Kaptain's Blog

The writings and musings of The Kaptain

Sunday, July 17, 2011

Untitled (3)

don’t waste time watching manufactured “programmes” on “television”. i would chew my arm off to be able to speak to my Dad again. and i’m not shy or embarrassed to say that deep inside i am still his little boy.

there is no need to forget when you forgive: you will find it impossible anyway. but that very memory will remind you that you are a forgiving person

posted by Kirk at 7:41 am  

Sunday, July 17, 2011

3 Men & A Quilt, Attempting To Align Themselves In A Historic Unitask Singularity

i know that men are not supposed to be able to multitask, but what would the inverse expression be? i’ve just spent 20 minutes with my 2 sons trying to get a quilt inside its cover and the bloody thing is still only half in. apart from the fact that my shorts dropped embarrassingly in the process i wish someone had videoed it.

posted by Kirk at 4:45 am  

Saturday, July 16, 2011

U-Turn

he had to change his mind, deflect his ego. it was like that moment most of the way through a 20-minute John Bonham drum solo when even the severest of sceptics stood up and applauded

posted by Kirk at 10:13 am  

Wednesday, July 13, 2011

Untitled (2)

life is about thoughts, not “facts”
as a test of honesty, try explaining in detail every single thought you had today to someone you love

posted by Kirk at 3:43 am  

Tuesday, July 12, 2011

Dream

Things happened in microsecond chunks. A cockroach weighing a metric ton – the heaviest in recorded history – went unhurriedly about its business, entering his right ear to re-emerge from his mouth with equal disinterest. He felt its legs tickle his tongue. Startled, it then scratched a path back to some unseen crevice singing “Glory, glory Tottenham Hotspur” as it went, antennae twitching. Silently he screamed some words he didn’t recognise. Nat “King” Cole obligingly went about soothing him with the very thought of you. I see your face in every flower. Interrupting, the Secretary Of State said “God Bless America”. He rubbed a hand across his whiskers. His late mother waved at him ruefully. He narrowly avoided treading on a baby cricket. He needn’t have worried: an army of ants descended upon it, carving it up. Breakfast for the Queen. Weakling. Out of nowhere a wealthy Californian suddenly declared its presidential candidacy. His shoulders shook with laughter, involuntarily. The ground rushed up to greet him, ever faster, while the rest of humanity, in contrast, spiralled down. Once more he was forced to recorrect the spellchecker on his computer. Spiraled was only a word to five percent of the planet’s population. He was parched. Clack clack clack. Some tiny crustaceans crawled through his chest hairs, biting and nipping. Unrelated, he thought of Ian Curtis. Of “Isolation”. An arm flew out to the left. No one there. He rolled to the right and felt around for the bottle he knew, instinctively, sat waiting. Somewhere. Somewhere. SOMEFUCKINGWHERE.
Back again, stalking, the electrified fences of dawn.
Fuck off and die.
Fuck off and die.
Fuck off and die.
FUCK OFF AND DIE.
An axblade spliced his crown.

posted by Kirk at 1:52 am  

Tuesday, July 12, 2011

Sprinter

like a sprinter we cover ground but know nothing of where we are. we are transient. in transition

posted by Kirk at 12:11 am  

Monday, July 11, 2011

Untitled

Say what’s on your mind in real time: you might not get a second chance
Sleep with someone you love to wake next to, whose final parting you would grieve
Tell your friends that you value their friendship
Don’t get angry with fools, they’ll be all around you your whole life
Never fear of asking for help: it is only those fools who will mock
Always be kindhearted: be generous in the face of anger
Don’t overreach: there is no need to impress
Stay true to what you know is right, regardless of the greed you see
Leave notes for those who’ll survive you: their unravelling will help distract them
And when there is nothing left but the rays of the sun, soak them up on your face and smile

posted by Kirk at 2:32 am  

Monday, July 11, 2011

I Am Proud Of You

I have tried for so long not to say it, for I know what a burden those five silly words can be. But I can resist it no longer.

posted by Kirk at 2:04 am  

Sunday, July 10, 2011

For Sara & Katherine

A cockroach went unhurriedly about its business, entering his ear to re-emerge from his mouth with equal disinterest. Startled by something it then scratched its way back to some unseen hole or crevice.
Latimer woke, an axblade splicing his crown.

Aaaargh…!
JEEZUS!
FUCKING!
CHRIST…!

…Doan tayk the Loawds naym in vayn…

“Fuck OFFFFFFFFFFF, CUUUUUUUUUNT…!”

In a rare and unexpected moment of lucidity he caught the smell of his own breath. Oh my God. Groaning, he slid off the bed on to his knees then pushed himself up, gingerly. His kidneys were killing him. As he rose, so his kneecaps unstuck themselves from the tacky carpet. Mong Tin’s V Hotel was in a different league to the Merchant.
A lower one.
There was no toothbrush set in the walk-in closet that passed for a bathroom but there was, at least, a small bottle of mouthwash.
“Small fucking Murphys,” he misquoted, cheering himself.
Struggling with the plastic wrapper round the bottle’s childproof screwcap, he suffered a painful incursion under a fingernail before managing, finally, to rip it off with a spiteful tug. He took a swig and was gargling with some trepidation when, disturbed by an unwanted knock at the door, he allowed a dribble of the complimentary liquid to find a way of sneaking past his pharynx. It stung like hell. Worse still, it triggered his dreaded gag reflex.
“House-keep-ing!” a voice sang.
What fucking time was it?
Seconds later he heard his room door opening. Stood before the shaving mirror butt naked, feeling the tingling in his stomach, the string of bile he knew he would literally have to pull from his mouth now inching its way up his throat, he kicked shut the bathroom door. The sound of the maid plumping up his pillows could be heard as the first viscous batch of alcohol, stomach lining and the odd bit of undigested burger meat launched itself into the sink. The sight of it draining down the plughole made him want to boak even more. Outside the fussing went on hold for a moment, then resumed.
The second heave came from deeper, producing a loud retch. It tore at what little abdominal muscle he had left. Through the door, the maid panicked out something in Tagalog.
“Go away! Get out!” he complained, when the depleted contents of a third and final upchuck splattered over the taps.
Wiping his mouth on the sleeve of the greyish bathrobe hanging forlornly on the inside of the door he was glad to hear his room door click shut once more, this time behind her. The digital bedside clock said eight, zero, nine as, balls dangling asymmetrically, he opened the minibar to retrieve a miniature Gordon’s. Sinking it in one he leant into the wall for a few seconds, concentrating hard on keeping the vital liquid down. The uncertainty having receded, he took the two paces necessary to cross the room and reach for the bedside phone.

posted by Kirk at 4:59 am  

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