“…the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars…” Jack Kerouac
Go-go journeys up and down the planet, plenty of patterned agonies starving nights missed laughter and some dancing here and there and at the end bam! Everything was fine. What was the use of all that loneliness and torturing and annoyance and gratitude, it all brought us to hell and out, but only out because we had gotten too used to hell and to our beds they were the same thing anyway both comfortable and safe it was alright we believed it was only for tonight, only tonight we would forgive ourselves for being ignorant, not drunk enough to get out there inside life and live those little lives of ours in all their pain. We got out of hell to get into our heads, what was the difference I couldn’t tell, we were mostly counting our regrets and memories because we had to hold on to either the past or the future when we hated the now, all of the books I’ve ever read the spiritual gurus and meditations in Hyde Park ceased to exist so easily while thinking of her small and firm breasts and her big heart beating for me and not so much for herself and her sunlit pale forever-tear-ing eyes at that particular time she could have been in tears or climaxing for the first time in what it seemed to her in ages, we had to go through all the lovers all the hurting and fucking to move onto another place in life but what if we wanted to pause to stay still in a moment of time? People insisted timing was everything and I just wished there was no time at all, only the bigness of things so big, big enough to fight mine and everyone’s lonely mid-nights, bigger than time making us braver or freer enough to run towards some silly journey but run.
To want to live and be synced with aching and library fucking and trust issues and embarrassing moments and all of the realness out there instead of perfecting moments and adding filters and heels at stupid bars and dating apps and pointless videos and the chit-chatting all around the mindless jobs and morning train rides to hateful regions with more dead souls, to accept life in all of its ugliness was the ultimate beauty, and the rest, it didn’t say much about who we were where we were headed what we craved deeply in our bones, not in our heads because heads were hallucinating and hearts were blurry. How do we know where we are? Running up Portobello Road impossible-to-count fruits and tourists and art and things, faces but I didn’t see any of those I only watched the never-dying hope for better timing and perhaps June just around the corner promising better times but we all know time and in what fragile ways it carries and drags itself. Hurry up June and the Sun and us getting older preferably sillier than ever and her fake leather skirt lifted all the way up, we bake under this rare London Sun and shout out we’re happy and we’re not chasing life, we’re merely being in it flowing in whatever form we can take, the form of lovers in June, burners in September and wherever we go we are life.
We were born, brought up and suddenly grown up only to end up killing who we were every day of our lives by not being who we were where we were. Let us be more confused, nervous about something joyous about mistakes and brokenness in all senses and no more sterile passion-less monotonous jobs and raves and exams and lovers that couldn’t be differentiated from the other ones. Let’s have more unique and chosen moments, that was the word I so desperately had to find – CHOSEN, not just things that we would have because they were right there like some naked girl in our bed and what else to do but fuck her. What I insisted on was not for bigness of things, even let them be small tiny pieces of life but really yearned and fought for moments out of urge and passion and violent wanting right now and not in a couple of months. I watched and searched for that burning urge in people and I saw none so I went back to myself I used all of my fire to try and light up others to be able to see burning inside and outside of bodies and souls and raw fucking and tears on Shoreditch rooftops and Chelsea roads, it was everything it meant everything even though it left us with nothing apart from the useless self-knowledge and endurance and hope for getting it right next time, but of course next time never came and I always promised and swore and prayed to leave town when my heart was broken, but I stayed trying to fix it and she was happy somewhere else somewhere easy and sunny, dancing making love and not a single cold star up in the sky like that night I saw her last. I detested the little sad hotel bar and lobby and the rest of the hotels in the entire sphere, the striking awareness of this very big world of ours with so very few people in it. The burning… How didn’t it burn us out? We were stronger than we thought we were but so what? I’d rather be weak and silly and happy than all that burning inside and out and yet I chose fire over and over again.
“Like a true Nature’s child, we were born, born to be wild.”, instead we spent lifetimes so many lifetimes quietly walking through all those trains under the Earth we were loud in our work achievements, counting fucks and blows preaching we were living to the fullest. What did we really know about fullness? We waited for June or whenever we were going to see the person we love, go on a holiday we’d get there one day. Slow down, I imagined life’s fullness consisted somewhere high up in the air and us, opening up to the world, empty-handed, sometimes poor and in pain if that’s the way we were, so be it. I spent many days hungry and alone, hungry and in love I spent them all and it didn’t change a thing if I was sad I’d cry if I was in love I’d be blessed despite the empty bank accounts and bullshit jobs, I saw Nature in the bright sun rays reminding me I was a child and free and since then I only dreamt of running up and down in the grass in the sand in Notting Hill and Ibiza, anywhere and together with the Sun despite my brokenness because there was too much life at this particular second to begin to get occupied with the pressure of time and everyday struggles. Right there on top of Ace Hotel, outside of comfort zones and always and always and forever, and I couldn’t say this enough times but always saying how you feel, there it is the way to bliss, the way to endless roads and we all know the road is life.