Dave Stood At The Bar:

Dave stood at the looking at the necklace of the Barmaid, her black bra could be seen under the cheap white shirt that was her uniform, her short blond hair gave her good looks some definition. Returning back to his seat the conversation was about a former care worker now living next door to his drinking mate Chris, this neighbour lived in a drunken nihilism and what happened to him from when he was working at the Boys Remand Home to this demise, made Dave think.

Some years on,Dave was talking about a former member of staff who was just as equal in the abuse, gang rape and bullying, his so called Anarchism made him have some feeling about the drunken nihilism, Dave understood that his own world of bullshit and fantasy did not assist his truth about what had happened to him.

The Barmaid had now changed and was now sat at the , his attention drifted towards her, it had been a week of a virus, he was not well the last 18 months had taken its toll.. the continued conflict of every day, enforced isolation of the last week. He needed the attention of getting drunk into oblivion that was going to give him some feeling.

Dave thoughts were with the drunken nihilism of his mate Chris’ and his neighbour, the former care worker and duty manager, he was very much in the knowledge of what was going on at the Boys Remand Home, he had taken part in the physical beatings of Dave but to now hear what had become of him, to be honest did not please Dave

Dave’s so called Anarchism had given him so much more over the last few years, at the age of 16 it was just petty rebellion, an anger towards those who had locked Dave in cupboards, beat him and so it went onto the abuse at the Boys Remand Home.Dave was looking at the Barmaid and as he often did, he thought about demographics, what if and so forth.

The Barmaid left, one more drink here, then they left, changing the demographics of the pub they had been in, a few more and he was in a taxi home, back to his prison cell. The hangover kicked in, getting so drunk was impounding on him, it was a cold Tuesday, the good looking Barmaid was in his thoughts, for much of the day, along with the drunken nihilism of his mate’s neighbour and thoughts of his past.

Being very much a coward, led him to drunken binge drinking and days lost in a cannabis haze. Over the years it had decreased, his obsessive bullshit and fantasy had done the same, this self destruct pattern. Dave very much understood his own actions, that his actions were no different to the drunken nihilism of his mate’s neighbour, perhaps like him he needed the nihilism to give him some feeling, was in need of the conflict of his everyday life, whatever the truth, change is a constant we all need.

The Barmaid was a utopian dream, just the same as his alleged Anarchism, both just a dream and when he awoke the streets of Sheffield were full of The Plague Dogs of Humanity, just another day of nothingness, another day of oblivion. At least the hangover was giving him some feeling..

At the age of 43 he had learned a lot, the news of the last few weeks of September into November, the lies propaganda was self evident, make the working class into a pernicious evil, there was no conspiracy theory to be had, this was not 9/11.

If you are an honest working class person, you will not agree with the racism of the far right, it is all too simplistic to look at the working class as an underclass, become a part of the de-humanising process that fails to understand the very nature of our society and given some thought, you can not but understand the drunken nihilism of the neighbour. His so named Anarchism took him further from the The Plague Dogs of Humanity.

Hypocrisy is a great luxury, means you can sit there in grand judgement of others, but not look towards your own actions, in whatever state your so called humour is bullying, he had been and still was a part of the circle of bullying.

He looked at his reflection and he knew the consequence of harassment towards others, a fair weather friend sat there proclaiming his own self good, but it was not so private how he was fucking over is former girlfriend, but she only loved him, was a bitch according to him at least, talk with the former girlfriend, you might get some truth, but truth in this village was not how it worked, if truth did matter he would twat the abuser and others who drank at The Gossip Inn pub.

He needed to get drunk, remove himself from his own fantasy and bullshit, all was not well in the wider world, never mind his, dancing on the ruins of civilised world had given him some epic Urban Exploration but he had moved from one circle of self deluded mothers, and leaving the circle of political activists was good, but he had moved to another circle of self deluded mothers.

Now was the time to understand he was a freak, that forced socialisation had done him more damage than what he had gone through at the Boys Remand Home he was an outsider looking inwards towards a world, he could not be a participant off, Dave was to real, no vanity or glamour, he loathed the false plastic world of the get along gang of coke and e, he would not be at ease The Gossip Inn pub neither in there circles.

The anger inside would mean conflict would be a part of his life, he would always act to fuck his own shit up, walk towards conflict and its consequence, he had no real time for The Plague Dogs of Humanity. Dave was a Nihilist, this he very much needed to understand. The utopian ideals of Anarchism was just that, a part of the process of his forced socialisation.

Back to thinking about the Barmaid, in a world of ugliness there is always one moment of outstanding beauty that will haunt you, bring you back to the here and now. Her presence helped him along, Dave had walked past watching the people get drunk, now he was one, just another self, obsessed by his own need to annihilate himself..

The opiate of there relationship

The craft knife drew over his arm, the burning was the first feeling as always then the pain, he had done this so often, then the nirvana of blood flowed this was cheaper than crack. His arms was covered in scares, he cut again the pain took over, he had feeling from the numbness, an hour on it got to much, he washed the blood away and bandaged up his arms.

Dave woke at three, fingers down his into mouth he was sick, half an hour on he felt better and back to bed, he lived in a single bedsit flat, he was unsure if those who he lived could make out the noise of his self induced vomiting, he had been making himself sick, around the same time as he had been cutting himself up, each time he bumped into the other people of the house, the paranoia kicked into play.

He could neither tell his fair weather friends about what he was doing., to the wider world, he was just another Plague Dog of Humanity, involved in the play for today, of lies and deceit, he liked to think he was a creative person at fantasy and bullshit, but truth be told he was no better than others, of the wider world, truth be told he felt like he was just tolerated.

Dave was a true Nihilist, there was no feeling for himself or others, all right this was not the whole truth, this opiate of life, he sometimes very much loved, but as with any opiate this rather close relationship had more lows than highs, for both of them, it was not socialism in action, the village looked at there friendship with envy and sometimes he knew the utter contempt, towards himself, there was no need for the contempt he had enough of his own.

The narrow intolerant closed minds, could only see the exploitation, the opiate of there relationship was not a simple patriarchal marriage, to some they was Sheffield,s first queer couple, it was an opiate both being addicted to the conflict, to the love, highs and lows of there long term partnership, this was a simple truth of this addiction, as with any opiate the truth escaped people of how addictive they can be, it was an equilibrium of release from themselves.

Both had the urge to destroy the system which destroyed them each day of there youth. They understood they cannot go on living as they are, their minds are on fire. Soon enough they run up against the fact that they must come up with a coherent set of tactics that will have a practical effect on the world around them, this was the truth of this opiate of relationship, it was not an easy addiction to give up.

Any true nihilist does not know of the historical possibility for the transformation of the world, his or her subjective rage will coralise into a role: the suicide, the solitary murderer, the street hoodlum vandal, the neo-dadaist, the professional mental patient… all seeking compensation for a life of dead time, here the truth hit Dave he was in need to kick the opiate of his relationship.

The naked light bulb told him a truth about the ongoing exploitation, that was the opiate of his relationship, he needed to be free, not live in continued guilt as he was doing, sometimes the village gossip was right, there was a need to destroy, however it was his own self conclusion, being to much of a cowed to undertake a quick suicide, he deluded himself the drunken fools he named as friends was the right path to self annihilation, all it did do was provide an opportunity of denial for The Middle Class.

It was 3am when he opened the door to his prison cell, another night of slow self annihilation, the hangover took over the Gray wet Saturday, along with the guilt of his actions, in this state truth hit home, there was no real friendship with those he had sat in the pub with, not only did they suffer from the same contempt and self annihilation, they was just as deluded as him, the ego of the individual is a strange thing.

The lies and bullshit kicked in, not only to him self but those he did see, he was not going to admit to any truth of how he loved death, but was in as much fear of it than love. The so called friends he had spent the night looking for obscurity with, was just another opiate.

Much of his life was a lie, a delusion of the self looking at reflection of him self, in the toilet of the café as he made him self sick told him this, his fear of falling and being told it was due to him being a fat basted then being beaten for being a fat basted was with him much of the day of The Haunted House on a Hill overlooking Penistone and Holmfirth, was there truth? in the regret expressed to him over the actions one of his follow urban explores?.

He washed his hand and waited a moment for the pain from his face to go, humour was a good mask, it deflected from his feelings and any conversation about his binge drinking, he hated living a lie towards himself, he wanted to be liked loved understood, at 430 on the Friday before another night of heavy drinking, an argument had ensued, he was not going to listen, neither was his friend going to be honest he was in fear of the opposition he might get.

Some years back it was an axe, he understood it had to come to an end, his attention seeking for all the wrong reasons, other than the truth could be seen by the wider world, if only his friend had a gun, would he shoot Dave? The utopian conversation about shoplifting, was just that, along with the comment people like you need shooting.

We had no need to for the Middle Class to demonise us, here we was doing it for our self s, a lot of truth had hit home with Dave, he understood he was just tolerated out of pity and fear, you could see this when speaking with people, The Middle Class are to polite to speak any truth, he told them was the self consumer of his woes, he was in the living ocean of his waking dreams, when asleep they was nightmares.

Deliverance was a long path, Dave was in no position to offer it others, neither was they going to offer him any form of salvation from his himself, to them he was not an Anarchist, but a Nihilist, it was a term of abuse

The long continued patronising contempt, he had no need for there superior pretence, of being Anarchist at one with his suffering, of course he could continue to live in denial of himself, it would be unrefined to invite himself to where he was not welcome, it would only serve the ignorance of The Middle Class, and those who thought it to be a funny joke.

Sometimes when you walk out of a door, there is no need to go back for another beating, when walking was the better option, he now needed to put an end to the 20 mouths of self denial and take the opportunity he had been given, it was time to be an Anarchist.

Dead Flag Blues……The cars on fire, there is no driver….

Dave had not slept Thursday night, it had been a year without the crutch of cannabis, though he was still binge drinking, that had slowed down since he literally rolled out the pub, stumbled a little way then fell down once more and went home covered in blood, he fell asleep.

Wakening to look at the damage, a fucking black eye, how did that happen he thought. 1994 is not even a memory, there were moments like this night and parts come back, the door man told him how he had ran for the taxi, he was not going home. This was his state of his urban paranoia, smoked up he gave not a fuck, drunk he become like all others, a wanker, and there had been too many MOMENTS of late.

Alcoholism is a pernicious evil rife in all walks of life, it is the modern plague dog of humanity it knows no class, there is nothing positive about binge drinking, it impacts upon those we say we love and we might like to think our loved ones do not notice. Daddy in a hung over state, Mother on the toilet at 3am is still a ghost, the children in the playground asking does your father know all the city centre pubs, is a lesson Dave understood but had not learned from.

It was a Friday night, there was a gig, though he had not slept Thursday, he left home at 10am, tripping from sleep deprivation, Dave walked through the urban paranoia of city life on his way to gig, this was underground, below a former pub. It had last been used in the 1970s closed for some years, at that time the former nut and bolt factory was working, he entered and down into the basement of caves.

It was relaxed, the smell of smoke drifted in the air, The Drunken Fish Woman was at the bar, she had been with him much of the week, from the free improvised jazz gig, and now tonight, how you can ignore people in such a small space, but this was the village of Sheffield, so he said hello to people.

The polite bullshit that was there conversation, he pondered why he placed himself through this bullshit, watching creative people such as The Drunken Fish Woman looking for her oblivion, was there a need for her to replace the beauty of haunting paintings she created with some ugliness? He had seen a well known local graffiti artist paint some of their best work, good free flow, the vibrant colours and the subject matter of self emancipation, a week on he was back painting it over with brutalist letters.

He walked into the gig space, on the stage was the lady he had met a few weeks back, here she was singing like the angel that Dave had envisaged her to be, the natter of the people was rude, Dave drifted into her voice and swam into her eyes thinking of her in a summers dress on a halcyon bucolic summers day, laughing and singing in a meadow, her naked self could be seen every so often under the summers dress, he was back in the basement of caves.

Her set came to an end, he wandered around and took some photographs, while Dave was here, and hung about, then the next act come on, he took some images and sang along to the songs he had come to know. Slowly, the creative people drank themselves into oblivion, in this circumstance all the conversation that was had amounted to nothing.

In walked the memory of his drunken running for a taxi, it was about time to exit. Dave got his jumper and left into the night, walking home in the night stood still, down in the caves the party would have no doubt gone on, inside the flats there was people sleeping, having sex, watching trash TV, a drunken husband beating his wife. Life was in flow, though hidden from himself.

Dave had thought about going into the part demolished Nut and Bolt factory, but he left that thought and got in a taxi home. He could not sleep, the night became sunrise of Saturday he drifted into a light sleep, he had some how trapped a nerve in his next, the pain kept waking him.

Dave got dressed, looked at his growing dreadlocks, placed the peaked cap on his head, it was an overcast day of rain, though warm. He got the bus to where he needed to be, once things was sorted that needed to be, he got the bus back home, opened the window in the room that was his bedroom and got undressed and slept till 4 o’clock.

Walking down in a light rain, Dave loved weather in all its forms, this time of year in bloom was just as special as the other seasons for their own reasons. He had planed to go to the part demolished nut n bolt factory, they entered and stood in the now demolished ruin, the ghost had not left, it was strange to see their playground in this part demolished state.

Images were taken, they left and Dave was home by 8 o’clock, he put on Tom Waits (mule), edited the images and wrote some blurb on them, by 11 Dave was back in bed. It was 3.30am he awoke, Dave sat at the computer and put the images from the gig online, then the ones from the nut n bolt factory, added them to the the forums and to his blogs.

It was a windy Sunday of Sunshine when Dave left for the Coffee Shop, on his way he got some food, Dave then watched the flow of life in the Coffee Shop, Earnest Hemingway come to mind, as he updated the blog of politics, the one with an image a day and added the report onto the one about the nut n bolt factory, his thoughts, he read little bits on the internet..

Dave walked back home, picked up the book he was reading, got his Sun Ra CDs and spent a Sunday afternoon reading, he had this dream that one day he shall make real, it is to have a cottage for one, a porch with a rocking chair, a real fire and Arga, the smell of good coffee, baking bread in the Arga and himself sat reading on said rocking chair as the world fucks itself over. Years on, he shall go to town and there he shall stand in the ruins of the urban paranoia, not knowing it had all come to an end..

This thought come back to Dave, over the weekend the news of Dennis Hopper being got by cancer had hit wires. Known for such cult classics as Easy Rider, Apocalypse Now and Blue Velvet, films he had grown up with and loved, they told so much about the urban paranoia of everyday life and the consequence of modern living. He had seen his own apocalypse, in the last week, he could not help but think that all his utopian thoughts of the glorious day when the sunshine of anarchy would rise was just that, just perhaps the pernicious evil that manifested itself each day was the way shit was going.

He refused to let this be fact, and though he had a romance with the dark side, he had seen the Drunken Fish Woman, looked at himself in the drunken fool, he knew that his children would be impacted by his alcoholism as he had been from his father, his Mother sat on the toilet at 3am kept coming back to him. It had been one fucking struggle to get off the cannabis and now was the time to find the inner self and kick the drink, to not do so was an act of weakness, he had said. No, he was not a dope fiend but looking back the facts spoke for themselves, and now was the time to kick the drink, here the tale of Dave stood at the bar comes to its end..

There are of course regrets, there are moments of thought how crass Dave stood at the bar had become. If you are reading this then pondering who Dave might be, just take a look at yourself, there he is stood looking back, there is no fucking excuse other than weakness, think on and act..


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