railway announcement

if you have children, be sure that they are well supervised and do not stray near the platform edge. this is a security announcement. make sure your baggage is attended to at all times to ensure there are no delays made to your journey. (i like the suggestion that delays happen because of not attending to your baggage at all times...) it is against the law to smoke ANYWHERE in this station if you see any anti-social behavior or an incident that requires police assistance, please call british transport police on 0800 40 50 40 

(what do smoking and anti-social behaviour have to do with each other?)

these well thought out snipets of propaganda blare out offensively from the crackling speaker overhead and reverberate round the tinny walls. a few people wince or cover their ears. samo' shit, i think. is the wank PA, through which no important information can be made out, part of the eternal traditions of british rail or is it there as the station-master's joke? as a form of revenge for having turned out such a wad of gob? is that the game? that despite the advancements in decades worth of audio-technology, our railway announcements still sound like a geordie shouting down a tin-can-telephone? i try to take my ears off it by trying the eyes and looking around, but it's not much good either. i count 50 adverts before the sockets start to ache like i've got the pain of 1000 wombs stuck between my temples. this is 'Mingham. Moor Street Station, precisely, n it looks like it just had some more money thrown at it. there's a fair bit of chrome around to prove it, plus a set of turnstiles and a new CCTV system installed. no grafitti, no busking, no hustle, no life, not even bins. NO LOITERING hangs a large sign on the waiting room wall, in bold, ironic font. what next? a clock that's stuck at midnight? no - but the automatic doors do tell you - with a sure and propper accent - when they're opening and closing. why? coz this is marketting upon us again; trying to lure us with cheap electronic tricks into believing that the hocus pocus of capitalism is leading the world into the modern and cutting edge and that these are things worth caring about, whereas actually people just want the train to run on time and are quite happy when they have enough leg room. i dont need doors that tell me what theyre doing. i know what theyre doing. physics man, physics! they're opening coz i said "open sessame", ennit? this has nothing to do with physics!

blocked drains

(must keep writing, even if it's shit...)

i had woken in the hungover darkness, tongue as dry as a nun's cunt, grunting for hydration like a confused tramp, till i made it to that tapped fountain of gorgeous wetness, and downed myself 3 consecutive pints of diluted syrup, the sloshing sea sickness of which caused me to slop up effortless litres of undigested flotsam and chunky orange junk. 7 times my stomach summoned a lazy lurch, like the stuff was just falling out of me into the sink. i think to myself... how does it all fit in there, seriously? the more came out, the longer it took to drain away and i started to get worried, poking chunks down the tiny slits of the plughole with a chopstick as the pipe gargled n choked like it, itself, were about to chuck up. i didn't blame it, having to swallow someone else's vom. eventually the plughole just wasn't gonna take any more and packed in. with the basin still half full, i started the slow and fetid task of fishing up the scum with a cup. yay. in my body's attempt to free its own gutteral pipework from clogged chips n battered grease, another network of waste was getting plugged with puke like some universal law of conservation. like some kind of sewage karma. unsurprisingly, the next day dad had noticed and begun his usual ritual of sighing and dissaproving huff. however, after a few hours of sweating and heaving with some drain rods and a closet auger, the passage was rid of my internal refuse and the plughole was gulping healthily once more. i thought dad would be even more of a crotchet than usual after what would probably turn out to be his annual heave, but to the contrary, i've never seen him so happy and full of himself: achiever of basic DIY - glowing like he's in an advert for colonic irrigation. PROPS ALL ROUND. so the moral of the tale, if there is to be one: if you glut, you will clog. and if you clog, you will pop.

a reason to get out of bed in the morning

haven't written in weeks.
what's the point of anything?

a forgotten alarm,
is a reason to get up in the morning.

an addiction to coffee,
is a reason to get up in the morning.

a struggling bladder,
holding in a yellow slug of the hydrologic cycle until it's painful,
is a reason to get up in the morning.

today i didn’t get up in the morning at all,
i got up in the evening,
but only coz my bladder hurt.

and as i looked into face of armitage shanks,
i realised that a puddle of piss is metabolic alchemy,
churning all that poison into golden showers.

and later,
after an existential breakfast of coffee and cigarettes,
i realised further,

that hunger is a motivation,
that confusion is an inspiration,
and that suffering is our fuel.

setting an alarm gives us a reason to get up in the morning. that's why we do it. to draw a line and say, "this is the start", in case one day we woke up disorientated and realised we had nothing to live for, and just stayed in bed until something happened to US, rather than US seeking the happening something that might solve all our problems. it's a trick to keep the machine going. you hear the ALARM and you are given a problem that needs solving. boom, you're already in the trap. you get out of bed to stop the alarm and shit it's cold: you're roped into an action of getting dressed that will remedy the cold you got lured into, by which point you probably ought to go for a piss coz, gee, you bustin to go, so on the way to the bathroom you flip the switch on the kettle, hoping there's enough water inside, for this could mean the difference between a good day or a bad day, and before you know it, there's enough little problems in the world to give you and your life some purpose, like, oh, the sugar pot needs refilling or i should get on some washing up coz there's no clean mugs, or maybe i need to go to the shops and buy myself a new kettle - this one keeps blowing the fuse-box and yodels when it boils.