Life... as written and performed by Matthew James Cook, sometimes esquire.

This… will… ramble…

Each day is a bite, and it's sometimes a bit tart… but I’m pretty good with food.
This is a good start. It’s simple. That’s the point. If you can get it there, then you don’t have to read more, and can stop. Have you learned how to stop yet? I’m getting there on that one.

I get it (the other thing), but I like to keep going anyways… that’s another point.

This might wander…

I, have not written… a long time…
I do not write.
Sometimes I don’t even speak. I feel, there’s not much to say.
There was so much nonsense to stop talking.
I play music, upside down, inside out, round and round, until I pass out.
That's what I do. In closed rooms. Though, I won't stop if you come in.
And will play if you ask me...
This is what I do, instead of speaking.
I sing on the bus.

It is... much later than last I was here, and much has changed.
Usually it is much later, and very little has changed, except for the time.
I haven’t noticed the time for a while now.

Time has sprawled and crawled, and lurched forward through a series of days.
And I along with it sometimes. Have crawled and managed, and things have been strange, and not strange, and generally… they are… just what they are.

And these are old words… past words… they're a bit confused...
While I am not

But, looking back... I see that much has been...
And they can only be described… in... confused ways…
Otherwise… they are not done justice… and still there are things that seem unresolved from all that confusion...

But my feet are steady. So are my eyes. I stare a lot, at all the things that just are. Nothing to say, apart from the odd overwhelming thing. Everything else seems… obvious.Almost… embarrassingly so.

This is new. Usually I’m confused, even when I know things.

Each day I care less and less…
(These are words that linger on the tips of the lips of my brain.
No longer quite my own. Words that I want to use, but don’t quite recognise.)

Maybe…Each day, I… worry less… (a bit closer to the right words)
And care, fiercely, about the things I really care about…
And really just don’t give a fuck, about the things I don’t give a fuck about.
And when you step into that area, I don’t give a fuck about you.

Apart from the rare few… who I might wade in after.
Because after all…
I Do Care

I’m still making my mind up about some of you. Sorry.
I might never do so. I don’t have the time.
Some of you I have forgotten about entirely.
I don’t feel bad. I don’t have the time.

I know what I know. Sometimes it’s a bit stupid and painful… but I know it more than Christmas… just because.

So… what is going on?

It is a quiet night. And in a pause between breaths…
I am writing.
Because, I am a writer, and always knew I was.
I just didn’t want to write.

I don’t really have anything to say. But I just felt like talking.