Proper Moral T

When I was home I fell into a disgusting state of stagnation and excess, said Burroughs. I looked up and that was all. Sweat and smell arose from my hopes.

Did you know the imagination leaves the gifted amongst us hopelessly adrift? You say there are no creatives except those with original ideas. Who on earth can claim the original idea from which all sprang? I don’t think it was my neighbour. He growls at moving the bins.

Was it God? If he existed he never had an original idea because he never wrote His own story. Sometimes it pays to pay attention to the heap of clothes in the doorway. There’s originality in the brutality purist sense.

Very few people have empathy or any real courage to create something nowadays. It’s all status and property: a tomb one works for day in, die out. Never upset the rhythm or you’ll never own your own crypt.

A cross word is all it takes with Lichtenstein to get you in the cell. There’s no lawyer, only the Judge – and their book is full of morals no-one else has heard of. You’d get better legal advice from the heap of clothes.




Trying to Cope with Divorce

I’m 40 years old and instigated a divorce which my wife agreed to.

I made the most terrible decision of my life. Not with this divorce, but continuing to engage in completely selfish behaviour. I drank a lot. I smoked a lot, stayed out, and completely overlooked that someone actually cared for me in a way I found surprising.

Last summer was when the coffin lid slammed shut. It didn’t feel real. Neither did the previous year’s tragedy that openly tore a huge, weird, numbing hole between my wife and her family, and me. I never recovered from feeling so helpless and after my wife and I split, it seemed the right thing to do. A few months later it felt the wrong thing to do. We got back together, but it seems I made a promise that I immediately forgot about. Not because I was an idiot, but I made the right and wrong decision to pursue postgraduate study.

I was excited at the start of the academic year, but this gradually crumbled to a feeling of complete exposure. I hadn’t healed or addressed any of my issues that caused excessive consuming of anything to distract me from confronting the arsehole I was/am…

It was hard when I glimpsed a sympathy card addressed to my wife in which it stated she could get her bedroom back. That really hurt and brought to the surface just how fucking rotten I’d been. I just didn’t have it in me to be the supportive person, because I’d struggled to support myself for years. I was tired, broken, and had no self-esteem at all.

It’s been 8 months since we formally agreed to divorce. She’s moved on very well and I’m genuinely happy for her. My journey is rather different.

To sum it up, simply reading the word ‘Durham’ today brought me to yet another gut-wrenching episode of tears and devastation. Why ‘Durham’? Because her father would say something funny about it (Pink Panther). It’s these tiny little things that bring my world crashing down every fucking day.

Yes, I do really wish for the impossible and to go back in time.

Yes, I do really wish I had sought help earlier.

Yes, I do really wish I hadn’t fucked this up so fucking much.

Yes, I do believe we could be what we tried.

Yes, I do believe this divorce will help.

Yes, I do.


The Day I Killed my Wife

The Morning

Somehow you hauled yourself out of the bed we shared.

I stalled trying to help you overcome the dread.

Somehow you wanted to enjoy the day.

I stalled thinking I could show you the way.


The Afternoon

We walked through the park

Did I hold your hand?

As the sun shone and songs were sung,

Kids and mums,

Laughing, with dads with friends,

Everyone belonged.


You didn’t notice as I looked at your face,

And saw the pain;

I froze not offering you grace.

You drifted along,

And I tried to sing a song,

Feeling entirely out of place.

Why did I not hold your hand?


I offered a smile,

But felt so distraught,

As you walked a thousand miles

Through the quicksand

My quixotic refusal to offer you my hand.

You wanted to go

And I felt so low

Because still I didn’t hold your hand.


The Evening

Swaddled in clothes, numb;

Shattered gaze, stunned by his laziness;

A heartless response.


Broken down,

Struck by his refusal to share,

His abnormal gaze

Gives away his heartless response.


Slumped alone

Her heart broken, down to the bone, cut

His heartless response.


Sat alone,

Bile rising,

My heartless response.


Unable to move,

Upstairs she lies alone;

How am I a man, a man?

So heartless in my response.


Still sitting alone,

Paralyzed by his heartless response,

He picks up the phone

To plead to an end

To his heartless response.



If you have addiction issues and an unhealthy negative view of yourself, for god sake go and get help and don’t do what I did and throw away something so precious. Talk openly and honestly about how afraid you feel. Do it now before it’s too late. Call the GP, talk to the Samaritans, Mind, anyone.




Day to Regret

A deep lungful of absurdity exhales,

As memories wail,

With each sigh aloud;

As raindrops explode atop curled leaves

Turning away from sharp slices of a Northern breeze

Snapping the blue cheeks of those no longer found.


Anticipating the precipitation, falling,

Ending the waiting, stalling,

Hoping the train hasn’t left the station,

Departing without knowing the destination, falling,

The anticipation



Family Sting

A pin punctures the sole

My god, thank you it’s not me today

as I stand on the cold floor

forgetting I’m already dead.


My memory sharpens

and my toes curl

as the needle sinks in too far

to forget what you said all those days ago.

Cold bitterness scrapes my cheeks

and I huddle

I’m a muddle HA HA HA

Now it’s the same Krapp scenario as the tape bleeds.


A girl stares

Again I’m punctured

Oh the banality of hopeful forgetfulness.

Punctured again

My soul

Punctured, ruptured, again.

My forgetfulness reminds me of you

Punctured again, my soul remains

Punctured, my soul remains



On the cold floor I stand






Euthanasia Confirmation Statement.

Euthanasia is a tricky subject, what with all the complex laws an’ that, but it would be nice for one to be allowed to make their own decision in peace and without self-righteous people sticking their noses in.

Who are you to tell me I cannot decide when my life is to end? I wasn’t aware it was anything to do with anyone I’ve never met.

“Why so angry, Andrew?”

Well, it’s not that I’m really maddened by the issue, but there are some people – busybodies, if you will – whom seem to know what is best for one. I doubt that very much. Often a spiritual or religious reason is given whereby one is, somehow, incapable of making a decision to end their OWN life.

Of course you don’t have to, but the choice is one’s sole decision. “But what happens when you’re unable to make that decision? What then? Who’s responsible?”

Well, me. And here’s why.

Now, I’m no law-maker, but…this statement would be confirmed every year from the age of 18 until that person decides otherwise.

Each to their own, as many should say.

Of course, if you don’t agree you don’t have to do anything.


I, Andrew Reeve, hereby declare my intention to end my life within a period of no more than 16 weeks upon diagnosis of:

1)      Any disease that will cause to result in rapid or prolonged continual and/or painful deterioration in mental and physical functions and/or my death.


2)      An accident that causes results as outlined above.


I, Andrew Reeve, confirm my decision has been assessed, agreed, and confirmed with:





In the event I, Andrew Reeve, have been diagnosed with a condition/disease that will cause continual deterioration in mental and physical functions and/or my death, I wish to end my own life and do not wish to seek out any medical treatment.

In the event I, Andrew Reeve, have been involved in an accident that has resulted or will continue to result in a continual deterioration in mental and physical functions and/or my death, I wish to end my own life and do not wish to seek out any medical treatment.

I, Andrew Reeve, do not agree to any medical treatment that may alleviate symptoms resulting from/caused by a disease and/or accident.

I, Andrew Reeve, confirm my wife/partner is in agreement with my decision.

I, Andrew Reeve, understand I will be asked to confirm/cancel this statement each year on or around the date of my birth after being assessed by a member of the Royal College of Psychiatry and my registered GP.

I, Andrew Reeve, hereby confirm and accept full and complete responsibility for my decision and outcome. I, Andrew Reeve, do not agree to any spiritual/religious intervention/advice.


Andrew Reeve

Date of Declaration

_ _/_ _/_ _ _ _

Dear Son or Daughter or both…I’ve no idea yet.


It’s your dad here. I’ll try not to be too embarrassing, but there’s the impossible conclusion that I always will be. It’s a position you may find yourself in, unless you’re a mother, in the future. I don’t even know if there should be a comma in that last sentence, but don’t hold your ol’ man to ransom for that.

I’m 36 years old and whoever you are, I’ve always felt and known I’ll love you no matter what you do, no matter who you are…unless you turn out to be a mass murderer or other evil bastard. That’ll make this sound even more pathetic. I doubt you’ll intend to do something stupid. Not many people intend to do stupid things, but sometimes people do. That’s alright.

I’ve no idea what sort of world you’re going to grow up in just as my parents had no idea what sort of world they would be raising a child in. It’s bloody tough. It’s bloody tough because you’ll be expected to do this and to do that. You’ll be expected to earn a decent living. Pay your way. Earn respect. You’ll be expected to do things you don’t want to do. You’ll be considered a failure if you don’t earn enough to have the latest car, phone, computer, Google Glasses, clothes, music format playback system…blah fucking blah.

None of that shit matters. Here is what matters:

You are fucking awesome. You will always be awesome. You will become more awesome by asking questions, being difficult and not accepting the first thing that is expected of you. You can always do more. You will always be capable. You will piss off a lot of folks. You will be difficult, arrogant, selfish, a time-waster, a twat, belligerent, etc.

You will annoy the shit out of me and your mother, but that’s alright. Your mother will deal with the really difficult times….I’m not stupid….hahaha…I’m joking of course. Fuck you.

Fuck your attitude and laziness. Fuck your irresponsibility and arrogance. Bloody kids!

Of course, I expect nothing. I couldn’t care less what you do or who you are.


I do care. I care a whole bloody lot. I care if you’re gay, lesbian, bisexual, transsexual, a transvestite but only because the world is full of fucking idiots who still can’t understand these things don’t actually matter at all. I couldn’t give a flying fuck if you wanted to walk around wearing nothing but a box of eggs as a hat. I don’t care.

What I do care about is you doing what you want to do; your dreams, hopes, ambitions.

You must strive for them. They’re gonna be horribly hard to achieve and you may never achieve them, but that does not mean you shouldn’t try. You have to try and keep trying.

Don’t worry. We’ll help you as much as we can financially and, more importantly, emotionally. It can be bullshit out there my beautiful child, but it’s less bullshit and really quite cool with someone holding your hand, which is why me and your mother got married. We both know what’s important and it isn’t the size of a house or a paycheque. (In the future we, hopefully, still write cheque…fucking American English my arse.)

If you want to do something, do it. I don’t care what it is as long as you’re happy doing it. If you decide you’re not happy doing whatever, no worries, do something else.

You’re not alive to earn someone else a fucking load of money from your hard work.

You’re here to enjoy your life.

You may inspire other people to do the same.

You may earn a few quid doing so.

You may decide your old man is a hippy twat and you’re bloody thankful to work in an office earning loads of cash.

I don’t care what you do.

If you’re happy, me and you’re mother are really bloody happy.

If you’re unhappy, we’ll try our best to help you get happier.

One thing that will never change is our love for you.

Take care you ruddy bugger.

Your ol’ man and Emma (she wrote bugger all….but you know for a fact she agrees. She’s a bloody ripper. I’ve no idea why I’ve gone Australian…)

Lots of love, and no, I can’t lend you £30 for sweets, what the cock?!