Dear Blogger

I'm sorry I haven't been paying you the kind of attention you would like, I'm just busy with other stuff you know....

Stuff?! What stuff? Have I not been good to you?

Yes of course, you know I'll always be around.

But you haven't been of late, what is it? What is wrong with me?

It's not you...

Then what is it? Are you seeing somebody else?

*sighs* It's not like that..

So you have, who is it?

*deep breath* Tumblr, my head has been turned.. It's like you and Twitter combined, but more random. Also easier for the phone.

Oh........so I'm not good enough anymore then?

I'll always come back, you're different.. We've been through a lot together, you know me, always half arsed..

Well..... I don't know what to say, I need some time to think about it.

Okay.

The Call..

Lying awake 4.30 in the morning,

woke up from a dream about falling.

Prophecy of my mobile calling,

not a number in the memory.

So, who the fuck can this be?

Got a feeling things aren't all they should be,

hi! It's Steve phoning about Debbie,

my ex's brother phoning to say,

she died of an O.D.

Even though I saw it coming,

it still rocked me, hit me hard,

ripped through my chest.

Like the heroin in her veins,

blowing away all the pain,

rain falling like grace.

Walked to the bathroom to rinse my face

with cold water try and calm down..

Started to think of times better

remember when I first met Deborah.

Remember that club, that bass, that chill out room..

Remember that night, that morning, that afternoon.

Remember letting go of the past and shooting for the moon.

I remember her later, burning up that spoon.

Lying awake 4.30 by her side,

woke up from a dream about the rolling tide.

Prophecy of the oncoming ride.

A case of getting high and just getting by.

Traveling through our minds,

to see what we can find.

Doing no harm to anyone

Just flew too high, got burnt by the sun.

Then I realized this shit is no more fun.

But she wanted to go on and on.

At the break of dawn,

I put my head in the sink,

rinsed my faced with cold water

to help me think,

From the moment I met her

I was addicted to Deborah,

It was chemical imbalance

not love I remember.

Fucked up in that chill out room.

It seemed our relationship

only saw one afternoon.

Never understood why you had to

fuck with that spoon..

Woke up this morning,

with a gun pointed at my head.

Must've been too drunk to pull

the trigger passed out cold.

4.30 in the morning, hungover

and still alive in my bed.

Full of fear and self loathing

staring at the ceiling another day old....

I wrote that at uni somewhere between 94 and 97... I was doing a lot of shit and that was me elaborating on a future with somebody you know is bad news.. Kind of a wake up call, not just for me but to alot of people I knew at the time, seems odd looking at it over 10 years later, I could fall back quite easily into that.. but I reckon I wouldn't get out of it if I did.

Papering Up The Cracks

(In Big Bird voice...) Hey look at this! I was cleaning out my nest and I found a book of my old poetry...

They said, they where building for the future,

but they had to pull down the neighbourhood.

They said, they were buildings for the future,

Lasting into the future, or at least they should.

Uproot old friends onto different sides,

because the council thought it was a good idea.

Never knowing the introduction of highrise,

would cause more than cracks in the wall to appear.

And Marianne & her father are papering

the walls in their brand new flat.

The very pinnacle of modern living,

more an inept architects vision of that.

Her mother would've loved it here,

In the home of tomorrow,

she thought to herself shedding a tear of sorrow.

And Marianne & her father are papering

the walls in their brand new flat

In Salford or Manchester or Leeds

or any other city in northern England.

A few years crashed on by,

her father still hadn't come to terms,

couldn't understand why

his wife had to die so young.

He tried being a rock, cried on his own.

His daughter was nearly grown,

16 years old

Marianne & her father are battling he mould.

Told they could treat it with a council grant,

And so Marianne & her father are papering

the walls and plastering the cracks

in their 21st century flat

In...any town in England

And another few years depart,

her father died of a broken heart.

Never quite managed to pick up the pieces of his life.

At least now he's in the arms of his wife.

Marianne tries not to fall into the same trap.

Yet she stays on in the same flat.

Living with her lover gives her a new sense of hope.

Fighting off bad memories with sex & dope.

And Marianne & her lover are papering

the walls and plastering the cracks

In their crumbling flat.

As we keep moving through the decades

These highrise flats get further decayed.

All discussion with MP's keeps getting delayed,

along with Giro's and strikers pay.

And Marianne & her husband are filled with joy.

Making ready a room for a nearly born baby boy.

Scraping off the mould and making the most,

They were just getting by, but to the future they'd toast.

They said they need to build for the future

and these flats had been a mistake,

but you said you'd built for the future,

don't you think this is 30 years late?!

And Marianne's world fell through again,

her nearly born baby boy, today would be nearly ten.

And she couldn't come to terms, couldn't understand why?!

Everyone she ever seemed to love dies,

Her husband left her for the bottle he never had

With a letter from the council telling her to leave her flat,

And Marianne & her shadow are plastering the cracks,

In their soon to be demolished flat....

I wrote that in about 97 I think, haven't altered any grammar it is how it is.

I remember listening to Billy Bragg and watching Our Friends In the North,

plus my nan and grandads flat in Bolton, which always had mould.