Clear Skies

On Wednesday night I was given the task of writing a script for somebody's media piece, and I gladly took up the challeneg even though I'd only have twenty four hours to write it and I had a cold. The brief for the piece was a delusional man being followed and uses a voice over. This piece is the original, unedited monolgue I wrote at one o'clock in the morning. The piece that filmed was very cut down from what this is.


It’s the bad dreams that keep me awake, but I’m not sure who keeps putting them there. I sleep in gutters and the beds of passing acquaintances who take pity on my shoes. Sun’s too bright for my eyes it burns and turns them into matchsticks. I’m sure that if I could get myself a new face and clean pair of shoes then it sure as hell wouldn’t matter what I’d done or who I’d been and some pretty faced girl would take sympathy and I’d show sad eyes and we’d take off to the low lands.
I feel them after every step I take. As soon as my back turned there’s another one behind me, pointing, staring and watching and they say ‘That’s the boy that turned his back’ and I heard them murmur the name of Judas Iscariot like a curse that’ll go with me to the grave. But they do not know, they never could know the acts these sweet little hands have committed, the sins they have seen. I turn my back, I turn my back on them and their ideals I say ‘I shall not be apart of this revolution, it’s the wrong time of year for it’ but they do not listen and they send their agents after me. The angels of depth and perception would invade my day to day thoughts and implement kinetic nightmares designed to frighten me into submission. But I do not weaken, I do not break- my back is strong and my shoes are dirty but stubborn and I shall wipe them along the floor and make my way through the leaves that Autumn has marked the path with, and I shall follow like the plane on the runway and reach my destination and drop off my dreams so they can collect their luggage and keep their passports.
I need safety. I need a place I can put my hat on my Jack Daniel’s bottle and call it ‘home’. I need a good woman carrying Fruit Pastilles. I need to clean my teeth and eat my vegatables.
All the bright lights and peoples faces make me go a little insane, but then again aren’t we all just that bit crazy? We don’t understand other people because of the simple fact that they are not us and we can never understand as we never do understand ourselves.
They wait behind and they follow me through dark and the light. They wait until I smile then the demons emerge from the sewer grates and dig their claws into my face so I can frown again. They want to take me with them to join their cause, but dear Jesus I don’t want to go, I don’t want to go.
I haven’t eaten since Saturday. My stomach is full of the acid that it makes. It’ll poison me inside out if I don’t get a drink. They feed me drink designed to confuse me so I cannot collect the inheritance that is rightfully mine. Every time I approach money they sniff me out and wonder and wonder if I would dare if I would dare to take that sweet little hand and take the money for my own so I could buy sugar and water and be good for another day. But they do not want me to have such luxuries they want me to wallow in selfishness and unrequited desire.
I hear them say ‘we shall have you’ though I do not want to be apart of anything that would wish me as a member. I do not trust easy membership and gifts handed on plates. I no longer accept food or kindness from strangers for the fear that is was poisoned long ago. The Phantom of the Opera keeps inviting me to tea but I’d rather drink coffee with Casanova, I could learn more from him. He seems so wise in the things that I do not know. Those that are left behind from parties say to me ‘You have changed’ but I cannot tell them I say the same- it is they who are different. It’s those new glasses that make them see things like that. It wasn’t always that way because a long time ago we used to be friends, but time and change and different places have torn us apart and now we are different people, but you cannot see what you have become can you?
I’m sure they’re all spiders in human clothes. Spindly legs, jutting fangs and eyes set to ‘kill’. They watch me as their prey, another victim to devour not my flesh but my soul. They want to drag me inside out take my deepest fears and marinate them in a garlic sauce. A fun feast for all the family. Once they have my soul then I am a puppet on a string and I will dance and write and sing whence they command it of me and I will do it too their order and no longer one of my own.
I think I hear voices, coming from the people who pass me. I hear them judge me and look at me as a circus freak and I want to say ‘I am a freak but I work for no circus’ but they would not understand, the poor fools. They never did get me.

A Pile Of Autumn Leaves

Library
My silent mentor;
Filled with potential.
Welcoming with arms open
To all is patrons.
Within I began my journey
Mining through rocks
Until I found diamonds.

My Favourite Mistake
I am making my favourite mistakes again.
I’m falling for the same dreams again.
I’ve tried follow a new model this year,
But I’ve become the daydreamer of last year.

I’m making my favourite mistake again,
And it sounds like this-

If only it could be.

October
October is the wettest month,
Raining on all I hold dear-
The heart in my shoes
The principals in my tie
The soul in my hat.

I have seen several cases
Of Autumn-monoxide poisoning.
Its sufferers cry a lot.

October is the wettest month.

Laurel Leaves
I shall wear his laurel leaves.
The leaves fell from his hair
The day you told him to go.
I wish to pick them up,
Place them in my hair,
Not matter if they be brown or green
I wish to wear those old laurel leaves of his.

'Tales From The Bus Stop'

…never come on time, always waiting then there’s one bus, two bus, three buses all at once and none of them are the one you want. It’s always the way when it’s cold the bus never come on time and the timetables are liars and can kiss my arse who bloody wrote those things anyway? They never arrive when they say they…
…maybe my appendix will bust on the way and I won’t have too go in I hate French anyway who needs French I‘m never going to France but maybe I could go to France and punch a French person because they don‘t know who I am in France and I could get away with it and they…
…bloody dog…
…table will be there. We like our table it’s a good table and a nice view. Maybe Norman will save it for us. Nice Norman nice Norman with the coffee always makes good coffee. Must get our favourite table. Can’t be spending too much today, what will the daughter say, she’ll say ‘You’ve been buying too many clothes again do you really need that many trousers’ but I always always always find a bargain, I’m good at that. I always find a bargain. I do have too many trousers but there are so many nice ones in Marks and Sparks…
…the wheels on the bus go round and round round and round round and round all day long…
…off at Playschool and I’ll go pick up my money, they better have money I want my money I need my money how else am I going to afford food for the week now that he’s out of work the stupid bastard had to go and light up on site bloody fucking idiot leaves us in the…
…kick the bloody thing if it doesn’t shut up why do they let dogs on bus anyway?…
…murder a curry…
…grrrrrrrrrr… grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr… grrr… WOOF! Woof woof…. Grrrrrrrrr… …like my appendix to go BOOM! because I wouldn’t have to go in and I’d get all the attention and I’ll have a cool scar and I can say I got it in a fight. Girls like scars. I think they like scars…
…think of the money think of the money, I’ll get through it okay it’s just another day. Work, work, work all work and no money makes Dan a dull boy. Grin and bear it grim and bear it that’s the way too go, be British- stiff upper moustache and all that. I think I’d be a great man if I didn’t have to work…
…it’s just like the Eiffel Tower though, aint it? I know she wanted to go to Paris but we can’t afford Paris and Blackpool Tower is like the Eiffel Tower, ain’t it? I’m sure she’ll like it. I know she’ll love it. It won’t matter when I propose and she’ll forget about Paris cos it’s the thought that counts, ain’t it?…
…We’re going on the bus we’re going on the bus where the wheels go round and round mummy say and I like the doggie too and I want a doggie and I think we should have a doggie waggy tail doggie doggie…
…too early for a curry…
…tail on the dog goes wag wag wag, wag wag wag, wag wag wag the tail on the dog goes wag wag wag all day long…
….grrrrr…
…here it comes…
…at last…
…bout bloody time…
…isn’t my bus. Better off walking…

This was written for the walk homework for Simon. I think of it as 'Camberwick Green' on speed.