SLEEP THAT BURNS!

                                    ********************

Just Who Is The Misfit On The Train! (me or....them?)

Misfits on a train! (Yet more ramblings)

       The message came over the Station Tannoy,
    "The train arriving on platform two for Chippenham, Bath and Bristol Temple meads Stations will be leaving at 8-05",
That's ok then, I have only been waiting for forty five fucking minutes, I suppose I can wait a little longer!  At last, I'm on, it always makes me laugh, clambering on board and you always see the sign painted on the platform, 'Mind The Gap', on your own with no suitcase, no problem, but when your loaded up and your case feels like it is full of cement, your ticket is in your mouth and your spare hand is grabbing anything it can to keep you upright, now that's a different story! 

       Finally I’m aboard and now walking down the carriage having stowed my suitcase in the luggage rack, I can at least stay upright.
       It seems unusually  bereft of passengers for early evening, that's good, I can spread out across the seats and maybe get some shut eye, I am starting to feel knackered so that will be great, I could set the alarm on my phone, don't want to miss my stop now do I!  I have often wondered why do Train carriages always seem to smell the same, a bit like the smell inside a vacuum cleaner, stale rather than foul, a bit grubby rather than totally  filthy, I suppose when you think about it, in an age of change it's nice to know something's will always stay the same.

 We seem to be taking an age to get going then the shrill blast from the guy on the platform's whistle, I bet he loves that, makes him feel important I suppose, we start to jerk and the train begins to move out of the Station at last. After fifteen minutes or so, we are out of the town limits and we have reached cruising speed and the rhythmic movement of the carriage and the added noise coming from this iron and steel box becomes almost hypnotic. I can feel my body start to move in perfect time and it has become almost calming, I can feel my eyelids getting heavy but it's too early, I don't want to sleep yet, maybe later but not yet!  I know, in times such as these what do you do, start playing with your phone, yeah, that's what God invented the Smart phone for, train journeys... shit no signal and I've only got 50% battery and if I keep on playing around with it that will soon go, back to the drawing board!  By now the carriage has only got five passengers plus myself, dotted about, nobody is close by; I can't even talk to anyone without leaving my seat. I know, I shall do a bit of people watching, discreetly of course, that should make the trip a bit more bearable.

       There is a guy on the left of me about two seats up and  facing to the rear of the train which means he is towards me, brave man or perhaps he does not suffer motion sickness like I do, I have to see where I am going not where I've been. He is listening to music on his phone, white plugs jammed in your ears, always a bit of a giveaway, he's smiling, and his eyes are closed and...Oh Christ, he is singing!  Not only is he singing, he has got all the facial expressions, or should that be contortions, fuck me, he looks like he is in pain but what is he listening to, it is loud that’s for sure, it's buzzing but all I am getting are fly's in a jar, hang on, the chorus is obviously kicking in and he is starting to give it all he has got, totally oblivious to all in the carriage, he's in his own 'Caesar's Palace', holy crap, it's... Celine Dion!  He is rocking out to Celine Dion, oh my God, kill me now. Oh well someone has to and it does take all sorts I suppose but his mannerisms were more Guns 'N' Roses than Celine Dion, come to think about it, they have had a residency in 'Vegas too!

         
      My eyes wonder around the carriage and I see another man, looks like an office worker, maybe a bank manager, he has a certain 'way' about him, not a smug look but he looks like a guy who has climbed the ladder and is successful in what he does! His choice of reading material is not much help as he takes a neatly folded copy of The Telegraph from out of his briefcase and proceeds to spread it out across his table, he gets a pen from his jacket pocket, there are a few lines of ink on his shirt where he has missed his pocket before, he appears to not care a jot, in fact I don't reckon he even knows, he just turns a few pages and starts to finish off his crossword. He has one of the most annoying habits known to man, he presses down at lightning speed the top of his Parker, click,click,clickety click, clickety click, Christ that is so fucking annoying, never mind about 'water boarding', pen clicking that is what they should use at Guantanamo Bay, two minutes of that and you would grass on your own mother! He's probably a shrink and that is his form of release having been listening to other people’s problems all day!

   
      Now she is a very attractive lady, she looks kind of lonely, not exactly sad or anything, just lonely! She is tapping away on her laptop, looking over at a pile of paperwork one minute, then bashing away on the keypad the next, then her phone starts to vibrate and dance across the table. It must be a woman thing, all in a virtually seamless movement, without stopping her typing; she grabs the phone, in a split second looks at the call, stops it ringing and just throws it back down onto the table! What the fuck, that could have been important, how did she know, perhaps it's her boyfriend or maybe her old man, perhaps she's a lesbian, whatever she is, whoever she is she is now looking straight at me, oh shit, awkward moment,  I'm not staring in a pervy way honest, I’m not,  just passing the time but she does not know that, how do I make it look normal,  I smile, why not, no law against that, she looks straight at me and gives me one of those 'can I help you' looks, one of those where the eyes say it all,  the sort that tells you basically to piss off, I quickly look away but I am soon sneaking a glance back, she's giggling to herself, is that a victory for women giggle or does she find me attractive, I look back and she stares back at me and then she looks back at her laptop and proceeds to ...flick me the bird!  Well it's obvious, she must be a lesbian, she must be, it's obvious...right?

      With the gentle motion that the carriage brings to me, I begin to yawn and mould myself into the seat; it's still too early for my body to shut down and sleep so I look around a bit more. I can hear him first before he comes into view and then there is that smell drifting through the carriage, the smell that tells me that we have a 'mega snacker' in our midst! Sure enough, there he is, right by the doors to the next carriage,  the one who shall be known as 'pig boy'. He is armed and ready, not one but two pies, hence  the smell, this is a guy who looks in the hot cabinet rotisserie  in the kiosk, can't decide what filling to have, so he has two different ones, this is a guy who knows a pie when he sees one! Two pies is not enough for this bloater oh no, he has a packet of crisps, jumbo size naturally, and is that a Mars Bar lurking in the wings?  I lean a bit further out of my chair to get a better look, yes… it's a Mars Bar and it's a...King Size, this guy is going balls out! These gastronomic delights are then washed down with; of course it's the obligatory can of Diet Coke. In between crunching and chomping followed by slurping, he takes timeout to wipe his pie hole on his sleeve and flick the pages of his creased and smeared copy of 'On-Line Gamer', his reading material of choice. Wait a minute is this guy the real deal, can't think what but there is something missing...I know he has not yet belched!  Has he peaked yet , is there more still to come from this giant of gluttony, it's as if he has taken on the role of one of the characters in one of the games in the magazine. He is now picking his teeth; he ogles over the remains of the chicken, beef and chocolate mash-up he has prized from his mouth and...Back in it goes, well Waste not, want not. Another slug from the can, a rummage in his bag and wait a minute, a scratch of his greasy head, up go the legs, he is making himself comfortable, readying himself and......yes, there it is, the mother of all burps comes up from the depths of his vast gut, he is totally oblivious to anyone in the carriage, he looks like he could not give a rats arse as he spreads himself across the seats, suitably watered and fed.

       Letting out a huge sigh, more from relief at being able to at last rest her shopped out body, the harassed, worn out and thoroughly pissed off day tripper!  She's been up to town all day and although a day of shopping in London was, at first a great idea, she is obviously so glad to be going home. Loaded to capacity with all manner of designer bags, of course these include the obligatory Harrods carrier bag that is probably containing a packet of biscuits bearing the stores famous logo, but at least she was there! She looks dazed and confused, bothered and bewildered but she knows she has made it and she is now on her way home, as far as she is concerned, the day went well. She probably spent more than she wanted too, on things that she will only wear once and the dark corners of her wardrobe are as we speak, making space for all of these tossed aside garments.  As she puts the bags beside her, she is fumbling her way through what appear to be the receipts for her shopping haul of today, she looks like she is adding them up in her head, she stops and with eyes wide open and an expression that screams HOW MUCH!!!  She soon gives up the receipt tally and you can see her eyes are starting to droop and suddenly, the whites of her eyes begin to make an appearance, then, as if by magic, her head goes and she has fallen asleep!

         Well that certainly killed a few minutes, I think I will have that sleep, I shall fold my arms and grip hold of my phone, which is on silent, but the vibrations should wake me up…hopefully!

A 'Sleep That Burns' production (never to be taken as gospel, just another thought)

A Hardy Character!

          It was on a recent visit to the home of one of the greats of the literary world, not to my taste but great none the less, a few things made me stand up and pay attention!

       Renowned for his writings of British life as it was back then, Thomas Hardy wrote stories that were very much evocative of the day, however there were a few things about the guy that I reckon are little known! He was a man who seemed to be unable to make up his mind, he had three rooms within this rambling old house that over a period of years, he would turn into his studies, this in itself, beggars the question, how the hell did he manage to write the classic novels that he did? Was he fickle, did he suffer from a form of O.C.D well before some  psychologist had even named it...before it was even thought to be anything other than some 'after dinner' parlor game, who knows but I have my own theory as to what he was really up to!  I reckon that this man was one of the forerunners to the steam punk genre that was to come to such prominence some years later. In one of these rooms that became his 'study' at various times, which is now listed as his second wife's bedroom, of course, nothing beats creeping across the landing for an intimate liaison don't you think! Anyway, I digress, but there in this very 'unromantic', bay window is this:-

              Maybe she liked to sew, maybe they liked to sew together, maybe she could run up a nice pair of curtains whilst he was a dab hand at turning up his trousers, or just maybe this was a source of ideas for old Tom, perhaps he used this as a form of inspiration for the stories that he was yet to publish! What brings me to this conclusion you may ask, well, just nestling on an old very ornate desk just  outside the bedroom, is this wonderful piece of Victoriana:-

       Perhaps, just maybe, Mr Hardy would receive an idea, just from staring at the machine, maybe touching it, turning the wheel, absorbing the sounds that were created by doing these apparently most 'basic' of things! Just imagine him in a leather Top hat and a pair of the most ornate, sepia tinted goggles to which he perhaps maintained were the two possessions that would help him to escape from his, outwardly, staid, head of a Victorian household,  a pillar of sobriety, but in reality, he craved to be a loose cannon, perhaps he longed for the shackles of the British stiff upper lip to be released from holding him back! Lets be honest for a moment, if one of his literary peers, Jules Verne, who some might say is the originator of this genre, a man who created wonderful characters and worlds of wonder and amazement, way way ahead of everyday thought and even imagination, then why couldn't he?

        It would be so cool if this man, the epitome  of the romantic novelist,  and so very English, was in fact covertly hammering out trashy, Pulp fiction short stories, purely for his own pleasure. Maybe he could rattle them out at will and somewhere within this Victorian piece of real estate are hidden away some manuscripts, under floorboards or stitched inside drawing room curtains,  just waiting to be found and published, who knows, just a thought.
    Alas, the restraints of the type of writing that he made his name from, seemed to always win the day. It would be really cool to think that old Tom was in reality, a bit of a dude, even if only within the confines of one of his three rooms that became his study.  However, It would be so nice to think that the guy had a wicked sense of humour and whilst deliberating on the title for one of his greatest pieces of work,  he was sat in this most private of places at the end of a long passage way, working things out with a pencil, inspiration would hit,  call it a 'flash in the pan' if you will, and after the anguish and turmoil that comes with thinking of a good title, he named it 'Tess Of The T'urdbervilles' was his first choice for a title!

     I reckon that this would have ge'ed up the starched Victorian Society of the 1890's, after all, it was censored at the time for being a bit too 'under the counter' so perhaps he should have really given the literary censors something to get their starched breeches in a twist about! Just a thought, maybe a wicked one but....you never know!

A day with SLEEP THAT BURNS!

Maybe...it was never going to be?

               It had been a shitty day, work had been a relentless, a seemingly never ending pain in the arse, the phone had been going non stop, my colleagues and clients were worse than normal!  Not their fault, just me I suppose, I had to get out and when the time came for close of play for this particular day, I was gone, in a flash, desk tidied, computer off, just like vapor, I was gone. I had decided to walk home through the park, it was a nice day, the sun was cracking the flags so the bus can go and do one, the walk would clear my head anyway. I was never a 'stop to smell the roses' type of guy, never had the time I suppose but today seemed different and after a while, I actively hunted down a bench to have a sit down and just, kick back and relax I suppose, not that I felt tired, I just wanted to sit a while. So, I found a bench, sat down and just...I don't know, just watched the world go by, nothing and nobody in particular, just the fact that I wanted to do fuck all for a while!  What seemed like an endless stream of joggers passed me, they came from the left, the right, from everywhere, the buzz coming from  their MP3's made me snigger to myself, all designer trainers and headbands with the 'right' name on them, I felt sorry for some of them, all red in the face and leaking profusely, definitely looked like they were really enjoying themselves, not.

          After sitting and chilling for a while, you know, just doing a bit of people watching, which in itself is a bit of an art form these days, I know I'm not a pervert, but to look for a moment too long, and people start to look at you, looking at them and the pointing and mumbling soon starts and before you know it, you're labelled a 'perve'! With all that said and done, I just sat there enjoying this self imposed wind down, my breathing had become a gentle in and out and I had started to relax so much, I hadn't even noticed her arrive and take up position at the other end of the bench.           When someone sits so close to you and without warning, you can feel a bit awkward at first, possibly a bit pissed off even, "of all the benches" etc etc but on this occasion, I think I was so relaxed, I didn't care either way, knock yourself out, it 'ain't my bench!  

    The lady sharing the bench intrigued me, I had no clue on what she looked like, I knew what she smelt like, that sounds incredibly perverse of me but she smelt nice to me, a guy, the name of her perfume escapes me now, Christ I'm a guy and guy's only 'pretend' to know these things, a guy does not know the names and smells of perfumes, some guy's do admittedly but not the guy's I know! The sights and sounds of the park just rolled on by and it was turning out to be one of those lazy, hazy days that happen all too rarely, so when they do, you have just got to go with it, embrace it, because in a heartbeat, these day's, these moments, these all too rare times of our 'full on' lives, just go, in a second...gone.

I did not look at the lady by my side on the bench, I don't think I was embarrassed, it just seemed unnecessary at this part of the day, well, my day at least, I remember feeling calm, rested and as pompous as it may sound, for the first time all day, at peace with myself, today is on it's way out, tomorrow is another day, thank you... it's been a blast. 

    I started to lower my gaze and move my head slightly to the left, in a way that was to say the least, unsubtle, all this in a vain attempt to catch a glimpse of the guest on the end of the bench. This must have made me look like I was afflicted with something, so this move was quickly and as discreetly as I could, shelved.  Christ what a fool I must have looked, so a quick reshuffle and a clearing of the throat was in order!  What harm is there in speaking, I don't have to turn and look, I could just make a random remark about the weather followed by some gesture out in front of me, yes that's ok, no harm in that and it won't look quite so weird.

"Don't you just love this time of the day, I do, just the warmth of the breeze and the red sky, like that over there!" No answer, shit... what do I do now, I know she is still there, I can hear a paper, she is reading, right. I am going to turn and look at her and talk to her, no harm in that, and this is what I did! There she was, this lady, this nice smelling lady, face ...behind today's news, what did she look like, who did she look like?  My mind went into overdrive, all I had to go on were a pair of dainty, sandal clad feet some faded denim covered legs and a white linen blouse, this was enough to work on for now.  Was she my age, who knew, was she  younger, was she older, damned if I knew, just like a voice on the phone you hear, your mind paints a picture for you, they always look like you want them to look, then again, it's always best that it stay's that way, wishing and hoping, nobody likes to have their dreams shattered, now do they.

The curiosity was getting the better of me but what could I do, she must be coming to the end of that paper by now, the light is beginning to fade, she will just have to fold it up and...talk to me, well why wouldn't she, no harm in just having a chat.  No sign of her finishing it just yet, I gaze at my feet and kick the dust on the ground, then she shakes the paper, she is starting to turn over, no, she's just folded it, is she doing the crossword, maybe she's doing that fucking Sudoku, well that's it, I'm crap at that, so that is one thing we haven't got in common straight away. 

This is stupid, I'm a grown man, a nice bloke, I'm not a weirdo, if I'm too old, or too young, no law about passing the time of day, well, there wasn't yesterday to my knowledge. At that moment, I heard the paper being folded and placed on the bench, this is it, here I go... but what shall I say, how do I break this icy barrier that seems to be between us! I will be as normal and natural as possible, if she tells me to fuck off, then so be it but here I go...

With that, I turn and as casually as I can, I utter...

"Isn't it nice this time of...!

          She's gone, nowhere to be seen, just gone, I stand and look around, where is she, who is she, who was she?!  I fall back down on the bench, laughing out loud...

"You stupid old Sod, there's no fool like an old fool".

Well, she was there, I know she was there, the paper, it's still there, maybe she left her number on it, well they do in the movies, no number, no writing and no Sudoku, well that alone is some sort of cold comfort I suppose, I just hate Sudoku anyway! As I stand up to leave, I stretch out my arms, reach down to pick up my ruck sack...just for a minute I am sure I can still smell her perfume, she was here, is she still here?  I look around again, smile to myself, " Oh well, c'est la vie, it was a nice thought, let's call that perfume 'Summer Breeze', yeah I like that, 'Summer Breeze'.

SLEEP THAT BURNS

(Just what goes on inside the mind of Doc Martin?)

The Sudden Stop Always Appears To Be...At The Bottom!
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(a.k.a.... My Wife scares me!)

               It is taking for what seems like...forever, turning this way then that, face down then face up, arms inside the covers... or perhaps outside but still no joy!  I have heard that if you tense your body then relax it , sometimes that helps, keep doing this for a few minutes and you will soon drop off into a deep sleep!  What a crock of bullshit, that does not work, anyway, I want to sleep not workout for Christ  sake, the boredom that doing that brings on should do the trick but no, back to the drawing board.  I keep my eyes closed in the vain hope that by keeping any form of light out, I will just drift off but to no avail.  I keep my eyes closed for what seems like hours and then...I must have just...gone, dropped off, at last I am asleep now....or am I! 
         This feeling is strange, weird even, it just does not feel right, am I asleep or am I just lying there with my eyes closed, resting, not the same as sleeping is it!  Then, from nowhere I seem to be able to feel a breeze against my face, gentle at first, almost pleasant, then the breeze becomes more like a wind and soon I'm shivering and goosebumps start to rise all over my body, this is not right, if I'm dreaming then this feels too real, too high definition for my liking, got to get out of here, got to wake up... It feels... just wrong somehow! 

        I am aware or It feels like I am,  out of my bed and not even in my room, I can't feel the floor beneath my feet so I must be...floating, so I'm thinking, am I still in bed?....I've got to be, fucking hell, now It feels that I am turning over, I don't like this feeling, turning upside down, I really do not like this feeling, let's be honest, we all like to feel in control and I am definately not in control,  God I feel sick, oh fuck, I'm turning upside down and starting to turn, I'm now twisting and it is so painful.  Fuck that hurts, Christ my back and what's the deal with my arms, they are stretching upwards, so are my legs! The feeling of speed, the whistling past my ears .... am I falling, it feels like I am, got to open my eyes, but I'm too scared but I must but I can't they are too tightly closed, Christ what is going on! What the hell is that, it appears to be coming from above me, there, over there beyond the noise of the rush, I can't see fuck all so I am assuming it's coming from there above me, up there, is that laughing I can hear, is that screaming, what is that, who is that, is that... my wife, is it?, What is she doing in my dream, who let her into my dream for fuck sake, Christ she is in my head, my inner sanctum, can I not dream alone anymore, Jesus H fucking Christ!!
                                    The falling seems to be getting faster, the whistling getting louder and that voice, that cackle is getting nearer and louder until it is right by my ear, is that her, it is you know!  With gritted teeth and with gargantuan effort, I force my eyelids open, my vision is blurred from the speed, I start blinking crazily  and soon realize that I am looking skywards but plummeting downwards and there she is, my wife, smiling at me, by my side!  She appears to be looking at photos, then shaking her head and throwing each picture away, then another and another, never does she change her expression, all she does is...sigh and shrug her shoulders and keep on...smiling at me. Then her expression changes, she starts to gaze lovingly into my eyes, then she smiles at me again, then she points down and then her smile is gone!  I look down only to see the ground hurtling towards me, I look back to her, she lovingly waves to me, blows me a kiss...and she is gone!

    I brace myself, this is it, all of the good things followed by all of the bad things start to  filter through my mind, Christ was I that bad, was I that good even!  I then peer over my shoulder as the ground is almost upon me, oh well, if this is it, if this is to be how it ends, how I end, alone and with a splat, then so be it, fuck 'em all, I know I am a good person...mostly, so goodbye it is, see you around, perhaps I shall now be able to sleep, to relax, just get this thing over with will you!  

                Then, with a bang and a jolt....I'm awake, in my bed,  sweating like a pig and ....laughing, embarrassed laughter, then again, any laugh is better than no laugh I suppose, especially on the trip I had just been on!  I know I am not alone in the bed, she was with me when I put the light out, so she must still be there, so nervously I turn to see my wife lying there and in the dimly lit room, she rolls over and say's 

"Christ you were restless last night, you are going to bed far too late"!

"I'm sorry, must have had a bad dream"

"As long as you were dreaming about me

and close the bloody window, the wind was whistling all night!
"Oh yes, I say, I  dreamt about you last night and you were looking at some photos, who were you looking at!"
"Photos!  What photos, what are you on about"?
"You threw me out of something...you were looking at photos and you were laughing....what, don't look at me like that, it was you, well it certainly looked like you and she sounded like you and you were laughing, at me for Christ's sake!  
Oh never mind!"

Further Adventures from the Mind of Doc Martin 

  

SLEEP THAT BURNS

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                                      The Eyes of the Raven.

                     Not to be mistaken for a Crow or a Rook, the Raven is somewhat more of a 'majestic' bird, some would say Satanic even Demonic, although similar of course, perhaps even from the same family, or so the books might say but this bird stands out from the rest.  While the Crow and the Rook come from almost a pastoral background, the scourge of many a farmer and of many country folk and the legend they have created over the generations, they have many a tale to tell of the battles that have been going on for what seems like...forever but the Raven is different! 
                  This is a bird, some might even refer to it as a creature, a feathered beast even, that has dark mysticism surrounding it, from it's jet black plumage, it's perfectly upright posture, the flapping of those huge wings to the grey of it's beak but that is not all! The feature that is perfect in all of it's primeval glory, are the eyes, so perfect in detail and yet...there is no detail, just two of the most heart stopping, beady eyes, eyes that are as black as night, as dark and impenetrable as pools of ink and whose only form of movement is the lightning blink of those grey eye-lids. 
                 Some say that Ravens contain the spirits of the dead, whose bodies have gone to... wherever, who knows but leaving their souls remaining to keep a watchful eye on the living.  Do they look after us or do they disturb us, it is a job to tell, unlike most birds, the Raven is rarely scared by an approaching man and it will almost invite you to stare into those black eyes of theirs, looking for what, what is it that is in there, is it the reflection of those who are doing the looking, or the souls of the departed ones, looking back!  Are they smiling, are they crying or are they screaming, do these souls want to be in there, have they been taken or are they willing guests, destined to stay with the Ravens until the Raven  blinks no more! 
                     A bird that appears, when not even invited, although a solitary bird, it is a bird that is not shy of making it's presence known!  The cry, the squawk of the bird, causes the same reaction to man like nails scratching down a blackboard, a noise that causes you to turn away in abject horror but also demands you to look back to where the sound comes from. It's head will move from left to right almost mimicking the way you look at it, oh yes... this is a clever bird, a very clever bird, perhaps it is more human than we think, perhaps it knows what we are thinking, perhaps it is aware of the alarm that it causes, perhaps it is aware of the evil face it projects to us, perhaps it relishes in the fear that it gives to all in it's company! 

                 You just can't help it, those eyes seem to demand that you look into them, you will look away but you will always be drawn back. Unlike when you are staring at another human being, you can always look away when noticed, you can quickly avert your gaze, after all, you do not wish to appear rude but a Raven is a bird not an inanimate object but still, just a bird, just a big, black, bird. Funny thing is, when it appears, it just seems to do that, appear, none or very little noise, perhaps the silence is what makes this such a creature of intrigue, of mystic powers, maybe the sound of it's silence, is the sound of your own fear!  It seems to never look at you in a quizzical way, it seems to be bereft of any fear of you, it seems to show some form of contempt for you, you as a person, you as the scarer becomes the scared. The Raven seems to view you with the utmost contempt, almost with a aura of superiority about it, it looks you up and down, it seems to be judging you, you never saw me arrive and you will not hear me leave!

                

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      If I could talk, if you could hear me, then again, maybe I can and maybe I do but it is not words that you hear, it is fear itself, your fear, louder than any words...and I like that!
     'I know I make you feel uneasy, perhaps even frightened, but still you look at me, you can't help it, you do not want to but still you do!
     I know you do not like me, and I like that, is it true what you have heard, when you look into my eyes, what do you see, for it is you and your own fear, looking back at you... and I like that'!

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       So just what is it that you see, apart from yourself looking back, it is not the souls of the dead, it is not fear, fear is a state of mind, fear is a feeling, fear is within us all, yet still you look for the answer,  there is no answer but still you look and the Raven...I'm sure he likes that!
       There are some things that should remain, that should never change and the eyes of the Raven should be left to our imagination, they should create fear, they should make us feel uneasy, fear is the antithesis of boredom, fear keeps you, me and all of us alive, awake, on edge but most of all, ALIVE!

A Short Story from the Inner Workings of SLEEP THAT BURNS
( the ramblings of Doc Martin)

WE ARE ALL CATS! 
The origin of the species.

According to Keith, I have no chance and neither do you, maybe him of course that goes without saying and that guy will always be a  CAT!  Why, because Keith say's so, only a guy can earn that title of course but not her or her, they are Chicks or Old Ladies,  terms of endearment, not to be misconstrued  as patronizing or even derogatory, totally different. Both are used as generic terms of endearment, one could even refer to them as badges of honour and to have them bestowed on you by a man such as Keith, they are just that, an honour! For a man such as Keith who has an uncanny ability to live in the now whilst still being able to retain the spirit of '69 via '70 and back to '68 at the drop of a doobie, to him everyone is a Cat or a Chick, it's the law, it's his law and if you cross him, then you my friend, to him anyway, are a Mother Fucker and you cross him at your peril!

"...and your point is?"

            He may hide behind Aviator's and the swirl from  a slow burning Marlboro but when those lasers turn your way and  become fixed on you, some even say locked onto you, you being his target, those black pupils of his that dilate at will, in and out in the whites that have become  beautiful caramel coloured pools of menace, they reach into the hearts and minds of those who are foolish enough to ask stupid questions or those who are just so naive. Eventually they will burn through to the mind deep beneath the flesh and cut through to the bone, all with just the glare of his eyes, those black lined jewels of menace. You will know when that happens, oh you will SO know that you have not made the grade, his grade, the grade that makes you a Cat or...not.
           This 'circle' of his, this circle of honoured 'felines', are quite simply just that, honoured. Just to be referred to as a Cat is a pretty cool thing to carry around but being a cool Cat, well, that is something entirely different, especially if Keith say's so! If he say's so, it means, in his world anyway, you are a master of your craft.

Chuck Berry (King Cat)

             Chuck Berry for example, goes without saying,  I would be so bold to say is the 'King Cat' and these two have scratched and bitten each other in many well documented spats, possibly in an attempt to 'out' Cat each other, ending in, maybe a draw, maybe not, one storming off before permanent damage is inflicted, held back from doing so by a grudging respect, first generation Cat against a Cat of the next wave of Rock 'N' Rollers, the colt taking on the stallion, maybe it is the old guard keeping a firm grip on his share of the ticket money, things were much tougher for this Cat, certainly by comparison, Keith has had it so much easier! All of these disagreements the two have had have been  played out in front of a pick-up band of Cat wannabees, Berry may skulk off at times, leaving Keith, the young pretender to take the temporarily vacant throne and while doing so he takes a huge gulp from the ever present bottle of 'Jack', the amber coloured liquid flowing down his throat like a flow of molten lava, forcing him to release a growl of...maybe contempt, or is it some form of admiration  for his elder, after all, the older King Cat was playing the field long before Keith was!
     It is without doubt that the time honoured Chicago Blues men or maybe the Blues players from the South or maybe the Texas Delta, as far as Keith is concerned, are ALL cats!  However humble their origins were, whatever road they may have taken to gain recognition, most we must remember, never attained the kind of adulation that Keith has, whether it was to sell tickets and be adored throughout the planet, or to shift units and keep the MAN at the record company happy. These men justifiably, have earned the title of Cat and there are a few names that rose above the rest of the pride, those who could back in the day and indeed, some still do, command respect from their peers and in particular, the young pretenders, those blue eyed white boys who had such an insatiable hunger to learn to play the Devils music from these Cats. 
         Up until then, this music was 'owned' by these men, the men who had experienced it, nobody had any right, nobody could ever relate to it, nobody could 'taste' what they had tasted on their journey, 'Old Whitey don't know Jack Shit'! of course he don't, there are hard times and there are harder times but if it is all you know, nothing else 'means' Jack Shit to you anyway.  
Therefore, Cat is a very fitting, collective name for any of these men, after all, they possess names suitable for a man with a life like they have had, names that seem highly appropriate for you to call out to your own pussy cat, from your own back door.  Names such as Muddy, BB, John Lee, Jimmy, Freddie or even Little Willy, names that fit perfectly to your pet cat or maybe to a bunch of battle scarred alley cats, especially Cats with a story to tell. These are Cats that have pasts for sure, maybe it's the grinding poverty and the hardship that goes with it, lives seen  through the bottom of a liquor bottle or a life of broken dreams and hearts, of an old lady who took another road perhaps, 'she done me wrong', who knows. These are time traveled Cats of distinction, all worthy of the admiration afforded to them but being a Cat is just another name as far as they are concerned, a term of respect from one old troubadour and his battered old guitar to another. For this is a title used by one Cat towards another, a name to use that perhaps acknowledges a shared past. "Man, I am a Cat, you are a Cat, we're all Cats ...and her? Hahahaha, she is just my old lady, as sweet as my guitar, wherever I go, she goes".
    This form of raw and shameless ideology has been adopted by a seemingly endless procession of young pretenders, those who chose to sit at the feet of all of these Cats, the Cats in the hats, the Cats in the sharpest of pin stripes. There they have sat for decades, studying and learning their chops, watching the bony fingers dance up and down the fret boards of battered but true Resonator steel guitars, absorbing the words of the Cats who are forever down on their luck. 

Behold, a mighty Resonator Steel Guitar!


      This tale could not unfold without a nod to their old ladies that were on hand throughout these journey's, the ladies who were on hand to light their reefers, top up their glasses with more Bourbon and of course, break open their charred hearts along the way, the thumping heart of  real Cats.... just ask Keith!

A - Boom - Boom - Boom - Boom!


(Is that the beating of a heart... or just a '45 in the heat of the night?)

"Excuse me sir, never interrupt the guitar Man...he may be a Cat!" ***************************

SLEEP THAT BURNS (aka the thoughts of  Doc Martin)

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Vive La Difference, non, Vive La France!

             My second short story is a story of something that has been going on forever, man's inhumanity to man and on this occasion it was played out, yet again on the streets of a city, a Capital city, a Major city, a city that like so many throughout Western Europe, including the streets of Britain have  become  places of simmering tension,  that have brought yet another act of terrorism that all are able to see unfold on everything from the National News to YouTube! 

                 When these 'acts' take place in towns and cities in all  these countries that have taken pride, and indeed encouraged the sharing of everything from religion, customs, food, art, music whatever and yet now like so many places, there are those who wish to use this freedom for their own ends. They are trying to create their own havens for terror, for fear and all because of the fear and terror going on in another town, another city, another country. 

 To you and I, it makes no sense, why would anyone, how could anyone do such things, in layman's terms, why shit on the door step of the very nations who have allowed you to integrate your ways of life, with that of their own!  Surely by performing such atrocities, by creating an atmosphere of mistrust that is brought about by the more radical elements that lurk and breed just below the radar of these countries, that they themselves have chosen as their home, where the vast majority of the men and women who have fled oppression, wish to live and mix peacefully, to start a new life, is beyond any form of  comprehension, except in  the twisted minds of their powers that be. It is so sad that there are people within our world that are hell bent on spreading their mantra of violence wherever, whenever and at whatever costs!

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The Beacon Of Democracy And Freedom Of Speech.

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Is this for real?!

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            When something so evil happens, something that defies all human logic, something that is beyond the thoughts of anyone who sees and hears, someone who is very aware of what goes on in the world through normal eyes and ears. This is normal day to day life for most,  not a war zone, this is earning a living, not dodging bullets, why are they doing this here? Do I do nothing, I have no time anyway, my mind is elsewhere, it is usually in a far, far better place but that's life, my life, this is the real world coming bursting out of the T.V, this is C.N.N and YouTube in my face and in my back yard. I am are aware of evil, of course I am, I know it exists, I know it is always there but I just...carry on, aware and yet unaware, it is someone else's problem, I shall watch it on the News later, this is my life, it won't happen to me.

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               There is a guy in the street running towards me, that's an umbrella... right? It looks like one, or is it pipe -benders, is he a plumber? No it's one of those joke ones that looks like an AK-47 right, like the ones you can get on Amazon or somewhere online right, it's really an umbrella...right?

Is that fireworks, did you hear them too?

...but its daylight, of course it's not fireworks, don't be so stupid, it can't be, whoever it is letting them off must be crazy, what would be the point? My simple logic, comforts me until it happens again.

You must have heard it that time, that sounds like a gun going off! A gun? What am I thinking but why is that guy running this way, and why is he wearing a mask? Why is there another man running with him now, and why is he wearing a mask too, what a dumb ass place to leave their car...

It must be Halloween but that was months ago, it's a windup, it's a stunt like those things you see on YouTube, it must be... but it looks so real and those people who are screaming, they must be in on it too, but it's not very funny now...

That screaming, there is no laughter accompanying it, it's getting louder and that's real screaming and those fireworks are definitely gunshots, I've never heard gunshots for real but if I had, they would sound like this for sure. It's fucking crazy out here, got to keep down and keep quiet, there's a guy on the floor over there, what's he doing, he looks like he's hurt! What the fuck is that?! Is that blood, he's been shot! Oh my god, oh my god, that guy on the floor, he's really hurt, fuck, they shot him, they fucking shot him, he's on the floor, what did he say, did you hear him?! What am I saying, nobody is listening, they are all scattering for cover... My throat is getting dry with fear, the words are coming out but nobody seems to be listening, I clear my throat and start to sweat. They are shouting something about God, something like God is great, I think someone just said, I don't know, they are just shouting  at whoever is listening, fucked if I know... Hang on a minute, that other guy in the mask, the one with him, he has stopped, he's bending over that man on the floor, I think he's the police or security, holy fuck...no...NO!...They shot him...they shot him, this is no joke man, they just fucking shot him, this is for real, stay down, just stay down!  I soon realise that I've company behind the low wall where the bikes go, most have been strewn about the floor, obviously left to fall by their fleeing owners. I call to the guy  next to me, he's petrified and does not hear me at first, "what are they saying?" I call to him, he is numb with fear, I kick him and repeat my question, he's finally acknowledges me and responds "God..they keep saying something about God..." "God, what about God? Whose God?" He falls silent, looking fearful. I'm scared...we're all scared, I'm shitting myself but we just need to stay down. The shooting is getting more sporadic and I notice that the hooded men have gone into the building, still shooting. We have got to go now, while they're in there, "are you hurt?' I say to him, "no... I don't think so" he stammers. Quickly we move, their car is facing away from us, going in the opposite direction seems the best choice, after a beat we both run, and run, feet pounding the pavement, adrenaline and gunshots reverberating around my head, don't think, just run. As we race for freedom, my only thought is suddenly that this is being filmed, not by a camera crew with state of the art gear, but by someone like me, normal and unassuming, with his iPhone, this will be on YouTube within the hour, I look around at windows, in cafés and shops, I see the lights of phones in people’s faces, the faces of fear... I have a nervous giggle to myself but I keep on running and running, this is my town, my city, whatever it is , it's not my fault, it's not my problem...is it?