Constantly Memento Mori-in’

[ CW: Suicide Mention – Self harm Mention – Eugenics Mention – Ableist Slurs ]

I welcome you all to this
A pondering on your mortality?
A sudden shift of your if’s becoming when’s? Welcome.
A group of financed old men you’ll never meet being in on it? Welcome.
But even I’ve been rudimenting it a little more lately

Maybe it’s the world burning, maybe it’s the virus spreading
Could be the confirmation that progressive politics by large
Are destined to be gutted to shreds by queerphobic racists
But pals; I don’t think a passive attitude is gonna save the world

But what? You’re expecting something from me?
Trust no one’s been more impatient about it then I am
But this is what I’ve been rudimenting on lately
My fury and my body you see, they don’t see eye to eye
Been that way my whole life, my intentions are always good
But give it a few weeks and my soul dilutes from my cage
From advocating for autistic rights, to stacking B&M shelves
Give it a few weeks before steel starts colliding with flesh

Hours of hours researching liberation psychology
To the rallying cry of dismantling the fallacy of democracy
But it doesn’t amount to much in the end
It can’t be me, you see? It can’t be any of us.
Cos our fury, our pain and all the trauma accumulated in a austerity
You process it through our bodies and you don’t get anything
But you wouldn’t know that by listening to the pacified
Tapping their pencils, after a day wasted on the doorstop
They really think a paw with Fibromyalgia
Is gonna be the one to throw the first Molotov?
The British centre-left has become beyond parody
It’s supposed to be you, who converts our pain
Into the psychical spaces we can’t roam
Instead you’d rather sit and wait for the end of days

They’re gonna kill me and my autistic family with a DNR
Anyone with the power to stop it says: “We need to canvas harder”
Oh god no
Everybody’s gonna sit at home as our lungs collapse inside our bodies
Round of applause, for a lost cause
As they throw my corpse into the Argos converted into a morgue

They couldn’t do it through homelessness
They couldn’t do it through PIP
But through toothless deincentivising of key workers
They’re finally gonna get do it
Cash in the bounty on my head
Another non-essential life snuffed out without fanfare

You see I’ve rudimenting on my fucking mortality lately
How two hours standing on my feet triggers chronic pain
How a eight hour shift leaves me staggering towards the train tracks
How even community action doesn’t enable me
Nothing to do in the case living
But even less I can do about the case dying
How long till it gets brought home?
We call 999 I get carted by the ambulance
Then the NHS leaves my autistic ass in the corridor to die?
Cos a spastic life isn’t worth the change in your pocket
It’s not like I could’ve been a barista
I couldn’t of been a receptionist
I couldn’t work in a warehouse or a shop floor
And never ever from a lack of trying
But from an aggravating need to stay alive, yeah gets in the way
They made sure there wasn’t a use for any skills I got
So they can dismiss me like “No biggie”
I’ve not spoken to my friends in weeks, yeah it’ll be no biggie

Cos it’s ‘When’ not ‘If’
It always was
But I used to reckon I’d have a decade left at least
Now I’m questioning of I’ll make it for the rest the week
But catch me working on my thesis in case I survive 2020
Cos living is beyond parody

Yeah I’ve been rudimenting on my mortality
But maybe for once I should stop….

Sebastian Noël

Nah

For a victim, you’re sure not above devious tactics.
But did you really think that shit would fly a 67th time?
Drip feeding your attention like it’s a show above 40 karat gold?
I’m sure we got better things to be getting on with.

So go on: What brought it on this season?
The realisation your admirers where out of sight?
Has your ego been feeling dry as of late?
Just fuckin’ bored?
Or maybe you’ve come to THAT conclusion again?
No matter how you try and drag new blood to your feelers,
The talk is small and minds are minuscule.
They have the charm of software programmers,
And the grip of a Rich Tea biscuit.
Oh they’re all so stupid compared to us, aren’t they darling?

The cheek of it, to clap your hands
And expect the patter of little feet on your inbox.
But my dear don’t you think;
That after 7 years perched on the pedestal
Maybe be a year too long with fuck all to show for it?
Do you honestly wanna make it 8?

Is it really too much to bare?
To see other people provide the things I need?

Sebastian Noël

No Ambition Blues

I’m an A student running on D fuel
You put that together and you get a C life
And that was a fine way to live for me
I definitely never asked for the greenlight to ascend
But with your eyes drenched in tears
And your hands tied by a freshers wristband
You’re not letting me have a choice in the matter
Progress or perish, the narrative my Dear John contains

Nirvana is what we make of it, so what if mine’s on the ground floor?
With the ice cold burgers from the local caff’
Decor as gloomy as the staff, as miserable as the weather
You’d look up at me from your mouldy egg sandwich
Playing D.I.Y Pictionary with a few napkins and my Biro
But still ‘Gone With The Wind’ is out of my artistic scope
You fight through the aesthetics and conjure a smile
That’s when I theorised that we could withstand any pressure

But you’re content to get other people involved
“You could do so much good for the world”
But I don’t want to do the world any fucking good
I just want to do you some good
Evaporate the floods from your vision
Flow life back into your tired face
Fill a silent living room with your laughter
Calm you down when the family sends an opinion
That’s all the good I wanna do
Thoese are the accomplishments I hang on the fire place
Don’t send me off on a Hercules errand
I have no will to harness what I’ve got to offer
You’re where the ambition starts and ends
So let me sink the flag pole with you and a call it a life

Sebastian Noël

Do You Hate Me?

That look of worry when you opens your eyes
See? She hates you
When you get out of my bed like a robot
See? She hates you
How you shrug my hand from your shoulder
See? She hates you
The way you hold that silent note
See? She hates you
That way you carry yourself down the stairs
See? She hates you
When you show my lips your cheek
See? She hates you
When you don’t say you’ll see me again
See? She hates you
And I’m just left waving to the door
See? She hates you

It never hurts as much as it does then
When you know they’re glad to be out of your door
Your love notes became a lot more dry since then
Devoid of letters or a personal touch
Using an efficient lack of words as you could
All to give the doggy his bone, not cos you wanted too
No explanation, no warning of what I did
I just wanted to hold you through out the week
All I ever did was try to make you feel my affection
But no she hates you

That’s just the way the dating game goes
She’ll come to hate you
Atoms clash at an alarming rate
She’ll come to hate you
We’ll share memories in the taxi
She’ll come to hate you
You’ll drain me of sensual ecstasy
She’ll come to hate you
But they always grow to hate you
She already hates you

It Ain’t Easy Being Sleezey

Oh now don’t be like that my love
You don’t have to let me down with a face like that
I know that you’ve heard my echoes
Bounce off the walls of your social circle
And like a Kitten curious about it’s new home
You wandered what could’ve made your friends
Make such haunting noises into the night
You just wanted to get your hands dirty
You just wanted to feel the same things pass through your body
In the middle of a blank diary limbo
I think anyone would’ve done the same

Come now don’t be like that my dear
You don’t have to leave with your stomach lurched like that
It’s a challenge to get any rush out of life these days
Faced with a plethora of roads
And no single idea what direction to take
Just a couple of nights to feel like a god
Like you have complete control of your life for once
Trust me I understand the appeal
And while I might be on a hunt for a queen
Who’s to say I couldn’t caress an ego or to on the way?

*Written For National Poetry Month – 20/30*