Dry Blackthorn day

I wake up from intensely disturbing nightmares about serial killers
hunting down me and my friends. Horrible twisted psychotic people who
sneak into your house and wait for you and murder you horribly. I wake
up in cold sweat and trembling fear and loathing. Its late in the day,
I get up cause somebody is knocking on the door. I go to answer it,
then pause, I start having a panic attack, shit. I sit down in silence
feeling edgy. I sit there until the knocking goes away, feeling guilty
but not wanting to answer the door, paranoid as fuck. When the knocking
on the door stops, I wait a while then I flick on the kettle and make
myself a cuppa. I look at the time and it is 2p.m. Unemployment vibes
echo around my persona. My mind feels like it has been sucked into a
vacuum then spat out empty and devoid of life. My brain feels like a
swiss cheese, full of holes. Oh God I feel rough today. Come on kid
pull yourself together I say, you have to go meet your friend down town
in a bit. Gonna go and listen to Terry Waite do a talk at Waterstones.
Come on pull yourself together.

I check my e-mail, then walk the dog. I feel so fucking depressed, like
there is nothing to live for. There is absolutely no motivation in me
for anything today. I feel weak and can hardly walk, fatigue and
loathing are my footsteps, and my two dreary companions. I keep telling
myself I've got to be positive, think positive, smile get myself
together. But I'am losing it man, three days without a drink. (I'am
doing well though). Alcohol is making me false. Waking up feeling like
I can't get through the day without a drink, shaking an all that. I
hate it, I can live without it, its just a prop, I don't need it. Its a
trap I've fallen into but I'am gonna dig myself out of it. I have to, I
can't bear it anymore, and oh you demon of tobacco, leave me be too.
Your craving stench nausea fills my veins right now, but I will not
concede. I kick the leaves, those golden October leaves, it feels so
satisfying doing this. A great relief to my inner frustration. Ben runs
and leaps about and sniffs around, and lifts his leg and pisses on
them, enjoying the October leaves too.

I get home and sit down, I am absolutely skint. Skintitus, its a
disease that I always seem to catch. Poverty seems to follow me around
like a shadow. Been waiting for my giro to turn up for eight days now,
the dole people are taking ages to process my claim. I phone them up to
find out whats going on. They tell me their waiting for my previous
employer to return some forms. I phone up my previous employer he tells
me he hasn't recieved any forms. He says he will ring the dole people
up for me though and sort it out, I thank him.

Mark calls to say he'll meet me at 5.30pm. I tell him I'am skint and
can't afford to go out tonight. He says its ok, I can owe him, he will
pay. I feel a bit humbled and say thanks.

Having no money makes you feel low and shit, it really does your pride
in. Damn I hate money, but ya just got to accept it kid. Its the way of
the world. Keep going, be positive, but I protest! Why is the way of
the world thus so?

I meet Mark at the bus stop, having downed some paracetamol to curb
this nauseating headache, and feverish shaking of unwellness. God I
feel bleak. The streets look grey and bleak and I want to lie down
somewhere quiet and never wake up again. Skint, ill and bleak, so rest
in peace. R.I.P

We get on the bus, talk a little, but I'am not really there, my head is
trashed. The bus journey is long and I feel lethargic, and heavy weary
sadness, and I sit and gaze nonchalantly at the world outside my
window. Nodding at the busy busy city streets of traffic and rush hour
people. I dream of forests and lakes and highland hills. That's where
my heart is. I wish I could be sat on top of a mountain right now,
gazing down into a beautiful loch of sweet breezes and buddha peace.
Where the air is fresh and the world is open and free.

We finally get to the city centre and make our way to Waterstones. But
the bouncer on the door is being arsy and won't let us in. We don't
have tickets. But there are plenty of seats to spare, we argue this
point. He's adamant that we're not getting in. We explain that we were
here last night, and even though we didn't have tickets, the other guy
let us in without any problem. He starts getting angry and a little
aggressive so we back off and sit on a bench opposite him. There is
this guy sat next to us. He has about seven bags of shopping. " You two
autograph collectors too?" he says.

"Nah we just want to listen to Terry Waite speak."

"Oh I have hundreds of autographs you know."
He pulls out this little book and shows us the autographs hes collected
over the years. "That ones Betty Boothroyd... and that ones Micheal
Barrymore.. and that ones Paul Daniels.."

"Nice one."

"Have you ever met anyone famous?"

"Nah..."

Then Terry Waite walks past us. I don't realise who it is at first. I
just think he looks familiar, then I click.

Mark goes," Shall we go up to Terry and pretend we're like old pals or
something then maybe the bouncer will let us in."

"Yeah." I laugh.

The little autograph guy rushes out of his seat next to us and waves
his autograph book in front of Terry's face. "Can I have your autograph
please?" he asks.

Me and Mark laugh a little. Terry is very calm and mellow.
" Hello there, of course you can." He says warmly. He writes out the
autograph for him. Then the little autograph guy pulls out a camera. He
gets a woman whose walking past, to take a photo of him and Terry
together. The little autograph guy puts his arm round Terry Waite as
this woman takes several photos of them together. We conclude that
Terry Waite is a diamond.

Me and Mark smile. I guess it was worth getting out of the house just
to see this.

The little autograph man runs back to us glowing proudly. Then he
shows us Terrys autograph. "Are you two gonna get his autograph as
well?" he says.

"Nah.. jus wanted to listen to what he had to say."

"OH well good luck," he says, then picks up his many bags of shopping
and goes away down the high street.

Me and Mark watch Terry enter the building. We go to approach the
bouncer again but he gives us snarly gaurd dog vibes and we back off.
We walk off feeling pretty pissed off. Miserable fucking bouncer, there
was plenty of spare seats, he could have let us in.

"Shall we go to the pub?"

"Ok"

A strange looking guy approaches us.

" You wanna getysida frtty tobbacco?" he asks

"What?"

"You wangto ituy smokey yes?"

"Don't smoke no more.. I just quit." I say(not sure what this man is
going on about. I think hes either asking us if we have any tobbaco or
hes trieing to sell us some.)

"Ah smokey kindly drinkhome i have evrything you need yes.. alcohol...
French playing cards.. tobbaco.. heroine... yes yes."

" Er no thanks, we're totally skint."

He pulls out some tobbaco. I shake my head, " No money," I say,
pulling out my empty pockets. He gets the message, then leaves us to
harrass someone else.

We walk around trieing to find a pub, but none of them will let us in,
cause they have a dress code.. and our attire is not suitable. Oh man
this is shit... we head off to the bus stop, heads hung low, our bus
will be here in about forty five minutes. Then it starts to rain,
bleeding pissing it down and I feel cold, wet and miserable. Ah ye
bleak city of money dreams and poverty scenes! Moloch! Ye snarling cold
beast of selfish madness, Moloch! We wander around for ages trieing to
kill time, waiting for the bus home. When it finally gets here we
hobble on, and we talk about how much of a waste of time going out was
tonight. Should have just stayed at home.

We finally get into town. We get off the bus say our farewells, and I
walk to my bus stop, Mark walks to his. Across the road from my bus
stop, some guy is starting on a bus driver. The bus driver is a big
bloke, and eyeballs the other guy right up close. He is a giant of a
man and towers over him. But this other guy is a bit of a nutter and
wants to have a go. The giant bus driver eventually walks calmly away
and doesn't do anything. Probably realising its best not to get into a
violent scene. He gets on his bus and closes the doors. The other guy
stands and shouts at him, cussing him. The bus pulls away, I stand
waiting quietly for my bus. Then the man looks right at me. Oh shit hes
walking across the road towards me. "Hey you.." he shouts at me... oh
fuck.

I look down at the pavement.

"You want some trouble?" he shouts.

"No thanks I'am just waiting for my bus," I say. " Don't want any
trouble."

He walks right up to me eyeballing me, he has some friends with him.
"You sure?"

I feel real un-comfortable with his very close proximity, I'am
claustrophobic, can't stand enclosed spaces. I hate it when people get
right up close to me like that. It freaks me out, makes me paranoid and
fills me with nausea.

"I don't want any trouble, " I say, passively looking into his
eyes.

The man is unconvinced. He stands back from me to my relief. Then
paces and eyes me all aggresive like. I feel the familiar shaky fight
or flight syndrome in my body. I take my hands out of my pockets. He
sees this as a sign of aggression.

"What you taking your hands out of your pockets for?"

"Hey listen mate I don't want any trouble, look I'am not into fighting,
I just want to catch my bus and go home. I don't have any quarrel with
you."

"Give me a smoke." he says

"I don't smoke.."

"Give me some money."

" I'am skint, I haven't got any money."

"Give me some money or I'am gonna smash your face in." he says

"Listen I haven't got any money. I don't want any trouble. Just want to
catch my bus and go home."

He paces me looking angry and all psyched up. There doesn't seem to be
any reasoning with this guy, he wants trouble, and is determined to get
it.

Then in a split second WHAM! I feel something hit my lower left jaw. I
feel my teeth cut into my lower lip. My head begins to spin. I see
white stars and I feel dizzy, I am shaking with adrenaline and
shock.

It suddenly dawns on me I've been hit&;#8230; shit.&;#8230; I
freeze in panic. I don't know what to do. He has some mates with him, I
don't want to cause a scene. It could get very nasty. I try to keep my
cool. I'am staggering about a little uneasily. That was some punch he
delivered and it was very fast. I didn't see it coming at all. I have
to hand it to the guy, it was a good punch. My head is spinning to
fuck, but somehow I keep on my feet. My mind is blank, I don't know
what to do. Can you believe it, I don't know what to fucking do. You've
been hit kid what do you do? Two years of martial arts training and
someone starts on me, and I freeze in panic and I can't respond. I
brace myself for another punch, but nothing happens. He just stands and
stares at me puzzled. I think he was expecting me to hit him back or at
least do something other than just stand there all passive and
unresponsive. He looks as if hes gonna give me another blow, but his
mates step in and stop him this time, and tell him thats enough. They
come up to me and say that their really sorry.

He isn't sorry though and is keen to give me some more. Like a raging
lunatic he is, full of anger and hatred, cussing me and wanting to hit
me again.

"Leave him be," one of them shouts at him. All his mates are rushing to
my defence now. "He don't want no trouble hes just waiting for his bus.
He's a good kid leave him be." they say.

They all come up to me and are really apologetic for their friends
behaviour. They shake my hand in respect, and drag their hostile mate
away. Then the police come from round the corner and have words with
them all. Must have caught them on CCTV. I just stare out at it all
half in a daze, wondering whats going on. My bus arrives, I get on
feeling shocked and not really there, a bit delirious.

I begin to wonder if martial arts is a waste of time. I'am still as
weak and passive as I was two years ago, I just aint a fighter. I
haven't got it in me. I can't stand violence... but then maybe I did
the right thing. Perhaps if I had fought back then things would have
escalated and got worse. His mates might have joined in, and the police
would have turned up, and it could have been a very nasty unpleasant
scene. Perhaps taking that punch was all I could do. Perhaps I did act
in the right way. The punch was very fast, I doubt if I could have
blocked something so quick anyway. He had obviously trained himself to
punch well. It was a bloody good punch I have to give him that, in a
weird respectful way.

Nevertheless, I realise now that there is something in my life I need
to work on. I can't be so complacent anymore. It's a wake up call. Next
time the attacker might have a knife. I can't just stand there and let
someone stab me, or stab my friends. Whether I like it or not, there
are some nutters out there who don't care. They can't be reasoned with.
Their un-reasonable neanderthals who just lust for violence. I vow to
work harder at martial arts and build myself up. I guess life is about
fighting, being a fighter, a mental fighter as well as a physical
fighter. A fighter on all levels of existence. I hate it but thats the
way it is, just got to be strong and accept it. The raw reality is
survival, I have no choice but to be a warrior.

My lip has swollen right up. I sit at home with a bag of frozen peas on
it. Writing this out to try and make sense of what has happened,
writing this out with aching jaw and throbbing headache. I neck some
more paracetamol. God I wish I had stayed in bed now. What a fucking
shite day.

Maybe it was Gods answer to my lack of motivation. My complete lack of
anything resembling interest in life today. Suddenly I have something
to be motivated about. A nice grim reminder of reality in yer face.
Cheers God&;#8230;nice one. Thou truly does work in mysterious ways.
Oh the sleeping warrior has awakened within me now, I'am sick of being
pushed around. Time to draw my sword and be respected. I lick my
bleeding lip, taste the saltiness of it. Fuck it, I hope that guy hurt
his hand.