I cried everynight

For about three years (well it seemed a long time) I cried every night as a child. And no-one came. I used to like the ‘adult’ music and books. Why? Because by the time I was ten I was convinced that life was a load of old shit and you better shut up and get on with it because the alternative is pain, pain, PAIN. Still I was not an obedient child to my crazy mother.

Thus, I became an adult in a child’s world bound by my age and body and responsibilities to a life that was comfortable for a sensible older teenager or man in young twenties but hell for a pre-pubescent male teen without a father at home, only a controlling mother whom he hated.

This mixture of good and disobedient behavior went on well until my thirties when by chance I was freed of the debt of my life as my business went bust and I gave up the mortgage on my flat. A few other things that I had been putting off since childhood got started by pure luck or succeeded through newly directed effort. BUT I suffered a breakdown of earth shattering skyscraper tumbling proportions, spoke to God and met the sort of people I had only ever heard about on the news, criminals, heavy drug users, Music promoters, artists, musicians, real business people, flawed people, beautiful people, the gamut of Birmingham. It was a festival on a budget if you like. Although I did get to Paris before I was hospitalised. Eek!

Now I am writing like a man possessed by a good luck writing fairy that dishes out balms or curses depending on her whim. This is why if you could see me now you’d not surprise me by writing the following description:

He sits like  hunchback over his filthy keyboard on which he bangs out useless rubbish. He has nice hair or no hair depending on where you look except at the back where he has grown a ponytail. I am not too close to him. His clothes and room smelll of damp. He smells of damp! His room is decorated like a childs bedroom! ‘Hmm Is that one of yours?’ (pointing to a poster i brought back from a museum) ‘No It isn’t.’ He keeps aniseeds instead of pet gerbils.


See what the writing fairy brought me today HERE.

Well that my blurb over and done. Follow me if you like, or go away and forget you ever came here, see if I care!


Published by Andrew Mark Watkins

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