Moods & Words

Such a strange day yesterday.

I have this top with an image of a Kamikaze pilot who's taken a hit. Bullet through his right eye. He's screaming as he goes down. He's going down, no question, but in his dying moments he's never been so alive.

Three guys come into the shop. First customers all day, only they're not customers. They think it's a game and maybe it is, but I'm not in the mood. I'm polite to them but once it's clear what they're up to, I get up from my desk because I am not in the fucking mood.

They huddle. They murmur. I walk over to their huddle and break up their murmur. I ask them how I can help them. Slouch. Murmur. Avoid eye contact. One carries a huge jacket on this warm day. Fucking clowns. They move away. They inspect everything. In my shop inspecting my clothes like they have the right. At one point they don't even realise that the clothes they are looking at are for girls. When they realise they move away to a more appropriate section.

I hover. I prowl. I ask again what they are looking for. I'm all smiles but I am not in the fucking mood. They hover. They fondle. They linger with no intention of buying.

Crazy, I think. Three of you. You could do it. Just go crazy. At least one of you will get away. Maybe two. Maybe all three, but I doubt it. But get away with what? Still, you should do it, if you're going to do it. Really. Because I am just not in the mood.

They try to get me to go out the back for some stock not on the rack. Old ploy. No fucking chance. They've feigned interest in too many things. The surprise when they realised they were pretending to be interested in girls pants... brilliant.

In the end, they leave empty handed. They know that I am on to them, and that's enough. They don't even have the brains to thank me and pretend they are friendly and that they will be back to buy another day. They just leave. Slouch. Murmur. Game over.

I walk to the station and see this wrecked old guy slumped against a wall. He's rubbing his forehead and staring at the past like he just can't figure out how he got here. He was clean once and there had been potential. Maybe there was laughter. But now he's here and there's nothing to laugh about. How did that happen? Where did his life go?

Then I'm home and I know I'm in a mood. Silence and booze because I need to get through this mood. I need to breathe it in and digest it and spit it back out. There's no reason for it, it's just there. Or maybe there is a reason. Maybe there's a million.

I'm in front of the computer because one thing always kicks this mood. I need a story. Some beauty. I peer into the lives of others. I wonder what happened to old friends. I wonder who these people are. It's just a screen filled with words, but check them out. It's as infinite and complex as music.

And then, here, I read this line: "Love comes and goes, but love not allowed to run its course just burns on in a heart forever."

How cool is that? What a perfect sentence. What a stunning observation. I don't know why but those words stop everything for me. Time. My breath. This mood. It all stops and somehow I'm in the lyrics of Carly Simon and it seems there's not a sadder, more beautiful place. I hit one song - I think it's called It's Not Like Him - and it's enough. Switch flicked and I have to attempt something as evocative, and I write something that might be a poem, it might be a song.

It breaks me. And later it breaks her. She hugs me tightly and I marvel for the thousandth time at the power of words.

Later she writes to her mother and she sends her my words. I don't get this. I know it's got that thing and it will move most people, but why did she send it to her mother so soon?

And then I get it. I'm not much in the eyes of the mother. I'm not a winner. Quite the opposite. But look, she is saying, he still writes words like this after all this time - have you ever had a song or a poem written about you? How can you put a price on that? That's what she's saying.

And I don't know how I feel about that.