Memories. I have memories, you have memories...we have memories we do.

We have pleasant memories, memories that make us laugh or smile when those memories come back to us.

Good memories like making your mum smile when you're a nipper when you tell her she's the lovlieist mummy in the world; laughing at your mate's face when he comes downstairs after shagging his girlfriend and snapping his banjo string; your first e; watching a comet at night by the sea; being with all of your best mates at once; no responsibilities; the first time you now someone you like likes you too; the first time you have sex with that person who you actually like; meeting somebody you have been excited about meeting for ages and not knowing what the fuck to do or say when you do; hugging a sweaty friend and telling them you love them; the first time you watch Goodfellas or Taxi Driver, calling your mates "funny guys" the next day, asking them if they're talking to you and that; the songs from your youth and the images connected to them...driving to Cornwall for a holiday with Blue Lines on in the car, or singing Oasis and The Stone Roses, pissed up with your muckers whilst staggering round the streets, cans in hands, smiling and laughing like proper fucking divvys; getting a Sega Megadrive; discovering that you're good at something and actually enjoy doing it; finding out who your true best mates are; laughing at a pillhead feeling his mate up; whipping out your ID to the fat cunt bouncer whom refused you entry oh so many times, on your eighteenth birthday, it meant loads to you, he didn't fucking care, just waiting for the next pair of sixteen year old breasts to approach; holidays; yodelling; having "a moment" to yourself in a favourite place, listening to your favourite tunes; writing something someone else has enjoyed; being told to write more; the most inconvenient occurance when you're coming down, luckily you have your best mate with you to shake your disbelief at; being proud of someone; being proud of yourself; humiliating a smart arse cunt; decking some fucker who well and truly deserved it; winning something; finishing something; daft arguments you laugh about when you're sober; falling in love?

Yeah...and having children, getting married and being financially sorted after years of being skint. Thing is, I don't have kids, I don't believe in marriage and I'm still skint so I cannot relate to those with giggling little cherubs, a piece of metal round their fingers that symbolises a lot more than it actually is, and money they can use to wipe their cocks and fannies with, then put in a bin, then burn, then use more money to waft the smoke away from their faces or wipe tears from their eyes when a bit of ash gets in them and makes them cry. Wiping your mess away with money, something I have always aspired to, more so than spending it on electric tin openers, caviar, a big yacht where I'd grin proudly with my coked up clique, a massive house with twenty bedrooms to myself, fur coats, Faberge eggs, slaves, whores and a trap door that leads to a pit full of hard done to teenagers. Wiping Lizzie's face over my twitching glans would mean more than any of these necessities.

Of course, we have bad memories; being bullied, going home feeling like shit and hating every fucker on the planet apart from your current hero, your Kurt Cobain, Bob Dylan or Whigfield, Saturday, Saturday, Saturday night, Saturday night, Saturday, Saturday, Saturday night; seeing your mum cry and being frustrated to fuck because she won't tell you why; DKA; hearing a father's desperate cries as he finds his son dead by choice; fucking something good up; watching a mate's head slowly pop and fuck all you say or do is changing anything, whether it's drugs or an inherited issue; being rejected after finally gaining the bravery to ask; some of the worst possible news concerning someone you love dearly from the very same person, breaking in half whilst they remain incredibly stoic over it, and you can't do nowt; losing a friend, as in losing friendship, if someone dies you have not lost them, they are dead, you know where they are, you haven't lost them, they're just not there anymore; the first time you think about space being infinite, the concept being incredibly worrying and a total head fuck; watching a mate go into a seizure after indulging too much, your head nearly falling off as you try to keep them breathing; looking at yourself in the mirror and telling yourself something isn't right, you've had too much, this could fucking kill you; feeling utterly worthless and unhappy, staying in bed all day because you feel too pathetic to move, because it's easier to ignore; someone you love being dishonest with you; fearing your own mortality; reducing someone you adore to tears, rightfully regretting what you said, or shouted; being immersed in a miserable and stagnant house that used to be a home; a urinary catheter; realising you're a waste of fucking space; chicken pox; wondering what you did last night, then getting anxious when your mate asks you "Remember what you did last night" and it isn't clever; getting told Santa isn't real; coming to terms with the fact you are going to die, and that when you do, nothing you did had any great significance in the history of everything, all your loved ones will be in pieces, you'll fall to pieces literally, unless you're barbecued, no more laughing, no more waking up next to that one who makes you happy, no more sunshine, you'll leave behind those you sired or slept with to organise your funeral, you may not even recognise them before you go, oblivion, unless you're religious in which case you'll go to heaven, or hell, depending on whether you had a few lie ins, listened to Keane and Bon Jovi, ate loads or just wanted sex with somebody because of how they look, nobody is guilty of the latter of course; falling in love?

I'm righting this cuz I member how too right yeh? You don't touch an iron which is on because you remember being told not to, or you're one of the unlucky fuckers who tried to hug it.You may avoid people because you remember getting nothing off them but disappointment, malice and grief. You may be a philanthropist because you remember people being kind to you, or perhaps you remember them being horrible to you and thus you wish to exert kindness in order not to become like those whom were nasty to you. You know not to piss and shit your pants because you remember to use the toilet. You don't demand things because you remember manners work better, and they're fucking free! FREE! You know that walking around playing music aloud on your phone makes you a fucking spanner because you remember that only fucking spanners do it, yes...YES? You know not to formulate your own personality and opinions entirely from others because you remember it's not cool and it makes you desperate and boring, yes...YES? They used their heads, fucking use yours, you're like repeats on the telly repeats on the telly.

Memories make me, whether they are memories of things I have actually done, seen or spoke of, stuff I've read from bewks, or filthy videos on the internet, I always remember that I could be having sex with somebody much fitter one day who's game for anything after having to finish myself after a particularly bad shag. Finishing myself off when I make happy face and noise of another. I just remember, it could happen one day, just like Blade Runner.

Memories also make you you, you big you.

Our personalities are altered by experience, and also the memory of those experiences.

Bad memories stay with us more so than the good ones.

You'll remember getting stabbed more so than getting shagged.

Shame indeed, but shit can be cleaned off.

Steve.

Before I commence, I would just like to clarify that it is by no means a bitter letter, or an attempt to regain my job, nor does it contain anthrax.

I just wish to inform you of a few things. During the day of my Summary Dismissal, or my sacking, I became aware of the poor way it was done. I was asked questions that were impossible to answer.

“How do we know when you’re going to have another (Hypoglycaemic) attack?”

Any person with a brain, no, any person, would surely know that this is a complete uncertainty. I answered “I don’t know.” An honest answer, I get shrugged shoulders, possibly a look of smug satisfaction but I was far too irate to look at the source of the question. This question was only going to be answered one way, very clever, set up to leave me with no feet to stand on.

I don’t know about you, but I think this is disgusting.

.. ..

“How do we know if you’re going to contact the company next time you are ill?”

I didn’t know the questions in disciplinary procedures could be rhetorical. It’s a serious meeting, in actual fact, it wasn’t a rhetorical question, and an answer was waited on.

How do you answer this question? Seriously?

“Errrrrrrrrr.”

All of this occurred to me later on in the day unfortunately, I held back my inner screaming child from Mandy n’ Andy, fitting really, as I was spoken to like a child at times, persistent asking if I understood where they were coming from. This didn’t insult me, it just irritated me.

My sixth month warning had finished, I was reminded several times about my Tesco Criminal Record, all of my crimes committed that very sixth months ago and before. Even with the feigned sympathy I got, “I know you’ve had a hard time”, and even when I tried to explain that a mood disorder and Fluoxetine tend to have an effect on your behaviour (I was interrupted, so that won’t be in the notes), it seemed to matter little. I think we all know what the outcome of this meeting would be. We’re not stupid we’re not.

I do feel dismissal was unfair, as that several months ago I was suffering from depression, even when the meetings regarded my diabetes; I was still taking Fluoxetine, which effectively turned me into a walking mess. But in Mandy’s commonly repeated words, Tesco is a business and I was detrimental to the company. So I could stick any genuine medical excuses I thought might be in my favour up my anus. You know yourself, during that time of my life, my behaviour, attitude and haircut differed greatly to that of the recent months, but still, it came back to bite my bottom. It’s just a shame that Mandy, and to use an extreme euphemism, Not A Likeable Bloke Andy decided my fate this time, as they have no idea how well I improved my work ethic even though the job stole my soul every morning at half-past five for it to return at night when I should be really sleeping in preparation for the next early. It’s only my soul though, on a grand scale, Tesco don’t care for my soul, it’s all about profit. Customers are only taken care of to increase profit, not because Tesco wants to be nice to them.

So yes, I read through the notes at the end of my leisurely meeting and Andy starts laughing with Mandy, a personal joke between the two. Very professional, here they are ending one’s employment and they’re laughing away about something else, I felt the venom dripping off my teeth, but decided against aggressively informing them of their insulting manner, simply because they couldn’t care less, understandably. Still, it does take the piss a bit.

I am not disregarding my non-notification, a simple task that unfortunately cost me my job, and will cost me my wits through excessive grief.  Even though I was in no fit state to do so, and my main priority is me, and to maintain that priority it helps if I feel well to begin with. This letter is more about the way the situation was dealt with. After the meeting, and an hour or two of calming down, all of the above occurred to me. I really had no chance with tightly closed questions and a superior, condescending attitude.

It would be easy to assume that I do not like the pair. That assumption would be correct. I was “assisted” in getting my belongings from the locker room by Andy, led out by him. I am only bringing this up because I find it amusing.

I don’t expect anything to come of this; it’s just to let you know. Why not? I shall now look for another job, if only to make my mother like me again.

I’m certain I’ll bump into you soon anyway, you’re a good manager, a clever bloke, and how you’re doing all of this at Tesco is beyond me, don’t lose your soul in it.

Regards Muchly.

Luke.

Yes, most of us are wankers,

Deceitful, arrogant, unkind, boring,

Feigned promises of this and that and the other,

I’m not one of them,

Not now.

Yes, there are many women where I reside,

Their flesh appears pristine and wonderful,

Though after biting through soft skin I taste decaying, bitter core,

You’re not one of them,

Not now.

You’re lucky to be ripe through and through,

None of these nasty blemishes or rotten cores,

Though you are not a fruit,

And I don’t want to eat you,

It’s just a metaphor.

Yes, there exists uncertainty, distrust and fear,

Fear of what could be and what already is,

Distrust due to how things normally pan out

Uncertainty about who the fuck I am,

I am who the fuck I say I am.

You, should sleep well at night,

Knowing you have someone to look forward to,

And then laugh at this attempt at writing something,

Something out of someone’s comfort zone,

Only for you.

Can you get up? You think you can, you tried but fell back into the settee, dropping the cigarette you forgot you had in your hand, burning to the filter now, you wouldn't have felt you fingers being scorched until a blister formed, you have only had a few drags. A brief moment of hazy clarity and you are able to pick it up, look around for an empty beer can, or even better an ashtray. There's a Stella can that has been crushed…lean towards it, fuck me, such a simple task made near impossible because of your choppy eyesight, like an old cartoon, or a bad piece of handheld documentary, shaky and distorted. Is the can even there? Or is it just much further or closer than your eyes are telling you? You can't seem to find it, it's right in front of you, there, fucking there….and we're in.

To stand up now, to hold on to the arm of the settee, yourself up. Sorted, mad as fuck feeling in your legs, don't fall over. Christ, the people in here. Whether they are enjoying themselves or not, you want to get the fuck out of here, not a good vibe off them, one is squeezing a cushion and breathing heavily seeing shit that isn't there, he's tripping geezer. A couple are stretching out their arms as their jaws shake at impossible speeds. Smiling, but not nice smiles, bent smiles, smiles that aren't right, get out youth, go find some life.

Don't fall over, don't fucking…fall over, look ahead, you're feeling good but you could fall and make yourself bleed lots, don't want to be in no fucking hospital like this. Make you bad youth, make you ill. Upstairs, bedroom, people will be there, let's go.

Up the stairs…steady…steady, fuck there go you're eyes…sound again, feels good youth, keep it steady, you'll be sound when you get there. How long have you been out for, could have been ages.

"Way heyyyyyyyyyyy, back to fucking Earth he comes!" We have life, this will sort you.

"Ayup." You can speak mate, sorted, don't push it though, stay chill, you'll speak soon, and all will be sorted in a bit. Yeah have a beer, can your stomach heck it, have a swig, go on, yeah brilliant. Drink up. Sit down.

"Fucked I am." What did I say youth? Calm down, you'll only feel bad when your words can't leave your lips, fuck it, they're all off it. Carry on, commence, proceed.

"Going ring me nan, want speak to me nan."

"Are ya? Don't…don't think you should mate."

"Just asking what she's making for tea."

"Tea? Yer off yer head mate, yer won't be eating fuck all."

"Yeah," your mate stands there, twisted chin and confusedasfuck look in his eyes"…I'm hungry innit'?"

"Fuck off man, sit down,"

"Right…go chippy instead."

"Dan," no reply. Dan getting his coat on. "DAN, YER FUCKING BELL END! SIT DOWN!"

"Eh?"

"Chippy inna open mate, it's one o'clock."

"Tis' innit?

"No mate it's one o'clock, closed fucking hours ago."

"Oh…errrrr…I'll ring me nan then, ask her if she'll do me some tea."

"Mate, come on, sit down, yer' not having owt eat, you won't be able to will yer? How much have you had? Enough that's how fucking much, have a beer or a line, not food, you'll be covered in puke mate."

"Line? Yeah, go one then."

Want to speak don't you? You can't though, just chill, feel good, close those eyes of yours, lovely, don't forget about your beer. Have a fag, got any, check your pockets, yeah…spark up, no lighter. Ask, won't be hard, make the action using thin air with the hand that hasn't got the beer in it. That's it.

"Lighter mate?"

"Yeah ere' yar brother."

Click, suck, inhale, ahhhhh, a stimulant with stimulants, put more petrol on the fire. Nice. Have another, fuck it, you're here now. Feeling good. Swig it back with your beer…

Where the fuck has an hour gone? Where the fuck have you just been? Shit man, everyone is out, need a piss. Go for a piss. Try and go for a piss. Up you get, well, you certainly are off your head. Your mates don't look like that do they? Freaky disco, blink, get a bit closer, usual shall their faces become, just tripping a bit. That's what happens brother. Get on the landing, toilet time, could be a wasted journey though.

Where's the fucking light switch, dunno youth, you'll be safe, follow that fluorescent blue light. That must be where you're heading. Get to the light, get to it. What the fuck is it? It's a massive house, could be anything. Taking ages, you are full of bliss, bliss that slows you down, bliss that blends your brain. Nearly there…did something move? Shit, fell over something. Stand up, exhale, fucking hell you're off it aren't you? What would your mother think if she saw you like this, what would she think? What a terrifying experience that would be. She'd cry, you know she would, she wouldn't be happy.

It's a person, a person lying down on a table, under the blue light. Who the fuck is it?

"Oi…who's…that?" Brain's working faster than your body. No answer anyway, just give them a nudge.

Christ they aren't looking good, curled up, sweaty and shaky, grab their arm. They turn around and look up. No.

It's you, it's you gaunt, it's you dying to catch your breath, what's going on with your eyes man. No. Not cool, your reaching out, clammy skinny hands, shaking, don't move, just watch in terror, your asking for help, not you, the other you, the other you that's dying in front of you, horrible rasping, breath deprived you. Looking desperate, shaking, not with cold, shaking with something else. Death maybe. Stop. No. Too much. Look at your skin man, your face, despite it's contorted shape you know it's you, it knows it's you. Don't need this, where the fuck is everyone. Oi. Where are they all, no man, the dying you is leaning half way off the table, trying to speak.

"Oi…want…A LINE? Eh? Wanttt…A…llline?"

"Oi!" It's gone, fuck your head nearly fell off then, sort it out. All is fine now. All is cool. You're back. It's your mate, rolled up note, you're in the bathroom. The blue light was a lamp. Why blue?

"Oi mate?" Nice to be back.

"Want a line?" Don't do it dickhead. Don't do it. No peer pressure here, he'll keep it to himself happily, you don't need anymore do you? Don't be stupid.

"Fuck it…yeah…go on then."

"Sorted mate...ere' yer go."

This is a short I made at college a few years back, unfortunately the quality is dire so you can't see any of the state of the art special effects. I thought I might put it up, as in a few months more shall be added. So you can compare and contrast and give me thoughtful, analytical comments on my work.