CHIRPSES

I WAS REALLY DRUNK WHEN I WROTE THIS

I wrote this when I was really drunk. I don’t remember ever writing it, but I woke up in the morning and there it was, glaring at me. It seems alcohol releases the frantic darkness festering in the damp recesses of my brain.

Hello my pretties,

I wrote this thing when  I was really drunk. I woke up in the morning and I had no recollection of writing it, but there it was. I thought I would share it with you so you can see what a deranged, frantic rant looks like. I haven’t edited it, I just left it how I found it: raw, honest and brutal.

Hope it doesn’t freak you out,

G.

 

You can contact me on all this mad pish, please do, it makes me smile:

http://www.facebook.com/thelitbeast

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Email: gary.d.morton@hotmail.co.uk

 

 

Rant in Drunk Minor

I’m pissed yet again and the words just seem to flow out of me: like a frothing ejaculation of letters. We were at a party together and now I am alone, just like it should be. She is sleeping in the back room with the tiny specks of blood on the white antiseptic walls. Her chest is slowly rising and freefalling in deep, peaceful sleep. I can never sleep because I can never turn my brain off. It incessantly talks to me and keeps me awake. There are always words swirling and crashing around my head and they crave to be released through my fingers onto the cool submissive paper. The paper is just like a slut that longs for hard thickness to be plunged into her: waiting open, receptive and obsequious like any other angelic whore. I happily oblige again and again until our chests stick together and our ribcages entwine.

I will never remember this interaction of calloused skin and uncaring plastic as these words spill onto the page. I will never ever be recognised as the talent that I am and I fvcking hate you all for that. I fvcking hate you all so much. But I hate myself more. I am forever destined to live a normal life which will be predictable and carefully thought out and planned out and nestled and restrictive and generic and painfully boring and lacking originality and the pain in my gut will become more incessant as I fail and fail to impress and convince people of my unfound, undiscovered talent: honestly, I promise you I am actually pretty good.

I thought I had lost someone very important to me tonight, someone that means everything to me and it really fvcking scared me. I thought he had finally done it. I have seen glimmers of his simmering hate in the past but it had never been directed at me. I have envisaged the end of you so many times, but I never thought it would ever actually come true. I never thought I would actually receive that phone call with empathetic whispering words. I have thought about the times where I would be forced to put on a cheap polyester suit and stand by your grave with my tears becoming the rain. I knew that this day would come, but I never thought it would come so soon.

I can see to the core of you, because you are just like me. You have also stood at the fiery gateway of hell and you have looked deep into the caverns of despair and you have decided to fight on for another hour, another day, another year. You have decided to turn your back on the fire and walk back into life. I know that you have had so much pain in the past and I can feel it even now. The experience of true pain is something that scars you for life and it always perches itself on your shoulder and whispers in your ear. Together, we can shed light into the dark and cast away the veil of pain and sadness that lies over our shoulders like a thin coating of prickling frost. Together we are everything. We are the moon and the stars and the stratosphere and you can never pull us down. We are a black hole waiting to be found and nothing will escape from its limitless crushing hold. You and me together we can do anything and we will never be alone.

I always seem to write more when I am drunk. It is like there is a circuit board connection that sparks and ignites within my brain. Alcohol opens up the dark recesses of my skull and enables me to access the empty black thoughts that pervade my life, but I will never have the courage to recognise. Even when things are going well I seem to end up in front of the computer screen complaining and whining about the things that make me unhappy and leave me unfulfilled. Recently, I have been drowning in an ocean of meaningless paper- these trees have died for nothing- I scribble on them but the words don’t mean anything. Even now I am forced to remember and memorise pointless names and implications and information that will never ever have any sort of practical implication in real life. Although I am still waiting for real life to begin – I have had so many false starts now that I am unsure whether I will be able to recognise the beginning of this superfluous journey that we call life.

It seems so important but I just want to slip away from it all. All I want is to be able to sleep, just to close my eyes and forget it all, just to leave it all behind. I find it so hard to even pretend like I care: the seas will continue to shift without me; the tectonic plates upon which we found our lives will continue to crash together and leave nothing but dust in their wake. The world will continue to shout and scream and conflict with each other without me, there will be nothing really left behind except damp fading memories.

I love you so much, but I never know how to tell you. Even when we are sitting in the same room together I feel alone and I miss you and I want to touch you. When you sleep next to me, warm and soft there is nothing in this world that can prevent me from putting my arms around you and holding you close to me. I finally realise why I was put on the surface of the earth, why I was brought here and plunged into the blinding light of existence. My job is to keep you safe and to make sure you are happy, just so that you sleep soundly in my arms, protected from the harsh reality of the world outside the windows. The only reality that counts is when we breathe deeply together underneath the sheets. The wetness on my lips is all for you – I would do anything for you – I would rip out my eyes and give them to a blind man if that is what you wanted of me. I would tear out my hair and give it to a neutered bulldog to make new eyelashes so as to hide the bitter shame glinting behind his eyes.

The secret that it hides from the world – that my lungs have been ripped at the seams for the love of one woman – where the shouts and screams mean nothing – they are nothing but sounds from the outside that cannot touch us. Even as I write this you are blissfully unaware of my love, this all consuming powerful painful love that I carry for you, you will never know how much I yearned for your touch, how much the burden weighed upon me – all those times that we were together and I wanted to tear your clothes off like a soulless ranting animal – just to show you how beautiful life could be. I want to wake up on a bright Saturday morning knowing that you are mine. I want little versions of us to exuberantly jump onto the bed and excitedly wake us up to play. I want to cook breakfast for you all as you lie together warm and safe and happy wrapped in the covers. I want to be the perfect dad, the perfect husband for you all, to prove to you all that I can do it. To prove them all wrong.  To prove all those fuckers wrong.

I want to achieve this all so I can learn to live again and I can share my words with the world outside the window; that is cracked and dusty to our eyes, just so that we can be together, so we can build a wall around our precious nest to keep the crushing pain of the world outside our precious little sanctuary. None of the conflict and hate and lies will ever touch us as we float here together. I perpetually yearn for the talent of Henry Miller and attempt to emulate his greatness with every line I ever write, with every connection of flesh and plastic I am forever trying to be like him, trying to conjure gold from lead- even though people force me to learn this shit I will never let it hold me down- I am free from the shackles of academia and I can let my putrid language soar.

I love you, I don’t know how else to say it. Those words are so weary and so old, so ravaged by time that they have almost lost their meaning, those three words that are uttered at the end of a common daily telephone call in a crowded train carriage, those sacred words that are the subject of so much abuse, but when I say it to you I fully understand the meaning, there is no space for discretion of ambiguity, I love you so much it hurts and it always will. You have scraped out a shape for yourself inside my soul and you will live inside there forever, ever since you taught me how to love.

Now I have to climb into bed beside you, drunken and cold, even though I know I will not be blessed with the gift of sleep. And I know that you will be warm and soft, just like always. And I will slide up against you and I will love you more than ever- if only you could crack open my heart and read the inscription engraved inside.

It says ‘Peaches’ and nothing else will ever reside inside there. Everything is for you and now and it’s time to sleep, for tomorrow is another day and anything it brings we can beat together.

Now that I fall asleep by your side, just like I always dreamed I would.


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