The name of god on the tip of my tongue

Came to Leeds, day out. It’s my old stomping ground, where I came to waste away my uni days.

I was off my fucking rocker in Leeds.

I mean, not constantly. There were weeks I’m sure when I was fine.

But I got ill here, and I didn’t appreciate how ill; a lot of my time in Leeds was barb wire and static and me trying to convince myself it was silk and cool water. Still; time dulls edges and smooths wrinkles, soothes stinging memories. Now Leeds is a city of fond nostalgia, the ghosts of friends I wish I’d kept up with, and lifetime and a half away there’s a thin memory of me; less heavy with regret, although maybe just as wound up with uncertainty. And wilder, so much wilder than the man I am now.

At times, I was off my fucking rocker in Leeds. Continue reading

Unsound

Out of work
divorced
usually pissed,
he aimed low in life
and missed

Roger McGough, ‘Missed’

Woke up full of cold and with depression still fogging up my mind. Sweaty, twisted night’s sleep, although pleasant dreams – they have been, recently, strangely. Mum and Dad on their way to NZ, me alone in the house I grew up in. Feeling like I’ve gone backwards, and stopped.

I looked up philosophy books on Amazon, not sure why, put a few on the wishlist. And so fell back into Leeds and I guess part of the person I was in Leeds.

I was a lot thinner, then. Well, a bit thinner.

Continue reading