Here We Go

Saturday 15th October 2016

I’ve returned home with a book. Lolita. The copy I lent to Airida; she never even opened it.

So, to a rational mix of my relief and sentimentality, my mind is finished concerning her. As much as I like the shop, I feel I wont, if ever, very rarely, go in there again; there are plenty of other eastern-european shops in my town I can take my custom to.

I’m, as I write this, coming down from a session of mdma. Strangely this time I am more discontent in knowing my joy has ended. Usually, I get back home rather content, tired, mellow…

During my time out I bumped into whom I have finished with making an effort for: yes, you might have guessed, Levi. I could tell she felt awkward because of our last conversation, which finished a bit brashly. But notwithstanding, as her being was in my vision I acknowledged that she is whom my album is really about, she is the spine of that creation; the other songs not concerning her are merely arms and legs, and I, essentially the narrator of the album, make up the skull to this skeleton of a finished epoch in my life.

That is all. 22:01.

17th October 2016.

I am soon to be handing my C.V in a place that overcharges for books, but, notwithstanding, it is a book shop! It’s doubtless a position I want more than any other and I will put 100% effort in to attain the position. I finished my short story which I am proud of.

Sat 11th Feb 2017 -

I chilled with her - her and her boyfriend. It was nice. In conversation he said: “I break everything.”

“And one day her heart,” a djin in me muttered.

I wired Tone £350 pounds. Monday, he shall buy an I-mac, and I will be in the Studio.

So… Levi: he’s a sound guy. He recommended me a philosopher to read, a psychedelic advocate - profound.

Her hair is blonde - that’s how I want mine. It’s been so long; where’ve you been?

Do you know, right now, I want to scream.

You’re touching his hand, while you’re next to me.

But I am composed: I can even smile. I loved you more than anything, and more than anyone I ever will. It’s still so clear why I did; it’s so clear why it was you.

Levi, my dear, my precious young dear, back then I loved you; and it’s now, — not only — but now, as you caress your lover in my house, when I can really see why.

Goodbye. Goodbye. I can smile now, goodbye.

But upon your face

Lies every reason

I did fall for your grace.

‘Was nice seeing you today: you take care.’

Fri 24th Feb 2017 -

She mentioned the word nostalgia as if she had just learnt it. Before long her boyfriend was with us. He became drunk, and uttered how much he loves her.

Thur 15th March 2017

I have realised through my experiences with the mushroom that a ‘bad’ trip is the result of trying to bring with you an array of cultural paraphernalia into the psychedelic experience, it’s the result of walking in tight denim around an urban area and looking for a snack to buy, it's the result of not going the full way, of trying to blend aspects of the pre-cultural, primal experience with an acculturated you; so, if, as you waltz around you seek to tame the work of the mushroom, there will be conflict. It’s like hopping on a train but trying to remain at the station; you must invest and commit wholly, with courage and strength, not clinging on to your cherished concepts and ideologies. Don’t take the mushrooms and go about your day, take them with the expectation of separating yourself from your world and the corresponding version of yourself with which you are so familiar, expand.

Saturday 18th March 2017

Just drank an apple and mango juice carton - from concentrate. I miss the rain. I don’t spend any time with it anymore. I won fifty pounds today on a gambling machine and lost it all by five. pm. I am stoned. I haven’t made a beat worth jack in a long long time. I am seeking a job. I am seeking drugs, I am seeking ecstasy.

After my last psychedelic experience I am now looking for something completely novel in my next one.

I am lonely. I want a hand to hold. I’m cold.

Mulberry tea at half-past eight. My shirt is white and thin. The raspy roars of tyre friction cry out not so far away. All I can frightfully guess is that what is next is what has passed, unless I do something - or discover something.

Monday 20th March 17 -

Will call Tone today. Might get drunk with Luke also. Have read some Proust, to my own enrichment. Am intending to apply for a couple of jobs also. It is the morning.

Sunday 9th April 2017 -

Not long before I am twenty. I am scared. I can hear the distant growls of tyre friction but the night is quiet. My attraction to Vesta I must cease to nourish and furthermore destroy; it is too dangerous, too compelling, too constraining. It doesn’t matter what she is, it matters what she is my head, and I can no longer furnish my mind with a desirable impression of her person - but such a task is monstrously hard. How is one to resist and ignore such forces the nature of which is incalculably powerful? That’s what is difficult — following a path when the other one is adorned with sweet smelling flowers and balmy air. The other sits merely dull, grey, banal, and logical. I want to take the pretty path even if I do get pricked by the thorns of the soft flowers, even if they do infect me with a poison, a paralysing one…

Wednesday 12th April -

I had completed the task of forgetting Vesta, of neglecting the nourishment of the thought of her. I blocked her on social media and out of the blue I received a message from her sister.

“Hi. Can I ask you something? Do you really like my sister Vesta?”

What I said was irrelevant. My heart felt as though it might pump out of my chest. Now, Vesta was, and still is, in my mind once more! F***!

It seems to me that if I wish to be on a girl’s mind I must get their attention, express interest in them, and never talk to them again.

Sun 16th April - My birthday

And for a moment I imagined myself somewhere different, somewhere better, when in reality I was gazing at my disgusting pile of dirty clothes and…

“Dear Levi—dearest and most pulchritudinous Levi, of course…” — The first line to a letter I wrote her…

She has it, amongst other things I gave her. I want to see her more though.

So, now, I ramble. I hardly know what to say but I feel like I should say something. I love your teeth, I love your hair: I love you.

I would happily die if it meant I could kiss you once. Why is it that the prettiest thing in the world waddles around right in my hometown? Why is she so near? Why do I know you? You didn’t remain an anonymous nymph?Puncturing hearts with your countenance, you became a girl I know, a girl I would drown for, a girl I’m not supposed to be with.

And my memory I know is fragmentary, but these fragments right now are so clear. It is you through and through, it is you only, entirely…

When I can exhibit with clarity a picture of you, I soar through a blissful oblivion; but I land on the rocks when I sense I’ve been for so long without the taste of your presence.

The memories aren’t dead

If their spark

Is less

Than a mile away from me now.

Light up their colour,

Pull back her grin;

This place,

This place is familiar.

If I am Dante,

You are my Beatrice;

Kafka, Felice;

Humbert, Lolita;

If only my memories of you

Smelt the way you do;

If only they could

Lull me to sleep.

If only they giggled

The way you do,

If only

They helped me to breathe.

Letter to the Universe.

I get it - I think.

You don’t operate superficially. You don’t deal with human trivia. You deal with fundamentals. Human nonsense is for humans, and I shall deal with such regardless of you. You supersede money, desire, lust, even basic emotion; you are incomprehensible, inexpressible. unsayable, unknowable, yet I know you exist. Your function I could never fathom, and so my trivial gains and trivial losses I can only assign to Luck or whatever I choose really, — or my own actions — and I could never calculate the processes with which you deal.

21st May 2017 - The End of the Muddy Days.

I shall do mdma a maximum of three more times before I call it quits for at least a year. I’m pushing the 50 times point. I did it yesterday and today nearly forgot I even did so.

Time is ticking… I don’t know whether I think of Levi because I love her or because I want to believe I love her.

23rd May 2017

I was assured that I shall never be a poor man so long as I have the sight of the setting sun on a summer evening. Presently, after spooning a rhubarb yogurt eagerly into my mouth, I gaze at the silhouette of a cedar—the cedar—planted in front of the summer sky: smears of baby-violet, peach and baby-blue, morph nearly indiscernibly together, ultra-soft, darkening, glowing, and uncannily creamy. The caterwauls of car engines and the whistling of tyre friction battle the meek conversation of birds projecting their songs of enthusiasm before the light of the sun is no more. I need to wash my hands…

My face and fingers clean and a blue cardigan hanging from my shoulders and the sky’s illumination has decreased. It is summer.

I have to grip the gun and shoot. I will. By June 5th I must have or definitely be close to having a job. In the next three days I shall ask Tone for my money back. The birds are still singing.

My brother stopped by to collect Crime and Punishment to take on his trip to Poland. It is very nostalgic when he comes by. He peers at my things he was once so used to, the things he once saw every day. That time was classic—of spending the day alone until he came home: we would play rap songs and smoke weed, make beats, spit bars, make dinner, watch something maybe. I miss those days. They were oh so simple. As long as you had weed and a bit of brotherly company things were cool.

It sometimes appears as though Life only becomes more complex in accordance with ones knowledge. One grows older, things get harder… Doubtless I am deeply lonely, doubtless I need a soul mate, doubtless I need to act. I will.

You got eyes like bananas.

And a bag of bad karma.

4th June -

No job. Time goes insanely quick: I have wasted enough. Girls I can no longer invest in the potentiality of knowing. Despite the increase in the subtle agony it brings, the reduction of things to clothe the naked truth I warmly welcome. It would seem I need to feel the coldest depths before I can rise to the balmy heights I aspire to reach. Another day that passes is another day wasted. So what is it that prevents action? Habit? Weakness? Both?

Here is the thing - Relax more, work harder! That is my mantra.

5th of June - [The next day]

So… What am I going to do? Well, right now, have a poop. Then shower. Then dress. Then find food. Then think - real hard and slow.

6th June -

I love INXS. Will call Tone and fill him in on scheme.

I saw a man

with no legs and no fingers on one hand

with a big wide grin;

so why don’t I shut the fuck up?

I’m so bad.

Music is the only thing that resonates with my heart.

It seems as though when I realised I was a musician I started to musically fail. I guess if we look at this week you can say I’m a mash-head... You may see something different, something hopeful, you might picture someone who might fill you with a little warm fuzz. I could make you laugh.

And so I will harass the Kurds for a job in their new shop, and plough on. I am Oscy. I am 14.0.

Part two - DECEMBER 2021

I’m obligated to start by explaining to you my reaction to reading that archive of mine: it is now December in 2021…

A piece I actually wrote recently about authenticity and what it means to be self-authentic comes to mind strikingly! I read that archive, even winced, felt my heart stumble, but I read on and recalled, and chiefly I can say I recognise an unflagging degree of commitment to self-authenticity — or at least the search for the self!

Listen to me in the writing: I’m lovelorn, trying, I’m pretty pathetic and I’m relishing my pity. I swallow the chance to exhibit how much my heart hurt when I saw that girl with her boyfriend, in fact, the entire re-kindling of that girl in my mind was in fact provocative. I can tell you quite truthfully that she’s been on the threshold of my consciousness for sound three or four days, and now, after reading that extract at this particular time years later she has passed the gate. Dun - Dun - Dun!

I’m 24 now, engaged to a Belorussian Demi-god — oh! You won’t f******* believe this, but I wouldn’t either, really: I got a job, and have had it since June. Now, I’m a man who walks home in the cold, sooty after lugging sheets of steel in a retro skip production factory, and I walk home to my красивая жена, to my beautiful wife… Well, will be. Or will she? Dun - Dun - Dun.

What else do you want to know? Rather, what else do I want to tell you?

Oh, well in that archive there’s a fair few years of documentation missing. I can inform you a little.

I got a record deal Summer 2018. The Original Metalhead, Goldie, signed me as a part of what would be his new range of various music, other than drum and bass, released on a fresh record label. I got 5 grand for the deal.

Just before Covid hit. I went to Thailand, February 2019. Met the Belorussian, who was married at the time, in Phuket, coincidentally also the home-place of Goldie.

Then… Jeez, well, there’s just so much to tell that 4000 words is a limit, a considerable one.

Well, I’m not obligated to tell you everything.

So, there were some complications with my label. I finished the album in 2018: its still set to be released Spring 2022. Goes without saying: I’ve been waiting.

My whole damn life has had that purgatorial sense to it, like I’m on the precipice of something grand and on it for a while, forever it seems! I shan’t grumble so much, I’m in love, I’m employed, I can read, eat, write, make-love, (she’s here on a visa which runs out in January) I can walk, I’m healthy, I’m learning, I’m open, I think; I’m me. Even if it does seem monotonous, somewhere within me I am assured of my state at this time in Life, namely because I trust it. That’s something my fiancé turned me on to: the idea of trusting life, not in a passive way, but it a broad way, a way that captures the correct or necessary dynamic of tensions so you’re paying much attention, accruing much knowledge, but sitting in the vessel, and I’m awaiting the big burst of flames that look like a peacocks feathers! That sense of being sealed has taunted and haunted me my whole life: it seems natural that it would account for my very genuine and deep disinclination towards authority; I would even go so far to say that I’m even scared of bureaucracy. Sirens make my heart palpitate, the approach of a police car shakes me without fail no matter the circumstance, and I consider one of the greatest evils within this world to be to deprive one of their essential freedom.

Alas! 2021 is here, everything is everywhere; your boobs and willies on forums and the overbearing hyper-rationality of modernity. I, as a matter of fact, opposed to the western world, believe I need to work on my inferior function of typically masculine traits; my rationality, my self-discipline (hence sticking with the f****** job); I have a definite effeminacy to my character and I’m high in agreeableness — and neuroticism. This western world, amongts others, in thier skewing attempts still need to revivify the femenine spirit in a more synergistic way. I'll say no more; bloody, Michael Jackson said it and the whole world sang it! Start with the man in the mirror.

So, you want authenticity, when my authentic self shines? Here I am. Let it be here with a Nietzschean adamancy, Proustian pomposity, Dostoyevskian humility, Jungian ambiguity… I’m just trying to grow, probably like you. Love is my gig, Love and art. The rest lays on a lower echelon, really.

Now, look: rule 101: you’re an idiot, and that goes for me too - of course! But it’s rule number one. The rest, I’m not so sure about, howbeit, rule number one implies you don’t have to be an idiot, there are alternatives, or transitions and tribulations, shall we say. My point is I’ve spent countless hours in solitude in a handful of different states of consciousness, dark and light, and by no means am I a wise saint, yet there’s a fair bit of lead in this neurotic. Truthfully, I will continue as I am, as I have been, authentically.

I can’t inform you of how this piece of writing came to be, however that could just be the reason why it is authentic.

This ain’t over.

You’ll hear from me, darlings.