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My blog, where I store those thoughts rattling around my brain |
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Welcome to the insanity of my mind! Please excuse the cobwebs and clutter, I've been meaning to clean the place up a bit... Stop in and read some of my nonsense whenever the mood strikes you :) |
| My father always said there was nothing sweeter than a beer after a hard day’s work. For him, it was exhausting to sit on a couch and squint at an old CRT screen while cursing out the blurry players throwing a pigskin around. Thankfully I didn’t inherit that work ethic after I left home. But I definitely acquired his thirst. In my defense, hardly any janitor is a teetotaler. Wiping up filthy surfaces after the worst of humanity expels their foul byproducts has a way of destroying any desire for sobriety. Yes, I’ve seen some s***. Don’t bother asking, you really don’t want to know. And I’d prefer not to have those hideous recollections festering in my mind. After each shift, I do my best to forget. So when I glimpsed a colorful placard advertising dollar drafts, it felt like a signal from the universe that it was Miller Time. The dive bar was a grungy, seedy affair. I often passed it on my way to more inviting haunts like bustling sports pubs or trendy grills. But cheap booze is awfully hard to pass up. Especially when you make peanuts like me. “Sinner’s Respite,” the wooden sign proclaimed, swinging gently in the evening breeze. I raised an eyebrow at the old-fashioned cartoon below the name. A time-worn devil was tossing back a frothy ale while another sun-faded demon belched fire, something I found both charming and slightly questionable. A thick haze of smoke and dingy lighting enveloped me upon entering, sounds of glasses clinking, harsh laughter, and curses cutting through the stale cigarette fog. Even before my eyes adjusted to the murky interior, I knew a rough crowd when I heard it. I couldn’t have looked more out of place in a sea of leather, tattoos, and scars. But not everyone had a biker fetish. There was a few clean-cut suit types at the pool table, some shady hoodies in a booth, and an old-timer with a paddy cap nursing a whiskey. And here I was, striding in with my blue jeans and a white t-shirt. This was the moment in a movie when the entire bar goes silent at the approach of a newcomer, warily eyeing up the outsider. But surprisingly, I found no such suspicion at my arrival. In fact, the elderly gentlemen waved me over. “Nice to see some fresh blood in these parts,” He slurred, raising the tumbler and sloshing amber liquid. A thin piece of metal slid out from his sleeve and clinked on the wooden bar. I handed it to him, unsure of its purpose. “Think you dropped this?” The old drunk blinked owlishly before clumsily snatching it from my grasp. “Much appreciated, I’m always losing this damn rake. Not that I need it… Everything is digital these days…” He mumbled as I nodded politely. Do you know those people who instantly feel a connection or kinship with someone after exchanging a few words? It wasn’t long before my new companion was regaling me with his life story as I patiently waited for the bartender to make her rounds. Listening with half an ear, I learned that Abe (the drunk) had served a few tours, been discharged, got married, divorced, and had been in and out of jail more times than I could keep track of. By the time I got my domestic dollar draft, I was already ready to leave. “Is Abe telling you about the good old days?” A slim bald stranger slid into the seat next to me. He was a tapestry of color, vibrant ink decorating nearly every inch of exposed flesh. I nodded, mouth full of mediocre beer. “You know, he might not look like much but he’s a living legend,” The skinhead grinned, revealing several gold teeth. “He can lift pretty much anything with those magic fingers.” Glancing at Abe again, I wondered how muscular this booze-hound must be. “That strong, eh?” Snorting, the old man wiped his whiskey-soaked mustache. “Strength be damned. It’s a matter of skill. Brains over brawn.” I nodded again, hiding my confusion with an air of false acumen. “Makes sense.” “So what’s your line of work?” The bald guy asked, raising a hand to catch the bartender’s eye. I groaned inwardly, hating the question. Being a janitor is one of the least sexy-sounding jobs out there. If I’m lucky, people immediately lose interest. If not, I end up being the victim of endless mockery. “I’m a.. uh…” My brain struggled to come up with a better euphemism for s***-scrubber. “… a cleaner.” I sighed weakly. This had the opposite effect I expected. His eyes widened, a glimmer of excitement. “Really? You didn’t look the type but the best ones rarely do…” I shrugged. “Wouldn’t exactly call me the best but thanks.” Baldy put a finger in his mouth and let out an ear-piercing whistle. “Oi! Eric! Get over here!” Abe leaned towards me with a newfound appreciation. “Not many cleaners come round here, you lot are an elusive bunch. Eric is a good lad. You’ll like him.” One of the suits wandered over from the pool table. “Look, Damien, if you’re asking for another drink, you’d better find someone else with deep pockets…” Damien shook his head and gestured to me. I sank a little lower in my seat, unused to all the sudden attention. “He’s a cleaner too, Eric! I thought you were the only one in these parts.” “Oh yeah? What’s your specialty?” Hearing the question directed towards me, I looked up over the rim of my plastic cup into a pair of icy green eyes. I fought the urge to shiver, feeling as though I was being vivisected beneath that emotionless stare. “Speciality?” I swallowed nervously. “You know, what’s your style? When you have a mark what do you do?” I frowned and thought about all the graffiti and sharpie stains I scrubbed off stalls that day. “Well, I don’t like to leave a single trace behind. It looks bad for my employer.” Eric nodded, a small smile creeping over his stoic expression. “Well of course. That’s the general consensus. What kind of tools do you use?” “Ahhh, the typical ones? Gloves, garbage bags, powerful chemicals.” “But that’s just for disposal. I mean more in terms of… removal.” I recalled scraping up gum from under school desks. “I find a razor blade to be pretty effective.” He raised his eyebrows. “Up close and personal, very impressive. Isn’t it a bit messy, though?” I laughed. “Not if you do it right. Besides, cleaning up messes comes with the job description.” Somehow, I was earning more and more respect from the small group around me. This was turning out to be an interesting evening. Who knew janitors held so much clout? When I called for a refill, Eric put a black card on the table. “It’s on me tonight. I insist.” He refused to take no for an answer. At least I wouldn’t be running up a huge tab with these cheap beers, I mused. But then he ordered a bottle of brandy and poured me a healthy glass. “Tell me, what was your most difficult assignment?” Sighing heavily, I racked my brain for a particularly memorable day. “I had a hard time at this courthouse. Most of the time I work late at night but they wanted me to take care of it while a trial was going on. It was an emergency you see…” This got a low whistle of admiration. “During a trial? Ballsy…” I grimaced. “If you want to call it that. Damn place was a nightmare.” The memory of crusty walls and urine-soaked floors made me shudder. “How did you handle it?” “Well, I managed to get everything finished right before they called a recess. I was in the bathroom when the judge walked in and that’s when the accident happened.” The irascible judge slipped on the freshly mopped tiles and fell with a roar. “You knocked over a judge?” Eric was giving me a slack-jawed stare. “It was easier than you think. Getting away was the tricky part. Normally people don’t pay much attention to me but everyone was on high alert after it happened. I was lucky enough to slip out through a side door, undetected.” That’s when I noticed that nearly everyone in the bar was listening to my story, rapt with attention. I took another swig of brandy and grinned. “If you think that was crazy, let me tell you about the time I was assigned to a police station…” |
Keep me guessing, keep me terrified Take everything from my world Say can you help me right before the fall Take what you can and leave me to the wolves |
| I just got a whole bunch of goodies from some kind soul. Thank you, Writing.com for the physical pin, badge and bookmarks! It was a lovely surprise :) |
Never been much for weddings or anniversaries but I go to a funeral if I'm invited any day of the week Some people say I sound strange some say I'm not right But I find beauty in this world every single night |
| It prowls the ether of my mind, skulking in my dreams. Thrashing, biting, gnashing, writhing, clawing out of me. Alastor, son and daughter both, fusion of psychic plasm. Grown from a discontented seed Planted in cerebellum. I loathe this creature tenderly, nourished by regret, my cursed scion swells each night, demanding I give birth. It mewls with separate gaping mouths, haunting piteous cries. Below the halo and twisting horns lurk a trio of milky eyes. He speaks with oozing severed tongue spilling scarlet words, She lures, she baits, she imitates voices of those you've heard. They whisper while I'm slumbering, Dear father let us free... I do not dare to unleash that pair upon reality. I fear my head will split open granting an escape. Help me end this torment before their true form takes shape. |
| Hours of existence, Exchanged for a pittance. A transaction benefitting the monstrous amalgamation resting on backs of indentured servants Hand over ownership, relinquish your rights for the brief security that bi-weekly deposits bring, allowing us to limp along each week. The nail that sticks out gets hammered down. Blend in, assimilate, obey corporate policies enforcing suppression of expression. Tedious weeks spent, waiting, wishing for privileged days where time is priceless, cramming obligations into that stressfully limited space. Don't question your place, Accept what's been given To ask for more is ungrateful, Face those harsh realities Living to work, clawing for pennies. Brainwashed, convinced, even forced into selling ourselves short. If time is money, we are all disposable cogs in a lucrative machine. |
| Woo me with exquisite letters Crafting a melodic combination For these seven seals of mine. This fervent passion lies locked behind cerebral gates, indifferent to vacuous approaches. Spill out secret cogitations, Wrap me in those reflections, Drinking in your private philosophy. Peel back defenses with ink-stained touch, Reveal the intimacy of wrinkled spines, stacked on subliminal shelves. Arrange your whimsical words, Deciphering the junction of this antithetical nature. Give substance to sweet nothings. Whisper lyrical enigmas, ensnaring this imagination. I long for tender perceptiveness, burning ambitions, heated conversation pressing against amorous lips. Who will solve this walking riddle, Forging my heart's complex key With mere units of language? |
| Leave me curled within this shadowed den, A brown recluse, suspended on tangled web. Be thankful I choose my own company, Lurking below the floorboards of life. Beware these slender fangs of mine. This sensual bite brings toxic torment, Destroying all that dares caress This wandering, vulnerable shell. Pity me not, I was born this way, Made to stalk the eternal gloom. Hunting morsels in dead of night, When the house has fallen silent. Even when I climb to the ceiling, Admiring the splendor of my view, I am always trapped on this surface Clinging to everything that I touch. Don't follow me into the darkness, Forget you saw me scurry past. This elegant violin will play a dirge To anyone seeking my embrace. |
| I was nervous to take that step, Achieving a life long dream, But when I worked up the courage There was no fanfare or celebration In some ways, nothing had changed. I felt no sense of accomplishment. Just an empty realization, Wondering I was to do now. |
| Coffee, that marvelous flavorful bean the slightest aroma makes my body fiend Craving a cup of that liquid black gold I'll sip it scalding or I'll drink it cold. Add some vodka and it becomes Russian Too much can give a nasty concussion. Swap it with whiskey, hey, now it's Irish! Providing courage to fight this virus. I love how it jolts my slow brain awake And gives me a jitter, tremor, or shake. My family thinks I might be obsessed, I say it's all nonsense, give it a rest. You know I've had that quirky twitch, That wide-eyed stare, that nagging itch, Wait, come back here with that pot! Cutting me off? That's what you thought. I have myself a secret stash, In case I have a sudden crash You're telling me you have that too? A desperate plan begins to brew. Now I'm here in a padded cell. Why you ask? I'd rather not tell. But I guess we have some time. It was a coffee-related crime. I scream and shout but it's no use They won't bring me that sweet bean juice I dream of it, always, you see. That bitter, heavenly, warm coffee. |
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