Wanted/Not Wanted

It was the piece of paper that got them interested. It was that little black notebook. I'd sit in the corner of the bar. I'd pick up my parker pen and scribble away. They were novel ideas and things I'd like to do with my life. Women and everybody else were intrigued to find out what was in there. I was the man as far as they were concerned. I'd scribble for the sake of scribbling.

Women would try and get close enough to me by chance to ask me what was in the book. They'd walk to the end of the bar where I'd strategically decided to sit. I'd be insistent on writing. That's all that mattered. Really what was going on was I looked out of my peripheral vision and noting the hotness of the women that seemed to be interested.

As soon as it came I knew I could play that same old game of intrigue. I could play on my mystery.
'What are you writing?' It was like a hook sinking into a fish's mouth. I could calmly tell them about my life and they'd always strive to learn more. I think they found it more and more appealing when they delved deeper into what was going on around me.

I didn't drink. I'd drink orange juice with ice. My smart black shirt had my name printed in small white letters below the pocket. I found myself having to ask no questions. I just answered their questions and stared deeply into the pages of my notebook. Tapping my pen and looking around with a slight squint I could let them know I wasn't easy to get. Women dig that.


As the cute girl in the blue dress chatted to me about writing I couldn't take my eyes off a bottle of Jack Daniel's resting on a shelf behind the bar. There was one woman in this world that I really wanted, one woman I'd give up this whole charade of casual sex and tired drinking games for. Shirley Alabama was in my heart and in my head.

I sent the text message and watched it sending. The small letter icon disappeared into nothing. I watched the black Nokia as it lay lifeless. The white light from the display turned to black. Why doesn't she reply to my texts or calls? Isn't it enough for me to want her? Doesn't she want me?

It really tore me in two that I couldn't have her in the way I wanted to. It played on my mind night and day and I was loosing sleep over the matter. I wanted her more than any toy I desired as a child. I felt more frustrated than writer's block had ever made me feel. I hated the way she wasn't enchanted.


It was seven days into my despair that she finally rang me. I picked up my phone with my shaking hands tingling like I had chronic pins and needles. I was pulled my glasses down my nose and stared out of my sitting room window at the pouring rain as it pattered against the double glazing floor to ceiling windows.
'Shirley?'

The smile left my sullen face as the words entered my ears and essentially shattered my hopes.
'Look Dave, I think you're a really nice guy and all but I don't think its gunner work out, I'm going back to my ex, I really think he appreciates me more, you know? Well look I'm sorry I messed you about and hopefully we can still be friends, hey?' I pressed the button on my phone with the small red receiver icon on it and I wanted to throw the settee chair I was resting on through the double glazing. I could scream.

My motives were simple as I rang Cathy Mimbles. I wanted sex and I wanted someone with whom I could have that and not give a damn about deep conversation. She'd make me a bath and we'd talk about her work. I'd have to pretend I was interested obviously but it'd be a means to a satisfying end.

The thing was Cathy did answer her phone but her voice was masked in giggles and I could hear a man's voice in the background. She told me she was busy and I hung up and threw my phone on the grey carpet. I picked up my notepad and scribbled some new plot twists onto a fresh page.

The Mystery of Shane Rounce Dot Com Photography

Thanks to Shane at ShaneRounce.com

Basic Human Intelligence

I feel really out of place in the council estate where I live. There are a lot of people lacking in basic human intelligence. Basic human intelligence to me isn't the grades you got in school. It isn't the references on your curriculum vitae. It's not how many words you can use to string a sentence together. Basic human intelligence is the ability to know when you're making a spectacle of yourself. It's knowing when you're making a fool of yourself.

'Okay I'll see you in a bit you big puff' I joke, flipping my mobile phone closed. I hear this shout coming from another balcony in my tower block.
'Oh he just called someone a big puff, shut the fuck up you simpleton.' I'm breathing calmly, turning on a lamp and moving two paint pots from the corner of the room. I can't help wondering why this guy would want to make a fool of himself in front of other people. How can that do anything for your self-image?

I like to give people the benefit of the doubt but I see people's behaviour turn from terrible to horrific sometimes and I'm left feeling like an outsider in society. Why don't people have a basic understanding of how to conduct themselves in public? Why do some people insist of making themselves heard with loud, arrogant voices? It's something that will continue to puzzle me. I'm sure.

If It Wasn't For Jeremy She'd be Mine

I'm sitting upright sipping my Guinness and watching the petite girl in the little black dress shake her thing on the dance floor. For a moment everything else zones out and I'm watching her in the midst of a blur of people. Out of all the girls in here she's the best. If I weren't out with Jeremy I'd walk right up to her and tell her how gorgeous she is.

She knows how to shake her bum I think watching her legs moving with the dance music. Her hair's beautiful. A picture flashes into my mind. It's her and me naked, staring at each other with hungry eyes. I'm looking around the dance floor. Where's Jeremy at?

I'm standing up and taking a step away from the large table to stretch my shoulder and leg muscles. I'm watching the DJ wave his arm in the air with a big grin on his face. How great it must be to get paid for making people happy.

I'm turning to sit down and the petite blond's in my seat. Her mate's looking over her shoulder. She's got my phone in her hands and she's looking through it. Part of me feels enraged. How dare she just waltz up and pick up a man's phone without asking? Part of me tingles from head to toe. My hands are shaking. I must admit I'm slightly turned on.

I walk closer and for a moment my breath falls deeply into my belly and I'm taking short panic breaths. Breathe Justin. I walk up and put my smiling face close to hers and she looks up at me like it's normal to be looking through someone else's phone, like it's quite normal to take a seat in someone else's chair.

'Is this yours?' She asks, her voice silky and feminine.
'Actually yes' I say. I leave a pause. Give me an explanation. What do you want? She's looking back down at the phone glancing at pictures of me.
'You a body builder?'
'Yeah actually, can yer tell?' Her eyes widen and I can sense she's excited.
'You can work me out any time Hun' she states and I'm shocked for a moment. Might I actually be in with this gorgeous girl?

I'm smiling now and glancing to my right and I catch a glimpse of a guy wearing a white shirt gesticulating wildly. I'm trying not to pay attention. I have to take a short sharp look and I see it's Jeremy pushing his face into a rather large man's cheek. The large man's pushing him back and the two bulky men charge at each other like wild bulls.

I'm snatching the phone realising I've got not time to sooth the frustrated look on the blonds face. I'm running into the circle of shirted men and security guards in black cloaks. Jeremy's throwing punches. Why is it every time we go somewhere he fucking ruins it for me?

With Head Slouching Idle Chatter Makes It's Way Into My Concious

I've just completed nine hours of solid training. I've stretched, ran, channelled chi, jumped and generally been energetic. Before I fall down face first onto my bed for a much needed power nap I'd just like to document my thoughts.

I felt like I had good relationships with people who were in my company today. I felt great. As I was walking home someone shouted something in my direction from a car. It was something to the effect of
'I love you' and it sounded like sarcasm. Are they talking me to me? I thought. Neh I thought, shaking my head.

I looked around me imaging myself to be like Will Smith in the movie 'I am legend.' I see the whole city changing before my eyes. It's getting late into the evening, in fact It's seven o'clock and I'm walking through town. I want to escape this atmosphere so much. I see angry men pointing their fingers in a security guard's face in the doorway of Spar on Division Street.

I'm looking around me seeing groups of men in smart dress shirts. Here's me in my bright yellow lion dance hoody and kung fu shoes that look like plimsolls. I hate the culture that's beginning to gear up and take life and I know I stand out in the midst of it. So I'm walking through town wishing I could somehow teleport away from this place because I hate the feeling that I'm surrounded by people I can't relate to.


I'm on the bus letting out long breaths and letting my body slump. There are two angry sounding guys directly behind me. I hear one of them say something like
'Slap him on the back of the head'
'No'
'Go on, he's not hard is he?' Are they discussing me?
'Nah it's just not worth it.' Now I don't particularly care what some wannabe tough guys think of me and I'm more than willing to defend myself if they decide to launch an attack.

I'm too tired to work out if they're thinking of me and all all I can think about is letting my face fall onto my mattress and closing my eyes. Sleep will help me feel regenerated. I'm saying
'Excuse me' to the woman sitting next to me and she's fumbling with her shopping bags. I say 'thank you' as one of the guys behind says
'Should've pushed past her,' at least that's what I think he's saying. I'm a little too tired to work it out.

I feel a little angry and I picture myself turning round to face the men and shouting
'I can hear everything you're saying, if you want a fight, get off the bus.' My anger sinks into a much deeper feeling. I'm angry at how I'm reacting. Essentially I'm angry at how these things are making me feel. I really don't fear the onslaught of male bullies and I should have the strength and attitude to see situations like this through.


Now I'm not one for looking inward and criticising myself but I realise one thing. I need to stand taller and have a good posture even when I'm tired. I should keep my hair cut short and shave every day. If I do all these things and have respect for myself it doesn't matter how people react to me. I couldn't care less if strangers love me or hate me as I'm going about my business. What matters to me is that I'm true to myself and that I have respect for myself.

I'm no longer angry. I have a deeper understanding of what's going on. I'll stand tall and have respect for myself and if anyone's got a problem with that they can confront me about it face to face. If someone's too cowardly to do that then I've no respect or energy to waste on them.

I'm realising my appearance counts but what's much more paramount is my thinking and behaviour. Maybe the shouts from the passing car were aimed at me, maybe those thugs on the bus were indirectly insulting me. I'm not going to waste any breath on it.

I'm different from a lot of people surrounding me at seven o'clock on a Saturday evening in the sense I'm wearing training clothes and I don't act like a hooligan. If people don't respect me for the person I am then they're no worth my time or energy.

Glancing and Observing I See People Giving Things Away

I've been thinking about love and hate. I think about how I perceive other people and how I imagine them to perceive me. I feel a lot of animosity from people but I know I'm not the most amiable and patient person at times. I often find myself surprised when another guy says hello or smiles at me as sometimes it seems like a rarity.

I'm very aware that what I think of some guys may be exactly what they're thinking of me. If I'm in a bad mood I'm pretty sure I look like I'm scowling and it's very hard to approach me unless you know me personally. I tend to say exactly what I'm thinking and I have strong opinions. I know to some this may seem overbearing but I think we're all entitled to our opinions.

I acknowledge that some people are having a bad day and they are free to look how they want. I'm the type of guy who's cool with people who're cool with me. It's that simple really. People are judging you. They're judging you on what you're wearing. They judge you on how you conduct yourself. I'm willing to accept this fact but there's a very small part of me that finds it very frustrating when I feel people judge others unfairly.

Missing The Ball

'I just don't know where to fucking begin' he mumbles, staring down at his right knee with a long sigh. He wipes his face and runs his shaking fingers through his messy bed hair. He stares around at the mountain of clothes and fungus growing in tea cups and cereal bowls. 'Where do I begin?'

He's washing the dishes slowly and thinking to himself where did all this destruction come from? Ever since I split up with Milly my life style's been so fucked up, so messy. He's drying a plate and staring at the small black diary on the kitchen work surface.

He lets his blue eyes roam across page five. The diary reads 'met Milly today, I really think I'm getting to like her. I hope this works out.' He flips through the book, his excessive nail biting becoming apparent as the pages won't turn. Page forty-seven reads 'Milly's ignoring me again. Why is she so insistent on punishing me for my mistakes? I only mentioned my ex, now she's walking out of my house and slamming her car door.'

He throws the book down onto the old green settee in the sitting room and kicks the long white radiator that rattles as he tries to breathe deeply. Stay calm Casper. Why's it got to be like this? He stares at the dirty football resting against the lamp standing in the dusty corner next to the ageing kitchen table.


He laughs as he kicks the ball up into the air on the large grassy field and remembers how him and his childhood friends used to play football for eight hours a day in the six weeks holidays. He's grinning as all the old ball skills come back to him.

He's heading the ball up and catching it with the instep of his white trainers. How good does this feel? He's breathing hard and as the ball falls to the grass he stops and stares up at the trees and takes a long breath. For a moment there Milly didn't matter. Nothing mattered. I should do more things in my life that bring me joy. From now on I'm going to think about myself and being happy.

He runs with the ball, kicking it through the woods as he sprints in-between the large oak trees and large roots that line the earth beneath his football and Reebock trainers. Nothing matters.

People's Worries

Fresh Fruit

I'm awake and it's six o'clock in the morning. My body's strong and I can tell this by the way my muscles and tendons tense up as I pose in various positions to channel chi around my body. I'm listening to the relaxing sound of the Amazon rainforest on my PC and wondering why I'm itching from head to toe.

I'm looking around this place thinking how much I need to bleach the floors and clean the windows. I'm becoming enlightened as to just how unclean I am. I need to have discipline. I've got the body of my dreams and good health. It's about time I sorted my flat out.

If I sort my internal space out after my internal body then I can feel free to expand. If I move ever outward I can afford to be more ambitious. My mouth waters at the thought of two thousand pounds which is the average forwarding price for a début novel after publication. I tell myself it'll never sell. The book I'm writing will get shrugged off by would be publishers. That's the sort of humble outlook I need if I'm to be productive and succeed.

It's all coming together. I'll get picked up soon by my Nan and she'll cook me some dinner while I do jobs for her. Later I'll travel to London Road where I'll train in the Chinese Community Centre with some of my friends. It'll be a productive day.

I'm Realising Things

I see the forty-eight driving towards the bus station and I start running. I can feel my energy, my chi driving my body forwards. I need no muscular effort to run. I show my pass and take my seat.

In my peripheral vision I can see three or four large guys who're swearing as they talk quite loudly in broad Yorkshire accents. I think about how intimidated I feel but at the same time I'm totally relaxed. I'm considering how grateful I am to study martial arts under such an excellent Sifu. If these guys decided to pick a fight with me I might just be able to block and parry just long enough to jump over a chair, swing round a rail and run from the bus with all the agility of a frightened cheetah.

It makes sense to me to stay calm and relaxed and I try not to judge people as I walk around town. I steer clear of bars and clubs mainly for the same reason I always have done. I hate being surrounded by animosity. I see people on the streets and I see the will to be bad in their faces and their demeanour. I think people should be free to choose how they want to live their life as long as they're not hurting others. I'm aware of the people I should be cautious of and whom I should never talk to.

There are a few people I call in on whilst I'm walking through the city centre. Firstly I call into Dempsey's Bar to see my old friend Dawn. Dempsey's is a gay bar but I have no prejudice against gay people. As I explained to my girlfriend earlier homophobia has no place in a civilised society. I walk into the bar and have a quick friendly chat with Dawn about her life. We discuss how her partner Ian is and then I make a quick exit. I've other things to take care of today.

I call into Sports Active which is a sports store at the bottom of The Moor. There's a guy there who's always willing to answer my questions about training equipment. I ask him about wooden martial arts dummies and he retrieves a catalogue from behind the counter and tells me how much I'd need to save.

I call in on a good friend who owns the shop Naked Ape which sells climbing equipment and attire. I tell him I'm making a video and I'm willing to embed his company logo into the ending to promote Naked Ape. He kindly gave me some training shoes worth eighty five pounds for free a few months back so I owe him one. We discuss training philosophies and rock climbing.

I meet Shane. He's sitting with his friends in a bar I only realise is a gay bar five minutes into my time there. We leave the bar to head to subway for a healthy sandwich and we discuss life and the people we're close to. I let him in on a few of my secrets whilst we're discussing books in Waterstone's book shop. After a quick look around Topman and Evolution I'm giving Shane our secret handshake and heading for my bus. Cue me running to catch the number forty-eight.

Binging

Robot Love

Kick the Crap

Tell me I'm crazy. Tell me I'm fucking crazy. Those are the words entering your mind as you look at the edge of the rooftop. You're walking up to the edge and kicking your heels down onto the gravel. I'm fucking crazy. Am I crazy?

You're jogging to the edge now and you're saying to yourself I'm going to jump. I'm going to do this. I'm actually going to do this. I'm crazy. You scrape your trainers along the gravel. I must get any moisture from my feet. If I slip I'm dead. I'm dead.

You jog to the edge for the fifth time. You heart beat quickens before the thoughts play themselves. I'm doing it now.

With a shocked expression you sprint forwards and your right foot slams down hard onto the gravel which moves ever so slightly as you take flight. There's this moment where you're over the huge drop. You're soaring like a bird and it feels great.

You land onto the rooftop and roll to spread the energy of the jump. You're rising to your feet with your chest perched out like some kind of super hero. You're laughing. Your hands are on your knees and you're pissing yourself.
'Aha! Ahaaa!' your grin widens and you clutch your heart with your shaking palm. 'I did it' you say, laughing again in disbelief.

Right. Let's do it again you think, walking back to the staircase that leads to the gravel roof top.

Rolling...

Sometimes when I tell you that I think you're beautiful there's this glint in your eyes like you think I'm flattering you. The truth is I really do prefer you without your make up on. I love you more than the words that are coming out of my mouth, more than the air I breathe in when I first wake up in the morning. I love you more than seeing a beautiful painting or a really scenic ride through beautiful landscapes. The reality of it is you're like me but different in many ways and that works. We fit together.

It's a real pleasure when I'd choose your company over the guys. It's a shock when we argue then make up and our love is stronger if not better because of the conflict. We shout at each other but end up kissing. Now that's electric. We might have a big fall out and end up making love. As you're trying to catch up with your breath and I'm letting every muscle in my hot body relax we laugh at how exciting it all was.

It's as though I'm following a destiny where I know exactly what I want. Of course it's you that I want when I first wake up and just before I sleep. Of course it's your voice that springs to mind when I'm doing something random like walking through a park or doing a high kick in class. I can't stop this rolling snowball of emotion as it gathers size and pace. The beautiful thing is I don't want to stop it and neither do you.

Bear With Me

Over the trees, the gulleys, the reservoirs and the hilltops flies a single eagle. It's angry looking eyes search for prey. Swooping down with precision accuracy the eagle sinks it's long claws into a mouse's back. The mouse is no more.

It's human nature to rise above adversity. It's a natural instinct to fight or run away. What if there's a way to control these things? What if, by meditating and training we can overcome any mental barriers? What if it's true?

I stare out of the window at the grassy fields and long roads. I look at the wing of the plane and for a moment I wonder what it'd be like surfing along with the wind in my hair. If I fell would I spend my time falling to the hard ground regretting falling or would I marvel at the beauty of myself in flight? If I survived would I ever do anything that risky again?

I brush my teeth and I'm staring into my eyes coldly. I never lie to my reflection. Being true to oneself is paramount I think as I run my fingers through my gelled hair. Things seem important to me.

The soft touch of her lips makes me yearn like a puppy after a bone. I want to write and keep writing. Sometimes I look forward to getting up in the morning just because she's there or I have things I like doing on the agenda. I've never been this way before.

I'm picking up pace as geezers lock eyes with me like I'm wearing a 'fuck you' T-shirt. I squirm to get free. Do they see this as some type of cowardice? Women don't look. It's just men who're looking, men who pride themselves on being tough, egotists. I'm nervous but not scared. I don't like this. Maybe they think I'm scared. Maybe they're thinking 'pussy' in the back of their mind. I couldn't care less. Fuck 'em.

They say profanity is the tool of a person with a limited vocabulary. I like to think you should swear but only in the right company and appropriate situation. I'm not hugely knowledgeable about things but I do make my own conclusions. I am capable of having strong opinions. I'm not afraid to argue, probably based on the knowledge that I'm quite rational.

If it wasn't for spell checking computer software programs I'd look very silly.

It's Not Bad

The cold air hits my face, icy blades to my pores. I'm smiling and walking slowly. I've got hope. I stare at people. They look happy. I nearly wasn't.

Now I'm breathing in fresh air, no cigarette smoke lingers in this air space. I'm feeling sober. I feel at one with my surroundings. She's holding my hand. She's sober too and the both of us share this common enemy. We're sharing emotions and thoughts like they were biscuits in a bowl.

I had to apologise to my mother and father. I'd been irrational. Even though I was a wreck they supported me. They saw through the hate, through the lies and the low motivational periods. If I could I'd hand them both a medal of honour. They mean a lot to me.

Situations change and as that cold Autumn air hits my squinting face I feel a sense of ease. It's as though someone hit the breaks on life and I'm free to cruise for a while, take a load off.

As she tightens her grip on mine I smile. For the first time in a long time I feel human. That's the beauty of getting better. You learn that not everything is as bad as your mind tells you it is. It just isn't.

Blond Passion

You know that you're married. You know that your wife's at home watching television but this woman doesn't know that. She's kissing your neck, sending shivers through your shoulders. With her index finger finding it's way into your mouth you can't speak. I need to tell her. I need to say 'Listen, stop, I can't, I'm married' but all that comes out is a murmur, a moan.

Her delicate fingers undo the buttons on your shirt. Shell bought you that. There's lipstick on the collar, what a cliché. The feisty blond grows inpatient and tears the shirt apart. Black buttons fly across the laminated floorboards and your mouth opens wider, your breath deep and rhythmic.

'No' you say. There, it's out there now. She doesn't seem to listen, only glares into your eyes with a passion you only usually see in soft porn movies. I'm going to have sex with this woman. It's going to happen.


Your memory shoots back to the grassy field and the look on Shell's content face as you kiss her nose. She's smiling.
'You love me don't yer?' She asks. She knows me so well you think, kissing her cheek and whispering
'I love you so much.'

Shell had got you into art in the first place. You were only supporting her. You told her you weren't meant to be an artist. Painting led to classes and classes led to that chance meeting. Your eyes met those blue diamonds, her piercing gaze ripping into who you were as a man. She's got it.


The blond's pulling down your trousers and it's clear that she's keen. She's so hot you think. I can't do this comes the voice again, only this time louder and in mid moan. I can't do this you think again, even louder this time. Your eyes become wide and you're grabbing her shoulders with your hands.

'I can't do this' you tell her, thoughts becoming words.
'I thought you wanted me' she says. You look at her like she's miss world and you're a lowly stage sweep.
'You're so hot' you tell her before realising that you need to escape somehow. 'I'm married.'

She tells you that you're a jerk, that she can have any man she chooses. She's storming out and slamming the door and you're starting to wonder why this woman even tempted you in the first place. She'll no doubt tell people I tried it on with her. She'll insist that she's too good for me. She's the type.

You pick up your buttons one by on and you realise there's no lying your way out of this one. You're going to have to come clean. Shell will be hurt and angry but that's something you're going to have to come to terms with.

It's Carla

I don't know what I'm thinking. I stand there and watch the dead body. His wrinkled head looks cold. I can tell the old man's body's cold without touching it. His face is grey. I'm staring at his blue lips wishing I'd never chose to walk down this corridor. I should have never entered the study in the first place.

My mind shoots back to Carla, the giggling seductress trying to get me drunk in the sitting room. I'm sobering up faster that I mean to and before I know it I'm thinking clearly. All I can think, all that's reverberating inside my brain is she killed him.

I'll walk back into that room to meet a smiling Carla, her brilliant white teeth making her lush red lipstick seem all the more tempting. I want to kiss her. She's looking at me with her head slightly lowered. She's a predator.

I'm scratching my right thigh crazily as I hear her silky voice, still calm, still seductive.
'Oh you found Herby then.' I'm trying to speak but my voice seems to be on strike. Come on breath, work for me.
'I-I-I-I don't know this guy' I say. Great. Good stuff genius. She's walking towards me like she wants to kiss. It's only when I realise what's in her hand that I feel the icy chill skate up my pencil straight spine. She's got a knife.

I Remember The Last Time I Drank Alcohol

She didn't serve me. I watched her serving twenty or so other customers. All I want is a beer I thought. You bitch.

In my mind's eye I pictured myself picking up a bar stool and throwing it past her, pictured the legs smashing through the glass display cabinet that house blue WKDs and Bacardi Breezers.
'Here's what you get when you don't pour someone a fucking drink' I screamed. 'If you don't want my service then fuck you.' I stormed out of the pub, my head held high.

I want to make eye contact with her, glare at her and say
'Have you got something against me? Why have you ignored me?' I change the sentences in my mind to
'You know what they say about people who ignore customers,' it was either that or
'I can't believe you just ignored me.' I don't say either, just stand there glaring in her direction as she walks into a the back room. How dare she. How fucking dare she.

I looked into the eyes of the mature gentlemen as he spoke about his opinion of online blogs.
'They tend to me written by people who don't really know much, people with idiosyncratic view on things and they tend to be badly written.' I was nodding and saying things like
'okay' and 'uh humm' but all I wanted to do was go outside and jump on walls to ease the feeling of tension rising through my soul, it was that or follow the current inkling in my mind which was telling me to cry. Cry Danny. Curl up into a little ball and cry your angry eyes out.

Fuck this. Fuck. This. Those were the words screaming at me in the back of my mind. I knew if I drank more lager, that if my thought process joined my mind and I started spewing out the words that were itching to get out of me I'd be a very angry looking man standing on the spot whilst people all around watched in bemusement, a man looking tired and depressed saying
'Fuck this. Fuck. This.'

I knew I had to change the way I was thinking so I had a bite to eat. Now I'm biting my way through a half pound chilli burger hoping that by some magical prowess I can change the way I'm thinking from 'please don't look in my face' to 'hey I'm a nice guy really.' It hit me that the fizzy yellow stuff was indeed making the fact that I'd done nothing all day and felt bad about it seem ten times worse and that I couldn't function. I can't go on like this. I can't function in general society as an angry man with inhibitions that if let out of their steamy pit would reek havoc and negativity.

I decided to go home. People tried to persuade me to stay out, like that'd help matters.
'I'll come out another night' I said, almost feeling like that too was a lie in my mind, an instinct not to be trusted. Everyone accepted that I wanted to go home. It must have been something to do with the rational explanation of
'My instinct tells me to' or the elaboration 'I just want to.' That made people listen.

I kiss my girl and as I'm walking away I feel like shouting
'Fuck' and kicking something very large and very hard. I'm going to replay moments from this night in the morning. I'm going to find myself saying 'fuck' to myself at six in the morning and I'll wonder why I never learn.

As I'm walking, looking down at my smart attire, my suit jacket and my shiny black shoes I know all that'll help me is sleep, that and a week of solid hardcore training to instil so much discipline into my mind that even the army will wonder why it's recruits are slacking.

My head hits the pillow and I begrudgingly fall to sleep. I don't look forward to waking up or seeing anyone from this confusing night. All I know is that I don't want any of that shit, that yellow fizzy liquid inside my body. I know the thought of drinking sends horrible shivers down my spine so I make a decision however non-committally. I'm not going to drink. I don't need it. I'm not going to end up one of those idiots I always look at and hate when they're showing off because they've had too much to drink. It's not good for me, my relationship or the fact that my friends think I'm slowly turning into an overbearingly arrogant idiot.


I haven't drunk since. I nearly get away with it till a drunken David shouts out
'You're drinking Kalibre?' He pauses as his eyes widen like he's watching jaws for the first time. 'Why?' He asks the question like I'm sitting next to him sawing a leg off.

I drink Pepsi and non alcoholic lager as I pick up the bowling ball, do the splits and throw it at the pins. I get a strike and everyone cheers. I'm dancing and doing various flips in front of twenty something lanes of people. I'm outgoing and fun loving without alcohol. I'm actually quite confident and if you want me to be totally honest I'm a little bit arrogant too. Why do I need to amplify these things? At least now, under the influence of half an hours worth of gob stopper and fizzy black Pepsi I can shut the fuck up if I really think I must.

There's not an angry twinge or a part of me that feels like crying. Why do I need it? I can laugh at those people who are getting drunk and, as I'm quickly realising they are the same people who look like zombies. What happened? We were all drinking together. Now you overtake me and I sit there wondering why my fellow pub goer's eyes have become half open. Why are their mouths moving like some kind of post orgasm mutterings? Why are their attention spans smaller that a grain of rice?

I realise something which I should have noticed sooner. People change when they drink. You can either be with the change or watch it's beautiful progression as people turn into slurring comedians and freestyle break dancers. I'll be on the back seat for now with my non alcoholic Kalibre and my orange juice. You know what I'll say when people ask me with astonished stares why I'm not drinking? I'll say
'I just don't want to drink.' I haven't stopped drinking, rather seen the error I was making when I thought I needed it to have a good time.

What I Am

I want to describe myself in ten sentences. I'll take the first two sentences to tell you about it and that'll make the job easier. I told my girlfriend about my idea and she said it was silly. I told her to shut up and she didn't so I slapped her. She left telling me she was never coming back. I told her I didn't care. I asked her back but she refused to talk to me. I swore down the phone and this only made her more indignant to stay away. I wish I'd never overreacted now. I'm a dick.