Meursault

Observations

I straddle a chair, and cast an eye over its form. Four poorly manufactured legs stretching down to no real feet just dull wooden ends. The chairs leather has been worn out from the excited motions of sports fans, and the anxious pickings of those who wait for someone who may never arrive. My seat faces the bar, the lone tender looks bemused, his clientele are muttering, shouting, screaming, dying. No, no, they’re not dying, at least not visibly, perhaps internally. I order a drink barely considering my choice, it seems irrelevant, the coolness will envelop most of the taste. The money chinks into the register without me realising I’ve handed it over. After a few poorly executed sips I turn and survey the room. Daylight is fading, the lights are yet to come on, perhaps they’ll never come on. An elderly duo play pool in the corner, their game is rather still, they’re drawling into each other’s ears. The tables’ cloth is worn, and marked by constellations of chalk stain. The cushions looked warped, slightly hunched like the spines of the participants. This scene makes me nauseous. I turn away, another glug of liquid, followed by a breath or two.

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And so it went...

Spontaneous prose

So I sat there, and okay I was by myself but I was enjoying myself and that’s more than what most can say when they’re not by themselves, and I realised this fact at the time too which made me enjoy myself even more.

I sat and looked out to the low roofed dark room filled with loud and energetic conversation – everyone is joined with drinks and the accompaniment of this oh so sweet band playing in the background. I think it was the band which made everything seem so much better as they were obviously the focus point of the room – meaning everyone was focusing upon them and they were the happiest guys I saw throughout that whole month. They just loved what they did with a passion which had to be infectious and if it wasn’t infectious then I want to know what they put in the water at this place; probably alcohol actually.

People were sat, standing, dancing and diving, but what was consistent among them all was that they were bouncing a little wherever they were – to the music of course – and they all were just smiling as they spoke and that’s so rare! Who genuinely feels happy in these places these days anymore? These places just don’t seem to do it, and don’t seem to work because of that, but this band did work and that’s what’s so important I think because they were able to put love into their music so as we heard it we were literally being given love straight to us. That’s probably why we loved them so much, just as much as ourselves and the people who listen to us at that time. Conversations just seemed to have a beat and they were beating away in fine harmonisation and synchronisation and man the room just had so much love and elation!

Man, I was alone but that made me so much more at ease as it left me to freely look over each and every little group chat with appreciation, because I had no one else, and appreciated the fact that they didn’t mind me being there in the background raising a glass and smiling if they looked over, and they would do likewise and we’d all nod and then carry on with our lives all the better from the human experience.

Take this guy with rough black hair; actually just so happy to sit in front of the band with a drink on the table.

I look further over and there’s this blond in a pretty dress which has hearts in uniform replication all over it and this just makes me feel as though she needs someone to replace all of those cotton stitched hearts with one real beating heart that would love her and their love would be going to the beat of their hearts and the beat of this music – idealism is wonderful. She probably has someone though, someone who’s given her all of these hearts on her dress and she probably adds them as often as they’re given – which is probably lots and hence the uniform pattern.

Or maybe I’m wrong, and what’s right is staring me straight in the face, which is that I could be that guy? Although I’ve had some drinks and I feel I could just be my own kind of guy and making myself the greatest guy on the planet at that, so I should be cautious to not annoy her in a incorrectly assumed opinion of myself.

But I go over.

“Hey,” Damn she’s prettier than I originally thought and she’s now smiling the cutest and most welcoming smile I’ve seen, which is ironic because it’s scared the hell out of me and I trip up on my words, “going, how it is?” I say, cool as ice and she has no idea I’m drunk or nervous.

But the gal plays it hard, “Good. You?” I realise I have to up my game and match her tempo, tempo! Music, and, what’s more, dancing.

“Wanna dance?” That was the moment that for the first time in my life I was able to switch on and sober up at the call of my will, look her right in the eye and with a surety I’d never felt before I was able to ask someone a question which was so well asked it may as well have been a gentle command which couldn’t be ignored or denied.

She leaned back in her chair, smiled a curiously enticing smile which I thought was her thinking over how I’d just changed into the person who was now in control of the situation she was moments ago in control of – she was stumped but impressed.

“Sure. You know how?” I like this girl.

“It kind of just happens, my dancing that is, so gotta hope it happens right.”

“Well let’s hope, but if not, I’ll look after ya. Come on.” She’s won, but I win because I did well for someone like me.

“Yes ma’am.”

She might have led me on to the dance floor, but I still got her there.

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And so it went...

When you know that the simplest description is the one you don’t think about

If only this ringing which surrounds me and cuts through the sky like lightning and pain and all things which we fear not just because of their reality, but also because of their speed, would slow and clear and know that if only they slowed, we would fear them so much less, because such things move quickly enough for us to know they are not within our control. But it cuts so deep. I tremble with tears balancing by my eyelids and quivering, as I quiver too, and place a test upon the capability of my muscles to tremble also, and I grit my teeth as I tremble with an anger which is more sad to look at than to fear – it’s not something we should fear at all, apart from the sobering fact that it could be felt in us one day.

I stop gritting my teeth though, and exhale, and look around so lost and sad and I don’t know what I see, how can I? And I cry though, still – how can we not? It’s so easy and it spins us into such a delirium and we forget about all things, even the things we were crying about in the first place.

I feel I know Pain, I see him so often now. He walks alongside me, sometimes ever so gently that I mistaken him for someone else, and at these times I let him know my thoughts. He uses this information like a poisoner seeking to know that element which would work to greatest effect, and oh what an effect he uses the things I tell him. I must be partly to blame then? Aren’t we all? But if ever I see the world and see that it beats so violently with happiness and passion and so much love, then I know that I can live an existence alongside Pain for however long Love asks me to, because it’s all a plan, really – not ever devised by us, but we’ll do, with respects to our parts played in its actualisation that is.

But those muscles which did so well in helping my erupting heart to shake my world, now seem tired with life too, and they let my world collapse on the floor alongside my poor mind which seems to be just by itself down on the concrete, among the dust and the smaller stones which get stuck in the cracks of the floor. But all of me – apart from that part which you hold – all that remains of me, I suppose it’s not much, is now so exhausted and tired and just lies there on the floor. And I feel so sad looking down over myself, that unfortunate being, who is ever so fragile and more so than one would think by just looking. Because inside that head there is a conscious mind fully aware of the tragedy which it is playing a part in. It’s okay, I wish to say, but it’s me already I am speaking to, and I look down upon myself anyway, and I know that it’s okay; but knowing a reality, and realising what it means for you, are two very different things.

Maybe with time? (Exhale)

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And so it went...

Comfort which comes on a breeze and then goes just as quickly

But it never really felt like something I could have done anything about. It was like trying to keep butter cool by holding it in your hands; the more effort you make, the worse everything gets.

Ironically, it’s really rather bitter being your own poison, and your strength making matters all the more deadly. What do you do?

‘Shh, don’t you see? You do nothing, for there is nothing more to be done. It’s okay, you are love.’

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And so it went...

The simple things, like a smile from a tired train attendant

‘Excuse me?’

Bump.

‘Excuse me, sir? Sir, can you wake up please?’

Bump.

‘Sir? Excuse me?’

Bump. Clap. Okay I’m up.

‘Ahh hello sir, nice of you to join us. May I see your ticket please?’

‘Erm, yes, yes here it is.’

‘Thank you sir.’

‘How’s your evening been then? Waking, checking, waking, checking? That kind of thing?’

‘Somewhat like that, sir.’

Wow this has guy has a commitment to the role. All I was looking for was some neat, quick-fire conversation, a story perhaps? Nope- nada.

The buildings we pass by seem more modern now, we must be nearing the city.  There’s a bright glow up ahead of in the direction we’re going; we’re near.

‘All in order chief?’

‘Yes sir, all good. Have a nice evening.’

‘You too pal, take care of yourself.’

I like’d him, he did stay true to character as I said but he did it with a humble nature which is rare these days and I at least, even if I’m on my own with this, respect that- so I did mean it when I told him to take care you see. He carried on his route down the carriage and I see we’re not far from central so I get up and go to the opposite end of said carriage to collect my pack which I left on the luggage rack.

Out the window I see it looks kind of cloudy so I take out my nice woollen jacket with the fur hood- it’s not real fur but it definitely makes me feel as though I’m protected by the warmth of some kind of wild, ever so wild, wolf which has been hardened by all the years of keeping after itself in the bitterness of the wilderness in the arctic tundra or somewhere- or I imagine it’s the fur of some bold and almighty brown bear which wanders kingly and strong through the magnificent thick expanse of Canadian woodland. Anyway, it’s a good jacket and I’ve become rather fond of it, so I and the jacket bind and become one entity in the perceptive eyes of those whom we see and encounter and already I feel like it’s going to be a good night.

The straps on my pack look kind of worn and old as if they’ve served time in some kind of jungle of sorts, but really they’re warn because I think I’ve had this pack about twelve years now? and it hasn’t failed me yet, nor have I managed to lose it so I hold onto the thing as it’s now somewhat sentimental.

I swing it round and onto my back, slot my arms through both shoulder straps, wriggle about a tad so it sits nicely against my back, tighten the straps so they now don’t really wriggle but instead clutch onto my chest. I button up my jacket and slide open the window to the carriage door so the wind blows in and I can exhale my cigarette smoke out of it, but first I need to pull out the packet of cigarettes to really do this properly anyway, so I do, and select one arbitrarily so not to be unfair. I place that chosen one between my lips and hold it there while its brothers and sisters, still in their packet of course, are put back into my jacket pocket to be kept safe for later. I light the thing, and ultimately I’m soon breathing in smoke which is good as I have an addiction and I’d rather it be at least cigarette smoke than nothing at all anyway.

Breathe, exhale.

Ahh, the train bounces nicely along the bumps of the track, quite rhythmically now as if the guys who laid the tacks down intended the trains to ride over them in such a manner. The guy who’s employed to announce where we’re going, when we’ll get there, and if we are indeed there yet, begins announcing that we are indeed there. ‘There’ turns out to be Central, as my better instinct told me and it’s only eight forty one apparently as well which apparently is also a good thing, as we’re four minutes early, apparently.

We swing into the station, but obviously it’s a big station as it’s Central and central stations always tend to be big because they’re so central to everything, including train tracks, so they have a lot of stuff going through them. This means that although we haven’t quite stopped yet, we have begun the ‘getting really near to’ stopping process and this is indicated, as I noted, by swinging into the station- and now I can see across all of the platforms because there aren’t many trains in for some reason, which is weird because it’s Central but I suppose all of the empty platforms is still some kind of evidence that there could be lots of trains, but it’s just that we’re too early for them or something and maybe in four minutes they’ll catch up to us?

But my eyes flick across and over all of these empty platforms who have to wait for four minutes or something before their trains come in and my eye is caught really quite suddenly by one particular part of one particular platform- there’s an engineer’s office, work office, where they would go to not work but make coffee and eat biscuits, but what they did was beside the point really as I only wanted to note that there was the office there and that’s why I remember the point as it’s by that office where I bode farewell to this pretty, most beautiful, girl I’ve ever had the privilege to converse with. Although that was a while ago now and I know a couple girls who really are much prettier than her but I’d never say that in public of course because I actually still know them and that would be weird, probably. Anyway this girl was radiance with the brightest smile, it would kill me. God I loved her, and God, I’m sure she probably dug the hell outta me at one point probably, and I tell you God although I don’t know why I tell you as apparently you know everything so I’m more telling myself but I’ll tell you anyway because sometimes a girl is pretty enough to talk to you about, even if you don’t exist I suppose? But we held one another so closely so we could feel the others’ heartbeat which was really just one beat because we were in love I think and clichés like that matter don’t they? And we were so close that as we paused from those final kisses you give someone when they stand before you and you don’t know when you’ll see them again, we would simply indulge in the others’ smell, which, as we’d spent the last few days in such close contact anyway was kind of the same smell, which wasn’t a cliché but more the truth and bit odd if you think of it a bit, but we had showered so- I suppose not that odd.

We would kiss passionately, really quite passionately, to the point where the engineers would probably have coffee biscuits and a show if they were there, but they weren’t- probably out committing time to laying the rhythmically positioned tracks- thankfully, although it would have been a funny addition to the memory. But we kissed passionately like out of some movie where the guy and girl say goodbye in a train station where the trains still used steam and there’s so much more noise and it’s black and white, but sadly there was still segregation between black and white during those films so I suppose they kind of represent a bad era, probably.

She got on that train and immediately began writing me a love letter about how much she dug me and hoped to see me again soon.

Bump.

Sometimes letters get lost, and sometimes letters shouldn’t be sent at all. But she sent that one, the one she wrote on the train, and I sent one back and a couple more and so it went and then the letters stopped altogether and I don’t think they got lost as I got one I really wish I hadn’t which said I was different and everything was different and I didn’t love her anymore which is weird because my heart hurt so much with joy when I was opening that letter and then hurt so much with pain after I read it, and I think I can’t claim what love is, but I can claim that I was either close to it or at least she was able to make me think so- and that still hurts.

Bump.

But the trains stopped! We’re here, well, I’m here and she’s there and there’s a pretty little filly from this city who I love dearly and I know I love her because I haven’t ever fallen in love with her but she is amazing and by far the most beautiful person I’ve had the joy of knowing- and now there’s telephones everywhere these days so I don’t need to worry about her sending a bad letter or thinking that I’ve changed, and anyway she’s really quite pretty and I think she’s fun at least. So with that in mind I move towards the doors before they’ve even opened but keep moving and time it ever so sweetly as I’m still moving but they’ve finally begun to open and I just glide out as easy as pie, and the risk pays off as I’m currently the only person on the platform and everyone gets off and wonders how I’m so far ahead?

So there’s a nice cold breeze as I move briskly from person to person as although I was first off I wasn’t on the first carriage so people have taken a lead, but I’m in a good flow and fly past. But we all share it and make it so- the lights and energy and this is the city and it’s smoking, she’s smoking, I’m still smoking now I come to think about it, with the cigarette still actually in my mouth as I walk over the clouds with everyone here and I try not to annoy anyone by getting in their way and tripping them up, which would be an accident and quite funny but I’d still feel bad as it would cause those clouds above us which we walk in to burst and that would put us back down on the ground and put a downer on our day I think and it’s only just night so I think that would be unfair. But the guard stands at the edge of the train looking to everyone as they go by and he’ll never see them again probably so I wish him farewell and hope he does indeed take care, in case he’s forgotten, and to seal the deal I wave and nearly bump into someone who was looking around the station for someone, and as I correct my path and stumble a bit at the cost of it he smiles at me the first ever smile he’s ever given by mistake but was still happy to do so.

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And so it went...

Youthful writings no. 12321

You know that expression ‘heart in your mouth’? Or something like that. I know what it means now. Why? Because I’d allowed the feelings of my heart to travel up to my mouth.

“I love you.” Is what my uncoordinated little mind came up with for today’s topic of conversation.

Ultimately it was probably a good thing to say, as I meant it; I do love her! But, should I have said it then? Was it truly necessary too? The answers to these questions, I realised quickly, would come rather shortly.

The statement had clearly shocked her. As in, she looked shocked. Perhaps it was a reaction or something. To scare me? Test me? Make me figure if it’s real or not? I don’t know.

How long have I been thinking now? How long has she not said anything for!? Oh God! Please say something! Anything! What does this mean!?

At least no response means I haven’t failed, officially, yet. Perhaps no response is best then? I think it is. At least I haven’t failed.

This is good. Silence is good.

I do wish she would say something though!

You know who doesn’t reply to things in good time? Daniel. For the love of humanity he needs to get better at responding to people. I think I’ll tell him that when I finally get round to replying to his last message. Poor guy has just had his second child! I’m still writing cheap stories for basic entertainment, and he has created a second human!

I feel fairly insignificant just now.

I should really get my life on track…..

Tomorrow! Tomorrow, we start running! That’s it! We’ll be a runner! They seem to have it figured, those runners.

I hear salads are good too. I’ll make a nice little Caesar salad- I hear they’re quite the rave- and eat it while I’m planning on what running shoes to buy.

“I love you too.”

Oh wow. I don’t think I’m ready for two kids, the life of a runner and having to make my own salads. Let alone love!

“I want you to move in with me.”

That should scare her off a bit.

“I think you’re right! I’ve been meaning to find a new place; this allows us to do it together!”

Ahh, I didn’t really think this one through.

“Yeah!? I can’t wait.”

I’m going to put that runner salad stuff on hold now I think about it.

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Scarlet Rouge

Triptych of Arbitrariness

I

fair enough, you say, fair enough, who is fair enough, i ask, i ask myself, who’s my self i ask, fair enough you say, may i ask, you ask, always, on all ways, but some are dead ends, i say, fair enough you say, what is enough, i ask, are you schizo, you ask, schizophrenic i ask, fair enough, you say, yay, and i don’t ask further, well, maybe, i say, i am a maybe, i say, i may be every x, i say, is x a letter, i ask, a is a letter, i say, fair enough is nothing, never, but sometimes i know when never is, i think, and say nothing no more, no less, fair enough a says, when x remains silent.

II

beautifiction. which purpose do these boards serve if buses come whenever the eternal plans of GOD determine, but inaccessible when?, cause it’s so interesting to freeze with nothing but cigarettes in your pockets? – some still wonder (while bags tiptoe across the imagination of dirty pavements), I definitely should take some ugly pictures, just for the absence of fun, since bakeries are closed down it’s even too cold for my pencil to write, or does he has other reasons not to do what he is ought to, like us, i mean my pencil? (who gave me the right to state, it – he – is mine?) … bins next to beauty shops show dentists their rotten teeth, but mine are still in, still in, still in is a mouth full of nicotine, breath me your cancer; – if life wants to be honest, we get, it’s decay.

III

What would we do without having no taste?, 8 equals the weight of infinity, psychoanalysis as the last step of rationalization, and release is only the more sophisticated trap, we entertain ourselves with our depressions, take your shower of shame, and rethink your thoughtlessness, since there is no doubt: every falling is floating, fallen, Falle, Fall, that is the clue of freedom, you are no more convinced of anything, but you can convince everybody of everything, or: flow of unconsciousness, i am pissed that it was god himself who pissed on me, pointlessness remains the sense of my life.

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