Bleak Passage

by brightonsauce

[Lazy postage, language is all was and wis, includes early write too, too, two bad.]

I sat too long in front of this white screen of mine, was having Sunday depression kind of feeling, though it was a Monday depression actually, made things worse, really rolled into bed only at 1am, and lay there till half-past three am.

Consequentially I behaved hysterically and emotional at the farm when I parked up, boiler-suited by half past seven. You know, I talked to the guys:

‘I did not get enough sleep, I..’

‘Was drinking heavily again?’

‘No.’

‘You were on your drugs, eh?’

‘No, I was thinking about writing, the meaning of death, death writing, and life and pins and needles might mean erectile dysfunction in the future of years, what do you think about erectile dysfunction?

Nobody wanted to talk to me. Then, worst of all I mentioned ‘Whale Attack,’ a crap short story of mine, and my son, who is now also a new farmer, the irony, he said:

‘You copied ‘Whale Attack’ from Douglas Adams. Pretty much all of Hitchhiker’s Guide is about whales, fraud, ha ha,’ and he smiled.

I gave him death face you should not give a family member. Later Things improved when I ate a sandwich. It’s good to have my son back in my life, I made him after all, and he was, at eight years old, a perfect boy, pushed one hundred press-ups in our kitchen, ate dried fruit, weetabix, went to bed with the Good, the Bad and the Ugly and his teddy bear. Then mothers down the school said I was feeding him steroids. I stood in that car park, shook a weetabix, kind of a rusk in the woman’s face.

‘Does this look like a steroid, you bitch?’ I raged, threw it through her Volvo window, I recall. She would need to hoover it all up, I thought, was kind of satisfied I had made my stand, my position was clear on weetabix abuse.

Then the police called, took the box away as evidence. There was no breakfast cereal in the house to be eaten. That was probably the first fight with my boy. He had these freakish sweats, then pinned me to the floor, held biceps to my throat. Finally I begged forgiveness and cooked him eggs bacon, ten, eleven sausages, those potato happy faces, he watched the Transformer movie that night. That was the beginning of the end, really, we moved house, he got fat.

One day I will return to the military training of young boys. Just finding the right way to market myself is a problem, maybe find a park, find some puny guys, frighten them, get boys to thinking about self-defence.
..

But honestly, HONESTLY I am a little fragged with my opus minor – Near Perfect Future, thought maybe I’d read it to the audience in Clapham, I might attach the piece or go find another one of these old poems? No, and no…

This is from the days when I began writing, known as Mat Bread, I was a spiritual leader, below is Radio 4 transcript FAKE and original inspiration write, umm, it’s okay, no I’ll edit up that other part later…properly

Thought for the day
13:52 today
Edited by Mat, 23:20 today
Visible to anyone in the world

Voice:Thought for the day today comes from Spiritual Muse, Mat Bread.

Techie:Cue. Live, you’re on…

Mat: My notes…where are, where’s my speech. Hippy, my notes, give me those…pass my sp…

Techie: Live on air, vicar.

Mat: Good morning. Good…morning.

Life is life. Living as we do in life…in a state of life… Life that lives a life living as…we.. and we are… life lifts us from the darkness into life’s light living…
And a life that is not lived…lies. Life needs a headlight…leading the way. What is the way? By the wayside, by …the one..who …like he…like you …and me…has life….Let life not layby be left…lift? Life needs a lift, not the hard shoulder.
What is life? A sticky… carpet…to the stairs? From the attic He may come…seeking questions or answers, which and who will answer the question? Or…when…what appears to be the cold tap is in fact the hot……Days are days where…walking… round in a circle….talking to …the squirrel….Is he your friend?…..Nut?
Not…duck. People…and ducks like people live in community upon the pond. What we see upon the surface is not necessarily, what? What is on their feet?
What will you do? What will you do? Given the ultimate choice, as the boy said to the…master. Mister? … You may have miss have missed a bump, bouncing bosom…..bottom …That is the message.
Why?…When today you rise upon the homeless man in the street and think… is he my brother? For he, may be, your brother. Think of him, your brother that will not have change. A twenty pound note is of little use when what he needs is change…
So remember…journey toward your walking, train tomorrow. Your bus, or bicyce…along the canal passing…the tunnel, the light, the strange chap with the dog, ask him. Is he your brother?
Thank you.

Tech: Nice one Moses, cut studio.

Voice: That was spiritual healer, Mark Bread.
The Chancellor of the Exchequer is today expected to invite talks between the …..

[maybe take out some colons, mmm…]
.

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