Weeks passed by. I lay in bed late: When the String Breaks

August 13, 2014 by Richard Lyon in Blog 0 comments
  Weeks passed by. I lay in bed late. I skipped meals, even my favourite ice cold milk first thing, poured on cereal. What was the point? I had nothing to be hungry for. I’d go out late afternoon when our town’s rush hour had commenced and melt into the crowds, an unrecognised grain of sand in a desert of people I’d never know. Others thinking I too was part of their throng. A young guy hacking out his destiny as they’d done years earlier. If I did see a face I recognized, I’d quickly turn around, follow a back alley, or gaze lost in a shop window display of goods I’d no interest in. I’d stalk around the old market, see the stalls, handcarts, delivery vehicles and crates. Watch as market traders pulled canvas and plastic to cover stalls of small cheap fancy goods for the poor to gawp at. I’d even stopped going to Capaldi’s, which hurt. It was my favourite place to sit, idle and think. Mr. Capaldi always had a kind word for me, but now I wanted the world to cover me with permanent darkness. I tried to remember if this is how I felt […]

Life had become violence and sex: ‘Climbing Trees Backwards’

August 12, 2014 by Richard Lyon in Blog 0 comments
  Life had become violence and sex. With cast iron certainty I buried myself in ideas: power comes from the barrel of a gun, so I came loaded with blinded frustrations and anger. I become a pistol without pity, killing class enemies with words and slogans memorised like earlier catechisms, baptised in brine and city phlegm. I began shooting off the negation of my emasculation, wanting to kill by any means possible. All I would kill was myself, slowly and painfully. Peasants thinking science and science playing religion. Half a brigade, half a brigade, half a brigade to the Costa del Sol and the order of the day became lager, lager on the Costa Brava. Back in port magnificent shipping line offices fronted the world with grandeur, dotting the Pier Head. Flags greeted sea breezes and gulls, bright colours and patterns. Office boys shifted cargoes of tons, Gold Coast to Southampton, New York to Port Said, with pens poised, at the ready, filled with black ink, awaiting further instructions. Thieving, violence, piss in tenements called gardens built of bricks. Girls on the game with their mothers’, undeclared tax free income. Social on Thursday and shopping in the city on Saturday. […]

The perfect disguise was her public face

August 11, 2014 by Richard Lyon in Blog 0 comments
  She didn’t need to scratch her skin ‘cos the balaclava was itching, didn’t have to pull it over her head and ruin her new hairstyle, she didn’t have to do the disguising, ‘cos she’d immersed herself so totally into cruel deceit. She was so practiced in it she’d become permanently masked, so much so, the perfect disguise was her public face. Was there anything left in Shelagh I could believe? Had Kate experienced this as she was questioned and beaten to give answers she didn’t know: could never know? Did she cry at the thought her best friend, the girl around the corner, had betrayed her: like she’d betrayed me and my Dad? Nothing so unimportant as love – stealing away a teenage boy friend she really fancied. No, a boy friend can be replaced, no shortage of men anywhere. As sure as the bruises were swelling on her face – and god knows where else – turning her complexion blue-black and red mottles, her eyes battered, blinking her vision, the clearer she saw Shelagh, and Sean, for what they were.  

When we are no longer we become memories

August 09, 2014 by Richard Lyon in Blog 0 comments
      When we are no longer we become memories beyond the horizon of dreams Caught on another’s reiminiscences Alone in comfort holding mementos of somebody else. Who’ll outlast? Who’s memories will last longer kept alive by the sole survivor? Reflecting daily on separation born of life. Waiting for their memories to be clutched by another But I won’t be here. My memories will depart me My lover will retain them. Bring them into life: once more extend their usefulness. In conversation in conviviality with friends and those who knew. If I should go further than you can I live with memories bereft of flesh and blood? Who did they belong to? One will wake each day to an omnipresence that I can no longer touch. One yearning for memories that bring alive what you now are        

Someone had screened a virus decomposing our images, Bluetoothing our biometrics: ‘The Monesse Mystery’

August 07, 2014 by Richard Lyon in Blog 0 comments
    Click. A change in the relationship was taking place as quickly and unexpectedly as Dad had expunged living bodies before I was born. Was the same sour karmic relationship catching up with me? Click, again. “Please, stop. Do as I tell you. Raise your hands. Turn around slowly.” Relationships to whose purpose? Relationships within a realm where I engage a larger picture complimenting the universe within me? Or one where relationships are violently hostile? An antipathy shown to everything I represent? A large dose of hatred smacked across my face by every person out there? Was there a choice of relationships, or did they just happen of their own free will? All those guys lacking a Dad like mine, bereft of trustworthy friendshipsand sympathetic adults. Was it a choice or did their realm, their consequent relationships, equate in large dollops to personal fear and hatred of everything beyond themselves, distant and separate? Someone, somewhere, had screened us, a virus decomposing our images. Piratically Bluetoothing our biometrics, the camera’s images copy and pasting outsiders into an insider’s grand design, enmeshing us in a relationship that it had to consciously and logically follow once the on button was depressed. A […]

With our God everything is permitted: ‘When the String Breaks’

August 06, 2014 by Richard Lyon in Blog 0 comments
    Without giving me the opportunity to reply, Khaled continued, “With our God everything is permitted, but disciples and prophets must use wisely the immense power he bestows. When Ronnie asked you ‘What’s your violence?’ he was merely repeating a question I ask every recruit. Do you know why, Billy?” “I’m not sure,” I replied. “But Billy, you have used violence to devastating effect.” “Yes,” I answered, “I have, haven’t I? But I don’t like to.” “What you don’t like, Billy, is the misuse of violence. I’m right, aren’t I?” I remained silent for several minutes. Memories of physically hurting people flashed before me, not of fear, but of jubilation, exultation, rejoicing. I was top dog, knowing how to handle extreme situations. A young punk with skills beyond my years, even though untrained I was more than capable of striking against threats. More powerful now because I had a cause, was one strand in a mighty tow rope. Was Khaled leading me to acknowledge far greater threats than the ones I had faced? Threats to society, beliefs, and respect? If there were threats was I, and Ronnie, and the other Children of God Rising, to sit passively around doing […]

She was dying: of course she had to

August 05, 2014 by Richard Lyon in Blog 0 comments
  She was dying, of course, she had to. It wasn’t unexpected. As a young man I’d prepared myself by imagining at each place I’d lived the phone ringing, an unknown voice asking for me formally using the appellation “Mister”. An austere, yet sympathetic voice at the other end gently breaking the news of my Mother’s death. Without fail, no matter what lover I’d been sharing my life with, this audio warning had become internalised. It was my secret, never shared or revealed, no matter how intimate I’d been to a partner. Now I’m breaking the seal open for you: perhaps you’ll do the same, or maybe, being of a different time and happier circumstances, you’ll have no need for secrecy. I’ll never know your thoughts on this, though your face will be the last image in my mind before my life ceases. Death will silence me but if you read my words I’ll be with you once more. Each time you read them I’ll be alive from your birth through the major events in your life. Do you think my words will succour like prayer? Each sentence, or verse if you deem it epic, resurrecting and filling you with […]