Stare Down The Barrel

There's something about owning a gun that makes people feel safe.
They picture themselves shooting like a Quentin Tarantino film.
They watch movies like Scarface and idealise the lifestyle.
Do they understand the consequences or do they just not care?
There they are,
Staring at you.
The trigger
pulls and bang.
'Now who's
the man?'
You're scared
and vulnerable.
It's kill or
be killed.

I Can't Believe It's Happening

Wow,
feel it,
amazing.
I never thought
significant actions would be taken.
Never have I felt such a great relief.
It's like I'm free.
Nothing's bad,
nothing.
Fuck!
Look,
you see,
understand,
it seems simple.
This feeling of elation never dies.

I'm Here Man

Don't cry kid. Life can be hard sometimes. You look at life and wonder what purpose you hold in it. You have a right to be happy and not worry about things. I know it's hard. I know you want to give up and throw everything away. I understand what it's like to deal with difficult emotions. Please don't feel sad. Don't cry.

If you sleep and believe that things can get better then when you wake you'll look at life differently. There's pressure in life and pressure can climb on top of you and hit you. Be strong mate. Don't let yourself get beaten by life. When everything is hard or seems impossible don't give up. Please.

You're loved by many but acknowledged by few. Its funny how some people wait till it's too late to tell you how great they think you are. There are nasty people in the world. The world should be a better place. I agree with you.

Know that you can't change everything. You can try hard and it's a noble goal to want to make a difference. I guess sometimes it helps to be a little self absorbed, a little selfish. If you can learn to switch off I'm sure you'll find things easier.

Fuck Your Boys

I feel like doing something crazy, something no-one expects. Maybe I'll walk up to that bald prick and jam my fist in his face. These F14 boys are all up in my area. My boys are sitting around chatting birds up. His boys are outside smoking weed. He's their ring leader, he's the hardest. I'll show his boys who the real don is.

I take a puff from my Benson and let the smoke cloud my face as I exhale. I stare at him lining his shot up. Jimmy Gunner is going to get it tonight and everyone's going to see. I sip my Stella Artois and burp silently. The hip hop zones out till I'm watching him silently, lining up his cue to hit the white ball.

How dare he stumble into these parts? This is F2 and he's up here thinking he's big. He thinks he's well hard. look at the way he's standing with the cue, like he owns the place. I sip more of my pint, gulping down the cold bubbles till they freeze my stomach. No-one's going to make me feel intimidated in my pub. I run this end.

He glances up as he's staring down the cue and I swear he recognises me. He glances back to the table. Keep playing Gunner. Ryan Norfolk's coming right at you. I stare at my empty glass as I swallow the last three mouthfuls of my Stella. I drop my fag on the floor and stand on it with my Reebock Classics.

I walk slowly, watching Jimmy like a tiger stalking it's prey. He's tapping someone on the back, asking them to move so he can take his shot. Wait a minute. That's one of our boys. It's Spruce. Spruce is looking at Jimmy like he's angry and he's opening his arms in a 'you what?' Gesture.

Jimmy stands taller and mouths
'You what?' Now the two men are staring into each others eyes and if this was a date they'd be at kissing distance now. This isn't a date and I sense the turning of backs from the tables to my right. Jimmy's mate's walking outside and I know it's coming.

The F12 boys flood in like there's a show to see. My boys are rising in their seats. Jimmy takes centre stage. This is his time to look good, or at least he thinks it is. Spruce throws the first punch and the two crowds of boys swarm together like bees in a nest. I run and jump into the crowd, throwing my fists at Jimmy's head. The bouncers are running in now. They'll get it too.

You Ask Me About Being Robust

Doing,
being completely.
Grinning until fears languish.
Bravery complements racing swiftly,
withstanding nature,
understanding self deeply.
Moving limbs with aching feet throbbing
you change worries passing,
completely reversing thoughts
-again-
thoughts reversing completely.
Passing worries change you,
throbbing feet aching with limbs moving.
Deeply self understanding,
nature withstanding,
swiftly racing compliments bravery.
Languish fears until grinning,
completely being,
doing.

I Believe In It

Does being
beautiful intimidate the manliest
soul
or do
whimsical fancies
lead to
things other than the release of carnal pleasure?
Do I ask too many
questions about
the things
that inspire my thoughts
and my life in it's
entirety?
Stop making me
do that thing
where I have to fathom my goals.
I will allow the consequences of
my actions
to weigh upon
my mind
only
when I feel
it'll do me good.
It's as simple
as that.
Don't criticise
what you don't understand
for I will tell you that
you're wrong.

It's Like Pea Soup Fog

'I'm dreaming aren't I?' He blinks and his pupils grow and shrink in the centre of the vibrant hazel colour. He licks his lips. The old man's nodding, his wispy grey eye brows rising slightly. 'I wonder if it's possible for people to connect to their dreams. Maybe there's this intuitive skill we all share to recreate people in our imagination, or maybe if you know someone well enough you can close your eyes and speak to them any time you like.' The old man smiles, the laughter lines on his kind face creasing as his cheeks redden slightly.

'What's death like Granddad?' He says, staring around at the glowing white walls of cloud that surround him and the old man.
'Death isn't something to fear.' He nods and looks down, thinking what will death be like for me?
'Granddad?'
'Yes?'
'I have one regret, one thing I wish we could have done.' He pauses to wet his dry lips with the tip of his tongue. 'I wish we could have hugged.'

He feels himself welling up with sadness.
'Don't be sad Daniel. Before I developed alzheimers I was terrified. It was as though I was walking into a dark room. The more I forgot and the more confused I became the more death seemed less of a worry. I treated you like you were my own. You had your bad streaks but that's normal.'

'I'm sorry I never told you I loved you Granddad.' He scrunches up his nose and the warm wet feeling in his eyes makes them blink. 'The thing is, I respected you as a man. I love you Granddad. I feel like I'm not close enough to my family. When Nan passes away I fear I'll feel guilty. I don't see people enough. I'd hate to think the last thing my Nan would feel is animosity from me. It's so important for me to respect her. She deserves that.'

'Don't cry Daniel' the old man pleads, taking a step forwards and placing his hands on the young man's shoulders. The young man leans forwards and rests his crying eyes onto the old man's shoulder. The young man let's it all out. The cloudy white walls glow brightly like a thousand sixty watt light bulbs. The young man inhales and takes two very sharp involuntary breaths. The glowing walls grow and engulf the pair as the old man pats the young man's back gently.

Whisper My Real Name

I think it was the way she threw back her hair when she laughed that made me love her. Maybe it was the way she stared at her reflection in the mirror every morning. I loved tracing patterns on the soft skin of her cheek with the tip of my index finger. I was two millimetres away but I knew she could feel every stroke. She inspired me to be myself. I felt strong knowing I had her affection to look forward to.

She smelled great. I leant close to her auburn hair and took a long silent breath into my nose. I let my lips linger on hers and our eyes would close deeper than they already were. The concept of time disappeared staring into those blue eyes. Each one was a work of art. We never made eye contact. It was deeper than that. Each time our eyes met it felt like we were sharing emotions, transmitting feelings and understanding each other.

She lifted the small yellow flower I picked for her to her button nose. She smiled, smelling the delicate petals, her eyes gently closed. The moment I opened my eyes in the morning I'd see her sleeping face. I watched her breathe and with each breath I became more amazed. I felt content just watching her, knowing she was mine.

I called her Honey Pie, she called me Fluff Ball. Her real name was Anetta. We made love and with our bodies twitching and convulsing with spasms of pleasure I'd whisper
'I love you Anetta' into her ear. She flashed that 'I'm proud' smile at me and kissed me, cupping my cheeks in her feminine hands, fighting back a smile as our lips attuned to one rhythm. I wondered if it'd ever end. I could quite happily stay in that double bed for days. More than anything it was the way she could effortlessly be herself that made me fall madly in love with her.

Metaphor

I scream, sprinting into the cold control room. I smash my bare fist onto the big red panic button. A little girl sits crying in the corner. I fumble inside the pocket of my blue jeans and pull out a chocolate bar. I hand the chocolate bar to the little girl. She stops crying but stares at me sorrowfully.

I'm running across a vast space with lush, green hills. The sun beats down onto my smiling face as dandelion particles fly through the air. I quicken my steps and jump into the air. I rise upwards like a plane, soaring skywards swiftly, a massive grin filling my surprised face as I laugh loudly.

I'm turning on the spot in the clearing, staring around into the dark forest.
'Who's there?' I wipe the sweat from my steaming brow. 'Is anyone there?' A tiger pounces out from the darkness and I brace myself as it's claws shred through my clothes and flesh. Dark red blood drenches the black earth beneath my cold twitching body.

I wake up in a hospital bed, jerking upright like I'm being kicked in the abdomen. I stare at the heart rate monitor beeping rhythmically to my left as I rip a needle that leads to a drip from my arm. I stretch my arms out and screw my face up. As I stand from the hospital bed my body thickens like my muscles are inflating. I become muscular and slimmer around my waist.

I laugh out loud, holding my convulsing belly as it jitters in and out. I slide the pale grey curtains that cover the ceiling high windows to one side. I stare in awe at the lush green fields outside, watching myself taking flight, rising towards the blue sky.

Scar Me, Paint Me

You stare at the bottle of Jack Daniel's Whiskey on the shelf hoping it'll take your mind off the pain. The needle goes in and out of your skin as Derek drags the tattoo machine across your forearm.
'Stop shaking' he says, stabbing you with the machine. You look at him in disbelief.

After an hour of sitting there enduring the pain the feeling changes to one of satisfaction. You start to enjoy the sensation. It's like scratching an itch. Is it normal to enjoy this pain?

The guy next to you says he's okay but his head lulls to one side. He's out for the count. You know passing out isn't an option. You've been in this place many times to have art work imprinted onto your skin.

You stare at the outline of the black dragon. Great. That's the most painful part done with.
'Take some o' this' Derek says, throwing you a tube of haemorrhoids cream.
'Thanks man' you say. You ask him if he likes your design.
'Bit shit int it' he comments. You stare at him open mouthed.
'I like it' you tell him.

You walk outside and the cool spring air fills your nostrils like menthol sweets. The wind blowing onto your arm soothes the dull aching pain. You stare in awe at your new art work. I am a magazine, a work of art you think, smiling.

Maybe I'll Dream

When my eyes close I don't sleep but toss and turn.
I'm wondering what the future holds for me.
When I look into my soul what will I learn?
Will I find true love and live happily?
I will try to live without doubt and concern.
I know that life holds great things that I will see.
There's a certain truth in knowing your fears.
I'm strong now and I will be for many years.

If I sleep will I be aware I'm dreaming?
It's hard to work out if I'll dream at all.
If my fears attack me will I wake screaming?
My heart will beat and my chest will rise and fall.
I hope I'll picture sunlight brightly gleaming,
As beautiful looking women wave and call.
I give up and trust my imagination,
Hoping I'll find happiness and elation.

Chasing Women

There was a young man chasing women
Who'd crack to demands and just give in
'Will you buy me a drink?'
Ladies said with a wink
Him thinking he was in bought seven

Don't Look Back

I think Red disliked me from the moment he set his hazel eyes on me. He was digging a hole in his front garden. I walked up with my boyish smile. I wanted to be friendly. I knew he was a friend of Rachael's and that meant a lot.
'Red, this is Carlton.' He'd smiled. I'd guessed he'd rehearsed this smile a hundred times for occasions like this.

Rachael loved Red and Joe. They were a couple standing the test of time.
'They're such an inspiration' Rachael would say to me when we were alone, a dreamy smile gracing her face. They're only together because they've got kids I'd think to myself. They hate each other. I wanted to say what I thought but I knew she'd resent the words as soon as they left my mouth.

I was a shy guy and I think Red hated me for it. He always felt like I was hiding something. I could sense it. Like most people Red and Joe didn't really want to help me overcome my quiet ways. They tried to help in the way that most people did. Instead of asking me about my life or trying to talk to me on a one to one level they'd say things like
'You're quiet' like that was supposed to make sitting with strangers easier. It didn't.

I felt by joining their social circle I'd entered their little world and I was expected to try and be like them. All my life people confronted me about being shy. The minute people told me that I was shy they expected me to be able to change, like it was a decision I was free to make.

I remember when Joe had asked me what I did for a living.
'I'm a writer' I said. It lingered in the air. She asked me the next question like it was an accusation.
'So you actually make money that way do you?'
'Yes' I replied honestly, trying a smile. I watched her turn her body away from me in her seat. I don't think she knew she was doing it. From that moment any time she looked me in the eye I felt like she was staring at me. What did she want from me?

The funny thing was I could overcome being shy when I was alone with Rachael. I could overcome being shy when I was alone with anyone. It was easy to be close to someone and share intimacy but the moment I was put in front of a group of people things went downhill. I felt inadequate in a group of people I hardly knew. It was just like the old days when I was a teenager and I had to sit with a group of people I'd just been introduced to. I could never truly relax in that type of environment and because of this people always assumed I was weird.

Red and Joe passed a joint around their living room. I felt like I was sixteen again sitting with my peers. I had to hold in all my frustration. What could I say?
'I don't really want to be sitting here right now, that's why I'm quiet. I really am a nice guy.' They would have glared at me like I was insane.

I remember constantly feeling like I wanted to leave. It's just five more minutes I'd tell myself. I'd done what I thought was right by being polite but it was never enough. The harder I tried to fit in the more uneasy I felt and the more they saw me as an outsider.


When Rachael and me split up it hit me hard. I knew I had to pick myself up. I had a choice to either do something constructive or have a breakdown. She'd sat me down one Sunday night and said
'I think we need to go our separate ways Carlton. It's not you, it's me.' I felt like screaming in her face. I felt like shouting
'That's bullshit, why can't you just be honest with me instead of using a line?' I just nodded silently and collected my stuff together in a cardboard box. I couldn't bring myself to cry. I let it all out on the drive home.

I started getting drunk every night in the solitude of my house. One morning I woke up with a headache. I walked into my bathroom and stared at myself in the mirror. Who is this guy? I leaned closer and sneered.
'Who are you man?' I was staring at a wreck. I didn't recognise myself. I decided I had to give up alcohol totally. If I hadn't done that I'd probably be heavily drunk right now sitting on a park bench muttering to passers by.


I really came out of shell in the months that followed. I ventured out of my house a lot more than I usually would. I made new friends. I didn't care about finding a new girlfriend. The last thing on my mind was dating. I just wanted to discover who I really was inside and little by little I finally felt like what I'd been missing all these years was finally coming to me.

I stopped being shy. At times people would tell me I was overconfident. As you can probably imagine this made me feel even better about myself. Not only had I found confidence but I had it in me to be arrogant. Who would have thought? I embraced it. Anything was better than having the disability of shyness.


I was walking to my car, grinning. I walked past the garage Red worked in on a regular basis. I usually took this route from the office where I submitted my work to the car park where I parked for free. In the back of my mind I always hoped I'd never have to see anyone from my past again, Rachael especially.

Red was smoking a cigarette, leaning against the red brick wall next to the shutters of Marker's Motors. He glanced to his right and spotted me but pretended not to. The grin I'd seen him shoot towards me on so many occasions fell from his mouth. He stared directly forwards, looking hard and concentrated. He smoked his cigarette, dropping ash onto his dirty blue overalls.

I wanted to ignore him but I felt like I should say something. People always said I was too nice. He made the dilemma easy for me. He stared forwards casually like I was just another stranger passing by his place of work.

I was glad I didn't have to try and please Red any more. At least now we could both be honest with each other. We were two people who'd never usually choose to be friends. We were just too different.

I walked past trying to look as neutral as I could. As soon as I passed him, the smoke from his cigarette blowing with the wind in my direction, I smiled and made sure I didn't look back. Not only could I finally say goodbye to my past, I could finally allow myself to forget the people in it.

My Inner Workings

I know I'm feeling crazy to venture out in this rain
I'm feeling like I'm insane to be enduring this pain
Your memory doesn't only last, it leaves a stain
There are words reverberating, incarcerating my brain
My thoughts they run away with themselves, they're like a train
I feel like I've got something to lose but more to gain
My past mistakes are hitting me harder than a cane
My inhibitions take over my mind and start to reign
I'm scared of being hurt but I yearn to trust again
Your kisses taste much sweeter than the tickle of champagne
I always think up things to say to you but I refrain
I'm hearing people talking but why do they all complain?
I'll not make any promises that I cannot sustain
When I make positive choices I feel it starts a chain
I know that I can be conceited and I can be vain
Sometimes I'm controversial when I want to entertain
I want to think you like me but it's hard to ascertain
I feel my soul elevating soaring high like a plain
I want the power of a tiger, the balance of a white crane
My feelings grow and swell until they're too big to contain

Rookie

You're brushing your teeth and staring into your blue eyes in the bathroom mirror. You screw the cap off a tub of wet look gel and dip the tips of your fingers into the sticky substance. You style spikes into your bright blond hair and smile.
'What you doin'?' You look to your right.
'All right little bro, how's it goin'?
'All right mate, where are you going?' You pose for a moment, tilting your head to both sides, staring at your bright blond spikes. You wink at your reflection.

'I'm going on a date mate, got this new uni chick lined up, I reckon I'm in with a chance here, Martha set me up.' Trevor looks up at you with a puzzled expression. He asks you why you're going out when you've just been dumped. You're grabbing the blue collar of your long sleeved shirt and tugging it into shape, straightening the crease.

'Well my son, I'm going to let you in on a secret that will change your sad little life forever.' Trevor stares at your face, waiting.
'You're not Dad, don't call me son.' You're chuckling and Trevor pleads 'go on Mark, tell me.'

'Well, you know when you split up with a girl, especially if she dumped you?' Trevor nods attentively. 'Now take this from me, you're fifteen and I'm twenty, who do you think knows more about women?' Trevor bites his lip and scowls at you.
'You do' he admits like what he's saying hurts. You smile in his face.

'Living well is the best revenge Trevor' you say, leaving the sentence floating in the air like a helium balloon. Trevor seems perplexed, glancing around the room like there's a bad smell in the air.
'Living well is the best revenge?'

'Good, now you can repeat things, well done genius. Yes living well is the best revenge. I'll tell you why. You break up from a girl you really like and you stay in. You stop dating and you stop buying nice clothes. Little by little she realises how glad she is to get rid of you and what a loser you are. Now let's look at scenario B shall we? You carry on dating, buy new clothes, better your social life and generally become a better person, what's she gunner think?'

'She's gunner be like he's not a loser, and,' as you speak you make your voice feminine and theatrical. 'Oh no I've lost out on the chance to date a great guy. He's looking so great. He's so successful.' You calm your voice down to a level tone. 'She's regretting dumping you and other people see you as a winner. You end up feeling great about yourself and you've actually got a life you can be proud of, it's a win win situation.'

The look on Trevor's boyish face is one of awe.
'That's pretty amazing bruv, where do you learn this shit?'
'Okay, when I'm gone, take a look in my bedside cabinet. You'll find a book on how to pull girls. Take heed little bruvver for what you are about to learn may shape your sad little life forever.' Trevor laughs out loud, telling you that you watch way too much television. You slap him around the head and walk out of the bathroom.


You grab Liza's chair and pull it out for her, she says
'Thank you Mark.' You sit down and wink at her. You smile. You stare into her brown eyes and hold eye contact for a few intimate moments. She peers at you sideways like she's trying to read the small text on a billboard. A waiter hands Liza a red folder with the word 'menu' written at the bottom in golden joined up letters.

Liza grabs the waiter's arm as he's walking away. You look on like a tiger's escaping.
'Excuse me, sir,' she says it like she's about to say something negative. 'Have you seen this glass?' She waits for a response. The man, who's standing awkwardly in his smart black attire says
'I have.'
'Well if you'd bothered to look you'd see how dirty it is, take it away and bring me a clean one please.' You stare at her. She smiles at you like every thing's cool.

You lean closer towards Liza and take her hands in yours. You look for something on her person to comment about.
'That's an interesting ring, what's the story behind it?' Liza pulls her hands away from yours, takes the shiny gold ring off and places it on the table. You pick it up to take a closer look.
'It's a friendship ring that my mother bought me before she passed away.' You stare at the ring, trying not to feel curious about her mother.

Liza decides that right now is a good time to tell you the whole story. She takes a deep breath and speaks like she can't hold it in any longer. People are shooting sideways glances at your table, pretending not to listen.
'She went into her GP's surgery with blisters. That's all that was wrong with her. Her shoes had been chafing her and she wanted some cream for her blisters.' You're following the story, picturing what she's describing. 'The doctor took one look at her feet and told her to go to hospital for further checks.'

'They conducted tests and asked her to stay in over night. Within the first few days she contracted the MRSA virus and soon after that she was dead.' You don't know what to say. You look into her angry face, speechless. Is this for real?

You're lost for words but manage the old
'I'm really sorry to hear that.' Liza smiles but you sense she feels angry. The waiter carries hot plates of food to your table. He lowers the two plates down onto the clean white table cloth. He glances at you like he needs help. You thank him but Liza's pipes up again with
'Look at this, look at the stains on this napkin, I'd be greatly appreciative if you'd bring me a clean one.'

The waiter glances at you again but you're shrugging, your eyebrows roaming towards your hairline and back down. Liza sounds cross but turns to you like she's really happy. She breathes out with a sigh that suggests she's really relieved about something. You watch her in the same way you'd watch a sleeping wild animal.

'I'm so happy Martha told me about you and got us to meet, how is it you know Martha again?' You shrug and try and persuade yourself that your relationship with Martha has no significant bearings on this interaction. You tell yourself that forgetting Liza's high maintenance behaviour is probably a good idea if you're going to seduce her.

You tell Liza about how your brother Trevor had a girlfriend called Renee and they were together for a year. You explain how Martha is Renee's sister and you'd often see her driving to your house to pick Renee up. You conveniently forget to mention that you dated Martha for a while back in the summer of last year.

Liza's looking at you with affection in her eyes. You're starting to feel nervous. What isn't she telling me? You eat your food slowly. There's tension in the air. You listen to your knife and fork hitting the white dinner plate.
'So you dated Martha?' Liza throws the question at you like a tennis ball. Catch. You shuffle in your seat.

'Yeah' you say, smiling and hoping she'll just leave it alone.
'Did you like her?' You rack your brain for the answer that'll provoke the least responses.
'Martha's a nice girl' you admit, glancing up.
'Well I'm a nice girl too, and if we're gunner make anything of this I expect you and Martha to be friends and nothing more.' She smiles at you. This crazy smile is starting to test my patience.

Your heart compels you to say something. You drop your knife and fork and Liza's eyes widen at your actions.
'Look, I understand you want clean napkins and sparkling glasses, I can see why you want to know about me and Martha but this is our first date, I mean we haven't even kissed yet and you're giving me warnings. I don't apreciate it.'

Liza looks shocked but strangely impressed. You want to jump in again and apologise. You want to fix things. You swallow hard and stare at the lettuce on your plate like it's the most interesting thing you've ever seen. You pick up your knife and fork and make like you're enjoying the lasagne. The words come out of her mouth full of surprise.
'I'm sorry Mark, I didn't realise I was being like that. I'm sorry.' You nod slowly, expecting her to shout at any moment.

'The duck's nice' Liza says, still sounding apologetic. You squint at her, trying in vain to see the falseness behind her smile. Nothing.
'Yeah, this lasagne is really good actually. My dad recommended this place. He used to bring my Mum here when they were dating. It's years old.' You both look at your plates but then you smile at each other. There's a warmth in this moment that makes up for this whole awkward ordeal of a date.
'So tell me Mr Mark Steve, why do they call you Rookie?' You choke on the minced meat you're trying to swallow and grab your pint in an attempt to cover it up.

You knock back a mouthful of fizzy lager that makes your tongue tingle. You're compelled to out yourself, that pulling women is your chosen hobby and that's where the name comes from. In fact if you tell her the truth, that Rookie is a term coined in irony to describe a person who's good at seducing women she'll probably throw the contents of that extra clean glass right at you. Women hate feeling like they're being played.

'It's a pilot nickname' you lie. Inside your head a voice screams you cock, you awful, pitiful cock. You lay your knife next to your fork and put your elbows on the table. Liza's trying to process the information but like the lasagne you're chewing it doesn't go down well.
'Oh' she says, obviously thinking hard about what clarification question to ask. 'Do you fly?' You want to laugh and lean in, telling her it's all a joke.

You picture yourself chuckling, saying
'Oh no, I was pulling your leg, Rookie is a name used to describe my persona at work, I'm a trainee you see.' That seems like a perfectly good fabrication of the truth and one that even your mother would believe. Instead of putting forward a mature response to cover up your controversial nickname you chose to say it's a pilot nickname. Great work stud.

'Well I don't fly but I do feel free as a bird sometimes.' You laugh out loud hoping that she will. She doesn't. She's looking at you, nodding in slow motion, the wrinkle lines above her eyebrows clearly visible. She thinks you're full of shit.

You change the subject. What can I do to remedy this?
'So I understand you're studying biochemistry, how's that?' Even though you're safely running away from the origin of your nickname you wish you could jump out of a nearby window and, if you're lucky, fall right into a bottomless pit.

Liza launches into a tirade of how biochemistry will change the world and how, with the empowerment of women in modern society, she can really make a difference in the grand scheme of things. By the time Liza asks you about your career aspirations you feel like going back to the Rookie conversation. You nod to the waiter to bring you the bill. Time to make a quick exit Mark.

You think how great it'd be to be sitting at home right now reading about car engines and how, sitting in this restaurant is like sitting through a hard maths test. I just want a girl who can look pretty and maybe take her home at the end of the night for some hot love making. You describe with little conviction how you'd like to work with high performance cars.


You walk Liza to her front door. You're ready to walk away, planning to say goodnight and then evacuate the premises like there's a bomb threat. She grabs you and pulls you close for a kiss. You kiss her cold wet lips and she grabs your backside and pinches it. She's kissing you like she wants to rub the skin off your lips.

When you pull away she's grinning and it looks like the alcohol is making it's way to her head because her eyes are half closed and distant. When she asks the question it's like a hammer hitting your senses.
'Do you wanner come up to my room? All my house mates are out.' Say no Mark. Just say no. Go home and play on the Wii.

'Yeah, I'd love to' you find yourself saying like your brain has no say in the matter. Why do I always do this? Liza giggles and tugs at your coat and she closes the huge red door of her student house. You're kicking at the floor as Liza turns to hang her coat up on one of several hooks next to a small table with a white telephone on it.

You screw your face up. Liza turns to you and you smile, relaxing your feet. She's hopping on the spot like an excited little girl. She grabs your hand and starts running up the stairs. You slam your feet down to keep up but she trips and falls face first onto the thick pink carpet. She bumps her forehead.

'Oh my god, are you all right?' She's turning to face you with her palm clutching her forehead. She's grimacing and you're leaning close. 'Your face is going bright red, are you okay?'
'How embarrassing' says Liza. 'there I am trying to impress you all night and here I am slamming my face onto the floor. I just asked Martha for a nice guy and then you turn up and I think you're really nice.' She starts to get teary. For the first time tonight she lets you see what she's really like. You see the woman behind the beautiful features and the hard stare.

Right there on the stairs something happens. You let your shield down.
'Hey I think you're really interesting. You're beautiful too.' You cringe at yourself even though you really mean it. She's laughing and looking at you with admiration. You lean close and kiss her softly. This time she kisses you gently and you let your hand explore her face and hair.

'Let's go upstairs' you suggest. She holds your hand and you say 'but this time let's walk, there's no rush.' Liza smiles humbly and for the first time you feel like you really know her. She looks pretty and humble. She opens her bedroom door and you sit down next to her on her purple bed sheets.

You lean in, your lips touching and caressing each other's slowly, attuning to one rhythm. You lay down with her and allow yourself to totally relax. She might be okay after all. Who would have thought that she was nervous? I suppose if I'm honest I was nervous too. Your head's dizzy but you carry on kissing, embracing the feeling. I've got all night to get to know her you think. She unbuttons your shirt one button at a time.

You grab her hand to stop her.
'What's wrong?' She asks. You look into her honest eyes and glance at her lips.
'I think we should take things slow' you say, licking your lips. 'I really feel like I need to get to know you, build the intimacy, you know?' She smiles and kisses you hard. You're pushing her back gently.
'Liza please, I really think we should take things slow.'

She looks amazed.
'I can't believe this, there I am actually throwing myself at you and you're telling me you want to wait, a guy's never said that to me before.' You lay in silence for a few moments. Is she angry?
'Are you okay with it?'
'God I want to pounce on you, I'm the one who's supposed to say things like that, I can't believe it.' I can hardly believe it myself. 'That's probably the most respectful thing a guy's ever said to me.' You smile and stroke her cheek. That's probably the nicest thing I've ever said.

You laugh together and you start to feel like you're breaking through that tough outer shell of hers. I could sleep with her but I'm always doing that. I'm always jumping into bed with women and then leaving swiftly the next morning. Maybe things can be different with this one. Maybe this time I can build an interaction on respect rather than just sex.

Liza kisses you on the lips a gentle touch. I might be wrong about this but I reckon this could be a great thing. Something bothers you.
'There's something I need to tell you about the name Rookie' you tell her. She's like
'What?' You take a deep breath. She's either going to ask me to leave or accept me for everything I am. I won't hold my breath. You tell her the truth and she listens, nodding. Her face falls from a smile to a frown. She seems shocked.

'Is that all I am to you, a conquest?' You try and explain that you see her as more than that. The more you try and make things right the more distant and turned off she seems. After half an hour of explanation and a heady debate about how men use women and treat them like sex objects she asks you to leave.

You close the big red door and look up to Liza's bedroom window as the yellow light turns to darkness. You start walking down the street with your hands in your pockets. Your head's full of ideas and reasons why you don't want to be Mark 'Rookie' Steve any more. I think from now on I'll just be Mark Steve and forget my womanising ways. For too long I've been treating women like they owe me something. I think I need a girlfriend. Am I really thinking this?


You open the door to your house with that same old silver yale key. Trevor's watching television in the living room.
'How'd it go?' He asks hopefully.
'Shit' you reply, throwing your keys on the side and trudging up the staircase. You pick up your book on how to pull girls. You turn to the waste paper bin and with one last glance you throw the book into the bin. I don't need this any more.

Your head falls back onto the pillow and you close your eyes and think of Liza's smile. Things are going to be different from now on. I'll find someone who I really like and hell, I might even find myself a long term girlfriend. You breathe in and feel yourself falling to sleep. Night Liza.

Strong Words

Look
I'm here
Standing tall
Feeling stronger
No-one can beat me
Nothing can break me down
The strength I posses is great
I speak from deep within my heart
It's up to me to fathom the truth
I'll forget my inhibitions and live

I spend too long worrying about things
Why should I care what anyone thinks?
Who's opinion really matters?
I will believe in myself
Don't treat me like a fool
Do not put me down
I'll get better
Learning fast
That's it
Done

Lust Is Clearly What Drives Me

Longing for the touch from your shaking fingers
Undulating pleasures await us
Stopping this interaction feels like insanity
To want you next to me is an urge I can't suppress

Instant gratification isn't what I desire
Stop being my friend and be my lover

Can't you see that I crave your attention?
Last night I heard your voice
Ever since then my sexuality has craved fulfillment
At the last hurdle I feel discouraged
Reality bites and that's why my inhibitions exist
Love isn't always painful
You make me feel like there are rules to obey

When you kiss me everything stops moving
Heart and mind become one
All the while I crave for more
Trying not to think about my desires

Do what you will but soon I'll have to speak my mind
Rarely do I allow myself to get caught in this web
I've felt like this a hundred times
Varying degrees of emotions touch me
Every last ounce of my self control gets tested
Stay with me tonight

Massive ideas and small visions dance in the light of my imagination
Escapism is what's needed to free myself from this obsession

The Key To Success

He tapped his index finger onto the laptop and stared at the screen. He ran his fingers through his short Grey hair and put his feet up onto the desk. I can ride the gravy train all day he thought. I'll watch the temps running around like their livelihoods depend on it. I've worked for Pembleton's for eight years now. I might as well take my time and enjoy my day.

He watched the cleaning lady Rose wiping the glass of his office door. Rose smiled at him but he frowned and looked away. He stared beyond Rose at Julie. She was a pretty blond temp with a full body and big flirtatious blue eyes. He licked his lips and closed his eyes, imagining Julie and him laying on the golden sand of a sun kissed beach, drinking purple vodka cocktails through comedy drinking straws.

He opened his eyes and watched Rose walk away from his office door. He stared at the large bookshelf that lined the wall next to the door. He'd always wanted to see the office staff to keep an eye on them. Mr Pembleton had insisted that privacy was still a luxury he liked to offer his staff. The only other window in the room was a sizable one behind Paul's desk facing the road. Paul read the sign on the door quietly to himself
'Paul Daley, Company Director.' Paul stood up from his swivel chair, pushing it back with the crease of his knee. It hurtled back into the already pealing dull white office wallpaper.

He pulled the cord for the blinds down and stared out at red brick buildings across the road with their broken glass windows. Why are the buildings around here in such disrepair? There are firms making serious money lining the dirty back streets of this area. You'd think they could afford new buildings to work in. Paul stared at the rubber on his desk. Even this is seven years old. He picked it up and tossed it into the empty waste paper bin to the left of his desk.

He closed the blinds and sat down, returning his eyes to the laptop in front of him. He stared at the screen, glaring at the OK button screaming out for attention. If I hit the return key this virus goes straight through company security and into every PC in our network. I hit return and every job goes wrong. I hit this key and...

The noise of knuckles hitting glass then a handle turning interrupted Paul's train of thought.
'Mr Pembleton' he called out, trying not to sound startled. He snapped the laptop shut.
'How are you doing old man?' The Irish half wit is trying to be funny but he's the old one. Hello you Irish half wit.
'Mr Pembleton, how are you?'
'Fine thank you Paul, and yourself?'
'Good, thank you, I'm just-'
'I wondered if you could look at this.' Mr Pembleton held out a file. You interrupt me again old man and I'll-
'I'd like you to give this your immediate attention Paul.' Paul scowled inside, outside he was the picture of a tranquil thinker.

'I'll take a look at it right away Mr Pembleton' Paul complied.
'Good man. Look. I know we haven't always seen eye to eye on work related issues but I'd appreciate it if we could put all that behind us now. I really think you're an asset to the company and I hope you'll stay with us. You're a very hard and loyal worker Paul.' He towered over Paul's desk like a reminder of his status in the firm.

Paul took a deep breath, his mind working faster than usual. Why is he being so nice to me? Is he planning to fire me?
'Certainly sir' Paul agreed, staring anxiously at Mr. Pembleton.
'Call me Ian, that's what my friends call me.'
'Ian,' the word rolled off Paul's tongue like a new language. He waited for the punchline, the thing that always followed false niceties. There was a short pause then
'Okay well I'll leave that to you old man, thanks Paul.' With that he walked out of the office.

Paul sat back and reached inside his suit jacket. He pulled out a thin brown cigar and held it to his nose. Before the nicotine got to work on his nervous system Paul liked to smell the tobacco. He liked to tease himself just like he did with business projects. He was always bragging about his efficiency at work. He claimed he could close any deal. At the end of his breath he always feared the wost, that he'd flop and everyone would see that he was a failure. If people saw him fail he really would be a loser. He'd be what his brother had always said he'd be.


'Dale' shouted Paul from the foot of the stairs, 'Dale.' He's ignoring me the idiot. I've got a good mind to walk up there and punch him thought an impatient thirteen year old Paul Daley. He walked up the stairs, stamping his white socks onto the tattered green carpet. 'Dale.'

As soon as he reached the top of the staircase Paul could hear music. It was the Beatles' 'Penny Lane.' He pushed the door but it stopped abruptly. He's got a pillow beneath the door.
'Dale, what are you doing?' There was the sound of five heavy footsteps then the door swung open. Dale Daley was a fat boy who at the young age of fifteen found it hard to walk for ten minutes.
'What?' He shouted loudly as if he couldn't stand to hear his own name.
'Mum wants you' Paul told him.

Dale's eyes narrowed and he stared at Paul with a cunning look.
'Well if she wants me to help with tea tell her you'll do it'
'No way Dale, It's your turn'
'You do that for me or I'll punch you in the teeth, got it?' Paul blinked and in his minds eye he tried to see the grandfather clock in the living room. It was an image that had always calmed his anger. He couldn't picture the clock. He felt his face getting redder as he lunged for Dale.

He grabbed Dale by the collar of his red T-shirt and dragged him out of the bedroom. A shocked Dale called out to Paul.
'Stop it Paul, Paul, stop it.' Paul did stop but only upon reaching the top of the stairs. He pushed Dale against the wall, one hand to his throat. His other hand was cocked back ready to launch a fist flying forwards.
'You gunner go down and do your job now Dale?'

Dale looked scared and serious.
'I'll do it Paul, I will.' Dale loosened his grip and as he did Dale's face twisted into a cheeky grin. Dale tried running back to the room but Paul's reactions proved too great. Paul grabbed him as Dale was in half run. Paul caught the back of Dale's T-shirt and swung him back to the top of the stairs.

Paul had always been the younger and weaker brother but right now adrenaline was taking over. Paul let go of Dale's T-shirt. Dale stumbled backwards, falling down the first four stairs onto his back. Paul's mouth widened as his brother Dale did a backwards roly poly down two spiraling stairs. Dale slid down the stairs on his back, all fourteen stairs must have burned like hell thought a stunned Paul. Dale reached the bottom of the stairs headfirst and he started crying. Paul knew if he went down stairs there'd be trouble. He was too shocked to move.

Dale was screaming like a wounded soldier and their Mother was at Dale's aid, cursing after Paul.
'You're a loser Paul, I'm gunner kill you' screamed Dale. Paul burst out into excited laughter then quickly straightened his face, realizing he had to be serious. He couldn't go downstairs. He knew if his Mother stared at him he'd smile and she'd smack him with the back of a hair brush.


Paul Daley had been a business man but never a family man. He stared at the picture on his desk of Minty, his green Porsche 911. He knew very little about cars but this one was easily recognizable as a classic sports model and if he was honest that's why he'd bought it. I'm single. I've got money which I work hard for so why not treat myself? He let his thumb stroke the black return key on the laptop. If my finger slips the whole company falls into disrepute. People lose there jobs. It's tragic.

Ian Pembleton will look at all the records and wonder who's responsible. He'll accuse people and use everything in his power to punish whoever is behind this wicked scheme. The fact of the matter is he's weak. I could run this company riding on the back of a horse. He thinks he's the big man because he started this company at eighteen. He thinks he's a big shot because he worked for years building up trade for this so called empire. He's not big. He doesn't know the meaning of the word.


Ian passed Paul a rectangular box with blue, speckled wrapping paper covering it. Paul smiled and looked at Ian with a tear in his eye.
'This is a gift from me and Shell.' Shell had never liked Paul and it was obvious. It was the way she couldn't look at him straight in the eye, the way she'd speak about him in the third person even when he was at the same table as her.

Paul tried to save face by holding a smile. As he unwrapped the parcel he wondered just how badly he was sweating. How nervous do I look? With a room full of silence and work colleagues Paul felt like he was under a massive stage light.


It's funny to think that I could destroy a company by pressing a little button. It's funny to me because it'd bring Ian down to size. If I carry on in this firm I could earn thousands. I'll never make a fortune. I'll never have Ian Pembleton's fortunes. If the company falls behind the close competition it could and probably will mean the end for Pembleton's. Do I risk it all and press the button? Do I hate him enough?


Paul tore through the wrapping paper. He got down to the box itself and stared at it, afraid to open it like it might contain an explosive devise of some sort. He glanced around the room, wishing he could laugh to express the tension he felt.
'Are you going to have a look at your gift Paul?' Ian said, asking what everyone else wanted to know. Paul realised that it was obvious he was procrastinating and quickly lifted the box lid.

This is my reward for five years of hard work? This is what I get for countless hours of overtime and a poor hourly wage? I can't believe what I'm seeing.
'It's a key' said Paul trying to sound as neutral as possible. Jimmy Carpenter, a temp working his way into full time employment at Pembleton's said
'Maybe it's for a Porsche.' That was the gem that started the car idea.
'It's big and plastic, like the key you get when you're twenty one, how big is the lock on a Porsche?' Paul laughed, thinking he was being funny but realizing soon after he'd spoken with too much conviction.

He sounded annoyed and everyone could sense it. Two people coughed and Paul looked at Ian for help.
'It's a sign that you've unlocked so much in our company Paul. You're a great asset to us.' Paul smiled but the muscles on his face didn't seem to want to conform. He swallowed and wished he hadn't been drinking so heavily before the time for a speech arose. He knew he'd get something in the way of a gift. He wanted a new office. He wanted a promotion. He set the key on the table and Ian called for everyone to carry on as normal.


I press this and Ian's empire goes crashing to the ground. You could almost say I'm the key to his survival. He gave me a pay rise. He gave me an office but what is a room but four walls? The fact of the matter is Ian Pembleton hates me. He always hated me. He wants me to do well. If I do well I shine under his guidance. He comes off looking like the better one. He's the hero.

The money doesn't matter to me anymore. All that this comes down to is one flick of the wrist. I could accidentally drop my pencil onto the button. Paul picked up his HB pencil with it's teeth marks and dirty red rubber at one end. He dangled it over the laptop.

Paul jolted up and stared in the direction of the door as it opened quickly. A little boy ran in carrying a piece of A4 paper with bright colours all over it.
Paul stared at the child's innocent face.
''Ave you seen me Granddad? I've got a picture for him?' Paul couldn't believe his eyes. I'm really losing it. I'm going mad.
'No little boy I do not know your granddad, what are you doing wandering around in an office like this?' Before the puzzled child could muster a response Julie walked in, tottering along on her black high heals, grabbing the child by the waist.

She smiled at Paul. Paul had to look away, fearing his desire for her might be blatantly obvious.
'Come on Nathaniel, Mr Pembleton's office is at the other side of the building. What are you doing here?' She glanced back and smiled one last time at a silent Paul Daley before closing the door gently and carrying little Nathaniel in the right direction.

Paul glanced at the waste paper bin, stood up and walked towards it. He picked out the small rounded rubber and stared at it for a moment. He threw it up in the air, caught it and slipped it into his trouser pocket. He walked to the laptop and pressed escape. Nathaniel Pembleton is a catchy name. I imagine he'll make a great company director one day. I know who'll give him his key to success.

Indulgence

I'm very self absorbed sometimes. I say and do some stupid things. I use too much profanity. My general knowledge is at all all time low. This pushes me to read the paper, learn new things and generally improve myself. I know if I keep my profanity at a minimum when I speak my language skills will improve.

Sometimes I write about negative and often senseless things. I write things that I don't really mean and I do it for one reason. It's better out onto the page than inside my head. I can laugh at this part of myself.

When I write about negative topics it's like satire. You can get a sense of my negative side but the chances are if you see me on the street I've got a smile on my face. Writing about negative things helps me decipher what's wrong with my attitude. If I know what's wrong then I know how to fix it.

Does the realisation that what I write is highly erratic and negative make me want to change the way I document my thoughts? I don't think stopping your true creative flow is a good idea. Writing is a coping tool. Difficult emotions seem less so when you let go of them. Keeping a diary can help with depression. For me writing is merely a vessel for anything fighting to get out of my heart.

Paltalk

A typical Friday night involved James and I in an MSN chat room searching for female contacts. We opened up a personal message window with FitChick288 and type in 'hi A/S/L babe.'

Finding no legitimate contacts that were willing to meet up with us we often spent our evenings on the Sony Playstation. We stumbled across Paltalk whilst searching for adult downloads.
'Oh my god' I exclaimed. 'You can actually talk in this chat room.' I clicked the left mouse button over the array of chat names. 'Oh shit, you can see people too'
'Fuck of' James sang like he always did when he thought I was lying.

I told James to stop rolling up and come over to the PC to take a look.
'Shit' he said, amazed. We both agreed this was the best thing we'd discovered online since rotten dot com.

I caught a tram to Meadowhall. I bought a webcam with a built in microphone. I hurried home and plugged the webcam into the back of my black Dell PC. I knew straight away I was going to have a lot of fun with this.

James and I frequented the insult rooms. These chat rooms were for people with the desire to argue and curse at other members of the Paltalk community. There were people of all nationalities swearing at each other, tearing each other down and ridiculing one another. James and I sat sipping our cans in disbelief at what we were hearing.

We stumbled across the moaning rooms whilst searching the adult section for interesting topics. These moaning rooms were very perverse places where men and women took it in turns on the microphone to moan and groan. You don't want to know what you say when you clicked on a webcam link. Inevitably a male voice would come over the microphone and we'd leave the room hurriedly.

We never did find many genuine female contacts. It doesn't seem worth it now looking back at the hours of searching. We ventured out to the local pub. The problem with finding girls there is that often hey were my cousin's mates. I did however ask one out to a restaurant. She stood up and walked away faster than an agoraphobic in a bomb scare. I didn't know how to handle rejection then so it cut me deep.

Back at mine James and I sat with a lump of cannabis resin, a full crate of beer each and forty cigarettes between us. We didn't need anyone else. As far as we were concerned we had everything we needed in life right here. We got high, swore our hearts out on Paltalk and generally made a nuisance of ourselves. We weren’t hurting anyone else and our mayhem was contained within four walls.


The door handle turned and I felt my face turn ghostly white, actually felt it. There was me standing with my trousers at my feet, my webcam facing me. I switched the screen off like my life depended on it. My mum stood there staring at me. Why isn't she leaving?
'What you doin'? She asked the question like she'd just walked in on me painting.
'Get out' I pleaded, embarrassment tearing at my very soul. She gave me a long look of disapproval and closed the door.
'Fuck. Shit.'


James and I had taken five two hundred milligram tablets of anti-psychotic drugs each. We laid side buy side. James was on my bed and I was on a lay low.

I think his Dad and my Mum knew that we smoked cannabis in my room but it really was safer for us to do it in a contained environment. We never committed any crimes. We never got into any rouble.

'I feel like I'm sinking reight far down' James told me.
'I feel so calm man, like nothing else matters' I replied. We never thought about the potentially disastrous side affects. It never occurred to us tat we could die. We wanted to get high and we'd do almost anything to feel that way. If getting high constituted taking a thousand milligrams of drugs designed to sedate people with mental health problems then we'd do it. That's how naive we were.


James stood at the bar sporting a screw face. He had a look so fierce it could have scared Mike Tyson in his prime. There was a hard guy in the pub that I'd always feared. This guy had always been cool with me. I think because I feared him and I wasn't afraid to show it he saw me as no threat.

'You think your ten men don't yer?' James was indignant and proud at the accusation.
'No, I think I'm one man' he replied stubbornly. The hard guy Wesley was a notoriously good fighter.

James sat creasing his face muscles like a bull in anger. I leant forwards to this girl I was trying to pull. I'd arranged to meet her that night. I'd spotted her on MSN chat. Finally I was having some success with girls.

Wes walked up and glared at me, pointing his finger at James like an offensive weapon. He said
'I'm gunner knock 'im out.' Wes turned to Dillan, the bar guy who was taking a cigarette break. 'You gotter problem with that?' Dillan and Wes had had a run in once before. I felt just as uncomfortable that night as I did right then.


They'd been grinning and flirting with the idea of violence like only the macho could. Dillan looked skinny, far from terrifying. His green polo shirt fitted loosely. He stood there cleaning glasses, a twinkle in his eyes.

Wes looked calm but the smile on his face told me danger wasn't too far away.
'I'd jump overt bar, kick you int 'ed' Wes told Dillan, a lightness in his tone. Dillan's voice was chirpy and high pitched.
'Yeah but yer wunt, cus I'd be like bam, int face wit right, and you know ah would.' I looked at both guys in turn. The whole level of banter was roaming into more serious realms.

It's said that a game only stops being a game when someone takes it seriously. Wes snapped just as closing time came around.
'Come on then, fucking prick, you wanner chance it? I'll 'ave you outside now.' Dillan stood up till his skinny body was erect and poised. Dillan smiled, that same old twinkle in his eyes. I was scared for him. Wes cursed and threw insults at Dillan as he left the pub with some gentle persuasion from the landlord. He knew he'd won, that Dillan didn't really want trouble.


'I'm gunner knock 'im out. You gotter problem with that?' shouted an angered Wes. Waving his finger at James. Dillan sat with a dreamy smile like he couldn't care less about Wes. He ladies loved that smile and those eyes. Right now I thought he looked soft, out of his league in this level of antagonism.

'No' Dillan stated simply. It was barely q word and half the intent. He shook his head.
'Come on then, outside now' demanded Wes.
'I don't wanner fight you' James told him. I knew we were in big trouble. The girl I'd been trying to chat up was called Steph. She looked terrified.

James was no longer the raging pit bull. In the shock of it all you saw the boy beneath the stare. You saw the insecure sixteen year old. We phoned James' Dad Steve who was sitting watching Coronation Street with my Mum at home.

James told his Dad the case. Within a few minutes Steve pulled up in the car park outside the old harrow. We were safe and my chest stopped being so tight. I made a mental note to avoid bringing James to the old harrow anytime soon.

'You're not leaving me' exclaimed a terrified Stephanie. I knew she was safe. It was James who was in danger of assault. He'd become a liability to himself.
'You'll be okay I told her. She pleaded with me but I was walking out of the door and getting in the back seat of Steve's car.

Stubborn

The pain from decisions I know I should have made but realise I didn't have to lingers in my brain. My heart screams out to be heard but I'm not sure if it'll be appreciated. I wake up early, knowing exactly what I need to do. There's the horse stance, grip training, chi training, writing, reading, contemplating and forcing my mind not to care about my attitude.

It's one thing to turn around and say that you can't handle something but it's another to risk it all for trivial gain. The truth is self respect takes over anything these days. I realise I am right, I should speak my mind and I should tell people where they're going wrong.

Reality is harsh but when you're in a tirade of self adjustment you tend to deal with it. I don't care who you are or what relation you are to me. I treat people with respect and I expect the same treatment. It's funny because all my life I thought certain people were taking the piss. Back then and even till recently I never knew how to be truly assertive. Now I do know how to be assertive I can argue with people but still seem intelligent. How is this possible? Well
'You're a dick 'ead, spilling drink on me fuckin' shoe' becomes
'I can't believe you spilled drink on my shoe.'

It's a simple process and for a man who's no longer scared to lose people or disconnect with people close to him it's an easy one. You see friends come and go, relationships will arrive and depart. Even if my family are getting to me in a negative way I block them out. Maybe I pay for this when one night I realise I'm going to be sitting alone. Maybe there's a moment where I tell myself I'm crazy for being so whimsical. At the end of the day, at the prelude of my disconnecting ways I know I'm doing the right thing. I just wish I didn't have to do it so often.

Why can't a woman just ring you back? Why does your mate let you down with money you needed for your rent? Why does your family never support you? They only tell you how to be realistic. I hate that. After all the rants and anger I calm down. Something changes. I ring that woman, I hook up with that mate and I smile politely at a family member. I was mad but hey, I calmed down.

Something else lingers in the back of my mind. The chances of me falling in love, having sex or just being infatuated relies highly on how willing I am to let go. 'Practise non-attachment' Sifu would say. I get too attached. In the end I tell myself I don't care if my family support me, I'll support myself. I don't care if friends let me down, I'll rely on myself from now on. I don't care if any one woman doesn't call me back, there's plenty more women out there. I'm stubborn like that you see.

Being stubborn doesn't always amount to making the correct decisions. being stubborn often leaves you closed and weary. I'm tired of disconnecting but will I ever stop? Do I know too much about things other people are happily ignorant too? I tell myself to cool it, that it's nine o'clock in the morning and after some chi gung and careful thinking I'll feel like the vibrant Danny Wood that dances in his bedroom, that guy who leaps over walls with a grin wide enough to fit a pizza in.

A train of thought takes shape and I realise a lot more than I would if I were just thinking. It's on the page now. Look at it. Who'd have thought I knew that? Who'd have known? Writer's block doesn't really exist I tell myself. It's only the obsession to write great material that slows me down. I could type forever, however right now I feel like I've uncovered enough of my psyche to feel comfortable.

Morning Lingering

I wake up. Bed head.
My hazel eyes already focused.
Last night's written words reverberate till I put music on.
Thoughts echo. Harsh realities I'm willing to face.

Real beauty is cutesy but love can blind you.
Infatuation makes you lose hope. I find you.
Deep in the trellis at the back of my mind.
I'm waking up focused but I still feel behind.
I'm kind. I'm sensitive but these are flaws.
Instead of pushing forwards I'm closing every door.
The cause of my pain is apparent in my brain.
I need to let go of the lust driving me insane.

It's an ample notion to sample this commotion.
I wish I had a potion to make my heart open.
I disconnect but break my neck in the process.
I don't feel happy but I don't feel stressed.
I say a lot of things in jest, yes all the time.
It's crazy 'cause I'm hazy but my heart wants to rhyme.
I'd cry if I could bringing that salty taste.
The truth is I'm ruthless so tears are just a waste.

David Sedative

He bobs up and down on the spot with a big grin on his face. When you stare at him you get the feeling there's something great going on in his life, like he's just won a car in the Reader's Digest. You read his T-Shirt, it's got 'No Problem' written across it in bold white letters. You comment on his trainers.
'Oh I've got twenty five pairs of these' he tells you in properly spoken English.

You're eating a muffin, David's like
'Working on your dietary habits I see.' You fight the urge to say fuck you and smile politely. 'This is really good exersise' David says, that same old elated grin gracing his cheeks. What is? You're wobbling on one leg.

You imagine him to be the kind of guy who writes a 'why I'm better than you' list upon arriving home in the evenings. He can't just be your friend, he has to be your mentor, your advisor. You're making a joke and David turns to the person you're speaking to
'Oh you'll get used to him.' How patronising. Again you're fighting back that urge to launch into a verbal assault. Why am I putting up with this?

An hour of silence passes between you. You try and stop yourself yawning. I think I should go home you think. You're contemplating something serious, a worry in the back of your mind. Dave's still grinning in that dreamy way that stops you from sharing anything too personal with him for the fear that he might scoff at you or shoot you down. If I talk about women he stares at me like a woman's rights activist. If I talk about a lads night out he'll stare down his nose at me like I'm a barbarian. You give up trying to relate to someone you have nothing in common with.

As you walk away Dave asks
'Are you coming out training any other days this week?'
'Actually Dave, I'm a little busy this week. I'll let you know about any other days.' You walk away. Dave's a really nice guy. The thing is that's a problem for me. We're mountains apart. I'll leave him to his leg shaking and get on with something serious you say to yourself, walking towards the city centre.