What am I?
Thursday April 30th 2009, 12:55 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized

What am I?

I can choose to taste
But not to smell
I can choose to look
But not to hear
It can be hell
To be so near

What am I?
A taxi driver…silly

Yes…yesterday produced a few smelly people
And as an unassuming
Reasonably dressed fat man
Approached the cab
I had no reason to suspect anything
As he shut the door
The sudden trapped air
Pulsed across in a wave
Luckily I had the drivers window already open
Lordy lord…what a stink
This pong had a half life
It was decay at a molecular level
And definitely a rival for the worse ever
Fortunately it was only for a short distance
I struggled with the urge to open the other window
Mainly because I like to be discreet at all times
Then I realised I had my left hand over my mouth
Discreetly…but still…over my mouth
Whilst he tattled away in the back in a squeaky Brummy accent
Shortly after he got out…so did I
My cab was contaminated
And out of service
But not for long

During a similar incident last week
Caused by a wet dog
Handsome…glossy coat
Respectable looking dog
But humming with dog smell
I had to shut down the cab service
And take a trip to the £1 shop
I was looking for some fabric freshener
But there was only Glade air fresheners
I sighed at the thought
Of combating the dogmosphere with this cheap Granny mist
Then I spotted an odd one
Glade had made one in vanilla
I picked it up and hissed a small cloud into the aisle
By George…that was perfectly acceptable
And the very next customer
Complimented me on the a lovely smelling cab

One can spend long moments alone with ones thoughts
It can lead to dreaming
It can lead to yearning
And the yearning can meander all over the place
At one point I started yearning for a past that I had never had
I was growing up on the West Coast of the USA
My parents were part of the Bluegrass community
And I spent many evenings skipping around in my dungarees
In an atmosphere thick with creativity and other kids
My parents were happy beautiful musicians
I became fluent in Mexican and Banjo
And played at the Big Sur by the swimming pool
With Neil Young and Stephen Stills
And there I met Her Royal Hippiness Mrs Dial
With flowers in her hair
And we moved to an Orange farm
With a stunning view of the Pacific
She would tend the Oranges
Whilst I tinkered with classic cars in my barn
Oo…heres a passenger
‘Could you take me to the new NHS cancer screening centre please?’
‘Lovely day…..’

I returned to the rank
And continued to stare at the passing world
Look at all the people
Completely busy wasting their time
I could get out of the car
And ask any one of them
“What are you doing?”
And I betya that whatever they were doing would be fuckin pointless
Somewhere in a deep orbit of the planet earth
Will be a space ship sat watching us all
One Alien will be sat with his feet up on the console
Drinking his brew
And laughing until he has tears in his eyes
That a species can be so stupid
To have evolved for several thousand years
And not have the slightest idea why he is here
To not have the slightest idea of who he is
And that he boxed up such notions into a thing called Philosophy
And then proceeded to marginalise it until there was virtually no margin left
Showing no signs of any intention left in him to even bother
To…(beep beep beep)
I leaned forward and pushed the button
And then drove to the pub at the top of the hill

As I was staring out of the window
The taxi sank to one side
As a great big white blob got in
“Igo Inn” she grunted drunkenly
Igo inn is a pub in Kemptown
I set off listening to radio 5 as a travelled
“Shat ap!”
After another fifty yards she said it again
“Shat ap!”
“Shat ap!”
I think she was refering to the chatter on the radio
‘It’s ok love…I’ve turned it off’
“Fuck em!”
She took a long deep breath…inflating her blob
“Fuck em!” (allow fifteen seconds between each ‘fuck em’)
“Fuck em!
“Fuckin Arabs!”
“Fuck em!”
“My daughter married one of the bastards”
“Fuckin Arabs!”
“Fuck em!”
“Where are we now?”
‘Manor Hill’
“Fuck em!…Do you like em?”
‘Arabs?…’ I didn’t know what to say I just shrugged
“Yeah I can tell you fuckin hate em as much as I do”
“Where are we now?”
‘Manor Hill’
“Fuck em!”
“Where are we now?”
‘Manor Road’
“Fuck em!”
“Where are we now?”
‘Outside the pub’
“Oh no…don’t go right in front of it”
‘I wouldn’t worry love…it’s got frosted windows…that’ll be £4.80’
“Here…. take £4.50” she said as if offering me a tip
‘It’s £4.80 you nutter’
She was already struggling against gravity and the door frame
And at last
She was out

At the end of the day
I parked the cab
And began the walk home
I could see the public toilets some way ahead
And realised the urge to pee
It took me a good thirty seconds to get to the toilet
During which…I saw nobody else enter
I entered the toilet
There were four men already in there
One was washing his hands
The other three were standing at the urinal
I got out my chopper and started to pee
As I was peeing
I squeezed my focus into the bottom left corner of my eye
There was no wee coming from any of the other choppers
And I was having a long one
Eventually I came to the shake
Still there was no wee from the others
And no shake from the others
The other man was still washing his hands
I joined them in ther vigil for a little while
But it began to feel wrong
I put it away
As I left the toilet
They were all still as I found them
One thing Arthur C Clarke should have covered before he died
Was Mens Toilets


More Trouble With 23
Thursday April 23rd 2009, 3:04 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized

Not bad
Actually writing something right on the same day
This is progress

But today felt more like regress
Maybe not regress
Perhaps…a hazy standstill
That makes you feel in regress

I left the house
Again wearing a short sleeve shirt
In the cool but warming sunny morning
By heck…we have had a good run of weather
I fired up the cab
And started my usual habit
Of driving all over the place…just to keep things moving
It usually works
But it has its drawbacks
When it goes wrong…it hurts
And today the rot started at 08-45am
I legged it across town to collect a reprobate schoolkid
The job was on account
So one feels more secure in the fare actually being there
And he was there
But he came out
And told me that he wasn’t going in today
I wrestled with it for a moment
And decided to do the usual thing
Pretend that I had done the job anyway
This is unofficial driver policy
Not company policy
Because all you get is £2 for driving all that way and wasting your time
But for the third time on the trot
The office caught me out
And I was duffed with the £2

I was bloody sore
And rang one of the old hands
Trying to guage if there were any upcoming meetings
Where I could vent
But he said that there wasn,t
Instead he would ring the boss and run it by him

I went back to the car
And started to fill in the form for my duffing £2
Yikes!…It’s the 23rd of April
I coulf feel the prescence of the mischievious number
I could feel it hiding behind every possible hiding place
Like some Gameshow of the Gods
All I could hope for
Was that it was not my turn for the 23 treatment
Or that if it was…it wasn’t severe

In went back to my main rank
But when I got there
The rank was full…and I couldn’t fit on
It is a rare occurence
And one that had a pivotal role in what happened next
I went round the block and settled on another rank
Still in the same zone
As I sat there
Chatting away with the ‘old boy’ on the phone
My cab was being bounced quickly up on the screen list
I was in mid whinge when I hit the button for my turn
And failed at first to register
My eyes were desperately trying to signal my brain
It suddenly dropped on me
I stared at the screen
“Fuckin ell!”
‘What’s up?’
“I’ve gotta go”
‘Why?…What you got?’
I said that…not quite believing it
Micky continued to confirm its validity
The same job had gone out last week
But normally
These jobs are pre booked
And drivers are chosen from a long slow list
She must have wanted it real quick
So they took it straight to the nearest cab
The chances of this happening are as rare as a pink unicorn
I fired the cab
And punched the accelerator
Straight down the closest side street
And along the back way

“23 is fuckin with me…”
“23 is fuckin with me…”
I tried to hold back the apprehension
I knew it was all or nothing
If this went wrong
My day was over
The mental drag of hope and loss
Would have ruptured the delicate groove
Smashing my flow

I pulled up at the hotel
It took probably 90 seconds to get there
Straight out and into the lobby
I indicated ‘taxi’ and called the woman’s name to the staff
They looked puzzled
“One has just arrived and left”
Oh shit…here we go
I ran out
There was no sign of it
I radioed in
The operator couldn’t believe it
“Why she has only just rang minutes ago”
And then call on the radio for information
Nothing was forthcoming
Even if it was one of our drivers
He wasn’t going to answer

Then I did something stupid
I decided to give pursuit
As I set off on ‘mission stupid’
I could sense my fall into the 23 trap
It was controlling me
It was prodding my curious anger

The edge of the city was soon reached
And I held at the roundabout ready to pounce onto the motorway
Oh bollocks
A copper drove by and settled in about a hundred yards ahead
I was stuck in a 70mph wagon train
With the copper as leader
I made my way carefully to the front
And willed him to slow down
So I could edge away from him

This he did…surprisingly
And within minutes I had broken free
Along with a bunch of other daredevils
I let a speeding Alfa pass
And tucked into his shadow
We were away
As I diced with the speed trap zones
Hiding astern of the alfa
I started to feel uneasy
This could turn out bad
With 23 at play
And me…deep in random territory
What was the next card out of the sleeve?

I started to descend from a high position
And like a Fokker Wulf…bursting from the cloud into clear sky
I spotted the enemy up ahead
I turned the throttle and gunned it straight for him
His crappy skoda was no match for my German metal
And I was soon upon him
It was the enemy
Not one of our lot
I thought I would see the whites of his eyes
Before I blasted him out of the sky
He was somewhere in the region of Greece to Syria
With a bad jacket
And a tightly permed mullet
I checked in the back
And there was the one woman
I looked at him again
This was the man
Who stole the biggest job that I never had

I forged ahead
To wait at Gatwick
To make sure that it was them

But was that the right car?
It could be anybody
As I drove back to Brighton
I started to devize
A complicated plot
In which I would trick the driver into admitting
That he went to Essex
And then I would let go with a terrifying salvo of abuse
Embarras him
Blackleg him
Shaming him

But what if?
What if?…he did do it
But picked her up legit
Flagged down by her
Such was her impatience

How would I work that out?
How could I fool him into telling me how he came upon the job?
I started to devize an ever more complicated plot

The reality set in…upon re-arrival in the city
My day was now fucked
And that I had fucked myself
Insanely thinking that some number was behind all of this
I had instructed myself to fuck myself on the way to the hotel
I was now recieving a parcel
That I had posted to myself
And when I opened it
I already knew what was in it
Shitdinglers Cat
I had posted myself Shitdinglers Cat
And only just realised
I decided to calm down
Best go home
And relax

But before I knew
I was on the phone to the office
Ranting away to them
About how I had caught him
And who he was
But they were hardly interested
I was speaking to one of the operators
The one like the nodding dog that smokes
They wern interested
I felt momentarily isolated
A common cabbie feeling

Then I rang Micky ‘old boy’
And continued ranting
He wern’t really interested either

Then Mrs Dial arrived home
“You won’t belive this…” I started
And rambled whilst pacing the house
Gesticulating like an Italian
She told me to calm down and forget it
I sighed and agreed as she left to go back to work
Oh what an idiot I am
How must I sound?
Bumbling along about the number 23 controlling my day

By the time I reached the kitchen
I was back on the phone
This time…Josh
He is my only 23 sympathiser
He too… is trapped in the same dimension of his own making
Or so he says

Finally I gave up the ghost
And flopped on the couch with the laptop
I logged in and started to read a long article
On how to heal yourself with psychotropic mushrooms in Peru
After an hour I gave up unconvinced
I looked at the telly
Gradually becoming suspicious that
The Shadow chancellor was an alien
He looks just like Cameron

  cameron3 untitledthenumber23a
Just look at those alien faces
This was the real message
Everything has led to this point
I got up from the couch
The invasion is about to start
I looked around the rooming with darting eyes
I must begin preparations