Seminal Moments

 

 (The building dissipates around me, its memory fading into the history to which it is consigned, leaving me to dwell within the blackness of non-existence for a time- pondering my purpose and waiting for my chance of life. Then I am thrust into being by the biological instinct to reproduce and perpetuate the species as I unify with the egg to become a zygote cell. I have become the starting point of human life. I have unified with the Mother)

 

 I/ the Zygote divides continually on its journey to life forming the cluster cell known as ‘morula’. This cluster creates a cavity, the blastocyst that embeds itself to the uterine wall to become the embryo. Microscopic cells and chemical substances combine to create tissue- the materials by which all things are created and these, in the course of time, form organs, the functional components of the human machine, which work in synchrony to regulate breathing, circulation, digestion, waste, intake… all of these systems interacting to sustain the organism as a whole.

 

The lone survivor of 250 million potential siblings I grow inside the sanctuary of the muscular uterus walls of my mother- a gestation period of 270 days during which time I take the shape of a vertebrate organism- a flexible framework that will support the tissue that grows upon me and determine my shape, protecting my vital organs from injury and acting as connecting points for the networks of muscle that will afford me physical strength, flexibility and coordinated movement.

Nourished by the placenta that siphons sustenance from my mother into myself I develop, parasitically, ingesting oxygen, antibodies and nutrients, becoming the foetus as a matter of course. I feel my eyes form and soon have sight and develop the beginnings of limbs that are soon sturdier and more complete- a third of the way through my gestation I resemble a human infant and, as I move my limbs for the first time, the outline of who I will be is established and I will spend the remainder of my time here genetically enhancing from this fundamental structure.

Innocent and vulnerable I exist at the whims of those outside of me. What my mothers takes in then so do I- indiscriminately, what surrounds my mother affects me. I hear music and voices- I feel my mother shudder as she cries after an argument and her caress through her stomach as her soft, gentle voice soothes me in a pre-birth. I smell the exhaust fumes of vehicles and ingest the pollutants and toxins in this world- as much as those outside of the womb- through her body. I feel subdued and dizzy when she drinks alcohol or consumes intoxicants; my heart quickens when she smokes, but I survive virtually unscathed- a matter of accident before design- already hardened to the outside environment before I have even breathed its air.

As I grow I gradually push my way to the opening of the womb causing the uterine wall to pulsate and contract in preparation for my birth. The contractions increase each forcing me lower to her abdomen rupturing the amniotic sac releasing the fluid that has been the atmosphere to my world for nine months. The world outside reveals itself to me as I am propelled from the safety of the womb, my lifeline is severed and I am placed into the arms of the woman who has nurtured me to my first day. I feel at peace as she cradles me into my new life and I close my eyes and sleep.

 

 

I am Jack and revelations of who I am flood my mind as I walk the barren and lifeless planet that we Homo sapiens have annihilated. The remnants of the cities, which poisoned the earth, punctuate the grey horizon- shadows of a civilisation destroyed by greed.

 I gag at the smell of decadence upon the land and my lungs burn as I breathe in the toxic atmosphere and putrid waste of this ‘man-made’ hell. I mourn the loss of a world once so perfect in its bountiful beauty as I wander the desolate plains and bare witness to the end of all life upon the mother. The once mighty monolithic buildings and places of industry that have crumbled in ruins and slowly fester back to earth are the only evidence of a species that dominated this place.

I wander this desolation as my life reveals itself to me.

 

The darkness of sleep seems to have gone on forever, but I am awoken to the sounds of shouts and screams and a fresh sense of awareness. I slide from the black sofa and make my way to the source of the noise, as I suck my thumb and carry ‘Jimmy’ my cowboy doll to the hallway of my home via the open living room door.

My name is Jack and I am two- I live in Birch Crescent with my Mum and Dad and my two dogs Cassie and Prince. My Dad shouts a lot and makes my Mum cry and I think he’s doing it now to her. He’s naughty sometimes- and nasty!

I feel a surge of determination to tell him just that, as I turn to face the long corridor that opens up into the kitchen area. I open my mouth to yell my indignation to my father, but let out only a frightened scream as I bare witness to the horrific sight in front of me.

My Mum is laid on the tiled floor, curled up into a ball for protection, as my Dad yells abuse from above her and slaps her face intermittently between his accusations,

‘You useless, fat lazy cow’ and ‘Why did I marry an ugly, b*****d waste of space like you?’

I run toward my Mum for protection from the monster and in the hope that I can protect her too- she looks like an angel. The monster points to me- without looking to see- and demands of the angel,

‘And you can shut THAT up as well!

My Mum responds instantly, propping herself up against the cupboard next to where she was laid and holding out a shaking arm to me, shouting- to shock me and stop me in my tracks,

‘NO!’ then in her usual gentle tone,

‘It’s ok Jack darling- stay where you are. I’m coming.’ She looks up to the monster and begs of him,

‘Let me up Lou- please- I have to get Jack- he’s scared’.

The Angel looks back to me and smiles to assure me that 'everything is fine'- I see that there is blood in her teeth as the monster puts his fist through the face of the clock mounted on the wall above her and I can only watch as the sharp fragments descend upon the Angels stricken body- shaking as she huddles into herself, once again, for protection.

 

 

Everywhere I touch and everything I see shows me the final horrific finale that was not quick and painless as they had feared, no holocaust or meteorite took the earth in swift mercy to its denizens- the earth reclaimed them all in a slow lingering extinction that systematically stripped them of their entire way of life and ability to survive as the ice caps melted and brought forth the death and disease of another time that it encased for our protection and, if necessary, the earths own. We unwittingly pressed the terminate button to eradicate the parasites that were killing her- the last line of defence was to destroy herself and take all life with her- the deterrent of which none of us knew. The cursed tomb of history was unearthed and its curse purged the land- flooding its diseased water into our eco-system. In blind panic the nations mobilised their weaponry in a war against attrition as they engaged one another in a struggle for ever-dwindling territory and resources. Their disposition to conflict proved to be their undoing, yet again, and they stood divided even in death.

 

 

My Dad is screaming into my face because I have refused to clean up the cake he pushed into my face so that my brother would laugh at me. I’m older now- 8 -my brother Tom is nearly 6 and I hate him and my Dad. I’m backing out of the front door and into our garden- my Mum and brother are inside hugging each other and crying. I have shown defiance and they both dread the repercussions,

‘WHAT DID YOU SAY TO ME BOY?’

I am afraid of him, but I will not back down from my moral standpoint,

‘I said ‘no’ Dad. I didn’t do anything wrong- it was you’, I plead within my understanding of diplomacy, which then gives way to rebellion and I add, ‘As usual’ to the end of my sentence. I know what’s coming next and I brace myself for the first slap, but this time it is worse than usual,

‘You cheeky little b*****d’, he says with cold deliberation and unbridled hatred as the familiar rage rises to unleash the monster within him. The fact of the punch shocks me as much as the impact of it and I am sent sprawling backwards onto the flower beds that border the small garden- my cheek already swelling as I fight the tears that brim at my eyes, (I won’t let the b*****d see me cry- NEVER!), but my father notices my imprudence,

‘Oh dear’, he says softly, mocking my Mums tone, ‘Is poor Jack boo-boo gonna cry?’ then, his natural- detestable voice raises in taunt,

‘Where’s the big hard man now eh?’

I cannot stop what I say- I know the consequences will be high, but I must answer him. I can’t let him defeat me. I muster all of my courage, rage and defiance and scream at him- the tears flowing in fear, loathing and dissent,

‘Clean it up yourself you f*****g coward!’

The intensity of the pain from the kick to my thigh stops my tears instantly and at first I think it’s broken. The bone is ok but the limb is paralysed for the time being and I cannot resist the monster as he picks me up by my pullover and screams into my face,

‘IF YOU EVER TALK TO ME LIKE THAT AGAIN I’LL F*****G KILL YOU! DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME BOY?’

A door opens behind me and I can sense the concern of some of the neighbours through the look in my Dads’ coward eyes. I am safe from physical harm for the time being, but he can hurt me in many other ways. He leans toward me and says slowly and quietly,

‘If I could go back in time you’d never have been born and I’d have told your mother to f****n’ die. Why don’t you just die Jack? F**k off and get run over- no one wants you- you’re not important to anyone’, and lets me drop to the floor.

As I crawl away from him- toward the garden gate- he scans the street for onlookers while saying to me calmly, smirking as he now looks to his hands, which he slowly rubs together.

 ‘Go on. It’s over- go and play. Don’t be gone too long though’,

I look at him with pure hatred and on seeing this he laughs almost contentedly in contemptible calm,

‘You’ll be just like me son- that’s why I hate you so much.’

I can’t take hearing anymore and I run/limp down the hill that is my street, to seek the sanctuary of the communal garage forecourt at the bottom to cry alone again. I turn sharply right into the asphalt and skid on the loosely gritted grey surface as I squat behind the low wall that connects the garages to the adjacent housing estate. House walls loom high on either side of me shutting out the reality of being cursed- born as Jack Spencer.

‘I hate that f****n’ c**k-sucker!’ I shout to the bricks and mortar around me- then I quickly look around- distracted from my anger in fear of prying ears, which then gives way to a torrent of tears as I break down in despair- rubbing my bruised face and nursing my bruised thigh, shedding every tear that I have subdued throughout my short life. No one can protect me from him, but I will kill him. I’m certain of that and so is he- I just need to get stronger or learn to trick him. I could stab him while he slept or poison the b*****d. I could persuade Mum to help me.

I look up into the blazing sun through ‘hexagon eyes’ and see the silhouetted shapes of four faces looking down at me in my despair. I turn away before my eyes can adjust to the light contrast and don’t focus on who they are- I am far concerned about my pride, but I cannot compose myself any longer. My heart feels as if it’s breaking and the tears flood once again- I just want someone to take this away!

‘Are you all right son?’ I hear the voice of Mickey Blandford speak to me. I shudder from my weeping in anticipation of talking to these people. Part in fear and part in awe- they are the ‘scum of the earth’ that I will be severely punished for ever fraternising with or aspiring to become. The PUNKS! Forbidden fruit from the garden of my God- my vengeful father.

I manage to look despondently to Mickey and utter the single word,

‘No’ and cry again.

There are four of them- around 14 years of age- they all live at the bottom of my street; Mickey Blandford, (it is his garden that I am next to- he’s got a mohican and wears oxblood coloured boots), Alan ‘Brewer’ Smith, (he lives next door to Mickey- has a shaved head and dresses neater than the others, but still wears massive boots with his jeans), John ‘Benny’ Bennett, (lives opposite Brewer, has blonde spiked hair and is known for his ability as a boxer) and Darren ‘Dazza’ Thomas, (Benny’s half brother- they’ve got different Dads- Dazza has a black mohican and facial piercings) and they are both feared and revered in equal measure on the estate. Having spent the greater part of my life in seclusion I am shocked to hear the next statement-

‘Your Dad been hittin’ you again mate?’ asked Brewer,

- the revelation that someone knows what happens to me; and I can only bow my head in shame as an affirmative response. Dazza speaks to me now,

‘It’s Jack isn’t it?’

‘Yeah’ I reply

‘You’re gonna have a shiner in the morning’ says Mickey sympathetically, then, ‘ Do you wanna come in for a while Jack? Just ‘til you sort yourself out?’

They escort me into Mickey’s home where I am to be told what they, and the rest of the estate- my only world, know about my father- the wife beater, the child abuser, the work grass, womaniser, coward and alcoholic seems to be his reputation. I feel liberated to be supported in my opinion of my father- as they play me the first music that I have ever listened to, (The Ruts- The Members- Angelic Upstarts- Sex Pistols and X Ray Spex are my favourites), and as they shave my head bald- initiating me as the newest, and youngest, member of their ‘crew’.

As time moves on I see myself, Jack, become more involved in gang culture- against the explicit wishes of my mother and the violent ultimatums of my father- as a means of emotional support and as a conduit by which I can relieve the pressure of my abused psyche.

The world turns and, at the age of 12 I see my Father leave my home for the final time, following a confrontation during which he throws me to the floor and hits me about the face and body- my Mum intervening, holding a knife to his throat and telling him to leave and never come back. He leaves without argument and takes my brother with him; threatening to return and do us physical harm once he has escaped the immediate threat to his life and masculine dominance within the safety of his moving car.

 

Life on earth was halved within the first two decades of the floods. Natural disaster, disease and a frenzied climate that altered daily and bombarded the children with a fury more destructive than any weapon of war took the mortals to their final resting place. A righteous anger- retribution for that which we plundered for profit.

Neither the innocent nor guilty were spared as all species steadily declined over the next 100 years until only pockets of nomadic tribes roamed the slowly decaying mother. The seas became vast poisoned cauldrons and the earth became a perilous desert, without their technology humans were no longer the dominant species and spent their last century as prey to the animals that they had abused along with the planet. The humans fell in worship of the Mother and begged her forgiveness as they remembered their origins of the beast on the wasteland that hunted them down in revenge for destroying its home and its purpose. 

 

My Mother and I are forced to flee from our home in fear and relocate to a nearby town; her reaction to my fathers abuse and her newfound freedom from oppression is self-destructive; staying away from home, taking drugs and drinking excessive amounts of alcohol. This hurts me greatly, but affords me the freedom to heal myself as I fight with rival factions of young people, discover sex and the escapism of drugs, alcohol and solvent abuse and become interested in politics of dissent.

I lose touch with my first punk friends for a while, but meet another- Taffy, a boy my own age, at my new school. I can relate to Taffy and he helps me to heal and come to terms with my anger and I help him in a similar manner. He lives with his parents who are both violent alcoholics and we choose the same path in life to counteract the pain that we both endure and share. I perceive the world as a hostile and uncaring environment where the ‘haves’ leech from the ‘have-nots’, where equality is a term to aspire to and not a reality at all and peace is a distant dream and memory that a male dominated, opportunistic and exploitative world will not permit to become reality, lest they relinquish their own hold over power.

I learn to hate in a manner that I can rationalise to myself and justify to others- religion, capitalism, authority, government and war, amongst others, become my ‘enemy’ as I vow to free the world of oppression- or at least myself and the people I love.

I first have sex at the age of 13 with a girl of 16 named Helen, (Taffy is with her friend Jane in the next room), and I am first arrested a year later. Myself, Taffy, Marty and Caz are accosted by the law for our first animal rights campaign; during which we have kicked out the windows of butcher shops and spray painted the meat on display and destroyed the ‘tools of murder’ in a small abattoir. We are easily identifiable due to our expressive hairstyles and flamboyant dress and I decide to shave off my mohican to remain incognito during any further activist activities. There are more important things in the world than my own narcissistic desires, besides the hair dyes are tested on animals and the leather I once wore is a by-product of the meat industry that- to me- epitomises the callousness by which the consumerist world is maintained.

On leaving school at 16, Marty and Caz introduce myself and Taffy to the peaceful protest movement, but, much to their disappointment and concern, we discover more like minded people who, like us, believe that ‘direct action’ is the only real rhetoric to oppression and by the time I am 18 I have travelled the length and breadth of the country to attend demo’s, football matches, hunt sabotages, laboratory break ins and counter-demo’s to National Front and British Nationalist Party marches and events- not to mention the hundreds of bands I have seen that share my anarchist ideals- and join a national network of individuals who all believe, to various extents, that change must come if humanity is to survive.

 

 They had taken the last drop of what we were permitted to take and pulled the plug on them selves, starving slowly throughout four generations before the last living human died alone and insane in seclusion 100 feet below the surface. There was no escaping the madness of the disease that slowly dissolved internal organs and the brain. They lived for many years in agony as they gradually broke down into the cells from which they were spawned them in returning to the earth. The only deliverance from the lingering death was suicide- so it was cruel that the mental faculties suffered first, leaving many without the presence of mind to spare themselves the agony as all of our prophecies of ‘The End’ were fulfilled in the Mothers’ final throes of death.

 

I have my first home at 17 and Taffy moves in with me- both of us escaping the environment of and temptation to alcoholism. With only each other for support we undertake various forms of employment and government funded vocational training initiatives. We wash dishes in kitchens, serve alcohol in public houses and clubs and train as silk screen printers- following the respective failed attempts at graphic design and joinery- using their facilities to print replicas of the high street t-shirts and hoodies that we sell at half the market value funding our travels, both domestic and abroad, and self-sufficiency in the pursuit of fun and freedom from restriction.

Aged 19 I fall in love for the first time, but the relationship ends in trauma, barely six months after we meet, as mutual discontent and distrust drives an irreconcilable rift between us and I distance myself from all that I care for to recover- developing an unhealthy obsession with the cannabis that helps me to wallow in my pain as I dwell on the memories of Claire. Taffy saves me from myself as he counsels and advises and, eventually, convinces me that there is still hope for the future and that my prospects of recovery lay within my former passion for living and the causes I once espoused.

 I love that man more than anything on this earth- even greater than the love I have for my Mum who I hold as she dies from cirrhosis of the liver, destitute from addiction and alone in her torment, a mere 8- years after re-claiming her freedom.

 In my grief I become enveloped in a hatred beyond anything I have thus far experienced and my disposition of violence spirals out of control- alienating Taffy who leaves me to my rage for almost a year- starting with a vicious attack upon my father and brother to purge myself of my past, but the ‘victory’ leaves me hollow, empty and as alone as my Mum ever was and ensures that I can never have any closure on the suffering I have felt. I have let myself down and failed the memory of the person who nurtured and protected me- loved me and guided me as best she could in horrific circumstances, until she gave up on her own life and sought the solace of oblivion. I have also become my father, as he predicted, and the pain of this truth can only be soothed through self-gratification and hedonism- only disguised by machismo and bravado.

 I become selfish- womanising, abusing drugs, binge drinking and dominating and intimidating others in gangs of the similarly discontent- immersing myself in territorial rivalry and the glory of street war- culminating in my hospitalisation with a broken nose and jaw, bruised and cracked ribs- falling upon the sword of a rival football firm who caught me alone and exacted revenge for the times I had instigated their downfall.

This event brings me to my senses and I renew my acquaintances with my former comrades, (who welcome me back into their number with an understanding and a love that my own family, with the exception of my Mum, had never shown me), and re-engage my ‘true enemies’ in the battle against tyranny with a renewed sense of hope.

I break away from group affiliations to avoid the peer pressure that distracts me from my purpose and to be ‘politically active’ in a more covert way. Taffy applies for a job as a screen printer and soon arranges an interview for me and we become full time employed and gain access to a wealth of resources that will further our cause in our quest for autonomous living.

I meet Polly and she moves into my flat- I have lived in the same tower block since I was 17- we travel and party together, we get on really well most of the time, but the more she asks the questions of love and commitment the more I know that we’re not meant to be- we are so different in so many fundamental ways. She is possessive of me and walks out of gigs and pubs in a jealous rage when I’m speaking to my numerous female friends- some who I have slept with and others that I haven’t or wouldn’t- in demands of attention and commitment and, after two years of uncertainty for both of us, I ask her to leave, but still remain friends- if at all possible. She is heartbroken and seeing her cry reminds me of my feelings for Claire when she left me. I put my arms around her and we kiss.

[(I can’t stand to see her like this- I do have deep feelings for her, but I just can’t handle the way she goes on and it seems to get worse each time we go out. I know I’m to blame too, but this isn’t about blame- it’s about the truth and the truth is that I’m not- and never will be- in love with her. I see her as a really good friend and nothing else.) ]

The kiss leads to us having sex and her staying for another month, then, one evening, she reveals to me:

 

 ‘Jack, I haven’t had my period’, she says as she slides onto the couch beside me- distracting me from my writing. I feel a surge of fear fuelled adrenalin that brings my mind away from the lyrics I am working on and my heart seems to stop in dread.

‘How late are you?’ I ask her- trying to appear calm. (Nothing to panic about yet Jack. Keep your composure) Polly puts her head down- her face is flushed and her eyes misty,

‘Eight days’, she says finally. I feel my chest tighten in horror and I flash a look of scorn at her,

‘8 days? Have you done a test yet?’

Polly looks at me meekly,

‘I bought one today- I wanted to tell you before I used the kit’, a great weight seems to descend around my shoulders as I realise the possible implications of the test being positive.

‘I thought you were still on the pill Polly.’ I say in slow deliberation, ‘This can’t happen mate- I don’t want kids!’ I stand up- afraid of the truth- and shout at her,

‘I don’t f****n’ need this Polly! What the f**k are we gonna do if you are pregnant? I’m shaking and on the verge of tears, but fight the feeling of impending doom to collect my rationale’

‘I suppose we’d better get this over with then hadn’t we?’ I say in trepidation then with humourless determination, ‘I don’t suppose you need a piss? The suspense is killing me’.

I watch the litmus paper turn blue as it detects human chorionic gonadotropin in Polly’s urine and part of me hates her for what she has done. I tell her so in a fury that she has never known before- nor could have possibly predicted based on her experience of who I am, but the pregnancy, which I believe is contrived, unearths some very primal fears and a feral side to my nature. Polly leaves my home that night and runs to her parents- petrified of the monster that she has unleashed and three months pass before I speak of it again.

I don’t even phone to find out the result from the doctor.

 

 As I walk the twisted steel wreckage of industry and civilisation the earth shudders and groans- cracks appear sporadically across the vast desolate tract of human carnage. Ancient pipes are severed as the earth forces them from beneath its surface and angrily spit blue and orange flames into the grey background- electricity cables dance along the ground like frenzied serpents in feeding, showering the concrete with sparks of energy. Falling- I hold onto a stack of rubble that was once a tower of commerce- destroyed in a war of terror- until the trembling subsides and I carry on my lonely and endless journey throughout the gauntlet of human folly. I see the memories of death all around me and I weep with each loss- rueing the causes that were lost- causes that I am proud to have championed, but regretful that I didn’t do more- angry that we all didn’t do more.

 

Taffy pulls the kitchen chair toward the table where I am sat eating,

‘Why didn’t you tell me Polly was pregnant?’ he asks bluntly.

I feel a sense of resentment at being questioned, but allow Taffy this liberty,

‘I didn’t think it mattered mate,’ I say truthfully, then with finality, ‘It’s f**k all to do with me- I don’t want kids’.

Taffy sighs and puts his forehead into his hands, unsure of what to say next, before looking at me and trying once again,

‘I saw Polly earlier today Jack- she’s nearly four months pregnant and doesn’t have much support- her parents don’t exactly approve and’,

I cut him dead in mid-sentence- I can’t withhold my feelings on the subject and I’m not happy with Taffy’s attitude,

‘I don’t give a flying f**k Taffy! She can deal with the consequences of her own actions. I’m having nothing to do with her or the f****n’ kid. F**k this s**t!’

 I stand from the table and walk through to the kitchen- put the remaining half of my meal in the bin and begin to wash the plate at the sink. Taffy stands behind me at the doorway,

‘Jack man, I’m not questioning your decision. I just think you deserve to know your child- it doesn’t matter how she got pregnant…’ I turn on my friend now,

‘If it doesn’t matter then why don’t you take it on mate? I gave her a month to find a place and she goes and traps me- f****n’ leech she is. I repeat: I want f**k all to do with her or the f****n’ kid!’

Taffy looks hurt by my remonstrations, but persists regardless,

‘To be honest Jack- I don’t give a toss how she’s pregnant. I’m trying to look out for your interests. What if you wanna see the kid once its born?’

‘I won’t!’

‘I think you will and kicking Polly out hasn’t helped anyone’.

‘What? Am I supposed to look after the stinker while she gets fat and emotional- after what she’s done to me? F**k me Taffy mate, she’s been filling your head with a load of bollocks hasn’t she?’

Taffy considered this,

‘No mate, she hasn’t at all. She just wants you to take part in your son or daughters life. She wants f**k all off you other than to be a Dad to your kid. I don’t see your problem’,

Feeling aggrieved and exasperated I look to Taffy with dismay and decide to spell it out for him in no uncertain terms,

‘I don’t want a kid Taffy. I’m not interested in being a Dad. She only got pregnant to try and keep me in the first place and when that hasn’t worked she’s used you to get to me. She’s a horrible jealous c**t and I f****n’ hate her for what she’s done. I can’t forgive that’,

Taffy was taking this well- normally he’d have told me to shut the f**k up for talking to him like this and he’d punch anyone else, but he’s determined to get through to me,

‘What if she didn’t do it on purpose Jack- you’ve both done enough drugs to kill a herd of bison- maybe something neutralised her pill? What then?’

I try to see through my resentment and fear to deliberate this possibility, but find it difficult and manage,

‘I don’t think it’d make much difference. I can’t prove what she’s done any more than she can disprove it anyway- so it’s a bit of a moot point. The thought of fatherhood scares the s**t out of me mate, I don’t want the responsibility.’

Taffy looks at me in a way I’ve never seen him do so before. It looks like he really doesn’t like me and I react in kind,

‘What the f***s the problem Taffy? Sorry, obviously I’m not saying what you want to hear, but I’m not spending my life waiting for a kid to grow up and maybe have a life if I work hard enough to retire on a good pension. You would? Fine, but that’s not my choice is it?’

Taffy looks to me- his eyes bright with a mixture of emotion- and says plainly,

‘My problem is that I’ve seen enough lives fucked up by fathers not giving a toss about their kids. Know what I mean mate?’, My head drops as I do realise what he means, ‘My Dad, for example, spent my life pissed out of his skull and giving me s**t and yours f****n’ hates you; so- sorry mate- but I think you’re being a complete wanker about your own child. A child that had no say in any of this by the way!’

I look at Taffy and try to show him how sorry I am that I’ve hurt him,

‘Taffy man’, I start but let my words drift- I don’t know what to say to him now that it makes sense,

‘Sorry mate,’ I say finally, ‘I honestly hadn’t thought of any of that’,

Taffy’s reply is swift and justifiable considering the circumstances,

‘Well if you’d told me then maybe you’d have already come to this conclusion, but you didn’t want to think. Did you?’ Taffy puts on his coat and says, ‘I’m off out for a walk to cool off Jack. If you wanna talk later then let me know- if you think you can trust me that is’,

And he leaves me to ponder his words.

 

 

 

Five months later I am walking toward the maternity wing and I’m absolutely petrified. I’m going to see my daughter for the first time- and Polly for the first time since we discovered she was pregnant. Taffy is with me, (probably to make sure I don’t run off), and is trying his best to reassure me while grinning from ear to ear- excited, probably how I should be,

‘It’ll be fine Jack! Your daughter’s waiting for ya mate! Your little girl! What you gonna call her? If you wanna call her ‘Taffy’ I won’t be offended!’

I look at him in absolute dismay,

‘Will you stop being so f****n’ happy!’? I demand still unable to stop smiling back at the tosser,

‘I’m f****n’ shittin’ bricks here and you’re asking me about names’, Taffy’s face straightens and he looks at me with sincerity,

‘You’re an atheist aren’t you Jack?’

‘Yeah! So?’ I answer indignantly- opening out my arms and pulling a face of annoyance.

 Taffy slows and turns to me, sighs and let his shoulders drop in disappointment,

‘What?’ I ask him with urgency- he looks at me again

‘I don’t suppose you’ll be needing a Godfather then- will you?’

I stop abruptly in the hall of the maternity wing and stare at him menacingly- my eyes half closed- as he holds himself against the wall- scattering notes from the notice board in the process of laughing at my expense. I jump on him and get him in a headlock- rubbing in between his ‘ancient’ dreadlocks, (well- he’s had them for quite a while), with the knuckles of my fingers,

‘Wanker!’ I shout as I continue to ‘scrub’ him. He lifts himself away from my grip- still laughing helplessly like a kid being tickled- and holds his hands up for me to ‘wait’ while he regains his composure. He makes strange noises through his laughter as he struggles to get his breath back,

‘Haow… Hhharum… Hooha- wait.’ He leans one hand on his thigh and gesticulates to me with the other as I stalk him like a boxer- waiting for the ‘battle’ to commence as he speaks through more noises,

‘Hmm Hmm, I kn… eerr- harumum-he he- I know how to solve this- hmmm!’ he manages as he begins to calm, ’We’ll compromise Jack. Ahem. We’ll call her ‘Paula’- and to hell with the consequences!’

I jump on him again as he curls up into a giggling ball of idiot- attracting the attention of a nurse sat at the ward reception point,

‘Excuse me!’ she demands in a harsh whisper, ‘There’s babies in here- act your bloody age’.

Taffy and I immediately stand up straight and hurry down the hall toward her- sucking our cheeks in so we don’t laugh at her harsh glare. We cast her a sideways glance like berated children- our lips out and heads turned down,

‘We’re only six!’ I say with feigned hurt,

‘And a half’ adds Taffy, before we run away- giggling.

As we round the corner at a canter I get two shocks. The first is another nurse, who accosts us,

‘No running in the hallway!’ she shouts urgently. Taffy turns to her- his index finger to his lips,

‘Shh! You’ll wake the f****n’ babies up’ he informs her even more urgently as we slow to a fast walk and burst into more hysterics. Having to hold on to each other for balance we continue through a set of double doors.

The second shock occurs when we stumble through the doors, laughing helplessly, and realise we’re in the maternity ward with about 20 new mothers looking at us as if we’re total lunatics- and Polly, (with her head shaking in wonderment from 3 beds up to the left), who looks at us, as we stand frozen- like rabbits caught by the glare of car headlights, and says,

‘I should have known it was you two’, and, I don’t know if it’s my newfound humour- crossed with mortal terror of the situation I’ve laughed myself into, she looks, well- radiant. A sort of beauty that’s different to anything I’ve seen before. Maybe it’s the bundle of blankets she holds, that I presume contains my child that I focus upon. I look to Taffy for support as I feel the colour drain from my cheeks, but he’s still enjoying the hilarity and looks at me as if it’s the greatest day of his life. ‘Get out of this one’, his look says. That f****r’s loving every minute of this!

I stand up straight from my crouched stance and gesture with my hands to Taffy, who stands leaned back holding his stomach- tears streaming down his face- and make a gesture as if it’s all his fault to the room in general and say to Polly,

‘Nice to see you Polly, how are you?’

Polly smiles and looks down at our child from her seated position on the bed,

‘Consider the pain of pushing a golf ball out of your dick and ask me again,’

I honestly can’t resist- as inappropriate as it may be I have to say,

‘How’s your snatch then? Feeling a bit stretched are we?’ and hear Taffy first squeak, through his nose in resistance, then roar with laughter behind me. A baby begins to cry that lies in a clear plastic ‘cot’ next to him, bringing a disapproving look from its mother who ‘shoos’ him away from her child as she picks it up and cradles it. I put my arm around Taffy and drag him over to Polly’s bed- who still can’t believe what I have said.

‘You’re never gonna change are you?’ she asks with her mouth wide open in bemusement,

‘You started it!’ I say as I help Taffy to one of the chairs that surround the bed and he manages, sort of, to speak now,

‘Hmm- haaa, mmmnn, Hi Pol- hmmnn- how you doing darlin’?’

‘ I’m fine thank you Taffy- considering I’ve got a vagina like a wizards sleeve- everything’s hunky dory cheers!’

 Polly smiles to both of us and I can see the relief etched upon her face- as if a great weight has left her and I feel a huge sense of guilt. Taffy had talked me around as far as the baby was concerned, but I had, up until this point, refused to have anything to do with Polly, but now I felt ‘wrong’,

‘Listen, Polly’, I say, ‘Sorry I haven’t been around- I just couldn’t…’ Polly saves me from my stumbling words.

‘It’s fine Jack. There’s nothing you could have done anyway. Most of the support’s ‘mothers only’ and a lot of ‘expectant fathers’ get pushed out,

‘At least those ones tried though Polly. I feel like I’ve done you a disservice and I’m sorry is all’, I say by way of apology.

Polly nods ‘ok’ then looks to our daughter and whispers,

‘Do you want to wake up and meet your Daddy, Katy-Jo?’ I feel a sudden surge of resentment, which is instantly quelled by a stronger feeling of loss- have I forfeited the right to having a say in the naming of my child?

‘Katy-Jo?’ I ask unable to hide the ambivalence of my feelings. Polly smiles to me,

‘It’s just a temporary name!’ she assures, ‘Our mothers’ names combined. Katherine and Josephine.’

I think about this very deeply. This is probably the most thoughtful thing I’ve heard of recently. Polly didn’t even meet my Mum- she was long dead by the time we got together, but I like the gesture and the sound of it,

‘It’s nice- I like it’, I croak, gratitude in my eyes, ‘My Mum would have liked that’,

‘Well we’ll keep it if you like. I just couldn’t think of her as ‘Baby Spencer’ once she was born. Do you want to hold her Jack?’ I feel my breathing shallow- I’m so f*****g scared of a tiny baby it’s unreal. My own daughter: and I’m terrified like never before and time seems to slow as the moment of contact occurs.

I glance to Taffy who is standing already- having spent the last few minutes regaining his composure- but still looks as though his head may explode- in an affirmation of continuing his relentless support. He stands close behind me as Polly holds Katy-Jo out to me and I extend my shaking arms to receive her. I can’t describe exactly how I feel- it’s like every drug I’ve ever taken- au natural- and every emotion I’ve ever felt- multiplied by a million- when I first feel the weight of my child in my arms.

Six pound eight ounces of baby human, my daughter- Katy-Jo, is in my arms and I feel a glow in every part of my body and the tears run hot down my face as I swear to my child that I will never let anyone- anything- ever hurt her. Taffy whispers to me,

‘I told you mate- she’s so beautiful isn’t she?’ I turn to look at him,

‘Yeah. You told me so and I’m so glad you did’, I can’t fight my tears, ‘Thank you so much’, I look to Polly,

‘ Thank you too- I’m so proud of you for doing this alone. If you can forgive me then I promise that you’ll never have to be alone in her upbringing’, Polly smiles through her own tears and Taffy put his finger to Katy-Jo’s cheek as we stared into her sparklingly new eyes,

‘That goes for both of us’, he said to Polly with a look of pure devotion on his face, ‘Is there any chance we could change her name to ‘Paula’ though?’

Polly and I spend the first three months of Katy-Jo’s life together before we had a row and during that row I punch a hole in the living room door, accuse her of trapping me, tell her I’ve got ‘better things to do than waste my life with her and walk out in absolute disgust with myself.

So the tone is set and my ‘get out clause’ is pre-emptive of anything that Polly can say or do to keep me in a relationship with her.

‘You trapped me and I’ll never believe otherwise’, is my response to any accusations she has about my lack of parental responsibility, ‘You knew what I was when I met you’, is my argument against ‘settling down’ from my ‘wild’ lifestyle and ‘F**k off and die. I don’t care about you anyway’, is my hurtful and childish repose when all else has failed.

 The truth is that I don’t like myself very much since all of this happened, but I visit Katy-Jo every week- night after work then spend my weekends travelling, gigging and generally partying. Often spending the night with Polly and building up resentment on her part that I’m ‘using her’, (I know that I am, but can’t admit it to anyone- least of all myself), which becomes her counter artillery to my pre-emptive manoeuvres and so the battle continues. 

Taffy disapproves to an extent, but would never see me unhappy so stops short of suggesting I ever go back. He does advise me, however, to stop being a ‘using b*****d’ and to ‘let Polly go if you don’t want her- unless you’re scared she’ll want someone else. Wise man is Taffy, but he really does my f*****g head in at times.

During this time Taffy and I have written our first poetry/lyrics together and I feel excited, trepidation at our first gig with D.J Ambience, (Gary- a friend we know through ‘activist circles’ and who we perceive as one of the next generation of militant campaigner), as Chaos-Ambience- a new beginning in our lives and a new direction for our protestations. The typed lyric sheet reads:

 

Black and White?

 

Jack: Been hearin’ rumours lately; whispers at the bar,

‘Bout how the ‘queers’, ’ tarts’ and ‘darkies’ get a more than equal start.

How all minority status undermines the right of whites,

How equal opportunities supersedes all lawful rights!

I wanna tell you something- wanna make my point of view;

Not popular with the many-so I’ll stick with the few.

 

Taffy: Your arrogance compels me to strike a blow right back;

To burn at the oppression hidden in your Union Jack.

You’re sayin’ you’re not entitled to celebrate your culture,

As you crowd around the bar like lecherous vultures,

To consume all you can, before you’re told it’s ‘time’:

Then you ‘pull’ or puke or pick a fight; then into bed you climb.

 

Jack: Up for work 9 till 5; another boring day

Home for tea or ‘Maccy D’s’- It’s a fashion you could say.

An investment that ‘ white man’ made and sold his soul upon,

‘Take everything there is to take; ‘til everything is gone!’

A culture of morality is your civilised disguise,

So you can lavish in your wealth and forget the ones who die.

 

Taffy: Onward Christian soldiers marching off to war

Collateral loss? Who gives a toss? We’ve more oil than before!

You Heathens and subversives will feel the mighty force,

Of temptation to possession and aristocratic law

Entrapment and oppression: our societies’ restrictions.

Were created by White Gods law and all his contradictions.

 

Both: Heterosexual, white man made things how they are-

So if you want someone to blame- you don’t have to go far! x 3

 

We play 25 gigs together and are planning to go to Europe to play a techno festival when gang rivalry once again ends in tragedy for me, but this time a good deal worse than the first.

I see Taffy’s tears and feel his fear as he tries to help me cling to life. I feel myself slip into the limbo of death, as I am put into the ambulance, but awaken from eternal slumber by the electric shock that kick starts my heart to maintain the functions of my still living brain. My experience fluctuates between still blackness and the spiralling ceiling lights of a hospital and the chaotic sounds and sights of my benefactors who struggle to save my life before strong sedatives null my mind as the surgeons disrupt the natural process of dying to allow my body to heal and replenish itself anew. Then…

 

The ground quakes once more- stronger this time- the Mother has sensed me and is ready to claim me back to her. The splits in her surface grow larger as her hot blood bubbles to the surface tingeing the all- encompassing drab lifeless landscape with its red glow. There is no escape from her- there will be no amnesty for me in her wrath, but my instincts tell me to run, not for the life I no longer have, but for the verve of the spirit that is who I truly am. My legs carry me across the expanse toward the blackened sea- the decayed skeletal corpses of poisoned whales and dolphins, sharks and fish litter the grey beaches to rot with the land dwellers that had instrumented this massacre- the cracks in the earth follow my path on all sides of me and I see the earth give way in front of me and I leap just in time to avoid being incinerated within the depths of our Mother. A pathway leads me to a cliff face that overlooks the sea and the cracks slow behind the higher up I go. I am safe for now, at least, a ghost seeking sanctuary. Is this really how it ends or is this just my own vision? I feel that this is the truth, but then again I thought I was God in my madness and have discovered only hell as a consequence. Am I in hell for my sins- for all those times that I have denied God to others and myself? Has He given me a taste of his mighty responsibility in answer to my questions and statements to deny him and then punished me to suffer alone with the knowledge that He bequeathed to me? These are the only things I have no answer for and they are the only answers that I desire.

 

 

I see Noreen speaking soundlessly above me trying to hold me still on the floor of the hospital bathroom as I shake and convulse at the aneurysm that has halted the flow of blood to my brain causing a stroke, which then causes my temporal artery to haemorrhage. I shudder as life leaves my body and I die in Noreen’s arms, the nurses and doctors that hurriedly enter the room are too late to assist either of us.

 

I understand who I am and I know that I am dead and I cry for the loss of my life- I didn’t want to die- I’ll miss my daughter, my friends, the love I shared and the pain that I felt. This is the journey of my end and it seems that it has taken me to my own version of hell. I inherit the earth that awaits all humanity- in the end.

 

The Mother screams in fury as the cliff top erupts and crumbles down to the rocks below and into the toxic and diseased ocean- forcing me to return the way I came to escape her wrath. The earth tremors at this power and I am thrown in the direction I run and I land cut, bruised and burnt at the edge of the great abyss that has opened there. Fire and molten rock spring forth from fresh cavities around my fragile form- and I look into the depths of hell and see, rising toward me, a decaying and blackened, writhing mass of the deceased who once walked the earth- the arms of billions of decomposing bodies reaching out to claim me. Swarming endlessly through the maelstrom of fire and brimstone toward the surface their limbs and torsos merged into one singular entity that screams its torment into my thoughts- their mouths open wide, faces contorted out of all natural proportion, in an eternal death cry of agony. I hear their screams of torment in my mind and see the pain that they have endured at their own hand.

I stand quickly and retreat in absolute terror- forgetting my injuries and fleeing as quickly as is humanly possible taking any high ground I can find in the desperation of self-preservation as the legion of the dead squirm outwards onto the surface.

The fissure widens as more of the dead are re-born from the Mother and the writhing column of putrefaction spills out upon her.

 Their mass is intrinsically and gruesomely inter-connected in a macabre embrace- unified in hell as they never were in heaven- and they push upwards into the sky of perpetual cloud as if reaching out to heaven for Gods mercy. Hands grab at my legs from beneath me as the area widens and the floor fractures below me- more of the surface is violated by their un-dead presence- the stench of decay fills my nostrils as another abyss opens before me and another column of lost life and hope emerges and I despair as this is repeated across the wilderness and across the horizon.

 I realise that there will be no escape, nor mercy; I am only prolonging the inevitable. I stop running, fatigued from my efforts, and stand still to face the demon- defiantly awaiting my fate. I have lost everything that I cared for- I’d rather face this demon than spend eternity running from it.

 I scream my fear driven anger to the beast as it surrounds me and closes in from all directions.

‘Come on then you f****r! Come on- lets get this over with you f*****g coward!’

As they approach I can hear them speak- echoes of who they once were- all around me as they consider who and what I am.

‘Who is this that lives?’

‘He bares no scars of suffering!’

‘Why was he spared while we suffer?’

‘Perhaps this one’s special. Perhaps he is blessed and comes to gloat upon the wretches’

They hate me for the life I still have and their deliberations are soon turned to accusations as they encircle me with horrific intent,

‘Why do you live?’

‘How dare you live when so many have perished?’

‘You f****r! Give us back our lives you c**t!’

‘Why?’ they demand in unison, ‘Why, you c**t, why?’

In a second they consume me and I am enveloped in the horror of their being and, as I rot and become entwined with the beast that is the wasteland, I can hear their taunts of the fate that awaits me here,

‘You’re not blessed- Jack- you belong with us, to suffer forever as one’

‘Your flesh will be torn from your body, but you will not die’

‘Muscle will be rendered from your bone, yet you will live’

‘The bones will be snapped and reduced to ash, but there will be no merciful release unto death’,

‘ You will live forever- in horror forever- in pain forever. You will never be freed to oblivion from the depths of your awareness in Hell.’

Their vengeful grip is upon me, the voices turn to piercing laughter as they ingest me into their essence. Despondent and exhausted I do not resist as the hands claw at my flesh- as they seek to reclaim the lives that they forfeited by allowing others control over their destiny. My life has gone, my journey was made in vain and in apathy I allow myself to become one with the many. A putrid face looks into my own with glee and mocks me with its words,

‘Your destiny is not yet complete Jack- do stay awhile’.