I wield the remote control like a weapon
And the screen goes blank and the world fades
Reduced to the austerity of a bleak black
Desert landscape in which bombs have been tested
Memories vaporised, reduced to nothingness
Those long afternoons of childhood are lost
Dry shimmering light dissipates and stars appear
And I worship them. They represent my voice
My multitudes of words. Marks of ink
On pale paper. They compensate for my sallow eyes
And broken wings and I am destroyed
By the solidity, by the magnitude of things
I pace the floor. I tried to fly
I tried to bid the earth goodbye
By I am bound to this planet by gravity
Words are not enough. They will never be enough
To liberate me…
The situation with Royal and Sun Alliance is going round and round in my head. Their smug, complacent voices echo through my mind. There is a public information broadcast that is aired on the radio almost every night: ‘A fire doesn’t have to kill you to take your life.’ I know exactly what they mean and the fire wasn’t even in my flat. Tomorrow I will march into Lloyds Bank where I purchased the insurance. I will also ring my housing officer (who has been pretty darned useless thus far) and request emergency insurance. Banks and big business, it seems, are all-powerful and the law appears to be on their side. They’re prevaricating because they believe I will give up.
Well, they couldn’t be more wrong.
A none-smoking Pub
A city on fire
And I know, I know
I must get home
And all those books
Burning, burning
And the air raid sirens wail
And wail and wail
He gave his life to
Protect those books
Attacked by incendiaries
And high explosives
That dark cloud spreading
Across the sky and then the air
Is brimming over with light
And those bombs are let loose
And they fall, they fall
Another wave
Guided by fires already lit,
Beacons to their brothers
And paper burns, paper burns
Precious paper burns
And the train stops
It stops, it stops
We are at the heart
Of this conflagration
While American correspondents
In expensive hotels
Raise their glasses and say,
‘The show must go on.’
I have been afflicted by overwhelming writer’s block. I am now on four different types of medication: a neuroleptic- Zyprexa, an SSRI- Venlafaxine, a hypnotic- Zolpidem and my faithful friend: Valium. Mother’s Little Helper. ‘Pumped up with valium. Will you give me some’. Suede. This is probably contributing to my inability to write. Barrenness in my head. My useless dead brain. Is it dead or merely sleeping. I sincerely hope so. And, no, I don’t rattle when I walk.
A little bit of politics, for a change. The case of George Galloway. I don’t have much sympathy with his political stance. The way he toadied to Saddam Hussein and his murderous regime was quite nauseating. ‘Sir, I salute your courage, your indefatigability.’ I bet he regrets that line. It almost constituted treason in my very humble opinion. However, the vindictive manner in which he is being treated by the US Senate just because he embarrassed them is quite worrying.
Leave our Village Idiot alone. He may be an idiot but he’s our idiot. What is it they say about absolute power corrupting absolutely?
Returning
From a war
That seemed to last
A thousand years
And there is nothing left
Nothing left but debris
And then of course
There is me
Beaten
And battle-scarred
With no identity
And my destiny
Has been stolen from me
Grounded once more
And this house
That stands before me
A picture
Of neglect and desolation
A neglected garden
With its old, gnarled oak
Colonised by rats
Their imperial paradise
Our very own
Occupying army
This house
Is empty and there
Is no one here to greet me
Only the rats
In their newly formed colony
Waging a miniature war
Of their own.
I was supposed to go to church with D who is a Catholic convert and, as we all know, they are much more zealous than ‘cradle Catholics’. Which was why I was disappointed when he rang and cancelled at the last minute. Catholicism still holds some attraction to me, it reminds me of childhood comforts. Yes, I know that’s not its purpose. I think most people ‘cherry pick’ when it comes to religion. I know very few people who follow their religion precisely. The only people who seem to have a problem with my ‘take what you need and leave the rest’ approach are what I call ‘militant atheists’. We didn’t meet up for our daily pub crawl yesterday either. My liver is profoundly grateful.
I have yet to go to the Citizens’ Advice Bureau about my issues with Royal and Sun Alliance. I have sent an email to their Complaints Department and, as yet, I have not received a response. People keep telling me not to give up but all they can offer is moral support. I have also not received the promised report on my neighbour from hell upstairs. That fire really did disrupt my life and I need to resolve it before I can move on.
So Sick of Drowning 