There once was a crook
Who was let off the hook
To commit some more crime
For the state gave him time
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Thursday, May 28, 2009
No.2 : The Liberal , 2009
The liberal , elected ,swore to see a country more equal and fair
Freedom of speech,democracy,tolerance for every group that was there
To speak the unspeakable, promote the intolerable, all had their say
Human rights for the most evil of humans,His reign lasted only one day
Freedom of speech,democracy,tolerance for every group that was there
To speak the unspeakable, promote the intolerable, all had their say
Human rights for the most evil of humans,His reign lasted only one day
Sunday, May 17, 2009
No.3: The Worm , 2009
A worm, it looked up with awe toward the sky
And asked itself the unearthly question why?
After life ,could there be a peaceful death?
Or could it be that on the very final breath
A captive, eternal, beneath a hungry bird- claw
To be absorbed in ghostly heavens aeons more ?
Or feed cruel Harpies for generations there
Then fall once more ,the same again to bear?
Or would the Gods in their wisdom ,mercy show
And repose a humble worm in Hades below ?
And asked itself the unearthly question why?
After life ,could there be a peaceful death?
Or could it be that on the very final breath
A captive, eternal, beneath a hungry bird- claw
To be absorbed in ghostly heavens aeons more ?
Or feed cruel Harpies for generations there
Then fall once more ,the same again to bear?
Or would the Gods in their wisdom ,mercy show
And repose a humble worm in Hades below ?
Sunday, May 10, 2009
No. 4: The Communists 2009
The Communists , victorious had seen their finest hour
The People had spoken , reclaimed the oligarchy's power
Leninists,Trotskyists ,Maoists, each and every worker-brother
Planned our brighter future , but first they'd kill eachother
The People had spoken , reclaimed the oligarchy's power
Leninists,Trotskyists ,Maoists, each and every worker-brother
Planned our brighter future , but first they'd kill eachother
No.5: The Soul, 2009
A woman had lost her soul
It fell into a man-hole
She went to live b'neath the street
And now her life it is complete
It fell into a man-hole
She went to live b'neath the street
And now her life it is complete
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
No.6: The Anarchist , 2009
The Anarchist, succeeded and overthrew the state
A Utopian dream even he could not contemplate
No boss ,no government or law yet he's full of dread
The ungrateful mob ,it turned, and now it wants his head!
A Utopian dream even he could not contemplate
No boss ,no government or law yet he's full of dread
The ungrateful mob ,it turned, and now it wants his head!
Sunday, April 12, 2009
No.7: For Sue , 2009
Keep away , avoid me
Do not dare
To look into my eyes
Because you're bigger,
Better ,stronger
wiser , you despise
With pity , fear,
And hatred you flinch
perspire and shake
Because I have no Arms
I have no legs
For I am a snake !
Do not dare
To look into my eyes
Because you're bigger,
Better ,stronger
wiser , you despise
With pity , fear,
And hatred you flinch
perspire and shake
Because I have no Arms
I have no legs
For I am a snake !
Friday, April 3, 2009
Sunday, February 8, 2009
Friday, January 2, 2009
No.10: The Wise Man, 2009
There once was a man ,rare and wise
He seldom spoke, or opened his eyes
Many wondered what filled his head
It was beyond them , for he was dead.
He seldom spoke, or opened his eyes
Many wondered what filled his head
It was beyond them , for he was dead.
Monday, December 22, 2008
No. 11: The Ware house Man And The Swallow, 1989
In this warehouse , there used to be light at one time. Now I am surrounded by stacks of cloth,every possible inch has been utilised , the windows have all been blocked , and now as well as having to endure the dark tedium of the nature of my job I have to suffer the concrete darkness of the situation . Of course , such petty needs as one has for seeing the sun are quite trivial compared to the pressures of business that Silky Novelties Ltd have to put up with .
Robert Argent is the one I share the warehouse with , he is our 'Production Manager ' . If only the Gods had endowed me with this man's enthusiasm. Argent is the archetypal law abiding citizen ; a faithful servant to all who employ him , and ardent nationalist when England play Japan in tiddly-winks , regardless of whether he understands the rules of the game. At the same time he can be a 'crawler' and a 'scab' to the militant trade unionist,but kind natured , cheerful and pleasant , all in all Argent is one of society's necessary simpletons.
I the warehouse man , detest my job and spend my days at counting the minutes go by, at times the tasks I am given to perform are so frustratingly mundane that at times of despair I conclude that I would not wish this job on my worst enemy .And to see the looks on the directors when they come to the warehouse from time to time , you would think they have bestowed upon me a great privilege by giving me the opportunity to be their dog's body in this age of growing unemployment .
Lets face it ,Argent , although his duties involved a great deal of managerial work , was a humble , glorified warehouse man akin to myself.
Today is like any other day , I get up at about 7.30 a.m , don't even bother to eat anything , and if I have a minute to spare I hastily brush my teeth and get into my rusty vehicle to join the rest of 'civilisation ' for want of a better word and scramble onto the overcrowded roads of London with the same thought as hundreds of thousands of other Londoners at that time of day: I must be at the office or wherever they have to be by the agreed time.We have ceased to question things ,it is easier that way .We are all on the road to work and that is what matters , we can feel good within ourselves for we are leading reasonably honest lives and serving the community,our hours are given structure , which can be good as idleness ,according to many can make one think too much and that normally induces restlessness or depression .
Acknowledging that though , I for one can still not come to terms with my morning routine . There is a whole war going on out there!My journey takes on average about fifty to seventy minutes .I really cannot say which I dread most, the journey to get to work or the actual prospect for yet another day the warehouse. In my case it's like some kind of trap , I drive for about an hour at what must be an average speed of 7 m.p.h. , by the end of the journey I feel somewhat relieved by the fact that I have actually survived the trip , then as soon as I enter the warehouse it's a case of out of the frying pan and into a deeper frying pan.
The traffic today is quite normal , lights change a good several times before I can cross them , then as soon as there is a solid stretch of road, out of nowhere appear he usual road hogs. These people I can never understand , they are forever on the overtake, one has just cut into the space in front of me , forcing me to slow down to avoid contact . He's lucky I'm not of psychopathic temperament , for if I were I would have killed hundreds of these types by now. It's obvious that there is not enough room on the road for a car to weave in and out at this point in the rush hour , even if he succeeds in pulling off two of these stunts he will only improve his journey time very slightly .It is normally this type of driver that becomes abusive when somebody obstructs him. It seems like many people are on a small form of rebellion , pity though , that is takes this shape.
Arriving at Camden Town where the warehouse is situated , I turn into the car park .I feel a little relieved at the end of the journey to get away from the underlying aggression of the road , I suppose there must be thousands of Argents out there , in fact I believe that most of them are more like Argent than me, Steve Nichols .There must be quite a few Nichols out there too , it takes all types to make a world as they say , but quite definitely the Argent's are the norm .To a prime minister for example, they are 'the man in the street' that the government represents . Or to put it more bluntly , if the government employed a genetic engineer to transform the populace to what the government would like to represent , or even 'govern ' , the Argent would be the prototype clone.
The Nichols , obviously the minority are more difficult to describe , they are on the whole discontents . Many turn to crime , others wallow int their misery and could very well end up on drugs. Others remain in the stream of life and try their hardest to to be Argents , even when they succeed at transforming themselves into Argents , as many do, there is always a fundamental difference and that is that
they are a Nichols trying to conform and be an Argent whereas an Argent is always an Argent whether he knows it or not .
The best a Nichols can do is to find an an escape route where he can achieve personal liberty and establish himself in something he can believe in and in that way attain a degree of independence . Failing that , he must try and obtain an inner fulfilment to a point that nothing external can bother him any more .
I get out of the car and head for the warehouse, I can see from the window that Rob Argent has beaten me to it this morning , sparing me the the task of unlocking the warehouse doors and switching off the burglar alarm. As I enter I find Argent with his nose stuck into a length of fabric and a piece of paper in his left hand trying to identify a pattern for a customer , at the same time he is humming smugly to himself as he often does .
' Good morning Steve .' He greets .
' Good morning Rob.' I then head straight for the tea cups by the sin and make a cup of tea for Argent and a coffee for myself . He thanks me for the drink and leaves it forgetfully as he often does in order to go pottering around as fast as possible , knowing that there are only so many hours in the working day . He must cram In as much as he can , there is no time to lose and he must please the directors Mr White and Mr Fields .
I take my drink to my desk and seated , I light a cigarette and slowly savour both .This moment of which I have several of during the day is a very important ritual and is the only thing I look forward to when I am in my ' dungeon' as I often think of it as . in fact I measure the whole day in terms of my coffee and lunch breaks . They give me the chance to think and day dream and free me from handling this cloth .
I finish my first coffee ritual and move on to the work bench where Argent has already prepared some orders for me to cut and pack.
'Err Steve , that one for Jaguars , once you've cut the lengths , don't pack them , they're always slow to pay . They won't get away with it this time.The rest of them are all straight forward '.
'Yeah , okay Rob .' So here I go ; cutting material , packing it , sorting out stock and so on. I suppose if Argent was a kind of man that I could get on with the job could have been bearable or even enjoyable .We do get on though , on a superficial level . we talk about the weather and crack little ' work jokes ' .
From Argent's point of view it is purely for the sake of making the working atmosphere more pleasant hopefully more productive. We rarely , if ever , really communicate . I like discussion , but on every occasion that I have tried to prolong a conversation and exchange ideas, I have discovered that Argent's views are so different to mine to the point of getting me annoyed .
Not only that , but when we are in the middle of discussing a T.V. programme he seems to feel guilty about it and quickly draws the discussion to it conclusion in order to concentrate on something more meaningful; the work at hand.If only he could be at least half a rascal , we could be having the odd game of table tennis in wrking hours or either one of us could be shooting off early in the afternoons. but not with Rob Argent this man is loyalty framed and hung on the wall .Sometimes I feel like saying to him that the loyalty he gives cannot be returned by White and Fields for the very reason that Argent , like myself is an employee. Of course he does win little favours from them that he carefully conceals like his train fares paid and possibly even his personal car may very well be put down as a company expense .But how can a dog gain the upper hand on its master ?It can give its all , the master can return some affection and look after it in all sorts of ways. But so what ? One remains a dog , the other a domineering human being. I detest that old working class expression :' You mustn't bite the hand that feeds you .'What nonsense! I would bite of the arm off this company if I was given the chance , or any body I worked for come to that .Not that I am lazy , I just don't agree with the idea of working for somebody else' interest and doing unskilled work and thereby being easily replaceable . Things have changed over the years . People in the rich nations do have a greater degree of freedom and opportunity but on the whole the principle has remained the same , if I had enough money to open a small factory and employed workers at a pittance of £90.00 a week I would be congratulated by the establishment and many of its subjects for showing great initiative and creativity of employment , I might even be elevated to philanthropic status . Of course my motives , if I had been a successful industrialist would be purely selfish and in order to make myself a nice little packet of money . Yet still it would be easy to delude myself and imagine that I have more noble intentions.
In a sense I , in my present position have no commercial or political power whatsoever . I am told what to do every day of my life , I do not have any control over the fruits of my labour and although I have the 'freedom' of leaving Silky Novelties , I can only have the slight chance of finding something better. More likely I could end up in a noisy , dirty factory at similar or worse rates of pay . If I opt out altogether I risk the chance of relying on a fast changing welfare system that asks too many questions . That too is an infringement of one's liberty , to pay back some money to some one who is presently without a job ,the government , after years of ruthlessly taxing that person , doesn't take kindly to it at all. When some body does claim some of his money back off the government , it is referred to as 'Dole money ' and the claimant after being unemployed for some length of time is hounded into finding another job with the threat that if he does not accept 'Suitable employment' , his benefit will be stopped.
The ethics of my situation are interesting and on a small scale represent an aspect of our accepted values . I am on a fixed wage , regardless of the amount of production I get through I am given my wage .I see the invoices floating around here and some of the payments they receive from their customers are colossal . I have no right to turn around to the director Mr White and say on an excellent week:'What are you doing ? you can't pocket all that money I helped to make you owe me some!'.No anything they make in excess of my miserly income is legally and morally theirs for keeps. Yet if I had been caught taking something of value home from the ware house I would be a lowly thief , that is justice.
Argent walks of his little office compartment , heads straight for the sink , a tinkle of cheap china mugs.It's already eleven o'clock that's not bad , time normally sands still here. As he makes the teas has his back turned towards me I stare at him partly with contempt and partly in admiration.He is quite slender in build, especially for a forty year old. In fact he's very petite and has a long narrow face , his only prominent feature being nose which ordinary but large.It makes him resemble a puppet . He is married and has an eight year old son who is his only child. .When he smiles he displays quite and effeminate gaze and often I think I am in the presence of a classic hair dresser.
What makes him tick? he seems delighted to be alive . We live in different time scales to each other . An hour seems like two hours to me whereas for Argent it goes as if it were twenty minutes. He has no 'tea breaks' as such , he drinks tea purely to 'wet his whistle ' as he puts it. To quench his thirst and enable him to carry on.Her often spares a mere ten minutes for his lunch break , maybe the reason that silence prevails in here is that we are so many dimensions apart . He doesn't accept any of the the talk I have to offer so I don't see the bother of keeping up a rapport of the 'work at hand jokes' . On the few occasions that I pretended to show an interest in my job , he got excited , I could see the goose pimples growing on his arms , he then bursts into a very deep and significant discussion speculating on the various permutations of stacking wool and cotton fabrics in an already overloaded warehouse .At the end of the lecture on the subject of 'silly buggers ', he will go to the usual great lengths to congratulate me for being a very concerned worker and probably hoping that I would be manipulated by his 'stroking ' and start to really get hearty about my job . This treatment though can only embarrass me to the point of anger . No thank you . I would rather remain silent ,in my own world if this is the price for company.
Maybe Argent has got it right , maybe he knows some of life's secrets , could well be on higher plane of consciousness,he knows exactly where he is and questions nothing , he lives life spontaneously or rather he is a vessel in which life flows through as pure experience............
'There's your tea Steve'..........Somehow I doubt it .
'Thank you Rob'.
'Arrow parcels should be collecting that lot for New Zealand today ,nice little order that one '.
'Oh good , it'll make some space for us too'. Argent then struts into his office partition , talking aloud in facts and figures , checking his stock figures against his in coming orders. Continuously working in a rhythmical manner . I take my seat and rest my feet , relieving me from the boredom more than the fatigue, I finish a
chocolate in a few seconds and then light up whilst still sipping my drink .
I Wonder if Argent will be going to the main office today. He often does when duty calls .The main Silky Novelty office and show rooms are situated in Oxford Circus , that is where White , the managing director and brain of the company,along with Fields the sales director normally spend their time.
They also have,working with them in there two or three young women who are employed as designers of cloth pattern , these have always been coming and going for the four years I have been in this firm , not that I spend much time there apart from the odd occasion where I am asked to deliver a parcel down there .Whenever I do make an appearance down there though , I forever seem to be introduced to a new team of designers . I found out in due course that the pay was very bad and that many of these designers were on government training schemes whereby the government helps the employers by paying a portion of the employee's salary . I can see somehow a reason for some body in the designer's position wanting to leave , or for that matter it's obvious why White , the managing director would prefer to be continuously employing trainees at a discount price .
Argent,being the key man of the company has connections with all aspects of the company's operations. So often it happens that he has to attend the office to sort out something that nobody else can . I must give it to him though , he is so efficient that he can almost read the minds of the two directors and make them look lost at what they are doing . But it's their damned business though and not his that's what gets me.
Argent , although he knows everything there is to know about the trade he is in, is one of these people that would rather not branch out and try it alone .
He would rather remain part of the team; a good sheep that recognises the shepherd. Even at times when he has gone to great lengths to please his superiors and seen that they have not appreciated it , that will still not change his outlook on life .
Once I saw him filling in a 'Pools' coupon and commented to him that if he had won a large sum of money we would not see him around here. He replied with seriousness that he would never give up his job and that it is too much in his blood . I found that hard to believe at the time , but soon after concluded that his 'job' filled a very important and emotional need in him . This to Argent is his virility , his self expression , his challenge , occupation , identity and alongside his family; his main purpose in life . Without his job , Argent would be naked , insignificant and unjustifiable .
If he does go to the main office today, he will very likely announce it in his formal way and tell me also if he is likely to return to the warehouse and at what time .When he does go there it is often after lunch and normally he informs me that he will be seeing me the next morning . These occasions are my greatest benefits in the ware house . I can do some work at a faster pace then read or use the telephone and near enough do as I please . It's amazing what a work incentive scheme can do.
For fifteen minutes now I have been enjoying my break . I suppose I might as well get up and do something .It's about twenty past eleven now, my next break is at one o' clock and that lasts for an hour where I normally go out for something to eat and walk around for a while . There is no point spending my lunch hour with this man , I want a break , not to watch someone working .From now until one o' clock I work and for stimulation I listen to the radio beside my work bench which I always tune into London's local radio station, the public phone-in and talk show where people phone in and talk to the presenter and his guests. If I couldn't listen to this programme all day I probably would have turned to stone by now . On occasions when White and Fields come over to the warehouse to do some work , which is quite often , I become out numbered ; three chiefs to one Indian . Argent of course being the aspiring third chief. To see the three of them in full flight is something of a profound sexual experience . No sooner do the dynamic duo arrive than off their coats and scramble to examine an important consignment of cloth, then start snipping away to make sample pieces for their customers to see. The three of them together hovering around the place , talking their gibberish puts me into complete isolation .Time after time they reach ecstasy , and in a way I can understand both White and Fields ' thrill at indulging in this legalised form of aggression called 'business' ,but it is always Argent that manages to attain the most orgasms. Many times on these orgiastic visits I have come back to the warehouse from lunch break to see that one of the three lovers had switched off the radio . I took it as an an insult, as if they were saying such things were irritating them , distracting them from what was 'important ' .I was most offended . the radio phone-in programmes that I listen to all day are like a life support system .Whenever this mutinous action occurs without any explanation , I also respond without explanation and discreetly switch the radio back on.
I have another hour and a half until lunch time. Handling this cloth has made my hands very rough over the four years I have been here .Being on my feet all day and moving around, though I cannot say I object to it within itself. So the prospects of this dull working day are building up. 'Arrow Parcels' might be collecting from here ,White and Fields could be visiting on one of their orgies .Best of all possibilities is if Arrow Parcels do not turn up and Argent goes to the main office . Even if I was left to my own devices it is still possible that a lorry driver will enter the warehouse unexpectedly and say: 'I've got 'undred and fifty parcels for ya mate!'
I am a warehouse man . If I go to a party or make new acquaintances in some other way and I am asked what my occupation is, regardless of my numerous previous jobs , I reply that I am a warehouse man . This is my label and people don't care what I really am so long as I have given them a label to latch on to.They can then decide whether I am common and insignificant , therefore not to be taken too seriously , or whether I am somebody worth getting to know and to be admired by virtue of the fact that I have a 'good job' . Either way , by telling somebody that I do a particular job , I cannot understand how that person has got closer to understanding what kind of person I am or what I actually do with my life.
If I made the tabloid head lines by winning the pools or by murdering three people , it would read:'Warehouse man kills three people'. So that as well as knowing that I have become a killer , the reading public can know that I was a warehouse man.
I am only working as a warehouse man at present because I can't find a better job and because the thing that I am really involved with : painting pictures is so difficult to succeed in , in fact almost impossible if one is to take one self seriously and be reasonably honest with the activity . Unless of course one happens to be of genius stature or has friends in the right places.Because of this situation I have come to the conclusion over the past few years of working in this warehouse that I want to rid my self of this burden and devote not only the evenings and weekends to my obsessions and indulgences , but the better part of the working day .This forced me to consider all sorts of ways to produce commercial items that can be somehow related to the visual arts , and if I am successful at least I can be financially independent and do some sort of that bears some resemblence to what I enjoy doing . So far I have produced a range of greetings cards , a calendar , decorative display plates , antique replica and various other commodities . all of which I have not beeen able to market successfully .
Lately I have been spending the working day in the warehouse thinking of of different projects that can be produced and packaged whilst at the same time carrying out the routine tasks in the apparent state of a sleep walker . I can tell by the strange looks I receive from Argent that he notices that I'm not fully present.
Argent is another species , he has no conflict , he takes his work home with him in that breif case he always carries . That's no exaggeration . He often comments that he was thinking about some aspect of the workd whilst at home on the weekend and rushes into the place in the morning anxiously to see if his latest strategy for creating more storage space in an extremely overcrowded warehouse area has worked. If he were in my position , doing my job ,I'm sure he would take a keen interest in the work and contribute something valid to Silky Novelties .He would probably get fed up with it sometimes and do the usual moaning that many working people love to do and hpe for his holiday period to arrive , but when he would be a week into his holidays , he would be just as keen to gete his teeth back iinto the things that matter .Yes if Argent had been in my place he would definitely have been promoted by now. He couldn't spend a whole four years stagnating like Steve Nichols . Argent would have proved himself by now, making a fine example of how it pays to be conscientious.
'Allo mate!' The driver from Arrow parcels has come.
'Alllo there , hope your feeling strong enough I've got fifteen parcels for ya'.These drivers , from my experience are so scared of lifting even the most comforable of packages.
'I don't think I will be feeling strong after that lot though.' .The driver quickly counted the packages then signed the paper work I put before him. I now go and press for the goods lift , Luckily the lift arrived sharply and now we load.This place is so ancient we arrive on the ground floor and then unload the goods into a goods trolley , push the loaded trolley all the way up hill through the yard to the busy road where the driver had parked , and now both panting ,load from the trollley into the vehicle.
'That's your lot ,' I told him , 'I'll probably see ylu next week it be this much tough.'
'Cheers mate !'.The driver closes his doors and drivers off as I push the trolley back into its position in the yard . As I do this I catch a glimpse of Argent overlooking from the warehouse window .It's not the look of austerity , but of anxiety .If anything had gone wrong , for example , like Nichols forgetting to dispatch all the parcels due to his absent mindedness , Argent would have shot down the to the rescue at a high speed with the parcel over his shoulder , claiming another victory for Silky Novelties .
' That was a nice clearance!".said Argent , with glee in his eyes as I strolled back into the walls of the warehouse .
'Yeah .' I smiled .I knew the exact words he was going to use after I had made the 'successful clearance' and returned to the warehouse .
It's coming on to quarter past twelve . Argent is heading for the kettle. Good I'll have this break and then it won't be long until I have that break of breaks ; the lunch break .
I finish my tea and return to the work bench , there's nothing much on the radio , our arrogant chat show host ,Ben Haste is interviewing some pompous actor .What a combination !. Haste seems to change his tone of voice completely when talking to and established , well ,known and loved thespian.Instead of his harsh , patronising monologue that he blasts at his general public phone-in callers he seems to behave much more humble and enthusiastic as though he is actually enjoying the conversation . I only wish I could find the conversation slightly interesting so that lunch time would appear to arrive more quickly .
There's a swallow flying by , so it was actualy worth getting out of bed today , seeing that bird has raised my spirits .Its rhythmic bursts of flight and elegent form are a real treat to observe , especially when it descends in its cahracteristic manner .
How can I ever comare with that beautiful creature ,It works for it living , the best way it knows how, doing nothing that seems alien to itself, it rests and plays and sings and mates. It has no leaders to pay tax to and most of all , when it sees nasty weather , it flees to another land . It poses no threat to the earth and does not need to be taught anything . And to think that I was taught at school that we humans are the most intelligent animals on this planet : pure bias .
These dammed rolls of fabric , they are so similar.I'm looking for colour code 3 of of design 47 ,its floral design is almost identical to color four , less a shade of pink . Oh how on earth did I end up here in this cul-de- sac ? How much longer will I take this lying down ? why am I performing these far removed mechanical functions?
Saved by the God of time! it's two minutes to one o' clock , time to wash
my hands and go. It looks like dull and cloudy weather , with the threat of rain but
that will not stop me .I've done it before through wind and snow.
'See you later Rob'.
'Bye Steve'.
Where shall I head for this hour? This is when time speeds up . I sometimes go for fish and chips in my favourite place.
I occasionally really enjoy a sit- down meal and this man really does make his cod taste nice , and seeing that I go there regularly , he often asks me if I don't mind waiting a few minutes for him to fry me a fresh piece .
Many times though I bring sandwiches with me and take a stroll up Camden High Street , normally ending up in the local book store .It's quite big store and more
often than not I end up engrossed in words and images mainly to do with art history or ancient and modern philosophy . No sooner than I get into a serious browse , it's time to return to the warehouse . I think I'd rather avoid that particualr routine today. Other times , especially when it's sunny , I go down to a quiet spot on the Camden Canal , dirty though is, there is a nice peacefulness
there, away from the bustling high street . There , I eat my sandwiches and gaze , or sometimes do pencil sketches of my surroundings .
Well I haven't brought sandwiches with me today , I had no time in the morning, I usually prepare the night before, failing that, I usually leave it out all together and take the opportunity of eating something warm from the high street shops. Today I will head for the bakers.
In 'The Little Baker's Shop' the queue is quite 'big'I have to wait a good ten minutes before I can order a cornish pasty and a sausage roll.Today I think it is going to be walking up and down the high street . What a busy high street this is, I suppose it is quite typical of a London high street , apart from the fact that it is a little more close to the city centre and hence more neurotic . Shops and shops for the consumer , and who is the real 'consumer '? Definitely not us little fish pacing up and down this high street .
If the swallow was burdened with human 'intelligence', and cursed with never ending thoughts ,what would it see from its heights ? And what would it say? Would it say: 'Well now that I've thought about it and can see that you lot down there are human and superior becaue you know about maths and English , I'm beginnning to feel bad about being a swallow . I shall now beg the Gods to transform me into a worthy man.' Nonsense , as if the swallow is so ignorant not to know what it is in the first place!
The speed in which people move in these big cities is alarming . Because of increasing technology , things appear to be done more quickly but still we are not satisfied and want to get that extra edge in order to get something done a second earlier thereby taking minutes off our life span for every one of those seconds . This is definitely an addictive cancer worse than alcohol or pot smoking .
It's about a quarter to two , I better get back to the warehouse .It'll take about one minute to get there allowing me time to have a coffee before I get up and start for the afternoon.
his work and blabbering on the telephone about cloth, spilling sentences about quantities , weights , colour numbers and code numbers, quality numbers and texture codes to carton mumbers all with a twinkle in his eyes and lump in the throat . I know he has not had a break even for his lunch , he has inserted some pieces of bread in his mouth , possibly with cheese and pickle and and followed it with forgetful sips of tea while at the same time doing his duty for the company . Truly a great circus performer . He didn't even notice my entrance into the place , which is not uncommon for him.
On the radio this hour the resident marriage counsellor does an hour's programme dealing with callers' problems from great to small. I always enjoy this programme, though that may be an insensitive statement to make .The counsellor deals with problems ranging from bereavement down to the microscopically petty relationship upsets. The help and advice could have similar problems. Over the years I have been tuning into this programme ,it has taught me a great deal about human behaviour and helped me to look at my own reflexes.
It's coming onto three o' clock and Argent hasn't shown any signs of buggering off to the main office to see his masters . The afternoon will drag, if he does go ,the opposite will happen , by the time I have taken the opportunity to do my daily physical exercise in work hours , have afternoon coffee and made a personal telephone call it will be time to pack up , the scoundrel , look at him , he's just now got off his bum and rocketed over to the far corner of the warehouse singing to himself and selecting several pieces of cloth , the excitement on his face is that of a man who knows that he is in the centre of the universe . He cruises gracefully back to his office cubicle and dials frantically the office number and White , the director answers .
'Hello Phil, those 64011's , I've got all the sample pieces I need , and Mr Hall from Regal Gowns won't be going to the office this afternoon , so I shant be coming over this afternoon . I've got plenty to be getting on with here and by the way the twelve cartons of from Japan will be..............'
There's my answer , it's me and him again . I'll try hard to get involved with my work , that will make the time fly . Hmmm....if I finish this cutting I can then go on and pack it . After I've done that I can then cut some more lengths of material , then tidy up for variety , rearrange some stock then cut some more lengths of material............Rubbish ! I have been through this before! what I need is a bloody change!. How did I ever get into this abyss of a dungeon and share it with Argent? What has got into the world ? there are so many Argents out there , I've met bank clerks who would risk their own skins and challenge dangerous criminals in order to save some money for an establishment that pays them a pittance , retired people who would not appreciate a few years of liberty to see them through to
their dying day, but would rather continue doing uninteresting work until they died 'on the job' . But I have not yet seen enough people to stand together and say to the London trains service for example , after a recent fare increase;'You want fifty pence extra for this trip? No my friend take five pence more that's reasonable , and by the way , a few million people agree with me including your staff'.
Being with Argent so long is like an unhappy marriage, and for a single person living alone , this is a heavy burden.I drag myself in here five days a week and the first person I talk to is this workaholic. Seeing the expression on the face
of a man that knows he is in the right place at the right time , eager to get his teeth stuck in for the day with such zest is painful . Sometimes he is the only person I've talked to for the whole day which means I've not communicated at all . Being of the opposite disposition myself , I hate the site of him in the morning . The marriage has not worked.
Just finished my final coffee ritual for the day . I stub out my cigarette , wash my cup and carry on packing this large order of goods . The amount of things I
have packed today has reached thousands of pounds in value , although I'm not
interested in the job , I'm not completely asleep , at times hundreds of thousands of pounds pass through my hands in the shape of cloth. I occasionally get a pat on the head when things go well , but the boys and very likely Argent aswell , reap something much more useful.
It's quarter past four , it's all down hill now ,I get so pleased at the prospect of of walking out of here , but the vicious circle will catch up on me and I will be back here again on this very spot as if I have been here forever surrounded by the eternal presence of Argent .
Last summer I broke the monotony . I took a three week holiday in France , even this was under the shadow of my employers' disapproval . I arranged a three week stay at a south westerly resort called Chateau D'Olonnne and when I announced it to Argent he seemed quite vexed but concealing the fact he passed the buck to the big boy White who told me in no uncertain terms that this is not on , and that I should know by now that the comapany rules state that not more than two weeks of the annnual four week holiday allowance can be taken consecutively . These company rules apply to all the staff and even Fields and White himself abide by them . Of course the directors abide by their rules , they can sacrifice a week's holiday for the sake of their business is is their business after all. But what's my business ? apart from personal life: nothing . So there was White telling me to change my holiday from three weeks to two.
Being quite diplomatic though , although I felt grossly insulted by this attack on my personal liberty I told White that I would try and see if I could arrange the dates to be changed by the travel agents with no real intention of doing such a thing After . After several days I told White that I could not change the date and he was left with no further comment to make.
Chateau D'Olonne was a dream, hot and sunny and surprisingly , it reminded me of the Eastern Mediterranean which I have visited several times.The beach was very near the hotel and to walk a few minutes and view the sea was like confronting a primitive and almost eternal god, caressing and latently menacing . As most people have the need to choose their god , make effigies of him and write nonsene about his attributes , demands,powers and rewards to his devotess etc , I think I would choose this particular one as one of my many deities .
I found the local people very lively and friendly , their way way of life was festive and very much for the moment . Drinking wine wasn't as sinful as it is deemed here . The languiage had a feminine and powerful beauty about it, and this was amplified by the fact that I could comprehend only a few phrases . I studied French when I was at school and was quuite good at the time , I took the opportunity to try and talk as much as I could to people in their own language.The people in Chateau D'Olonne were quite appreciative and seeing that I was making an effort , went to great lengths to communicate . There is something exciting when two people of the same species divided by the language barrier try to talk to eachother , it's as if the very fact that they are not using a common language elevates their communication to a higher level.
The threee weeks that I spent in Chateau D'Olonne changed me considerably , a strange awareness swept over me , I realisation that I was temporarily alive.
Everything was spoilt when I returned to London , I resumed my duties as the warehouse man thereby sinking into a lifeless stupour . The period to readjust was lengthy , for weeks I was reminiscing and even went to the lengths of reading about Chateau D'Olonne and enquiring about how to go about acquiring accommodation there .But flights of of fancy remained just that and I suppose a memory is better cherished when it remains in the recesses of one's mind , available for recollection when needed.
It's five minutes to five , I've killed another working day at Silky Novelties ,I'll wash my hands and retreat . As I put on my coat I notice that Argent is not making any signs of following suit . 'Are you staying late tonight Rob?'
'Yes , what can I do? there's so much work to be done.'
'Hmmm yeah ............well , I'll see you tomorrow then Rob.'
'See you Steve .' As I walked out of the warehouse I wondered why Argent says things like that , he doesn't mean it .
The traffic was thick as usual for the journey home , I made it at about the usual time . Supper . I shall reheat yesterday's meal , I usually over cook in case I have visitors . I'm not a gregarious type but company of the select few means a great deal , but even they don't frequent my abode regulary , people are so tied down in their own lttle bubbles , even myself ,I don't find time to go out and see the people I rally want to.
Roast Pork chops with rice and salad .It always seems to taste better the second time around . I would have liked to wash down the meal with a couple of glasses of red wine , but tea will have to do.
I've been here in this flat for two and a half years now , it's only a first floor studio flat above a supermarket , situated in a not too busy high street , the main reason I really went for it was because of its quite large balcony overlooking the street . I like living alone . The freedom of solitude is vast , but the line between happy solitude and paiful loneliness is a very faint one and for a man coming onto the age of twenty eight , my life seems to oscillate between the two conditions . This flat was very expensive for a man on my salary to buy , in theory it just isn't viable . But living in London there seems to be no choice , either buy a property you can't afford or pay for a very high rent to a landlord thereby being two down by having an employer and a landlord to dominate you . The price of just sitting down staring at the wall opposite me ,if it were to be calculated by a mathematician , would prove to be so high that after being at work for a week and paying all necessary bills etc , then doing exactly that , and realsing that's about all I can afford to do- stare at that damned wall , I realise that I would rather not be doing that and that I would be much happpier breaking the routine and be out of here somewhere enjoying myself . That feeling only arises when I get very negative . All in all I quite enjoy my pad and besides , I rarely have the time to just sit and stare at the wall because of the various activities that I am always involved with . The possibility of change is what excites me most. But it seems to have become an unchanging possibility only.
The evening passes by so quickly , I ate , I had a bath , I did some physical exercise , nobody came to see me . I did some work on the painting I'm working on called Pygmalion's statue which I have been doing on and off for the past two months , with not much progress and finally I'm tucked up in bed and reading Kafka's 'Metamorphosis'. I have read it before and it's the only one of his stories that has really had me glued to its pages . It's the kind of fiction
that is charged with more factual significance than most 'factual' books can hope to achieve.
I switch off the light at half past one a.am. I can carry on reading for another two hours , and I often do , but it's not worth it ,I often end up paying for it in the morning with extreme tiredness.
* * * * * * *
Today is like any other day I get up at about 7.30 a.m , I haven't got the time to eat anything or even brush my teeth . Before I leave for work in the mornings I normally open the door that leads to my balcony and have a quick look outside.
Busy as normal for this time of morning , a stream of people heading for the train station , others squeezing in desperately tight against eachother in order to be on the same bus. Many in their cars accelarating into snail gear whilst others have already got into the swing of things by counting the pennies come in as they sell chocolates , cigarettes and newspapers , what's more , people are actually buying these things. Some people buy newspapers first thing in the morning and read about all the nasty things that go on in the world with a concern tha is indistiguishable from sheer morbid entertainment .
NO. I don't want this. Yesterday was my final day as an employee of Silky Novelties Ltd , I will never go back there again and delight at the thought of never seeing any one of them again in my life . All of a sudden I'm alive again , it's good to be alive once in a while. I feel hungry.
Every piece of bread that I dipped into the fried egg yolk was charged with a flavour of ecstasy that said more about myself than the thing itself. The same applied to every puff of my cigarette .Where's that telephone directory ? Ah there it is.
'Hello , is that Bevan Estates?........can you tell me the value of my flat please?, it's a first floor studio flat with balcony , situated near '.
'Well it could be anything from the region of thirty eight and forty five thousand pounds , but it's impossible to say over the phone, if you would like a valuation ........'
'........... Okay , thank you , so I'll expect him over at about three o'clock this afternoon then ........bye.'
How about that then , I bought this place for twenty thousand pounds. Whatever it sells for I will have made some money........in a quantity that I have never before held in my hands. London is an amazing place , most places in comparison seem like cheap toy towns , properties of course being much cheaper in many other places . Look at this glossy brochure published by property developers based in Chateau D'Olonne . Why stay here? , a brother , a sister and both parents but if they are that close , they can come and see me there, just as I can see them here.
Of course things could go sour , I will need some kind of work , but on the other hand , if my home is fully paid for ,unlike my circumstances here , I will have more to my pocket any way. I will be near the Sea God , I will learn a new language and be fluent at it , wine will accompany my every meal . the town will not be over populated and most of all I will meet a lusty French woman .
I don't have much to lose . Even if things did go wrong , what I am about to do is still the right thing because this very moment is precious , I'm alive and flying and this is what counts . It will take possibly two or three months for things to reach a conclusion , but as soon as that moment arrives I will fly in a southerly direction .
I am going to live in Chateau D'Olonne.
Robert Argent is the one I share the warehouse with , he is our 'Production Manager ' . If only the Gods had endowed me with this man's enthusiasm. Argent is the archetypal law abiding citizen ; a faithful servant to all who employ him , and ardent nationalist when England play Japan in tiddly-winks , regardless of whether he understands the rules of the game. At the same time he can be a 'crawler' and a 'scab' to the militant trade unionist,but kind natured , cheerful and pleasant , all in all Argent is one of society's necessary simpletons.
I the warehouse man , detest my job and spend my days at counting the minutes go by, at times the tasks I am given to perform are so frustratingly mundane that at times of despair I conclude that I would not wish this job on my worst enemy .And to see the looks on the directors when they come to the warehouse from time to time , you would think they have bestowed upon me a great privilege by giving me the opportunity to be their dog's body in this age of growing unemployment .
Lets face it ,Argent , although his duties involved a great deal of managerial work , was a humble , glorified warehouse man akin to myself.
Today is like any other day , I get up at about 7.30 a.m , don't even bother to eat anything , and if I have a minute to spare I hastily brush my teeth and get into my rusty vehicle to join the rest of 'civilisation ' for want of a better word and scramble onto the overcrowded roads of London with the same thought as hundreds of thousands of other Londoners at that time of day: I must be at the office or wherever they have to be by the agreed time.We have ceased to question things ,it is easier that way .We are all on the road to work and that is what matters , we can feel good within ourselves for we are leading reasonably honest lives and serving the community,our hours are given structure , which can be good as idleness ,according to many can make one think too much and that normally induces restlessness or depression .
Acknowledging that though , I for one can still not come to terms with my morning routine . There is a whole war going on out there!My journey takes on average about fifty to seventy minutes .I really cannot say which I dread most, the journey to get to work or the actual prospect for yet another day the warehouse. In my case it's like some kind of trap , I drive for about an hour at what must be an average speed of 7 m.p.h. , by the end of the journey I feel somewhat relieved by the fact that I have actually survived the trip , then as soon as I enter the warehouse it's a case of out of the frying pan and into a deeper frying pan.
The traffic today is quite normal , lights change a good several times before I can cross them , then as soon as there is a solid stretch of road, out of nowhere appear he usual road hogs. These people I can never understand , they are forever on the overtake, one has just cut into the space in front of me , forcing me to slow down to avoid contact . He's lucky I'm not of psychopathic temperament , for if I were I would have killed hundreds of these types by now. It's obvious that there is not enough room on the road for a car to weave in and out at this point in the rush hour , even if he succeeds in pulling off two of these stunts he will only improve his journey time very slightly .It is normally this type of driver that becomes abusive when somebody obstructs him. It seems like many people are on a small form of rebellion , pity though , that is takes this shape.
Arriving at Camden Town where the warehouse is situated , I turn into the car park .I feel a little relieved at the end of the journey to get away from the underlying aggression of the road , I suppose there must be thousands of Argents out there , in fact I believe that most of them are more like Argent than me, Steve Nichols .There must be quite a few Nichols out there too , it takes all types to make a world as they say , but quite definitely the Argent's are the norm .To a prime minister for example, they are 'the man in the street' that the government represents . Or to put it more bluntly , if the government employed a genetic engineer to transform the populace to what the government would like to represent , or even 'govern ' , the Argent would be the prototype clone.
The Nichols , obviously the minority are more difficult to describe , they are on the whole discontents . Many turn to crime , others wallow int their misery and could very well end up on drugs. Others remain in the stream of life and try their hardest to to be Argents , even when they succeed at transforming themselves into Argents , as many do, there is always a fundamental difference and that is that
they are a Nichols trying to conform and be an Argent whereas an Argent is always an Argent whether he knows it or not .
The best a Nichols can do is to find an an escape route where he can achieve personal liberty and establish himself in something he can believe in and in that way attain a degree of independence . Failing that , he must try and obtain an inner fulfilment to a point that nothing external can bother him any more .
I get out of the car and head for the warehouse, I can see from the window that Rob Argent has beaten me to it this morning , sparing me the the task of unlocking the warehouse doors and switching off the burglar alarm. As I enter I find Argent with his nose stuck into a length of fabric and a piece of paper in his left hand trying to identify a pattern for a customer , at the same time he is humming smugly to himself as he often does .
' Good morning Steve .' He greets .
' Good morning Rob.' I then head straight for the tea cups by the sin and make a cup of tea for Argent and a coffee for myself . He thanks me for the drink and leaves it forgetfully as he often does in order to go pottering around as fast as possible , knowing that there are only so many hours in the working day . He must cram In as much as he can , there is no time to lose and he must please the directors Mr White and Mr Fields .
I take my drink to my desk and seated , I light a cigarette and slowly savour both .This moment of which I have several of during the day is a very important ritual and is the only thing I look forward to when I am in my ' dungeon' as I often think of it as . in fact I measure the whole day in terms of my coffee and lunch breaks . They give me the chance to think and day dream and free me from handling this cloth .
I finish my first coffee ritual and move on to the work bench where Argent has already prepared some orders for me to cut and pack.
'Err Steve , that one for Jaguars , once you've cut the lengths , don't pack them , they're always slow to pay . They won't get away with it this time.The rest of them are all straight forward '.
'Yeah , okay Rob .' So here I go ; cutting material , packing it , sorting out stock and so on. I suppose if Argent was a kind of man that I could get on with the job could have been bearable or even enjoyable .We do get on though , on a superficial level . we talk about the weather and crack little ' work jokes ' .
From Argent's point of view it is purely for the sake of making the working atmosphere more pleasant hopefully more productive. We rarely , if ever , really communicate . I like discussion , but on every occasion that I have tried to prolong a conversation and exchange ideas, I have discovered that Argent's views are so different to mine to the point of getting me annoyed .
Not only that , but when we are in the middle of discussing a T.V. programme he seems to feel guilty about it and quickly draws the discussion to it conclusion in order to concentrate on something more meaningful; the work at hand.If only he could be at least half a rascal , we could be having the odd game of table tennis in wrking hours or either one of us could be shooting off early in the afternoons. but not with Rob Argent this man is loyalty framed and hung on the wall .Sometimes I feel like saying to him that the loyalty he gives cannot be returned by White and Fields for the very reason that Argent , like myself is an employee. Of course he does win little favours from them that he carefully conceals like his train fares paid and possibly even his personal car may very well be put down as a company expense .But how can a dog gain the upper hand on its master ?It can give its all , the master can return some affection and look after it in all sorts of ways. But so what ? One remains a dog , the other a domineering human being. I detest that old working class expression :' You mustn't bite the hand that feeds you .'What nonsense! I would bite of the arm off this company if I was given the chance , or any body I worked for come to that .Not that I am lazy , I just don't agree with the idea of working for somebody else' interest and doing unskilled work and thereby being easily replaceable . Things have changed over the years . People in the rich nations do have a greater degree of freedom and opportunity but on the whole the principle has remained the same , if I had enough money to open a small factory and employed workers at a pittance of £90.00 a week I would be congratulated by the establishment and many of its subjects for showing great initiative and creativity of employment , I might even be elevated to philanthropic status . Of course my motives , if I had been a successful industrialist would be purely selfish and in order to make myself a nice little packet of money . Yet still it would be easy to delude myself and imagine that I have more noble intentions.
In a sense I , in my present position have no commercial or political power whatsoever . I am told what to do every day of my life , I do not have any control over the fruits of my labour and although I have the 'freedom' of leaving Silky Novelties , I can only have the slight chance of finding something better. More likely I could end up in a noisy , dirty factory at similar or worse rates of pay . If I opt out altogether I risk the chance of relying on a fast changing welfare system that asks too many questions . That too is an infringement of one's liberty , to pay back some money to some one who is presently without a job ,the government , after years of ruthlessly taxing that person , doesn't take kindly to it at all. When some body does claim some of his money back off the government , it is referred to as 'Dole money ' and the claimant after being unemployed for some length of time is hounded into finding another job with the threat that if he does not accept 'Suitable employment' , his benefit will be stopped.
The ethics of my situation are interesting and on a small scale represent an aspect of our accepted values . I am on a fixed wage , regardless of the amount of production I get through I am given my wage .I see the invoices floating around here and some of the payments they receive from their customers are colossal . I have no right to turn around to the director Mr White and say on an excellent week:'What are you doing ? you can't pocket all that money I helped to make you owe me some!'.No anything they make in excess of my miserly income is legally and morally theirs for keeps. Yet if I had been caught taking something of value home from the ware house I would be a lowly thief , that is justice.
Argent walks of his little office compartment , heads straight for the sink , a tinkle of cheap china mugs.It's already eleven o'clock that's not bad , time normally sands still here. As he makes the teas has his back turned towards me I stare at him partly with contempt and partly in admiration.He is quite slender in build, especially for a forty year old. In fact he's very petite and has a long narrow face , his only prominent feature being nose which ordinary but large.It makes him resemble a puppet . He is married and has an eight year old son who is his only child. .When he smiles he displays quite and effeminate gaze and often I think I am in the presence of a classic hair dresser.
What makes him tick? he seems delighted to be alive . We live in different time scales to each other . An hour seems like two hours to me whereas for Argent it goes as if it were twenty minutes. He has no 'tea breaks' as such , he drinks tea purely to 'wet his whistle ' as he puts it. To quench his thirst and enable him to carry on.Her often spares a mere ten minutes for his lunch break , maybe the reason that silence prevails in here is that we are so many dimensions apart . He doesn't accept any of the the talk I have to offer so I don't see the bother of keeping up a rapport of the 'work at hand jokes' . On the few occasions that I pretended to show an interest in my job , he got excited , I could see the goose pimples growing on his arms , he then bursts into a very deep and significant discussion speculating on the various permutations of stacking wool and cotton fabrics in an already overloaded warehouse .At the end of the lecture on the subject of 'silly buggers ', he will go to the usual great lengths to congratulate me for being a very concerned worker and probably hoping that I would be manipulated by his 'stroking ' and start to really get hearty about my job . This treatment though can only embarrass me to the point of anger . No thank you . I would rather remain silent ,in my own world if this is the price for company.
Maybe Argent has got it right , maybe he knows some of life's secrets , could well be on higher plane of consciousness,he knows exactly where he is and questions nothing , he lives life spontaneously or rather he is a vessel in which life flows through as pure experience............
'There's your tea Steve'..........Somehow I doubt it .
'Thank you Rob'.
'Arrow parcels should be collecting that lot for New Zealand today ,nice little order that one '.
'Oh good , it'll make some space for us too'. Argent then struts into his office partition , talking aloud in facts and figures , checking his stock figures against his in coming orders. Continuously working in a rhythmical manner . I take my seat and rest my feet , relieving me from the boredom more than the fatigue, I finish a
chocolate in a few seconds and then light up whilst still sipping my drink .
I Wonder if Argent will be going to the main office today. He often does when duty calls .The main Silky Novelty office and show rooms are situated in Oxford Circus , that is where White , the managing director and brain of the company,along with Fields the sales director normally spend their time.
They also have,working with them in there two or three young women who are employed as designers of cloth pattern , these have always been coming and going for the four years I have been in this firm , not that I spend much time there apart from the odd occasion where I am asked to deliver a parcel down there .Whenever I do make an appearance down there though , I forever seem to be introduced to a new team of designers . I found out in due course that the pay was very bad and that many of these designers were on government training schemes whereby the government helps the employers by paying a portion of the employee's salary . I can see somehow a reason for some body in the designer's position wanting to leave , or for that matter it's obvious why White , the managing director would prefer to be continuously employing trainees at a discount price .
Argent,being the key man of the company has connections with all aspects of the company's operations. So often it happens that he has to attend the office to sort out something that nobody else can . I must give it to him though , he is so efficient that he can almost read the minds of the two directors and make them look lost at what they are doing . But it's their damned business though and not his that's what gets me.
Argent , although he knows everything there is to know about the trade he is in, is one of these people that would rather not branch out and try it alone .
He would rather remain part of the team; a good sheep that recognises the shepherd. Even at times when he has gone to great lengths to please his superiors and seen that they have not appreciated it , that will still not change his outlook on life .
Once I saw him filling in a 'Pools' coupon and commented to him that if he had won a large sum of money we would not see him around here. He replied with seriousness that he would never give up his job and that it is too much in his blood . I found that hard to believe at the time , but soon after concluded that his 'job' filled a very important and emotional need in him . This to Argent is his virility , his self expression , his challenge , occupation , identity and alongside his family; his main purpose in life . Without his job , Argent would be naked , insignificant and unjustifiable .
If he does go to the main office today, he will very likely announce it in his formal way and tell me also if he is likely to return to the warehouse and at what time .When he does go there it is often after lunch and normally he informs me that he will be seeing me the next morning . These occasions are my greatest benefits in the ware house . I can do some work at a faster pace then read or use the telephone and near enough do as I please . It's amazing what a work incentive scheme can do.
For fifteen minutes now I have been enjoying my break . I suppose I might as well get up and do something .It's about twenty past eleven now, my next break is at one o' clock and that lasts for an hour where I normally go out for something to eat and walk around for a while . There is no point spending my lunch hour with this man , I want a break , not to watch someone working .From now until one o' clock I work and for stimulation I listen to the radio beside my work bench which I always tune into London's local radio station, the public phone-in and talk show where people phone in and talk to the presenter and his guests. If I couldn't listen to this programme all day I probably would have turned to stone by now . On occasions when White and Fields come over to the warehouse to do some work , which is quite often , I become out numbered ; three chiefs to one Indian . Argent of course being the aspiring third chief. To see the three of them in full flight is something of a profound sexual experience . No sooner do the dynamic duo arrive than off their coats and scramble to examine an important consignment of cloth, then start snipping away to make sample pieces for their customers to see. The three of them together hovering around the place , talking their gibberish puts me into complete isolation .Time after time they reach ecstasy , and in a way I can understand both White and Fields ' thrill at indulging in this legalised form of aggression called 'business' ,but it is always Argent that manages to attain the most orgasms. Many times on these orgiastic visits I have come back to the warehouse from lunch break to see that one of the three lovers had switched off the radio . I took it as an an insult, as if they were saying such things were irritating them , distracting them from what was 'important ' .I was most offended . the radio phone-in programmes that I listen to all day are like a life support system .Whenever this mutinous action occurs without any explanation , I also respond without explanation and discreetly switch the radio back on.
I have another hour and a half until lunch time. Handling this cloth has made my hands very rough over the four years I have been here .Being on my feet all day and moving around, though I cannot say I object to it within itself. So the prospects of this dull working day are building up. 'Arrow Parcels' might be collecting from here ,White and Fields could be visiting on one of their orgies .Best of all possibilities is if Arrow Parcels do not turn up and Argent goes to the main office . Even if I was left to my own devices it is still possible that a lorry driver will enter the warehouse unexpectedly and say: 'I've got 'undred and fifty parcels for ya mate!'
I am a warehouse man . If I go to a party or make new acquaintances in some other way and I am asked what my occupation is, regardless of my numerous previous jobs , I reply that I am a warehouse man . This is my label and people don't care what I really am so long as I have given them a label to latch on to.They can then decide whether I am common and insignificant , therefore not to be taken too seriously , or whether I am somebody worth getting to know and to be admired by virtue of the fact that I have a 'good job' . Either way , by telling somebody that I do a particular job , I cannot understand how that person has got closer to understanding what kind of person I am or what I actually do with my life.
If I made the tabloid head lines by winning the pools or by murdering three people , it would read:'Warehouse man kills three people'. So that as well as knowing that I have become a killer , the reading public can know that I was a warehouse man.
I am only working as a warehouse man at present because I can't find a better job and because the thing that I am really involved with : painting pictures is so difficult to succeed in , in fact almost impossible if one is to take one self seriously and be reasonably honest with the activity . Unless of course one happens to be of genius stature or has friends in the right places.Because of this situation I have come to the conclusion over the past few years of working in this warehouse that I want to rid my self of this burden and devote not only the evenings and weekends to my obsessions and indulgences , but the better part of the working day .This forced me to consider all sorts of ways to produce commercial items that can be somehow related to the visual arts , and if I am successful at least I can be financially independent and do some sort of that bears some resemblence to what I enjoy doing . So far I have produced a range of greetings cards , a calendar , decorative display plates , antique replica and various other commodities . all of which I have not beeen able to market successfully .
Lately I have been spending the working day in the warehouse thinking of of different projects that can be produced and packaged whilst at the same time carrying out the routine tasks in the apparent state of a sleep walker . I can tell by the strange looks I receive from Argent that he notices that I'm not fully present.
Argent is another species , he has no conflict , he takes his work home with him in that breif case he always carries . That's no exaggeration . He often comments that he was thinking about some aspect of the workd whilst at home on the weekend and rushes into the place in the morning anxiously to see if his latest strategy for creating more storage space in an extremely overcrowded warehouse area has worked. If he were in my position , doing my job ,I'm sure he would take a keen interest in the work and contribute something valid to Silky Novelties .He would probably get fed up with it sometimes and do the usual moaning that many working people love to do and hpe for his holiday period to arrive , but when he would be a week into his holidays , he would be just as keen to gete his teeth back iinto the things that matter .Yes if Argent had been in my place he would definitely have been promoted by now. He couldn't spend a whole four years stagnating like Steve Nichols . Argent would have proved himself by now, making a fine example of how it pays to be conscientious.
'Allo mate!' The driver from Arrow parcels has come.
'Alllo there , hope your feeling strong enough I've got fifteen parcels for ya'.These drivers , from my experience are so scared of lifting even the most comforable of packages.
'I don't think I will be feeling strong after that lot though.' .The driver quickly counted the packages then signed the paper work I put before him. I now go and press for the goods lift , Luckily the lift arrived sharply and now we load.This place is so ancient we arrive on the ground floor and then unload the goods into a goods trolley , push the loaded trolley all the way up hill through the yard to the busy road where the driver had parked , and now both panting ,load from the trollley into the vehicle.
'That's your lot ,' I told him , 'I'll probably see ylu next week it be this much tough.'
'Cheers mate !'.The driver closes his doors and drivers off as I push the trolley back into its position in the yard . As I do this I catch a glimpse of Argent overlooking from the warehouse window .It's not the look of austerity , but of anxiety .If anything had gone wrong , for example , like Nichols forgetting to dispatch all the parcels due to his absent mindedness , Argent would have shot down the to the rescue at a high speed with the parcel over his shoulder , claiming another victory for Silky Novelties .
' That was a nice clearance!".said Argent , with glee in his eyes as I strolled back into the walls of the warehouse .
'Yeah .' I smiled .I knew the exact words he was going to use after I had made the 'successful clearance' and returned to the warehouse .
It's coming on to quarter past twelve . Argent is heading for the kettle. Good I'll have this break and then it won't be long until I have that break of breaks ; the lunch break .
I finish my tea and return to the work bench , there's nothing much on the radio , our arrogant chat show host ,Ben Haste is interviewing some pompous actor .What a combination !. Haste seems to change his tone of voice completely when talking to and established , well ,known and loved thespian.Instead of his harsh , patronising monologue that he blasts at his general public phone-in callers he seems to behave much more humble and enthusiastic as though he is actually enjoying the conversation . I only wish I could find the conversation slightly interesting so that lunch time would appear to arrive more quickly .
There's a swallow flying by , so it was actualy worth getting out of bed today , seeing that bird has raised my spirits .Its rhythmic bursts of flight and elegent form are a real treat to observe , especially when it descends in its cahracteristic manner .
How can I ever comare with that beautiful creature ,It works for it living , the best way it knows how, doing nothing that seems alien to itself, it rests and plays and sings and mates. It has no leaders to pay tax to and most of all , when it sees nasty weather , it flees to another land . It poses no threat to the earth and does not need to be taught anything . And to think that I was taught at school that we humans are the most intelligent animals on this planet : pure bias .
These dammed rolls of fabric , they are so similar.I'm looking for colour code 3 of of design 47 ,its floral design is almost identical to color four , less a shade of pink . Oh how on earth did I end up here in this cul-de- sac ? How much longer will I take this lying down ? why am I performing these far removed mechanical functions?
Saved by the God of time! it's two minutes to one o' clock , time to wash
my hands and go. It looks like dull and cloudy weather , with the threat of rain but
that will not stop me .I've done it before through wind and snow.
'See you later Rob'.
'Bye Steve'.
Where shall I head for this hour? This is when time speeds up . I sometimes go for fish and chips in my favourite place.
I occasionally really enjoy a sit- down meal and this man really does make his cod taste nice , and seeing that I go there regularly , he often asks me if I don't mind waiting a few minutes for him to fry me a fresh piece .
Many times though I bring sandwiches with me and take a stroll up Camden High Street , normally ending up in the local book store .It's quite big store and more
often than not I end up engrossed in words and images mainly to do with art history or ancient and modern philosophy . No sooner than I get into a serious browse , it's time to return to the warehouse . I think I'd rather avoid that particualr routine today. Other times , especially when it's sunny , I go down to a quiet spot on the Camden Canal , dirty though is, there is a nice peacefulness
there, away from the bustling high street . There , I eat my sandwiches and gaze , or sometimes do pencil sketches of my surroundings .
Well I haven't brought sandwiches with me today , I had no time in the morning, I usually prepare the night before, failing that, I usually leave it out all together and take the opportunity of eating something warm from the high street shops. Today I will head for the bakers.
In 'The Little Baker's Shop' the queue is quite 'big'I have to wait a good ten minutes before I can order a cornish pasty and a sausage roll.Today I think it is going to be walking up and down the high street . What a busy high street this is, I suppose it is quite typical of a London high street , apart from the fact that it is a little more close to the city centre and hence more neurotic . Shops and shops for the consumer , and who is the real 'consumer '? Definitely not us little fish pacing up and down this high street .
If the swallow was burdened with human 'intelligence', and cursed with never ending thoughts ,what would it see from its heights ? And what would it say? Would it say: 'Well now that I've thought about it and can see that you lot down there are human and superior becaue you know about maths and English , I'm beginnning to feel bad about being a swallow . I shall now beg the Gods to transform me into a worthy man.' Nonsense , as if the swallow is so ignorant not to know what it is in the first place!
The speed in which people move in these big cities is alarming . Because of increasing technology , things appear to be done more quickly but still we are not satisfied and want to get that extra edge in order to get something done a second earlier thereby taking minutes off our life span for every one of those seconds . This is definitely an addictive cancer worse than alcohol or pot smoking .
It's about a quarter to two , I better get back to the warehouse .It'll take about one minute to get there allowing me time to have a coffee before I get up and start for the afternoon.
his work and blabbering on the telephone about cloth, spilling sentences about quantities , weights , colour numbers and code numbers, quality numbers and texture codes to carton mumbers all with a twinkle in his eyes and lump in the throat . I know he has not had a break even for his lunch , he has inserted some pieces of bread in his mouth , possibly with cheese and pickle and and followed it with forgetful sips of tea while at the same time doing his duty for the company . Truly a great circus performer . He didn't even notice my entrance into the place , which is not uncommon for him.
On the radio this hour the resident marriage counsellor does an hour's programme dealing with callers' problems from great to small. I always enjoy this programme, though that may be an insensitive statement to make .The counsellor deals with problems ranging from bereavement down to the microscopically petty relationship upsets. The help and advice could have similar problems. Over the years I have been tuning into this programme ,it has taught me a great deal about human behaviour and helped me to look at my own reflexes.
It's coming onto three o' clock and Argent hasn't shown any signs of buggering off to the main office to see his masters . The afternoon will drag, if he does go ,the opposite will happen , by the time I have taken the opportunity to do my daily physical exercise in work hours , have afternoon coffee and made a personal telephone call it will be time to pack up , the scoundrel , look at him , he's just now got off his bum and rocketed over to the far corner of the warehouse singing to himself and selecting several pieces of cloth , the excitement on his face is that of a man who knows that he is in the centre of the universe . He cruises gracefully back to his office cubicle and dials frantically the office number and White , the director answers .
'Hello Phil, those 64011's , I've got all the sample pieces I need , and Mr Hall from Regal Gowns won't be going to the office this afternoon , so I shant be coming over this afternoon . I've got plenty to be getting on with here and by the way the twelve cartons of from Japan will be..............'
There's my answer , it's me and him again . I'll try hard to get involved with my work , that will make the time fly . Hmmm....if I finish this cutting I can then go on and pack it . After I've done that I can then cut some more lengths of material , then tidy up for variety , rearrange some stock then cut some more lengths of material............Rubbish ! I have been through this before! what I need is a bloody change!. How did I ever get into this abyss of a dungeon and share it with Argent? What has got into the world ? there are so many Argents out there , I've met bank clerks who would risk their own skins and challenge dangerous criminals in order to save some money for an establishment that pays them a pittance , retired people who would not appreciate a few years of liberty to see them through to
their dying day, but would rather continue doing uninteresting work until they died 'on the job' . But I have not yet seen enough people to stand together and say to the London trains service for example , after a recent fare increase;'You want fifty pence extra for this trip? No my friend take five pence more that's reasonable , and by the way , a few million people agree with me including your staff'.
Being with Argent so long is like an unhappy marriage, and for a single person living alone , this is a heavy burden.I drag myself in here five days a week and the first person I talk to is this workaholic. Seeing the expression on the face
of a man that knows he is in the right place at the right time , eager to get his teeth stuck in for the day with such zest is painful . Sometimes he is the only person I've talked to for the whole day which means I've not communicated at all . Being of the opposite disposition myself , I hate the site of him in the morning . The marriage has not worked.
Just finished my final coffee ritual for the day . I stub out my cigarette , wash my cup and carry on packing this large order of goods . The amount of things I
have packed today has reached thousands of pounds in value , although I'm not
interested in the job , I'm not completely asleep , at times hundreds of thousands of pounds pass through my hands in the shape of cloth. I occasionally get a pat on the head when things go well , but the boys and very likely Argent aswell , reap something much more useful.
It's quarter past four , it's all down hill now ,I get so pleased at the prospect of of walking out of here , but the vicious circle will catch up on me and I will be back here again on this very spot as if I have been here forever surrounded by the eternal presence of Argent .
Last summer I broke the monotony . I took a three week holiday in France , even this was under the shadow of my employers' disapproval . I arranged a three week stay at a south westerly resort called Chateau D'Olonnne and when I announced it to Argent he seemed quite vexed but concealing the fact he passed the buck to the big boy White who told me in no uncertain terms that this is not on , and that I should know by now that the comapany rules state that not more than two weeks of the annnual four week holiday allowance can be taken consecutively . These company rules apply to all the staff and even Fields and White himself abide by them . Of course the directors abide by their rules , they can sacrifice a week's holiday for the sake of their business is is their business after all. But what's my business ? apart from personal life: nothing . So there was White telling me to change my holiday from three weeks to two.
Being quite diplomatic though , although I felt grossly insulted by this attack on my personal liberty I told White that I would try and see if I could arrange the dates to be changed by the travel agents with no real intention of doing such a thing After . After several days I told White that I could not change the date and he was left with no further comment to make.
Chateau D'Olonne was a dream, hot and sunny and surprisingly , it reminded me of the Eastern Mediterranean which I have visited several times.The beach was very near the hotel and to walk a few minutes and view the sea was like confronting a primitive and almost eternal god, caressing and latently menacing . As most people have the need to choose their god , make effigies of him and write nonsene about his attributes , demands,powers and rewards to his devotess etc , I think I would choose this particular one as one of my many deities .
I found the local people very lively and friendly , their way way of life was festive and very much for the moment . Drinking wine wasn't as sinful as it is deemed here . The languiage had a feminine and powerful beauty about it, and this was amplified by the fact that I could comprehend only a few phrases . I studied French when I was at school and was quuite good at the time , I took the opportunity to try and talk as much as I could to people in their own language.The people in Chateau D'Olonne were quite appreciative and seeing that I was making an effort , went to great lengths to communicate . There is something exciting when two people of the same species divided by the language barrier try to talk to eachother , it's as if the very fact that they are not using a common language elevates their communication to a higher level.
The threee weeks that I spent in Chateau D'Olonne changed me considerably , a strange awareness swept over me , I realisation that I was temporarily alive.
Everything was spoilt when I returned to London , I resumed my duties as the warehouse man thereby sinking into a lifeless stupour . The period to readjust was lengthy , for weeks I was reminiscing and even went to the lengths of reading about Chateau D'Olonne and enquiring about how to go about acquiring accommodation there .But flights of of fancy remained just that and I suppose a memory is better cherished when it remains in the recesses of one's mind , available for recollection when needed.
It's five minutes to five , I've killed another working day at Silky Novelties ,I'll wash my hands and retreat . As I put on my coat I notice that Argent is not making any signs of following suit . 'Are you staying late tonight Rob?'
'Yes , what can I do? there's so much work to be done.'
'Hmmm yeah ............well , I'll see you tomorrow then Rob.'
'See you Steve .' As I walked out of the warehouse I wondered why Argent says things like that , he doesn't mean it .
The traffic was thick as usual for the journey home , I made it at about the usual time . Supper . I shall reheat yesterday's meal , I usually over cook in case I have visitors . I'm not a gregarious type but company of the select few means a great deal , but even they don't frequent my abode regulary , people are so tied down in their own lttle bubbles , even myself ,I don't find time to go out and see the people I rally want to.
Roast Pork chops with rice and salad .It always seems to taste better the second time around . I would have liked to wash down the meal with a couple of glasses of red wine , but tea will have to do.
I've been here in this flat for two and a half years now , it's only a first floor studio flat above a supermarket , situated in a not too busy high street , the main reason I really went for it was because of its quite large balcony overlooking the street . I like living alone . The freedom of solitude is vast , but the line between happy solitude and paiful loneliness is a very faint one and for a man coming onto the age of twenty eight , my life seems to oscillate between the two conditions . This flat was very expensive for a man on my salary to buy , in theory it just isn't viable . But living in London there seems to be no choice , either buy a property you can't afford or pay for a very high rent to a landlord thereby being two down by having an employer and a landlord to dominate you . The price of just sitting down staring at the wall opposite me ,if it were to be calculated by a mathematician , would prove to be so high that after being at work for a week and paying all necessary bills etc , then doing exactly that , and realsing that's about all I can afford to do- stare at that damned wall , I realise that I would rather not be doing that and that I would be much happpier breaking the routine and be out of here somewhere enjoying myself . That feeling only arises when I get very negative . All in all I quite enjoy my pad and besides , I rarely have the time to just sit and stare at the wall because of the various activities that I am always involved with . The possibility of change is what excites me most. But it seems to have become an unchanging possibility only.
The evening passes by so quickly , I ate , I had a bath , I did some physical exercise , nobody came to see me . I did some work on the painting I'm working on called Pygmalion's statue which I have been doing on and off for the past two months , with not much progress and finally I'm tucked up in bed and reading Kafka's 'Metamorphosis'. I have read it before and it's the only one of his stories that has really had me glued to its pages . It's the kind of fiction
that is charged with more factual significance than most 'factual' books can hope to achieve.
I switch off the light at half past one a.am. I can carry on reading for another two hours , and I often do , but it's not worth it ,I often end up paying for it in the morning with extreme tiredness.
* * * * * * *
Today is like any other day I get up at about 7.30 a.m , I haven't got the time to eat anything or even brush my teeth . Before I leave for work in the mornings I normally open the door that leads to my balcony and have a quick look outside.
Busy as normal for this time of morning , a stream of people heading for the train station , others squeezing in desperately tight against eachother in order to be on the same bus. Many in their cars accelarating into snail gear whilst others have already got into the swing of things by counting the pennies come in as they sell chocolates , cigarettes and newspapers , what's more , people are actually buying these things. Some people buy newspapers first thing in the morning and read about all the nasty things that go on in the world with a concern tha is indistiguishable from sheer morbid entertainment .
NO. I don't want this. Yesterday was my final day as an employee of Silky Novelties Ltd , I will never go back there again and delight at the thought of never seeing any one of them again in my life . All of a sudden I'm alive again , it's good to be alive once in a while. I feel hungry.
Every piece of bread that I dipped into the fried egg yolk was charged with a flavour of ecstasy that said more about myself than the thing itself. The same applied to every puff of my cigarette .Where's that telephone directory ? Ah there it is.
'Hello , is that Bevan Estates?........can you tell me the value of my flat please?, it's a first floor studio flat with balcony , situated near '.
'Well it could be anything from the region of thirty eight and forty five thousand pounds , but it's impossible to say over the phone, if you would like a valuation ........'
'........... Okay , thank you , so I'll expect him over at about three o'clock this afternoon then ........bye.'
How about that then , I bought this place for twenty thousand pounds. Whatever it sells for I will have made some money........in a quantity that I have never before held in my hands. London is an amazing place , most places in comparison seem like cheap toy towns , properties of course being much cheaper in many other places . Look at this glossy brochure published by property developers based in Chateau D'Olonne . Why stay here? , a brother , a sister and both parents but if they are that close , they can come and see me there, just as I can see them here.
Of course things could go sour , I will need some kind of work , but on the other hand , if my home is fully paid for ,unlike my circumstances here , I will have more to my pocket any way. I will be near the Sea God , I will learn a new language and be fluent at it , wine will accompany my every meal . the town will not be over populated and most of all I will meet a lusty French woman .
I don't have much to lose . Even if things did go wrong , what I am about to do is still the right thing because this very moment is precious , I'm alive and flying and this is what counts . It will take possibly two or three months for things to reach a conclusion , but as soon as that moment arrives I will fly in a southerly direction .
I am going to live in Chateau D'Olonne.
Sunday, December 21, 2008
No.12: Wazir, 2008
I once worked with a man named Wazir
The boss , he had a word in his ear
For all day he would skive
Then return around five
And would say to us all : 'I was'ere!'
The boss , he had a word in his ear
For all day he would skive
Then return around five
And would say to us all : 'I was'ere!'
Sunday, December 14, 2008
No.13 : True Love, 2008
With passion he loved his wife
Swore , she'd be his, all her life
She left him, his love had no bounds
And now , she is buried under ground
Swore , she'd be his, all her life
She left him, his love had no bounds
And now , she is buried under ground
Sunday, December 7, 2008
No.14: The Coward (Ode To Unknown Deserter) , 2008
A soldier who refused to fight
Preferred the option of the flight
Had the millions done the same
would we not a hero claim ?
Preferred the option of the flight
Had the millions done the same
would we not a hero claim ?
Friday, November 28, 2008
No. 15: The Fox ,2008
A man who worked at the docks
Had fallen in love with a fox
On duty each shift
A carton he'd lift
And secretly make love in the box
Had fallen in love with a fox
On duty each shift
A carton he'd lift
And secretly make love in the box
Friday, September 26, 2008
No. 16 : The Mad Man , 2008
I hear voices but I'm not mad
I hear voices telling me to get off the bus
Voices that tell me what to do all the time
I hear voices coming from the television set
They threaten me they want to catch me
They know where I am
Thy can fine me and put me to jail
If I don't do what they say
I hear voices all day and all night
Voices that tell me I'm no good
Voices that tell me how to be attractive
And how to be loved
The secrets of happiness sold in a tub
Voices that know my weaknesses
And tell me how to be rich
Providing I pay out
Voices that tell me I am doomed
If I do not obey them
I see things :I have visions
But I am not insane
I see monsters dribbling and roaring
They want to seek and destroy
I see demons that tell me what's not right
They want to hyjack my mind
They want to follow me and control me
I see evil spirits
That smile as they kill
And nobody can bring them to justice
For they make the law and prosecute
I see wicked creatures in human form
Who conspire to make bad things happen
They plot and plan
And when I know what they are up to
They laugh me down and taunt
They want to drive me nuts
I know things but I am not crazy
I know that there is nothing
I know that you are all wrong
You believe in gods and myths
you love your countries
You love yourselves and children
That are yours
And all else is alien of no worth
I know that you are destined
For destruction if you meet
Your other selves
I know things that are of value
I know that I know
I know that you will believe
That I am lost and need your help
I know that that is what you think
Yet I continue to tell the truth
And when you catch me and silence me
I will not give up
I scream and laugh aloud
But I am not a maniac!
Hah ha ha ha ha !
I laugh aloud because I am happy
I hear voices I see bad spirits
I know the truth and I tell it
So now you know how out of touch
You are and blind to see
and deaf to hear
and so ingorant
Of this voice in the wilderness
That you will never know how much
help you need
To hear to see to know
I hear voices telling me to get off the bus
Voices that tell me what to do all the time
I hear voices coming from the television set
They threaten me they want to catch me
They know where I am
Thy can fine me and put me to jail
If I don't do what they say
I hear voices all day and all night
Voices that tell me I'm no good
Voices that tell me how to be attractive
And how to be loved
The secrets of happiness sold in a tub
Voices that know my weaknesses
And tell me how to be rich
Providing I pay out
Voices that tell me I am doomed
If I do not obey them
I see things :I have visions
But I am not insane
I see monsters dribbling and roaring
They want to seek and destroy
I see demons that tell me what's not right
They want to hyjack my mind
They want to follow me and control me
I see evil spirits
That smile as they kill
And nobody can bring them to justice
For they make the law and prosecute
I see wicked creatures in human form
Who conspire to make bad things happen
They plot and plan
And when I know what they are up to
They laugh me down and taunt
They want to drive me nuts
I know things but I am not crazy
I know that there is nothing
I know that you are all wrong
You believe in gods and myths
you love your countries
You love yourselves and children
That are yours
And all else is alien of no worth
I know that you are destined
For destruction if you meet
Your other selves
I know things that are of value
I know that I know
I know that you will believe
That I am lost and need your help
I know that that is what you think
Yet I continue to tell the truth
And when you catch me and silence me
I will not give up
I scream and laugh aloud
But I am not a maniac!
Hah ha ha ha ha !
I laugh aloud because I am happy
I hear voices I see bad spirits
I know the truth and I tell it
So now you know how out of touch
You are and blind to see
and deaf to hear
and so ingorant
Of this voice in the wilderness
That you will never know how much
help you need
To hear to see to know
No.17. Young Man From Bowe, 2008
There is a young man from Bowe
Whose brain is incredibly slow
He gets up at at night
He doesn't feel right
What's wrong ? he just doesn't know
Whose brain is incredibly slow
He gets up at at night
He doesn't feel right
What's wrong ? he just doesn't know
Friday, June 6, 2008
No. 18: Thoth, 2008
In Egypt, a God there once was and his name it was Thoth
Loved ,feared ,worshipped by all with libations of froth
The almighty with a baboon's head
Now forgotten, gone ,buried and dead
Hath taken up human form ,alas! Now , the world suffers his wrath!
Loved ,feared ,worshipped by all with libations of froth
The almighty with a baboon's head
Now forgotten, gone ,buried and dead
Hath taken up human form ,alas! Now , the world suffers his wrath!
Saturday, May 31, 2008
No.19: Jack , 2008
There was an old man called Jack
Who walked with a chimp on his back
When asked why this was
He said just ;' because !
Curious people my friend likes to smack!'
Who walked with a chimp on his back
When asked why this was
He said just ;' because !
Curious people my friend likes to smack!'
Friday, May 9, 2008
No. 20, Mathematics Made Simple , 2008
When The mighty Empire of today is at war
Often on territory that it has invaded
It finds that its fighting men
Sorry and women too ,( lets not exlcude them
From fun that they could miss)
Are more equipped , better fed
Armed like giant Iron lobsters
Actions guided with high technology
The enemies have little chance
This is fair
In the name of democracy
The enemy can be at home
Even in larger numbers, yet the good
will prevail
A somewhat even symmetical warfare
Yet years go by and streets occupied
With barely a group of enemies in sight
'Mission accomplished!' but
It's happening more often
The devious 'insurgents' come from nowhere
Within our midst and cause havoc to larger numbers
One single roadside bomb an RPG ,incendiary
A human bomb explodes
Wipes out dozens of good men ,
It's all unjust
This is asymmetirical warfare!
Often on territory that it has invaded
It finds that its fighting men
Sorry and women too ,( lets not exlcude them
From fun that they could miss)
Are more equipped , better fed
Armed like giant Iron lobsters
Actions guided with high technology
The enemies have little chance
This is fair
In the name of democracy
The enemy can be at home
Even in larger numbers, yet the good
will prevail
A somewhat even symmetical warfare
Yet years go by and streets occupied
With barely a group of enemies in sight
'Mission accomplished!' but
It's happening more often
The devious 'insurgents' come from nowhere
Within our midst and cause havoc to larger numbers
One single roadside bomb an RPG ,incendiary
A human bomb explodes
Wipes out dozens of good men ,
It's all unjust
This is asymmetirical warfare!
Sunday, February 10, 2008
No. 21: The Clubber , 2008
I luv clubbin' , me , I go out with me mates
Nufink to do all day , At night I look for dates
I love clubbin' It's all I fink of night 'n' day
look for a job? nah, not me, I like it dis way
Nah a bloke's gotta do sumink he loves init ?
And when I see a club like , just gotta go in it
I luv a drink , I pop a pill and take a smoke
Deep Inside me a passion it does provoke
Saturday night down the town me mates 'n' me
And We all love clubbin ' pity you can't see
City centre , noise , flashing lights : blue , he's red
And we won't stop clubbin' him until he' s dead !
Nufink to do all day , At night I look for dates
I love clubbin' It's all I fink of night 'n' day
look for a job? nah, not me, I like it dis way
Nah a bloke's gotta do sumink he loves init ?
And when I see a club like , just gotta go in it
I luv a drink , I pop a pill and take a smoke
Deep Inside me a passion it does provoke
Saturday night down the town me mates 'n' me
And We all love clubbin ' pity you can't see
City centre , noise , flashing lights : blue , he's red
And we won't stop clubbin' him until he' s dead !
Sunday, February 3, 2008
No.22: A day In The Life Of A Dish Washer , 1982
Wakefulness intrudes my dream
As I drag my body to the platform
I decieve myself and say :
Living life from 5.30pm is okay
But clocks accelerate and push me
Into a cycle , alas ! I'm here again
Schools of fish beneath the surface
Underground ,I don;t see them ,I've joined their cloud
I won't go in today , I've lost my head
My heart turns my legs to another way
Tomorrow comes: I paid the price
Was told to leave , 'no good, get rid of him !'
Brief feeling of freedom , liberation !
Emptiness : got rid of them!
As I drag my body to the platform
I decieve myself and say :
Living life from 5.30pm is okay
But clocks accelerate and push me
Into a cycle , alas ! I'm here again
Schools of fish beneath the surface
Underground ,I don;t see them ,I've joined their cloud
I won't go in today , I've lost my head
My heart turns my legs to another way
Tomorrow comes: I paid the price
Was told to leave , 'no good, get rid of him !'
Brief feeling of freedom , liberation !
Emptiness : got rid of them!
No.23: Love ,Home and Happiness, 1980
Home is where the heart is
Not where one's life is spent
I've got no home I've got no heart
Only package tours and cement
Love is: I know you know :
Its when you care
I loved I lost, it takes two
And I was the only one there
Happiness is all that I want
where shall I seek, and what will I find?
For filth has entered my eyes
And I'm growing quite blind.
Not where one's life is spent
I've got no home I've got no heart
Only package tours and cement
Love is: I know you know :
Its when you care
I loved I lost, it takes two
And I was the only one there
Happiness is all that I want
where shall I seek, and what will I find?
For filth has entered my eyes
And I'm growing quite blind.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
No.24: Love, 1990
Francis had a burning desire: To understand love.He had come from a decent family , but parental love had its limitations .After all his parents could only love him as their child,and he he could not be acknowledged as an adult in his own right .Surely this was not love .
At the age of nineteen , Francis met Sally who was pretty and sweet .they fell in love and enjoyed being together constantly .So much did Francis love Sally ,that he feared he would lose her .He became intensely jealous and on rare occasions when Sally was away from his immediate sight ,Francis would fear the worst and often accused Sally of seeing other men, eventhough Sally would not dream of doing such a thing, for she loved only Francis .He often called her a strumpet and a whore , following this up by giving her regular beatings, frequently bruising her ribs and breaking her jaw.
One dark day after hearing that Sally had allowed a man into their home in his absence in order to have the gas meter read, Francis was devastated.In a fit of madness he attempted to strangle Sally .Luckily , Sally fought back bravely this time in order to hang onto life itself, and gasping for air she freed her self from his hold and fled, never to go near Francis again . Surely this was not love ?
At the tender age of twenty seven , Francis made a breakthrough on his quest. He had become acquainted with Marie-Angela , an educated and elegant young lady. They soon fell in love and spent many good times together . Their love was supreme, a total dedication to each other's needs based on a mutual respect for each other's independence . They stopped at nothing to make one an other's happiness.
Francis always remained faithful to their agreed ideals and often when Marie -Angela had made dates with other men , Francis would wait up for her in bed .On her arrival he would be happy , not only because they were reunited again but also due to the fact that she had enjoyed a satisfying night out with another man .
Years of contentment followed ,then one day Marie-Angela announced that she had decided to marry a man named Arthur. Hearing that , Francis was overjoyed and was even given the special honour of being the best man at the wedding .The wedding was a happy affair ,Francis cried tears of joy at seeing Marie-Angela happily married .
Marie-Angela and Arthur lived happily together and soon left the country ,and never saw Francis again. Surely this was not love ?
At thirty six years of age , Francis had overcome the folly of his youth and was mature enough to eventually enter into a lasting wedlock. Martha , his wife proved to be a fine woman and soon bore their first child who they named Martin .
It was that very day in the presence of his son's birth that love revealed itself. On seeing the beauty of the helplessness , innocence and purity of a newborn baby that his own loving expression had produced ,Francis experienced true knowledge of love.
He adored children and in good time Martha gave birth to another four babies .Years of domestic bliss passed by and when Martin had reached the age of twenty one , he revealed to his parents the fact that he was a homosexual.Francis now fifty nine years of age did not take kindly to this. In fact he was outraged. How could his son betray him like this ? what would other people say about Francis for having a homosexual son? His son had committed a grave act of betrayal .Francis seized his son by the collar and bashed Martin's head against the wall with all his might ,swearing at him and calling him a pervert and a filthy bugger.The rest of the family pleaded with Francis to let go and show some compassion, after all ,Martin was a nice a boy and would not wish to hurt a fly .But no , Francis would have none of this , he branded all the family traitors , he disowned them all and deserted them forever .Surely this was not Love?
Francis , now a sixty four year old man was alone at home seated in his armchair when love came and spoke to him :real love had come end entered his life .Seated in his armchair , he became aware of his previous ignorance with the realisation that only universal love mattered , all else was nonsense and illusion.He would love everybody and everything unconditionally and expect nothing in return .He became a true philanthropist and lover of all creation.
Francis gave away most of his belongings , he stopped eating meat and even vegetables , lest he would harm a single living thing.He spent many years spreading universal love by giving ,helping others and generally bestowing love upon all mankind and the entire cosmos .He joined voluntary groups and helped with charities , yes there was no end to the fulfilment he gained by knowing and living within an ocean of pure ,unadulterated love .
One evening ,whilst returning to his home , which was an improvised cardboard hut , as he often did after a hard day's deed of radiating his love in all directions , Francis noticed his reflection in a puddle of rain water . He saw an image of an
elderly , sick , frail , suffering man . He was physically and mentally drained , his own self neglect had caught up with him ;surely this was not love?
Francis , now withered and pale with age and sickness , reached his eighty second year .He was destitute and lived on the streets , literally from hand to mouth .Ironically in this final stage of life's journey , Francis was no longer concerned about anything but his own survival.He had learnt painfully what love was not , and no longer cared to discover what it was .
One day , whilst examining his day's catch of a trodden-on sandwich and a half empty can of warm ,stale beer ,Francis was approached by another vagrant ,who begged him for a sip of the beer . Francis gave him the whole can to keep. Not so much out of pity but because it had tasted to awful .
The following day , the same man slipped a piece of paper into Francis' hand . It was a bank cheque of £7000 000 .This man happened to be an eccentric millionaire .
Life changed again for Francis .He became very popular , especially with the the popular news papers and television stations.His story appeared everywhere. He became instantly recognisable to the general public he wrote his biography, had a chat show on Television and even made several pop records. He had millions of admirers now.He received sacks of fan mail and even letters from Sally , Marie-Angela,Martha and Martin .He was eventually given a medal by the queen and became a 'knight ' with letters after his name, regularly attending the second chamber of British Parliament .
Yes Francis became a celebrity , everybody loved him and he knew it and loved it . He also knew many more things :Even the fact that this was not really love did not bother him..
At the age of nineteen , Francis met Sally who was pretty and sweet .they fell in love and enjoyed being together constantly .So much did Francis love Sally ,that he feared he would lose her .He became intensely jealous and on rare occasions when Sally was away from his immediate sight ,Francis would fear the worst and often accused Sally of seeing other men, eventhough Sally would not dream of doing such a thing, for she loved only Francis .He often called her a strumpet and a whore , following this up by giving her regular beatings, frequently bruising her ribs and breaking her jaw.
One dark day after hearing that Sally had allowed a man into their home in his absence in order to have the gas meter read, Francis was devastated.In a fit of madness he attempted to strangle Sally .Luckily , Sally fought back bravely this time in order to hang onto life itself, and gasping for air she freed her self from his hold and fled, never to go near Francis again . Surely this was not love ?
At the tender age of twenty seven , Francis made a breakthrough on his quest. He had become acquainted with Marie-Angela , an educated and elegant young lady. They soon fell in love and spent many good times together . Their love was supreme, a total dedication to each other's needs based on a mutual respect for each other's independence . They stopped at nothing to make one an other's happiness.
Francis always remained faithful to their agreed ideals and often when Marie -Angela had made dates with other men , Francis would wait up for her in bed .On her arrival he would be happy , not only because they were reunited again but also due to the fact that she had enjoyed a satisfying night out with another man .
Years of contentment followed ,then one day Marie-Angela announced that she had decided to marry a man named Arthur. Hearing that , Francis was overjoyed and was even given the special honour of being the best man at the wedding .The wedding was a happy affair ,Francis cried tears of joy at seeing Marie-Angela happily married .
Marie-Angela and Arthur lived happily together and soon left the country ,and never saw Francis again. Surely this was not love ?
At thirty six years of age , Francis had overcome the folly of his youth and was mature enough to eventually enter into a lasting wedlock. Martha , his wife proved to be a fine woman and soon bore their first child who they named Martin .
It was that very day in the presence of his son's birth that love revealed itself. On seeing the beauty of the helplessness , innocence and purity of a newborn baby that his own loving expression had produced ,Francis experienced true knowledge of love.
He adored children and in good time Martha gave birth to another four babies .Years of domestic bliss passed by and when Martin had reached the age of twenty one , he revealed to his parents the fact that he was a homosexual.Francis now fifty nine years of age did not take kindly to this. In fact he was outraged. How could his son betray him like this ? what would other people say about Francis for having a homosexual son? His son had committed a grave act of betrayal .Francis seized his son by the collar and bashed Martin's head against the wall with all his might ,swearing at him and calling him a pervert and a filthy bugger.The rest of the family pleaded with Francis to let go and show some compassion, after all ,Martin was a nice a boy and would not wish to hurt a fly .But no , Francis would have none of this , he branded all the family traitors , he disowned them all and deserted them forever .Surely this was not Love?
Francis , now a sixty four year old man was alone at home seated in his armchair when love came and spoke to him :real love had come end entered his life .Seated in his armchair , he became aware of his previous ignorance with the realisation that only universal love mattered , all else was nonsense and illusion.He would love everybody and everything unconditionally and expect nothing in return .He became a true philanthropist and lover of all creation.
Francis gave away most of his belongings , he stopped eating meat and even vegetables , lest he would harm a single living thing.He spent many years spreading universal love by giving ,helping others and generally bestowing love upon all mankind and the entire cosmos .He joined voluntary groups and helped with charities , yes there was no end to the fulfilment he gained by knowing and living within an ocean of pure ,unadulterated love .
One evening ,whilst returning to his home , which was an improvised cardboard hut , as he often did after a hard day's deed of radiating his love in all directions , Francis noticed his reflection in a puddle of rain water . He saw an image of an
elderly , sick , frail , suffering man . He was physically and mentally drained , his own self neglect had caught up with him ;surely this was not love?
Francis , now withered and pale with age and sickness , reached his eighty second year .He was destitute and lived on the streets , literally from hand to mouth .Ironically in this final stage of life's journey , Francis was no longer concerned about anything but his own survival.He had learnt painfully what love was not , and no longer cared to discover what it was .
One day , whilst examining his day's catch of a trodden-on sandwich and a half empty can of warm ,stale beer ,Francis was approached by another vagrant ,who begged him for a sip of the beer . Francis gave him the whole can to keep. Not so much out of pity but because it had tasted to awful .
The following day , the same man slipped a piece of paper into Francis' hand . It was a bank cheque of £7000 000 .This man happened to be an eccentric millionaire .
Life changed again for Francis .He became very popular , especially with the the popular news papers and television stations.His story appeared everywhere. He became instantly recognisable to the general public he wrote his biography, had a chat show on Television and even made several pop records. He had millions of admirers now.He received sacks of fan mail and even letters from Sally , Marie-Angela,Martha and Martin .He was eventually given a medal by the queen and became a 'knight ' with letters after his name, regularly attending the second chamber of British Parliament .
Yes Francis became a celebrity , everybody loved him and he knew it and loved it . He also knew many more things :Even the fact that this was not really love did not bother him..
Saturday, January 12, 2008
No.25: The Blue Building ,1989
At the tender age of forty six , Roy Marden recognised the fact that he had never really been happy .He had experienced moments of joy , he had been through periods
of relative contentment and reached states of momentary ecstasy .But never , he was honest enough to admit to himself ,was he near the midst of pure and unadulterated happiness . Yet the ticket he now held in his hand , purchased form Network South East's Silver Street Station , this was a step in the right direction .
He never believed that one's attainment of happiness came necessarily from one's employment , but this was different . He was heading for the town , and the town although only a small market town just outside of Greater London was a beautiful spot green and fresh , small enough to be noticed in and yet big enough to feel free in. He would be living in the town in his successfully appointed situation .He had previously worked in all sorts offices but this place really was special .He attended two interviews before he was informed by Tim Norton that his application had been successful .He had seen for himself , that in this establishment , within the boundaries of an exquisite town , he would be moving in the right direction , to eventual bliss. The people there were friendly , beyond the mask of convention .Some how more genuine .
As he boarded the train , a glimmering smile adorned his rugged features .Tim Norton will be expecting him in ninety minutes he pondered .Roy Marden had learnt to live simply .With him on his journey north of London , he had taken with him only one case .Only slightly larger than a brief case , and in this he carried everything he needed for his daily living needs .This is what he knew for sure ; that to be tied down with too many material possessions was one road that led to eventual unhappiness . For the past four years , Roy had been living in rented bed sitting accommodation , and prior to confirmation of his present appointment , had reluctantly owned a car .What a marvellous thing he thought , to do away with that vehicle in exchange for hard cash.He would have done it much sooner , had he realised the pleasure it gave to rid himself of such an obsolete form of transport in this age of extreme congestion of the roads . He would have no use for it in the town anyway . Everything was nearby and he felt quite strongly that he would rather not do much more travelling by road , especially in the direction of London . The accommodation arranged for him in the town was ideal .In fact he was damned pleased to see the back of the last building he lived in , not that it was squalid or anything like that ,for Roy Marden was a successful accountant by trade and always made sure that his arithmetic would not leave him hard done by . It was basically the idea of living in a bundle of small uninteresting towns all stuck together to form one heap of concrete called London that he loathed the most .
The train pulled out of another station and on looking at the map above where he was sitting ,he could see that he had already passed the half way mark of his journey .
Roy Marden had married young, not as young as some others he had seen in his time , but looking back , twenty two years of age was too young for himself to have married he believed . At the time he had been naive enough to be convinced that he was happy , and for many years enjoyed the fun and companionship of his wife Alice .When his child had been born , years of contentment followed . The years of contentment were followed by years of mediocrity and these in turn were followed by a few months of bitterness which were eventually laid to rest by one single day of disillusionment . He was too sincere a man to stay in a situation that held itself together purely by the merits of habit alone , and a bad habit for that matter . When at the age of thirty six , he finally came out with it and told Alice of his intentions, her initial protests and objections meant nothing and the fact that the whole thing ended amicably only helped to prove that deep down putting habit aside , Alice shared his view .He had not seen his son Eric, for over five years now .Eric must now be in his twenties he thought to himself .Twenty or so years ago Roy Marden couldn't even imagine living apart from his own little baby boy and even despised other parents that willingly did so . Yet Eric was a twelve year old when he was deserted by his father . A twelve year old with a very different character and outlook than his father's and one that his father didn't even care to think about very often .
Three More stops and he will have arrived . Roy was proud of his profession in accounts and always felt grateful to his own father the help and support he offered when encouraging him to enter the field . Although not a work addict , Roy Marden did attach a great deal of importance to his work especially after the break up of his marriage . He had seen a lot of life through his work and from auditing accounts of large motor-vehicle manufacturers to dealing with petty cash slips for scruffy building sub contractors , he had gained some Worthy experience in life and a degree of satisfaction . But not enough to be really happy . He loved numerical figures ,he had in a sense been fortunate enough to be in the profession of numbers .The digits that still carry with them the Pythagorean mystique . Anything could be done with figures , he himself, could be reduced for the purpose of national statistics to a
simple number .There were thousands of different figures in his body , indicating the various biological process , chemical levels and variety of functions within his own physical organism .He was definitely convinced by the magic of numerals , and although he could not grasp their every meaning,he would continue to try .
Roy Marden loved his profession and would rather give up work all together than change it . Up until now he had never had the opportunity to investigate the deeper and purer aspect of numbers in a place of work and this was precisely why this career move was so vital to his development .He will be in an occupation where he can examine every aspect of the meaning of figures and investigate how functions and calculations can change the very nature of themselves purely by applying the appropriate formula upon them . Roy Marden took in a long breath of enthusiasm , in
this place , in a cosy little town , these things that concerned him personally as well as professionally were to be his full time occupation . What more could he ask for ? This can only be seen as success.
The sun greeted Roy as he handed his ticket to the collector at the town station . The building was mere three minute's walk away from the train station .He felt a warm volcanic lava permeate his body as he approached the bright blue building .
Roy Marden glanced with awe at the Romanesque fountain in the courtyard before approaching the automated doors of the building.
"Good morning Mr Marden ". Smiled the receptionist .
"Good morning ".
"Tim Norton's expecting you ,go to the second floor , turn right and you should find him in the the third door down . It's number thirty seven ".
"Thanks Carol ,I'll see you around ". As he was making his way out of the lift in the direction he was instructed , he saw Tim Norton walking towards him . Tim Norton greeted him with a warm hand shake and reassuring smile .
"Hello Mr Marden ,it's nice to see , welcome . I'll be with you in a couple of minutes . I've got your place organised for you , it's the second door from the end , please excuse me for a sec and I'll be with you ." Tim Norton dashed out of sight through a large door . Roy Marden continued to walk in the direction of what was to be his new occupation . They had even nicely personalised everything for him : A sign on his office door with Roman hand painted text read : Roy Marden , BSC hons.He stood there staring at his new environment trying to take it all in calmly , as his heart pounded with joy. He looked through the corridor window at the outer surrounding trees whereby a river flowed . He smiled. He then dived onto his allocated bed before him , clutching the pillow as if to tear it apart , dug his heels repeatedly into the mattress as he spewed a bitter-sweet flurry of laughter and unintelligible ranting that echoed far beyond the end of the hospital ward. Doctor Norton rushed to his bedside and placing one hand on Roy Marden's shoulder began to murmur words of comfort , but all in vain for Dr Norton failed to recognise the primordial cry of happiness.
of relative contentment and reached states of momentary ecstasy .But never , he was honest enough to admit to himself ,was he near the midst of pure and unadulterated happiness . Yet the ticket he now held in his hand , purchased form Network South East's Silver Street Station , this was a step in the right direction .
He never believed that one's attainment of happiness came necessarily from one's employment , but this was different . He was heading for the town , and the town although only a small market town just outside of Greater London was a beautiful spot green and fresh , small enough to be noticed in and yet big enough to feel free in. He would be living in the town in his successfully appointed situation .He had previously worked in all sorts offices but this place really was special .He attended two interviews before he was informed by Tim Norton that his application had been successful .He had seen for himself , that in this establishment , within the boundaries of an exquisite town , he would be moving in the right direction , to eventual bliss. The people there were friendly , beyond the mask of convention .Some how more genuine .
As he boarded the train , a glimmering smile adorned his rugged features .Tim Norton will be expecting him in ninety minutes he pondered .Roy Marden had learnt to live simply .With him on his journey north of London , he had taken with him only one case .Only slightly larger than a brief case , and in this he carried everything he needed for his daily living needs .This is what he knew for sure ; that to be tied down with too many material possessions was one road that led to eventual unhappiness . For the past four years , Roy had been living in rented bed sitting accommodation , and prior to confirmation of his present appointment , had reluctantly owned a car .What a marvellous thing he thought , to do away with that vehicle in exchange for hard cash.He would have done it much sooner , had he realised the pleasure it gave to rid himself of such an obsolete form of transport in this age of extreme congestion of the roads . He would have no use for it in the town anyway . Everything was nearby and he felt quite strongly that he would rather not do much more travelling by road , especially in the direction of London . The accommodation arranged for him in the town was ideal .In fact he was damned pleased to see the back of the last building he lived in , not that it was squalid or anything like that ,for Roy Marden was a successful accountant by trade and always made sure that his arithmetic would not leave him hard done by . It was basically the idea of living in a bundle of small uninteresting towns all stuck together to form one heap of concrete called London that he loathed the most .
The train pulled out of another station and on looking at the map above where he was sitting ,he could see that he had already passed the half way mark of his journey .
Roy Marden had married young, not as young as some others he had seen in his time , but looking back , twenty two years of age was too young for himself to have married he believed . At the time he had been naive enough to be convinced that he was happy , and for many years enjoyed the fun and companionship of his wife Alice .When his child had been born , years of contentment followed . The years of contentment were followed by years of mediocrity and these in turn were followed by a few months of bitterness which were eventually laid to rest by one single day of disillusionment . He was too sincere a man to stay in a situation that held itself together purely by the merits of habit alone , and a bad habit for that matter . When at the age of thirty six , he finally came out with it and told Alice of his intentions, her initial protests and objections meant nothing and the fact that the whole thing ended amicably only helped to prove that deep down putting habit aside , Alice shared his view .He had not seen his son Eric, for over five years now .Eric must now be in his twenties he thought to himself .Twenty or so years ago Roy Marden couldn't even imagine living apart from his own little baby boy and even despised other parents that willingly did so . Yet Eric was a twelve year old when he was deserted by his father . A twelve year old with a very different character and outlook than his father's and one that his father didn't even care to think about very often .
Three More stops and he will have arrived . Roy was proud of his profession in accounts and always felt grateful to his own father the help and support he offered when encouraging him to enter the field . Although not a work addict , Roy Marden did attach a great deal of importance to his work especially after the break up of his marriage . He had seen a lot of life through his work and from auditing accounts of large motor-vehicle manufacturers to dealing with petty cash slips for scruffy building sub contractors , he had gained some Worthy experience in life and a degree of satisfaction . But not enough to be really happy . He loved numerical figures ,he had in a sense been fortunate enough to be in the profession of numbers .The digits that still carry with them the Pythagorean mystique . Anything could be done with figures , he himself, could be reduced for the purpose of national statistics to a
simple number .There were thousands of different figures in his body , indicating the various biological process , chemical levels and variety of functions within his own physical organism .He was definitely convinced by the magic of numerals , and although he could not grasp their every meaning,he would continue to try .
Roy Marden loved his profession and would rather give up work all together than change it . Up until now he had never had the opportunity to investigate the deeper and purer aspect of numbers in a place of work and this was precisely why this career move was so vital to his development .He will be in an occupation where he can examine every aspect of the meaning of figures and investigate how functions and calculations can change the very nature of themselves purely by applying the appropriate formula upon them . Roy Marden took in a long breath of enthusiasm , in
this place , in a cosy little town , these things that concerned him personally as well as professionally were to be his full time occupation . What more could he ask for ? This can only be seen as success.
The sun greeted Roy as he handed his ticket to the collector at the town station . The building was mere three minute's walk away from the train station .He felt a warm volcanic lava permeate his body as he approached the bright blue building .
Roy Marden glanced with awe at the Romanesque fountain in the courtyard before approaching the automated doors of the building.
"Good morning Mr Marden ". Smiled the receptionist .
"Good morning ".
"Tim Norton's expecting you ,go to the second floor , turn right and you should find him in the the third door down . It's number thirty seven ".
"Thanks Carol ,I'll see you around ". As he was making his way out of the lift in the direction he was instructed , he saw Tim Norton walking towards him . Tim Norton greeted him with a warm hand shake and reassuring smile .
"Hello Mr Marden ,it's nice to see , welcome . I'll be with you in a couple of minutes . I've got your place organised for you , it's the second door from the end , please excuse me for a sec and I'll be with you ." Tim Norton dashed out of sight through a large door . Roy Marden continued to walk in the direction of what was to be his new occupation . They had even nicely personalised everything for him : A sign on his office door with Roman hand painted text read : Roy Marden , BSC hons.He stood there staring at his new environment trying to take it all in calmly , as his heart pounded with joy. He looked through the corridor window at the outer surrounding trees whereby a river flowed . He smiled. He then dived onto his allocated bed before him , clutching the pillow as if to tear it apart , dug his heels repeatedly into the mattress as he spewed a bitter-sweet flurry of laughter and unintelligible ranting that echoed far beyond the end of the hospital ward. Doctor Norton rushed to his bedside and placing one hand on Roy Marden's shoulder began to murmur words of comfort , but all in vain for Dr Norton failed to recognise the primordial cry of happiness.
No.26: The Van, 2008
A van driver who lived in Sudan
He tried to make love to his van
The engine got stuck
Spun him round what a ****!
He now charges 10 dollars a man
He tried to make love to his van
The engine got stuck
Spun him round what a ****!
He now charges 10 dollars a man
Friday, January 11, 2008
No.27 : The Baboon , 2008
A young man there was in Rangoon
Who loved a female Baboon
He put his face in her bum
She thought he was dumb
And broke wind as she called him a goon
Who loved a female Baboon
He put his face in her bum
She thought he was dumb
And broke wind as she called him a goon
Sunday, January 6, 2008
No.28 : The Sock, 2008
There was a poor man in Bangkok
For a condom he used an old sock
He starched it so well
His women would tell
That his weapon was harder than rock
For a condom he used an old sock
He starched it so well
His women would tell
That his weapon was harder than rock
Saturday, January 5, 2008
No.29: the Guru Blues ,1990
My woman ,she left me , my hamster it died
They took away my house, I laid down and cried
But I'm not defeated , I know what I'll do
I'll go search for a Guru , and He'll find me too
I'm goin' to the Guru , that's what i'm gonna do
Cos my heart it is so heavy and my mind it's blue
I'm goin' to the Guru , that's what I'm gonna do
For this heart it is so heavy my mind it's blue
Well I travelled all the oceans ,I swam in the sea
I crossed desert , climbed mountains what did I see?
The Guru he was waitin' my soul became bright
Just lookin' at him was all peace, love and light
I'm goin' to the Guru , that's what i'm gonna do
Cos my heart it is so heavy and my mind it's blue
I'm goin' to the Guru , that's what I'm gonna do
For this heart it is so heavy my mind it's blue
I said :'teacher help me , cos I wanna be wise
For this body's been beaten by too many lies '
He said:'your eyes are made for listenin' now look with your ears
I'm gonna show you how to fight off all the tears!'
I'm goin' to the Guru , that's what i'm gonna do
Cos my heart it is so heavy and my mind it's blue
I'm goin' to the Guru , that's what I'm gonna do
For this heart it is so heavy my mind it's blue
Now the guru he drank whisky and blew a strange smoke
I said: 'Man! what is this some kind of joke? '
He left me next mornin' took all my clothes
I'm a born loser , that's just how life goes
I don't want no Guru what a crazy thing to do
Cos my heart it is still heavy and my mind it's blue
I don't want no Guru what a crazy thing to do
Cos my heart it is still heavy and my mind it's blue
Now I don't want nobody I'm a lonely machine
Who ever shared my sufferin' knows just what I mean
That Guru sent from heaven , he was no fool
I've taken up his leaf now and opened up my own school
I'm gonna be a Guru , that's what I'm gonna do
But my heart it's still heavy ,my mind's black and blue
I'm gonna be a Guru , that's what I'm gonna do
My heart it's still havy ,my mind's red,black and blue
They took away my house, I laid down and cried
But I'm not defeated , I know what I'll do
I'll go search for a Guru , and He'll find me too
I'm goin' to the Guru , that's what i'm gonna do
Cos my heart it is so heavy and my mind it's blue
I'm goin' to the Guru , that's what I'm gonna do
For this heart it is so heavy my mind it's blue
Well I travelled all the oceans ,I swam in the sea
I crossed desert , climbed mountains what did I see?
The Guru he was waitin' my soul became bright
Just lookin' at him was all peace, love and light
I'm goin' to the Guru , that's what i'm gonna do
Cos my heart it is so heavy and my mind it's blue
I'm goin' to the Guru , that's what I'm gonna do
For this heart it is so heavy my mind it's blue
I said :'teacher help me , cos I wanna be wise
For this body's been beaten by too many lies '
He said:'your eyes are made for listenin' now look with your ears
I'm gonna show you how to fight off all the tears!'
I'm goin' to the Guru , that's what i'm gonna do
Cos my heart it is so heavy and my mind it's blue
I'm goin' to the Guru , that's what I'm gonna do
For this heart it is so heavy my mind it's blue
Now the guru he drank whisky and blew a strange smoke
I said: 'Man! what is this some kind of joke? '
He left me next mornin' took all my clothes
I'm a born loser , that's just how life goes
I don't want no Guru what a crazy thing to do
Cos my heart it is still heavy and my mind it's blue
I don't want no Guru what a crazy thing to do
Cos my heart it is still heavy and my mind it's blue
Now I don't want nobody I'm a lonely machine
Who ever shared my sufferin' knows just what I mean
That Guru sent from heaven , he was no fool
I've taken up his leaf now and opened up my own school
I'm gonna be a Guru , that's what I'm gonna do
But my heart it's still heavy ,my mind's black and blue
I'm gonna be a Guru , that's what I'm gonna do
My heart it's still havy ,my mind's red,black and blue
Thursday, January 3, 2008
No.30 : Daddy's Song , 1990
Babe when you look-me with those eyes
I know I mean so much to you
I know what's wrong and what is right
I've got the answer for everything that you do
Chorus
But you know I'm still a child myself
That wonders what the? how and why like you
Lost , There's no bigger daddy in the stars
Don't know where I'm goin'when I'm through
See the changing colour of the clouds
The birds making music in the trees
And all the poison headed people
More deadly than anything else can be
Boy , the world's insane believe me
For this is one thing that I know
The peace makers are imprisoned
And the tyrants run the show
I've got no stocks and shares to give you
What you mean to me can't be said or done
I know life's meaning is an ice cream
And that happiness means innocent fun
I know I mean so much to you
I know what's wrong and what is right
I've got the answer for everything that you do
Chorus
But you know I'm still a child myself
That wonders what the? how and why like you
Lost , There's no bigger daddy in the stars
Don't know where I'm goin'when I'm through
See the changing colour of the clouds
The birds making music in the trees
And all the poison headed people
More deadly than anything else can be
Boy , the world's insane believe me
For this is one thing that I know
The peace makers are imprisoned
And the tyrants run the show
I've got no stocks and shares to give you
What you mean to me can't be said or done
I know life's meaning is an ice cream
And that happiness means innocent fun
No.31: Sax Man, 1988
Little Bobby Cougah, they said :'He's good for nothin''
They fired him from his day job :Got no future comin''
But they didn't recognise it
For he had something goin'
Fools! They never had the mind to hear his saxaphone blowin'
Chorus
He's got the taxman runnin' when he's out moonlightin'
Spends his day time loafin' then he's a huffin' and a puffin'
He's really lovin' livin' now he's a happy soul
He's a rollin' and a rockin ' signin' on the dole
In the good times the sax it was a howlin'
When things were hard the two of 'em were growlin'
And Bobby never hit the big time
although he dreamed he would do someday
But life goes on and he 'signs right here' every other Monday
They fired him from his day job :Got no future comin''
But they didn't recognise it
For he had something goin'
Fools! They never had the mind to hear his saxaphone blowin'
Chorus
He's got the taxman runnin' when he's out moonlightin'
Spends his day time loafin' then he's a huffin' and a puffin'
He's really lovin' livin' now he's a happy soul
He's a rollin' and a rockin ' signin' on the dole
In the good times the sax it was a howlin'
When things were hard the two of 'em were growlin'
And Bobby never hit the big time
although he dreamed he would do someday
But life goes on and he 'signs right here' every other Monday
Sunday, December 16, 2007
No.32: The Slythagor ,1983
So the slythagor hopped on a train
The thought lingered,it gnawed at his brain
To revisit that fiery cage
Where his last stand had ended in rage
As he approached, he was pelted by rain
And haunted at what it would feel like
To be there again
Since he had been there several years passed
He grieved at why time flew so fast
For he was no longer a slythagor
No longer funny or sly, merely a 'Gor'
He gave his ticket in at Fulham Broadway
to a man with a hat
He was a diploma student on a grant
Last time he did that
The streets of Fulham had not changed
And looked very much the same
Apart from a new shop or two
Or one that had just changed its name
As he came nearer to the old church
That had been converted to an art school
He felt eerily reminiscent of the countless
Times he had played the fool
He entered the deserted corridor
And stared at the notice board alone
Just as he used to , there at break times
When no one would talk to him
And he was left on his own
He proceeded tentatively
And descended a flight of stairs
Where he saw 'Joke' and 'Rubbin' conversing
He gave them his attention and awaited theirs
They persisted in chatting
But as one of them withdrew
He greeted Joke , who said simply 'Hello'
Not 'How are you ?' or 'How do you do?'
Gor , feeling speechless ,retreated
And went back to the corridor
He saw Rubbin ascending the stairs
He tried to make his mark once more :
'Hello Rubbin ' he said 'D'you remember me ?'
'Yes ' said Rubbin , 'Have you come for someone to see?'
Gor explained he was just back
To look and see what's going on around
Rubbin continued to head for upstairs
And the two ceased to exchange another sound
There he was, asking himself
why the hell he had returned?
Why did he come ? Who did he come to see?
Was this the reputation he had earned ?
He found no answer and hesitated for a while
There's no one upstairs that he was close with
To give him more than a plastic smile
So much for the visit he thought
As he made his way to the door
To see the place that expelled him
Having no time for a Slythagor
So back on the train again he found himself
Heading for whence he came
He is a Slythagor no more
His wings were cut three years ago
And now he is quite tame
The thought lingered,it gnawed at his brain
To revisit that fiery cage
Where his last stand had ended in rage
As he approached, he was pelted by rain
And haunted at what it would feel like
To be there again
Since he had been there several years passed
He grieved at why time flew so fast
For he was no longer a slythagor
No longer funny or sly, merely a 'Gor'
He gave his ticket in at Fulham Broadway
to a man with a hat
He was a diploma student on a grant
Last time he did that
The streets of Fulham had not changed
And looked very much the same
Apart from a new shop or two
Or one that had just changed its name
As he came nearer to the old church
That had been converted to an art school
He felt eerily reminiscent of the countless
Times he had played the fool
He entered the deserted corridor
And stared at the notice board alone
Just as he used to , there at break times
When no one would talk to him
And he was left on his own
He proceeded tentatively
And descended a flight of stairs
Where he saw 'Joke' and 'Rubbin' conversing
He gave them his attention and awaited theirs
They persisted in chatting
But as one of them withdrew
He greeted Joke , who said simply 'Hello'
Not 'How are you ?' or 'How do you do?'
Gor , feeling speechless ,retreated
And went back to the corridor
He saw Rubbin ascending the stairs
He tried to make his mark once more :
'Hello Rubbin ' he said 'D'you remember me ?'
'Yes ' said Rubbin , 'Have you come for someone to see?'
Gor explained he was just back
To look and see what's going on around
Rubbin continued to head for upstairs
And the two ceased to exchange another sound
There he was, asking himself
why the hell he had returned?
Why did he come ? Who did he come to see?
Was this the reputation he had earned ?
He found no answer and hesitated for a while
There's no one upstairs that he was close with
To give him more than a plastic smile
So much for the visit he thought
As he made his way to the door
To see the place that expelled him
Having no time for a Slythagor
So back on the train again he found himself
Heading for whence he came
He is a Slythagor no more
His wings were cut three years ago
And now he is quite tame
No.33: Diary of a Non-Entity ,l (Extract from unfinished novel) 2006
This is my diary, I once read a book called 'Diary of a Nobody' , I thought at the time well if he's a nobody what the hell am I? I actually felt envious of the main character. I now think it's time to write my non-story ; Welcome to A Diary of a Nonentity .
10th April 2006
Hello , I thought I would give this a go, had a few glasses of wine , by myself and it seemed straight forward.
Well I'm Simon Penton, and what you are about to read is true .
I'm a thirty six year old English man . I live by myself , I'm shy ,not really that bad looking but I have never had a girl friend , neither have I ever kissed a girl. I feel so much better for writing this as sometimes when face to face with people I tend to lie about such things. I have never had much confidence ,although I was quite good at school, I never finished anything. I am jobless and on state benefits , have not worked for over fifteen years and yet I was never lazy , just not really able to impress.I know no trade, I have very few friends, My parents have moved to Spain and my sister jane has four kids and little time for me.I may be a little tipsy now and find things to say which when sober, I may regret , yet it's too late. I think I have to put these thoughts down. I will continue this diary whenever I feel the urge..until there's no more point in it. Welcome to the diary of a nonentity.
Welcome
10th April 2006
Hello , I thought I would give this a go, had a few glasses of wine , by myself and it seemed straight forward.
Well I'm Simon Penton, and what you are about to read is true .
I'm a thirty six year old English man . I live by myself , I'm shy ,not really that bad looking but I have never had a girl friend , neither have I ever kissed a girl. I feel so much better for writing this as sometimes when face to face with people I tend to lie about such things. I have never had much confidence ,although I was quite good at school, I never finished anything. I am jobless and on state benefits , have not worked for over fifteen years and yet I was never lazy , just not really able to impress.I know no trade, I have very few friends, My parents have moved to Spain and my sister jane has four kids and little time for me.I may be a little tipsy now and find things to say which when sober, I may regret , yet it's too late. I think I have to put these thoughts down. I will continue this diary whenever I feel the urge..until there's no more point in it. Welcome to the diary of a nonentity.
Welcome
No.34: Diary of a Non-Entity 2 ( Extract from unfinished novel ) 2006
This is my diary, I once read a book called 'Diary of a Nobody' , I thought at the time well if he's a nobody what the hell am I? I actually felt envious of the main character. I now think it's time to write my non-story ; Welcome to A Diary of a Nonentity .
11th April 2006
It's late , about 11.00 pm in London.I am alone in my bed sit ; a single room twelve feet by eight , I share a kitchen and bathroom with others. I will tell you about them in due course.
I guess it is not such a mystery why I have remained alone although I think I would rather share my life with somebody .
I got up early and went for a walk just as the world was beginning to set into motion , walked up to Edmonton's Fore Street ,pacing to a speed and rhythm of the general populace , trying to appear a busy body as if I was working or had something purposeful to do with my time. I bought a cornish pasty and a cheese pastry from a well known bakery that seems to have dominated every high street in London. It has a blue shop front I don't know what they put into their pies , probably rubbish it tastes good. The weather was cold ,but I was well covered in clothing, I walked at the same fast pace all the way home and ate my breakfast while it was still hot . I laid down , listened to a radio debate all about clothing stores :a little more boring than usual. I was taken by the female presenter's articulate and admirable tone.
I slept for an hour or so then decided to go to the corner shop to by my cigarettes. I promised my self I won't smoke the first one until it is at least 11'00a.m.
At the corner shop ; palpitations. This Indian woman, well I'm not sure if she is Indian , could be from Bangladesh or Pakistan, but she is so BEAUTIFUL , it hurts me..I buy my cigarettes , she always serves me with a smile and asks me how I am in a way that she really means it. She is married and has two sons that look in their late twenties . I sometimes even pretend to have forgotten something just to spend a few more minutes in her sublime presence.
This was the highlight of my day . The rest was a repeat of every other day.I cooked beans on toast read the Sun newspaper . slept in the afternoon and just started to reflect about my past . I feel that If write these things down about the past , present and ideas for the future I may at least......... goodness knows what . Well it's now 11.30 pm , I do have friends ,really, I am drinking my third glass of wine and smoking roughly my 15th cigarette these are my friends. Time to sleep and hear tonights radio phone-ins.
11th April 2006
It's late , about 11.00 pm in London.I am alone in my bed sit ; a single room twelve feet by eight , I share a kitchen and bathroom with others. I will tell you about them in due course.
I guess it is not such a mystery why I have remained alone although I think I would rather share my life with somebody .
I got up early and went for a walk just as the world was beginning to set into motion , walked up to Edmonton's Fore Street ,pacing to a speed and rhythm of the general populace , trying to appear a busy body as if I was working or had something purposeful to do with my time. I bought a cornish pasty and a cheese pastry from a well known bakery that seems to have dominated every high street in London. It has a blue shop front I don't know what they put into their pies , probably rubbish it tastes good. The weather was cold ,but I was well covered in clothing, I walked at the same fast pace all the way home and ate my breakfast while it was still hot . I laid down , listened to a radio debate all about clothing stores :a little more boring than usual. I was taken by the female presenter's articulate and admirable tone.
I slept for an hour or so then decided to go to the corner shop to by my cigarettes. I promised my self I won't smoke the first one until it is at least 11'00a.m.
At the corner shop ; palpitations. This Indian woman, well I'm not sure if she is Indian , could be from Bangladesh or Pakistan, but she is so BEAUTIFUL , it hurts me..I buy my cigarettes , she always serves me with a smile and asks me how I am in a way that she really means it. She is married and has two sons that look in their late twenties . I sometimes even pretend to have forgotten something just to spend a few more minutes in her sublime presence.
This was the highlight of my day . The rest was a repeat of every other day.I cooked beans on toast read the Sun newspaper . slept in the afternoon and just started to reflect about my past . I feel that If write these things down about the past , present and ideas for the future I may at least......... goodness knows what . Well it's now 11.30 pm , I do have friends ,really, I am drinking my third glass of wine and smoking roughly my 15th cigarette these are my friends. Time to sleep and hear tonights radio phone-ins.
No.35: Diary of a Non-Entity 3 (Extract from unfinished novel ) 2006
This is my diary, I once read a book called 'Diary of a Nobody' , I thought at the time well if he's a nobody what the hell am I? I actually felt envious of the main character. I now think it's time to write my non-story ; Welcome to A Diary of a Nonentity .
15th April 2006
Today is just another day . Nothing to write about really. Yesterday was Good Friday.Nothing really happened yesterday either. The difference with yesterday was that I was aware of many other people not having to go to work .
Olga, lives directly next door to me. I noticed her mopping the landing as she kindly does on a regular basis. Otherwise this place would be a typical 'No man's land '.I mean the common areas of such shared accommodation often turn into a region that no one takes responsibility for ,and thus prone to look like something just inbetween a battle field. Olga is about forty years old, a refugee from Bosnia after that terrible war which resulted in the break up of what was Yugoslavia.
'Good morning Olga, no work today?'
' Good morning, no work , factory closed four days'Her English has improved over the years but I still talk to her in this pidgin English idiom that I have grown used to .
'You come for tea with me tonight Olga?'
'Maybe , you going nowhere?'
'No, I be in .You knock tonight.'I guess it sounds rather patronising , but I can't change this way of addressing her now. Olga has greying hair ,sharpish features and deep set green eyes , interrupted by very full lips and a well proportioned body. She often invites me for her traditional black coffee.It is very strong, full of sediment at the bottom of the cup and always served in tiny cups. When she first came to this building it must have been seven years ago.She used to wear very traditional Balkan clothing , a colourful head scarf and very baggy frocks and jumpers. Nowadays I see her in all types of western clothing and the scarf very rarely worn.
About four years ago Harry an old 'friend' of mine came over to see me, just as Olga was inviting me
for one of our regular coffee moments .He didn't believe that we have coffee together and nothing really happens.
'Wow! ' So that's what you get up to lately is it?'
' Yeah ' I nodded, I guess he realised that there was nothing going for me.'Shall we go then? , you should try her coffee it's really good.'We both went to her room.
'I'm Harry'. He introduced himself . Moments had
passed and the two were laughing and joking together as if acquainted over years. I noticed every so often reconnaissance palms from Harry sent out in all directions, touching Olga in the most neutral parts of her body. Harry joined me for coffee a few more times and eventually Olga and Harry were having an affair , leaving me to hear the 'ooohhhs!'and 'aaahhhs', the creaky bed and the occasional petty argument .
Harry gradually decreased the frequency of his visits until eventually he disappeared all together from Olga's life.
'Where is Harry ? ' she often remonstrated .'He does no love me....' I often gave her vague reassurances never stating the obvious , which she knew. Harry had returned to the security of his trusting wife and steered well clear of 93 Ploughman Road .
Something about Olga today made her more attractive than usual . She looked happy and sang to herself in her own language as she diligently mopped the landing.
At around 9.00pm Olga was knocking on my door. She entered with some home cooked biscuits all covered in sesame seeds. She was dressed in tight fitting white denim trousers and a blue T shirt as it was an exceptionally warm day after after the continuous coldness our spring has offered so far.We drank tea and ate her biscuits , talked about the weather , her work and the politics of our housing joint acommodat ion .i.e bemoaning the recent increase the landlord has announced. We continued with such trivia and I plucked the courage to attempt to be a little sexually more assertive. I had preset my CD player with some 'BeeGee'music which I remembered she had taken a liking to on a previous occasion.I gradually sent out feelers ,touching her shoulder then eventually her thigh . Olga laughed almost cynically and firmly clasped my wrist and moved it away . I persisted and then moved my lips close to hers and attempted to kiss her . Olga grabbed me by the shoulders almost like a mother preventing a baby from injury , held my shoulders at arms length,looked me sternly in the eyes and said: 'Simon ! stop it , you are friend and best neighbour , why you do this?' I giggled fatuously with embarrassment.I made one more tragic attempt of simultaneously stroking her breast and approaching her lips again . This time she dodged me and I almost headbutted the wall.
'Oh Simon ! NO....NO!' I felt like a disobedient canine.Olga then got up straightened herself,and with an air of dignity walked to the door .Smiling but firmly she told me .'Simon! , you are friend; friend only , do you understand?'As she proceeded to leave the room , I actually apologised for my behaviour , I don't know why because I was angry with her and myself , I felt that I deserved an apology really but that's what I did.
'OK , sorry .' again like a fool I heard myself.'Will you still invite me for coffee another day now?' I pleaded.
'Of course , but friends only OK!' She demanded .I felt as if she had me against the wall and that I had
to sign a legal document preventing me from ever doing such an audacious thing again,That I would have to make this concession before she let me go.
'Yes, only .....friends'. I failed. Olga left the room after one of my very rare moments of passion. I made another cup of tea. For an hour or so wallowed in my self pity ; how enjoyable self pity can be sometimes. I happily concede that the world will not feel sorry for me , I won't accept this :I will give my self the pleasure or duty of feeling sorry for myself.......After an hour and a bit, I reached for my bedside cabinet and grabbed a copy of 'The Dazzler' I looked at various naked bodies in contrived , self conscious postures.I then put it away , the presence of a real woman was still alive in my room , even the scent . I proceeded to pleasure myself with vivid images of my own creation ,...of what could have happened with Olga....
Today is just another day for me and Friday wasn't particularly 'Good',
15th April 2006
Today is just another day . Nothing to write about really. Yesterday was Good Friday.Nothing really happened yesterday either. The difference with yesterday was that I was aware of many other people not having to go to work .
Olga, lives directly next door to me. I noticed her mopping the landing as she kindly does on a regular basis. Otherwise this place would be a typical 'No man's land '.I mean the common areas of such shared accommodation often turn into a region that no one takes responsibility for ,and thus prone to look like something just inbetween a battle field. Olga is about forty years old, a refugee from Bosnia after that terrible war which resulted in the break up of what was Yugoslavia.
'Good morning Olga, no work today?'
' Good morning, no work , factory closed four days'Her English has improved over the years but I still talk to her in this pidgin English idiom that I have grown used to .
'You come for tea with me tonight Olga?'
'Maybe , you going nowhere?'
'No, I be in .You knock tonight.'I guess it sounds rather patronising , but I can't change this way of addressing her now. Olga has greying hair ,sharpish features and deep set green eyes , interrupted by very full lips and a well proportioned body. She often invites me for her traditional black coffee.It is very strong, full of sediment at the bottom of the cup and always served in tiny cups. When she first came to this building it must have been seven years ago.She used to wear very traditional Balkan clothing , a colourful head scarf and very baggy frocks and jumpers. Nowadays I see her in all types of western clothing and the scarf very rarely worn.
About four years ago Harry an old 'friend' of mine came over to see me, just as Olga was inviting me
for one of our regular coffee moments .He didn't believe that we have coffee together and nothing really happens.
'Wow! ' So that's what you get up to lately is it?'
' Yeah ' I nodded, I guess he realised that there was nothing going for me.'Shall we go then? , you should try her coffee it's really good.'We both went to her room.
'I'm Harry'. He introduced himself . Moments had
passed and the two were laughing and joking together as if acquainted over years. I noticed every so often reconnaissance palms from Harry sent out in all directions, touching Olga in the most neutral parts of her body. Harry joined me for coffee a few more times and eventually Olga and Harry were having an affair , leaving me to hear the 'ooohhhs!'and 'aaahhhs', the creaky bed and the occasional petty argument .
Harry gradually decreased the frequency of his visits until eventually he disappeared all together from Olga's life.
'Where is Harry ? ' she often remonstrated .'He does no love me....' I often gave her vague reassurances never stating the obvious , which she knew. Harry had returned to the security of his trusting wife and steered well clear of 93 Ploughman Road .
Something about Olga today made her more attractive than usual . She looked happy and sang to herself in her own language as she diligently mopped the landing.
At around 9.00pm Olga was knocking on my door. She entered with some home cooked biscuits all covered in sesame seeds. She was dressed in tight fitting white denim trousers and a blue T shirt as it was an exceptionally warm day after after the continuous coldness our spring has offered so far.We drank tea and ate her biscuits , talked about the weather , her work and the politics of our housing joint acommodat ion .i.e bemoaning the recent increase the landlord has announced. We continued with such trivia and I plucked the courage to attempt to be a little sexually more assertive. I had preset my CD player with some 'BeeGee'music which I remembered she had taken a liking to on a previous occasion.I gradually sent out feelers ,touching her shoulder then eventually her thigh . Olga laughed almost cynically and firmly clasped my wrist and moved it away . I persisted and then moved my lips close to hers and attempted to kiss her . Olga grabbed me by the shoulders almost like a mother preventing a baby from injury , held my shoulders at arms length,looked me sternly in the eyes and said: 'Simon ! stop it , you are friend and best neighbour , why you do this?' I giggled fatuously with embarrassment.I made one more tragic attempt of simultaneously stroking her breast and approaching her lips again . This time she dodged me and I almost headbutted the wall.
'Oh Simon ! NO....NO!' I felt like a disobedient canine.Olga then got up straightened herself,and with an air of dignity walked to the door .Smiling but firmly she told me .'Simon! , you are friend; friend only , do you understand?'As she proceeded to leave the room , I actually apologised for my behaviour , I don't know why because I was angry with her and myself , I felt that I deserved an apology really but that's what I did.
'OK , sorry .' again like a fool I heard myself.'Will you still invite me for coffee another day now?' I pleaded.
'Of course , but friends only OK!' She demanded .I felt as if she had me against the wall and that I had
to sign a legal document preventing me from ever doing such an audacious thing again,That I would have to make this concession before she let me go.
'Yes, only .....friends'. I failed. Olga left the room after one of my very rare moments of passion. I made another cup of tea. For an hour or so wallowed in my self pity ; how enjoyable self pity can be sometimes. I happily concede that the world will not feel sorry for me , I won't accept this :I will give my self the pleasure or duty of feeling sorry for myself.......After an hour and a bit, I reached for my bedside cabinet and grabbed a copy of 'The Dazzler' I looked at various naked bodies in contrived , self conscious postures.I then put it away , the presence of a real woman was still alive in my room , even the scent . I proceeded to pleasure myself with vivid images of my own creation ,...of what could have happened with Olga....
Today is just another day for me and Friday wasn't particularly 'Good',
No.36: Diary of a Non-Entity 4 (Extract from unfinished novel) 2006
This is my diary, I once read a book called 'Diary of a Nobody' , I thought at the time well if he's a nobody what the hell am I? I actually felt envious of the main character. I now think it's time to write my non-story ; Welcome to A Diary of a Nonentity .
17th April 2006
Got up late today .11.0a.m . I had a shower ,got dressed and made cheese on toast for breakfast or more like a brunch considering the time. I looked around at my room and had a sudden urge to tidy up and clean the room , but after a few seconds decided I would not.
I went to the local corner shop .I feared it would be shut but no , it was open. To my dismay one of the sons was serving .
‘Good morning sir’.
‘Good morning , 20 Malignez please’. I caught a glimpse of her , the mother was in the back room counting goods and putting them away . I fell into a stupor as I discreetly focused upon her. She looked so good in jeans and a baggy jumper.
‘Are you enjoying your Easter?’.
‘ Yes , I will be seeing relatives and friends later .’ Not that I was , but it was something to say . I continued to procrastinate as I descended deeper and deeper into an ecstatic make believe world..Only to be woken up.
‘Hello Sir , how are you?’ The husband came to the front of the shop and seemed to be saying , contrary to his spoken words; ‘And how much longer do you intend to leer at my wife today?’
‘I’m fine thanks, see you around’. I left the shop .
If only in some other parallel universe or under a magic spell performed by a real witch . If only I could just be with her and melt into those eyes and be received with that immortal smile…she is a true Indian Goddess. I sometimes think she takes pleasure in the power she has over me .I can tell by the way she looks at me .
I wake up again and walk toward the local park .Full of people of all backgrounds, dogs, children all running around , the smell of barbecue and sound of chatter in so many languages. .….If only I could be a part of this , yet I am like the air.
After a while I found an empty bench. I placed myself down and observed all around many people enjoying the novelty of a sunny day which has not been seen here for a good while now. This was a true spring’s day.
After about twenty minutes I was just about to get up when three youths all dressed in light blue hooded jackets and baggy jeans sat next to me . One on my left and the others on my right . I refrained from leaving immediately as this would have somehow felt wrong ; I may have offended them or may have looked more scared than I wanted to appear , which in turn could have provoked the worst outcome.
I sat in between the three who spoke in a drawl I could not understand , but faintly recognised that it was English based. They continued to talk over me in this manner until the one on the left produced a large hand rolled cigarette from his pocket.
He asked me for a light . I gave him my match box ,the spliff was lit and the three continued to share this cannabis joint, smoking and giggling , talking what sounded like gibberish and looking in my direction making me feel like an object of curiosity .
‘Wanna puff bruv?’ I was made an offer , I refused as the one on my left who offered shrugged and the others giggled . I let them have a few more puffs and moved on .
I did feel a little intimidated but guess they were just young men without any maleficent intentions, on this occasion.
I walked around the park, continued onto the high street , What a difference on a bank holiday . The traffic was thick with groups of people all coming back from excursions , possibly to the sea or countryside.
.By the time I got back it was 7.30pm.I had another shower then reviewed my day . I lied down on the sofa and wept for half a minute or so .Feeling for a moment , after thinking of all the life I saw outside: how unconnected I was with all of them.
I snapped out of it quickly, prepared myself two chunky toasted corned beef sandwiches , opened a bottle of red wine and switched on the radio which was tuned into Radio Melody.
After several hours of listening to bland middle- of -the road music and having finished the bottle , I opened another , poured out a glass , recorked the bottle , put it away and had the last drink and last cigarette by 11.25.pm.
I then made sure the ash tray was not smouldering checked the door and windows ,bolted them and went off to bed ,not bothering to brush my teeth. It was a good day , I feel happy right now , I burped and dozed off . A normal day awaits me tomorrow .
17th April 2006
Got up late today .11.0a.m . I had a shower ,got dressed and made cheese on toast for breakfast or more like a brunch considering the time. I looked around at my room and had a sudden urge to tidy up and clean the room , but after a few seconds decided I would not.
I went to the local corner shop .I feared it would be shut but no , it was open. To my dismay one of the sons was serving .
‘Good morning sir’.
‘Good morning , 20 Malignez please’. I caught a glimpse of her , the mother was in the back room counting goods and putting them away . I fell into a stupor as I discreetly focused upon her. She looked so good in jeans and a baggy jumper.
‘Are you enjoying your Easter?’.
‘ Yes , I will be seeing relatives and friends later .’ Not that I was , but it was something to say . I continued to procrastinate as I descended deeper and deeper into an ecstatic make believe world..Only to be woken up.
‘Hello Sir , how are you?’ The husband came to the front of the shop and seemed to be saying , contrary to his spoken words; ‘And how much longer do you intend to leer at my wife today?’
‘I’m fine thanks, see you around’. I left the shop .
If only in some other parallel universe or under a magic spell performed by a real witch . If only I could just be with her and melt into those eyes and be received with that immortal smile…she is a true Indian Goddess. I sometimes think she takes pleasure in the power she has over me .I can tell by the way she looks at me .
I wake up again and walk toward the local park .Full of people of all backgrounds, dogs, children all running around , the smell of barbecue and sound of chatter in so many languages. .….If only I could be a part of this , yet I am like the air.
After a while I found an empty bench. I placed myself down and observed all around many people enjoying the novelty of a sunny day which has not been seen here for a good while now. This was a true spring’s day.
After about twenty minutes I was just about to get up when three youths all dressed in light blue hooded jackets and baggy jeans sat next to me . One on my left and the others on my right . I refrained from leaving immediately as this would have somehow felt wrong ; I may have offended them or may have looked more scared than I wanted to appear , which in turn could have provoked the worst outcome.
I sat in between the three who spoke in a drawl I could not understand , but faintly recognised that it was English based. They continued to talk over me in this manner until the one on the left produced a large hand rolled cigarette from his pocket.
He asked me for a light . I gave him my match box ,the spliff was lit and the three continued to share this cannabis joint, smoking and giggling , talking what sounded like gibberish and looking in my direction making me feel like an object of curiosity .
‘Wanna puff bruv?’ I was made an offer , I refused as the one on my left who offered shrugged and the others giggled . I let them have a few more puffs and moved on .
I did feel a little intimidated but guess they were just young men without any maleficent intentions, on this occasion.
I walked around the park, continued onto the high street , What a difference on a bank holiday . The traffic was thick with groups of people all coming back from excursions , possibly to the sea or countryside.
.By the time I got back it was 7.30pm.I had another shower then reviewed my day . I lied down on the sofa and wept for half a minute or so .Feeling for a moment , after thinking of all the life I saw outside: how unconnected I was with all of them.
I snapped out of it quickly, prepared myself two chunky toasted corned beef sandwiches , opened a bottle of red wine and switched on the radio which was tuned into Radio Melody.
After several hours of listening to bland middle- of -the road music and having finished the bottle , I opened another , poured out a glass , recorked the bottle , put it away and had the last drink and last cigarette by 11.25.pm.
I then made sure the ash tray was not smouldering checked the door and windows ,bolted them and went off to bed ,not bothering to brush my teeth. It was a good day , I feel happy right now , I burped and dozed off . A normal day awaits me tomorrow .
No.37: Diary of a Non-Entity 5 ( Extract from unfinished novel) , 2006
This is my diary, I once read a book called 'Diary of a Nobody' , I thought at the time well if he's a nobody what the hell am I? I actually felt envious of the main character. I now think it's time to write my non-story ; Welcome to A Diary of a Nonentity .
18th April 2006
Today I got up really early. I didn’t even sleep properly last night , I had strange dreams almost as if I was in a state of semi consciousness. I was up and dressed by 7.30am I even heard the man above me go off to work . I don’t know his name , but I will refer to him as Ivan from now on . Ivan appears to be from Poland . He could even be a Russian or Albanian for all I know . I feel confident to state that he is ‘Eastern European’ . The language sounds somewhat Slavic in its form. Not that I know anything about these languages just that I have been around long enough to make some connections.
Anyhow, Ivan has been living directly above the room I occupy for at least the last six months. This morning an old volvo estate van pulled up .This seems to be some kind of work transport or trades gang. As soon as it pulled up the driver surrounded by at least another seven or eight other burly figures of similar racial complexion and cultural behaviour , blew his horn several times very loud too . I would like to shout to him to shut up and get out of the vehicle and use his finger and press the door bell . But I dare not in case I elicit an aggressive response. Ivan came rushing down to join them.
So Ivan and his gang of what look like builders have all gone out to make some money. They must be builders . Ivan is often seen carrying bits of wood and holding various power tools, whereas his friends have been seen to be covered from head to toe in plaster or cement. This group of loud and rowdy looking Poles seem to have come to London with a vengeance. They seem to have a hunger for work. I guess it is the new European Union’s rules of engagement Others would call this another example of the government inviting foreign tradesmen to come to the country in order to keep the local complacent builders on their toes and prevent them form demanding interstellar prices for botched up work.
I see many of these people , just like Ivan around this area either going to work or returning . I have often seen them shopping with some kind of excitement when seeing the prices in London supermarkets which I believe are extremely cheap compared to those of countries cursed by the former Stalinist regimes .So Ivan and his gang have gone to work .I don’t have anything against these new guest workers or immigrant settlers , whatever they happen to be .
One night a few weeks ago I remember seeing Ivan bring back two women of his own nationality and a male friend..This was a Friday night . I happened to be coming back myself from a drink in one of the local pubs. These Polish women were gorgeous , tall , fit , blond and self assured . And I could hear the whole scenario. Not that I can understand Polish but what went on was more the language of love. Not much was left to the imagination although I could see nothing I could feel my ceiling shaking . I wonder what it must feel like to be a successful predator and win at bringing a willing woman home to have ……… wild sex. Some people get all the luck.
After Ivan had gone I stayed at my window watching the world go by . I saw Olga leaving for the dress factory , She has really become more fashion conscious and adjusted to this way of life.
All have gone from this building except Francis and myself . Francis is a seventy two year old retired bachelor . I wonder whether he is retired from the world , from work or from himself, considering the amount of years he has been alone. I have, on a few occasions had a drink in the pub with him and will say more about him on other occasions..
I visited the corner shop at 10.00.a.m. I planned it this way and wow! She was there. I blushed as I pretended to look at various headlines as if I was trying to make my mind up about which paper to buy.
‘Good morning Sir ‘
‘Good morning’ ,I replied as she attacked me again with that penetrating smile. I eventually picked up the Daily Mail; I hate this paper but just felt I had been over doing my browsing. I chose a chocolate .
‘85 pence please’ I fumbled pathetically as I tried to gather the right amount of money from my wallet .
‘Thank you ‘ with a smile of sympathy on her face.
‘Thanks , bye’ I left the shop and wondered what else could I do to match that for the rest of the day?
Well guess what ? I returned home by 12.00 md had some frankfurters with soft rolls and mustard then had a nap until 3.00pm.
I did n’t leave the flat again today . I noticed Ivan returning by 5.15 pm . I thought to myself it’s time I found a job . I wonder if Ivan’s gang would want me?
I put on the radio and listened to various classical stations until I was sickened by the frantic pace of some pieces then switched it off. I ate again at 8.10pm , the scraps of my previous meal together with a tin of okra .
9.30pm. onwards :Watched TV passively mindlessly , thinking it’s time I did something other than just exist and fantasise about real living. I wept again briefly , it’s happening more and more often , I don’t know if it is the fact that I have committed this non-event that is my life to paper …..but it has shown me that my life is even more meaningless than I had previously imagined.
I had no wine to drink tonight . I made a cup of hot chocolate , smoked my last cigarette ;the two went well together .I brushed my teeth and made my self happy thinking : ‘It’s pay day tomorrow!’ I will receive my- two weekly dole cheque.
I listened to the pompous radio phone in presenter, in his element debating a topical issue of the day and thought: 'He is the opposite of me , he likes the sound of his own voice and proud of his opinionated ,often ill-informed platitudes . Whereas I don’t even like to be noticed . He is successful , I am a failure ; The Bastard!.'
Tomorrow is a special day . I slept on this happy note.
18th April 2006
Today I got up really early. I didn’t even sleep properly last night , I had strange dreams almost as if I was in a state of semi consciousness. I was up and dressed by 7.30am I even heard the man above me go off to work . I don’t know his name , but I will refer to him as Ivan from now on . Ivan appears to be from Poland . He could even be a Russian or Albanian for all I know . I feel confident to state that he is ‘Eastern European’ . The language sounds somewhat Slavic in its form. Not that I know anything about these languages just that I have been around long enough to make some connections.
Anyhow, Ivan has been living directly above the room I occupy for at least the last six months. This morning an old volvo estate van pulled up .This seems to be some kind of work transport or trades gang. As soon as it pulled up the driver surrounded by at least another seven or eight other burly figures of similar racial complexion and cultural behaviour , blew his horn several times very loud too . I would like to shout to him to shut up and get out of the vehicle and use his finger and press the door bell . But I dare not in case I elicit an aggressive response. Ivan came rushing down to join them.
So Ivan and his gang of what look like builders have all gone out to make some money. They must be builders . Ivan is often seen carrying bits of wood and holding various power tools, whereas his friends have been seen to be covered from head to toe in plaster or cement. This group of loud and rowdy looking Poles seem to have come to London with a vengeance. They seem to have a hunger for work. I guess it is the new European Union’s rules of engagement Others would call this another example of the government inviting foreign tradesmen to come to the country in order to keep the local complacent builders on their toes and prevent them form demanding interstellar prices for botched up work.
I see many of these people , just like Ivan around this area either going to work or returning . I have often seen them shopping with some kind of excitement when seeing the prices in London supermarkets which I believe are extremely cheap compared to those of countries cursed by the former Stalinist regimes .So Ivan and his gang have gone to work .I don’t have anything against these new guest workers or immigrant settlers , whatever they happen to be .
One night a few weeks ago I remember seeing Ivan bring back two women of his own nationality and a male friend..This was a Friday night . I happened to be coming back myself from a drink in one of the local pubs. These Polish women were gorgeous , tall , fit , blond and self assured . And I could hear the whole scenario. Not that I can understand Polish but what went on was more the language of love. Not much was left to the imagination although I could see nothing I could feel my ceiling shaking . I wonder what it must feel like to be a successful predator and win at bringing a willing woman home to have ……… wild sex. Some people get all the luck.
After Ivan had gone I stayed at my window watching the world go by . I saw Olga leaving for the dress factory , She has really become more fashion conscious and adjusted to this way of life.
All have gone from this building except Francis and myself . Francis is a seventy two year old retired bachelor . I wonder whether he is retired from the world , from work or from himself, considering the amount of years he has been alone. I have, on a few occasions had a drink in the pub with him and will say more about him on other occasions..
I visited the corner shop at 10.00.a.m. I planned it this way and wow! She was there. I blushed as I pretended to look at various headlines as if I was trying to make my mind up about which paper to buy.
‘Good morning Sir ‘
‘Good morning’ ,I replied as she attacked me again with that penetrating smile. I eventually picked up the Daily Mail; I hate this paper but just felt I had been over doing my browsing. I chose a chocolate .
‘85 pence please’ I fumbled pathetically as I tried to gather the right amount of money from my wallet .
‘Thank you ‘ with a smile of sympathy on her face.
‘Thanks , bye’ I left the shop and wondered what else could I do to match that for the rest of the day?
Well guess what ? I returned home by 12.00 md had some frankfurters with soft rolls and mustard then had a nap until 3.00pm.
I did n’t leave the flat again today . I noticed Ivan returning by 5.15 pm . I thought to myself it’s time I found a job . I wonder if Ivan’s gang would want me?
I put on the radio and listened to various classical stations until I was sickened by the frantic pace of some pieces then switched it off. I ate again at 8.10pm , the scraps of my previous meal together with a tin of okra .
9.30pm. onwards :Watched TV passively mindlessly , thinking it’s time I did something other than just exist and fantasise about real living. I wept again briefly , it’s happening more and more often , I don’t know if it is the fact that I have committed this non-event that is my life to paper …..but it has shown me that my life is even more meaningless than I had previously imagined.
I had no wine to drink tonight . I made a cup of hot chocolate , smoked my last cigarette ;the two went well together .I brushed my teeth and made my self happy thinking : ‘It’s pay day tomorrow!’ I will receive my- two weekly dole cheque.
I listened to the pompous radio phone in presenter, in his element debating a topical issue of the day and thought: 'He is the opposite of me , he likes the sound of his own voice and proud of his opinionated ,often ill-informed platitudes . Whereas I don’t even like to be noticed . He is successful , I am a failure ; The Bastard!.'
Tomorrow is a special day . I slept on this happy note.
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