. Booked in for hypnotherapy, made lots of soup, got lots of puzzles and big lists and interesting books to read as night changes into day once more with me still awake trying not to scratch out the walls or my eyes wondering why, why did i ever choose to quit smoking.

Children

2009-06-13T09:17:00.000-07:00

As the wind whistles around the building as a summers day becomes a stormy evening the soundtrack for the day as it tends to always be at the weekend is that of children, playing and laughing, shreeching and skurling (whether the latter is even a word(s) only seems to fit in nicely with my point) I forgot crying as that is the sound that most resonates at this current point in time. I sit, out of the back of the kitchen, on my builders chair, watching the children generally act like children which seems to be for the most part really annoying and obnoxious. There are the little creatures that are supposed to bring such joy and love into our life but all I see is a bastard love child of the devil. My mum was right when she merely went along with my previous conclusion that perhaps I would not make the best father but then most fathers I guess perhaps think that they are not particularly good fathers. Maybe not most but again its a whole world I know nothing about and avoid like the plague, shunning all family gatherings of mine and others, of that world where normal people go and talk about so called normal things all the time constantly telling little Maddie or Jo to shut the fuck up but always in that parental loving kind of way. Working here, well working is is strange and for the best part of it I surround myself with a little serenity, for the other part I have an unrealistic boss with a head that baffles me at times and a presence that scares me and a whole life within a life within a bubble like existence that I always seem to want away from but have no idea where. Mr nobody once more. Perhaps

2009-06-09T03:01:00.000-07:00

There is a bedsit with my name on it. Perhaps not my name. Maybe Mannorca House or Sky View but it could be my name. Somewhere by the sea rather than Milton Keynes or Swindon, somewhere inevitably and predictably like Brighton but bedsits there are apartments and well out of the league of a travelling nobody. More like Bournemouth with with its skag and old age running through it like a disease, Eastbourne is no better but at least the pier resembles what life used to be like before this whatever that this is of course. At some point obviously I will have to switch to rolling tobacco once more and endure the wrench and heartache of smoking the devils poison, not for the nicotine, but for the time, a poor mans chess. That bedsit has always been there haunting me daily, nightly and like torture at times of desperation and horror somehow urning itself into a little point in my brain, there to lure me, distract me, comfort me and inspire me to be anything but that. That white cider swigging, failed nobody living for the reason of living with nothing but shattered dreams and a million lost loves. It a hearty thing to perpetually carry around but I think only because I illuminate it with such imagery in my mind that number forty six mannorca house seems more real than not. That struggle has always been the heart of this blog and is no different now with the exception I am actually about to do something.... or perhaps that is an illusion to.

Swine Flu

2009-05-01T12:22:00.000-07:00

For well over a week now I have been ill. My latest symptom although less of a symptom and more of a excruciating pain is my right ear. Suddenly and in the space of the three hours i slept from midnight until three am it became very angry, started ringing with pain and has cut itself of from the outside world. Noise does not seem to permeate the thick swelling and wax that lies beyond that little black hole. The pain reminds me of the exact same pain was i was a kid who regularly suffered with ear infections and that same pain nobody could take away, I would curl into my duvet, head pressed against the cold wall trying to avoid the pain and the tinnitus rattling around my brain. Having my brain jangled so violently means I am literally nothing, all but reduced to a frail old man losing his marbles and blinded by pain.
It safe to say i have worked my way through the swine flu symptoms one by one starting with the more nasty ones first, the coincidence is funny if not a little unnerving considering my travel movements albeit not Mexico. Watching the endless stream of propaganda masked as news float around my headspace its hard not to feel more ill than one actually is. In reality if it is so, then it is so and i will be fine, it it is as it is supposed to be, then whats one more person in the millions. Its safe to say it has put me on my back at the worse possible time but i guess there is no right time to be so ill the only place that feels right is under a duvet in a bed. A luxury when you are homeless and once again hanging onto life with a feather and a prayer.

Double-Barrels

2009-04-01T14:31:00.001-07:00

She changed her name. Its the first time I have seen it written down and it threw me for more than a day. It is an obvious thing to do when you marry but seeing it. Everything is still the same. Never thought it would be this way. Thought it would be like a yo-yo, I would grow out of its addictiveness but still always love it. I am still so totally addicted to that time and that place and that little flower I so soorly miss.

Wednesday

2009-04-01T14:13:00.000-07:00

I have been obsessed with the thought of snails and steak for four months now and it is starting to grind me down that I cannot find a venue in which to cook such simple fare. The world has gone mad it seems and the closure of so many and the culling of so many more has made the industry a little glum looking to say the least. Its a hard thing to swallow bouncing from temporary shit job to temporary shit job making the most of each and everyone with recreational abusie and elicit behaviour of the highest order. Its not as it was. It more seedy now that it ever was. I am old enough to know better, and indeed I do know better, but finding the platform or even faux stage to perform on is proving tricky.

I started at six thirty in the morning today for a breakfast that is over by seven thirty. Thirty residents swarm down like uncontrolable savages with the most peculior requests for breakfasta I have ever seen- these are grown men, builders, brickies, sparkies and such like. Who eats egg white omelette? I always believed that to be an in joke in Sex and the City. Sadly I missed the brunch revolution as I am either sleeping or working at such time, lucky me it seems.
Before eight I am knee deep in pots, pans, trays and buckets of used debris and utensils. There is a cooling section, near the window surprisingly in which near piles of containers sit with the progress of my preperation. I am well into a packet of fags, drowning in tea, coffee and fruit juice and my body is clogging with the grazed pieces of breakfast or the misfires. By ten I am ready for sleep. I am not wanting to down espressos, red bull or pop pro plus these days, especially not so early in the morning - my organs aching from the previous night never mind today. I pop some codeine, turn the music on full and power through the day - breakfast, lunch and dinner with a few hours in between to maybe bathe, maybe wank, or just simple smoke myself into blissful reverie. Hotel work is so easy, volume is taken care over-staffing and I float most my way through the day waiting for that all important phone call or text message that will put to end this day to day nothingness. Meandering my way through under the guise that this is what we do, this is what life is like, this is a chefs life. In all fairness its a bit bollocks. I live the stereotypical life although somewhat downplayed and subtle these days but loathe every single minute of it. I think the loathing and sheer contempt I show for myself must shine out but it seems to endear me to others who think the same way, its not a productive or positive move forward. It is just treading water. The KPs are smoking out of the staff house kitchen door, chatting in Latvian, hip hop blazes out from speakers somewhere above and television spits out word in subtitle fashion making everything seem that little bit more real. England won though and one more day of this shit I am out of here. To pastures new, maybe not better, but who knows.....

Ramble

2009-03-28T06:05:00.000-07:00

Like so many postcodes the names of the past litter the memory and trigger reverie on a windy but sunny saturday afternoon. The view from the window is mock idealic but mock is better than muck and it is good albeit perhaps only a temporary restbite from the misery that has been or maybe a new start. The problem with a new start is that is feels oh so familiar, a little tired now and i am becoming one of those travelling Nobody's that hide behind the service door afraid to commit to anything actually real. It is indeed another hotel, in another oxford market town - it feels the tired cliches of hotel life and the incestrious nature and debahuchery that becomes normal. It still all fits but more like a favourite but old suit, one that perhaps you shouldnt wear anymore but still do because you think it looks good, and it can look good, but in short bursts, at the right time, not all the time, the suit that is the security blanket. Freud would have a field day. Its a stop gap onto somewhere else yet somewhere else seems another world away. My heart, soul, brain and sometimes seperate common sense are call clashing for opinion space and quite clearly all disagreeing. My teeth ache and at the back of my head for over a week now there has been a nagging pain barely relieved by codeine and made worse at the smell of alcohol. It has been a hard week, pain does funny things. All these little symptoms create that worry that one of those million plus cigarettes was one two many or that something else has finally caught up with me. Its hard to imagine myself ill. I have had accidents and hurt myself but my body has recivered naturally and quickly but have never been ill. Boredom has set in. The sun has been hidden and there is no milk for tea.

Its not quite London....

2009-03-01T16:20:00.000-08:00

Bulwell of all places. I guess I should have always known that once you delve into the ghetto even further all you discover is a different breed of fucked up people, clutching harder and stronger to that tangible thing we call life.

A Sunday night of all times though becoming more Monday morning but a good enough time to update and fill in the missing gaps that some will know, some will have worried and some will have wished were more permanent than it is so obviously not.

The funny thing about re-inventing oneself is that when you choose a city and job, and choose a life that simply is not a patch on that of practically everywhere else, is that is is not really re-inventing. The same music, the same people and an a more so than I even remember or have ever encountered fuck up state of mind that seems to infect even within the months i have hidden within a city where literally nobody knows who I am anymore.

The simple day to day tasks of commuting from either the camera studded bleak environment of Bulwell and through central Nottingham which still remains a mystery to me, a gathering place for everyone, yet everybody seems nobody. Clifton happens to be my so-called home although it is as it always has been, well-kept for, community orientated yet really fucked up. Shameless for the masses and so much more. It is a total surprise there are not more murders here, riots, or just general civic unrest as it seems over-run by so-called shotters and wannabe gangsters - kids with attitudes and spots where morals should be. Its not so much a scary place as a funny place but for the neutral I am sure it is noticeable more so than ever before just how menacing a council estate set away from it all can be. Clifton is a so-called home, if only for convenience and obligation than anything, it is less of a stopping gap than prison of my own apathy. Things change though. The weather is. It is a start.

She is, as there is always a she is, another fucked up casualty of the wreckless nature in which some of us continue to live our lives. She has been a book within a week and yet still defies all literal description. I guess a forensic anthropologist and mortician as full-time professions really can define a person and with that i may well leave alone, scarred and tired, exhausted by the antics of a life I think I leave best for documentaries and late-night Channel Five television. It has been emotional as they say but some things, like lollipops have short runs.

It is a life of pointless endeavour but somehow amazing. Inspirational in all the dark places. A home that seems more like a haunting than ever a home. It is obviously inevitable that the big bang will happen and with nights like tonight, rock music, bite marks and blood one does wish massively for the bright lights and neon of a city I know rather than a city I hate. It is a peculiar city built upon the legend of a myth and one in which I may well be trying to tell a story from even as a brief guest, a sightseer, picture postcards from Nottingham.

Scrapbook of Stars (13/12/08)

2008-12-23T15:28:00.000-08:00

The constellations are clearly visible and the sky is alive even with the half crescent moon. Outside looks a totally different place to last night where all was black and dead tonight all is light and alive. The wine has started to finally take hold and sleep catches a breath with a yawn and I can see the stars behind my eyes ushering me into a land of memories and sins long since forgotten. The dreams and nightmares merging into a giant collage, a scrapbook of the life I have wasted, enjoyed and destroyed, of the life I do not deserve yet by some strange fate have been granted free access to.

It is becoming more scary to sleep yet at the same time more exciting to reveal that which I have forgotten or cast away, hidden or hid from. All is waiting on the tip of my tongue to escape into my consciousness as I sleep to dream and dream to sleep though never quite knowing where sleep is actually sleep or pure lucidity.

Resin (12/12/08)

2008-12-23T15:22:00.000-08:00

Rubbing resin into my eyes provides a mild enough irritation and distraction to vanquish the thoughts that were fighting to take over.

The warm glow of the tea is long gone and the birds are singing a lullaby as my eyes start to play tricks of dancing shadows and rainbow patterns. These are the images of a day where I have loved, lost, become and become lost, a day which always looked the same and behaved as it would and as it should but a day that seemed oblivious to the simple fact that I exist.

Sleep and a world other than this is long overdue but through fear - fear of sleep, fear of waking and fear of tomorrow somehow being right here, right now colder than I would like yet still warm seems somehow better than anything else i can imagine.

Mr Nobody

2008-12-23T15:19:00.000-08:00

When there is nothing left but the smoke who do you see but yourself - through a stained and tired mirror yet still looking crisp, smart, slick and organised yet totally lost. Transfixed by the reflection of a man i do not recognise.

The Police

2008-12-22T10:45:00.000-08:00

Once again a phonecall from the police. This time it was with concern for my wellbeing.
I am not sure how to take or treat the phonecall so I have let it not concern me and return to my original plan(s)

The Intercity Luton Line

2008-12-22T08:11:00.000-08:00

There is an abundance of shoppers flowing around the streets of Luton with the soundtrack that is stripping me of the last vestiges of sanity and dignity seemingly playing from every shop, stall and even police cars. Long phonecalls that have done nothing but rape me of battery and credit, begging, crying praying for a solution to the fact that with a pound in my pocket and the dark just creeping in homelessness at Christmas simply will not become an option. There were conversations with the dead, the soon to be dead and the very dead all whilst the words that dropped from my mouth were mis-understood, mis-con screwed and pretty much ignored. Family become a nightmare - a waking nightmare that is hard to escape and friends become in the vain of my life worthless and pointless.

Luton is handy in the fact that the intercity London trains fly through at over a hundred miles per hour not stopping until London not pausing even for the wreckage of a man haunted by his own existence. I was here a few years ago covered in bloody vomit from my stomach ulcer and the stress of sleeping and living within the extreme heat of an unusual summer. I managed to escape last time... i managed to find the emotional strength and support i needed to resist the urge to jump and watch my life finally flash before my eyes and that of a hundred onlookers. Its a harsh Christmas present for those around that see or hear of or read about in the future but hopefully it will make them look long and hard at their actions or lack of responsibilities. Those with all, or those with at least a sum of the part never wanted to add to the equation and the encouragement for my actions have been loud and clear. It is a shame we live in a world with so many constrictions and borders in obtaining pills that are actually worth taking on bulk, last time, it was just a bloody ulcer and painful morning. The wreckage of my insides still taunting me each day and the mess of my mind a constant reminder that all of this is for the best.

I woke once more with her drowning out my thoughts and her screaming into my mind and made the decision finally within a few minutes. A cup of tea, half a packet of fags and sitting on the cold balcony of another place I have to leave shortly. Nobody wants a Mr Nobody - not even himself anymore......

The Twelve Days Of Christmas (abridged)

2008-12-21T08:39:00.000-08:00

Something is slightly wrong with my picture of festive cheer and time for goodwill to all men. Even the battlefields took time out to observe a degree of civility towards each other if only separated by hours and trenches. My view of Christmas is the view as of every other year - a lonely one ether spent working or simply alone in a pile of pharmaceuticals wishing for turkey and stuffing, bucks fizz and toast for morning, truffles and mince pies, excess and the queens speech. Every year is slightly different in guise yet the context remains bleak.

I am spending my time shooting pool and necking beer at my friends gay club in one of the many satellite cities dotted around London. Its grim, cold and empty but at least the balls roll for me and i remain king of this little domain for a time period. King of Pool. the crowd goes wild....

There is an element of hiding involved which include the elements, the environment and the mess I am embroiled within and hiding in the last possible place anybody would look for me goes a long way to provide safety in way of a security blanket.

I light another cigarette away from the pub and in the office upstairs pumping drum and bass out of the heavy duty speakers hoping it will take over the noise that is already clouding all rational and reasonable thought. Why I ever entered into this I will never know. The full circle of the journey is steeped in irony which at least brings about a chuckle wandering around a city that seems more black and gay than anywhere I have ever known. Its a fitting stop off point.

With Christmas literally days away and pressure upon me to be alternative once more words are the one thing that have yet to fail me. These words... well they are the start once more of a story that will remain accompanied with a baseline and rain and of that monkey once more with a miniature cymbal.

Alas the end........

2008-09-04T14:37:00.000-07:00

I always imagined what she would look like in her wedding dress.
At least my imagination was spot on.
Everything changed in a second.
Everything ended in moment.
Goodbye all.

Flowers

2008-05-20T09:13:00.000-07:00

"you can grow flowers from where dirt used to be..........."

Mojito pannacotta's

2008-05-18T19:00:00.000-07:00

I spent most of my day regretting drinking the Havana 25yr old rum and the rest fucking until sore. The evening before a blur of images yet to be deciphered and the persistent smell beneath my fingernails, in my hair and stained on my sheet a flashback worthy of exploring.
It is a few days before my birthday and although walking a fine line it is a brighter shade of grey with momentary explosions of sun. It's a strange time and place. Somewhere between nowhere and anywhere. Once again a bubble existence surrounded by punting and picnics yet shallow and transparent to the point of glass. The scars ae healing but the stitches resemble a stevie wonder hatchet job. There is still a long way to go. Mojito pannacotta's and foie gras ballontines capture the tastebuds and gorging on new season asparagus, jersey royal potatoes and cromer crab helps just a little capture all and every reason why i still do this shit.

I

2008-05-17T09:08:00.000-07:00

I ate, I fucked, I smoked and fucked some more. This way and that, nothing sacred, hours upon hours, water, ice-lolly's, a long suck, a hard fuck and a mouthful of come, this way and that.

Insomnia

2008-05-16T00:32:00.000-07:00

I remember it well - creeping and lurking, kicking and screaming and not letting me get a single restful eye of sleep. It consumed for nearly seven years and seemingly now is back, three nights of turmoil and thinking of ways to fill the hours until dawn makes its appeareance and sleep takes that natural urgency. I think there may be things on my mind. I fear the worse!

fucked up

2008-05-15T14:00:00.000-07:00

It has been a geographical and emotional nightmare to date with specks of fairy dust to leave that lasting chasing taste on the tongue. It has been a rollercoaster, eternally scary, impossible to get off, controlled by the mystery hand of another and it has been bliss in a fucked up kind of way. Now.
Its sedation.
Mourning still consumes and throughts are banished, trod upon, jumped out until so distant and dreary they lose any real meaning. It is a point where everything should matter more than it does but in reality and in feeling, i feel nothing but an aching pain that morphs and evolves, mutates and spreads and finds different ways of fucking with me.

Sleep

2008-05-13T08:02:00.000-07:00

There is no hope for a civilization which starts each day to the sound of an alarm clock.

Swings & Roundabouts

2008-05-12T05:17:00.000-07:00

Indeed things are different.
Almost strange.
Following on the bandwagon of perversion into a world of school uniforms and al fresco activities the summer starts here. Where it finishes...... will be very interesting indeed.

Police

2008-04-22T12:07:00.000-07:00

There was a phonecall from who was supposedly a police officer, warning, politely to stay away. So i did, have and will..............

NeverLand

2008-04-12T16:25:00.000-07:00

Nothing is the same. Everything is different and that difference is a little disturbing. It is not a good frame of mind as the tears of a clown spring, dancing merrily through my active yet subdued mind. A man of contrary I am indeed. All is not well in the garden of My Nobody but at least its a garden, cloud with a silver lining kind of viewpoint.

I miss her eternally and I am not sure how anyone or anything is ever going to fill the hole she has left gaping in my life. Crying at hollyoaks at teatime and sitting in the rain under the garden tea lights at three, stars everywhere, flies nipping at my tears are not good places to be. Free flowing and energising yet filled with the sorrow of yesterday.

There have been so few that I have been in love with out of so many I have loved but out of all of them she was the one and its that singular fact that haunts and torments me daily and I can't seem to shake it. I sometimes manage two days thinking that everything is best but mostly i barely manage to make it past two hours. Her name resonating in my head, her smile atomically burned into my mind. Her voice carried in the wind and her smell, randomly and strangely stopping me in my tracks. I miss her more than the pain can be explained.
I am sure I am not alone in my misery and for all of her smiles, her candy smiles underneath lie the tears of a clown. I miss Pippy as intensely as her, the package seemingly wrapped in diamonte and shrouded in stardust. I miss my Wendy in my neverland kind of life.

Mr Nobody is for one night only Peter Pan, the boy that never grew up and learned not to play with love as you will only end up covered in fairy dust.

Hollyoaks

2008-04-10T10:59:00.000-07:00

I found myself crying during Hollyoaks, in all fairness it was an emotional episode, but still, it is a very bad sign especially with a full restaurant about to pile in expecting food i wish i were not cooking.

Tundra

2008-03-26T14:55:00.000-07:00

Tundra filled the cold room - the breeze icy and arctic a welcome contrast to the heat of the kitchen. The sun is fighting for existence, poking, hinting and then retreating... and still the drums roll and tundra hurtles through like an S&M roller coaster - studded and coarse, a sledgehammer to the senses.
It soothes, calms and clears the mind eventually becoming part of my soul. The windows rattle, the bottles shake and Archie is scared, ears twittering and tail nervously jigging.
It seven minutes of eary madness leaving me breathless and every time - a thousand more since nineteen seventy seven - leaving me wanting more.

Skag Knife

2008-03-24T23:01:00.000-07:00

She pulled out her skag knife. It glinted, it appalled, it looked dirty and I longed for a closer look but it was gone as quickly as it became and once more i continue to look for the touch of the filthy skag knife.

Cats

2008-03-24T09:00:00.000-07:00

Do cats like bad people?
Do they just like everybody that treats them well?
Are cats just like himans?
Or are humans just like cats?

London

2008-03-24T02:42:00.000-07:00

I watched London leave through the dirty coach windows and all I could think about was her. A restaurant we loved yet failed to return to since. The cravings for nicotine, tea and sex and those mornings of love seem like some other time. Somebody Else's other time.

A few seats forward the shadow of a man lurches violently with a cough that is a pleasant reminder I should smoke less and less reds. It would irritate me but I felt sorry for him and wished I had some water. A bad cough is a terrible thing. Irritation came from the Saville Row suited kid or hormone deficient man sat to my immediate right. Tapping into his phone with an annoying repetition of a man who has to be doing something. Music too loud floating into the fan-assisted silence, I even heard our song but that is becoming standard these days. Almost like a ticking time bomb. A Japanese couple sleep on each other, curled up in the way only couples can on a coach and it made me realise that we had never had a chance to leave this filthy city, we had never made time. Bubble love. London is.
It seems a shame one city, one moment in time defined us. Sad.

London speeds by and sooner at this time of night rather than later it is Hillingdon - a pit stop, a a benchmark, a landmark to a better place. Soon it is the motorway and soon it is home. Though I cant help but feel, cliched as it is, that home is where the heart is. A basement flat in Peckham of all places, somebody elses home as it always has been.

I miss acting on a heartbeat.
I do miss being me.
I think one day I may find myself again but until then i shall remain Mr Nobody.

Mariah

2008-03-20T14:07:00.000-07:00

Mariah, mariah, you set my heart on fire little alice lost in wonderland you are.

Interpol

2008-03-13T15:49:00.000-07:00

I listened to the back catalogue of Interpol whilst staring out into the grey of a season that just sits between February and April. The lost season of greys and winds, rain and a cold that is not quite winter. The lost season of secrets, recoil and hibernation. The surreptitious season.
It has been a day of organisation, meddling, tinkering and amusement, as ever, at the antics of others and the backbone that life seems to rip out of the majority - that fear, intricately consuming the conscious mind. So many closed minds and empty souls trapped in a purgatory of their own creation. Desires and needs suppressed by the conformity of the masses - blinded by the destination and oblivious to the journey.
Interpol are a fitting soundtrack to a day I find myself wishing for her to complete my jigsaw and free me from this purgatory of my own creation.

Kumquat

2008-03-13T08:49:00.000-07:00

I was supposed to be writing but was distracted by the array of infused oils, local cheeses and Moroccan spices being delivered to my kitchen. A fine way to wake, stumbling into an Aladdin's cave of produce, dripping with sea water, covered in dirt and smelling of a thousand great things but so many fuckin boxes to open.

I spoke to "her" yesterday, the cats mother, about Pippy and when she should come and live with me. It was a point which faded to the background. It was our first conversation in months but our first real one this year, last year we were so much more than the little we were today, but that little was good. I left a part of my heart and soul in a basement flat in peckham with Pippy on guard protecting the parts I need to love again. I feel cold without them. I feel like a clown with frozen tears - stored for another day/week/another time maybe.
I stare into the skin of a Kumquat trying to work out if I can really do without Star Anise and wondering if i will ever be the same again.

"It feels like home"

2008-03-11T09:04:00.000-07:00

It sits next to a nunnery, behind an old peoples home and a few plots up from a park with crazy golf and an athletics stone throw away from the neon of consumerism. It is my home sat on the border of new and old somewhere outside Oxfordshire. Its the kind of place where a shark hangs out of the roof of a local house, hosts a reputable theatre, festival and farmers market.
People talk instead of ignore and are curious not recluse. Loneliness is becoming a hard to find commodity once more but a simple ramble and it just opens up before me - sprawling spring greens as far as the eye can see. Mr Nobody is still so. An anonymous shadow behind the service door but with apple ketchup and Thai scallops on the menu a smile starts to form and with the arrival of Pippy - my ice-skating kitten that smile begins to be pinned once more.

Caterpillars

2008-03-03T12:43:00.000-08:00

I like them and she did to. Where the sense was. Nobody knows.

Its A Monday

2008-03-03T05:09:00.000-08:00

It seems its true about people in the east of London. They have their clocks and watches set ten minutes behind the rest of London. Its going to cause terrible chaos with the Olympic games but perhaps they will be made to change. I am not going to imply they are backward after all my coffee is good and non-branded, the strokes fill the air and for a brief moment in time I feel like myself. Altogether somewhere backward. Waiting fo something to happen.

Careless Whisper 2

2008-03-02T22:37:00.000-08:00

Careless Whisper now floats in through the window I must close and once again today I feel ten. I just need dallas, snooker and the smell of ironing and everything will be complete.

Careless Whisper

2008-03-02T10:36:00.000-08:00

Careless Whisper floats through the cold and empty black prince road and with big ben chiming in the distance its hard noto to feel weird.

Saturday Morning

2008-03-01T14:31:00.000-08:00

I spent most of my Saturday morning masturbating and smoking instead of going to work.

It just beats a fourteen hour shift and serving hundreds of breakfasts.

I'm getting too old for this shit.

Handstands

2008-03-01T11:21:00.000-08:00

I wasn't sure what to do with my morning so I did handstands in the living room until I went dizzy. No time at all, a mere ten minutes and it took me twenty to recover,

Cockroach

2008-02-29T14:12:00.000-08:00

Crawling across my keyboard in an internet cafe down a back street in Soho. Immature and non-threatening it was hardly the horror story I always thought it would be. My first cockroach. I watched it scurry about for a few minutes with sirens wailing behind me and the chatter of a score of different nationalities around me, wondering, if any of them like me have just seen their first cockroach.

Secrets & Lies

2008-02-29T05:19:00.000-08:00

"The truth is like the sun, its benefit is entirely dependent on our distance from it"

Resignation

2008-02-18T10:27:00.000-08:00

(via text)

Boss: Where are you?

Me: Hiding in a bush

Boss: Which bush. I will come and get you.

Me: A bush you can never find me in

Boss: What the fuck you on

Me: Goodbye

2008-02-01T09:10:00.000-08:00

"When the consequences out weight the advantages it is time for change"

Codeine

2008-01-27T08:53:00.000-08:00

I was taking Codeine every day for a month. Letting each tablet melt onto my tongue and the effects wash away the woes and wranglings that have been dragging me down. A life of opiates far beats this shitty life.

Blog

2008-01-22T22:14:00.000-08:00

It was going to be a movie script and now it’s a blog.
Here’s for the humble potato where so many great things can be created with meagre hands.

The End 2

2008-01-20T22:09:00.000-08:00

It’s the natural order of things. Well, they say.
Everything ends.
Everything changes.
Not one single thing remains the same.
Except this was supposed to last forever. We even made a pact. Perhaps in retrospect it would have been better etched in blood. At least there would have been a sign for the future, a sign that it was all going to end up like this – in the worse possible way.

2008-01-20T00:14:00.000-08:00

The Doughnut Man

2008-01-16T21:39:00.000-08:00

I once knew man who made doughnuts. Original American recipe. He sold them for the entire time I knew him until he was pushed over a bridge in a supposed robbery. I never tasted his doughnuts.

Oh Sweet Canola

2008-01-14T14:12:00.000-08:00

I am running out of everything, even the strawberry jam has gone. i miss the sweet smell of truffle oil and the sight of green Tabasco that instantly brought a smile. There are not even any lentils left and the potatoes are moldy. It has got to a stage where there is only one thing left to do......

Dismantling

2008-01-11T14:03:00.000-08:00

Its amazing how fast I can dismantle my life. Well practised I guess. Wires unravelled, clothes in bags, big stuff in a pile and knick knacks scattered in every which way possible. Its chaos but
with a quiet subdued order to it. Well-rehearsed, emotionally cold and caught well within the moment of homelessness.

I am sat her in my underwear thinking that nothing really matters because I will wake up soon and the rain will have gone, the cold will be hot and the pain will be happiness.
Somebody pinch me I seem to be paralysed.

The End?

2008-01-10T21:11:00.000-08:00

I’m almost stoned enough to forget that anything matters but right now. This singular moment in time where the sound of a London that returns home drifts in through window, the smell of a hundred dinners fill the room and fight for airspace with smoke. Nothing, nearly matters.

The thing is that it’s not quite enough to let me forget that the next few moments in time are ones I can’t believe are happening. It is always the way. Whilst one is planning for the future the other is wanting away for their future. Tabloid problem page stuff. Nice to know that your life can be so neatly categorised by the experience of others.

It’s never expected. Sometimes more, sometimes less than the previous but one can never describe is as expected. Expected is a birthday. Its Christmas. Not this whole falling out of love thing. Even those moments have managed to morph themselves into many after. The uncertainty through her no show have caused for more weed and now alcohol – the devils drug. Frantic phonecalls, text messages and even facebook gets a look in but sadly realising. Realising now with the aid of massive attack and near darkness as it all starts to sink in. It is all futile and wasted breath. It is more wasted time that would be spent crying and moving on. Moving on is difficult when all and everything was her including the future I was building around her. It is sadly all over. Not from the devils mouth but in feeling and that is enough.

Scummy

2007-12-29T16:00:00.000-08:00

I stood in the hall, small as it was and scattered with shoes, bags and bits of bacon the cat had dragged around, playing as she does. The glow of my cigarette the only light as day became night and finally I could rise but for now standing smoking is as good as it was going to get. Step at a time. Slowly but surely. It was never supposed to be so. I was never meant to end up here amongst the scummy people and their scummy lives of sniff, pints and spliffs. I always wanted to be a nice boy. Not scraping by trying to reach the surface.

Sex On Tuesday

2007-08-18T22:55:00.000-07:00

We’d have sex probably every Tuesday.
The routine was what I liked about her. That precise attention to detail and time.
Oh how I loved her. So very much.
She reminded me of my mother with her fastidious nature and icy manner.
Oh how I love her and how I think she loves me.

The Old Women

2007-07-23T13:08:00.000-07:00

Battered and haggard well before her time she stumbles around the street with her wonky shopping trolley and rat faced dog.

Shoplifting

2007-07-18T17:47:00.000-07:00

I think you forget skills.

If they are not used, or ignored – maybe abused or neglected.

They fall from the conscious mind lying dormant, hibernating until they are sparked again. Needed again. Relied upon again.

When I was a kid, an adolescent really. A tortured teenager on the estate I stole for all reasons but poverty. I stole because I could. Because I wanted to. Because I was bored.

It wasn’t in isolation either. I stole with Mike. My best friend.

We stole shirts, shoes and all the music we could lay our hands on. We loved books and movies, hats and sunglasses. Chocolate and alcohol fuelled a summer bathing on the old school yard rich with our spoils and smug in the last real summer sun I can remember.

A long decade ago.

Stealing was our shopping.

Then we stopped. One or two many close encounters. We were asking a lot from luck, permanent requests and citations, we danced on a very thin patch of land that seemed eternally blessed from harm.

We faked fires, used decoys and hired circus performers to assist in our more and more outrageous and outlandish behaviour and all for a few more spoils.

So we stopped. Before anything bad happened and besides – it stopped being fun.

The Ninja & Other Friends

2007-07-17T23:57:00.000-07:00

The demons and the Ninja fighting in my bathroom.

The sound of an approaching ghost train threatens to consume the amusing commentary, banter so to speak, between the Ninja and the Demons.

The sun and the moon jostle for a seat sink-side and the crowd is dotted with stars.

Heaven and Hell are here in , daytrips of course, but with the sun and the moon here already who knows what time of day it is.

The animals of the world form a bandstand, confused by the lack of any-light, they watch, like everybody else the mighty battle. The monkeys talking fervently and sensing this may be their time to attack. Never trust the monkeys. They are far too clever. Clever I tell you.

Copper, No Silver

2007-06-17T16:55:00.000-07:00

I managed to count out ninety eight pence in copper. No silver. That’s a luxury at the moment. Only the dull and dirty copper stained green, blue and black. Its become a sad state of affairs recently. Where I have to walk twice as far to the local shop because I owe fifty pence to the closest and my self-loathing and pity stops me going in there. I just need milk and bread and that will get me through the day. I bought tea bags yesterday. Sugar the day before. I have no butter but stole some Strawberry Jam. Each day I figure if I search all and everywhere I will find enough loose change to get me through the next day.

Beetroot

2007-06-15T21:20:00.000-07:00

Beetroot stained fingers of scars and warts hint towards the abyss of abandonment that this life brings - gift-wrapped with blunt wrappers and tied with the entrails of a pig.

Lighter Conspiracy

2007-06-14T23:23:00.000-07:00

Where do all the fucking lighters go?
Really?
If everybody is asking the question, then surely, it can only mean one thing. There is the biggest conspiracy being perpetuated before our very eyes. Somehow lighters are the experimental first use of nano technology. Lighters that are In fact a million little specs no bigger than a micrometre. Engineered, programmed with instructions. Access to Google Maps and Swiss Army Knife. Nano like of course. They just run back to the shops. Its experimental technology. Sometimes they get lost. Sometimes it all goes wrong but mostly they make it back safe. Safe to the shops for us fuckers to buy them again.

Peckham - The Land of White Gold

2007-05-15T14:00:00.000-07:00

The sun is glaring. Its evil intent to off guard London and its malice smile burn and blister a population carrying umbrellas to work. I leave shortly after the rain has fallen for what seems like an eternity, The pavement feels sodden and the trees lining York Grove hung heavy and tired. My nose is warning my of the impending stream of symptoms I will start to feel as the day unwinds unfortunately not with the gently lullaby accompanying a dancing ballerina but more with the sound of an ancient torture device being used slowly and with great precision on bone. My bowels ache and my stomach is churning. Nicotine, nicotine and nicotine feeds the pain and the codeine gently starts to weave its magic on my stoned, tired and jaded mind.

I look into the street dotted with big, expensive black cars. Peckham. Land of gold it would appear if you are willing to accept gold is sometimes white and brown.