ryueikyo

Rules to Live By

As you go through life you always end up with rules to live by, I now know what they are. Never cook bacon naked. Never sleep with anyone crazier than yourself. Home is where ever you are, as long as there’s love. Never go drunk to the unemployment office. Never throw a bowling ball harder than you would throw your own head. There is no need for socks to match. Very little, if anything, really matters. Friends matter. Money does not matter. Do not ever mess with the Gods. Nothing is guaranteed, but everything works out in the end. The cures for a hangover are: masturbation, beer, coffee, bacon and eggs, more beer, aspirin, the ocean, movies, and suicide. Suicide is the last act in rendering oneself completely unemployable. Never drive a stolen car through a miniature golf course. Never drink more than you can hold – in both arms. Never attempt to force your opinion or your body parts on someone who is un-willing to receive them. Most women have absolutely no idea why they shouldn’t sleep with you and those who do know are to be avoided at all cost. Always carry your passport. You cannot get kicked off an airplane. Policemen liked to be called sir, even if they don’t disserve it. You can’t put a bag over their personalities. Blondes don’t always have more fun. You only have one life so get it right. Fictional characters are sometimes more real. Not everyone does things better than you. Never shoot pool with bikers. Never eat at a place with pictures of the food. Bad breath and unemployment are the main differences between drunkenness and sobriety. Not everything you read is true.

(Thanks DC for all the advice since ’92, keep up the good work.)

Today was one of the greatest starts to the day I have ever witnessed. While seated on the plane, just after take off, I could see the thick fog over England giving way to the glowing shimmers of light from many of the cities below. The view was fantastic, almost too beautiful to put into words. Once the plane had reached altitude, the stars and moon shone through the pitch black sky, so clear you could almost touch them. This was only surpassed by the rising sun which gave off colours so magnificent I refused to take a photograph, due to the in-justice that would occur.

There are times when I take a psychological picture, something which is much stronger than anything I take using film. These images are just for me, moments which humble the human soul.

There was a dubious start to the morning, too much caffeine doesn’t help. Watching Phillipp Steen, the bass and the howling sax play throughout the previous night had soothed my red wine demons.

As I walked the streets of Hamburg, thoughts of historical events passed through my mind, if only streets could talk. Do we take note of events; are we really bothered by what goes on outside of our own little world?

I have a lot of time on my hands until Joséphine gets back to the apartment. My mind starts to wonder as normal into dream like reality. I’ve been smoking to much recently and I can feel it on my lungs.

Last night was filled with odd dreams. There is a lot on my mind and it has started to seep into my subconscious. Most of the day has been spent in bed, with little money I’ve just been looking out of the window, playing music and drinking coffee as Joséphine has been making dinner. As we sit around the table talking about last night, friendships have been made, even if for a fleeting moment. The food goes down well, wine and cigarettes passed from one to another. The feeling of home, even if it is only for the short time I live out of these bags.

I find it funny that after last night we all know each other, know those little secrets that don’t come out until copious amounts of alcohol have been consumed. The dark horse has arisen and her wild side was shown.

I must pack my bags tonight as I will be moving on again tomorrow.

Broken

It had been a time of great excess, there had been no work for a few days, so I had been enjoying myself with the blonde I had been seeing for a short while. She was young and pretty, but mostly didn’t have the air of complication that goes with some women. We both knew that it wouldn’t last, so we were having as much fun as we possibly could.

I loved the way her large milky breasts bounced as we fucked, especially when she went on top. She was six years younger than me, and seemed to enjoy the fact that I didn’t need to work constantly and could spend time with her. She was supposed to be at university, but like most students, spent a great deal of their time enjoying the social life that goes with being young and away from home the first time.

We had spent most of the day in bed when it happened. Our sex life had been getting more adventuress as the days went on trying new things. She’d had partners before, but none that spent three days in bed just fucking, talking and really getting to know her. That morning had seen us in the kitchen on the table, followed by a hot bath and more steamy sex. We had taken time out to eat, have coffee and listen to music, while the morning flew by. That afternoon she said that she would have to go home in the evening as she had lecture first thing and couldn’t miss it. But before hand she wanted me to take her into the bedroom one last time.

As I walked into the bed room she removed the t-shirt that I had given her and walked over to the bed. As she climbed on, she bent over, doggy style, showing me that she wanted to be taken from behind once again. I had discovered early on in our relationship that this was her favourite position and that the only problem being her large breasts swaying back and forth uncontrollably.

As I slipped in behind her she gave a moan of anticipation, rocking back and forth on the bed. We slowly gain momentum and a rhythmic pace as the bed squeaked below us. As her muscles started to contract around me, she wanted to move. With-out warning she went to lie on her side, an almightily snap sound came. The shooting pain through my cock was un-bearable. I could hardly move and the left side of my body had stuck rigid like stone. She moved forward to see why I had stopped, looking at the sheer pain on my face. At first I couldn’t talk, but slowly the feeling of over-whelming pain moved from my body, concentrating in my penis. As I looked down I could see a huge swelling on the left-hand-side of it, almost like a bulbous mass had some how got stuck under my foreskin. She took one look and went silent.

At first I had no idea what I had done, we had been fucking, making love for three days and nothing like this had happened. She just lay there silent, still not knowing what to do.

After a few moments I decided that things weren’t right that that I would need some kind of medical help. I tried to move slowly across the room to put on some loose jeans, bending over was not a good idea. I called for a taxi and she got dressed in a hurry, she said sorry, but I told her that it wasn’t her fault.

The taxi seemed to take for ever as I stood leaning against the hall wall waiting. I told her not to come with me, that it would only embarrass her, and that there was nothing that could be done now until I had seen a doctor. I told her to let herself out once I had gone, or she could hang around and wait if she felt like it, either way my mind was on other things.

At the hospital I tried to explain to the nurse in as little detail as I could what had happened. With little reaction she told me to sit down and wait until my name was called. Sitting down was not an option.

After a long, painful two hours my names was called. I walked following another nurse to a cubical where an Indian doctor waited. The curtain was closed while the doctor and nurse listen in more detail to what had occurred. After listen to the perverse details of my brief sexual encounter, the doctor and nurse pulled on the chalky while surgical gloves before asking me to remove my trousers. The pain had died down with my erection, but it still didn’t feel right. As the doctor examined me, he decided to push the side of my penis, the pain came back like a bolt of lightning, I almost kicked him due to the reaction. He explained that I had either torn or strained my corpora cavenosa, the muscle where blood is pumped into to achieve an erection. He told me that I would have to wait a few days to see which one it could be, and that I may need to have surgery if it was really bad. If I had torn it, it would turn black where the blood is forming under the skin, like a bruise. If this happened I should get in contact with my local doctor as soon as possible. He told me that I should not get stimulated if possible and that I should go with out sex for at least a month. I was given a prescription for anti-inflammatory drugs which would help with the swelling.

The bus journey home felt better, but with every bump in the road I felt a small pain shoot up through my penis and down my left leg. When I got home there was a message on the phone asking me to call. I waited until the morning, what could you say to some one after you’d broken your penis?

I could only manage six days with out sex. My blonde friend had come over, dinner and wine followed; we talked about real things for the first time. I started to feel a reaction that didn’t hurt and it was time to try it out. There had been no turning black, which meant no real bruising. There was still swelling, but I thought that this was a good sign things were on the mend. We started of slowly making love. We didn’t see each other again after that night.

The snow will be falling later and this weather is starting to depress me. As I look back over old photographs the stories to how they came about flood my mind, I need to get away again very soon.

There is snow on the ground from the past few days, which is all I remember for now. How I love being back in Poland, the women are beautiful to look at and I’ve missed certain food while being away.

Having drinks with Ula things are a little odd. Everything we planned to do tonight has gone wrong in some shape or form. As we head for her apartment I feel the wine take effect and the cold wind no-longer penetrates my skin. She makes me laugh with her strange sense of humour and quirky ways. The room is cold, so we sleep in our clothes, the blanket barely covers me.

She hates the fact I’ve been taking photographs, but that’s what I do. I couldn’t live without having my camera and film; to capture those moments, those fleeting moments that are gone within a blink of an eye.

Farewell Party

It had been an odd day hanging out with heroes of mine, people who I had looked up to over the years. It was also an end of an era due to my departure the next day. London no-longer did it for me, and knowing that it was time to get away.

We were having a party, the drinks flowed and most people were having a good time. I knew that it would be a long night, everything was packed and all I had to do was get the train the next day. It would all be over, another chapter in the book of life.

Philip had been telling me stories about the Vietnam War and how his body had started to give up on him. He was talking about how he plans to spend his time sitting on a beach in Thailand, drinking cocktails and looking at the lovely women. This was against his doctor’s advice as one of his lungs had stopped working and shouldn’t fly, hell he wasn’t supposed to even drink. A smile came over his face, still a rebel to the end.

The pub in Soho started to get busy, the corner we had to ourselves was filling up with people, all of whom had stories to tell. In many ways it was a shame that Philip’s mind had started to give way on him. We had talked before about photography, travel and the importance of a journal, I still have the dedication he gave me some where. Every now and then lights would come on as he remembered things we had spoken about, memories from past years flooded his mind. To say that I was in awe of him would be huge understatement.

As the evening went on people came and went, the Italian girl from earlier turned up, but that is another story for another time. Philip and friends was getting tired from the long day, so I started to say my farewells to people, making sure I did the customary “Lets keep in touch” and “Don’t do anything I would do’s” to a minimum. When it came to saying goodbye to Philip it was a little more personal, he told me to keep up the good work and make sure that life was full of adventure, so live it. He had defiantly lived his.

On leaving the pub where to get the next round of drinks crossed my mind, it was still early and there was fun to be had with the Italian girl. It didn’t cross my mind that I would never see Philip again. Alas he passed away while I was travelling on the 19th March 2008. He will be sadly missed, but never forgotten.

To drunk still to write anything, can’t talk for smoking to much and I haven’t been to bed.

The rain came down hard as the claret was guzzled, consumed like a starving baby swallowing milk. My head started to spin a little as the fat woman across from me laughed.

The thoughts of her dancing around half naked earlier made me shudder as I thought of her fucking her husband: two large bodies, sweaty and damp. Aniya had been listening to music most of the afternoon while I had been smoking the Moldovan cigarettes I still had left over.

It was going to be a long night, one without a camera, how disappointed I felt.

There was too much light getting into the room, the curtains just didn’t close. As a result, the lack of sleep put me in a bad mood.

The coffee was good, but the taste of cigarettes was still sour in my mouth from the night before. There is only so much toothpaste one person can handle. The others were still asleep as I crept from the room, sometimes you just need to be alone.

From what I can remember it had been a good night, talking to the early hours, smoking, drinking and having the large tits of my friend pushed in my face. I could here them fucking when I went to bed.

There is something about walking the streets of a city before anyone is around, watching the break of dawn inch slowly into the cracks, before it is tainted by the strangers that pass without notice.

It seemed to me to be over rated, how everyone thinks I should settle down, have a normal life and start to act my age. I just don’t care, I honestly don’t care. What happens happens, and there is nothing that we can do about it.

I’d been having this discussion for most of the day with Pippa; she just couldn’t understand how I could be so care free about life and things that matter. What she didn’t understand was that these things mattered to her and not to me. People worry too much about what other people think, trying to get approval for their actions. I just went about life my way, not needing to satisfy others. I know that this may come across as self-centred, but I think we have one life, if we’re not doing any harm to anyone, then why can’t we just be allowed to do what matters to us? She just couldn’t see my point, so I gave up trying.

There is only so much Absinth one can drink before going mad.

The sugar hadn’t dissolved fully this time and I could taste the difference. The feeling of intoxication had started to take effect and I could no-longer feel my hands. Further more, the coldness in my feet has dissipated and replaced by one of extreme warmth. The floor boards felt hard as I lay on them, a cold breeze could be felt from the cracks between. It has been weeks since I had last put myself in this state of tranquil delirium.

To this very day I still find it hard to shut my brain down, away from the distractions of the modern world. Alcohol and drugs are the only way of escaping the boredom that life brings me.

Having always been a great admirer of Graeme Green, I find it interesting that he tried many different ways to relieve himself of the mundane reality of life. Masturbation, drink, drugs and even going as far as playing Russian Roulette with an old revolver.

For me death is not something that should be played with on a whim, but I feel that it should be embraced; it’s going to happen to us all.

There are things that you realise at 2:01 in the morning.

I will never have a legitimate child. Fighting only hurts your hands. Getting a mortgage is out of the question. You can’t buy love, but money helps. You can never have enough film. Being woken up by the telephone always puts you in a bad mood. If Jesus died for our sins, it’s no wonder he never came back. French women wear the sexiest underwear. Curtains keep the light out better than blinds, but blinds look hip. Coffee is always needed first thing in the morning. Drinking cognac helps you sleep, or so it seems. Insomnia makes you over-think.

Having been with many women over the years, most of whom I have loved in some kind of way, I know that sex plays a large part in life for me. The sexuality, touch and lust of a woman are something that I am addicted to. This causes problems, as soon as sex is taken away, I quickly want to move on, get away and seek out lust at any opportunity.

Travelling as much as I do brings about another problem, where and when do you follow your heart? Also there are many opportunities when I know that I could get away with a one-night-stand, we all have needs.

Although I enjoy the company of a woman, the heat of the moment and flirtation, there are times when being with someone who knows you, having that feeling of intimacy and connection, which cannot be surpassed. These are the problems of a lonely traveller who spends no-longer that a month in any one place.

I guess that in many ways we are all looking for our soul-mate, someone with whom life is just that little bit better. I know that love is a great thing, something that doesn’t happen often. But when it does, it grasps us by the hand and takes us on another journey.

I think I miss being in true love.

The taste left in my mouth from the night before could only be described as disgusting. There was nothing to eat in the fridge and the hot-plate just seemed too much hard work. It was almost eleven in the morning and Freud’s would be open for business.

The journey isn’t a hard one if you don’t mind all the tourists walking around looking at nothing important and getting in your way. Why is it that when ever you want to go somewhere it takes twice as long?

As you walk down the cast-iron stairs into the basement at Freud’s the cool air hits you. The sense makes the hair on your arms stand to attention, just what you need on a warm summer’s day. The room is empty at this time of the day, the staff go about there business before the mid-day rush. The cocktails here are fantastic as well as cheap, something that draws a crowd in the evening. The music is always fantastic, something from Latin America, or 70’s punk, not the shit you get these days.

There is something about a place where you don’t need to order, they know me by sight after coming here on and off for fifteen years; Croque Madame with two eggs, salad on the side, no tomatoes, coffee and if it’s before twelve a Bloody Mary with all the works. To say that I am a man of routine would be an understatement, but there are some things in life that don’t need to be messed with.

The cool cement walls have the effect of protecting oneself from the outside World, the problem being you can’t stay inside forever. The bill is paid and I always leave a tip in the glass of water on the bar.

The walk up into the real World is slowed by the bright sun-light beaming directly into your eyes. The noise starts to get louder the higher you climb, something you had forgotten while eating. The new day is here, what will it bring?

Spring Clean

It was going to be a day of accomplishments. The past week had been filled with drunken nights in Soho bars, American women and late rides home. It had started to get to me and even my insides started to feel dirty and clogged.

The sun had come through the window, beaming like a ray-gun directly into my eyes. For once it wasn’t an un-pleasing feeling. I had been awake for some time and just needed the encouragement to finally get going. I showered first, shaved my face with a new bar of soap, something that should have been done a week ago. The feeling of spring was in the air as the warm sun came through the window.

There were no clean clothes to be found; it seemed that wearing dirty clothes would spoil the illusion, so washing had to be done. Picking up the pile of clothes from the floor, realising there was more than one load. It is amazing how much you can stuff into a washing machine when you need to.

While the clothes were washing the windows were opened, the sheets taken off the bed and the floor swept, £3.56 was found in change, it was going to be a good day.

Food was needed as the fridge was empty except for two bottles of beer and half bottle of white wine. There was also some cheese, but I didn’t remember buying it, so I have no idea how long it had been in there.

The shops were close, but one couldn’t go out in a towel. Wet jeans were put on, but on such a warm day the feeling was relieving even if it did make my balls shiver. The wet t-shirt was not quite as nice as it stuck to me, making me feel like I couldn’t move. In the shop the cheak-out-chik seemed to look in bewilderment, as I went to the counter with an arm full of food and beer. £11.87 well spent in my mind, and today I would eat like a king.

Back home music was playing on the radio while I cooked the steak and eggs. The washing was hanging over every chair and object that could take it. The windows let in fresh spring air and even my body started to feel like it was on the road to recovery. This was going to be a good day and nothing would go wrong.