You think you know
what it is to be in the black hole
under the paws
of the black dog
surrounded by and suffocating from
a black heart
because you have been there.
You say
you have been there.
I say you are lying;
I see that you are lying,
but I forgive you.
There is no way for you to know
what it is to dwell in that place.
If you had been there,
if you had been
to the motherland,
if you had lived
within that country,
where the language is self hate
and the currency is despair,
and the daily rituals
are just as much blood letting
even if there is no blade in sight,
if you had been there,
you would understand
you can never be an expatriate.
You can never emigrate
from this barren soil.
You will never call anywhere else
home again,
no matter where you were born,
no matter where your feet currently stand.
At some point,
for whatever reason
–because of a tumour,
or a chemical,
or a breakup,
or the sun wasn’t bright enough,
or your ma died,
or your da touched you,
or no one loved you,
or your girlfriend killed herself,
or your granmother beat you,
or you’re 43 years old, living in a skip, and hooked on powder,
or for no fucking reason at all–
the black country called you,
claimed you,
stamped in your passbook an irrevocable mark,
uneraseable,
unburnable.
If you attempt
to get a new one,
it will be issued with that crest
enfoiled on the front,
blinding and proud.
It owns you now.
If you have ever lived there,
you live there, still.
You cannot visit that country,
learn the language,
use the currency,
and walk out alive.
You cannot leave.
We cannot leave.
I cannot leave.
Do not stand there
in your strength
and promise me there is a path.
This is my country,
and its borders are wild,
populated with monsters only I can see,
monsters that want my flesh.
If I get to you,
and stand with you
in your lands,
you must remember this:
I am not escaped.
I am merely on an expired visa,
and I am about to be deported.
Jones. Ah Jones.
Morning, Lewin.
Heya Jones. The things you do, the things you do…
I’m never sure if that’s actually a good reaction.
You should always be sure. It’s always good.
Reblogged this on Trent Lewin and commented:
Shattering.
Flattering.
You deserve so much more.
Well, unless you want to start the church of Jones and begin tattooing people with my divine name… spreading my gospel via reblogging sounds good enough for now. 😉
Mind you, this is a dark gospel.
I’d tattoo myself first. You’ll need a main disciple.
I agree.
Thank you.
Heya Mark – did I congratulate you on a certain WS victory as yet?
I don’t believe so. And I’ve been waiting.
I watched that ‘man’ pitch. I haven’t seen a ‘man’ pitch like that, ever, and I’ve seen (in their primes), the Pedros and Madduxs and Johnsons and Clemens and Kershaws. But nothing like that. He destroyed those poor bastards, and they knew they were being decimated. I kept expecting him to get the hook every inning, because you don’t really keep trotting him out there like that do you? But you do and he did, and that’s that, it’s a wrap.
Yep. As I’ve said to friends and co-workers over the past week … the Giants won the World Series with one starting pitcher. How does that happen? The other thing I’ve thought is that what really helped in Game 7 was that it was a one run game. All those young Royals hitters forgot what got them to a Game 7 and were trying to tie the game with one swing. Bumgarner and Posey knew that and were able to execute a pitching strategy that took advantage of their youth and eagerness. I, too, kept worrying that Bochy was going to take him out because that’s what these managers think they have to do. Thrilled that he didn’t. It was epic.
Damn it, Trent! Don’t you know I already have too many fantastic writers that I’m trying to read and I really don’t have the time to give them all the attention that they deserve?!?!
Thanks for adding another one to the list, dude.
Thanks for checking me out; I hope you enjoy reading.
oh, i already have, dear! and i shall again, i am certain.
Sorry dude… some people just gotta be read.
wow… and ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…
Is that… a ‘lightbulb’ ahhh, or a ‘screaming’ ahhh, or…?
I think maybe a little of both… and a general loss for words… and a head full of crack squirrels… and mostly because I just have a light, fluffy comedy blog and real emotions scare me… HA!
Glad to have provoked emotion, then.
Yes, thank you for that. I mean, I have them… maybe too many of them… and there are so many things I feel the pain of but don’t feel like there is anything I can do to help or fix them.
It’s tremendous and shattering. Well done.
Thank you, very much.
I’m so glad Mr. Lewin rebloggd this, for I would not have read this fantastic piece. “This is my country and the borders are wild” , ” Monsters that want my flesh” . I love these particular lines. I hate to admit how much this speaks to me but it does.
Thank you — I appreciate the read and comment.
Soul-crushingly raw. Heartbreaking. Beautiful.
Thanks so much; glad you enjoyed.
Preach it, sister.
Thank you, love.