The Ballads Of Mister Rhodes

I just hope I can live up to the title. Funny how the mind draws a blank immediately after the invigorating burst of energy that got me out of bed and sat me down over here. A wooden chair, naked ass, no competition for a duvet. I mentioned a dream last time you were here. In it, I was informed that I was dying. I told you that the person who told me was significant, but I didn’t know who it was. I mean, I knew -deep down- who it was, but I didn’t know who it was. Like when you see someone who you should probably recognise, but you don’t. I am struggling to look backwards. That’s not right. Not entirely. It’s more like the past keeps looking into me and it's making me uncomfortable. I find a little buoyancy in the concept that if you look back and you don’t cringe once or twice then you’re not doing it right. There is no growth if there was not once a less-appealing version of you. Sometimes it really hits me though. I wouldn’t go so far as to say I resent who I’ve bee...

A spiritualist, a dancer, and someone like me all walk into a bar. They take a seat. They indirectly exchange a few uneasy breaths whilst the alcohol and cigarette smoke loosen the cogs of conversation.  The dancer is the first to speak. The dancer has heard that someone like me doesn’t think anyone is special. This is what breaks the silence... We could quite literally be walking on to the fucking end of days. The human race under tension is a not-so-funny thing to watch or to be caught up in. I can feel the nicotine from my last cigarette stretching out over my shoulder blades whilst the fan behind me blows cool air on to the back of my ears creating the short-lived auditory hallucination of being at the top of a mountain gazing out over madness. I quite fancied myself a lie down with a podcast discussing the links between trauma and addiction, but it would appear there are more pressing matters to attend to. Did you know, every time I drive my motorbike around the ...

It’s been a while since something really inspired these cogs into whirring. These days it's just easier to hit the gym for the two hours of each day I set aside to feeling alive. Eat and then nap the whole afternoon away before plugging into some brain-draining episodicals until I feel as if I’ve imbibed enough dribble to either make a good serial killer or be psychologically equipped to catch one. I was becoming one of you! But now this! A welcome reminder of the importance of distance. (A portrait of herd-mentality in 2020) I wasn’t sure how to start, so I’ve decided on the screwdriver inserted right in to the reader’s liver with the angry precision of someone who just realized they had their drink spiked. Something that pitches my tent over here and leaves the rest of the field empty, bar a few begrudgingly discarded tins of beans.   “Black lives matter when a white cop kneels across a black guy’s throat for 9 minutes.”  I thought I’d give that sentence so...