‘Macho, macho man. I want to be, a Macho man’

It’s a great song, normally heard in gay bars up and down the country, or Flares, the only nightclub that brings back to life 50’s-90’s music all in one cheaply thrown together ‘nightclub’, retro disco ball above a multi-coloured square patterned dance floor. Regardless of wanting to be a macho man, singing this, on that dance floor, is the only way to get macho rugby players out of their egotistical masculinity which they so proudly displayed hours earlier, running their skulls into another man’s waist at sprinting pace. BAM!

This was me, my experience. In a city long forgotten about, with ‘gay pride’ still being in the underbelly of it’s society. This was called, ‘having a good time with the lads’. Not something my Dad would be proud of when he’s reliving his 20’s in a black leather jacket cruising around the UK on his motorbike I name, ‘Midlife crisis roadster’. The friends, or ‘lads’ who I was with often normally left me, or actually… I normally left them. I mingled my own ways. I found myself being comforted by bright lights and people of all ages, shapes and backgrounds singing a song about macho men. When I remember these days, I question now more than ever my identity.

I’m 11 months and 11 days abstinent from alcohol and drugs and only just starting to have the courage to honestly look into my past around who I actually am, or was… A conversation with a friend of mine last week, a close and newly found friend from recovery, who is older by 10 or so years, who has lived a similar life to me in terms of behaviours, told me his experience around homosexuality. It blew me away, so I dug a little deeper, and asked him more about his experiences. Funnily enough, I identified with the feelings around those experiences, and the experiences themselves, it’s the first time, ever. In my whole life, and his too, that we had openly spoken about this stuff to anybody.

My background, wouldn’t accept me for who I am, so I fought against my desire to search for myself and took the easier, more destructive path, drugs and alcohol, addiction, dependency, to near death. All in the name of protecting my precious mask I had consistently painted over, time and time again, different groups of people, different gangs, different cities, different drugs. That mask wasn’t personal to me, it is a very common mask, as if I was the most popular mask at the Carnival of Venice every year, and people knew who was behind the mask, people knew the tricks and behaviours of the person wearing this mask, but I didn’t. Until now, until I’ve been able to remove that mask, very slowly. I can turn it around and look at it. Labelled on the inside, the mask is simply called – ‘Masculinity’.

Why expression?

I do question myself on why we express opinion, emotion, and attitudes on such mediums like blogging, or like on a canvas, or through speakers or written on paper. Rousseau argued that the arts and sciences corrupt human morality – in a way, and even though a lover of the arts and interested in the advancements of sciences, I do believe in this. Why do I express myself, rather than being a numbed, emotionless numbed animal? I paint, I write. The effects of self-satisfaction, meditation, and self-preservation helping me overcome dark thoughts, memories and I guess, the temptation to obsess over the using of drugs recreationally. Sometimes, in the past, it was mainly about political activism, a purpose other than self-satisfaction, but more the illusion of a utopia. Why on earth am I writing this? Boredom? Confusion? Who knows. I wrote my dissertation a while ago now, and my final major project, both centred around the same political party, but the theme was a little different for my final major project. It was based on ‘How far can a student push the boundaries of freedom of expression within a democracy?’ I guess I never really found the true extent to which could answer that question. But I certainly tried, and for about a year it consumed my life, day in, day out. Every thought and action was conquered by boundaries to which I would be crossing whilst looking into, creating art against, and ultimately my involvement within this particular political party. I passed, and that’s all that mattered at the time, but now I wish I could just so easily pick up from where I left off. I intended, without knowing any of Rousseau’s writings, to use art to extend the human (mainly British) moralities within politics. Now, after reading some of the writings, I do question it. But after-all, without it, wouldn’t we just be living in the woods, we wouldn’t have rockets going beyond the skies, we wouldn’t have art galleries and museums that have incredibly taught me much, and I guess others too. Maybe, the question should be not ‘why expression?’ but more, ‘what is my aim in my expression?’. Maybe I may answer this sometime.

The start has come.

About a month ago I tried suicide many ways, and got arrested for my own safety, twice – that was just one week of my life. But it’s been a turning point, I’m now living out of a kitbag at my dad’s​ house, who also has a big drinking habit.
I’ve started a recovery programme, where I seek help for my mental health, my drug problem, and alcoholism. I’ve been to my first pre-recovery session, and my first AA meeting this week. It’s been a tough one. Having to come to terms with the simple line “Hi, I’m Michael and I’m an alcoholic.”

It’s shit. I’m not going to lie, I’m really struggling. The recovery process is much harder than the simple idea of just taking booze or drugs to block out my fears. I’m turning 25 in May, and I can quite honestly say that I’ve never lived through adulthood being completely sober from all substances. I don’t know what it’s like, I’ve been to university living in London for 4 years, and I’ve been travelling around Italy by myself. All whilst I’ve struggled with my addictions and I passed my degree (also without dyslexia guidance as my parents believe “I don’t have it”, so I’ve never had an assessment​..) with a 2:1. This allows me to do further study and that is my next aim, to gain a Masters.

I’ve had this blog for quite some time, and I’ve always been drunk or high when writing the contents. Now I’m in my recovery, whoever is going to read this, I hope you are apart of this journey with me. I am not doing this to please my family, my friends (I barely have any)… I’m doing this because I want a better life. ​So my start ​has finally come. My new start to a better life ​is here in my reach, I just have to reach out and grab it.

x

tis’ been a while

tis’ been a while since I wrote to you,
a deep sensation of red,
deep down in my bed,
the bed of my heart,
the place I want to call my most hearted.

but yet. Tis’ been a while,
since I thought of your fragile​,
innocent and weak heart.

The place I wish to part…

Was there,

Over where?

In’t pub.

Oh my friend,
tis’ been a while…

( this makes no sense, but be patient. I’m an alcoholic binger and was drug addict. starting my recovery​, It’s day one. And I​ relapsed, in’t pub. This a fight of my conscience, and my hunger for’t pub.)

Shadow passes away

Today I lost my dog, a black labrador called Shadow. Today we put him down because the vets had found huge tumors in​ his lungs and other places. Today is a very sad day. Today, I lost my friend.

I want to write a little poem for him, so here goes:

“Here lies our Shadow,
a shadow of myself,
dark, loving and mellow,
I’d had prefer it been myself.

His silky black fur, all over the floor,
remaining as a stain, until swept up like there was nothing before.
On the sofa he lounged, it became his territory,
his engraved figure, lying there, a memory no more.

Our love for him won’t go away,
a normal day, just can’t be this way!
As I see my shadow walk beside me,
I will forever remember the Shadow who loved me.

Now he looks down on me,
my head in the lead,
I look up to him as he did to me,
and I know, he’s shadowing over th​ee.

Here lies our hero,
forever remembering,
and never forgetting,
the ole boy that is,
our Shadow.”

Love you ole cock x

From Venice to Palermo. Part I

I recently went on a travelling trip around some cities of Italy, Europe. Been a European, I have a local history of ancient Roman life, and like lots of Europe it has influenced much around us. I started my journey landing in Treviso airport and stayed in the area of Mestre on the mainland near Venice. Venice was interesting, too many tourists trying to capture that perfect selfie, myself included. The Rialto bridge is just a mess of badly dressed rich tourists, flashing lights from cameras and baking heat of the sun, creating not such an enjoyable atmosphere. Walking over the academia bridge to view San Marco from the other side of the canal, beautiful place. I got mugged one my first night walking home in Mestre, and after dealing with the police right there in front of the bastards who mugged me. They got my phone back, and then told me to leave. So i had to buy some chargers I lost, and they got away with my 4gb iPod nano. It means nothing! But it was a good insight into how the police deal with a situation, Mamma mia Italia!

Next I moved to Verona, the amazingly beautiful Austrian and Italian mix of architecture, the still function ancient Roman amphitheatre and arena. Of course, Shakespeare based Romeo & Juliet in this city, and you can see why. The main high street is paved in marble… Very expensive, much like Venice, it has class, much of it. From here, I visited Lake Garda for the day, Peschiera Del Garda, a city in the south of the Lake, and Malcesine, a town further north on the east coast. Gorgeous views, just an incredible lake, it has it’s own tide, beaches all over, and you cannot see one end from the other, it’s HUGE.

I had to spent some time within these two cities, I had been waiting for some mail from the UK which I had sent to Italy the day I left. It was a train ticket so I could travel around the country and eventually get to Palermo, Sicily. It took 7 days, and after running around Verona with 20kg bag on my back and a 5kg on my front, 30degrees and no fitness training for about 5 years. I was fucking dying. Feet were swelling after walking from San Massimo, Verona, to the castell hill of San Pietro, then to Bogna Roma, Verona – all that 2 days before chasing mail around the city. With help of friendly Italian’s I had met and worked along side from the Poste Italia in San Massimo. I got my ticket, and I got the first train to Milan.

Milan, well. I wasn’t expecting what I got. What a shit hole. I arrived at the Grand Station at about 11pm. And they was at least 300 Romanian travellers and migrants outside, it was so intimidating, and I’m from Bradford, a pretty rough and multi-cultural city of Yorkshire, England. But sweet jesus, when I got to the first hotel I could, €90 it fucking cost me. The lad behind the desk even said to me, “tomorrow, you should leave, Milan is not a nice place”.
The morning after, I got up, had a quick scan around town, then left, thank heavens! Leaving the city on the train, they were so many areas of caravans, and then of migrant rescue centres. A very sad sight, for a beautiful country, the economic and fashion capital of Italy, to have such massive poverty.

Torino! Now this was a treat. I felt I had landed in Paris, the streets are wide, lined with trees as far as the eye can see. Beautiful Italian style churches and Jewish synagogues jammed in-between french style architecture. A bit colder than the rest of Italy, but your surrounded by the foothills of the alps. The nightlife is one not to miss in Torino, lots of students, lots of hipsters, very cool. A very cheap, Shoreditch in Torino. The first capital of Italy, it’s Royal buildings are glorious. Check it out.

I then moved onto the Genova, it was like stepping into a city on the verge of war. Tonnes of different police forces just driving and hanging about, loitering! And then not to mention the military presence. Amazing harbour and like any seaside town, it’s got its hills and views to go with it. But, it’s the riveria, so it’s still pricey! I didn’t feel very safe, even with all the guards, I felt like I was a victim! AHhhhhhhhhHHh

…. continued in part II

We are here again

How on earth, has it come to this? Donald Trump, potential president of the worlds biggest superpower, Britain’s Tories are clueless as to what their job is, Russia is preparing for world war III. And even the Thai leader is showing some attitude towards the current western leader Obama.

Whilst we voted out of the EU manning about how many of these immigrants we have… somewhere. Collectively all these have Putin rubbing his hands with a dubious plan. I would say the ‘world is at peace’, but I think we’re far from that. The middle east is a playground for drones, military tactics and practising of advanced weaponry.

And our media is still fucking bothered about what Jeremy Corbyn did at the weekend.

#BLAME CORBYN

La Bellezza di Heesun

English.

Our eyes meet, a simple greet, “can I have a lite please?”

You sit down, we mingled and smiled, and talked about,
The beauty of Florence.
Before you left, you asked me out, wine together, and you won’t be alone.

Later that night, we walked together,
Fingers in hands, hands in fingers, however we held hands,
We held them tight, like we had done forever,
We kissed and romanced, like a film shot in Florence.

We split ways, we left for Rome, all alone.
Would I see you again? I asked myself, I had hope.

…

We meet in Rome, we meet again.
This time, longer, a temptation in my soul.
We enjoyed Trevi together, tossing hope into the fountain,
A dream you want to come true, a desirable aspiration to fulfil.

At night I laid with you, a dream coming true,
A desire I did not want to end,
The morning seeped through the blinds,
A night to remember, a new love I felt.

We split ways again, this time for longer,
I should be able to remember, the beauties of Italy,
but my mind is lost, like a lover is no longer,
The beauty of Heesun, was my beauty of Italy.

My time in Firenze, Italia. The death of a family member – the start of a beautiful relationship.

After a beautiful day walking up to Piazzale Michelangelo, Firenze, Italia. Escaping my mind over the breathtaking views of Firenze tucked deep in the Tuscany heartlands. Late afternoon walking through the Uffizi. I sit down and drink a beer, soaking in the life and culture around me, the huge statues, fountains and glorious architecture. I received a text from my father, “your uncle bill has gone into a coma” – doctors say he won’t make it”. My heart drowns through my body, faster than the lager I drink to drown my sorrows. A dearly loved family member, I didn’t know what to feel, how to feel. I light a cigarette up and just stare at my phone. Minutes later, I hear something from above my head. Looking down to me on the curb, tears in my eyes hidden behind my shades. This gorgeous eastern Asian lady asks for a lite for her cigarette. She sits down, the rest is history.

You came to me in a time of darkness,
Surrounded by the beauty of Firenze,
I mourned my passing family,

You asked me for a light,
Never did I think, you would be the light,
the light I so dearly needed.

Your warm soul, la vostra bellezza naturale,
you became my lightness,
my guide to happiness,
my Pantheon, all in one.

Now your gone,
far away from the horizon I can see,
all I want to ask thy,
Is can I have your light,
before we’re all gone.

Eventful of the past few month, is an understatement compared to the average boring events my life drags on through!

Well, The United Kingdom European Union Referendum…. I went travelling around Italy for a month, My uncle sadly and abruptly died, Sam Alladyce quit after one game as England Football Manager, UKIP are fighting each other (one seriously ill in hospital) and Jeremy Corbyn won a second election, fuck you Blairites.

Woah, what a dramatic time. But lets start from the top, where I left off, from what I can remember. In-fact, lets not, lets just get mad.

First, I’ll talk about THE EU – BREXIT!