sevyem76'

Manila.

The celebrations had drawn to an end. The party was over. The job was done. At that moment, I felt a sence of peace stir in my osul - something I hadn’t had in a long, l;ong time. This may seem a tad strange, but in some ways, I feel like my job on this earth had been complete. I had given my maximum. I was exhausted, yes, but I had defied everyone. Comanpanies, lawyers, even governments, and my clostest friends.

I was going to sleep well. My eyes were already glazing over. I had resisted the temmptation to stay away by using coffee, ritsali or sugar based matereials and I was ready for my bed. I reached over towards my laptop, which was showing my emails. I could see a page load of new mail, but I was too tired to attend to them now. I could see the typical mail mix - friends, some close, some closer, some hardly qualifying for the word, junk mails, notifications, special offers and, practically at the bottom of the screen, the usual notifucations from Google news. I rasied a asmile as I realised I wouldn’t be needing them again. I was curious about what sort of stuff it was going to report to me on, so I resisted the temptation to close the lid of the laptop, thus closing a large cpaher of my life, and clicked instead on the mail.

The recorded sound of the click followed a few seconds after my actual click - which was indicuative of the fact my laptop was jammed full of research papers - and I waited for the page to reshesh itself.

Robert - come on I heard a voice from the garden. It was dad. He was cluthing two glasses of chamapgne. We already had had a few. There was sixz six bottles in total, and I knew the party was going to last al night. I was the last of the family to get a book published. Last but not least, I had heard from both my mum, dad, and sister at the table set up outside for the family and friends book launch.

Dad passed over the one of the glasses to me, and my hand went out in the usual way to take it from him. Just as I was about to take ownership of the glass, the internet page came into view.
There was a sudden smaching of the glass as the champag flute hit the flag stones.
What the hell did you do that for, you dope! Said dad angrily. The anger was visable in his eyes. But I only noticed that belatedly. I was in shock at what I had read on the page.
Jesus christ was all I could say, in a breathless, weak voice that you is only possible when you are stunned and shocked at the same time. “you can bloody well clean that up’ dad bellowed as he made his way back out to the summer sun. I sat myself down once more to read the news alaert:

This was exactly the conslusion I had came too during my five plus years researching this project. And now, it was straight from the horeses mouth. I was flabbergasted. What now??? Had I spent the lasty five years of my life in ven? I felt cheated. All that work. Relams and realsms oof paper, photocopying library visitis, anxiously waiting for pacrels to arrive from amzin, chasing up parcles that didn’t arrive from amazon. Emails to writhers, doctors, reseachers, out of print publishing houses, television companres. Eveerything. All to get what I had never in my wildest dreams had imagined. But I had wored it out. And now this???

 I had certainly aged during this time. I was also out of touch with the world. Friends, weddings, parties, celbrations had come and gone. I still had about 2000 emails to attend to of ‘nono priorty items’ these included various dinner tonight! Invitations of pope - once friends - who I am no longer in touch with. I was the project had because my live. I was hyperfocesed every step of the way, and always working thoings out. On the rare occasion I would be at frends drinks or family dinner parties - such as Christmas - there was alys part of me thinking about the next step. Apparently it’s a trait that writers have. I was;nt a writer at that point, but then I was still greaving jo. And I know that if I took my eyes of the ball, it would be too eay to loose sight of the whole thing and I’d end up out me my mates on the beers.

That happened more than once. The noring after effect made me question the whole essence of living. If I was going to pull this rabbit out of the bag, I was going to have to give it more than id ever given anything in my life. After that point, I lost contact with a great number of my friends. I chased them up on face book - once - but the level of actulvty going on those csoaicl networking sites bore no resemnlence to my reality. It was just noice. I came of all of them and deteld my account. If I died, I remember thinking once day, there was probably not one person in the wold that would know - at leat not for a few days. But that is how it had to be. A recluse. Living in socirary, but not conneted to it, and yet stribing to bring something of meaing to it. I guess I was behond society.

I closed the laptop, heard the confirmation of the ssyem shutting down, and went outside. I took the back door, instead of the door going out into the garden. I wanted to be alone for a few moments. All sorts of thought sran through my head - anger, guilt, anxiouslness, helpnessless, rage, sadness, uselessness. Almost every possible imiotion imagine able except for joy.
My mind settled once again as memories of jo flooded back to me. I picked up one of the signed copes as if to reconfirm to myself. I opned the hardback cover, turned over the first page.
Above my poxy scraled aoutograph (thAT turned out to be somewhat different on every copy) were the printed words:

I will never forget you jo.

I could feel the feeling of tearws welling, up, but I was at last grown up enough to supress an episiode of crying. I thought of he as I lay down on the tale. The last five years were worth it, I had gone my own way and proved a point, and this tomb would be here after my death, come what may. I rejoined the family in clebration of my belated success, and did a good job of poutting on a happy face. My joney was over, that I knew. They journey of thousands  - if not millions of others, was started as I write this. The machine is unstoppable. But at least the word was out.






















For two guys that had spent the best part of half a million quid, things weren’t looking too rosey.

Steve had picked up a girl from the shell garage. Huge boobs. Not much else. She was slumped over him, looking bored out of her mind. I’d imagine her job as a pump attendant is not exactly extreme excitiment, but I’m sure returning to work might perk her up a bit. She was too stoned for that. She couldnet pick herself up, let alone a petrol pump. She was out of service.

Things with me not no better. I had a girl from the local chiniese retaurant attempting to give me a massage. I say attempting because she was doing a crap job. She did have great boobs though. That made it ok. I gave her one after reaching a meacroe state of arrousal and fell asleep in the garden.

When I woke, there was ALL HELL BREAKING LOOSE!!!!!!

Jesus christ - it was all kicking of… explisions - sirens and warm water running down my leg. I’d pissed myself in all the excitement. Then I woke up.

SHITE

Script……..

Writing is shite - no????

Research is better…. Marloboro workd!!!!!

Look pal - I don’t know where you came from, and I don’t know where you are going too, but piss off…

He did - right no my leg, the bastard…

Can you have ultra-positive style wiritng???

Or is it all pants? Shite - you know the coup. You need to get into flow of thought and all that - strewam of consciousness. So wehere was I ? I’m going to write a book on tobaccco ??? Or crime??? A script??? Or a wate of time??? Somebody please help??? Coz if I don’t get help, I’m surely going to duie,. You know what I mean????

Who wants to write??? Is that why you are remembered by???

How about a radio play??? Radio play yyeh??? The farm, or something like that.. The chracrtors….

Got to have charactors….

Credit cruching???

Polca?

Actor?

Me????

Or rellay tough style reporting - wher your finger hardly leaves the page. Day in day out - know what I m ean????
I just want to write - but when I do - I don’t do any music.. Which makes me depressed. I can do without wiritng, but not music….

Fear and loathing in Amsterdam???? Or fun?? Or manila???

Which one??? If any??? Was the whoel triup a waste of time???

You know if you mouth the words as you say them, you r power of voice is better???

















You are having a farkin lauight, arent you????

Time, is on my side
I cant still get used to you not by my side
I still love you, ah ha
I still love you

And I I…….

I still lovew you…….

There once was a time I needed you in my life
That time is passed and now I’m satisfied