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Using like a loose, goose. (A la Judgment Night soundtrack).

Watching things go crazy, watching the spiralling start of a dark and rainy descent. Sitting back as is my want, as is my generations want, sitting back and commenting to noone in particular from what I feel is the sidelines but is actually right there, on the field, I'm a player who thinks he's a spectator and therefore has abdicated and abrogated all and any power.Could there be any better definition of loser? Is my definition not more apt than that which defines it as the team that does not win the game...? I lose without joining a team, without setting rules, without whistles and chalk lines and hoops. I lose before any point that could be called the start of a game.

Listening to The Go Team, a new album a month ago, but re-visiting their older re;eases - Proof of Youth, Thunder Lightning Strike.

Lending my car, which is actually my parents' car, to a man who chews up cars purely for the sound they make in his mouth. I'm trying to say he has little respect for cars - he knows what he needs (to be somewhere) and will do or say whatever it takes to get him there.

Caused irreparable damage to track marks on my right forearm. Puckered up like a volcano after repeated use of dirtys late last week. The car was hocked to the boy in exchange for a bag of good gear (the first good gear we had seen in months, well, perhaps two weeks, and I was happy to walk to work if need be, happy to sleep rough as I'd given him the keys to my flat so he could deal for a day and I could use for a night...).

So yeah, I struck many a bargain, not thinking about the consequences if fate chose that moment to bring him undone, in the back of my mind knowing I would be evicted if he let one too many Sals or Danis or Micks come around, shoot up in my bedroom then stagger wobbly to the driveway and linger there an hour having meaningless, lost, conversations with others as freshly stoned...

'Everyone has a price, most just go a little cheap' was a Drones lyric that came to mind. To work for a decade and a half and then to throw it all away in exchange for a small packet of gear.. well I know Rudyard Kipling wrote of this in If, but I don't think his meaning encompassed what I was foolishly doing.

And at 5am the next morning I did awake, in a cold sweat, at Sim's place, envisioning my car a burnt out husk on the Highway south...Or arriving back at my flat to see Hazmat vehicles wagon-circled across the driveway and all my neighbours ushered to the lawn whilst my flat was 'determined safe'.

Determined safe. As if anything is that easy. We all want a middle-aged man in authority to determine our life safe, but it's just meaningless, innit? Their words are not going to stop your cells metastasizing, they're not going to deflect that bullet or derail that train heading straight for you,even though right now it's stationery and across town.

Fate comes at you, indifferent to your goals, careless of your unexplored love for that girl in 1989. It does not consult a checklist of things you still have to do. It comes, it destroys, it rolls on.

Evermore.

And tonight I was as happy as ever to throw it all away, for another taste. But luckily for me he had a bed arranged, and a new car bought.

Tomorrow I go to Uni and focus on getting my head right.

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