Isolation

Someone take these dreams away – that point me to another day
A duel of personalities – that stretch all true realities

‘Life’s like the map of the Tube, that’s what I think.’
I realise he is looking at me, looking for some response.
‘Hmm, pardon? I must have been distracted,’ I say.
I had been, the songs were playing in my head and I was feeling the pain, don’t we all, of an ineffectual conversation. I am in my favourite café; it has always reminded me of the Edward Hopper diner in his painting Nighthawks. I’d tell people if they’d ask what I thought; they never do. I come here most days and strike up conversations and watch life go by at the busy crossroads outside. It keeps me from myself. Today it is raining hard, can’t see much through the condensation on the inside and the rain rippling down the glass.
The place is busy and I am squashed between the talker and a Hopper girl, all red hair and red dress. He smelt of damp and mould. I’m looking at him, his words are not registering, and the bullet wound red emptiness of his mouth is fascinatingly ugly. I concentrate.
‘You know,’ he paused to gulp his tea and continued, lips glistening, eyes shining with enthusiasm, ‘we all know where we start, and we all know we’ll reach the end of the line somewhere.’
With palms open and upward, eyebrows arched, his eyes flicked from me to the girl to see if we grasped the full portent of his words.
‘But we don’t know how we’re going to get there, where we’ll go at each station, at each life choice.’
God I can’t believe I’m listening to this Forrest Gump, “life is like a box of chocolates,” treacly philosophical shit. I giggle. I can see the thoughts working their way across his face. He doesn’t see anything to laugh about. He looks at me in that way I’ve seen on so many other faces.
‘Excuse me,’ he says, all polite effrontery, climbs off his stool, picks up his bag and is gone. The girl shrugs.

Black bile vile thing, vicious faces laughing,
Through mucus slimy undertow clammy fingers grasping

………………………………………

Now that I’ve realised how it’s all gone wrong
Gotta find some therapy this treatment takes too long

‘Through that seductive TV eye we become anaesthetised. Life goes trickling by, soul destroyed, mortality spent,’ he says.
He waves his arms a good deal this one. I’m at my favourite place at the counter, away from the door and with the best view of the world outside. He is quite interesting and I’m trying to give him my full attention, but today I’m not doing well.
‘There is no one in your life,’ they call out, ‘no one enquires about you, You are a sink for their self-centred outpourings their musings and philosophies, their prejudices and their bile, no one asks about you, no one knows your name.’ It is noisy today, songs and voices, drums and energy.
‘What’s the effect going to be in years to come on a generation hunched in front of screens all day?’ He was jabbing at me with a pointed finger, his hair flopping around his face. I was appalled at his dirty nail. I keep mine immaculate. I think it’s important. I tried to concentrate on his words; I needed them, their sound.
‘And,’ he said, his face colouring, ‘what about the Internet, another eye in my house, another….’
The squeal of braking tyres and the crunch of metal on metal stopped all conversation. Fifty fearful expectant heads turned in the direction of the sound. A large truck had embedded itself in the back of a parked car.
‘Christ on a bike, my car’ he said. He lept off the stool and ran outside.
‘Christ in a truck,’ I thought. Saved from him, saved from myself. I ate his cake.

Hauled back drowning mind, murdered thoughts collapsing

……………………………………….

I’ve been waiting for a guide to come and take me by the hand
Could these sensations make me feel the pleasures of a normal man?

‘Aguirre, adrift, alone with a raft full of monkeys, isn’t that a fabulous ending?’ she says.
I look at her; I am captivated. Animated and excited, she is touchingly unsure of herself, but she knew Herzog, knew my favourite director. She smelt of heather, of honey, of cigarettes.
‘I think Kinski’s face, his eyes,’ she says brushing her red hair from her eyes, ‘showing all the horrors going on in Aguirre’s mind is supreme acting.’
I was so deep in conversation my coffee had gone cold, a very rare event. My movements were slow and deliberate, the Lithium does that, it had also given me the time to be witty and charming. The turmoil was stilled. They were all in rapture.
She looks at me for approval not in that obsequious self-centred way I see so often but, because, I realise, she likes me.
I laugh, we laugh together.
‘Would you like another cup of coffee, or a slice of cake? The lemon-drizzle is excellent,’ I say.
‘I’d like to but I can’t, not now, I’m late back to work already, how about taking me out somewhere later this week?’ She looks me straight in the eye, and with such a smile, all openness and promise.
‘Take a chance,’ one says.
‘Don’t be daft, you know where it will lead, look at yourself,’ another says
I feel the blood in my veins, feel it bubbling through my ears, distorting the sounds around me. I am faced with hope, and I stand at the edge ready to fall. I look at my fingers and watch the tiny involuntary twitches. With my head bowed I say, ‘I’m a little busy this week,’ my throat is dry and I can’t keep the tremor from my voice.
I hear her voice coming from a distance, ‘It’s o.k. Are you alright?’
I feel her hand on mine, I feel her warm life. Her face is two feet away yet I’m so disoriented it looks like sixty. How does this happen?
‘It’s just that I’m tied up at the moment, got a lot on…’ My voice trails away as I see that oh so familiar look on her face.
Her hand withdraws, her smile freezes, she retreats back from the front of her eyes.
‘Nice to have met you,’ she says.
‘Don’t walk away,’ I think. ‘I’m here tomorrow,’ I say to her departing back. I hang my head and see my reflection in the counter top. I see Klaus Kinski staring back at me. I hate him, I hate them all. I hate myself. I won’t be coming back.

Ambushed strangled will, abandoned joy convulsing,
Bullet wound emptiness, foetal, curled, defeated.

……………………………………………..

The shadow that stood by the side of the road
Always reminds me of you

‘This feeling it… it… it settled over me, I couldn’t shake it, I knew my own death was near,’ he said. ‘I wasn’t fearful just terribly sad at everything I’d leave behind,’ his voice petered out. I recognised the anxiety in his voice, the emptiness in his eyes, a man hollowed out by the world.
I nodded, ‘I know that feeling, something similar happ..’
He cut across me, ‘I wouldn’t see my kids grow, wouldn’t grow old with my wife, and I just lay there, completely resigned, more fatalistic than I realised.’
‘It’s a tough one, I have some thoughts that might help,’ I ventured.
He continued oblivious to my need for conversation, he continued to poison the well. Some people have a knack for leaving their burdens with others, some people just suck you dry. I switched off.
I took in the crowd today, squashed in, a real hubbub, activity all round, but all greys, browns and blues not a hint of red. No chance of redemption.
‘I’ll see you again,’ he said. I looked up, he was all smiles, he held out his hand, I shook it.
‘Thanks for listening,’ he said, and was gone.
I don’t think he even remembered me. Last week it had been a vision, an epiphany, Jesus, little children, and dead friends, all holding hands, smiling at him and beckoning him. ‘Where to, where to?’ he’d said, he cried into his coffee, wiped his nose on his sleeve, and said the same to me then, see you again and thanks.
Premonitions of death, confrontations with faith and visions of God, been there done that, didn’t want to hear about it again. A life that takes years to rebuild collapses in a single breath. With any luck fate will take care of that maudlin tosser. I pushed the coffee away. What’s the point of being here, struggling for air.

Systematically degraded, emotionally a scapegoat
I can’t see it getting better

……………………………………….

Lights are flashing, cars are crashing, getting frequent now

I am sitting at my favourite spot, lovely cup of coffee, two sugars as always. It is quiet today. I find myself thinking about her, about her smile, about the conversations we’d have. She reminds me of Bridget Fonda, now there’s an actress with a smile.
‘So, what do you think?’ he said
‘I’m sorry,’ I smiled, ‘I must have lost the thread, were we still talking about the Da Vinci Code?’ I tell myself, if I can cope with Dan Brown I can cope with most things. The sun is shining brightly, glaring off this guy’s bald head and all the chrome and glass, leaving me with painful blind spots like migraine scotomas.
‘Yes, I was. I was just remarking on the likelihood…’
I slide off my stool and head for the door. I keep seeing her departing back and hear my weak entreaty ‘I’m here tomorrow.’ I hear his angry voice at my back, ‘Hey I’m talking, I am talking!’ Outside the noise of the traffic is insistent.

Just for one moment thought I’d found my way
Destiny unfolded I watched it slip away

………………………………………………..
Source material
The following lines are taken from Joy Division songs. All other italicised material is the author’s own.
Someone take these dreams away – that point me to another day
A duel of personalities – that stretch all true realities Dead Souls 1979

Now that I’ve realised how it’s all gone wrong
Gotta find some therapy this treatment takes too long Twenty Four hours 1980

I’ve been waiting for a guide to come and take me by the hand
Could these sensations make me feel the pleasures of a normal man? Disorder 1979

The shadow that stood by the side of the road. Always reminds me of you Komakino 1980

Systematically degraded, emotionally a scapegoat
I can’t see it getting better The Sound of Music 1979

You slap your backs and pretend you knew
About all the things we were gonna do Novelty 1978

Lights are flashing, cars are crashing, getting frequent now Disorder 1979

Just for one moment thought I’d found my way
Destiny unfolded I watched it slip away Twenty Four hours 1980