My Emancipation

If you won't support me then that's fine. I won't come to you with any problems. I won't mention my dreams and aspirations. Why do you have to shoot me down? I don't want to be realistic. I want to follow my hopes and dreams.

You say I can't succeed. This is the point where I excel and leave you eating your words. You say it's not realistic, that I have to think of the bigger picture. I'll relish the moment I achieve what I set out to, then you'll see.

You'll look at my life and say I'm lucky, that not everyone can live this way. The truth is I make my own luck. When I've got the money and the lifestyle I want then you'll have to admit you should have supported me. Here's a guy who chose to think outside the confines of normality. He really did plan to succeed. When you congratulate me for doing well I'll smile. I'll tell you that you were wrong. By believing in myself and following these dreams I hit my targets.

The Victory Dance

I've had a lot of time to consider what sex means to me recently. Is it a deep connection, true intimacy or just the animalistic process of sharing your body with another human being. I'm coming to the conclusion that sex is deeper than just getting your end away.

Is it penetration that matters to me? Do I focus enough on foreplay? These things had always seemed simple to me until recently. I've had a break from sex, quite a long break and it's made me think a lot about what relationships mean to me and what my motivations are as a lover.


I wonder about my past choices and try to justify my sexual relationships. I wonder if I should have slept with some of the women I have. I think the answer is simple. On some occasions my choices were true and just, others I was thinking with a narrow mind.

I do think I'm a pretty experienced lover. I have done things that would make a lot of people cringe. I have been very adventurous. I'm not shy with anything regarding sex but I do have boundaries.

Self Intimacy

I realise that you have to be mentally healthy and sexually healthy. Not many people are comfortable with openly discussing this issue but you have to be able to love yourself. It's considered a taboo subject but you have to think about masturbation.

Let's talk about self love. I imagine you're squirming in your seat at it's very mention. Being able to satisfy yourself sexually is an important part of adult life.

If I feel I'm not exciting myself sexually I'm low in confidence and my mood is flat. If I push my boundaries and truly satisfy myself this explodes into the rest of my life and my whole demeanour. I feel ready for anything. I'm confident, past any levels that I could have ever expected.

On The Other Hand

I'm not scared of drunken men
But I'm afraid of love.

I'm not afraid of death
But I'm scared of falling for someone.

I'm not fazed by intense workouts
But long kisses make me dizzy.

I'm not intimidated by beauty
But I'm fazed by a meaningful compliment.

What's up Doc?

I walked out of her house at eight o'clock in the morning feeling a new energy coursing through my body. It was that same old victorious feeling I’d felt every time I successfully seduced and slept with a new woman. I pulled this one on faceparty.com like I'd done so many others. Last night was our first date.

She’d picked me up in her sporty blue car and took me back to her nicely furnished two-bedroom house in Beighton. It was the roughest sex I'd ever had, more like a fight and cussing match than a love making session. That morning when I left I felt like a new man.

I'd split up with my girlfriend of eight months less than a week ago. This woman was a means to an end. I just wanted sex and to be fair so did she. To be honest I used her to get over my girlfriend. I'd been the one who got dumped. I felt like a loser. Naturally I wanted to get back into the flow of dating.

I planned to get back into my routine of short-term sexual relationships. Something was about to stop this happening. I went to the doctors. I had red spots all over my pelvic region. Shit, I've got a sexually transmitted disease I thought. It was all I could think about. I dreaded Dr Deakin turning round and telling me
'Daniel, you've got syphilis.' The thing was I always used protection. How could this happen? I waited nervously in the doctor's surgery listening to pan pipe music.

I unbuttoned my jeans awkwardly, revealing my shaven groin area. Dr Deakin took one close look with a small torch and came to a conclusion. The sound of his voice was one of surprise and disgust. I don't even think he meant it to come out like it did.
'Oh my god it's a fungal rash.'

He assured me it wasn't sexually transmitted and that it must have been passed on from someone else, probably through drect contact. There was no telling where I'd contracted it. I asked him the question burning in the back of my mind.
'Is it contagious?'

He told me it was and my heart sank in my chest. He told me this sort of rash was common in summer weather and often developed when the body was sweaty and hot. I'd been training hard with parkour every day. It’s only July. If I can't have sex with any women how the hell am I going to continue my quest as a master seducer?

I got home and deleted my profile pictures from faceparty.com. A weird thing started to happen. Because I wasn’t always trying to pull or sleep with women on a daily basis I took a step back and relaxed. I realised that women were checking me out. Women hardly ever check me out. I'm usually the one doing all the work.

The more I forgot about pulling and sex the more women approached or showed interest. Even when I didn't seem interested they pushed the conversation forwards. I realised that being hard to get, as apposed to being easy to get, was a useful commodity.


I went to see my doctor a month ago for the fourth time telling him the third cream he'd subscribed me hadn't worked. He took a look at the rash. I told him it had only got worse since my diagnosis. He said the fungal rash had gone. How is it gone doctor? It's right there. He explained the fungal rash was gone and instead I had a venereal infection that wasn’t at all related. He said kids usually got it.

I was dating someone at this point, finding out that not trying for sex is actually greatly rewarding. I really wanted to have sex and what's more, I liked this girl, I actually respected her.
'How long am I expected to wait?' I asked him. He told me
'Anything from four to five months.'

My shoulders slumped and I walked slowly out of the surgery. There's no cream for this ailment. I'm doomed. By the time I get to have sex it'll have been a year. My virginity might as well have grown back. I have changed as a person, realising pushing for sex and trying to pull any women that come along isn’t the right way to live. I can't believe I won’t be able to have sex. Even though I've learned a valuable lesson it’s still a kick in the face.

I guess it's a blessing in disguise, only I’m disappointed and pushing forwards seems futile, like my manhood has been taken away. I could cry. I could moan on and on but the truth is I will remember these lessons. When I do have sex it will be with someone I respect. I’ll stay hard to get, never going back to my promiscuous ways. I'll be more refined, more respectable. I just wish this rash would somehow magically disappear. I miss sex and the build up to it.

Smarmy Guy

You've met him. He thinks he's better than you. He'll try and ridicule you. He'll look down on you. Yes, this Smarmy Guy thinks he's truly superior.

I think he's boring and although he think he's an intellectual I think he's narrow minded. He makes me want to chew off my face for entertainment when I'm around him. To tell the truth I can't wait to get away.

His principles are better than yours. His views are the best. His opinion is always right. Or so the Smarmy Guy thinks. I could write a long list of his sarcastic comments. He insults you like an ex girlfriend who really resents you would. He'll take any opportunity to show you up or prove that he's right and you're wrong. I can't stand it.

You see I'm a burly guy, loud and brusque. Me and the Smarmy guy can never get along. I'm polite to him as he is mild mannered. The thing is we're chocolate sauce and lamb steak. He's into opposing his views, I'm into freedom of speech. I'll try and be civil but I can't promise I'll stay around for too long.

A Novel Concept

It's six in the morning and I just stepped out of the bath. I was reading in the murky warm water. Now I'm blogging. Is this a strange lifestyle? I don't think so. Am I being true to my creative flow? Almost certainly.

On a table lays a lamp. In that room, my writing room, I turn on that lamp. There's an old green sleeping bag that I lay on the carpet. I lay on that sleeping bag and close my eyes.

I'm seventeen again and I'm in the midst of my breakdown. If I'm crying in the story I feel like crying in real life. If I'm angry in the story I actually feel furious. To write this novel, this story I have to go back to my breakdown. I have to smell the old carpet of the hospital ward, I have to see myself being pinned down in that room.

I'm apprehensive. Each time I write it's like I have to experience the pain all over again. But I know this is the way, the only way to write a good book. You'll read the book and go through exactly what I did. It won't be a pleasant read. It'll be dark and at times disturbing.

My mood reflects what's happening in the story. Sometimes I get lost in moments and I feel somewhat bemused like I did in that chapter of my life. The reality is I'll be living with this story for months if not years. I must be brave, courageously delving into my past to deliver a punch to the readers attentive mind's eye.

I know when I look at that finished book and people get to read it the true satisfaction will set in. I'll sigh a breath of relief. I'm done with it. It's all encased in these pages. Now I can go to a different story. Maybe I'll take myself into a happy place. For now I'll dive head first into the darkness and swim through it.

Let's Go There, Wherever

Come away with me.
My imagination is our vessel.
It can carry us both.

We will fly over green fields, beautifully cut grass with yellow tulip petals blowing in the warm summer air.
We'll swim on the backs of dolphins, past coral reefs of vibrant blues, yellows, reds.
We can travel to far off places where our senses are heightened, where food tastes like heaven and emotions flow like a great, clear memories.

This is our land, pick a place and we'll go.
Close your eyes and imagine it, there, we're right there.
If you're not strong enough I'll picture us both there.

Your smile feels easy and relentless.
You spin, feeling light on your feet, taking in breaths of the fresh air like positive energy.
We hold hands and run through the hilltops, there's no danger here.

The Full English and the Break Dancing Competition at the Hollywood Bowl

I walk into several cafés and they all turn me down. No English breakfasts. I'm pacing up and down Fargate. Where can I go? Subway springs to mind. It's finger numbingly cold today. I need hot food.

I remember Tiffany's, a café near T J Hughes. I turn onto the balls of my feet and feel my energy driving me forwards. I come to a realisation. I know why I'm craving for coffee and a full English breakfast. It's obvious now. It must be the effects of all those pints of Guinness I consumed last night.


The Boardwalk is one of those all American diners, only the San Francisco menu has sweet and sour chicken with prawn crackers on it. I order the chilli and cheese nachos for starters and a lamb steak for my main course.

We laugh and joke and I find myself going well over the top rung on my excitement metre. My voice grows louder by the minute. The big grin on my face gets wider with each conversation.

I look around the table at Big Sis, Big Brother, Drunken Lion, Ling Ling and Little Lion. There's me, Hardcore Dan, tearing into a lamb steak with a sharp meat knife.

After the meal we head out of the restaurant but not before taking some Facebook pictures of us posing next to a life size model of Humphrey Bogart. You can just hear him thinking. Of all the American diners in all the world you had to walk into this one.

Walking to the bowling alley we take some more amusing Facebook pictures with two willing police men. I order a Guinness from the bar and we walk to the reception to get some extra silly red and blue bowling shoes. I ask if they have any sillier shoes. They don't.

We stand, waiting for our lane, or
'Waitin' for these to sod off' as Drunken Lion so eloquently puts it. I put our names into the score board and we're away.

Little Lion, Big Sis and I are being mischievous. Whenever someone bowls we run forwards and pull a pose. This'll look great on Facebook.

We make a new rule as we bowl with the disability brackets up at either side of the lane. I take the lead with regards to points. My erratic, power throw sends the heavy green ball hurtling towards the white pins. Our rule is whenever we get a half strike we have to do some popping. So when I knock every pin down on my second shot I shoot my hands out like pistols and blow away the smoke. I notice a few women bowling in the lane next to us smiling at our antics.

When we get a strike we have to do some break dancing. When all my pins go down in one shot I do some random flips as Big Sis takes photos on her digital camera. Little Lion gets a strike and does a mad twisting hand stand and holds it. Big Sis shrugs awkwardly at her strike, not knowing what to do.

I'm laughing with my hands on my knees, leaning my face towards the floor. My belly starts to hurt and tears stream down my face. The fun doesn't stop. It's literally a laugh a minute.

We're driving home, all six of us in Big Brother's Subaru Impreza. Ling Ling; The smallest of our group is laying across Drunken Lion's, Little lion's and my lap. We poke him teasingly as he does the horizontal mamba. He claims to be really comfortable. I'll take his word for it.

We're all agreed. This night has been thoroughly entertaining and enjoyable. I can't remember a time where I've had so much fun. I direct James to 'the ghetto' as he agrees to take us all home.


I finish my coffee and the sausage on my plate. There's this guy banging on about football and war memorials sitting at the table to my left. I nod and say
'Yeah' occasionally. He keeps repeating himself. He must be drunk. I buy a hat, gloves and a big winter coat. It's like the one I admired on Tim Westwood's Youtube show that those UK rappers were wearing.

I walk into Starbucks and order a large hot chocolate, all my christmas gifts are bought and packed safely in my rucksack. I'm looking forwards to getting home for some contemplative alone time.

The Upstairs People

They argue in murmurs. They walk like angry elephants. They're quiet. No wait, there's DIY to be done. That must be to stop the bickering, like a distraction. Debates sound like tapes fast forwarding. I hear their music, loud as hell for one minute and a half then it goes quiet. What's going on there?

I have no idea what the Upstairs people look like. I can picture a stereotype, a woman with long black greasy hair and a bald guy with muscles. My imagination runs away with itself. They're drug dealers and they argue about their revenue. They have fight parties, like a mosh pit in a bedroom. I imagine what they think of the downstairs people.


There's this guy who raps but he says the same rhymes over and over again. I hear him making music, at least that's what it sounds like. It used to be sex noises, loud orgasms that only our loud music could drown out. Now he's alone mostly. I see him walking to his flat. He always looks so aggressive. Either that or I see him smiling. What's there to be so happy about?

I hear him running baths at four in the morning. Who the fuck bathes at that hour? He talks to himself too. I hear his voice but no-one replies. His curtains are always shut. I've literally never seen them open. I see him at the bus stop and he just stares into the distance. Doesn't he know we're his neighbours?

Dear Brother

I don't believe in the superfluous, the flowery. I bought you a gift for christmas but this rift between us makes me doubt weather I should send it. You're my brother and that will never change. Ever since we were kids we'd always been able to overcome problems together. Now you can't even stand to talk to me on the phone.

I slept with your wife. I realise how wrong this is and I want to apologise a thousand times over. If I must cut my veins open to show you how sorry I am I will. Remember when we'd spend all summer making dens in Riverton Woods? How we laughed. All we needed was the outdoors and each other's company. Mom died when I was three, you were seven. Such a rift would break most families but not us, not the Dillans.

I'm not saying you're over reacting Michael but it was just a silly fling. I'd gone round to see you. Anabelle and you had been arguing. She was upset so she invited me in. She ranted on about how you were never home and never really cared. I hugged her and that's when it happened.

So now what's going to happen? You're not talking to Dad, not talking to Anabelle or me. Shit, I don't even know if you'll read this letter. All I know is we belong together, close like the brothers we are. Don't let thirty five years of brotherhood go to waste over a woman. I believe we are more than that. I know I've made a huge mistake and I'm hoping that you can forgive me.

Your Brother,
Damien.

Cats And Dogs Fight Like They Ought To

When she's sweet she's strawberry cheese cake. You could get lost in that smile, those white teeth. The corners of her mouth curve up and her eyes are like the cat that's teasing the stroker. You fall into it like an exciting game. Seductive as this is, you know you have to stay alert, that there's a magic that beauty weaves. It's a spell that many if not hundreds of men have fallen for.

There's a point where turning back doesn't seem like an option. Those low cut tops or those pretty make up eyes lure you like the spider into a complex web that will keep you in it's grasp even though you struggle. She's an animal, you're the prey but you think you're the predator.

It's long distance marathon running. Who will run out of steam? There's a pretence that happens when love evolves, there's a clarity that you gain but it's hazy. You think it's clear. The woven web is flexible and as your arms and legs flail through the air the sticky rope clings to your flesh. Break me.

Giving in you try to take a breath. The game was too much and reality wandered into fictional realms. Now all is clear. Every mistake you wished you'd never made and every word you'd rather not have said comes into play. You stand tall but the pain of past embarrassments slaps you on your bare back like a cat of nine tails.

Now you're the pussy cat, you're the frail elderly mouse walking on stilts like it makes you seem taller. But everyone's seen. Everyone's witness the pain in your eye where a smile would have usually rested. Nothing can change the fact your woes are catching up with your memory.

Faced with the complete extinction of your ego you laugh. I'm a lower man but I've learned so much. How good it is to feel a fool and learn this is okay. You tell yourself you won't fall into any more bear traps. You only lie about the inevitable. You'll fall. Oh you'll fall Matey. You'll fall deeply, seductively, totally and willingly. It's all synonymous with the great taste of chasing the opposite sex.

Me

I'm a lover of graffiti art and street slang.
I can be angry and calm.
I'm multi talented, creative.
I fall deeply and rise courageously.

I'm a man with a forgiving smile.
I value compassion above any other thing.
I'm funny, I'll tease you if I get the chance.
I am the humble presence with the power moves.

Guy Fun

I meet Shane inside Marks And Spencers. He's with his Mum. The three of us take a walk to a hotel near the peace gardens.

Shane books an expensive hotel room for him and his girlfriend, jumping the long queue in the process. We say goodbye to Shane's Mum outside the hotel. I can't help realising how much we've matured in the three years that we've been close friends.

Shane and I walk to subway on division street. I order a foot long BMT and Shane gets a cookie.
'Not eating mate?' I ask. He tells me he hardly ever eats and that he's lost a stone in a month. I don't express my concern. I'm his mate, not his mother. It's his choice what he eats.

We step onto the bus and I mention to Shane that our friendship is the gayest heterosexual friendship I've ever had. I think back to us dyeing our hair and Shane buying that face pack from Superdrug. Shane tells me if I try kissing him he'll punch me in the face. He knows he loves it. Walking off the bus a drunken man shouts
'Watch the ladies.'
'I always do mate' I reply.

We walk into Shane's small bedroom. Such an enclosed space might seem claustrophobic if it weren't for the technology in it. The first game we play is called SingStar. We start by singing 'Valerie' by The Zutons. We sing every track on the game, singing for three hours straight.

After the singing we sit on Shane's bed and complete a game called Resistance: Fall of man. We started it last week and now we're prepared to put the hours in to finish what we started. It was very intense experience. We managed to finish the game and by the time we're done I'd finished four cans of fosters lager.


It's three in the morning. Shane throws me some pro plus tablets as he slots a horror movie into the DVD player. I take one look at them and throw them aside.
'You take three of them and you feel like you've slept.' I'll take his word for it.

My eyes close and I sleep fully clothed next to Shane on his single bed with my arms folded. I lean my elbow against the wall to stop myself falling down the half a foot gap between wallpaper and mattress.

Clingy

Thomas Wilks AKA 'Clingy' Writes:

Dear Danny Wood,

I've been seeing this girl and she doesn't really know this yet but I like her, I mean I really like her. I have this problem. When I start to like a girl I get really attached really easily. I want to phone her all the time. I'm never sure if I should ring her and risk her feeling crowded or make distance, risking her thinking I'm not interested.

I send a text and if she doesn't reply I start to think she doesn't want to be with me. I think, foolishly, that she's rejecting me. I seem to have the ability to make a tank out of a toy car. I know this dilemma is seriously damaging my game. I just don't know how to step back. I want to chat with her and tell her I like her but I know she'll have no room to move towards me. I'm aware that constant connection will only result in pushing women further away.

I suppose there's a line you cross where you can have an unhealthy interest in someone. I finally wake up like someone's splashing ice cold water over my face. I realise that I can have distance and that I respect myself enough to take a few steps back. I realise that no one woman is my only hope of sex and relationships, that there are millions of single attractive women out there. You know what Danny? Don't bother replying to this as I think I'm figuring it out. I'll stop being clingy, cutting off that part of my behaviour like a diseased arm. Thanks for listening.

Yours faithfully.
Thomas Wilks AKA 'Clingy'

A Poet's Flowing

I choose a different style, smile.
It's positivity without trying.
No prying, no crying, being real is how I feel.

Fresh eyes that wake on flat pillows. Bellows of last night's drama. I'm calmer. Is this karma? I'm a charmer, or so the ladies think. I blink twice as I choose to listen to good advice. One dog is louder than a thousand mice. My brain itches with ideas like head lice. I'll give you a slice of how I'm feeling, revealing parts of my psyche like you're watching as an apple I start peeling.

Is this constructive, seductive conflict, or is it just destructive? I own the collective. I write with style that sprouted from my own garden. I give pardon to people being rude. See I understand that street people want to feel equal but status frustration has the nation in momentary elation. I'm patient but I can lose it. Shit, I'm not worrying.

I'm digging, burying my past woes. All I need is some smart looking clothes and some nice prose that speak about my foes. But I don't have any enemies. Even people that hate me get compassion lately. I'll state thee but in peace you see. I'm not looking back. Only it's white and black, easy to read. I feed off my inner greed, I call them dreams but dreams can be fiends so I read and learn.

It's your turn to be the man you've always wanted to be. I'm calmer, like a grass chewing llama. I'd harm her, only she thinks I'm wise like Bodhidarhma. I scar but peeling the scabs from my broken heart makes it start. My troubles part ways and out of the hazy daze walks me, slightly crazed. I'm amazed. Life is good.

I aim to be understood. A writer, a poet, a man with red blood. My urge surges through my every pore. I want more but ten fold and countless scores ago I was a male whore. Now I'm not ashamed. Mr hard to get is my name. In my head it feels like fame, this waiting, patient, status game. Poetry is flowing free. How is the idealism that you live by okay?

How can I go on my way? Finding new words I travel across the page. No need to open the dictionary or the thesaurus. I'm glorious but hopes and dreams are like a team that build hope in my imagination. Procrastination was always a trouble in the past. Can it last? Can I survive another blast to my heart? Where is she? How did things go wrong? Here we go again, how about a different song?

How about singing on a rooftop, stopping to smell the flowers growing out of the drainpipe? These flower push up through dirty water. Who would have thought that I might one day have a son or daughter? Who knows if I'll have kids? Only thing I know is how to live. My relentless poet’s heart starts and you can tell I'm smart. But does smart equal the right decisions?

Can I make an incision into your imagination or are these waves of disconnect fun to play like a Playstation? I lose sight of my game. It’s never the same. Do I want to complete this thing or have fun playing? Is it more about shooting the pistol or aiming? My soul wanders through a plateaux of lost faces. Gazes meet and I'm scared to seem sweet. So I straighten my face, lacing up my shoes. If you hit me I'll bruise so why do I feel invincible?

I've seen terrible sights, heard screams through the nights. It wasn’t delight that I felt when I left that place. It was a race to see who could get to twenty years old. I was told I'd never get better. I'd wear this burden like an old Christmas sweater. I ate her then left. This became a common trend.

At one point I could roll a joint but now I just don't see the point. It's like a finger pointing to a shooting star. Heed my words 'cause here they are. You see I've done rhyming. I've done it since I was a kid. And all those rap songs I make are merely poetry in a different form. What’s the norm? What's normal? Is it being polite and formal, or is it being real to call out what the hell is happening to you all?

I fall like a star that's lost its flame. Sense is hard to find in the midst of excitement. I might as well fight my way through a forest to find unicorn tears. People will judge me next time on how I acted last. I see their never changing faces. Recurring themes. I scream I'm not the same as yesterday. Do they listen? No, they're smart too. They know how I can be, how elated I can seem, how dilated my pupils get as a drop of sweat rolls down my forehead.

I shout loud but shroud myself in this fantasy. I'm openly not homophobic. I'm the component of myself that works best. If only I could speak as I write. I'd give up all this awful fight to just seem right then I'd take flight and fly like a bird through the night.

Inspiration comes and goes and I see all you stupid foes but this is prose so now I close and wipe that teardrop from my nose. It's all complicated you see. You and me. Me and them. Her and him.

Game Over

'I tell you my problem. I get attached too easily. I start to want to speak to him and when he doesn't reply to my messages I freak out. I get pissed off 'cause he doesn't reply to my texts. I start to think he doesn't really like me.' Jenny stopped talking and Phil played an imaginary violin with a sincere expression on his face. She slapped him hard on the shoulder.
'You dick, I'm being serious here.'
'Oh come on Jenny' Phil called about, extending his arms for warmth. Jenny sulked, letting her bottom lip drop.

'Come on, look, I'm sorry I was only taking the piss, I want to hear all about these problems, look, we're friends aren't we?' She glanced at him. She had always wanted more from him but he had a long term relationship. Sometimes they'd slap fight or throw things at each other and all she wanted to do was kiss him. She knew she couldn't try, that she could never break up a happy home so to speak.

'Please. Continue.' Phil bowed like he was finishing an opera song. Jenny took a deep breath and sat up on the settee. The television flashed white light onto her face as she spoke.
'Well you know I can confide in you, I mean what do you guys think when a girl just wants you all the time?'
'Honestly?' His eyebrows rose.
'Honestly Phil, what's your impression?'

Phil looked around the ceiling licking his lips before smiling and meeting Jenny's eyes.
'I'd really fucking appreciate it.' Her eyebrows rose. 'No I mean it, I really fucking would relish the attention, I mean, a chick chasing me, wanting me, it'd be all my dreams come true and more.'
'Okay Phil, what if I wanted you, let's say I wanted you so bad, I called you every night, hell I called you twice a day too, would you be sick of me by week four or what? Just for example purposes.'

He smiled and his eyes glinted. Jenny stared at the reflection of the television against his pupils and brown eyes.
'You know what Jenny? I think you're cool, I've always valued your friendship.' Her shoulders slumped. That's all we'll ever be. 'But you're quite hot,' he grinned, 'you know this so yeah, I'd be totally cool with it and anyone who isn’t. Well. Don't waste your time on people who aren’t interested, life's too short, you know?'

She didn't know weather it was the rose wine they were drinking or the words he was saying, maybe it was the box of chocolates on the coffee table. All Jenny knew that she was leaning in, stopping Phil's words from leaving his mouth with her lips. He kissed her back, pressing his lips close. He stopped and opened his eyes like he was squinting from the sun.
'Jenny,' she interrupted him.
'I know, I know Phil, I'm so sorry, oh my god this is weird, its gunner get weird, it's'
'Okay' Phil finished the sentence. Jenny went from confused to startled.
'Okay?'
'Jenny I've always liked you, I just never could say it. I didn't want to risk losing you as a friend.'

She kissed him hard and wrapped her arms around him. What about Lyla? What about Lyla Brand and their engagement? Nothing seemed to matter for the minute long act of passion. Nothing seemed relevant, like in this passionate moment all forms of guilt and responsibility were diminished from existence. She wanted him, and the fact that he said he wanted her, had always wanted her, made things acceptable.

When their lips parted he was smiling. She ran her fingers over his facial stubble and watched his white teeth as he grinned. She'd always wanted to get lost in his face but the friendship zone had always stopped her. Why couldn't this have happened sooner? Why couldn’t this have been possible a year ago when they met? She didn't know how tonight would end up. She knew she'd make love to him right now, that his patience and caring nature had spurred her fire of passion a long time ago.


She'd held a flame for Phil Nightly ever since they first met in that bar. The fact that Phil was hitting on her mate made him look pathetic for a moment. That's how you looked at guys hitting on your mates initially. She'd pushed him off like an old sweater. He had laughed and told her that he liked fiery women. He took a seat so confidently. She'd loved how he laughed at his own jokes and made eyes to both her and her friend Lyla all night. He must have been good because Lyla had gone from winter princess to fiery temptress.

I fancied him but he already wanted Lyla. He'd looked at her body very respectfully and winked at her. I got the last moment of a glimpse, the butt end of a joke. When they'd been dating a week I had to officially let go of my fancy for Phil. He was Lyla's man now. They seemed so good together too. She'd taken him to meet her parents and he'd aced it like a true star. He made them laugh and what's more, he was charming to boot.


Phil ran his fingers down Jenny's naked back and she shook with pleasure. He'd been a gentleman in the true sense of the word. He told her he didn't want to have sex and that building the intimacy would make the experience far more intense. He was the first guy who'd ever said that. She didn't mention to him that she was more than willing to become one right now. It didn’t seem relevant, plus, she didn't want to spoil the fantasy the were encased in.

He got dressed and she stared at his ass like she wanted to bite it. He'd told her he had to go. That's when she flipped out.
'What do you mean go? Go where? Go back and sleep with Lyla you mean? That’s why you don't wanner have sex isn't it? Too busy shagging her.' His face had gone from angry to disappointed in three seconds.

'Jenny you have to believe me when I tell you, I've always liked you. The very fact that I want to share this with you demotes the very possibility that I'm going to Lyla. Look, Lyla thinks we're ice cream and grapes right? She wants everything to happen like it’s a fairy tale. She's living a dream but that's all it is, a dream. I've been wanting to end things with her for a while but you know, it's comfortable.'

Jenny ran her fingers through her hair and breathed uneasily.
'So you're saying what? You want me instead of Lyla? You want to dump Lyla, my best friend and be with me?' Her arms folded over her breasts as she pulled the white bed sheets over her. He looked at her in fixed concentration.
'Yes, Jenny, that’s what I want, you're what I want.' She felt like jumping up and leaping on him like a wild hyena but she kept her cool. She told him that if he broke things off with Lyla it meant the end of their relationship, the end of a best friendship.

She wanted him to be telling the truth. She wanted him to be into wanting her. She had dreamed about this. She'd touched her body by candlelight thinking of how they'd look together. If she lost weight or bought a new dress or put new makeup on, she'd always picture, always worry about how she looked next to him. Lyla was totally cool with Phil and Jenny having a friendship. She was so cool jenny felt uncomfortable by it.

Phil had left the house and Jenny blew her brown hair from her forehead. She was boiling. I don't know if it's the radiator or my arousal for him. She knew she had to get a shower. She tip toed into the bathroom and saw Phil's memo book next to the wash basin. He must have left it here while he washed his hands.

She opened the memo, looking round her empty room in the motions of checking that no one was looking. She peeled back the first page then closed the little black book like she thought a dragon might fly out of it. She reached to the bedside cabinet and took the phone off the hook. Now she was truly alone. Let's see what secrets you harbour Mr Phil Nightly.

Her face one of horrific shock, she riled through the pages of numbers and quotes. It was a date book. It had Lyla in the 'prospects' section. She stopped flicking through the pages as her own name jumped out from the lists. There I am, under the title 'hopefuls.' The book was full of names and numbers. Next to some names were quotes like 'great lay' or 'needs to chill out.' There was even a rating system, five stars for the best and one star for the worst. Jenny had two stars next to her name.

She had already started plotting her revenge when her mobile rang. She'd ruled out chopping his dick off with some rusty scissors, too messy. She'd found the perfect plan, one that would bring him more pain that anything else he'd ever come across. She answered the mobile phone.
'Hello.' His voice came over worried and preoccupied.
'Jenny, its Phil.'
'Oh Hi baby' she said, slowly and seductively. The smile had left her face. Now she was a woman wanting retribution.

'Did I leave anything at your house?'
'No baby, like what? You left a red hot woman waiting for you, wanner come and see her naked?' There was a pause where she though he might have hung up.
'I'm coming over.' My thoughts are he's checking his pockets looking for his date diary to put a quote next to my name. He knows his game is up if I read this. Unlucky Philip.


The car pulled up outside and he got out. He walked up the driveway and knocked loudly on the door. Jenny unlocked and opened the door wearing nothing but a pink dressing gown. 'Come in sexy pants.' He smiled but this smile wasn't his usual sex on legs grin. This smile was that of a boy's when in trouble. 'What have you lost hunny?' Her voice was nice, too nice she thought. I'd better tone it down.

'I left my phone, Jenny. I think it might be upstairs, I'll look.' He said as he walked up the staircase hurriedly. His face was pale white, like a person who'd just witnessed a high speed car crash. Everything must be going through his head right now. Where's the book? Whose house did I leave the it at? Jenny laughed with satisfaction as he made an excuse about a mate in trouble and that he had to leave. Yes mate. I know who's in trouble now, don't I?

Jenny kissed him playfully, smiling and giggling at him as she shut the door. His face showed the signs of fear setting in. He half jogged to his car and he span the tires opon leaving. He was wired like a coffee addict in Starbucks. Jenny got to work.

She sat by the phone and started to dial the first number.
'Angela.' She paused and flicked through the first ten pages. 'You total bastard Phil, they're in alphabetical order.' The ringing tone went on for eight repetitions before the soft female voice said
'Hey, I can't come to the phone right now, but if you leave your name and number I'll make sure to call yer.' She sounded like a tramp, a fucking bimbo. Jenny stopped herself making assumptions. Don’t worry ladies, Mr Hot Stuff will be showing his true colours soon.

'Ah, hello. Bridget? I'm just leaving a message on behalf of a Mr Phil Nightly. Apparently you are one on a list of many women he's sleeping with, if you don't believe me take a look at these pictures I'm scanning to my blog, the address is...' And that's how it worked out. Every woman in the book got a phone call. It took Jenny hours but she relished in it.

By the time Zandra, Zara and Zoe were notified she felt like the cat that’d got the cream and the ball of wool. She scanned every page of the memo book into her PC and uploaded them to her blogger account. I'm sure all modern women have internet access. Watch out Phil, your biggest project has yet has come into full bloom. Her mobile phone lit up. It was Phil. She answered the phone and listened as a panicked Phil pleaded with her not to tell anyone else. He'd just got an abusive phone call from one of his women. Little did he know he'd get many more before the week was out.

Dancing To Feel Free

'Jeck, good news' Mrs Briggs said, pouring scrambled eggs straight from the pan to the white porcelain plate with a wooden spoon. Jeck looked up a second after tucking into the yellow eggs with a fork.
'What is it Mam?'
'I've got you a job; remember how Uncle Derrick works in computing? Well he says he'll train you, you, just out of school, it'll be a great start to your working life.' Jeck dropped the metal spoon on the white porcelain plate. It clanged then stopped moving.

'I can't believe you Mam.' Mrs Briggs slipped the pan and the wooden spoon onto the black marble kitchen work surface. She looked into Jeck's blue eyes. Jeck shook his head.
'Jeck this is a great opportunity to make something of your life, I know you don't want to work in computing, I know you want to be a dancer but you have to think about things realistically, you have to look at your life and think about what you can achieve.

Jeck pushed the plate of scrambled eggs forwards and leaned back. He felt like standing up and slapping her round the face, pulling her across the room by her long blonde hair.
'Oh so that's it is it?' Mrs Briggs turned from friend to concerned mother. 'That's how you're telling me, you expect me to admit I'm not going to make it as a dancer, you want me to hold my hands up,' he did so as he spoke, showing his palms. 'You want me to say hey, I never was going to make it, yeah Mam, let's get realistic, let's go and work a fifty hour week staring at windows fuckin' vista.'

She'd seldom heard him swear and her reaction was one of shock.
'Jeck I'm only trying to help you.'
'Bullshit Ma, you're trying to control my life, you're so afraid that with my own decisions I'll fuck things up. What is it then? You don't want me to make the same mistakes as you? Working at McDonalds till I'm forty, now what? You're all high and mighty 'cause you work in marketing, is that it?' She turned to the sink and ran the hot water over the breakfast dishes.

'Jeck I just want what's best for you, I've always wanted you to succeed but come on, stop dreaming lad.' Jeck's reddening face frowned and glared.
'I don't believe you, tell Uncle Sam he can stick computing, I'm gunner be a dancer, that’s all there is to it.' He stood up, sliding the light wooden chair backwards to the white kitchen cupboards. He glanced back momentarily. 'You know your problem? You've worked nine to five all your life and you've never really been happy, so now you want me to sink on the same ship. You know what? Stuff your ideas. I'll be out of your hair soon anyway when I can get enough money to move out.'

Mrs Briggs was the picture of calm, her facial Expression more compassionate than angry.
'Jeck, when will you learn? You'll see what's really good for you when you're older. I was your age once you know.' Her face tilted to the side and she smiled. He snarled,
'Huh' he shrugged, staring at her hard before turning and walking out of the kitchen.
'Jeck, don't be like this, what about your eggs?'
'I hate eggs Ma' Jeck called back. He slipped his trainers on, the white rubber of the Reebok classics scuffed and slightly muddy. He slammed the front door just hard enough to rattle the key rack. Mrs Briggs sighed and stared out of the kitchen window before pouring fairy washing up liquid into the sink.


As soon as the hip-hop music started playing Jeck's Mam disappeared from his mind. His worries disappeared. Sofia sat with the stereo on her lap smiling at Jeck, her boyfriend. Jeck grinned and started to move his body slowly like a robot. He quickened his body, spinning on his head on the laminated flooring. He posed as he stood back up. He clapped then jumped into the splits. He couldn't stop moving and didn't want to try.

He stared into the mirror as he span around on his back then back up onto his feet. He grabbed his blue cap and threw it towards Sofia. She cheered him on, screaming
'Come on Jeck.' He finished by doing a back flip and as the last part of the song played he regained a normal standing position. He panted, his chest rising and falling. Sweat covered his face and he was grinning.

'Wow Jeck, in all the seven months we've been going out you've never danced with an energy like this.' Jeck's face turned to one of seriousness as he took a seat next to Sofia.
'Yeah thanks Sofia, you're a really great support. I wish my Mam could see what I believe in.' Sofia combed her curly locks of strawberry blonde hair behind her ears with her fingers, her diamond earrings shining in the bright overhead lights.
'Have you shown her your dancing Jeck?' Jeck put his palms together and pinched them between his legs to stop himself fidgeting.
'Nah, every time I mention dancing she just tells me to have fun. It's like this new job takes up most of her life. In the two years I've been dancing she hasn't seen me perform, not even once.'

Sofia smiled and kissed Jeck on the cheek.
'You need to show her Jeck.' He nodded. Of course I need to tell her. If she thinks I'm working in front of a square screen all day she's got another thing coming. Jeck grabbed the handle of the black stereo.
'Come on Sofia, let's grab a soft drink.' Sofia grabbed his arm and they walked out of the studio.

The man sat scratching his bald head befroe noticing Jeck and Sofia walking out of the gym.
'See you Jeck' he said. Jeck was like
'See you later Tony' and they walked out. The man dragged the mouse pointer over the pages of Ebay and glanced around the empty gym.

Do You Like Me?

Do you really like me?
What about the flaws in my personality?
What about my deep seeded insecurity?
Or the fact that I lose sight of positivity?

What is it that looking in my face you see?
Am I really someone who you'd want to be?
Do you really want to stand brandishing the key?
Open up the door and find the real me?

Do you really like me?
I suppose only time will tell so we'll see.

Jumping Serenity

I'm back in training. I went out to do some movement training. It's been about two or three weeks since I last did parkour. I made the decision to train on my own. I started off slowly and focused on enjoying my movements.

I really enjoyed getting back into it. I feel like I've not lost any fitness since I last trained. I've been working hard. I'm doing conditioning in the gym and doing a lot of cardiovascular exersise.

I've got a lot on around christmas but I'm not going to lose sight of what's important. I've got to keep on pushing the limits. I'll make time for parkour training. I'll train alone. I don't care.

I'll be focused and no-one's going to dictate what I can train. Parkour makes me happy but sometimes others cloud that enjoyment and hold me back. I'll have fun with my old nike darts and the tough skin on my palms.

Now I know there are many things in my life. I can' afford to let one component slip. I've got writing, parkour, lio0n dancing, kung fu. I need to maintain all these things. This is what makes me the person I am today.

I'm Arrogant

I don't want to say this.
But I am.

I don't want to admit this.
But it's true.

A relentless feeling of frustration fills my soul.
I try to see the difference.
Posturing or true self-respect.

Dating, friendships.
I've got issues.
I grasp for the rope blindfolded, leading me towards their conclusion.

Bricks

I'm sick of writing shit that doesn't feel like it means anything to me.
I'm sick of watching porn.
I'm sick of empty gestures.
I'm sick of thinking I'm progressing only to feel ten steps back.

It's time for action.
It's time to stop talking about action.
It's time to follow those lists.
It's time to get up off my arse.

You've heard this before.
You've grown accustomed to the talk of change.
You've tutted.
You've been closed.

I'm not playing around any more.
I'm not the type of person who wants the same things as I did.
I'm not listening to myself enough.
I'm not taking enough chances.

It all seems fucked, somehow I know the bricks will seem lighter soon.

Fundamentally Crude

Her droopy bottom lip screamed out 'I'm dopey' but I knew she wasn't stupid. It was the medication she was on. We'd walk aimlessly kicking yellow autumn leaves, dragging our feet and looking downwards. It felt like a love story but we could never make it work. Maybe that's why we were so close.

When she visited me in my room I was shocked. She was wearing that pink dressing gown of hers. My imagination danced with ideas of her silky soft white skin, her pink nipples. I wanted her to hold me tight like it meant something.

'I can't sleep' she said in that whiney way that made me realise she wanted company. I told her to come and lay with me. She looked out of the massive windows and so did I. We could see the yellow lights of the city centre, somewhere outside this hospital ward. I felt her warmth.

I knew I could make a first move. I knew she might knock me back but instinct told me it wasn't likely. I smelled her hair like I've done with every girl I've ever been smitten with. I kissed the soft skin of her neck and she turned on like a light. She slowly turned round.

Now we were nose against nose, lip on lip. I undid the pink belt of her dressing gown. I gasped in delight, her naked body purring to me, a new toy. I ran my fingers round her hips. She grabbed my neck and the little hairs stood erect. My breath found deeper rhythms. Suddenly I was on top of her.

Like any seventeen year old with one sexual experience behind him I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing. Putting it in seemed awkward enough. I knew this was going to be an uncomfortable experience, hope made me yearn for something more.

There I was, there we were, entwined as one, the crude knocking of the metal head board on the white washed wall. Now it seemed like intimacy had left us. It seemed like we were enacting a rough dance that neither of us had bothered to learn.

I did my thing and as I lay next to her, both of us breathing and staring upwards. I felt awkward. Something inside me told me this could never last. This was certainly one to brag about. But I just didn't feel it, you know? I didn’t feel the sexual energy. Was sex always going to be like this?

We were awkward the next time we met, fully clothed in the smoke room. We shuffled our feet and fell over our words. No one mentioned it aloud. We both held onto that vain hope, that wish that maybe this could work. It couldn’t. After I left that place she rang me. I felt so bad about myself at the time I turned her down. Another lost love to add to the list.

Loser Room

She called it his 'loser room.' He hated her for that. In fact he pretty much hated everything she'd become since she moved in. Tony wouldn't say this, of course. Tony was too busy pretending to be cool with everything. He'd sit in that room and play his Playstation while she sat downstairs in her fluffy purple carpet slippers watching Coronation Street.

She'd invite her friends round. It's my house, my fucking house. Tony bashed the buttons in frustration as Dhalsim flew through the air from a kick to the head. I invite her to live with me and this is how things turn out?

Shell sat watching Coro' with her friend, laughing away.
'Where's Tony Shell?'
'Oh he's upstairs in the loser room,' she said it in a simpletons voice. Marian chuckled and sipped her rose wine. Shell pleaded with Marian to share her Maltesers and Marian passed the whole box over.
'There you go you fat pig.' Shell laughed, her cheeks full of Maltesers like a sweet toothed gerbil.

Tony threw the black Playstation three pad down on the carpeted floor and gazed around what had become his refuge in dissatisfaction. I want her out. I want to leave the fucking toilet seat up. I want to shave and leave my hairs in the sink. I want to change my sheets once a week and wear my collar up. Oh this is so fucking not how I saw things being.

The truth was the sex was nightly if not twice nightly. It dangled in front of his greedy eyes like a magnificent carrot. The only problem was he was so much of an ass he'd take it in place of apologies. It seemed when he had something to say Shell would get sexual.

'Shell what the hell are you doing wearing my gym trousers?' Shell would kitten up to him playfully and hug his chest. It got worse.
'Shell where's my whiskey from the cabinet?'
'Oh you don't need that' she said like she was doing him a favour. 'I gave it to my dad; you know how much he loves a drink.' He'd steamed at the nostrils and his head got hot like his brain was a radiator. He was about to kick off when Shell said
'Oh look at you' in a 'cooing to the new born' voice. 'Aren't you show cute!'

It was infectious. He'd get pissed off and she'd offer intimacy as an apology. It was an unspoken rule. Do something bad and you kiss me. Do something down right stupid and you offer me sex. '
'I hate this shit' Tony shouted at the telly. He picked up his can of Stella and gulped it down. None of my guy friends come round anymore, Shell hates them. 'Bitch.'

'You losing on your game again Tony?' Her voice crept up Tony's spine like a fear of falling. He glanced at her face through the slightly ajar study door. His face soon changed.
'Yeah Hun, trying to complete street fighter two with Dhalsim, stretchy bastard, you know.' She looked at him and smiled like you would to a twelve year old who'd just told you he loved potatoes.
'Well don't be up too late, you've got work tomorrow and then we're going to my Mum and Dad's for tea.' She kissed the air and closed the door.

Tony fired his fingers out like he was flicking water off them and pulled a menacing face. Oh my god. His Zen like calm set in. He'd learned to not channel the anger but let it fizzle out like a broken fuse. He picked up the pad and started tapping away, speaking to the characters on screen.
'Yes Tony, do this Tony, Whatever Tony.' Tony this, Tony that. Would he ever change? There was no telling. It looked like Shell was there to stay and all Tony could do to vent his frustration was escape to his loser room to play video games.

Pittance

The mist clears.
So why the fuck can't I see through this tattered veil?
Wake and shake.
Spend your day fighting the tide.
Fuck what they say.
I'll be reborn, waking up to find my heart reinforced with steel girders.
Don't stick to that assumption,
I'll prove you and the rest wrong soon.

WasabiSabi

Last night started off with the smartest clothes I own. It started off me bouncing on the spot at the bus stop. The forty seven pulled in and I showed my pass and took my seat.

I jump off the bus and I can't believe how nimble I feel. I underestimate the power of training hard sometimes. I forget that all this exersise is doing me good. The initial time period after you train you feel sluggish. The next day you're dancing around like Muhammed Ali.

I half-jog towards London Road. I call Rich and he explains where his flat is. After much deliberating I arrive at Rich's pad. He passes me a glass of Guinness and I sit on the settee and kick back. We talk about this and that, namely strippers and kung fu.

Rich's three close friends arrive. Any mate of Rich is a mate of mine. I'm just focusing on being myself and not compromising. I notice some people feel nervous when they first meet me but after a few minutes they relax. I guess it's not just me. people are just naturally nervous of new people. I tend to be cool with anyone who's cool with me so I get on with a lot of people.


We walk into the restaurant. It's a Japanese place on London Road called WasabiSabi. I feel like I'm getting the authentic experience here. I try to order a cup of cha, only realising after I'm attempting to order from the glossary. We take a seat and root through the menu. I order king prawns for starters then duck and king prawns for my main course.

I snap apart the wooden chopsticks. We're all sharing our food. I get a little bit nervous now. It's not like me to feel nervous at all but I suddenly come to the realisation that I really respect everyone around our table. There's that lingering fear that they won't like me.

You know me better than that. I shrug and think forget it. I'll be myself and people have to respect me. If they don't respect me they'll reject me. Hey, another amount of time I don't have to waste. That's just a little peak into my philosophy on friendships.

We drink our beers and share out our food. I'm really enjoying the meal. I've never eaten Japanese cuisine before and I really like it. The bill comes to an astounding one hundred and thirty pounds. I'm glad I didn't have anything too expensive.


We get into the taxi and I turn down the offer to go on to Spearmint Rhino. I'm honest and tell them cash is short. I really want to go home and get my head sorted. I feel good but not quite whole. It'll take some quality alone time, plus some chi gung and writing to make me feel on top of my mental game.


So now I breathe easy. It's three in the morning. I've been writing for a couple of hours. I feel fresh. Soon I'll write in my novel and do some exercises. I will feel 90% after all this. I can't stand for anything less these days.

Differentiate Aggression from Channelling Energy

It's loud on the radio. It's a boy's choir, angelic high pitched voice and all.
'He's a knock of Nigel and he buys knocked off DVDs.' I close my eyes as I lean against the exersise machine.

I picture myself grabbing the hi-fi system, running to the window with it and throwing it out of the window with all my force. I'll give you knock off Nigel.

I stand out in the gym. Everyone's making use of the equipment. All I need for my conditioning is a space on the floor.

I recognise that what I'm doing looks odd. That's why I don't take offence when people stare at me like they expect me to feel self conscious.

I stare down at my red knuckles and wrists. Wrist and knuckle press ups aren't a pleasure on this thin carpet.

I'm Furious

I'm spitting fire, angered, fuming. I pull the rowing bar back and watch the numbers rolling forwards like the dial on Doc Brown's Delorean.

I'm walking to the drinks machine to grab a drink and I drop my writing pad by accident. A matrix style slowness sets in. I grab it before it hits the floor. And they laughed at me when I started doing eye exercises.

The music plays on the gym's hi-fi and I feel like dancing. I think back to last night at the oriental society's Christmas party.


After more than several call ups to the karaoke mic I give in.
'I want to do Black Eyed Peas' I tell Carl. 'The where is the love song.'

Carl hands me a mic and the extent of his taste in music truly shines through.
'Ronan Keating? I can't sing this. I'm a rapper.' Carl's smiling.
'Go ooooon.' I grab the mic.
'Yeah okay' I shrug, 'fuck it.'

I find my voice from deep inside me and amazingly enough I sound great. I try and project my voice. Oh my god. It's working.

I think about her smile and the way she looks down her nose when she laughs. I stick with the image of her smile and that exited look on her face as I sing.

I imagine I'm singing to her. If you're going to sing a song well you have to feel it.
'You say it best, when you say nothing at all.' I'm so tempted to say when you're licking my balls but I don't think anyone in the room is quite ready for my advanced sense of humour just yet. Fighting the urge to take the piss out of the song I sing it with heart. I glance at the screen, at Ronan's face and I mirror his expression.

For a moment I'm on a high plateaux singing in front of hundreds of amazed faces. I snap out of my fantasy when Danny asks me if I'm enjoying my song. I tell him I'm loving it, totally forgetting I'm meant to be singing it.

'You know when you hear someone on the karaoke, and they sound good, and you're like who's that?' I laugh and there's a big grin setting into my expression.
'Thanks man, I'm more of a rapper but I'd really like to extend my vocal range and sing my own choruses' I tell Ken. He nods and says
'Yeah.'

Danny stands