“Everything that needs to be said has already been said. But, since no one was listening, everything must be said again.” – Andre Gide
6am, Rob phones up from England with exciting news that me, him and Steve are to be published in a poetry book over there, wow! He also tells us that booking the flight will be no problem and everything seems to be going to plan. It will be great to see him again.
28th Jul 2024 – Fresh Forest Cottage, some 7 or 8 years after Mum and I left and a long time before I saw again. The open window is where my bedroom was, where the howling noises all came from and a thousand cigarettes smoked and a thousand cans of beer drunk.
28th Jul 2024 – This is how I remember the garden once walking through the gate. Gillespie’s (the garage) just visible on the right where more howling and drumming was often heard. I do recall that this part of the garden had changed a lot when I saw it again some ten or fifteen years later. No surprise really. It stopped me from wanting to go in a look around though as I hoped to keep my memories intact.
Screaming along the runway, engines roar, hearts in mouths as we, cloud bound go. Panic abates, ears pop, whiteness overwhelms us, then free, like a rock slung to the heavens, bright sun gleaming cross the snow ground, bubbling like a witches brew or soft as a crash mat below.
Til dreams hit of freefalling, waiting for that soft spring catch.
But heart surrendered body as the white night envelopes til, yikes! Hard ground racing upwards, a glimpse of heaven, a walk with angels traverse the europes by the air,
30,000 feet above mad farmers, raging rivers,
ants in our eyesight, twisting snakes
like a rising Atlantis, brave mountains
puncture low cloud fall, Alpine wonder
but just a brief gasp of breath,
a mere molehill on horizons,
as we many mile per hour go
from one place to another.
In a few brief hours, sun warming our toes, we find destination, a Mediterranean island in green seas, lapping white crest tops biting at its edges.
We being to fly low, deceleration pops our eardrums
as we marvel at this rare beauty
to our right as we slide by.
Then with a touch of the wheel
we turn about so slow.
I fear we may stall in this awful manoeuvre,
but a beat on the throttle takes us in nice and easy.
We seem to be gliding ’til wheels tiptoe the tarmac
and suddenly we’re racing to slow before the grass starts and thankfully we do and our captain goes ‘phew’ in private
but tells us to have a nice day.
So off then to adventure
and off with our raincoats
where dark young men impress my sweet
darling with their dark young minds.
Nought but his today. Sneaking a glimpse of K’s poetry in the bookshelf: “Once enlightenment has come to you, you realise you’ve always been enlightened,” or an approximation of the same. A cool analogy which ties in with my own thoughts and feelings, looking, in hindsight, at my past five years. It was the first page I turned to and the only thing I read as I hurriedly put it back and left, unnerved by this prophecy.
The Dolphin Coffee House.
The first floor, walk-through coffee house, shops either side. A convenient stop off for the weary-legged customer, the long day shop assistant, the young writers brief discussions about the rights and wrongs of last week’s deal.
A comfy spot to relax with your cuppa, read some, contemplate. The brown, old ladies sit for a while, looking at the birthday cards bought for granddaughter, still in nappies. New life, old life.
The young suits come in pairs. Tall, dark, handsome, slicked-back hair, striking ties. Empties two sugars and stirs. Stirring, stirring, with a brief look around to survey the surroundings. Tapping cigarettes, preparing the soft tobacco end, smooth for phosphor ignition, sit and blow smoke sideways. The unwritten politeness.
What important discussions take place?
One arm gesturing, in control of the conversation, subliminally talking down to their colleague – the stronger voice sat back in chair, one arm draped over the adjacent seat. The other, the second suit, sat forward attentive, affirming, nodding agreement.
An older gentleman in bright blue uniform trousers and lighter blue shirt sits alone, sipping and smoking too, ruminating his garden and the weeding to be done this afternoon after their part-time cleaning jobs is done in some fancy department store. He loves his job and loves his garden. Happy that life has dealt him this hand of loneliness. Happy to be alone, at one with himself and his flowers. Peace and content reflected in each delicate petal, tenderly cared for by shabby hands.
Young mothers gossip like geese while little blue points and gesticulates, standing on chairs like only children can get away with. Mother shines, peaches and cream complexion, the rosy glow of life come forth from their loins. Shine like only a mother can shine.
A slinkily dressed young lady shop assistant sits cross-legged, clothes draping her figure with the latest cream and fawn fashion. Blond hair, neat and proper, bob-like fashionite. Resting her feet and toying with her hair, twisting it around her delicate bone-coloured fingers. Adjusts herself in her seat as her skirt fell open to show soft smooth legs, not for our eyes. She sits and waits, until heated up food is ready. She stands and takes the gourmet. Her game is up. She walks backs back to the hairdressers.
Delicate fingers, hair fanatic.
The suits are on their second cigarette – same positions.
The food and coffee counter tempt with their starry lights pinpoint huge rolls stuffed with mashed egg mayonnaise, ham and tomato. Two green-pinnied ladies run around filling cups and passing plates. The orange juicer bubbles away in back, attracting eyes from the queue. Another, younger green-pinny wanders around collecting lip-sticked cups and emptying cigarette butts into a plastic tub.
Great circular light hand from the squared false ceiling, low light. A tender background, while sun streams in the huge bay-type windows, picking up the greenness of the plastic fauna. The plants are so real they look fake. Large green pillars dominate the open plan room, holding up ceiling, pushing down floor. Not easy negotiation for the wheelchair bound. The floor swiped clean is roman mosaic marble, green calm and white calm. Not many fights and arguments in this place, I’d bet, as the eyes take in the subliminal peace and serenity.
Here I am, set to embark right into the heart of the modern world – sick as I am of it, I’m never far away. All this would be here going on, even if I was out picking fruit in the depths of central Australia. Does fruit grow there? Does anything grow there? But I’ll go and pick that fruit to gain some sense of balance, to furthermore realise the madness that young writers detailed all those moons ago, predicting the sad, mad world of consumerism and mass marketing.
Sucked in to the corporate dream by Ronald and Mickey, because it’s simply easier. All these lives wandering around me as I sit here watching. They are not sad, they are laughing and smiling and talking. All making the best of themselves against the odds, none wishing to search for a better place. A better place in their souls. I’m still searching though. If not for them, for myself. My frustration is my knowledge of better things.
My guts churn to watch young families reared on Nintendo and McDonalds – but to strike away is too difficult, trapped then and content to make the best of it. Happy with one’s lot. I’m lucky I have a sense of strength and good circumstance to act against it in my own sweet way.
With some trepidation I’m heading for the city. The biggest cattle market of human carnage and despair. With a bright smile, I’ll cheer them along. With calm words, I will sooth their tempers. With a gentle touch, I’ll invade their hearts with happiness.
So, I take it upon myself to make a difference, to make my life count. To stand for something I believe in.
The suits are still here, puffing away, choking down endless coffees and another hairdresser lady pops over for her vittles. Spotted a mile off, long auburn hair, beautifully shiny, bobbing with the sway of the cool walk, hips sexually rocking in motion. Cream blouse and chic black trouser out of the catalogue of Barbie’s house. She’s cool as an iceberg in the Sahara, confident and sophisticated, she takes no shit from her boyfriend, who come and go, unable to keep up with her requirements and expectations. Not your average woman’s magazine reader. More likely the writer of forward-thinking woman’s articles for her juniors.
Now, some joggers enter, the sports complex upstairs much be open. Tow ladies, pre-Badminton, ordering juices and mineral waters. Elegant legs, muscles tight with energy packed inside clinging lycra. Bundles of lightning waiting to explode with reflex and dexterity. Particular ladies. They imitate each other in their seats like a mirror is between them. I suspect they are in love.
The hum of life, the sweet vibrations, constant flow, liquid movement, the tension, the stress.
In brief, 14 tea chests packed, left on Monday, me waiting patiently outside reading Jack in the sunshine and waiting past deadline time, til little sprinkles of rain start descending earthward, teachestward, but it soon passes and eventually a lorry and it’s drivers come and take away all my precious belongings, safe journey, see you on the other side!
And day later we send more stuff via the Postal Service which costs us a ton of money but hell, it’s got to be done.
So now we have about four suitcases full of things to live with for the next three weeks, and in fact for eight more after that, as the chests won’t arrive till mid November somewhen. It’s like a relief now they are gone, we have no control over their destiny so we absolve ourselves from any worry, not that we worry much in the household anyway. Good fortune follows our good outlooks, only good things can happen to us.
Broni cracks a little, had enough of repeating the same lines to everyone we meet about our plans, she wants to be alone. With me. But we can’t get away from the people living in this house and all the appointments we’ve made, I’ve accepted that but it is somewhat easier for me to digest as I am on my lonesome during the day. I brighten her up with some love and affection.
Later, Lisa comes round with her new man friend, Jonathan, and they take us to the Bermuda Triangle Bar and we feed up on gossip and Budweiser on draft (lordy!), time rattling by we leave drunk as skunks, happy to see friends and be in their company, not sad yet to be leaving them. I feel like I’m gonna be hit when I’m there, homesick like but I’ll handle it with love and help from my angel sweetheart.
Back home, Kerry has broken her promise to herself to not drink on her own or during the week, she is very sad, missing her love in Tokyo, I feel for her but don’t feel right making her stick to her original plan knowing what she’s going through. Difficult cos I know that demon drink will spiral you downward if not handled well and proper, what can I say?
The next night our appointment is with family, Broni arrives home asleep on her feet, lies down on the couch next to me and falls away without a whisper of a word of thought. I wrap myself around her and hold her with deep love, rocking her gently to stop her snoring getting any louder, about 20 minutes later. Twenty more and she’s awake again, at least her eyes are open, I run her a lavender strawberry bath and leave her to it, fighting real rough tonsillitis and headaches.
Mother has come to pick us up, with her sister Shirley also, and we head off to cousin Sharon and Ken’s with son Mungo, their radical 18-year-old, whom they practically disowned when rejecting public school and trying out the drugs of life instead. But hell, what a nice kid he seemed to me, reminding of Steve in politeness and good looks.
A feast of English food was prepared and devoured, with the best white or red wine your choice, and port at the end, is that how one does these things properly, Jeeves? I make light of their well-to-do attitude, while not offensive, is slightly off-putting to my more down-to-earth approach to life, but nice people to go to all that trouble for us anyway, me who they haven’t seen for probably five years or more.
I drop Broni in it when I see the piano and she plays some for us, sounding absolutely beautiful and much more proficient under this pressure which I’m guilty of putting on her but interesting to see as she rarely plays for more than five seconds at a time on Kerry’s piano.
I love her, what a magician she is, we curl ourselves up, night, JimBob.
Shock brown brick clashes into the sky, grey and steely behind. Old building, sash windows, regular rectangles ‘cept the end. White, brown dirtied drainpipes slide down at intervals sucking out waste from the depths inside, like alien suckers shattering skin slurp! slurp! Blinds open, half open, half up or shut behind each window a story or a hundred stories, all personal, not to be disclosed – secret doctor-like. Pitiful short trees fail to brighten up the crowded car park, absent of leaves in the youth of autumn, but for one silver-skinned birch still magnificent in its dark green plumage, branches thrashing wildly, like mad bongo voodoo drummers, in the greasy wind.
Apocalypse now. ‘This is the end’. Another month already and it’s to be my last on these shores don’t you know. Eighteen months of planning and organising, fretting and worrying are coming to a climax. Easy. As time rarely stands still I have more to tell in the brief time since I last wrote.
Things are tending to go on around me at the moment, like I don’t have any real control over them. Maybe decision-making is just getting easier and more fluid. I don’t feel out of control. I’m still kind of hung over from the weekend even four days later (this weekend should be pretty busy too).
So, David and Louise came down from London to see us and as they arrive the sun came out. Blessed by the hand of God no doubt they’d say and I don’t mean that to sound cynical on my part, just that that is the kind of thing they might say. Although not pushy about religion in anyway it is a major part of their lives so it’s often talked about. They are very happy together and in fact remind me of me and Broni in many ways (some uncanny idiosyncrasies in the Smith family for sure).
So we took them up to Compton Acres Gardens which we marvelled at the beauty of flowers, trees and views, then round the harbour to the beach which are all cool places and David, and particularly Louise, see real magic in their enthusiastic take on life. Everything is delightful and brilliant in their eyes and I have much respect for their bright outlook.
Later we went to a Thai restaurant to try it out and the food was gorgeous, totally mouthwatering but (big but) the servings were minuscule, not enough to keep any of us happily fed, therefore all overpriced too, so we came back and gorged on passionfruit cheesecake Broni had made the night before. I was starting to wane and became very self-conscious too for some reason, I wasn’t very sure of myself and whether I was appreciated by everyone, kind of weird and not sure if it was me picking up vibes or misreading body language.
I fell asleep to the film everyone was watching and soon went up to bed to wait for my lovely gentle lover to join me. Oh, how she feels so completely fresh to my skin, so smooth and virginal, angelic in my arms, to fall asleep like spoons for the last time in this safe bed.
And morning come, she’s up and away, tidying frenzy while I’m still travelling in the slow lane, so I help here and there but helping more by keeping out of the way. David and Louise drop in to say goodbye till we go up to see them again later in the month, just before we leave, in fact.
And then we’re on the road up to Heathrow to pick Kerry up. We skilfully avoid all roadworks and get there in good time giving us chance to check out all the books and magazines on the racks at the airport. Soon we are watching people coming through the arrivals doors and Broni is overcome with emotion as we watch children reunited with their mothers, others with their lovers, flowers in hand – so precious those moments. And Kezza strolls on through, face beaming when she spots us and then excitedly telling us about her flight and her month wandering around Tokyo, visiting Mount Fuji and Hiroshima. And about how she fell in love with her girlfriend over there and you could tell from her face it was something deep. And it got me thinking that girl-girl love is a more gentle beautiful thing than girl-boy love. I guess because that awful male ego thing isn’t there. I feel really down on men at the moment though I don’t have any desire to be female I respect the feminine side of me much more (at least when I’m not thinking with my dick).
We get home, eat, drink some beer, fall asleep. A-ha, while at the airport I bought another Kerouac book (Visions of Cody) for the trip to Greece. And I fell in love with his writing again and I’d only read Ginsberg’s introduction!
“I accept lostness forever. Everything belongs to me because I am poor… And I dig you as we together dig the lostness and the fact that, of course, nothing’s ever to be gained but death.”
-Jack Kerouac
Oh, I just love it. And it scares me to start reading it, even though it’s some 450 pages long, I know when I start I will have to finish it but there are more books to be read yet.
Me and Broni made a bed on the living room floor, which is where we will be living till we leave (with a brief hiatus to Greece of course). And I love waking up with her as I’ve probably told you a million times before, such a grumpy cutie, bottom lip out at the prospect of leaving this nice warm cocoon of safety. She brings me coffee and laughs at me for being tucked up still, recalling how when I had to go to work I would be instantly awake, up and out, no messing around.
And later on today I kind of realise that I’m not going back to work, no more that scuzzy office for me, no more stomach ulcers, no more tension. I’ve avoided talking about work here because it’s dull, isn’t it? Many of us are in jobs we don’t really like; my job was just a means to an end. I worked hard, earned my money, and fucked off and left it all behind. And after eight years in that place, it sure was time for a break.
Now, in Sydney, land of opportunity, places of dreams (hey, think positive) I’m going to pursue some job that I’ll enjoy, something music-based, even if it’s just working in a crummy record shop it would be more up my street, ok!
The alarm goes off every three minutes, this morning we listen to it for an hour. Broni eventually getting out after a quick roll around and as she spreads the curtains open I simultaneously hide my head under the pillow to block out the light and go back in search of the Sandman. I play in my dreams for a half-hour or so til I stir to the smell of coffee, I sit up in bed and watch Broni get dressed. Soon she’s whirlwinded off for her last day before a week off and I sip my coffee and read another chapter of Burroughs. I don’t have half a clue as to what’s going on in the book but it’s strangely addictive. Each paragraph or sentence provides vivid imagery for the mind to play with and the story kind of develops in a series of snapshots. Unusual.
I’m disappointed this morning that the sun isn’t shining and as I write, now afternoon, it’s only just starting to peek through the clouds. With plenty to do, I ride on up to the post office, over the small park that is surrounded by busy roads, to be honest, this park offers no peace from the bustle and taking a picnic there would be ludicrous.
Next, down to the bank to deposit more money and I dodge in and out of the traffic, jumping on and off the pavement to avoid parked cars, needless to say, I make it down into town as quick as any of the cars.
The slight drizzle obscures my sight through my glasses but it’s neither cold nor really that wet. Back across Poole Park, now empty of tourists, the place looks tragic, reliant on sunshine for business, England’s tragedy (or maybe saving grace).
Back home Broni rings to tell me that our tickets are ready for collection at the travel agent. Back in town. Without complaint I, this time, just walk back through the park. A few more people now as the rain moves on, but no one out on the boats yet. I imagine rolling out into the middle of water and just floating, free. Read a book, read it aloud so the sky can hear.
On Sunday when Broni, Rob and myself came through the park we saw in the distance some kites in the sky, except one didn’t have the normal kite shape and from where we were stood it looked to me like someone had ripped a hole in the sky and the more I looked at it the more real it seemed. I was expecting time travellers to fall through the rip and bring us news of the future, but shit, it probably wouldn’t be great news would it? Or maybe they would tell us of a new life, a separate existence where things are good in people did coexist happily. I guess that theory is just a bit harder to imagine. See how poisoned our minds are by today’s bullshit. I can see it and I hope everyone else can but I think I probably credit people with too much intelligence. Still, the people I have time for are those that can see it (should I make time for the others?).
So I picked up the tickets and read a few magazines and pondered whether it was worth buying a huge box of chocolates, opting not to in the end when realising what other things you can buy for the same price. Our groceries for a week cost less than the box, but hell they also cost less than a bottle of good wine!
Back across the park, now warmer and brighter and therefore busier. I rode over the other side of the lake yesterday looking for good shots with the video and beautiful though the park is, from that angle the park is dwarfed by the high-rise blocks of the hospital and the nursing home and a million other buildings towering over the trees. Of course, on that side where most of the people gather you’re looking the other way, over the railway line and out into the harbour. And today as I walk over I suck back and choke on leaded octane sputtering out from some tourists car. Can’t someone come up with a better way to travel? And then try to sell it to the English public, hah! And back home the trains still roll by.
Hope is such a desperate emotion to cling to. But I wonder if there is any hope for the future. Not for my future, I have clear ideas about my future. For the future of the world? How long before God puts an end to the insanity rife in mankind? Armageddon is promised by most religions – can you say you will survive the cleansing?
Are you good at heart? Do you believe in yourself? Why do I ask?
Two men kidnap a 15-year-old female German student, drive her at knifepoint to an industrial estate where they both rape her, knife to the throat. You know the story, we’ve all heard it. It makes me hate. It makes me hate being a man, male, macho. I want to reject my sex. I want to cut the dicks of every one of those scumfuck rapists and molesters, tear out their burning eyes and wrench out their perverted thoughts, suck out their chemical imbalance, and I don’t want to see them in jail – I want them dead.
I want women to rule the world, no woman thinks with a dick. It seems like no hope for the future, will the rapists, the robbers, the killers, the connivers rule the world? I think they already do, the rule of fear, born in the 20th century. Armageddon seems appropriate.
What strength we need now, to show our children a better way. We all think we know best and sometimes you should listen to that advice your enemy might be giving you. They may have a point. What strength then to shoulder criticism. What insight to point our way towards the light. We can do it. We know we can, we’ve been programmed to forget how. Mickey Mouse told you to forget, Coca-Cola too. Now is the time to remember.
The Hope Conspiracy
If hope was a bottled tonic
It would be made illegal
“Got any hope, mate?”
Someone would be making a tidy sum
Selling it on street corners
To consumers ready to buy
In need of that fix to get high
And soon people would be stealing
Off each other, smashing piggy banks
For every last cent
Just to get some hope
Killing each other in the queue
Lining up for another fix of hope
Hope – sinister
Hope – deadly
Hope – death
18th Jan 2026 – shared with Poetic Blessings #577
1994ever 