The trials and tribulations of a pretentious, self-obsessed, lust-stricken twentysomething, as glimpsed through the throb of pop culture.
Somewheres on the other side of 5 a.m. I'm sat afore the monitor with the dawn all creeping cross the sleepers lain out expectant on the windowsill, with the eyes all twenty-seven shades o' knackered, with the brains screeching demented twixt my drum-holes, with Morrissey greeting Saturday Morn by way of a line or two about "London, giddy London."
"Is it home of the free," he asks, "Or what?"
The digit hovering, trembling 'bove the ol' left-click, the cursor skippin manic round the "Send."
Catching a glimpse of a rogue reflection in the ashtray. "Look at you," I'm sayin’, "What a deplorable bucket o' bastard you are."
Still. Not at all unattractive in the right light and with the right level o' squint in the left-hand peeper.
Two o' yon sleepers on the tongue and kicked on down the gullet by way of a cheeky mouthful o' caffeinated brew, Morrissey all a sudden out his mind with concern regarding a coastal town that they forgot to bomb and the wet sand clinging to his sandals, and the screen… The screen still dashed with the gravel o' mine mind-wax.
What it says up there in half-mad digital shorthand, what it announces for the eyes all set to gaze, is that I love you. What I'm saying is I love you, and you should know this.
When she wakes up, y'unnerstann, when she wanders towards the PC stack all gruntin' and coughin' from the corner of the room, when she gets to browsing through the email with the cigarette smoke all stringing purple symphonies roundabout, when she's sippin from the first coffee of the day and clicking through the play lists in pursuit o' a riff might shatter the traces o' dream-fugg still shimmering back the eyes, when she comes across this lust-crazed declaration all hidden away midst forty-nine lines of gabbled neurotic effrontery, what she'll smile and say is "He loves me."
What she'll think and grin regarding is "So what the fuck else is new, hear me now?"
Morrissey, he's busy accosting his lover for flicking through private journals in pursuit of a line or two red-raw with intimate lovelorn scribbling.
Nowadays the fucker would just go snooping through the MySpace.
I love you, it says. I add a bit.
Now what it says is I love you and also, I'm set for to move to London.
I got a burning in the belly reeks o' a craving for to be heard and read, I say. I point out that the longer I sit here in this back room with the fag in the maw and the fags in the brains, with the fringe getting blacker and the eyes getting redder, with the stacks o' Chapter One Paragraph One getting closer to the roof-slates with each tick o' the time-tock, the longer this goes on, I say, the closer the factory gets.
Fore a fella knows what's happened he's stood in yonder production line checking pharmaceutical paraphernalia for anything out of the ordinary, yacking all about how he's gonna get a novel out one day, soon as my agent gets back to me. Soon as the publisher's ready. Soon as this leg gets fixed. Soon as the doctors let me go. Soon as I get this black from out my lung.
Article comments
1 - Richard Marcus
Another masterful gem written from your personal heart of darkness my friend. London won't know what hit it, and you might not know what London is going to hit you with, but it will be far better for you than the factory life.
It's all what you make of it anyway, least that's what they tell me on my good days, on the bad days it doesn't matter anyway just as long as you make it.
Fare Well in that dirty old town.
cheers
2 - Aaron, Duke De Mondo
Thank you Richard. And you're right, it's all in what you make of it. It's a fairly troubling thought, that it might reveal itself to be some kind o' arachnid monstrosity snarlin at my cheek-bones, but worse than that notion is the notion of never doin nothin cause you're somewhat scared regarding the whole What's Out There thing.
certainly scribbling this screed has proved all sortsa cathartic with regards clearing the mind-funk.
thank you again, sir, very much appreciated, those words.
3 - DJRadiohead
Just saw this up here a second ago... looking forward to giving it a proper reading, Duke.
Btw... it was great having you back on the BCRadio thing.
4 - Sinéad
our aaron, that made me weep a little
5 - Greg Smyth
How could it have ended any different? Obviously disappointing personally but, as part of The Duke's Great Ongoing Masterwork, a necessary plot point.
Top drawer as usual, Good Sir.
6 - Aaron Fleming
Fucking great! But oh so sad and meditative at the same time. Wonderful poetic genius!
And I feel your fear, but agree that the fear of doing nothing is that bit stronger. One fear shoving another fear along...that might make a good stop-motion animation.
7 - Mark Saleski
i might be getting my history all fouled up & fuzzy...but that's pretty close to the best goddamned thing you've ever written here.
8 - Fearghus
Man, that's fucking amazing. Traumatic but poetry without a doubt. You're a gifted fella. Good luck..
9 - Aaron, Duke De Mondo
Dear lord, folks, thank you. i expected a greetin of maybe "oh, AGAIN with the moaning". but no, lovely words awaiting a fella.
DJ - i hope you dig it sir, and t'was a pleasure to be back on BC, although i apologise no end for what is, really, a terribly shoddy segment. i was rusty, as you're well aware.
sinead - thank you m'dear. and it had the same effect on me. imagine that.
(unreleated side-note regarding the mystery recipient o' the email described up yonder, whose permission wasn't asked, and a formal thank you for not tearin the limbs off my torso wi rage)
Greg - thank you sir. heh, a neccesary plot point. it is. still, i coulda worked just as well with a different conclusion. ah well.
Sir Fleming - you're input on these matters is highly regarded, seeing as how involved in them you are (should point out the email wasn't an email to Sir Fleming). and that animation aside had me roarin to the heavens wi giddy throat-spasms.
Sir Saleski - thank you, i can't offer any opinion on your musing, but i'm very glad you saw fit to muse in such a manner.
and Fearghus - i'll take that luck, good sir, and run with it. Thank you for stoppin by!
10 - DJRadiohead
Duke! This is... well fuck, good man. This is fucking great. All of it. Every last word of it. Now I am feeling like I should switch from the Petty on my iPod to "London Calling." Is that weird? Yeah. I thought so, too. Enough of me. Seriously, Duke. This was a great one. I cannot wait for the next installment in written or audio form.
11 - Scott Butki
Another excellent, fascinating mind-blowing piece, Dukester. So what's the time frame on your move?
12 - Duke De Mondo
DJ, i dunno how i missed your comment, but thank you! and the new instalment is with the BC cleaners, as they say.
Scott - I DO know how i missed yours, and it relates to an email dysfunction. What i can tell you is that since this number was etched, the move has been put back to September of 2007 for reasons of finance and what have you. Also, it gives me time to get the ol' novel scribbled. i'm feelin very good about that, actually, on account of bein in the midst of chapter 6, and therefore unmistakably well past chapter one paragraph one. terror'll do that to you. and thank you for the kind words, apologies again that it took so long for me to respond.