I thought I’d made a friend
I made more than a friend
I made a fucking enemy
I wish she’d pack her bags
And return to her ferret factory
I don’t need the hassle
Of an extra arsehole
It’s hard enough
Managing my own
She made a scene
But I really don’t mind
I could still have her any time
.
I got the hee haw
from your mumbo jumbo
you’re using words
you don’t understand
you like to pose as a holy roller
but I saw you sneaking home
with your knickers in your bag
hypocrisy is the mother of corruption
and prejudice is her favoured child
but you can afford it
after all it cost you nothing
but your self respect
and mine
.
I could dae this of my own accord you know. I dinnae need the spike, the earmuffs and the diamond collar. I do awright oan ma ane. I kin write awright if ah kin just get some sleep! Men of a certain age, especially those of the manic-depressive persuasion, often find it difficult tae sleep. Loads of pent up emotion an’ barely supressed anger keeps them awake at night. You’ll find that many men of a certain age carry luggage heavy wi pent up emotion an’ barely supressed anger; it’s the lack of fuckin’ sleep that does it.
I’m in an awfy fix. I’m in Scoonie, East of Leven; Scotland’s ane Anus Mundie. I came here tae get away from it all. Fuckin’ well succeeded tae – I’m miles away from anything. This place was designated as pointless back in 1962 and filed under forgotten; do not resuscitate. Some part of me has died here. There is some portion of Scoonie, East of Leven, that shall forever remain Buddha in an unmarked grave.
Brought Johnny. Fat lotta use he is. All he talks about are burds; burds he’s shagged and burds he wants tae shag. He’s goat it bad that yin. He was gifted wi a beautiful intellect which resides in the glans of his penis. I love the guy tae death, but one day that cock o’ his will lead him into mair than temptation. I told him tae be meagre wi his wants, but on that score he’s the greediest bastard a’ ever met.
We’re no exactly oan holiday here. This is no gentleman’s junket. We’re on the lam. No fi the law or that, but fi our friends. Our pals want a pound of our flesh. Some depressing tale involving supposed MDMA tablets and an alleged horse tranquiliser. A very ugly story, but all too common in today’s marketplace. We were merely intermediaries in this carfuffle, but since the primary agents had absconded wi the loot, we were held by many tae be responsible. Stupid bastards. To a man they are all stupid bastards and the stupid like to weigh in mob handed. The mob that’s after us is comprises of some unsavoury characters who’d just as soon knife you as kick ye in the head when yer down. We’re running from a lynching – there’s nothing the stupid love more than a good lynching. They’ll never find us in Scoonie though. God cudnae find us in Scoonie.
I brought my stash, of course, but it’s running low an’ I’m rationing the whizz. Give Johnny his due he’s been out in Leven every day hustling the few remaining angles, but maybe he’s just hunting fur burds. It’s been three weeks since he got laid last and he’s getting kinda antsy. That testosterone banks up and swamps the brain ye know. Many are the wondrous feats of stupidity perpetrated by horny men.
“You know trying to find a trick on the street is too much like hard work. You want to open an oaffice.”
“Why an office?”
“If you had an oaffice the tricks would come tae you.”
“Why?”
“Tae buy your services of course”
“And what are my services?”
“You’ll be relieving them of their cash.”
“Just like that?”
“Just a little mind you, no enough tae send naebody tae the polis.”
“Ye’ll have tae be specific Buud – what would I be selling?”
“Dreams Johnny Boy – dreams.”
“Fan fuckin tastic Buddha – wid you get tae the point?”
“A raffle – a lottery, anything that costs us nowt to organise and the punter only a few coppers tae play. We can use the laptop tae design the necessary and print them off in the site office.”
“Won’t they be suspicious at the office?”
“We’ll wait till they’ve gone hame – I have the key right here.”
“That’s a screwdriver.”
“It’s a key in the right hands.”
“What are we raffling Buddha?”
“A luxury caravan – fur Save The Children.”
“So we are going to run a fake raffle no one will ever win. Won’t people be pissed when they find out?”
“They never will. Millions of people dae the lottery every day and not one of them realises that they were ripped off. I’ve done the maths Johnny and statistically speaking yer odds of winnin’ are about the same if ye buy a ticket or not. No-one seriously expects tae win the lottery anyway. They dae it just in case; people are playing ‘cause it fuels the old pipe dreams for a wee while. They get to imagine what they would spend it on if they did win; an entirely vicarious thrill costing a mere pound.”
“Looking at it that way people are pretty stupid., eh?”
“The stupid ones are, but the rest are just greedy. Never make the mistake of thinking yer trick is stupid Johnny, never underestimate anybody. If you find a trick who is genuinely stupid – walk away. Have nae dealings wi the stupid whatsoever.”
“Surely they are the easiest tricks?”
“Too easy, but unpredictable. You never know how the stupid will react to being made a cunt of Johnny. The prisons are full of stupid fuckers who killed for nae apparent reason. Nothing is more dangerous than brute ignorance and conscientious stupidity. Have no dealings whatsoever with the stupid Johnny. If you huv a stupid friend – boot him intae touch. If ye huv stupid customers – get rid of them before they get ye busted; I guarantee ye that they tell every cunt they meet everything they know about you. No drug, not even booze, causes so much strife. If we're looking for the source of our fuckin’ woes, we shouldnae be testin’ folk for drugs, we should be testin’ them for stupidity. There’s nae fuckin’ rehab fur the stupid – they’re always fuckin’ stupid and that’s a fact. What was it Oscar Wilde said? ‘There is no sin but stupidity’ I reckon he was spot on; stupidity is the route of all evil.”
“We can all be stupid at times Buddha – people make mistakes.”
“I agree, but that’s no whit am talking about. I’m talking about the terminally stupid – the ones who cannae learn fi their mistakes; because they were right to make them and would do it again tomorrow for the same inane, stupid reasons they did it today. I’m serious Johnny – you let the stupid into your life and chaos ensues. That’s enough philosophy fur one day – fire up the laptop an’ let’s get tae work.”
Epilogue
I wish Johnny had listened to me. Perhaps I should have placed more emphasis on the stupid, but Johnny found he was willing tae indulge stupidity if it came wi a pretty face. That peccadillo was to cost him dearly one day, but that’s another story and I’m no the man tae tell it. Creativity being the cessation of stupidity our raffle scheme worked out well. We only sold a coupla hundred tickets, but that raised enough to dig us oot a hole and still have some change for beer. All’s well that ends well they say – except this is no the end, but the beginning.
.
you got ghosts in your blood you best get you some stony I got the fear on roll me one too I’m bound to get lucky I’m prepared to die trying you can fetch me solace from another man’s gutter because I’m headed home where there will be a welcome or a maybe just a lynching they might have forgotten I hope they’ve forgiven what’s done is done and I paid my dues
I don’t believe in resurrections or in tearful reconciliations the past is gone forever ghosts take shape in its shade and my head is haunted with that fearful geometry and the friends undone by time and tide you take your best shot and maybe another you might win some but you’ll likely lose more no-one passes this way unless they pay the toll
I lost my spit and shine
And the all weather finish
That had served me so well
Against the inclement
I had been less than diligent
With my applications
You might call me lazy
But I was tired of the front
And dropped my guard
The signature of a chump
I took the blows due me
And maybe more besides
But there’s always a final straw
An injury that cannot be borne
Often it’s a concealed blade
Nestled in the hand of a friend
I’d be a hypocrite to complain
My dabs were all over that instrument
The blood on my hands was not my own
My complicity was beyond all reasonable doubt
.
His name was Calum Fraser and he was seventeen, though none of us knew this at the time. The folk on the ward just referred to him as the boy who cries. Calum cried a lot – no, Calum wept a lot. You might say he was inconsolable, but I don’t remember anyone actually trying to console him. It was heart rending and it was embarrassing. So we did our best to ignore him. I thought about going to him once or twice. To put my arm around him and ask him what was wrong, but I never did. I always figured he had lost someone. You only grieve like that when you have lost someone.
Poor Calum. He wept both night and day. I know because he slept in my dorm and kept me awake with his sobbing. One night I lost the rag and told him that if he did not shut up I’d give him something to cry about. I felt instant shame. Those words shame me still. He stopped crying a few days later when he fashioned a noose from a bed sheet and hung himself in a toilet cubicle.
It must have taken a determined effort to hang himself on his knees like that. He was still kneeling in the doorway of the cubicle when I found him; the improvised noose held him upright in cruel mockery of prayer. His had been a gruesome death, a violent death, the bulging eyes and bloated tongue attested to that. I hoped to God that he’d found some peace and that death had finally dried his tears.
.
Most people are lost
In power games
Of their own devising
Ensnared in the he said/she said
They endorse misery and conflict
For all of their lives
But it’s hard to hold your head high
When you’re swimming in shit
And that’s the greatest threat
To your personal freedom
Not that some unseen hand
Takes away your power through force
But that you give it away freely
As a matter of course
.
