Tuesday 14 August 2012

Expressway to yr Hoose

A decision had been reached - he was moving to Sweden and that was fucking final. His legs and arms were sore he was so angry so he went to the fridge to check if there was a can of beer there even though he knew there wasn´t. Never mind, a spot of music might suffice to calm the nerves. Something had just occured to him, he fucking hated Sweden. And every other country on the planet for that matter. So that was no good.
Old lessons had to be re-learned. In order that he might move ahead.

A decision had been reached - he was moving to Papa New Guinea. This was serious stuff, a serious decision had been reached. How had the decision, how had he arrived at it? It was the result of angry, spontaneous thought and, as such, was unlikely to endure.
Other things for consideration - he had been so angry earlier it had been impossible to conceal, despite his wont to conceal such unpalatable states of being. And then, observing his anger, she had become angry at his reluctance to elaborate on said anger. An absurd state of affairs. His reluctance to demonstrate anger was proliferating further anger.
-Why are you angry?
-I´m not angry.
-I can tell you´re angry!
Her vitriol seemed to surpass his now, at least superficially. But he sensed his was more deep rooted and lasting, slowly burning itself out and draining him in the process.
To calm down, he attempted to make a list of things one could purchase with 5000 pounds. He meditated on the character-eroding power of 5000 pounds, how it could hold sway over a person and effect lapses in judgement, erosions in moral integrity and other lamentable occurrences. The desire to attain said sum of money, that is. The sum itself could be utilised in various manners, positive, harmful, frivolous, indulgent, beneficial etc. But the desire to attain said sum, perhaps with no particular aim or purpose, the mere sum itself, the inherent potential.
He was going out to take a walk and he told her but she persuaded him not to. It was 1am for fuck sake. Some things said cannot be unsaid and these things shall haunt the waking mind, amen brother. The sheer snarling power of that odious figure 5000 had become ominous and even disgusting. Disgusting, yes. He had the sensation that horrifying insects had planted eggs in his belly button or some damn thing. The disorientating sensation of briefly glimpsing the true nature of someone´s character.
He suddenly thought of his friend´s cousin, a young lady who had married a wealthy man 20 years her senior. The wedding had been held in a grim city in the north of england on a rainy day in December. It sometimes struck him that wealthy people lacked taste or subtlty. Something had went a wee bit wrong, the money had fucked up their brain somehow. The insane comfort of wealth, the insane meaninglessness of wealth in an ends in itself. The desire to be wealthy with no particular aim or fixed purpose. Wealth afforded ye options. Ye could sit and consider your options. As ye amassed more wealth ye would be afforded more options and then ye would have a hell of a lot of thinking to be getting fucking on with. Even the seemingly paltry sum of 5000 pounds demanded much consideration, one would have to be careful not to blunder and part with the money unwisely.
Perhaps better not to spend it at all - wait and amass a wee bit more! There were always further options and further desires to consider. A lack of ambition was definitely for the feint-hearted.
He was pacing angrily around the living room, she called through to him to come to bed. He answered no and explained that he was moving to Ethiopia.
But seriously man far too fucking angry to lie in a dark room brain ticking over he was still trembling and occasionally sneering or sighing or some sort of damn exhalation through the nostrils.
-I´ve just bought a flight to Ethiopia and I´m away to the fucking airport, he called through. She groaned in despair.
It was a mild, almost muggy night, as close to muggy as one can reasonably expect in Scotland. He was Jonny Marks, liker of not anyone, pacing the streets in a fury, a frenzy. This state of escalated anger must not be allowed to hold sway over him. He desired 5000 pounds, so what, who didn´t even someone who already owned 5000 pounds would surely like the same again. Even someone with a lot more could not reasonably be expected to dismiss such a sum offhand. But a desperation for the money did not exist. What could effect such a desperation? Debt, addiction? The usual disruptive factors. What sort of behaviours could such a desperation inspire? Fraud, theft, armed robbery. Prostitution.
He remembered the father of the bride, his speech at the wedding... he loves my daughter and makes her happy. His love made her happy. And did she love him? This was not taken into account, the question was moot. He made her happy. And did she make him happy, he with his self proclaimed sleeping disorder, OCD and violent mood swings? He supposed she did, he loved her after all. He desired her as his wife, even confessed to wanting to marry her from the moment he had met her. An immediate marital union, swiftly skipping past the usual period of courtship, such he had desired. Some patience my man! Such impulsiveness was unwise without a shadow of a doubt.
Jonny Marks, hater of people, was walking under a bridge, so to speak. No I mean, he really was, and here were two down and out cunts pissing against a wall. A most distasteful spectacle, right out in the open. When he came out the other side of the bridge he noticed the moon in the sky. 5000 pounds, five thousand fucking pounds. Not as little as three, not even as much as 10. That was important to stress, the exactness of the amount. He imagined a cheque, five thousand pounds only. Not a cent more my man! A sardonic smile. Money exchanging hands. A full moon glimpsed through mist. The inevitability of certain events.
She had changed, he had changed, changes occured. Or didn´t. Maybe they didn´t, changes in perception occured instead, revealing previously unobserved factors.
One thing was for certain, he was moving to New Dehli.
He walked past the Scottish parliament, this part of the city was quiet at night and he found it to be peaceful. As oppossed to certain other areas which had the potential to inspire a sense of chaos or despair. Pushing onwards, ahead, that was the thing, the thing to be doing. Imperative. Inertia would prove fatal.
An alcoholic drink was now desired, one costing hopefully less than 5000 pounds as he lacked such a sum. He wondered if this made him undesirable as a person. A lack of wealth was an odious trait, definitely. He imagined being asked to perform an unpalatable act to obtain the sum of 5000 pounds. How would he react? And what bars were open around here at this time anyway_ Never fear, he knew of one. A cracking wee place, dimly lit, real atmospheric. Interesting types of people hung around there he supposed. He would ingratiate himself with them, maybe even become interesting himself. Being interesting made you desirable as a person, may even land you in the position of being somehow able to obtain 5000 pounds.
Jealousy was an undesirable trait, envy of soming owning 5000 pounds for example. Jealousy over what someone might do, someone you cared about say, what they might do to obtain 5000 pounds.
Plans were required, both immediate and eventual. The immediate plan, visit aforementioned cracking wee bar for a cold pint. The eventual plan, emmigrate to Mexico City.
The bar was on a side street off the Royal Mile, he entered and approached the bar where two old fellows were blethering. The guy working behind the bar was known for being a right flippant cunt, consequently Jonny aye adopted an uncharacteristically aloof, almost aggresive manner when dealing with him. Just kidding, he was a polite, meek bastard unless he´d had more than a few in which case he could end up bouncing a hard object off some cunt´s head. He was always duly punished for such transgressions by irate doormen etc. so please do not be too horrified dear reader.
A fridge behind the bar contained a numbre of tasty Belgian brewed beers and suchlike, but such was the low level of the lighting that Jonny could not discern any of the names on the bottles. A most frustrating state of affairs, dear reader, I´m sure you´ll understand and grasp. Not to worry, he would seek the counsel of the helpful cunt behind the bar whose job it was to supply prospective customers with the necessary information to arrive at an in formed decision with regard to purchasing something to drink. It was important to make the correct decision, wheter matters at hand were trivial or otherwise. In fact it seemed somehow more important to get the small matters satisfactorily in order; as it was easier to extend more influence in trivial matters it somehow seemed more tragic if these were not correctly solved. Such was his feeling anyway, others might harbour an altogether different viewpoint. They were welcome to. He squinted his eyes and tried to see what was what. Not a damn clue, he couldn´t see shit. The bartender seemed even more bored than could be reasonably expected under such circumstances, admittedly banal as they were.
-Are those Belgian wheat beers there?
-I´ll take one of those.
-Which one? There´s like five to choose from.
Fuck sake. Make some effort in yer job ya cunt. Convey the merits of each product to the prospective consumer, the selfsame guy about to pay the not inconsiderable sum of four pounds for said product. Relatively speaking not inconsiderable I mean, it wasn´t five fucking thousand pounds or anything like that. But still, but still. And then his hand was reaching to grasp an ashtray on the bar so that he might propel it at the floor or the man serving. In protest, you understand.The barman didn´t seem to understand at all.Such behaviour seemed to amount to little more than anti-social savagery in the wary eyes of the bartender. Jonny quickly understood he was no longer welcome and quickly made his way for the exit to pre-empt a situation where he might be conveyed there by means of force. Expressway to yer hoose. No, not even yer hoose, just the street, ye had to stagger the rest of the way. Roaring into the night. Victorious. Fists in the air. Falling into the gutter with the rest of the scumbags. Cunts pissing under bridges. The lot. His brethren. Just kidding. He felt no affinity with those wasteful cunts. Truth be told he was an ambitious bastard - various ambitions including amassing wealth - 5000 pounds to be specific. And of course his travels, emmigrating to fucking the Middle East or some damn place, these ambitions could not be ignored or thwarted a second longer. Immediate action was of grave necessity.
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