The Consequence of Living

God, we were cruel kids. But battered and beaten at such a young age in life, what else could we have been? What chance did we ever really have? When life tramps and kicks wearing 21up Steel toe-capped DM boots, what else can one do but kick back? And so we kicked back, but not at an invisible life that as yet we had no concept of, no, our return blows were directed against people, objects and possessions. We kicked, smashed and bottled our way through tender years, and in our wake we spilt blood, teeth and glass. More than just delinquency, vandalism and violence, this post is about friendship and escape. It is about what happens when young kids are united through abuse and face that world together. In a way it is about hope, in another about hopelessness. It is as much about death as it is of life. For as we live so we die, and in those days we died so much. This post is dedicated to the lost and the broken... this one is for Simon & Shelley... As always, this one is for You.

* * *

Simon & Shelley Maudlier were my best friends. It had been that way ever since I punched Darren Marsh in the throat for going “Urrrgghhh” when the Mayor kissed Shelley after she handed him a bouquet of flowers in front of full school assembly. In what should have been her proudest moment she stood there crying as the school jeered her presence - laughed as the Mayor kissed a greasy-haired girl who smelled of stale urine and burnt wood. As Shelley was led of the stage in tears, a pair of oversized brown corduroy trousers sat down beside me and a grubby nail bitten and scabby hand was placed upon my kneecap. That was Simon and it was the beginning of the first friendship of my life.

Like me, Simon & Shelley were the produce of alcoholic and drug addicted parents. For the first six years of their lives they had travelled Britain and Ireland going from flop house to flop house, from one social service unit to the next. Every time they were on the verge of being taken by the authorities the family would flee, until finally settling down in London. It seemed that from the womb all they knew were vile beatings, social services, alcohol and abuse. At least I had had half an hour of innocence before being hit by life. But not for them, they were born straight into the shit. It was all they knew and it had only ever gotten worse.

At the age of eight they were forced by a drunken carer to have sex with each other. This practice had continued over and beyond that, and for the years I knew them they engaged in sexual activity together. It was in their bedroom one day, whilst we were playing, that they confided in me what they did together. I remember Simon touching Shelley, then Shelley kissing him almost as a token of acceptance for what he had done. They fell back on the bed laughing, both looking at me with dark brown eyes. They showed this to me. They were proud of it. Not proud of the sex, but of the adult behaviours they were mirroring. At the time I laughed along with them. I saw nothing wrong with it. It was almost the same as badly smoking a cigarette or knocking back a teacup full of vodka - it was that kind of naughtiness and nothing else. Now it’s a memory which I can’t ever forget, and it’s sad, because they showed me this and then Simon retook up his Space Invaders game which hung around his filthy neck and Shelley returned to playing imaginary families with her collection of cheap naked dolls which she'd pulled from dustbins. And that image of us on the bed, of the broken innocence that it relates, forever reminds me that this is a cruel and unrelenting world, and that our place within it is a hazardous one. But at the time, it meant nothing. Sure, we knew what sex was - the physics at least- we had seen it all our lives, but we didn’t understand the intimacy or the morals... we had no oversight. All we knew is that adults and animals did it and there seemed no laws concerning where or with whom. It was a reflection of innocence, that is all. But innocence cannot always be understood or accepted, and the events of those years would be a 10 year timebomb between brother and sister that would explode and blow them both off the edge of the world.

After Simon & Shelly's confession and me realising that what was going on in their house was the backside of my own mirror, we became inseparable. Our days and evenings were spent together toughening ourselves up, bonding and preparing our offensive. Our first decision was to join a boxing club. We were weak targets for the bullies and in order to walk the streets and parks untroubled we needed to learn how to throw decent right hooks. So one Wednesday we joined Chelsea Boys Boxing Club and on Thursday we knocked each others teeth out. The three of us taking it in turns to square up to one another and direct our anger and pain towards a physical body. But we never hurt one another: we toughened each other up. And as we lay in the park, on the grassy hill with black eyes and busted noses, we joked and laughed as love and friendship throbbed and stung upon our young bodies. We felt tough not just against the other children, but against the adults too. The same adults who had heaped abuse upon us ever since we were born. We were fighting a force much more twisted and perverse than our immediate peers, we were fighting our homes and our histories. We were fighting ourselves.

Not many people realise just how violent Britain is. It’s a cruel, cruel place, especially for a kid in toeless shoes. There is no sympathy and little escape. If you can’t impress with a pair of £150 trainers and a half decent phone, then you’d better be able to impress with something else... and that ‘something else’ is usually violence. So violence became an everyday fixture for a while. Almost every evening we’d return home with some cut or other. Shelley as well. She kicked and punched and bit just as hard as any boy, and aftern when it was finished, we licked our wounds and celebrated our victories together.

Our friendship was an honest and equal one. It wasn’t based on toys or videos or clothes. It was based on understanding and comfort. Apart from that we didn’t have much else to trade. We had nothing alone and even less together. Between us we had half a parent, two pairs of trousers and a dress. My shoes were football boots with the studs removed, Simon’s were leather strapped sandals and Shelley went barefooted - soaking up all the piss, shit and spunk that South West London had to offer. On and off we would spend almost five years in each others company. Five years of escaping the hell which we were born into.  With our six fists and our scarred and beaten bodies we used violence and delinquency as a means of escape... as a means to unprise life which had taken lockjaw around our necks. But in escaping one hell we started replicating another: stealing cigarettes and beer and vodka and imitating the actions of our elders. In a certain way we escaped our lives by joining it - we became a part of the hurt and the world that had made us. Instead of fleeing it we copied it, but in our replica world we were the kings of the castle...  the abusers and not the abused. We became the enemy.

In the following year we took the beatings but fought back. We’d raise with bloody lips and swollen cheekbones and rally for more. We built up a reputation of recklessness, and if we couldn’t win with our fists, well, there were always cricket bats. There were kids stronger who hit harder, but our relentlessness scared them. When someone screams “Fucking stay down!” it means they’re scared, that they know eventually it will be them running. And we never stayed down. We had mouths and angers that could not be shut. Eventually we instilled fear and terror into those we saw as potential threats: those other cruel kids, with other problems, who were also looking for escape. If we were not strong we would be it, punching bags, the buffer that soaked up our peers domestic problems. We would have become the escape route not only of our parents and their problems but also of the other kids, and that would have been one hell too many. We were on the offensive from a very young age. The bottles and bricks which made up our homes now became objects to throw at the world. And my god, did we throw them.

We threw them at bus stops, policemen and ambulances. We chucked bricks on the motorway and through car windows. We vandalised vending machines, ticket machines and shop shutters. We set fire to post boxes, telephone booths and elevators. We pulled up parks and gardens and demolished garden gnomes. We roamed the streets inciting violence and bloodying the noses of anyone who so much as looked at us. We robbed the more fortunate kids and destroyed the toys of the rich. we done it all. Then we went to bed, woke up and done it all again. We didn’t care for nothing or no-one. Not the living, not the dying not the dead. Everyone and everything was fair game, and that is how we escaped our lives. That’s the exit we took. We were cruel kids preparing to die.

Our lives meandered on like that for the best part of two years and then one morning on going to see Simon & Shelley I received news that they had been carted off by the authorities and placed in a foster home.
   “My kids... they’ve taken ma fucking kiz!!!” Bridgette slurred before throwing herself around me and breathing a mouthful of vomit and whisky fumes into my face. And that was it, they were gone, taken away by unknown and distant forces - the kind most children are only ever threatened with. I strolled back home alone and waited for news. I asked at school, I asked my mother and I asked Simon's mother, but no one seemed to know anything. Yes, they would be coming back, but when? well, that was anyone’s guess. Three months later they were back, and the first thing we did was scheme escape plans in the event it ever happened again. And it did happen again. Later in that same year they disappeared once more.

Simon remembered our plan. Within the week a letter was delivered to my house carrying their new address. I was ten at that time and along with my brother we boarded a train to the address just outside London. On finding Simon and Shelley we skipped the wall and all made the journey back to London. We stayed missing for two days, passing the time at a friends house in Shepherds Bush. On the third day we were apprehended by the police on Uxbridge Road and were all taken into custody at Hammersmith Police Station. My brother and I had been reported missing by my stepfather and Simon and Shelley by their foster parents. I wasn't beaten much by my stepfather as a child, but arriving home that day I took ten years in one sitting. I was so bruised they did not send me to school for over a week. I’ve only ever curled my body up to kicks once in my life, and that was it. But of course, in my family that was an expression of love. It was because he loved me that my stepfather kicked my ribs in.

In the following year Simon and Shelley returned, disappeared and returned again. They didn’t seem to mind too much as away from home they enjoyed proper meals, proper baths and proper clothes. We still remained friends but the separations took their toll and as I left lower school and approached my teenage years we slowly drifted apart and spent less and less time in each others company. The final break was when my own family split up and we left west London and was put in hiding from the hands of my stepfather. We were reallocated to the other side of London and Fulham was out of bounds. Contact with Simon or Shelley was impossible and it would be more than twelve years before I saw either of them again.

In that time we had all changed considerably. Our young accepting minds had started examining things, processing all those behaviours we saw, heard and done. Youthful innocence developed into an illness that plagued and ate away at us. We were all sick, suffering from memories and actions that had been forced upon us. With the end of youth and the coming of our real sexual awakenings we realised we had been corrupted... that certain fantasies and shames had been branded into our minds forever. We each tried to eject these, to vomit up our pasts, to reject history, but vomit leaves a very specific taste in the mouth and is a memory all of its own.

So it was, that the events that formed us also repulsed us, and when one cannot reconcile one's history with ones present then the only option left is to split, and that's what we done. But not just friendship and kinship, we split internally: we divided as people and as adults. Shelley became a young prostitute, Simon found his way in and out of psychiatric hospitals, and I ended up trailing them same old streets searching crack and smack and dreaming of the Black House. In the end our youthful hooliganism and cruelty had served for nothing. It was just a natural reaction to a life that was putting the boot in. All it done was deflect the blow - absorb the shock of the impact and delay the consequences for a later day.

More than anything else that is what this blog is about. It’s not about heroin or addiction or murder or abuse, it’s about consequence. But not always consequence of a good or bad decision, more the consequences of independent and external forces which we have no control over. It’s about history and the equation of all our yesterdays... it’s about who we are at this exact point in time. It’s about the consequence of living.

* * * * *

In 2002 at the age of 27 Simon Maudlier finally found his peace. It seems he died as a result of huge amounts of alcohol on top of prescribed medication. He was buried in a communal grave in Fulham without ceremony. As far as I know Shelley is still alive and as late as 2006 was still working the streets of West and Central London. Neither of them, nor myself have any children, and that is probably the greatest gift we can offer this world.

As always, I wish You all well and thank you for reading and making it all worthwhile. My next post will concentrate on my feelings towards Dennis Nilsen, his continued imprisonment and my thoughts concerning his controversial and as yet unpublished autobiography “History of a Drowning Boy”. Until then, take care & take heart, Shane. x


MomIC said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
'Stoopid Slapped Puppies' said...

It's so true that many people don't know the true London beyond that golden five mile square bit everyone visits, where the police do their job and people feel safe, step outside that five mile square zone and as you know it's a different place, don't get me wrong I prefer that London, it's real, with real people and real problems and often those real people reach out and help other real people and that always makes my heart smile a little when I see that.
I read recently that some social work student had undertaken some research at a day centre for people with mental health issues mainly depression and anger management issues as they were discribed and the student discovered that the patients (?) self disclosed childhood sexual abuse at a rate of 84% of the group, fucking staggering and I just thought what else are they supposed to be but depressed and angry, seems kinda fucked don't ya think
Anyway Shane..Great post, because it reminds us all that when we see some kid(s) behaving badly maybe just maybe it's a symptom of something, of something they cannot or don't feel able to articulate or even as you say understand fully.
Waves across the channel man
Love You
Nick XX

Heather said...


I just got done reading your new blog on blogger. After I was done reading it I ran and hugged my daughter and told her I loved her, your blog almost made me cry, I'm too damn sensitive.

when I hear the hardships of what children go threw it always strikes a nerve, maybe because of my own experience as a child, with my own mother that was a addict in the beginning of my life, or the fact that I have a child.

I guess these experiences in your life is something you had to go threw,to make who you are today, I'm not going to pretend that I even know you though your very open about your experiences, which is good... Your lucky

you have to be one of the strongest, Person that I know, well sorta know. Well Shane as always thanks for sharing , love your writings ... Oh are you still happy? everything still going well?


Syd said...

Shane, what a tough life for all of you. Simon and Shelley had circumstances that I can't relate to. What you write reminds me of Dickens and the street urchins.

Sarcastic Bastard said...

I loved reading this post. Your childhood was so different from mine. I was over coddled and protected.

You have the soul of a poet.

Sending love,


Cinnamon Girl said...

As usual Shane you make poetry out of the profanity of your childhood.

Evelyn Waugh has a chapter titled "A Blow Upon A Bruise" and that to me is what your were describing. The horrible part being that the hammer delivering those blows was inevitable.

The sad part is that the environment you lived virtually assured that you had to join it to survive.

I'm glad you made it out and share your stories with us.

mikimbizii said...

You created a lyrical, sublime masterpiece out of a series of poignant, painful memories.

I loved the objective dissection of each incident,emotion and act which gives things a different perspective and makes them more real, sadder, truer.

*** ******** said...

moving as always.

Longy said...

Another great read there Shane. Very moving indeed. Friends are so much more important than possessions and your post rams that point home well even if it didn't mean to.

I hope you are (both) keeping well.

Kat Skratch said...

Shane my love-

It's hard to go through things with friends and lose them. Harder yet to bond over such fuckery. Harder still to lose them and not know the circumstances.
I can't imagine going through what they did- or what you did. How you coped, yet you write so elegantly about it. So painfully honest. I love your words man, always have, always will. Thanks for this entry. Haven't heard back from my last email, but know I'm thinking about you and wishing you the best. Take care Shane, and get back to me when you can. :)


Andy Frankham-Allen said...

Hey, mon ami.

It's been a while, yet shorter than 18 years so I'll look at it as a short while. ;-)

Good to see you're still posting. Just to let you know you're still in my thoughts (was talking about you briefly the other day to Hayleigh, as it happens), and still waiting on this long overdue email.

As ever, your friend,

A. x

Sarcastic Bastard said...

Where the hell are you? What's up my brother? We miss you.



Memoirs of a Heroinhead said...

Hiya Nick,

Sorry for the delay in reply... it's been a busy time!!!

Yes, thats one of the reasons for the post, that there is always reasons as to why people/children behave in certain ways. Maybe before judging or condemning people should have a look at the kids shoes first!!! There are reasons for delinquency and vandalism, as we both know.

Anyway, many thanks for your comment... My Love as always, Shane. x

Memoirs of a Heroinhead said...

My Darling Greta,

God knows where your wonderful comment has gone, it seems that once again people close to me have entered the blog and deleted it.

Anyway, just for that I give you this special reply... Love Shane. xxx

Memoirs of a Heroinhead said...

Hiya Heather,

Thanks as always for your comment, it means a lot. No, I'm not strong, well no stronger than you or Syd or Nick or SB. We must just accept and overcome the things that life throws at us... there is no other option.

Excuse the delay in reply, the life has been hectic these past weeks... Yes, I'm TREMENDOUSLY happy!!! Thank you very much for asking.

My Very Best Wishes, Shane. x

Memoirs of a Heroinhead said...

Hiya Syd & thanks as ever for your time and words.

I am a Street Urchin... we all were in those times... I think I still am!!! ;)

BW, Shane.

Memoirs of a Heroinhead said...

Hiya SB!!! I'm back & nothing to worry about. I will send you a mail very soon explaining what is going on, but it is a positive thing... my life is changing.

A soul of a Poet? No, I've the soles of a poet... they've got holes in!!!

All my love and wishes and thanks... Shane. x

Memoirs of a Heroinhead said...

Hiya Starrlight,

It's been a while and good to see you're still reading and commenting.

Yes I made it out, but not without a few scars and bruises... I am one of the lucky ones and I know it.

Many thanks for all your kind, kind words... My wishes as always, Shane. x

Memoirs of a Heroinhead said...


Oh you're too kind!!! You'll have me thinking I have talent!!!

In many ways memories, no matter how real we think they are, are fiction. We recreate those atmospheres and try to describe what we think we were feeling at the time. The events are all true, the names and dates, but the atmospheres are me... me NOW, trying to relate what happened in those years. Iam just happy that it does seem real and seems to give a true insight into those times and emotions.

As always thanks for your words and your time, and maybe next time I'll reply a little quicker!!! lol

My Very Best Wishes, Shane. x

Memoirs of a Heroinhead said...

Hiya Marquis,

Thanks for visiting, reading and commenting on the blog... it really means a lot.

Sorry for ther delay in response... I suppose I'm just a little bit of a big fucking mess!!!! lol

My very best wishes, Shane. x

Memoirs of a Heroinhead said...


Thanks as always for your words, I don't have internet access at home these days so have to check comments and reply from cafes.

Anyway, my very best wishes and I hope all is good your end. TC Shane.

Memoirs of a Heroinhead said...

Hiya Kat with a K,

Excuse my 'no reply' to mail, but my internet connection is down at home and so I must visit cafe's or bars to read mails, post on the blog and reply. In the end I've not done much, but be sure that everything you send is read and appreciated. Let this little reply cover all until I'm back up and running.

Many, many thanks for all you say and for your continued support.

All my love and wishes, Shane. x

Memoirs of a Heroinhead said...


Thanks for still reazding and still commenting. Yeah, I still intend on writing you that mail as I've much to tell you. I've no connection at home so will do very, very soon.

TC, mon ami... Shane. x

Hua said...

Hello Shane,

Thank you for posting your story. Your post amazed me and really opened my eyes. I grew up completely different and you are a strong people for going through all of that. I just wanted to let you know that Wellsphere's HealthBlogger Network has many people who are in a similar situation as you are. If you would like to share your experience and help others cope, I would encourage you to take a look at, and to consider applying or join the HealthBlogger Network.

If you need any assistance, please feel free to email me at hua [at] wellsphere [dot] com.

Best regards,
Director of Blogger Networks

NH said...

You are really good at explaining the way some of us have been influenced by really hard lives. A lot of people who grew up in circumstances similar to those you describe are not able to share the ways it affected them, it's so important for there to be people like you who are able to relate such realities to the world.
For me all those thoughts just race around in my head and explaining them seems impossible a lot of the time. It's such a skill to be able to relate such experiences in a way that enables people, many who have not been there, to understand. Thanks, good post.

Andy Frankham-Allen said...


I look forward to that email. I have much to tell you, too. Been a bit of crazy old time here this past month, all kinds of strange developments. Many unexpected twists and turns. Until then, mon cher ami.

A. x

Greta said...

Dear Shane,

that post was awesome. Of course in a way it also was terrible, because when I read you I always find myself in a great wave of compassion (blame that on your intense writing style)... so then logically it's not nice to read about another abuse that left you battered and bruised. But what is wonderful is that you had friends and were a friend to others and experienced friendship. That's a good thing, and I liked it, and so in that "wave of compassion" there I was really happy for you in the first place.
XO Greta

jb said...

I enjoy your blog - Thanks For Sharing!!

Joey said...

That entry was so intense and masterful. As always,I am humbled and a better person for just reading it. Please keep writing.

Joey xoxo

Memoirs of a Heroinhead said...


Thank you very much for your time and words. You know I am just lucky... I am lucky to have escaped and be able to tell of it. I cannot explain why or how, but I am here, in good health and happy. It's important that people read these things, that they undersatnd a little of why people may do such things and that there are ALWAYS reasons behind certain behaviours. As there were reasons behind the actions that led to the murder of my father, so there are reasons behind all social and mental problems. My hope is that the street kids of this world are not dismissed, ignored and imprisoned... that they are loved and looked after. Just one friend in a world of harm can mean and change so much.

Take care Nellie, and my love and wishes and hopes to you, Shane. x

Memoirs of a Heroinhead said...


Many, many thanks for your comment and time & I'm just glad that my own words are appreciated. Of course I'll keep writing, there'll be a new post very shortly. My life is in a transition at the moment and I've no internet at home, but I will arrange all those things and will post as before very shortly. For now be sure I still read my mails and comments, and even if replies are delayed I still appreciate every word and every second that is spent on me.

All my love and wishes, Shane. xoxo (returned!)

Rachel Caprice said...

I've been gone from Blogger for a long time. It's nice to come back to this. Long just how I like it. lol. hope you've been well.

Memoirs of a Heroinhead said...

Hiya Rachel!!

You've caught me online. That's rare these days, as since a £500 phonebill I've been disconnected & have no internet access from home!! lol

Anyway, yes I'm well though not withouit a few troubles (same ol' same ol'!) I hope you & the kids are well, and it's wonderful to have you back here.

Love & wishes, Shane. x

Chic Mama said...

Such a thought provoking post, so much is going around in my head.....what chance did the three of you have? Not a good start in life and as you say the consequences just go on and on....
I feel so sad that you consider not having children a gift to the are aware of the consequences which none of your parents were.
I feel so angry that this is allowed to happen, still does. People need to look deeper when children behave badly, there is usually a reason...a consequence of someone else's actions.
Take care.
Chic Mama

Anonymous said...


Anonymous said...

Hi Mate,
Another accurate and descriptive post. It was very simaller growing up in Sheffield. I remember my dad taking me to the picket lines when he was on strike, all the violance and chaos is still imprinted within my soul to this day. I have finally come to the end of reading all your posts and i truly am looking forward to reading some new writings. Reading your posts reminds me of what i said to myself when i was trying to stay away from the white rock that brings despair and destruction to many souls. "Buy truth and never sell it"..Even if what you write is a little embelished to make it better and easier reading, you still hit upon a universal truth that addicts "recovering or still using" live by. I am looking forward with an emotional heart and renovated mind to your next post... Love and care..Kympton..

JoeM said...

Funny, I remember reading this at the time and was sure I'd commented. Maybe it was just too bleak (which is saying a lot for this blog!)

'Between us we had half a parent, two pairs of trousers and a dress'.

But I bet none of you would have wanted to be taken away from 'the family home'. Which is the saddest thing of all.

Memoirs of a Heroinhead said...

Hi Joe,

yes, just rehashing a few of the old posts for now. Recently the blog gave way to other things and I wanted the writing to be the first thing people found.

It's so strange, but my eyes always miss the bleakness of my words. I don't see it. When I think of this post I think of Simon, shelley and I laying in the park, sweaty and bloody and having a lot of fun within the mayhem. Because our families had drunk themselves poor we found fun in I suppose my old fashioned ways, parks, bushes (no, not that!!! haha), climbing walls, abandoned buildings, etc. So, I remember all those things and there was something really beautiful and innocent about those memories. I know we had fears, and that we hated our parents being as they were, but together it made it a lot easier. I think we were just relieved that we were going through very similar things. because it wasn't just the alcohol abuse, but the sexual and violent abuse also.

And you're right, if anyone haad tried to take us away we would have cried, and screamed and clung to lamposts to stay. They were our parents and sober they were treasures.

But I think Simon & Shelleys family (if you can call it that) was worse than mine, in that there was also mental illness within theirs. Even beyond alcohol there was huge problems that existed.

JoeM said...

It's definitely true that when you're young you don't know you're poor because everybody else is.

In my 60s East End Glasgow childhood there were four of us in two small rooms, outside toilet, no bath, fridge etc. But it seemed normal. I was reading this interview with Lulu (who stayed near us) and it reminded me that instead of buying new furniture, poor us used to just rearrange the furniture so it looked new!

My mother was occasionally violent to my father (throwing clocks was a favourite) and brother, and one day she left a big bruise and we were all terrified we'd get taken to a home.

On the one hand you think abused children would be better off in care. But then you hear all the horror stories about homes like that. Who knows what the answer is.

Unknown said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Memoirs of a Heroinhead said...

Hiya Josh,

Firstly, thanks for reading and continuing to check this place out, there will be new writings here just I'm off on other writing projects at the moment.

I've been reposting old writings for a couple of reasons:

1) rather than reviews of artists heading the blog I'd much rather have my proper writings. They took a lot to write and even many who follow the blog never read the older posts. Also, any newcomers I'd like them to get straight onto what me and the site are about.

2) Just to change things about a bit and let people know that even if I'm not posting so often I'm still here and still intend to carry on with new stuff.

So that's really it Josh... vanity more than anything else.

Ok, take care and keep popping by and soon there will be more frequent posts here...

All My Thoughts, Shane.

Amanda M. Jansson said...

i m very happy to have read this!

FreeFox said...

Okay, you fuckhead, you made me fucking cry. I hate you.

Kurwa. That was so... beautiful. And sad. And true. I mean, of course I know nothing about your life, but that feeling, of friendship, and being lost together, and of fighting and fighting and clinging to, well, anything that keeps you afloat. This series of single, happy moments, strung up on pain, and growing less and less, with the fear of the future growing every more stifling and dark, how life takes it away one such instance after another... you hit that so kahretsin right on the head. God, it HURTS!

Anonymous said...

hello Shane, I have read your blogs over the past week and really enjoyed them, This week I have ran over to the pub with my ipod touch and loaded as many blogs as i can (i did have everything PC, laptop ect... but its all pawned ad pawned my sole if i had the chance!) and get comfy and gouch and read away with a warm cuppa and get lost in your words, am at the library writing this, the Ipod's gone now lol.. I have just read a small part of your upbringing and life as a child and I didn't know your life was so volatile, it shocked me to be honest, and having read your writing and seen your work you know what you have done bad at all mate. peace be with you, Antony x

Flip said...

How do you deal with all this?
I have not been here in years and it looks like you made it or at least are still typing. I would end up hating the comment section.
What do you abuse presently?
You had a thirst or hole or need and I do not think they go away. I imagine you change product- Sugar sex or jesus in place of dope.
Shovel rate may change with product. I dislike the normal state and miss the surreal landscapes of escape.
Do you fear old age and hospitals I certainly do.
The plus side to the hard life is wisdom. Wisdom feels really fucking stupid. My motto is -if your not happy lower your standards.

Unknown said...

I like your writing shane, wish i could express my thoughts so clear & concise .. i reckon you put a shit load of time into learnin to write this way ..

i reckon we know now who vandalised the blue peter garden haha

love an largactil - L