Sheridan and the things that happened then

'You make me feel like a sghetti hoop prostitute.'
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Into the sea, I release my pain

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Today, I start again

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Changes at home

"You never made it clear that this meant something." He said.

"You never made it clear that it didn't." She said.

I could have done something else, anything else

"I saw you sitting on the side of the road today." I said.
"You did?" You said.
"You looked broken." I said.
"I felt like I couldn't try anymore." You said.
"Perhaps if I'd been braver I would have stopped." I said.
"Perhaps if you were a lot of things this would have been different." You said.

There didn't seem to be anything else to say so I sat at the table and played with the zip on my jacket.

You looked out the window.
I knew you were somewhere else but I didn't ask where.

I wish I had now.

Things can change. I'm almost sure of that.

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This is me

New, age, technical, from object to new object. Travelling. This is then.
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Some place else, anywhere else.

He's on the tube now.
He sits there, everyday in the third carriage, sweater on, thermos of vegetable soup tucked between his legs.
The journey is relatively quick if not a little inane, repetitive, arduous and hot.
Today he took a book, thought it would break up the mundane, the normal.
He's on the tube now.
The pages are open, the words have rendered him paralysed, the tips of his fingers completely numb, he feels his face flush. The carriage is smaller somehow.
He's on the tube now.
Yes, he's on the tube now but the words have taken him some place else, some place sad or nostalgic or dangerous or ridiculously happy. He doesn't know anymore, the feelings are confused or forgotten. It's not how he got here that's important. It's how not to cry in front of these strangers in their suits and their shoes, holding double shot espressos and iPhones, judgements on the tips of their eyes.
His eyes have blurred, the words shift on the page, impossible now to make sense of the sentences.
He's on the tube now.
But he knows that once he gets off a tiny part of him will be left here in this moment, doomed to repeat it all, because the words.
The words.
The words.
They own him now and its all he can do not to turn into liquid and evaporate into the pages.

This book will forever be a part of him.

He's on the tube now.
But all he wants is to survive it.

The things I've done today are less important than other things are sometimes

Dr Maya Angelou and I

I sit down for coffee and wait for Dr Maya Angelou. Somebody has arranged ginger biscuits and peaches on a plate on the table and the scent of summer bleeds into the air. This moment feels like its taken a lifetime to arrive and now that its here I realise the importance of living in the present, making sure I take in all that she says.

She walks in to the room. Immediately I am awestruck. I feel ill, itchy, like I need to escape, pick up and leave. Only problem is that I can't move. I'm frozen to the spot, can't even stand to welcome Dr Angelou, thank her for allowing me these moments. I'm intimidated, embarrassed to be nothing more than myself.

She smiles that broad, delicious smile.

For a moment I forget myself.

I see only her.
 
My eyes fill with tears. I don't want to cry-she hasn't even spoken yet. She adjusts her necklace, big red and yellow beads, sits down, touches her hair and straightens out her skirt. I still haven't moved.

"Hello Thom." She rasps. Her voice is as rich and filled with as much wisdom as I always imagined.
I manage a smile. I can feel the sweat drip under my arms. She's looking at me. I hope she can't see my nostrils flare. I'm only glad the thoughts inside my head aren't visible. They would fill the room, fast and liquid, drown the both of us.
She's still looking. I know its my turn to speak. She's not trying to make it easier, stuffing the gap with niceties. I respect her even more now. It would be easy to pacify the situation by saying its OK. She's teaching me perseverance and we both know it.
I'm mustering up the courage to speak, the words are boiling up inside of me, travelling through my body, into my throat. I'm about ready to burp them out. I close my eyes and hope for the best.

"Hi Dr Angelou. Thank you for meeting me."

I said something. My body is lighter, the cloudy fog that I created around myself is lifting.

Maya reaches for a ginger biscuit and bites into it. I can hear each crunch, each one louder than the last. I'm comforted by it somehow and I smile. She's caught my smile. She's smiling back.

"I'm so worried about what I might say Dr Angelou that I think its almost safer to remain silent."

She takes a moment, she's breathing deeply now. I think she choosing her words carefully.

"I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel."

This is everything that I need today. I can't stop the tears now. They are streaming down my cheeks. I don't even try to dry my face, I'm just sitting with Maya Angelou, living in the now.

She's right.
If I remember nothing else about today I will at least remember how I feel now. 
Dr Maya Angelou has given me that and today it is everything I need. 
 

O!

I just found out Oprah Winfrey is left handed.
I think this explains why I love her so much.

Its at least a factor I suppose.

Please forgive all that I could not do

I've been tormented recently by thoughts of Marilyn Monroe, or more accurately, whether or not I would have been able to save her.

In my darkest moments I worry that I would have only fed the flame, exasperated the situation, made it so much worse. I worry that I would have dismissed all that she felt as some sort of high maintenance nonsense, unimportant self doubt. I worry that I would have laughed in the face of the deep seated fear that buried her.
Moments like that make me ill. I feel nothing but guilt and repulsion, drowning in my own ignorance.

As I slowly recover from a situation that I've created wholly inside my mind I am reminded that I am an empathetic person. Somebody who would comfort, cajole and distract. I would love and listen to all that she had to say and if I had no advice to offer, I would listen some more. She needed somebody who would listen without judgement or motive. Above all else she needed to know that she had that.

I would lie with her and be with her through long nights that she thought would never end. I would brush her hair and make her bagels and cups of tea with lemon. I would run her baths and read her books. I would be all that she didn't have.

And whilst I am relieved by the realisation that I am good, these thoughts do nothing to lift the blues that fill all that I am.
Because she is still gone.
I could not save her.

For that I will never forgive myself.

My friend, the wordsmith

Katy wrote:
"Your blog is lyrical wizardry. I had no idea -NO IDEA- that whilst we were whimsically battling Rolf Harris anecdotes across the social ping-pong table, you were casually cultivating a writing style that makes my womb seep. Amen sister. Amen."

I'm typing through tears.
This is going to be the quote on the sleeve of my first book, it has to be.

I've been thinking lately...

...that whilst its good to have money I imagine that having any substantial amount in the 1970s would have been a waste.
From what I've seen I can only assume that everybody was spending their cash on tongue and groove, shag carpetting, polyester suits, teasing combs and acid in between trips to the local Discotheque and time spent sticking it to the man.

Upon reflection I'm sure that all the nouveau riche from the 70s wished that they had put their spare change in a savings account and kept the dough until high end products weren't made entirely of melamine and crotchet.

Just a thought.

Cancer Research Knitwear and all the things that make me warm

All the new knitwear in the world cannot compare with second hand charity shop knitwear and its days gone by musk. When I find this knitwear I am reminded of all that is good which in turn reminds me of Dr Cosby and all that he did. You follow me? Dr Cosby was a pioneer of knitwear and because of him there is an abundance of tasteless patterned sweaters and sweater vests for me to vacuum up, touch and cuddle. Because when the 1980s ended people came to their senses and realised that you only look cool in tasteless patterned knitwear if you wear tight jeans and have a fancy hair cut and they gave all this wool to the good folks raising money for all the bad in the world.

Dear Dr Cosby,

Thank you for all that you did and for everything that you created.
Because of you I am warm in the winter and the talk of the town.

Yours gratefully,

Thom

I love Boxie

My T Spoke T-Shirt is no longer for sale at iloveboxie.com but can still be viewed here

I wear mine with pride, safe in the knowledge that Jackie Kennedy Onassis knows everything that I need her to know. Our love is real, I'm sure of it.
The beautiful girl with pixie short hair models it delightfully and if I'm honest her green denim jacket fills me with nothing but envy.

The story behind the T-Shirt can be viewed here.

Alternatively you could scroll down this very blog and read the original, nostalgic text.

www.thomatronics.com-where history is made.

I'm considering sticking this on my mirror....

....a regular affirmation to keep me from crying into my Ready Brek each morning.  

Writings for Popshot perhaps

.....If this is modern living
then I don't want that
I'd rather live in yesterday
or Monday even.

Weather reports or something similar.

The forecast looks Sunny. Real Sunny.

On a Wing(er) and a prayer.

I read Debra Winger's book 'Undiscovered' today. Front to back, just let the words penetrate my mind, become what I tried so hard to say.
I didn't like Debra before and now she is so unrecognisable as the person I thought she was that I feel guilty, embarrassed by my ignorance of her. I almost let snap judgements rob me of a chance to understand all that she is. I will be forever grateful that I didn't.


'Disappointment is a misplaced hope. But bitterness will kill you.'


I could hardly breathe as I read the words. I felt each and every one stab my skin, tattooing themselves on my very being.
Bitterness will kill you. Its all I could do not to tear the page out and physically eat the paper.

Bitterness will kill you.
Words to live by. Perhaps something to consider today.

Needs job, wants direction

My only two moods.

Now

Baby Kenwood

I've been trying to write today. I've been unsuccessful. Everytime I go to type I get distracted and end up sitting in front of the telly with a bag of liquorice watching the last scene of 'The way we were' over and over and over, tears in my eyes, lips moving in time to the words that are now forever etched in my mind. ('You're girl is lovely Hubbell.' She sure is Katie, but she'll never be you.)

As much as I love that film, and believe me, I do love that film, I can't help but think that my time could be better spent. Its Sunday, I had no plans. I should be writing towards my future. My Dad's words from my childhood-'You're letting nobody down but yourself'-are swirling around my head. And I know they're right. Even my new espadrilles can't distract me from the gaping hole of unfulfilment that is slowly taking over the inside of my body. I swear soon I'll just be a voice without a body.

'Think of all I could have done' I'll be shouting to myself or at least to the empty area where myself used to be.

I read a quote in O Magazine yesterday. It was from an interview with 90s Rock/Pop Queen Sheryl Crow and she was talking about the adoption of her son.

'...When I let go of what I thought my life was supposed to look like, Wyatt found his way in.'

Whilst I'm happy that Sheryl had such a grand epiphany and her life is now everything she subconsciously knew it could be, I can't not wish that it was that easy for me. That I too could sit in my plush, eco-friendly house on the beach, paid for with 'All I wanna do is have some fun' money, rooting through Susan Jeffers and Dr Phil self help books and suddenly realising that once I let go of all my unrealistic expectations of my future, a child, who may or may not have a name that sounds suspiciously like an electrical appliance, will drop into my living room and we'll live happily ever after.
Of course in my case, baby Kenwood Food Processor would be a career in writing or film-making and not an actual baby (I dont know much about my future but I know a screaming baby does not feature.)

So please Katie/Hubbell/Oprah/Sheryl/Kenwood-send me a sign, let me know that the expectations (that I have now officially let go of!) are not merely dillusions.

Let there be light.

Things that make me feel safe.

I like to know that you know me.

I'm comforted by that fact.
It keeps me warm.

I can remember what you said.

I hope you feel better.
I feel fucking lousy.
My hair wont go right and I bet you're laughing right now
or drinking a coffee and thinking about how much
better.
you.
feel.

I think you should get fucking lost.

All the things I see, all the things I hope for.

I never knew what it felt like to want every moment between us to move faster than they do,
to want each now to be a now we experience together,
to feel that time apart is wasted time.

Moments without you make me wish I was even one step closer to where you are.

.....I never knew until you.

All I really wanted.

'If I fuck you I'll have to stay' he said whilst buttoning up the final button on his jeans and reaching for his jacket.
'And if I stay I may never leave.'
He zipped up his jacket and took a gulp from a glass of water on a cabinet next to a stack of old magazines.
'And if this cycle starts up again I may never get to see Paris.'

'I'm not ready to be a victim.'

Stay because you'd die without me.

'Why dont you want me to go?' you said.
I stumbled for words, trying hard to find what it was I needed to say.
'I dont want you to go because I want you to stay' I said.
I was embarrassed by my lack of eloquence and I felt my cheeks flush.
I hoped you'd look passed my inability to explain what I felt and understand what it was I wanted you to hear.
You did your shoelaces up and sat back on the sofa. I signed a cheque for the bank and took a bite of my sandwich.
Life seemed uncertain then.

See me.

'Sex isn't all I see in you' I said.
'But you do give fucking fantastic head.'
You smiled an awkward kind of smile but I could tell that I'd hurt your feelings. I wanted to move on but my comment lingered in the air like perfume and your eyes said all that you hadn't. It was impossible to ignore the upset I'd caused.

'I just wanted to make you laugh' I said.
'You made me feel like a prick' you said.
'But I just wanted to make you laugh' I said again.
There was silence and I fought the urge to fill it with a joke.
You poured some more wine into your glass and did the zip up on your jacket.
I scratched my head and looked out the window. A man and a woman sat on a bench by the park. It was cold and they wore hats and scarves. The woman linked arms with the man and tucked her hand in his pocket.

For a moment I forgot about you.

'I just hope this is something' you said.

I blinked a few times because I didn't know what to say.

All that she is.

He always felt that Jackie O would have loved him if they had met. He would dedicate notebooks to her and if he saw something funny on the TV he would write it down thinking that her spirit would somehow absorb the words-a feeble attempt at a connection. He finally came to accept that their love story wasn't meant to happen when he saw footage of her holidaying in Capri, roman sandals in hand, sand at her feet.

He saw colours differently from then on, everything seemed grey.

No.1 Fake magazine

My No.1 Fake magazine submission. Words are all there is.

The sorts of things I've been thinking of.

I want there to be an us.
Just smile and let me know.

Premiere Delight

I had a Premiere to celebrate my film. It was a triumph. The glitterati of town came out to support me and the film went down astonishingly well. There were laughs in the right places, sighs in the right places. I think I heard HRH Queen Elizabeth II sobbing during Breakfast at Tiffany's. I never could have hoped for more. My eyes filled with tears, I took to the floor and thanked the crowd from the bottom of my heart. A star was born that night, and he wore Clark Kent spectacles.

Thinking of you

For some reason I thought I'd see you when I drove home because I'd been thinking of you so much.

' Thats how it would happen in the movies' I thought to myself.

Especially for you

Thats how much I love you

I hate that I cant see you

Thats what it is

I feel like less when I'm around you.