Please note that the work on this blog is the copyright of the writers and may not be reproduced without their permission.

Friday 11 April 2008

Life Sentences -- by File

-

‘slike you was on the box Ken, I’d already run but
Looking back in from the outside,
One lit window framed by the night
You there, your heavy hands in the air, your charmlessness
And your sweaty armpits, police everywhere

I left the country and Yes I took the cash
Went somewhere warm and somewhere warmer
Got heat rash, passports, a dicky belly and sunglasses
Missed the Arsenal at home, Heinz soup and Daddies sauce
And not much else, straight up; I was glad you took the rap

At first, but it went on and on, we’d been a team
I was a man with a phantom limb, haunting him
Couldn’t meet a steady gaze, wore a cap to hide my face
Handcuffed to myself, I was chafed by regret, loneliness
Is like tinnitus innit? It grates

You a big man in a tiny cell, me I got smaller in the vastness of the world,
Even so there’s been girls mate, I’ve been lucky with them
Snap happy tourists bussed in no end, cash to spend
Leaving, in the morning like winter was coming,
Litter, emptied jetties and bars and lipstuck graffiti scars

“Wherever you go, there you are” said one
There was me wondering when, how and if I’d be released
And her words caught me like a disease, I realized
I’d never been anywhere; only ever just Not There
There’s no hiding inside as you know Ken

-

20 comments:

DoctorShoot said...

a clear inside-out picture Filo ringing with inescapable authenticity

and a sad one like the old great train argentine fly coming home from his exile to pass on in the arms of the scrub as if passing from the gaol outside to the freedom inside...

guitougoal said...

you guys are so complicated!
Filou, poetic language of exceptional freshness a la Rimbaud.
"Long ago, if my memory serves me, my life was a banquet where everyone's heart was generous, and where all wines flowed. I ran away" A season in hell.

Zephirine said...

Great piece, Filo, there's a whole world in those few verses.

Rimbaud, eh? Praise indeed.

file said...

thanks as ever guys and for the references to similar stories too, heartening to see that my unfounded attack on M.Guitougoal's sanity were taken in the spirit they were uttered, who am I to judge right?

fyi, just in case you wondered, this isn't my own story but based loosely on a guy I met who was stuck in Crete...honest!

Anonymous said...

Ah c'mon Filo, we know you're on the run...

file said...

ever on the run, never on the lam

my only crime was a mystic crime, o never mind...that and these crimes against the English language for which I'll plead insanity before a jury of my peers

DoctorShoot said...

insanity or instantly

and I'll have to do time with you as an accessory having enjoyed the spoils of your freedom

offsideintahiti said...

Filou, in appreciation:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0877FWNLZ98&feature=related

A song for jailbirds everywhere.

We're all on the run, non? Or in hiding... Dog, I hope they never find me.

DoctorShoot said...

itself
is the beginning...
is not a sentence


but rather a vaguely implied vitruvian symmetry;
warped and woven
and called life

and
however plausible
escape might seem,
doing the time
in the end
is the end
in itself...

file said...

Doctors Hoot,
Instant Justice - just stir

really dig your poem here, simple and profound; the mortal crime of life, aren't we all on death row?

'ffie,
wonderous clip, very much enjoyed here, amazing (isn't it?) how the Grateful Dead can make us feel so happy to be alive

DoctorShoot said...

file
I was once told that the soul is like an invisible pure clear sweet smelling liquid which fills your being bit by bit as you age from birth until it completely takes over your existance from the physical body...

so the older you get the bigger you grow as you get smaller to the point of being so big nobody can see you...

that always gave me the reassurance to relax into life in spite of all the heat rash, terrible decisions, ill fitting sunglasses, foolhardy ventures, and wrong paths of one's journey...

Zephirine said...

I suppose you could argue that life itself is a foolhardy venture.

That soul idea is very beautiful, Doc - great poetic dialogue here guys:))

DoctorShoot said...

"....All along the fateful coast
We moved silent like a ghost
The timeless sea of tireless host possessed us
The wind came building from the cold northwest
And soon the waves began to crest
Crashing cross the forward deck
All hands lost

I alone survived the sinking
I alone possessed the tools
On that ship of fools...."

couldn't find a good clip sorry

DoctorShoot said...

...of bob segar doing it

file said...

watching water collect, spill
drip
drop, no stopping it
splish, splash
water collects, spills
drips
drops, no stopping it...

Dr.S. as big as I am, as small as I'm becoming (when I grow up I wanna be a child), there's no escaping it 'no one here gets out alive'. But new horizons are only Returns of sorts to me; 'wherever I go, there I am' ... ever ... am ...

can't argue with anything you say, you say it so seductively (as does bob segar), I'd just offer a bit of sylvia plath as counterpoint...

'I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.'
[I think I made you up inside my head.](!!)

offsideintahiti said...

Apologies for expressing myself through clips and music, but I read the line "ship of fools", and just couldn't think of anything else. I have a strange fixation on Robert Plant.

offsideintahiti said...

Typical. I forgot to paste the link. lol.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iYhDPgRvSaU&feature=related

Anonymous said...

Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Desperate, and not waving but drowning.

Life, and coping or not coping. Hiding and then realising that in life, if you chose to stay with it, there is no place to hide.

I'm not clever enough to understand everything here, but it resonates. And I get a Rimbaud echo as Gui did.

Hours today in A and E waiting to get my wrist stitched from a silly incident with a box of Mars Bars made me think of much poetry and I was cross because I couldn't quote File's words.

Must work harder to remember.

file said...

thanks Mimi, beware the ire of Mars eh? The responsibility for remembering any of the words I string together lies here, however, not there with thee!

Anonymous said...

Not the ires, I am beware the Ides of march. As we all should.But damn stupid to self-injure. But tis how it is.