SQUATTERS WRITE

I live with Anxiety and Depression.

They squat with me.

They know their rights.

Anxiety has a thousand ideas for home improvement.

              all at once 

        at the same time 

simultaneously     

              together

   concurrently

Not concurrently.

That's not at the same time. 

Or is it?

Damn.

Start again. 

                 from the start

    of course from the start

       where else can you start

     if you didn't 

                start at the start

     it wouldn't be called 

the start

Start again

It's not Anxiety's house. 

It squats with me.

It knows its rights

Depression hates every single one of these ideas

They're not outstanding 

They're not superb 

They're not terrific 

They're not unsurpassed 

They're not transcending 

They're not matchless

They're as fucking stupid as you are

Which is ordinarily stupid

No

Just ordinary

Now that’s depressing

It's not Depression’s house.

It squats with me it knows its rights.

Black mold on the walls

Black holes on the soul

That’s better. 

I should let Anxiety know that one

Though he’d only worry about black holes

Sucking out all the light 

Spewing forth darkness

Chewing up universes

One atom at a time

And what a time to be alive

If time had any meaning 

We hang watches from our wrists 

We hang clocks on the wall

We hang our heads in shame

We’re time lords

And ladies and gentlemen

Welcome to the beginning of time

Which probably started with a black hole

Having crushed another universe into oblivion

Vomits it forth into ours

Screaming and crying

A reincarnated newborn

With no one to slap its arse and tell it to breathe

But it does

The immaculate conception

Born of a crushed universe

And?

And probably God

Why not?

It’s as safe a place to start as any

And there is nowhere to start

At the beginning of time

Or nowhen 

Now then

Anxiety and Depression

They know their rights

They squat in me

Astride my hopes and with my fears

But I’ve grown attached to them 

They told me to say that

Stockholm Syndromes

The pair of them

They know their rights

And I know i’m right

And I know they know their rights

And they know I know I’m right

It’s all very cosy inside my brain

Or whatever part of me makes me 

Me

I think it’s my brain

But many years ago

At one time or another

It was my dick

My liver

My sweet left foot

And my blue blue eyes

Both of them you see

I needed both to see

I needed all of that to be me

Squatters rights

Squatters write on the walls

And on the toilet doors

And on the threadbare floors

And when they’ve written 

On every blank space 

They ruminate in rooms

And hate and wait

And often late

Though mark the date

And mark my words

There’s blank space yet 

Between the words

Because there’s the place

The blank space

We’ve yet to use

A whole universe awaits

Between the walls

Inside the cracks

Or maybe just maybe

That’s where the Black Holes live

Waiting to suck out the life and light

From those that dare

To fall between the words and the cracks

Now that they start to appear in my thinking

I wish i was still drinking

I’d remember it in the morning through groans

And moans and recriminations

A rainbow elation

When a rediscovered memory 

Becomes the pot of gold

It never gets old

Because time as I’ve said

Only exists because of the watches

And clocks 

And timetables

Which is where time is eaten

And washing up is done after a timely meal 

Or a tiny meal

And a Happy Meal comes with a toy

If you throw away the toy 

You can play with the packaging

And it’s damaging to

The environment

Which is wasteful 

Who needs the N in environment

What a waste

Ian Dury 

Goodnight.

Stephen Kerr 25.03.19