My Night

4'O' Clock on an early
Winter evening, I'm
walking home, with a
bag full of cans of beer,
and a frozen ready
meal, hoping they'll see
me through tonight. I don't
fancy a half drunken
wobble to the off license
later on, when it wil be
dark, and wet.
Yet, if it comes to it,
that's what I'll have to
do.
                   ......
So, here I am, 3 hours later,
having gone to the shops
for a frozen pizza, and a
big bottle of cheap wine.
I'm not wobbling too much.
thank God, and I could
easily pretend to be sober.
My dodgy hip is playing up,
and this walk is beginning
to feel uncomfortable, not
quite painful, but definitely
not fun.
About 25 years ago, I fell off
some scaffolding at work.
I didn't fall far, only about 6,
or 7 feet, but I landed badly
onto my right hip. I spent
all day in hospital, having
various X-rays, and scans.
Eventually they said there
were no broken bones, and
got ready to send me home.
They gave me a shot of
morphine that was supposed
to kill the pain.
They couldn't understand why
I was still in agony, so off I
went for another lot of scans,
and X-rays. This took up about
another 3 hours.
I didn't know how to tell them
that the reason their morphine
shot didn't work was.because I
had a raging smack habit, and
their tiny, pathetic shot wouldn't
have even have had any impact
at all.
It wasn't until I got home and
sorted out a proper shot, that
I felt even any slight relief.
I was off work for nearly two
weeks. I really should have
sued them, but in those days,
it wasn't quite the done thing.
It's not too bad, but sometimes
in damp weather, I get a nasty
pain in my right hip.
                        ......
Well anyway, now I'm back at
home. My pizza's in the oven,
and I'm making short work of
my first glass of wine.
Now I can relax, and put my
feet up.
I'm done for another night.

 Insomnia

Night after night,
I twist and turn.
Staring at the
green numbers
on my digital clock.
Counting down the
hours, thinking, " Oh
shit, only 5 hours to
go until I have to get
up. No, only 4 hours
until I have to get up."
And so on... Until I've
only slept for an hour
or so, and I feel like
shit.
And I'm stumbling
around in a fucked up
mess, feeling like I've
drunk a bottle of whisky
the night before, even
when I haven't touched
a drop. Well, hardly.
Sleep is such a natural
thing, we spend a third
of our lives completely
oblivious to everything,
if we are lucky,
Insomnia is a total
bitch !
There's nothing worse,
nothing I can think of.
Making you feel tired,
brain damaged and
like a frigging zombie.
Here I am, it's 3 a.m.
counting down the
hours again.
Tomorrow, I'll be a
shambling mess,
with a headache.
A hangover, without
the fun of getting
drunk.

Heading Towards 50




As I sit here, on a
Winter's evening.
Heading towards
50, I think back
on my life. The
many defeats, and
the few, too few
victories. It's still
surprising to me,
at times, the fact
that I am still alive.
I honestly never
expected to reach 30,
so as I sit here looking
down the barrel of 50
years, I suppose
I should be grateful to
the Gods who have
kept me going. They
must have their own
reasons, but it's not
anything that I can
understand.
Well, if I'd died aged
30, I never would have
written a book. I'd
been knocking out
crappy 3 chord songs
on my guitar since I
was 15, but I know
I am no musician.
After reading Charles
Bukowski, and Raymond
Carver in my late 20's,
I started to think;
" Maybe I could do
something like that.
They write poetry about
drinking, and feeling sad.
That's my everyday life."
So I tried it, and here I
am 20 years on, and
still getting the best
buzz ever, every time I
write something, or
get it published.
But still, that's not a
proper reason for the
Gods, or fate, keeping
me alive.
Perhaps upon reading
my mediocre scribble
someone who is going
to be important will
become inspired.
If that is the reason,
then I'm more than
happy, and so I should
keep writing more of
my shit.

           Mr Memory




I don't know if it's because
I've had a stroke, or just
that too many years of drug
and alcohol abuse have
mangled my mind, but it's
happened twice this week.
Guys come up to me, it's
always guys, and talk to me
as if we are long lost best
friends, and I haven't got a
clue who they are.
I know that I've got a dodgy
memory, but twice in one
week !
That's bloody scary !
The one today was really nice,
he even gave me cigarettes,
although I didn't ask him to.
As we were talking, he kept on
saying. " I know you, man. I
KNOW you."
There I was keeping my answers
to his questions as vague as I
possibly could, thinking " Great,
but I don't know YOU."
He said that he'd been clean for
five years, so I must have met
him through a drug buddy, but
I'm fucked if I can remember
who, or when, or how, or why.
Sometimes, it really does worry
me that this is the start of
early onset Alzheimer's, it's
always disorienting, and
disconcerting.
I'm scared that I'll end up like it
with everyone. Looking at
loved ones with unknowing
eyes, it's hard to think of a
more terrifying nightmare.
At the moment I think, " If
they meant anything to me,
I'm sure I'd remember. "
But the more it happens, the
less sure I am.