The Lonely Road?
Concerning Literary Rejection?
Don't make me laugh.
Please remember that this is political allegory.
No, not political, social allegory, and...
...I was coming home from LLandudno on Sunday when it happened. I had a bad argument with Mr B in the car - I'm not sure what about, probably the drugs - but I was driving too fast, I could feel my neck-muscles were locked and apparently a vein was throbbing in my head.
The petrol was into the reserve tank and I abdicated responsibility over the vehicle in view of the high risks of fatality.
I got out of the car at the petrol station to walk home the final couple of miles. Cool off. Wind down. But I didn't.
I decided to cut through Whitfield Common.
There were three teenage girls exiting the gate as I made my way to cut through; two were giving the other one directions.
As I passed the play park I scoped three teenage boys with a girl standing about 15 feet from them. As I walked past and the boys left my field of vision, I heard what sounded like a small stone being thrown toward my feet and I stopped immediately, to weigh up the situation and what the consequences should be.
After about three seconds I turned and asked, "Did one of you just throw something?"
They looked a little startled, each one. Two had hoods up and looked thin and weak, the other was probably clinically obese for his age and propped himself up against the children's climbing wall.
"Did one of you ****ing throw something," I asked.
"Maybe," said the fat one.
"You want to ****ing throw things, don't ****ing throw them at me. I'm a ****ing psychopath, you're messing with the wrong ****ing person," I spat.
The fat one laughed.
"Is it funny? Is something ****ing funny?
Is it funny?" I demanded.
"Everything's funny," he said, sniggering, half-way between shock and mockery.
"Is a broken ****ing nose funny?
Is that funny you ****ing ****?
Is a broken ****ing nose funny?" I could feel myself winding, like an old, but powerful precision-tooled clock spring.
"I've had a broken nose, it's not even sore," Fatscum replied.
I looked at them and weighed up the odds of physical success, which were good, and then subsequent court actions, which were bad. I turned away.
"****ing little ****s," I spat again.
When I was well around the corner, out of sight and around 200-feet away, I heard them shout something, my heart thumped and I stopped dead in my tracks. I looked around for a big stick and quickly started to imagine how much pace I could get up after the corner or whether I could get home for Big Bat and back again before they left.
I thought of the prosecution case again.
I walked home, palpitating all the way.
Poetrty Scotland http://www.poetryscotland.co.uk/ agreed to publish "Existential Sollipsism from the Scheme" http://hithimagainjackhescrazy2.blogspot.co.uk/2013/06/existential-solipsism-from-scheme.html
Sam Smith http://thesamsmith.webs.com/ had taken a piece called "The Pitchur Above" http://virgilshandbag.blogspot.co.uk/ for The Journal.
And Erbacce http://www.erbacce.com/ had chosen me as the featured writer in issue 36 - dedicating half the magazine and an interview to me.
I could no longer call this "The Lonely Road" - even although it had paid me no money.
The two things that stuck in my head were the Fat Kid, and the fact that I'd never intentionally misled anyone about "Diary of an Obnoxious Sociophobe" http://obnoxioussociophobe.blogspot.co.uk/. And, that if it was infantile, then it was intended to be. It was written by a fifteen-year-old girl. In the preview, Emily comes of age in the fourth installment - the timeline skips from 1986 - to 2013. But in the full text, it becomes apparent that Emily has only imagined the future and that she reverts to a true dateline of 1986 to resume and conclude the story.
That Fat Kid is still bothering me.
To forgive, or seek retribution?
I could have humiliated him. Bitch-slapped him, taken his phone, bent him over, and no-one would have found out.
But then I wished to allow him no head-space and therefore must admit that to forgive is to forget.
A Man of Principles? No.
Pure selfishness motivates my acquittal of the crimes committed against me and mine.
I shall not be finding the gravitationally-challenged youth and I shall not be executing swift and brutal punishment.
Maybe I should - maybe it would stop Keiran's grandma from taking an unnecessary fall brought on by these over-confident youths. Maybe they would get brutal as time went on.
Either way, I have chosen, like childish things, to lay it aside. When I was a boy, I played with childish things. Now that I am a man, I lay childish things aside.
I forgive, because I am busy - Creating,
experiencing, sharing?
"Come into my arms Fat Kid, and I shall set thee free,
The Lonely Road is built for two, and one of them is me." - Craig Guthrie.
"Create, experience, share" - I never for one moment imagined that these words would be integral to my ethos, that they might become my budget advertisement or that I was even worthy to have them carved into my headstone.
Yes, carve them into my headstone, these three words, but make sure that you grant me, underneath, in a larger lettering
"Damyata, Datta, Dayadhvam"
and be sure to never visit there, due to my profound hypocrisy.
- END -
