I know age isn’t important. I know it’s not a big deal, but when your 26th birthday is creeping up on you; you cannot help but think “what the hell have I done with my life?!” I know this will pass soon, and on my actual birthday I probably won’t even pay any attention to how old I am. I don’t look my age at all. I look like I probably should be in school. Youthful skin. Maybe that’s my Italian genes coming through. Or maybe it’s because I nap a lot. I have no idea. The key is to moisturise. Always. In the morning and before you go to bed. Look after your skin, and you too can look as if you should pay child’s fare on the bus. Skin tips from a scruffy bint. Enjoy.
Last year when I turned 25 I think I had a brief moment of “oh fuck I’m nearly 30 what have I done with my life?!” And I think it is going to happen again. I don’t know why because no part of me does things in the hopes of getting approval of anyone. I don’t wish for that ever. If that was the case; I’d just be like everyone else. I don’t make an effort to not be like anyone else. This is how I turned out. Whether or not its a good thing, well that’s undecided. Maybe as I get older I may tolerate myself a bit more. Maybe I’ll stop being cruel towards myself. However, if I get in first; it won’t matter so much when someone else does. But there are things others say/ do that probably hurt a bit more than if I was to pick up on it about myself. But, it isn’t worth the time. Not much is. Time. Time. Time. Ages us all, aches us all. Us.
I maintain an element of silliness to make sure I don’t age too much mentally. If I see someone trip up in the street (providing they are not bleeding to death or a pensioner) I’ll probably find it funny. I think most are like that. When you take everything too seriously, it all loses meaning. And we’re all trying to find meaning. Maybe we’ll never know. Maybe we do know, but still want to keep looking. The answers can come from looking outside or from your own reflection. Just depends on how deep you want to get.
So, as I approach 26 I do wonder if I’ve done anything of worth. I just don’t know. I really don’t. My life pretty much revolves around music and I guess I hold interviewing Warpaint as the best thing I’ve ever done. I’ve met and spoken to some of my heroes; and they say you should never do that. But I know of many who have done so, and it being a pleasant experience. I fully endorse meeting those who have changed you and saved you. Sure it’s mainly to do with music for me, but there’s about 2 people who I class as friends that have also done this. So maybe interviewing Warpaint may only be the best thing I’ll ever do. I have no idea. Or maybe it was that time about a year ago when I showed Shirley Manson a piece I wrote about Bleed Like Me on her Facebook page, and she read it. Then told me it made her cry. How many people can say they’ve made their role model/idol cry? I’m still trying to work out if I’m proud of that or not. I’m not sure. I feel bad about it, but I’m glad she saw it.
This seems far too self-indulgent and no doubt I will dislike myself for writing this down. But it is better than a drunken outburst on a pavement with friends moaning about how I’ve done nothing with my life isn’t it. Some things you need to spare others from ever seeing.
It’s just an age. It means nothing. Those kinds of things do not define who we are. I’ve also finished watching all of The Wire again for the third time. Still kind of wish Jimmy McNulty was my best friend or something. And I’m going to always be pissed that they killed Bodie and Omar. That wasn’t right.
Anyway, have some songs; if you’ve got this far. Here’s to the bands/singers over the past (nearly) 26 years that have been my crutch and saviours.
Sadness is something that creeps up on you when you least expect it. Much like love, happiness and rage. Much like any feeling I suppose. There is something about sadness that hits you harder than most and is much more difficult to shake. Some people wish to wrap themselves around it and become self-centered (I don’t get that) and some manage to just carry on as normal. There’s no right, there’s no wrong. But most will say you are wrong. I’ve not felt sad in a very very long time. But I saw something today that reinforced just how horrifically sensitive I am. And how much I dislike it. I’d say it is a negative trait, but I don’t have it in me to be tougher than I am. I’ve tried, and I’ve even tried being cruel. I can’t do it anymore. It just seems pointless.
So today whilst walking home from the gym I saw something on the pavement that made me feel so sad, and quite sick. The way I walk to and from town is basically a country road. There’s a farm on one side, and when you walk past it you get a delightful stench of SHIT. That sure wakes you up when you walk past it. Anyway, this isn’t about the animal shit I get to smell every morning on my way to and from the gym. It’s about what I saw. Anyone who knows me even a tiny bit knows I adore animals. I’m one of those annoying twerps who has conversations with dogs, cats and rabbits, and is convinced they understand. If you have a pet, I will try to steal it from you. If you have a dog, I’ll make it my best friend. If you have a cat, I’ll hold it up and sing Circle Of Life to it. If you have a rabbit, I’ll attempt to steal it. That’s just how I am. Anyway, this morning walking back I saw a dead rabbit on the pavement..right next to me. At first I thought it was asleep, but I realised quickly that the poor bugger was dead. Thing is, it looked at utter peace.
I honestly have no idea what my point is with this. I probably don’t have one. I guess I just believe animals all have the same emotions humans do. Sometimes animals seem more gentle with each other than people do. The way some people are with each other is just disgusting. Have you seen how monkeys look after each other? If that doesn’t melt your heart; then something could be wrong with you. I wish people were more gentle and sensitive towards each other. Being tough is alright when you need to be; but not always. You don’t need to always be defensive, this is speaking from experience. You can’t let the past make you who you are. You cannot blame others for all that may be wrong in your life. Yet it seems easier doesn’t it?
The next person you scowl at or launch vile words at; think about it before you do so. How does this tie in with the dead rabbit I saw? I don’t know if it does. Maybe I wanted to write down how sad it made me seeing that. Maybe there’s more to it. Just be gentle. Be kind. There’s enough shit in the world, don’t add to it.
The uncool and the lonely trade nauseating stories about how hard it is; how leaving the house is a chore. How standing up rids them of energy, sitting down zones them out. Some kind of feeling takes them over. The find some kind of identity in the songs that cause others to feel as if their ears are bleeding. They feel like something full of shame. Full of shame, drained of devotion. How you seen it happen? A haunting glare is in their eyes. Maybe you’ve been this person. Maybe you’re getting there. There is always one person you fight to not be anything like that. Their traits make you feel ill. The things they’ve said and done are placed inside of you; you’ve let it go but it doesn’t let you go. It is frustrating because you are someone who doesn’t have a tight grip. But this thing…this THING has got a grip on you. You could call it a death grip, but you know it won’t be the end of you. For you know you’ll rise above it.
I mean, it is fairly easy to get sucked into something you despise, and turning your back on it also exhausts you. Self-exclusion is a sign of strength, but others don’t see it that way. But why should you care how others see it? Do what you want, always.
It is draining stopping yourself being like someone you cannot allow yourself to be. Sometimes someone says, “You’ve got their eyes” or “I’ve seen that look before from….” That shit crushes you, but you carry on. The only person who can stop you from doing anything or being anything is yourself I guess. Comments can put your self-belief in the ground. You seem to caress the bad and shun the bad. Why is that? Because the shit people say about us, that ruins us- is easier to believe. You’ll pull yourself above it at some point. Patience gets you further than anything else. As you get older, you learn that more than before.
Eternal youth starts inside. The lines on your face and the heaviness in your eyes are stories. Tell them how you want, but tell it from the heart.
I frequently have internal battles with myself about my favourite songs and records of all time. I place them into categories to make it easier, such as Favourite Debut Record of All Time to BEST SONG EVER PART 1 OF 100. Stuff like that you know? But earlier, I managed to come up with a solid list of my favourite male singers of all time. I basically narrowed it down to singers that were around before I was born because if I did recent ones, I’d firmly place Brandon Welchez from Crocodiles as my number 1. Maybe I’ll do a list for that.
So, I’m going to attempt to list my favourite male singers of all time (that existed before I was born..I was born in ’86. The golden era of Hip Hop.) Of course I may change my mind at some point, but hopefully I won’t fret and lose sleep over this. I’m a born worrier; but I keep it well hidden. Obviously I’ve just admitted to it, so it’s not a secret. Oh well.
10. David Johansen (New York Dolls.) I hate that I’ve had to put this in order because I want to jumble it all around. However, the love I have for David Johansen goes beyond him being my number 10. What I love about him is his flamboyant style and distinctive drawl. I remember my mum playing their first record round the house when I was younger. I didn’t know it was the Dolls but I was hooked on Jet Boy. I probably used to sing it, and get the words mixed up. Nothing has changed. Into my teenage years, I saw a copy of their debut record at my uncle’s. I was drawn to the cover, and I always stand by it being my favourite album cover ever. The sheer beauty of it just drew me in straight away. Utterly gorgeous. So, what is it about David Johansen that makes me adore him? I think he’s one of the best front-men of all time. His charisma and charm just leaves you in awe. The way he moves makes you want to emulate him in a dramatic fashion. He’s one of a kind, and undoubtedly inspired so many to express themselves in a way no one else dared to do so.
9. Townes Van Zandt. My love for Townes started only a few years ago, and it wasn’t his voice that got me hooked. Before I even heard his voice, I read his lyrics. His lyrics were that of a troubled soul. You couldn’t help but connect with him, yet at the same time feel uncomfortable that you connected with his words. Then when you heard his voice, you TRULY got all the pain. Some singers become actors and don’t believe in what they do. Some just want the money. With the likes of Townes, you could tell that music was everything to him. His life was dependant on making music. It didn’t really matter how the listener felt; he just needed to get it all out. We all need an outlet, music is one of the most powerful ones. Townes possessed a unique voice that no matter what, just sounded so vulnerable. He didn’t have to put on an act; everything about him was truthful. At times some of his songs became too painful to listen to, but at best- you just knew someone else understood some of the perils of every day life.
8. Nick Cave. Some singers you remember falling in love with, because it just stays with you for the rest of time. Nick Cave is a prime example of that. My gran used to look after me when I was younger, before I went to primary school. Before chewed up and spat out my soul. Or you know, before I ate paint and sobbed before swimming lessons. My uncle used to live with her in this house, and I always remembered going to his room when he was at work and staring at a poster of Nick Cave on one of the walls in his room. I’d stare at it in utter awe. I don’t know what my toddler mind was thinking, but it was fixated on this person. I felt like I was looking at something untouchable. I guess I knew of Nick Cave’s genius before I even heard his voice or read his lyrics. Fast forward to about 10 years old and I’m hearing Into My Arms and Henry Lee on MTV. Something was happening in my mind. I knew exactly what it was. I knew what I wanted to be. A writer. I wanted to write words like this; but the thing is, no one can write like Nick Cave. The man is a genius. Sure enough his vocals may not be to everyone’s taste, but his lyrics…I fail to find a song that anyone couldn’t relate to. Everything about him just makes you want to expand your mind and explore other worlds.
7. Leonard Cohen. One of the greatest writers of all time regardless of genre. Leonard Cohen and Morrissey were the two song-writers that truly made me care about words. Poets such as Poe and Rimbaud got me hooked on words too. But these two singers just made me see everything in the world in a different way. The darkness and love and romance of everything around us was made clearer by them. Leonard Cohen for me just creates a different world. A world that is free of everything but full of questions. I think that’s a good way to live. It’s hard to live that way, but it gets you through. I always place Leonard Cohen as a poet before anything else, but his voice is so powerful. Some may seek singers that hit high notes and have a stupid range. I don’t want that. I want you to sing in a way that makes me feel like you are telling a story to my soul. Leonard Cohen does this, and so much more. I’ve many reasons as to why I adore him, that’s just one of them. I don’t think I could put the rest into words to be honest.
6. Otis Redding. I’ve found a pattern in the singers I love; they all basically sing songs about loss and pain. I’m a cheerful soul. Of all the Soul singers in the world that have existed, it was Otis Redding that I truly found a life-long love for. Everything about his voice makes you wish you were around when he was starting out. Imagine being one of the first to have heard his voice all those decades ago. His sad songs could break the hardest of hearts, but his joyful songs could bring tears of happiness to your eyes. He had the power to make you feel every single word he sang. He died far too young, everyone knows that. And I also think most know that Otis, although he had a short career, he was truly one of the best. I’ve got a bit of an issue with the term “Soul” music because all music should come from there and you should feel music right in your soul, but regardless- Otis oozed more soul than most.
5. Joey Ramone. No idea how to get into writing about Joey because let’s face it- he possessed the greatest voice in Punk. The way he towered over the mic stand. Pulling it to and fro like a man under a spell made you want to start something of your own. Easily one of the most distinctive voices of all time. His voice was like no other. His stage presence has obviously been an inspiration to many over the years. From how he stood to how he dressed. He wasn’t just part of a band, he was part of a movement that fuelled the souls of so many lost people. Myself included, and also justifies why I was born in the wrong era. To be in New York in the 70s would have been perfect. What do we have now? Of course we do have wonderful things, but imagine being part of one of the most powerful movements in music (and possibly society.) One of my most prized possession are my Ramones records. I rarely play them as I don’t want to ruin them; but when I do, I can truly hear all they stood for. Joey was the voice for so many, and you know what, he still is.
4. Lou Reed. I’m going to try keep this as short as possible because I truly have no issues with writing a massive essay about my love for Lou Reed. However all I want to say and could say about him has been said before. Again, this is another genius my uncle got me into. He got me into Velvet Underground then after he saw my love for them he told me to listen to Transformer. Is Transformer one of the best records made? Damn right it is. Wagon Wheel is one of my favourites for sure. I just love Lou’s style of writing. He’s a genuine story-teller who takes you into the underworld of all around you. You think all you see is all that exists, then you listen to a Lou Reed song and it’s like you fall into a different world. Something quite dark, wonderful and weird. You never want out of it. I think, once you listen to Lou- that’s it for life. Once you give yourself over to his words, you feel part of something that no one or nothing could tear you from. You even forgive him for that Lulu record because Transformer exists.
3. Scott Walker. I guess like most I have already mentioned, Scott Walker is an acquired taste. His debut record is by far one of the greatest records ever made. My Death is probably my favourite Scott Walker song, you know, with me being a ray of sunshine and all that. But in all seriousness, my love for Scott Walker came from of course, The Walker Brothers. His solo work is just a work of art. Every record is a masterpiece. You really cannot deny that he’s a genius. The way his mind works, the way he writes, the way he sings- he’s just out of this world. He’s an enigma, for sure. I cannot wait for his new record to come out in December. Every record of his sounds entirely different from the last; but they always remain timeless and as important as each other. To have a career that reads like that is rare, and something that should be treasured.
2. Don Van Vliet (Captain Beefheart.) A strange soul who made even stranger music. Safe As Milk changed a LOT for me. I think it honestly changed how I listened to music, and the ways it affected me. It opened up my mind. What did Trout Mask Replica do? Well, it freaked me out in the most pleasurable way for sure. I think it is one of the weirdest records I’ve ever heard. I loved the way his mind worked. From his songs to his paintings- everything about him just oozed freedom and creativity. The two go hand in hand, but not many can make them work as perfect as Don Van Vliet did. He was a rare spirit that made you feel so free. When you listen to Safe As Milk, whether the first time around or if you’re a new fan, everything about it just gives you something you are never going to get again. I guess you can only get it from a Beefheart record. Certain musicians give you certain feelings, I think what Beefheart gave you is something that goes beyond words you know. I’ve tried so many times to pick a favourite song by Captain Beefheart, but instead I’ve narrowed it down to a moment. It’s when he says, “A squid eating dough in a polyethylene bag is fast ‘n bulbous, got me?” at the start of Pachuco Cadaver. No idea what it means, but it’s wonderfully strange.
Okay so for Number 1 I just couldn’t decide. Bob Dylan or Morrissey. I can’t choose. There’s no way I can do that. So, joint first place are Bobby and Morrissey. So I’m going to keep it brief.
1. Bob Dylan. Where do you begin when attempting to write about your love for someone so inspiring? I have my mum to thank for my obsession with this man. I’m proud of my Dylan tattoo on the back of my neck. It’s of a song that guided me through hell and back. Through hell some more, and back again. His words provide guidance through life- the good and the bad. It is like he is reassuring you every step of the way. My mum used to sing Forever Young to me when I was a baby before I went to sleep. His music is perfect for long train journeys or just walking around on your own. He makes you feel okay with whatever is going on. You stare out to all you see with his words echoing delicately in your ear, and you’re to restart/carry on. I hold Blonde on Blonde very dear to my heart, and I think it is possibly my favourite Dylan record. But with so many, I think it is hard to choose a solid favourite yet it seems to always be the one I go to for various reasons.
1.Morrissey. I’ve always declared Morrissey as being the one true love of my life. Mainly because his words/songs have been there when I thought I had nothing else. Speedway has been the song that sums up my life for the most part, as does Alma Matters. Everyday Is Like Sunday fully describes where I unfortunately live. I could honestly write an essay about every Morrissey song and still feel I had more to say. His words are a safety net and a force of hope to guide you through. He manages to release every unwanted and wanted feeling you have ever had, and will have had. Dismiss him as a moody sod all you want; but maybe you are scared to see yourself in his words. Seeing him live..every single time feels like a healing process. For some reason, every time before I have seen him- something shit has gone on in my life, and I’ve seen him and it all feels okay. His music goes beyond just being music, and I know every Morrissey fan feels like that. He’s not someone you just stick on as background music. He’s the soundtrack to all you do. He’s someone I don’t think I could actually sit and listen to with. It’s a very personal experience, mainly because I relate to a vast majority of his lyrics. I just adore everything about him, he’s the reason as to why lyrics are so important to me. I wear my Morrissey tattoo on my arm with unconditional love and pride. He changed my life and saved my life; that’s why he’s my number 1.
Last night I went through all my stuff that I finally got out of storage. It had been in there for the past 11 months. It had been left in a place that I wouldn’t wish my worst enemy to go to (it must be added that I personally don’t have one, but I’m sure there are enough that hate me.) It was a place that’ll drain your soul and probably catapult your self-hate to a whole new level. I mean sure where I am living now does just the same, but I can hide from it easily. Places that ruin you cause you to go in on yourself. They also cause you to loath the skin you are in; but what can you do about it? Whilst I was going through all my stuff; I found some books that I’ve put to one side that I just need to re-read again. I’ve got a few books that I can read over and over again, and every time I do I find something else to love about the author and the book. Anyway, amongst all my stuff was an old mobile phone. I charged the phone for a bit, and I switched it on. My gut was saying “Why are you doing this?!” Turns out my head did the same too. So, I went through old messages. That wasn’t a smart move. But something clicked. Maybe all the texts from certain people were a lie; but things are different now. Maybe I had more than than I do now. Or maybe what I have now is a billion times better than it was. Truth is- I have nothing. I really don’t. I don’t mean this in a “woe is me” kind of way. Far from it, I’m not that kind of person. Self-pity is one of the worst things in the world. I mean, I don’t really hold onto things. So I went through some messages and turned the phone off. Sure it made me sad for a few minutes but then I saw some messages on the phone I have now. You compare the two and what I have now is more believable. I don’t know what it is, I may never know- but it’s working. It’s fine. I may have nothing going for me in a “job” sense but I’ve got other things that you cannot put a price on.
I know I am far too sentimental and sensitive for my own good. I know I need to toughen up; but if I did, that’d mean I was going against all I am and all I stand for. I don’t stand for much. Just the basic rule of being gentle and kind. That’s all I’ve got, that’s all I am. I feel like a boomerang and I need a home. I need something permanent. I’m nearly 26; I just want to settle anywhere but here. The year is nearly done, and I’ve done nothing of worth. Maybe I can change that next year. I tried to change it this year, but I didn’t get very far. Some of us are meant to succeed, some of us just waste our time trying. I need to figure out what I’m doing, but I feel sometimes that it’s too late. Should I have gone to uni? Should I ever have started writing? Should I start again? I have no idea. The only thing you can do is carry on in the hopes a solid answer just smacks you in the face. The things I want to do are constantly being shunned and told “oh you’ll never do it, you can’t do that.” In my head I think, “Fuck you.” But I just lower my head and carry on. What else can you do? I was told recently by a stranger, “The bands you love, they all started out with nothing and now they’re something. Use that.” A total stranger believes in me. Strangers are kind; they’re not all bad. She also said I had “lost eyes” but I’m not sure what she meant by that.
So anyway, my point is- leave the past in the past. It is okay to have self-doubt. It is okay to not be your biggest fan. It is okay to have shit days; but don’t forget the good ones. It’s okay to walk away and leave things/people behind because they probably didn’t realise you had gone anyway. To hell with what anyone tells you; do what makes YOU happy and for shits sake- put YOURSELF first because no one else will. Let them say you’re selfish if they must, but they’ve got it wrong. Try a different point of you, and be kind.
I was walking home from my morning ritual of slowly killing myself at the gym (it needs to pay off one day) and it began to rain. I already looked a mess, so what harm would a bit of rain do?
Everything in that moment seemed alright. Maybe it was the songs I listened to. Or maybe I knew I was going home, and I was going to nap. Sure it was a really shit nap, but I was going to be asleep. I like being asleep because I’m no trouble to anyone. I’ve gone back 10 years, I feel 15 again. It’ll pass. It must do.
Everything positive has something negative. Everything negative has something positive. Everything seems to be balanced, but you always find yourself leaning towards one side. Or maybe you are being pulled towards a side you cannot stand. Yet you must go there. Rock bottom is a lesson for us all. Does it exist? Is it just an idle threat to make us feel worse than we already do? You always think you’ve hit your lowest point, you think you cannot get any lower. Like things cannot get worse, but can they? They get better. They also can get worse. See, it is all balanced out.
So you close your eyes around 2am hoping sleep comes. It comes eventually. When you sleep, do you dream? Do you doubt yourself in dreams too? You don’t always get what you want- dreaming or awake. I hate that I function better when I am tired. When I am tired, certain things make more sense. When I’m awake, I think I usually want to sleep and watch Disney films.
Sometimes we make ourselves out to be awful. Maybe it is from past abandonment, maybe we’re not sure of ourselves, maybe we’re not truly awful. We’ve all got our faults, we shouldn’t let them rule us.
As I’m not one for ever listening to myself, have some songs that made dragging myself home in the rain a lot less awful.
They’ll take your freedom in any way they can. They’ll tear out your tongue. They’ll break your heart. You can find a sense of romance in almost anything; but not that. People judge, and people will call you out on things you haven’t done. Things you haven’t said. Do it back, they say. But you can’t. You’re not a cruel person. You’re sensitive and you hate yourself for it. You can hate yourself for so many reasons, this is one of them. But it’s okay because at least you don’t lie to yourself. Kid yourself and spiral into a frenzy of lies; that’s what most do. I’d rather be honest with myself than be a judgemental cunt. This is all for a reason. I have a point.
Monday night, I went out. I’m wishing I hadn’t because since then I’m carrying a feeling I cannot get rid of, and it’s starting to get to me. I’d rather write this down than do the normal thing of telling someone face to face or whatever. Anyway.
I’ll be the first to admit my face isn’t all that. I wear black all the time (I have a pair of red creepers, a red Sonic Youth shirt and a red Iggy Pop shirt..I don’t really wear them.) Just because I wear black all the time doesn’t mean I am going to stab you and offer your heart as some kind of sacrifice. I notice nothing when I go outside, I just put my headphones in and walk. I look at the ground or whatever because over here, eye contact isn’t good. Eye contact, I have learnt is never good. If I look at you when I talk to you it’s probably because I probably think you’re alright. I’m getting better. For a while I’ve been working on the whole self-confidence thing. You know how you get people who do the whole “OH FUCK ME I AM SO VILE TODAY JUST LOOK AT ME” and take about 50 photos of themselves (they do it on a camera phone and probably use Instagram too) and just want attention? Physically, I dislike myself a hell of a lot. I’m fat, short and my face is unfortunate. I’ve re-joined the gym so at least I can stop being a chubber. As a person, I like to think I have some positive traits. My Bob Dylan impression is a treat (can only do it if I’ve had whiskey) and my hugs are alright. Despite the fact that I probably look like a moody twat, I laugh at most things (obviously not at racist jokes and the like, I’m not a cunt.) I’m a lot of good thing, I’m a lot of bad things. I know what I am, no one else has the right to judge.
So, on Monday as I was leaving this bar with some friends I walked past a tabel of about 4 or 5. I didn’t look at them, but I knew they were there. I’m oblivious to most things, but for some reason my ears actually picked up on what was said.
“FUCKING LESBIAN.”
Wow..cheers for that. Do you feel better for that? I hope you did. I really do. I get weird looks ALL the fucking time here. All the time. I only leave the house if I have to. I go to the gym every day, but I walk there and where I live is quiet so I don’t really have to walk past anyone. Going to town for me, is my idea of hell. I hate it. I hate leaving the house.
When I’m in England I’m totally fine. I can walk around London or Manchester at 3am and feel completely safe. Here? Not at all. Not in the slightest. At 25 years old, you’d think I’d be alright with going outside right? Wrong. It’s anywhere but here. Everyday I wake up and wish I was somewhere else. I can’t help but think I was really awful in my past life and this is payback. Never mind, right?
I’d rather live on the streets in a city I love than wake up here one more day. It’s doing more than crushing my soul; it’s destroying me as a person.
They say, “Keep trying.” But I am. Fuck me I am trying, but I get nothing. I’m heading nowhere fast.
I live somewhere that destroys me everyday. I used to be strong and okay with myself. That’s all going. This is why this is coming out.
It took a LOT for me to come out (my mum is so fucking liberal, so I’m blessed in that way) but it still scared me to do so. I know how hard it is to let that part of you, especially when you are from such a small-minded place. My mother always told me, “Be true to yourself and don’t live a lie.” I may act like I don’t listen to people, but that is something I carry with me. It’s hard to keep at it at the moment. I guess I just have to.
To judge someone based on how they look or sexuality or anything is the most pathetic thing in the world. Maybe I should’ve said something to this idiot, but I didn’t fancy being punched. I’ve been hit enough times in my life; I don’t really fancy it again. I cannot hit anyone. I could never bring myself to do it. I’d probably runaway crying. Sure I may be overly sensitive and I may take too much to heart; but at least I can feel. I’d rather be this way than totally numb.
It’ll take a while before I “get over” this, and to any of my friends I had a rant about this all too since..I am sorry. I apologise for most things but..yeah. Anyway. I cannot change what has happened. It’s just pissed me off that we live in a world where people think it is okay to be obnoxious and cruel.
“Get well soon, please don’t go any higher How are you so burnt when you’re barely on fire?”
They say you’ve got to hit rock bottom in order to be a better person. What if you weren’t shit to start with? What if you thought you were okay, but fucks spat down judgment on you..leading you to believe you are actually a really shit person? What do you do? What about when you hide everything in order to keep a sense of normality, so you don’t fully lose it? What if you cannot get the words out, and all you can do is tell anyone who shows a hint of caring that you’re totally okay. What happens when they place you are currently “living” in has killed all the good in you? What if…what if…Fucks sake. It’s all so bloody stupid isn’t it. When you think about it, you’re just some stupid fool with no direction. Because all the directions you took have led you nowhere. Nowhere can be your bedroom at 4am hating your own skin. Nowhere can be sat on a bench waiting for something slightly interesting to happen. Nowhere can be in the eyes of the one you love. Nowhere and nothing go hand in hand. There’s a song for everything, for everyone. Those thoughts you have; well, someone else had the same ones and probably wrote a song about it all. You’ll return to your “normal” self eventually, you just have to work out what that is. I should take my own advice. But my own advice is for anyone and everyone but me. I have no problem writing like this because I know nobody will read it. Once it leaves my brain and ends up on the screen, it is no longer mine. Nothing is mine, no one is mine. I own nothing. Even my Docs are coming apart. My favourite band shirt has a hole in it. As you sink further and further, what song will you play as you fall? What song will pull you back up? I’ll never read this again, which is why none of this will make sense. I rarely re-read what I write here. Mainly because I know it doesn’t make sense. I don’t like organisation. I don’t like things making sense. I don’t like knowing some things. Uncertainty for me, is a good thing. Self-doubt for me, is a good thing.
But every fucking word I’ve written, every word I have ever said has been said by someone else. And they did it better. I can only say I’m sorry, but I’ll keep doing it. And for that, I am also sorry.
“In my own strange way I’ve always been true to you, in my own sick way I’ll always stay true to you.”
53 years young he is today. Bless him. Look at him. Stood there, with a cute cat on his head. Just look at him. Look into those eyes. Those eyes have seen the things that have led to him writing about the things that created the songs that saved your life. Are you glad you were saved, or would you rather not? Well, that’s up to you. Keep your misery in a firm chokehold and remind it that you own it. It doesn’t own you.
Where the heck do I begin writing about Morrissey? Well, from the start would probably be wise. I’m not wise. Anyway. Morrissey. Birthday. TODAY.
My love for Morrissey cannot be measured. My love for Morrissey cannot be put into words. Yet I feel the need, as I drink tea out of a Morrissey mug to express my love for him. It’s his birthday, not that I need a reason to do this but still.
Alright, so Morrissey. You tyke, how on Earth do I start this? I’ll do it in letter form. Consider this an open letter from an outsider. You’ll never see this but I guess I have to blurt it all out. Here goes nothing, with everything!
Dear Morrissey,
I am just another fan of yours. I’m just another fan who has been obsessed with your words and music for as long as I can remember. I’ve only seen you 4 times, and I only have 1 tattoo that shows my love for you. Is it enough? Tattoo wise, I think so. The body is a blank canvass so..I might as well decorate it the way I want it to be.
You see Morrissey, your words have given me hope and laughs. Tears and strength. Giggles and pain. You’ve summed up every frustration and fury I have ever felt. You’re one of the few reasons as to why I am obsessed with words. You’re also probably why I love cats too. They’re fascinating aren’t they? What you have done is help me make sense of every good and bad emotion I have ever felt and continue to feel. I play Black Cloud and I think of the one I cannot have, and will never have. I play Speedway and I think of every shit thing I have done- and I feel no remorse for it is over and done. I play Alma Matters and it is like two fingers to those who are well, you know what they are. I play Everyday Is Like Sunday and it reminds me of where I grew up and quickly grew tired. You are the soundtrack to my life. For everything I have been exposed to- you have a song for it. I used to want to have a girlfriend who was clinically obese so I could play You’re The One For Me Fatty to, but I didn’t want the local supermarket knowing us on first name basis. So I no longer want. I must confess, I never want to be with someone who loves you like I do. Mainly because I don’t want that connection. I’d much rather bond with them over another band. I won’t mention names. I won’t share you, you know how it is. Then I listen to your songs, and I think I’ve now resigned myself to a life of books, notebooks, lots of cats and a rocking chair. It’s not that bad is it? I’m not a bitter person, far from it. I cannot be bothered with bad feelings- your lyrics taught me how to let go. I cannot thank you enough for this.
Your music has provided me with everything I need to drag me through the days. I don’t discuss the nights because I try to sleep. I try, I bloody well try. Every single time I have seen you live, I cry as soon as you walk on. As you stride to the centre of the stage like a graceful creature (a cat perhaps) I feel as if something truly powerful is taking over me. The first time I saw you live was after I had been dumped for the first time. I will not go into details, I refuse to. But I remember the train journey from the middle of England to Manchester to meet my mother. We then went from Manchester to Stirling. I never knew how one night could change my life. You know, I could’ve been one of those people who throw their lives away due to hurt. I then watched you sing your heart out. As I watched you, I sang along. Tears fell down my face. At the end of the concert, I felt like a huge weight had been lifted from me. I felt as if nothing in life mattered anymore. I had felt something so bloody awful beforehand, and you eased it. You took it from me, and gave me life again. This is just another way as to how you saved my life. You changed my life.
I’m writing this as if you will see this, but you won’t. All I can do is hope maybe a fan who feels the same way as me reads this and feels less alone. That some stranger has managed to get these feelings out, so they do not have to. That’s what you did for me.
A few weeks ago, I was stood in the smoking area of a club in Manchester. This man started talking to me, and as I spoke he said “You remind me of a young Morrissey. How you speak, and your presence.” We then started singing Every Day Is Like Sunday together. A drunken moment that is forever etched in my heart and mind. I’ll never forget that. If he was a woman, I may have proposed. Or bought her a glass of good wine. Probably the latter.
I wish you a Happy Birthday. I wish you happiness, health and love. I hope you are fully aware of what you mean to myself and to so many others across the world. You’re the light that never goes out. You are hope, truth and wisdom.
I simply cannot thank you enough, so all I can do is end this with a simple yet honest- I love you.
Wants and needs cloud your judgement. It’s easier to ignore them both so you can carry on. And carry on you will. This is the hangover talking. Not in a physical sense, that passed at half 10 this morning when I stood in the shower playing Explode by Uh Huh Her about 5 times until I felt like a person again. Things go wrong very quickly, you try to be cautious. You do what is right. You leave things behind so you can move forward. The things you never faced smack you right in the face when you have brief moments on your own. I’m trying to distance myself from this because some things, well..you’ve got to never tell so you stay sane. So what happens? Lose.Your.Shit. Lose your mind if you want. Nobody is strong all the time. Nobody is always weak. You can find strength in the things you think are killing you, metaphorically. You hold everything back. And for what reason? You’ve got your reasons. You try to let it out, but for some reason- it just won’t come out. Not because you’re biting your tongue constantly, but..the words. The words are not there. So you find a sense of peace and become calm in the midst of hearing THAT certain part in a song that you love. The song that cradles you. The song that nurses you. Like a whisper in your ear, “It’s going to be okay.” It will be okay.
One day I will take on board what I have just typed up. Until then, I’ll remain a hypocrite, or maybe just one of life’s lost causes plodding their way through. Knowing that nothing is secure, or forever. Time is just a way of limiting yourself. I never wear a watch. Lose yourself to something positive than give yourself up to something destructive. This is why I don’t show my poetry or songs to anyone. It goes deeper than the paragraph above, and I’m ashamed of it.
So, with this utter nonsense out of the way- there are songs. There are always songs. Songs that will drag you through because you just don’t want to think about how you’d word it. Wants and needs. You want a person, but do you need them? Anyone who says they don’t need anyone is lying. Even if it’s just one person, you cannot deny that you need them. It doesn’t have to be in a romantic way. A relative, a close chum- you need them. You want them around. You think you’re going to lose them at times. You think you’re about to because the Universe is a fucking BITCH. Solace is found in music. Shut it all off and fall into the music. It’s the only way you know how. And maybe…just maybe we are all struggling to get to the same thing in life. So, please be kind to everyone. Be respectful and tolerant. Walk gently through life and do everything with heart. Speak up. Be strong, be weak. Be yourself.
Beat In My Bones. 