Stories are more important than facts

In Wandsworth Park

It’s colder out than in, and the chill wind tugs at conversation. Pulls of smoke crust alveoli, crestled with frosty dew drops. The air tingles. A, shimmering, smog, crystallised in streetlight beams, lingers over the dull, gurgling river. Flowing locks of darkest Thames water lap, bright crested, upon the hulls of dull marine vessels, humming to the gloam.

Socrates' walk

In a forest near Arnheim there lives a man who spends his hours trying to make his picture of the world fit coherently and perfectly. He turns ideas in his mind like a many-layered puzzle - its teeth jutting this way and that, carved from logic and hard and square like marble - and like a rubik's cube each twist yanks one piece from rest. The day I met him, he was trying to make night into day. I asked him why. He said all was one under the Lord God. I asked him why. He said the Lord God is and made all, and so all is one. He seemed so certain I dare not question him again. I once found a man I thought ridiculous so I questioned and questioned him 'til he finally snapped. Absurdity dribbled out of him like melting blemonge, seeping through the cracks in his skull. It wept with a silent howl. I wouldn't do that to this man. I was in awe of him. The vast weave he held before him, and only he could see, was so magnificent and fragile. I saw the focus and intensity in his concentrated stare. If he lost it for a moment it would smash upon the frosted flooring. I moved towards the coast.
In Prague I met another man who only ever held one belief at a time. 'Consistent but inconstant', he told me proudly. There was something natural about him, perhaps the warm, contented smile that lashed across his face like sea-rain. He was friendly enough, but aloof verging on cold. He greeted you with a warm hand and left you to leave with eyes like shining stones. Those who lived and worked in the harbour said he never moved, or not that any of them saw. He stood all day, smiling into the ocean. He ate fish or bread without looking at his meal, just tearing out chunks with his teeth, still staring straight ahead.
In Athens a man was jumping frantically from step to bench to table, screaming and pulling at his hair. He yelled 'DO NOT STAND' until he fell flat with exhaustion, then he'd quickly raise himself again. 'DO NOT STAND OR SIT OR LIE! LYING IS DEATH, ONLY THE DEAD LIE!'. I felt irked by his exertion.
What had happened to these fools gripped by ideas, passions, fears and furies? What makes a man abandon normal human motives and behaviours? I thought perhaps their minds had become divorced from their bodies, and so they never felt the passions of the animal, or that they had been so flooded by these passions that they had become confused and lost all reason. One was so evidently intelligent yet turned his mind to an obviously futile puzzle of his of devising. Another lived in limbo to avoid the tangled web of life. The third was pure energy and vivre, afraid of the very contemplation which had gripped the first and stunned the second. Were they related, as I had made them? Why should they be, I am going as mad as the first. Perhaps I oughtn't consider it, like the second. No, I mustn't consider these three. They'll drive me insane. I know, I'll go make a drink. Best keep busy.

Late.

“I’ll never be happy with you.” He said. Cold, clinking words. “You’re not for me.”
I paused, scraping butter on toast. He said ‘for’ without stress.
“I kept thinking you would, in time.”
I took jam from the top shelf and poured the kettle.
“You think I’ve snapped.”
I didn’t respond.
“I know you look at them. I see your eyes flit and your motions stop. I know what you’re about.”
My eyes flicked to a glass on the bottom shelf. I wanted to pick it up and howl. I wanted to shatter it against his head, to gouge his eyes with the shards, to scream words at his crumpling frame, but I didn’t know what to say so instead I took a spoon from the jar and stirred coffee.
“If you left now I wouldn’t mind, I wouldn’t be angry.”
I’d made toast I didn’t want anymore so I put it in the bin and began folding clothes.
“I know you’re not angry.”
I seethed.
“You’re upset.”
I wanted to bludgeon his torso. I wanted to mash his intestines with a fork.
“I’m sorry.” His head fell loosely on his shoulders. “I don’t know why I said that. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry.” He took a gulp of coffee, sighed gently into himself and walked out of the room. I took a pencil from the sideboard and held it between my thumb and forefinger. I considered snapping it, but instead I wrote ‘milk, cheese, apricots, fennel’ on a post-it and put another slice of bread in the toaster. 7.14. Late.

You Walked In

I sat there
The blinds drawn
The smoke curling into the soft guitar as they slowly chased each other round the room
Busy, but slow
There was peace in the air
But not the good kind, not like a Sunday afternoon
This was Saturday night
And I was edgy
I could hear voices outside
Whistling, shouting
I’d had a little drink and it made me sleepy
But how could I sleep now?
Just as my eyelids were losing their last glimmer of resistance
She walked in
And I don’t think I’ve closed them since
She was stunning
She looked like all the women I’d ever dreamt about
At least that’s what I assumed
She wore a blue fur coat that fell about her feet
Exposing her poor bare legs to the cold autumn night
She walked like she was on a tightrope with no fear of falling off in nine inch stilettos
She had her hair cut just above the shoulders so it curled in
Invitingly
She smelt like warm evenings in front of the fire
Just a hint of orange and vanilla
She looked around the room quizzically
Then she sighed, threw her cigarette butt to the floor, ground it down
(two strokes, swish swish)
Hung up her coat
And made her way over to me
Taking a seat she quickly smoothed the most beautiful blue silk dress I’ve ever seen
Maybe because it was gathered round her like fresh water rolling down a pebble dam
Anyway she looked at me with her rich green eyes
And she leaned across my desk
And she whispered
Stop
Staring
At
Me
And, to be honest, I was rather taken aback
Stop it
I duly did, admiring instead the lovely brown stain that generously spread itself across the faded green carpet
Not faded here, under my desk
Here it was a thick, rich, redolent green
She was still staring at me with a gaze that made my knees weak and my stomach turn so I returned my eyes to the floor
She coughed, lightly but with intent
I looked back up at her
How did you enjoy the view?
She spoke in a way that I was sure was intended to make me nervous
But her voice was so soft and tender that it made me write forgiveness across my mind
Would you like a drink?
I rose to the cabinet I kept for occasions such as this
Whiskey, with ice please
A man’s drink, but she was no man so she could get away with it
I poured myself the same and rejoined her at the table
She cupped the glass in both her hands as if it were a beacon in a dark dank cave
She had both her elbows on the table and she looked relaxed but ready, eager to discuss whatever she was here for
She sipped the whiskey
Outside the kids were still screaming and I could hear a siren in the background
The city’s second sun had dawned and flooded the streets with a dull orange glow that filtered through every curtain and blind available
Luckily my night-time  beacon had fell prey to the cowboy electrician so the light in the room was ambient but not intrusive
Inch wide beams of beauty filled my eyes
And that’s all I remember

For Miss Katharyn Rebecca Krengel

This afternoon I heard the news and I just think it’s mad.
I can’t believe that Rach’s a mum and Jooles, mate, you’re a dad!
So Katharyn Rebecca Krengel, I welcome you to this world.
I can’t believe these photos I’m seeing are my mates’ little girl!
My initial ‘woop woop’ excitement has turned to dumbstruck awe:
You weren’t the first of my friends to get married but none of them have had a baby before
And I remember just two years ago when we would sit up late
Talking shit, doing essays (and other things...) and having fires by the lake.
I even remember the night we all went down to the uni launderette
And sat our arses on the grass outside, when we lived in Norfolk F.
Then I didn’t see you guys much for a year or so, after Katie moved out
You watched her back, and I thank you for that; you were good friends to both of us throughout.
When I saw you at Matt and Alys’ wedding, you told me you were pregnant.
Not only that, you got married too (and I’m sorry I wasn’t attendant-
I was laid up sick, I’m still gutted now. It sounded like what a wedding should be:
A few good friends, a declaration of love and pub for pints post-ceremony.)
Well congratulations, mum and dad. I still can barely believe it!
A brand new baby girl is yours and all you had to do was conceive it.
Now make sure to bring up a good girl who’s loved and looked after well,
Though I already think you’ve made the first mistake: she should have been Katharyn Cromarty-Krengel :P
Hey kid, you got good parents there. I’m sure you’ll do just fine.
Soon you’ll get used to life outside the womb: it’s more tricky but less sticky and there’s sunshine.
And then one day when you’re older and more used to it I’ll say ‘I knew you when you were this big!’
And you’ll look at me kinda confused and it’ll all seem a bit invasive
Cos you won’t remember being a baby, but I’ll remember you
And I’ll never forget this day I found out: congratulations, Rachel & Jooles

This Could Last All Night...

Fade Out

Like old soul songs you used to sing,
Faded; intangible and grey
Your words mean nothing.

Fuck love: it’s a fever on wood
And strings, played
Like old soul songs you used to sing.

The mirror serenades itself
As you pose, you say
“Your words mean nothing.”

Your radio, so insecure,
Choruses cliché.
Like old soul song you used to sing,

You escape. Whistling to the wind,
You walk to the bay.
Your words mean nothing,

The ocean groans and spits. You tell
Stories anyway,
Like old soul songs you used to sing,
Your words mean nothing.


A tête-à-tête

This could last all night
If this bloke don’t get a shift on.
Yes mate! Two sambucas an a light.
This could last all night,
Feels like. I want him to invite
Me... O shit, where’s he gone?
This could last all night
If this bloke don’t get a shift on.


Sunday Morning (Coming Down)

I

Twelve past seven:
27 bus picks me up in darkness,
Drops me at Breakfast-Time.
Bare knuckled branches
And half-lit windows
Beg the sky to pause;
The light-infantry advance:
Chirpy birds gossip excitedly;
A school of traffic moans;
27 yawns away,
I walk the red carpet
Paved over old cobbles
Home, to bed.

II

A whisky, a fumble, asleep
with the curtains folded over your half covered corpse.
The bed-linen stained,
the mattress stained,
and drooling from the corner of your mouth.
*cough*
Stutter.
*cough*
Mutter.
“I love you”
In drawls of thick-heavy-alcohol-breath as you pull the covers right up on your face.

III

I’m still a bit drunk;
I said to you, huddled up on the settee;
I don’t remember a thing.

Do you know when I got home?
Was anyone with me?
I’m still a bit drunk.

I remember leaving the club alone;
Do you want a cup of tea?
I don’t remember a thing.

Have you seen my phone?
Shit, I hope I didn’t drop it in the taxi;
I’m still a bit drunk.

Do you take sugar? Just one?
I got in, so I must still have my keys;
I don’t remember a thing.

If I’m this fucked I must have had fun;
Hold on, weren't you in the taxi with me?
I’m still a bit drunk;
I don’t remember a thing.


Oh, Lover

Sitting in some shabby rented bedroom,
A terraced flat in some suburbia,
Celeriac girl pulls her guitar off
Damp brown wallpaper and rips chords from its
Neck: I would leave you/ if I had to/ I
Didn’t love you/ when I met you/ Oh, lover
Picks his navel, staring at his toenail.
I would fuck you/ In this bedroom/ If you
Held me/ Like you used to/ Oh, lover soaks his
Boxers in the peach sink and plucks his nose.
I would drown you/ In the ocean/ If I
Lost your/ True devotion/ Oh, lover covers
His torso in grey felt, his crotch in damp
Cotton, his legs in familiar jeans
And pulls rolling papers from the pockets.
I would love you/ Like no other/ If I
Was your/ Only lover/ Oh, lover leaves.


Final Extract

Sat by the lake
With old soul songs
I hear your name