Tuesday, 24 May 2016

Cake, Zombies and domestic violence.

The frying pan hit the rotting face at the perfect angle, the skull shattered and he was no longer an undead monstrosity but at peace with the world and just dead.

"Well done my man"

Josh's mum never had much reason to be proud but since the  "Armageddon" he seemed lots happier. The only achievement that Josh managed was beating grown men at bloodthirsty war games online. Nobody realised one day he could transfer his skills to save lives and kill zombies.

Chantel was the second line of defence as her "ADHD" meant she had been up all night watching blooded figures to see if there was any pattern so this nuclear meltdown of a family could defend themselves better and Chantel could use her legendry aggression to fight off monsters with cricket bats, she too was happy.

A carrier bag skidded down the corridor.

"Nice one, Billy"

Mum shouted down the corridor.

Billy had never walked out of a shop and paid for anything in his life so the end of the world just meant he had to fight zombies and other looters, life was more colourful now, mostly shades of red from the blood he seemed to be permanently covered in from killing zombies for cake; but his family needed to be nourished and feed their sugar addictions and fights for cake could get practically bloody and not all the bloodstains were from fighting the zombies, civilised people needed their junk.

"I wonder if the social worker's still alive"

"I wonder" answered Chantel.

There was a scream from the front garden, mum and Chantel ran and found a dead zombie along with a pale but alive social worker.

"Show us your eyes"

Mum glared menacingly at the very patient social worker to see the yellow whites and misshapen pupils, the sign of the zombie. Them mum thought it through, would a zombie social worker keep her appointments? It seemed unlikely.

"Fancy a cherry slice"

"You have cake?"

Dribbled the social worker

"Yep" smiled mum, "we have cake"

Mum and Chantel cut a precious slice in half and shared it. The had learnt to appreciate sugar since Armageddon so they had lost a large part of their excess bodies, hitting zombies meant her arms  like something off an infomercial for some exercise gadget. They were sharp enough to know Mr Kippling's workforce were probably wandering round with their flesh falling off so cake would have to last until the government got around to killing them more efficiently then the non zombies with nothing but sports equipment and frying pans.

"How's it going"

Asked the social worker.

"To be honest with you we're all very happy"

"Aren't the kids meant to be in school".

The social worker felt ridiculous as she said it, for a while school had been opened. At first, frightened of fines parents battled through the undead, from the posh set ramming though a graveyard rave in their four by fours to the council estate mums using their hard but unemployed son's as protection, but first the lads got infected and them the nanny's and then the posh mums so school had become pointless, only a few of the hardest were supposed to survive and this family and social worker were some of the chosen few.


Came an ear piercing scream. Chantel and Mum ran to help, there was a large man with stained clothes, he had the yellow eyes and  glazed expression, mum put her large frame behind a huge whack that spread his brains across the floor.

"That's your dad, oh my god kids, I'm so sorry"

"He was a zombie anyway" Chantel said, "well done".

Josh didn't see the misshapen pupils and this man took several large blows that a rotting zombie would have died of, when Chantel said "he was a zombie anyway" she was right, booze and drugs turn him from a protector to aggressor. Dad meant this family was used to defending themselves from zombies, and now they most harmful one was dead.

"Well" said the social worker, desperate times call for desperate measures, you have food, the main problem is dead, so give us a packet of biscuits and I'm off".

Josh was the gentleman and chased off some zombies, the social worker could ration out her biscuits to feed her sugar addiction while thanks to Armageddon this nuclear fall out family found their peace.

Thursday, 12 May 2016

Soul Poison

Sometimes I've been only straight person in the room, the beat pumping, sweat pouring and the beautiful people all around. The gorgeous people on those magic, pills take on new faces, like masks made of flesh their features distort and you realise they're someone else tonight, a black eyed, twisted remix who left their soul in the toilet they downed their pill in or snorted a line off a toilet seat. On the outside they are zombies on the inside they feel amazing but I find it utterly disturbing.

There was a death of a friend that seemed like suicide, he looked like wreak for weeks before  he died, he talked of a future while resembling the undead so when the phone call came that he died of an overdose I shouldn't have been shocked. I  cried for a  night and barely ate before the funeral and then when it came I watched people who had a missing part and a story that ended too soon, there would always be a split in out souls.

 Thanks to drugs I've been to friend's funerals not weddings, a parent watching their child's coffin go past never gets less harrowing, children left too young by a parent's sickness and selfishness is an awful thing to see, the images of young, confused faces talking about how they loved daddy will always scar my conscious.

The likelihood of dropping dead form drugs is surprisingly small, mix pills with our favourite drug booze and the risk of ending the life you wanted to enhance gets higher.

And then there are the half lives, wandering around town, you remember the star they were before , you remember when they had a soul not poison, you remember when they had hope not destitution and then you see they now wear a mask like a lost child with frightened eyes, all sense of self gone, they become a bag of pills, powder and smoke while only a tiny part of strength and self remains. You  wonder if they can come back but many are in their mid 40s and as I talk to their skinny faces about their chaotic lives I know I have to accept then for what they have become.

It always started so well, drugs seemed like the perfect way to bond with friends and like  the human reasons for finding new countries or exploring space we did them because they were there and their illegal status just made for butterflies when we took a trip to the toilet with our best friends and life became a movie not a chore. We took designer drugs, we lived in our designer tee shirts ad took pride in our fabulous narcissism.

 For some of us out teen depression and isolation needed a cure, our emptiness was just too horrible and burdens we could never talk about. Dancing in a freezing filed was like freeing our demons so we could have a childhood way better that the first one and the comedown was so hard they needed something harder to get through the week.

Many of us came out fine, we did a big comedown and accepted life couldn't be a movie but some kept popping pills, inhaling poison or even injecting soul rot into their veins.  When you get offered  pill, I'm not telling you to say no, I'm warning you, do you want to become a twisted remix of yourself? Do you want to watch a few friends die young? Is there another way to find what ever you really want from that poison and maybe don't bother.





Tuesday, 10 May 2016


Little bits of me
over Twitter
you can read my life
if you just put
microcosms of my tale
a jigsaw with tiny parts.

And I give a little soul here,
a few bits of  my heart
and liver just left
for the scavengers to eat.

They gossip and pick over
a little soul here and
a little heart over there
and soon there will be nothing left.

Life rips me apart,
caffeine keeps me awake
and so the jigsaw may never
fit back.
a soul a mind
but I still give more.