Monthly Archives: August 2013

But I’ve got the heart of a hustler
With a hustler’s pain
I’ve got the heart of a hustler
With all the hustler’s shame
I’ve got the body of a lover
With a masochist’s brain
I’ve got the heart of a hustler
I’m playing a dangerous game




You’re nestled in my gut again.
Why do you insist on parking there?
I’m not hospitable enough.
And it’s expensive.
That double room has been reserved
by my ambition, my desires, my obese love.
As you can see sir, it’s already
at maximum capacity.
You can’t push in the queue,
where is your etiquette?
I know you seek to control me
but that just can’t be.
Go and find yourself somebody
tougher, somebody who knows what
they offer, what size of bed and
what material of curtains,
somewhere with fire resistant décor.
Some rooms have a nice sea view.
Have you tried Bournemouth?
I heard it’s lovely at this time of year.
Honestly, if you stick around,
I’ll get angry. I’ll get so angry
that I’ll cut myself off from the
world and I’ll shout. I shout loud,
you know? I won’t hold back.
I’m warning you.
Are you listening?
*Knock knock*.
Are you listening?
Okay. If you like, you can stay
for the night. I’ve changed the sheets
and I’ve sprayed some Febreeze.
I’ve plumped the pillows and I’ve
polished the wood.
Don’t overstay your welcome.
I have things I need to do.

Moments of brilliance, where breathing is beautiful and unnatural cones of light beam a pathway through the suspended dew, where the realisation of being alive is on the tip of the mind. The air is damp, excitement coils around the guy like a python to a deer. The whereabouts of where such feelings have derived are unknown, but the mystery is altogether appetising. The sweet smell of dug up roads allude to an existence more primal, the soft patting of steps sometimes meet a crunch. Things are in motion, it’s the remembering that poses a problem, but much like winter to a flower this can be overcome.

Oh music, how I miss thee. Concentrating on earning money has made me lose touch with music and the business I built. I’m sad about it really. I feel though that change is good. As hard as it is, as much as I get this feeling in my gut when I hear good music and am no longer sharing it with the world, I just hope this is the right way. It doesn’t actually mean the music stuff is over. It’s just on hold for a little while. My friend is currently Facebook Inboxing me a load of tunes right now and I get this movie sequence of events go through my mind.

Argh. Music, I’ll always love you the most.

So after a few days I spoke again to Tom (see earlier post). He seems to have changed his story a little. For someone to make me feel the way that he did then change some key points on account of English being his second language is taking a while for me to digest. From this though, he still doesn’t quite understand why I haven’t moved on. It’s the integral part of my being, however frustrating that is for me or others, to take time with things. Yes, time is of the essence, however, I prefer to sit things out, give them time. I’ve learnt from my past, and a few wise books. It is through contemplation that I really learn. Tom is quite the character, he’s opposite to me and wants things done NOW OR WHY AREN’T THEY DONE NOW?

See, when things from my past, such as prejudice, are thrust back in to my consciousness, and I’m made to feel a certain way, I retract. Think of a hedgehog. When Mr hedgehog becomes frightened, he retracts, curls up in a ball and shows his spikes. He’s in a bubble of temporary hibernation, safe from the world while he contemplates when to come back out. When, essentially, it’s safe to. Like me. I’ll think. Think some more. Form opinions. Analyse the manner in which I’ll respond, aim to reduce any negative feelings and come back neutrally, calm, reflected. S’just how it is.


I tried Tai Chi tonight.

I now have a reflective smile plastered on my face.

I’ve been chatting to this guy online for a couple of weeks now. It’s interesting to chat to these various random international people of whom I’d never actually cross paths with if it weren’t for the medium of online chatting. Such a medium poses an alternative for me to be further analytical about who I am, how I react to certain people, in what ways I seek attention, and how other people communicate too, past the typical parading of their schlong.

The latest guy, called Tom, from Poland, of early thirties, engaged my attention through an immediate depth of intelligent conversation. We haven’t really stopped talking and it’s been quite intense. This is not, for me, a romantic connection, but it’s surely a fascinating one.

He, quite simply, is the opposite of me and no clearer had that been than when the topic of religion arose. Now I’m an open minded guy, I support freedom of speech even if I disagree with the opinion being made – that is a right as a human.

I told Tom about how I offer a homestay, that is a place for international students to stay and be supported and guided in their chosen foreign country of study. When he queried where the student who is staying with me now is from and I replied Saudi Arabia, his face showed a very evident amount of disgust. His lip curled up, like Elvis Presley’s would have done, and snarled, joining his frown and negative body language.

From this started a debate of why he so opposed Muslims. All Muslims. The thing that I’m overly sensitive about in this debate is my own experiences of having been on the receiving end of such stereotypical prejudices because of the colour of my skin. I am not Muslim, I am Sikh, yet I’d still, in my old mining town community, be on the receiving end of racial abuse, at an age where I wasn’t able to understand people’s fears and ignorance and I wasn’t able to understand what was so different about me. I don’t seek sympathy or pity, those experiences made me stronger, I suppose they made me mature a little bit quicker than I should have, ultimately they aroused my interest in dispute and made me seek out a new life in a bigger city where such viewpoints weren’t common.

Tom has really challenged my tolerance of such views. I know that he is a nice guy, he’s sweet and works hard and isn’t racist. I feel like he’s misguided and is following the status quo in his country, Poland, that hasn’t had the same kind of mass immigration as Britain has had. He argued my points and my affinity to unity and one race, but he put across some pretty strong opinions bred by fear. I told him we have two core emotions, fear and love, and that his opinions are bred by fear, possibly from his local media and general use of Muslims to scapegoat wider problems or even worse, cover up what’s really going on.

He didn’t let up and I’m not really sure he understands why I was so opposed. I mean, we are opposites, from his uber structured way of thinking to my flailing, wispy, so called arty mind, to his focus and grit to my dream-like thoughts, to his harsh blunt opinions to my honest but softly approached manner of opinion. None of those things bothered me, it is not the differences that I’m so bothered about, and I respect his honesty. I celebrate difference. I love being able to talk and learn from people different to me, they may have something vital to teach me that I need to acquire to push me through life.

But, he didn’t quite understand that the reason I was so guarded on the issue was that stereotypes, prejudice, discrimination, intolerance and ignorance run deep in my past. You never really know how much something shaped you until it’s thrust back in to your consciousness.

It has posed an interesting debate and I have observed my own way of responding to him. I don’t want to change his opinion, that’s not my job to do, but I did want to make clear to him how such opinions could have an affect on somebody else without his conscious knowledge. I think if he’d have known it would have got such a response from me, he would have absolutely steered clear, because he likes my “friendship” or company.

Interesting though, people.