My fangs have been blunted…
It has dawned on me of late, that I have unwittingly assimilated in some ways, to a society I generally despise. My fangs have been blunted. I have become prone to playing nice when faced with morons. I focus on corporate endeavour and football and global happenings I cannot change though find some inspiration to write within the horror, more than any semblance of blazing a trail of oneness with my heart and soul. I am not yet old enough to assume it is simply a mellowing, an unshackling of the echo of adolescent mania. It is something different, something more worrying, than merely the passing of time, boy to man to old man. And it must be stopped.. My howl must be found. For I have lost people I thought close to me in this playschool of a society and the only move away to whatever I was I could have taken as a snapshot, would have been expression of berserker spirit. Playing nice, brings me only sadness and loneliness. In absence of my brethren to revere and adore as honest mirrors, I must step back a decade or so, seek the root of the very lunacy I have lost…And embrace it.
The sounds of my upbringing…
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=18W9WYw9HaA
Mad, glorious pixie elves,
rave maniac wicked temptresses,
Monkey Men nutjobs with sweet harmonies necromancing the Clash,
I could and still can relate to them all.
And when it came to love to marry my own natural inklings given hope from sensation and delving into history …
I sang this – mangled drug boy – and felt this and knew this, always for one girl…Even when I was looking at others…Pondering a life which reads as a rap sheet of emotional trauma, of a life spent chasing true romance above and beyond all other paths, that girl remains the one who I said the least to, but felt the most for.
The irony of such a truth is far from encouraging. And so…I will delve to other aural nourishment of the formative years of whatever I have become.
People were ‘performing’ without even a hint of pretence. Their only move was to give themselves freely and fully. In every direction possible.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SSKv2PSXfaY
And then a break…the House and Goa Trance providing solace from the maddening crowd…I was drawn back in…
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZHVJVQzHv5Q
‘let me dream of making mad love on the heath…tearing off tights with my teeth’….
These are the makings of the man I have become. These were and remain my guiding lights in the darkness, punctuated solely by lighters in the shadows of many a night spent dazed and muddled…There is a ruggedness, a dedication born of harshness, leaning towards knowing you will suffer, but expressing your truth, For nobody worth knowing finds any value in pretence.
I remember…
Leaving work, shopping bags in each hand, a rugged mate in attendance, and two lads emerging from the kebab shop, and as a big lipped prick rustled through my shopping, and more grew in the crowd, I pushed him away, and told him to fuck off…as I saw my ‘rugged mate’ scarpering…I walked on, towards the train station, and was undone by a running uppercut to my jaw before which he roared ‘where is your fucking mouth now danny?’ when I had never said a bad word against him…which mashed my front teeth together,left fragments floating on my saliva, spat out, as I was knocked to the ground and rose…I wiped the blood from my mouth, stood up, and walked onwards, as I had seen who hit me…and the fear was not so much what he could do to me, drugged up out of his mind, which made me scurry onwards, pained and bloodied, it was that I did not what him to see who I was…for he might have noticed I was a close chum, no fighter, but still clearly close to kinfolk, with a chap who lived round the corner from me, who would stand in front for me or anyone else he felt kin…This violent pigfucker had been one of two who appeared at a party…earlier in the night I had told two dicks they were not welcome, so they headed off and brought back their two psycho townie cunts armed with a hammer with my name written all over it…I had hid behind the settee, as they had gained entry, of course, for nobody present was manly…me included, when it came to this psycho, and a hammer meant for my face…I had savages who would likely kill for me if required, yet I never wanted to involve them when I encountered the nastiest brutes of my realm…That would be cowardly.
The worst was probably more brutal to my sensitive soul when younger…I had asked the family where we ended up to drive us home. Couldnt say more. I knew what would happen…13 years old. my sister with me. up the hill, then, with home in sight. mother out playing barmaid at the golf course, a pack of scum found us, accosted us. They were on bikes. On foot. They were Legion…A man walking his dog was nearby, I pleaded with him to ‘help us’…he walked away…10 metres from our house, as I watched the girls spitting on, and pulling my sisters hair,scratching at her with their nails, I turned to the leader…a foot or three bigger than me…I said ‘im sorry for whatever I have done’…
he smashed me with manly hands in the face, knocked me to to the floor…I looked up, began to cry, saw my sister fending off nails and pointlessly venomous attacks…and cried more, got up, and fled home with my sister,,,
Turned out the leader of this hellbroth of scum was 18…yet he was the one many years later to tell a bunch of vicious gypsies that I was not someone they were after…Some Yang to the Ying…
…and when my face had lost its swelling, I remember riding by him lying down on the grass, sticking up my middle finger…This was no recovery. It was more the boisterous fang from a safe distance of a lupine little one…
…yet what did these rites of passage teach me?…I think it taught me that I needed tough mates. For I needed to express myself to the world, and when all I knew was that people would crunch my face for nothing more than the uniform of a grammar school I wore, it made sense thereafter. to get to know the rugged, for the rugged are spirited, and always mean something, and like the better off folk, some of them are good, some are bad…in fact, as with all circles of people, most are bad.
Its those with true grit who appeal to my eagerness to know them more, as they are the only happening beyond thunderstorms and tidal waves and blizzards which inspire me…I find them in books and obscure online sites. Rarely face to face…My Home and Howl-Land, stands out as a plane of existence where life forces you to be Real. And I met these kind of creatures regularly…
If anyone truly knew me they would be appalled.
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