The Ballads Of Mister Rhodes

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...

“It was morning; through the high window I saw the pure, bright blue sky As it hovered cheerfully over the long roofs of the neighbouring houses. It too seemed full of joy, as if it had special plans, And had put on its finest clothes for the occasion.” - Herman Hesse -  Limber up. I woke up fresh, an hour before my alarm was set for. I had just finished running 5k at a generous incline when it went off. I saw the new year in with an echinacea tea, and a video call with a slightly tipsy Sovi and the adorable stray she rescued. I haven’t written anything in a while and just wondered if the words go down the same as they used to. My desk is a clutter of vitamins, minerals, medical reports, notebooks, half drunk cups of herbal teas, empty electrolyte sachets, coins from four different countries, a pair of sunglasses -lenses down- and one pink gum shield. I wasn’t going to write anything because I’m working on a novel, but I’m not doing so much work on the novel so...

"All the gods, all the heavens, all the hells, are within you." - Joseph Campbell - I stopped 'clapping' mosquitoes. It seemed strange to be stopping things from doing what they were designed to do. It seemed even stranger to decide I had the right to. Headphones in, one foot in front of the other, let the rain come down. The cats were waiting for me when I got back. Perhaps they'd seen her leave too. Sip a coffee, dream of the fire of a cigarette, smile when you start acknowledging the distractions. Keep adding on the easy fixes until you're almost somebody else. Sit with the many sides of yourself; try not to jump. Try not to look around at other things. A bikini clad blonde walks past the window in the direction of the pool. It's been fifteen hours since you last had sex. Sit still. There is time for everything, but all of it will either mean or amount to nothing until you have taken time for yourself.  Simply put, from my viewpoint,...

“Sometimes we love with nothing more than hope.  Sometimes we cry with everything except tears.  In the end that’s all there is:  love and its duty,  sorrow and its truth.  In the end that’s all we have - to hold on tight until the dawn” - Gregory David Roberts, Shantaram The sun casts a glance over the city of Zurich as I think about totality; the everything. The Swiss alps lay silently in the background as a cello softens my eyelids and relaxes my breathing. It is not so much what happens to us over elongated periods of time, but what we allow to happen to us in those unsuspecting instances that seem to find us. There is a journey of trips, dances, wide and narrow strides, falls and fumbles before us all; the only thing that I might contribute to mastery is the willingness to allow it.  I try not to write guru-esque or with specific individuals in the periphery, but the only paint on my canvas has come from the significant othe...

“That's all we have, finally, the words,  and they had better be the right ones.”  - Raymond Carver. I've never fallen asleep knowing that I would wake up to one less mother, and I'll never have to do it again. Three nights ago I dreamt that I was sat at her hospital bed and she had been trying to conceal something from me. Her attention to deception slipped for a second and I noticed that her ears were clotted with blood. She looked apologetically at me. I asked her how long it had been and she told me that she had only ever heard noises and never what they really meant. She looked apologetically at me.  The cleaner knocks at my door, I pour a glass of wine and walk outside for a while. When I return I know what I have to do. It is my craft; my torment and tourniquet.  If I may trouble you to stand -or at least raise your attention to its feet. I'd like to offer a toast. There will be days in our lives when whiskey tastes just like water, ...

"Consumed by the agony of remembrance. The remembrance of night's festive company. The one remaining candle flickers and dies." Mirza Asadullah Khan Ghalib I feel as if now is the right time to discuss my concept of agony to you -if I can be so foolish as to use the word ‘right’ at such a time. I do not write any of this with a sense of self pity, although perhaps it is a way in which a man like me gives a cry for help; I feel as if life has proffered me sufficient qualifications on the matter. I feel as if... In the late garbled nights of substance abuse and sleeplessness I find myself ruminating on the dangers of bestowing the power to bring joy upon another person, for in that power resides its opposite. Those that look to someone for happiness will find a darkness in their absence. In the bleary eyed afternoons I wonder where the grief goes. I can only assume that the brain and body stores it out of the way for the time being and then at some...