I have been really naughty here: posting such an arduously long message. but, i wanted you to take a look at something ive been writing. take it apart, pull it to pieces: i want all constructive criticism!!!!!!!!
Project: “alpha.alpha”.
Date: 020800
Part one.
My closest friend and I have a mutual understanding. A reciprocated respect for each other. We share the same suspicious, paranoid thoughts, and I draw a comforting strength in having a like-minded person to share these with. Often, our intuitive fears turn out to be true. (I am not a superstitious person. I believe that our entire existence, bones and soul, abides obediently to the laws of pure logic and reason. Superstition is simply the unknown, the inexplicable. I do believe in coincidence. A coincidence is no more than a coincidence, (some think it to be the work of fate’s fair hand), but when one occurs, life suddenly yields so many opportunities. I have encountered many promising coincidences so far; (I didn’t strike while the iron was hot, so to speak), and I hope to encounter many more in the future.)
My friend and I share the same perspective, the same outlook, on life, and rarely do we meet people who can see where we are coming from (figuratively speaking, of course). It has long irked me that vicious and unfounded rumours have easily grown, like weeds, around my friend’s and my name.
Fortunately, this ceased to trouble me, earlier this year, as I came to new heights of peace and confidence within myself. I shared my newly found beliefs and thoughts with my friend as they came to me, and my friend smiled and voiced her agreement, though not without some jibe, in jest, at the source of my beliefs, (a rather odd book, entitled “The only planet of choice”). I began utilizing my new mind-set. I cried out in amazement to myself: all of my previous knowledge seemed now put in place, and wave upon wave of understanding washed over me, as warm and comforting as the soft summer winds of Arabia.
I think that people have lost sight of respect, for themselves and for those around them. I grabbed hold of my self-respect, (and how shabby it was), and brought it back to life. I didn’t realize before, that you have to consciously work at maintaining your self-respect. You have to think about every word you want to say, about every action you want to take; and then be able to say YES, I RESPECT MYSELF, after all’s said and done. I taught myself that it is easy to resent others, seek vengeance against others, and try to smother their voices with mine, but I would not respect myself if I did. Instead, I learned to reason through the things that people do and say, and I found that logic provided all the answers: I can understand why people do some evil things, and thus I have time and compassion for them. I do not excuse them, but I manage to retain respect for them, (as a human being, as an equal), and only when that is achieved do I feel that I am in some position to help them. I can help them when I am just talking with friends, by standing up for them, and by trying to explain how I can have compassion for them. I would not, however, like to go on holiday with them, no matter how much I defend them. I’d have a school of psychiatrists help them out. (I have yet to come up with a decent, humane way of doing this, though.)
Sometimes I feel as though I want to scream, (I breathe and reason instead).
My closest friend and I enjoy various leisure activities. We enjoy buying things, (consumers to the bone), especially useless gadgets and superfluous amounts of la maquillage and CD’s. We like laughing, too. (It seems that not many people are laughing for the nicest reasons anymore). We both enjoy books, my friend enjoys history, contemporary drama and oriental philosophy, and I enjoy satirical literature and absurd drama. We are both lovers of music: of all genres, (except jazz). My friend is working towards being a journalist. I am working towards being a graphic designer. My friend and I like to travel. My friend and I enjoy taking various drugs.
I used to be an escapist to the core.
Part two:
It was a Tuesday morning, a day when I recover my senses from that void they sank into over the weekend before. From my heraldic position on my generous bed, I had the depressing view of my room spread out before me, like some parched and faded bank statement, detailing an overdrawn account. The only saving grace of my room is that the narrow window on the far wall gives me a glimpse of magnificent sunbeam-pierced greenery, a lush vibrant jungle in my own back yard. When my eyes wander towards that paradise, I pause my thoughts to consider the miraculous and simple beauty of being alive in this body of mine. I even start considering buying some plants for my flat, and then, like most of my bright ideas, it lies innocuously in the depths of my memory for an unspecified period, and then is erased or resuscitated, (this bringing back to life does not necessarily incur action).
I was very glad to be on holiday. I had nothing to hurry me about. So I dressed leisurely, made a cup of lethally strong coffee, smoked a cigarette, (gazing out of the window), and decided to go and see my friend. I hoped that she would be up, if not, I had the alternative of roaming the public library for something vaguely intelligent to read.
The grey stone stairwell needed a sweeping or two, I thought, as I descended two flights of stairs and practically waltzed out of the front door. I lit another cigarette as I walked away from my tenement block, and tried not to be paranoid. (Something strange happens to me when I am sober and in public. I feel that I am discovering new territory that I am some bizarre tourist in Reality, (most likely due to the recent fresh perception I gained of life). I thoroughly enjoy the virtues of the tangible world we inhabit, to such a painfully aware extent that I believe I am upset by the general public’s seemingly innocent ignorance of them. Of course, this is my paranoia’s askew perception). I examine the buildings or the pavement as I make my way to my friend’s flat, to avoid having to look at other people, as I have myopic eyes and no contact lenses: which makes me slightly insecure about my surroundings. (I once had contacts, and being able to see vastly improves your sense of security). She lives on a wide, busy road: buses and supermarkets and banks and building societies and pubs and cafes. So much noise, and I find that comforting. (When I was at boarding school, my room was on another, wide, busy road, which stayed awake when I went to sleep at night). I press the buzzer, bending right over so I can strain my eardrum for a response, which comes from my friend’s landlord “ come on up”. She, much to my discomfort, lives on the top floor. That’s eight flights of stairs to walk and wheeze up. At the top, when I collapse into her flat, she always asks if I’m all right, “ I’ve got to give up smoking” I always say to excuse my gasps for oxygen. Her flat is small, and her landlord lives there too. He’s pleasant enough an acquaintance, but I feel drained, tired and irritable after I converse with him, (that should be uni verse, as he does all the talking), and I am already ostensibly bored with his chat that day. I smile blandly at him, but concentrate all my efforts into some appropriate response, and knock on my friend’s bedroom door.
Her room, unlike mine, is bright and airy, and I sit on the clothes-covered armchair. I light a cigarette, and listen to the music playing. Helen, over the past year, has converted me, and so I am now a keen apprentice of all things jungle and drum and bass. “ Is this Bad Company?” I proffer. It is. I know little about this music: and do not feign to know more. I do not enjoy digressing into technical conversations in which records are scrutinised and dissected by a critical and invisible scalpel. I have great difficulty in keeping my patience when people who don’t know me start their well-meant conversation with: “So, what kind of music do you like?” (This always happens at parties: I am now equipped with a suitable radar to defend myself against such conversations: it resonates at a pitch so high that only dogs and asthmatics like myself can hear it). I prefer to keep my musical reviews to myself.
“ Would you like a coffee?” She asks.
“That would be excellent. How was work?” She goes into the kitchen.
“ Ugh, Alec was all in a stress again.”
I roll my eyes, and get up and go to get my coffee.
“ I’m handing in my notice at the end of the month. I’m sick of working my arse off and getting no respect for it”
I nod gravely, as the sensitive nerve relaying to my consciousness the utter importance of respect is stabbed. There is a short silence, as Helen makes the drinks.
“Two sugars?”
“Yeah, thank-you.” I take a sip from the mug, and we go back to her bedroom. My cigarette is finished. I reach forward to the floor, where there is a miniscule ashtray, and with much concentration I stub out my cigarette. Smoke still rises incessantly in a thin wisp.
“Why can’t I put out fags properly?!”
“Hmm?”
“Just muttering to myself about my incapabilities in extinguishing cigarettes.” I smile, and then suggest brightly:
“Do you fancy going for a lovely drink?”
“Yes, why not! I need to call Andy about his charly as well, “(my eyes light up),”I met him at Claire’s the other night; he said he’d sell me a gram for forty.”
I’m drinking my coffee.“Excellent! That’s a nice small price, well, for charly, anyways! Do you want to go halves?”
“Yeah, that’s only twenty quid each then, I spend that much anyway on a weekend” She’s finishing her make-up.
“And you’d have more fun spending that twenty on some nose-up, rather than on door entry, fags, taxis and stuff.” She nods. I let out a small sigh through my nostrils, and look out the window for a brief moment: the sunset has thrown flamingo pink beams across the underbelly of the clouds.” Is there anything decent on this weekend?”
“I saw a poster somewhere for Andy C and the EZ rollers, for the 22nd: is that this Saturday?”She turns off her CD. I check my watch (oh the bliss of multifunctional digital LCD screens)”Yes: excellent, about time there was some decent drum and bass on around here too! If it’s on at Greytowers we could get on the guest list.”
“That’d save us a fiver or two.”
“I’ll ask Dave later on.” I drain the rest of my coffee, and put the empty mug on the floor.
“So, what’s happening with Andy?”
“Well, he said to give him a ring before four today.” She picks up her bag.
“It’s only twelve. You ready?”
“Yeah, let’s get drunk.” I
We exit the flat and descend the trembling million stairs, all dusty and decrepit, as we converse.
“I went into town yesterday, for the first time in ages; there’re quite a few sales on”; she then says: ”I so spent too much money!” (I laugh) “but I got some fun new tops to wear.”
“ Oh I need to get some new clothes, have to wait until pay day though.” I look down to concentrate on my step. ”I tried on some Replay trousers, white ones, and they were the best fitting trousers I’ve ever seen. But they’re fifty quid!”
“ That’s the thing about Ransom, it’s so cheap. You could get five tops for fifty quid.”
We reach the main door, and peel back the heavy portal and step out into the bright sunshine.
“Oh it’s so sunny! “
There are people crawling everywhere, and yet my paranoia lies dormant, because I’m with someone else now: it only pursues my sanity when I walk alone.
“God: all the sexy men have come out of the woodwork today!”
“I don’t know where they come from: you can’t find a single man to look at normally!”
In laughter and all things pertaining to delightful amusement, we stride across the hectic road, carefully glancing left and right for cars.
“Did I tell you, I found a job in the paper for a graphic design company? I sent off my C.V. “ Helen has no memory of such exciting news. ”No: when did you apply? That sounds brilliant!”
“I found it in the Herald. It just asked for a C.V., which I’ve sent, so I hope I get an interview: it’s exactly what I want.”
“That’s excellent: you should get an interview at least, with your degree. “ I half smile. She looks troubled. ”I’ve been looking so hard for a job. I sent off my C.V. to a couple of magazines and one to the Herald, but I haven’t heard anything yet.“
“When did you send it to them?”
“A couple of weeks ago now.”
“ Give it another two weeks, and then get back to them about it.” She smiles slightly,(I wish I could say something more uplifting).We have both spent the past few years of our lives working our asses off, to get our degrees out of the way, and along that often tedious and soul nullifying journey, we have been inwardly bitter about our financial situations. We both share the same determination, however, to realise our dreams, and we will endeavour, (with much spiritual fatigue)to get what we want, no matter how long it takes.
We reach our destination: a bar called Hunter, forever full of the people we see in the clubs, and it looks like we’ve arrived just in time to grab a decent seat. Seats are of great importance in drinking dens: I abhor those rickety wooden chairs on beer-stained wooden floors. And I detest those high stools at Formica tables barely big enough to put your packet of fags on. The decent seats in this place are high-backed benches, with those cheap plastic foam filled coverings, and the tables are terrible: small thin wooden ones with a plastic marbled top. We don’t come in here for the seats.
“What’re you drinking?”
I think about this.
“How much are long vodkas?” I query. One seventy. I smile. “Okay, can I have one please?”
Helen asks for a bottle of Strapromen beer. I get my long vodka. I sit down and put my bag next to me, pull out my ten deck of cheap cigarettes, and light one up.
“Would you like a cigarette, my sweet?” I proffer my tasty fags.
“Why, thank-you!”
I glance around the bar, and spy a couple of gentlemen whom Helen and I met last week. They see me looking at them, and one of them smiles, and they start to come over.
“Simon and John are here,” I tell Helen,” wonder what they’re doing tonight.” Helen turns to seek them out.
“Maybe they’ve got some pills,” she says. They are present. Simon is forthright with his greeting:
“Samantha! Helen! How are you?” The two of them sit down, pulling up a chair each from an empty, adjacent table. “Very well, thank-you.”
“ Are you going out tonight?” Asks Helen.
John smiles. Simon says:
“Maybe. Are you?” I inwardly groan at such lame games, and take a long, long sip of my drink.
“ Yeah,” Helen replies,” we’re going to a friend’s flat-warming.”
“That sounds like good fun; is it a full-on affair?”
“Most definitely: if we have anything to do with it!” John smiles, Simon says:
“You mentalists! On a Wednesday night! I think I’ll just have a few and go up the road.”
John prefers our idea. “ Come on Simon, have some fun for once!” John turns to Helen and I, “ I’ve been trying to convince him to come out tonight. He hasn’t been out since we last saw you two.” He smiles mischievously at Simon. I launch my support.”Simon,! What’s become of you?!” and Helen pushes him into a corner with:” Why don’t you both come with us?” John is pleased.” What an excellent idea, Helen.“He looks at Simon. Simon is stubborn. “ No, no. You lot go and have a good time. I have to get up for work tomorrow.”
We all lapse into oh all right then, and Simon takes this moment to get another round in.
“Anyone like a drink?”
“No, still got this, thanks.”
“Yeah, get us a Guiness will you?” John gets his wallet from his pocket, gives him three pounds. “Cheers pal.
I need the toilet. I stand up, and manoeuvre my way through the people slowly accumulating at the bar. There is a girl in the bathroom, and I smile and then check the cubicles for toilet roll. There are various graffitti scrawls along the doorframe. One says “ Man’s milk, pigeon filth”. I’ve seen that on another cubicle door frame in town somewhere. I wash my hands, and pull some tissue from the cubicle to dry them with. (Hand dryers are awful). On my way back into the bar, I see Helen by the call phone.
I sit down on the poofy chairs and light up another cigarette.
Simon smiles and asks:” So what are you up to these days? Still working at the cinema?”
“ Yes, but hopefully not for much longer; I’ve applied for a few jobs in graphic design, so I hope I hear from one of those soon.” Helen’s back, and she’s smiling: good news about Andy and the charly then.
“Really? Is that what you do then, graphic design?” I smile in mild amusement of his ignorance, (he must think I’m an uneducated slacker).
I nod, and say: “I finished my degree this year.” John drinks his Guinness.
“Oh, so how does it feel to be out in the real world?” Simon says this with what must be light humour; Helen moans, and I try not to be over sensitive.
“About the same as it did whilst I was working my arse off and studying, except that I don’t have any studying to do now.” Simon smiles, and resigns himself to being quiet for a while. Helen looks at Simon.
“So, what is it that you do in the real world?” I smile.
He laughs. “I work my arse off!” We all laugh.(ha ha).
“Thought I’d find you two in here!” It’s Christopher, and Peter and Ian are with him.
“ Hello! “Helen says.
“What are you lot doing?” I say. Christopher sits down next to me, and I move up for the others.
“Just having a nice luncheon, as you do!”
Peter adds: “ We fancied spoiling ourselves with a lovely fresh lobster dish, but looks like we’ve come to the wrong place!”
“ No, we had the last lobster.” He smiles, and then Simon introduces himself , and Christopher introduces himself too. John joins in. They all shake hands, and say hello.
Peter gets up to get some drinks in.
“So how’s life Ian?” I ask.
“Just the usual, the homosexual accordion player’s partner called last night, and I had to answer the phone.” He looks ominous. Helen’s puzzled.
“What?”
“Ian has a homosexual accordion player for a neighbour.” I live in the flat underneath Ian’s, and have suffered several nights of accordion bashing whilst trying to sleep.
“No way! That’s hilarious!”
“Yeah, and his boyfriend has a deep, rough weegie accent: I don’t want to meet him!”
Christopher’s at the bar with Peter.
“Oh, Helen, was that Andy on the phone?”
“Yes, he’s meeting us in here at five.” I check my watch.
thats all i put in(yes: theres loads more....!!!!) and i apologise to the moderators and admins here................but i would like feedback.
cheers, take it easy.
