when good people die

it puts the flu in perspective



Its taken nearly two years of rage and sadness and denial but I’m finally starting to process this shit.
I first noticed you outside the supermarket because you were beautiful and you were wearing a Conflict t-shirt. After that we would sit opposite each other in the marketplace waiting for our respective lifts home from college and we’d look at each other but we were both too shy to talk to one another.
I still don’t know how you got my hotmail address, but I remember you adding me on MSN Messenger and introducing yourself and I remember thinking Cesca – what a beautiful name. From then onwards we were hopelessly in love.
Listening to certain records by Mogwai, Ludovico Einaudi, Anti-Flag, Propagandhi, The National and Beirut will always make me think of you. When I look at photographs from that innocent time I can’t detect in yr eyes the horrors that would later occur.
I’m not gonna think about the end. I’m gonna think about all those hours in yr bedroom in Leeds quoting Chris Morris at one another, listening to music and taking silly selfies. I’m gonna think about that time you persuaded me to go out to dinner at a Moroccan restaurant wearing women’s underwear, that was fucking hilarious.
Before you died we went for drinks in Henley and made plans to go to Hong Kong together. You were gonna show me around. I guess if I go now I’ll have to buy the Lonely Planet guide instead.
At yr funeral I think I was the only one crying during the speeches and I thought that was weird. The coffin was so big and you were such a small woman, it seemed wrong. Then everyone was acting as if everything was normal and making small talk and I was like FUCKING HELL do you not understand what exactly is happening here!? Some annoying woman was trying to chat me up and I’m thinking ‘we’re at the funeral of the love of my life, have some fucking respect’. So I went outside for a cigarette with Gabi.
You were the funniest, kindest, gentlest person. So pure and beautiful. I loved you SO SO SO MUCH and I don’t think I’ll ever be totally ok with the fact that yr gone.

Ko Chang (vivez sans temps mort)

Almost this time last year

I was on a roof terrace in Bangkok

drinking beer and taking benzos

and thinking about killing myself

I was planning to go to Ko Chang

but I stayed up all night panicking

and I caught a direct BA flight home instead

Back to the rain and the drudgery

Because I was mad and thought I was in love

Back to ‘the fear’ and the nothingness


even if it makes you mad

or nearly fucking kills you

when yr in doubt

go to Ko Chang

“all the wine is all for me”

Its the second winter since you left this world and I still have images in my head (flashing through) of yr beautiful little body hanging limp from the rafters. Its a movie I can’t escape, we all know how it ends. I’ve learned the hard way that no amount of pills or wine or powder, no amount of pacing or racing or yoga, no amount of ANYTHING will make it seem ok or bring you back so I just lean back in my chair and inhale then exhale knowing eventually the panic will pass and some warped semblance of normality will return. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe, and return to existence. Existence (without you).

realities of war

Depression to you might be a statistic on the news or something you read about in a glossy magazine. You might have a vague understanding of it but it remains conceptual. Well let me tell you to many many people it is very real. Let me be clear, it is intense and devastating. It is yr worst nightmares made real. It is like a swarm of wasps clustered around yr head in frenzy. Depression is me sat in my small room terrified that they are gonna take my benefits away and that i’ll end up on the streets and having to wait ‘four to six weeks’ to find out how fucked I really am. Depression is feeling like my life is spiralling out of my control chaotically at a furious pace and simultaneously somehow collapsing inwards. Depression is me taking benzos and drinking beer and chain smoking joints to blur the edges and make things fuzzy because my thoughts are torture and i’m worried if I don’t get fucked enough to pass out I’ll be up all night watching Al Jazeera News and obsessively contemplating suicide and I can’t fuckin deal with that right now, not again.

not proud

there is a darkness inside of me and its followed me half way around the world

I use anything at hand to keep it temporarily at bay and between us that means

alcohol, cigarettes, weed, benzos, codeine solution, cough syrup, cocaine, speed

psilocybe mushrooms, acid, methamphetamine, opium, basically ANYTHING


I just want to smoke, drink, take drugs and die

because I can’t see any other sensible way out

nothingness, just fucking nothing, nothingness

decline into the tragic squallor that is on the horizon

drugs are the only thing that makes life bearable

either the branded ones in fancy packages

that the doctors give to me every month

or the shifty man supermarket carpark ones


I feel that my life is going to be characterised

by an inevitable decline through heavy drug use

towards an early tragic death

and I promise you it won’t be sad

because I hate being alive

does that make any sense?


I went to the bench where you used to meet me

and I waited there in the rain for an hour but you never came

I wanted a sign; a flickering streetlamp, a shooting star

but there was nothing, why didn’t you meet me by that bench