The Ballad of J G Ballard

Crash, crash, Super-Cannes
wrote the bard of Shepperton.
Cocaine nights and crystal worlds,
Exploding madonnas and coma girls.

Crash your car into another,
take the other for a lover.
Erotic scars, seductive pain,
feel the need to crash again.

Geometries of broken bones
remind me of a place called home.
A place of zones, of parking lots -
A prison camp, a place to shop.

Escalator, aggravator,
enact dark dreams of architecture.
Get tooled up, fall out of love,
Attack! Attack! the floors above.

Crash your plane into the Thames,
become a god, reborn again.
Teach the kids to fly like birds,
release the ids of surburban herds.

Buy a villa in the sun.
Stop the clock and have no fun.
A fold of skin, a wrap of coke.
Assassinate all modern tropes.

Exhibiting horrors, unlimited dreams,
affected bonds to our machines.
So carry on, return to sleep,
while androids pleasure electric sheep. 

8 On a Plate

This door’s a bit tight. Probably a knack to it. Guess the place has just been built, needs time for the edges to smooth. Yeah, know how it feels. Well, that’s one down, only another 30 odd to go. Oh yeah, and the 60 million back home, and don’t forget about the bloody billions in the world. Fuck! I do feel bad about Karen though, but they had been split up for six months! – don’t be scared little one – I wasn’t really that into it. I mean, I didn’t start it and it was only the once. It might have been more fun if she’d have seduced me, instead of saying come round and fuck me stupid. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a bloke and I love pussy, but you know, a bit of flirting, a few hints, a little bit of trying to work the signals out is exciting - battles are to be fought, not skirted – gives a man purpose. Ok, I’ve a cock, but I’ve got a bit more besides. Nah, she put it on a plate and I made a cold decision in the heat of the moment, and that is shit. Just like the sex was. How would I feel if I was Jonesy? I dunno. I have thought about that quite a lot. If it was me I’d probably be pissed off a little, a bit betrayed at least by someone I love playing footie with and sharing my thoughts with. Thought we were mates, mate! But it’s not as if Jonesy is a saint himself is it? If he was, they’d still be together. Nah, I don’t think it was even about the sex. Think Karen wanted to know she still had it, was still sexy. More like a recalibration of a shrunken ego thing, than a taking from behind. But what do I know? I’ve never had anyone cheat on me, at least as far as I know, touch wood, but it must be a killer. Helen would go ballistic though if she ever found out. She always thought there was a thing between me and Karen. She didn’t say it, but I felt the evils when we made each other laugh. But it’s easy with your mate’s wife innit, no pressure. But she wouldn’t leave. Too attached to my money, and the lifestyle, I think. Fuck it, that’s the least of my worries now - You are mortal and you are magic – I’ve gotta face the rest of the team now. Don’t know what I’m gonna say, except everyone makes mistakes and all that shit -  If only you could see - Gotta face De’Ath and all! And breakfast. Don’t think there’s any where to put it though, I’m gutted. But I must eat, those are the rules. Come on mate, just let go of the handle, walk, and walk fucking tall. Just go down this fucking corridor – yes, come unto me little one -  and do it! -  I have chosen thee -  Zoned!

7 Tripwires of Uncertainty

I see him cross the threshold. Right foot first, then the rest. I see him close the door. He stands still for a moment, back to the door, his lips twisted and his eyes pointing downwards, to the right. Thinking – split up six months! Feeling – spasms of guilt, wrenching tides of shame. Thinking – that’s the least of my worries right now. Feeling - the overwrought tripwires of uncertainty, the misery of apprehension. Don’t be scared little one. Battles are to be fought, not skirted. Yes, come back to me. You are mortal and you are magic. If only you could see. I catch him steel himself and walk down the corridor, towards me. Yes, come unto me little one, I have chosen thee. I like it here. This stuff, formed millennia ago. Spat from the rage of the Earth’s core, cool now. A gift from the divine forces of the universe. Like me. It is ancient. It will endure. Unlike you, little one. Not in the way you think, anyway. Yes, I will return anon.

6 Psychic wet dream

I look down on Jonesy trying to pull himself up in his bed. He’s startled by the tension in his headphone leads, ha ha. Reminds me of Helen’s dog when I yank back on the lead. Only teasing boy. He unplugs himself and sits up. Now he looks like some bloke about to get something off his chest on his death bed. Should be me there, not him, yeah? Ok, here it comes. I hold my hands up in the air ready to take it like a man, metaphorically that is. He rolls his eyes, unaware of the thoughts in my head. 
“How you feeling mate? Must feel a bit sick eh. Look, I think you’re a stupid cunt for losing us the game, but we can still do it. We all make mistakes mate.” Yes! Result! I couldn’t write this even if I tried. He’s coming out with my line, no prompting, no subtle dropping of hints. Maybe it had seeped out of me when I was asleep, like a psychic wet dream. 
“Thanks mate, you’re a friend, I needed to hear that. Yeah, sorry. Not so nice when it’s you though is it. Make sure you bloody don’t though, we need you tight back in defence” I say. 
“Ha, no worries.  You gotta face the rest though. Don’t blame you coming straight back here after the game, but, there’ll be no hiding today.” Yeah, I know that. Not so keen on the rest on good day, bloody prima donnas. There’s a few that are ok. The Chelsea lads are up their own arse though. Don’t know why coz the club doesn’t have that much history. Not like mine, get in there.  De’Arth! He’s a bastard anyway. Can just see him holding a noose with my name on it along with his ugly poker face. Jonesy shifts up in bed a bit further. 
“Want me to come to brekkie with you, bit of support like?” Nah, that’s a bit gay innit.
“Gotta face the music on my own mate” I say. Everyone makes mistakes, right? So I turn to face the door - don’t be scared - reach for the handle - I am a god, your god -  and twist - I am the god of war  - It opens and the air changes - I wrought the heathen altars -  gets colder somehow - the almighty lord o’er the wide heavens -  I walk out into the corridor and pull the door to - Prepare thyself for battle -  I wonder if Jonesey would tell me everyone makes mistakes if he ever found out I fucked his ex?

5 A Bridge to the Star on My Shirt

I hear the bed ripple as I get up and put on my England tracksuit. I’m in two minds but, here goes. I nudge sleeping beauty.
“Wake up mate, time for brekkie” I say. 
“uh” he exhales. He’s alive then. 
“Brekkie!” 
“Oh, morning mate, strange dreams”. 
YOU had strange dreams. I’m running towards the ball and I’m thinking this is mine. I’m excited I’m like Helen’s dog. Pant, pant, huh huh. I want to touch it, want to kick it, want to show to the world I am a football god. But I’m scared too. Scared that I’ll fuck it up and give it away and that is just what I do. Fuck! I should have kept my eye on the ball but I wish I hadn’t when I saw it drop into the feet of their striker, when I see the ball smash the net, our net, see the scowls on my team mates faces. Shit, shit, shit! So I creep towards the goal but there’s no ball. In its place is Helen being banged by a someone who isn’t me. I stare. I feel the searing radiation of the colour red infect me. What the fuck are you doing? I scream. 
“Sorry honey. Everyone makes mistakes. Give me a second chance. I promise I won’t do it again”. I vomit near the penalty spot. Globs of sick swing from my mouth and form a bridge to the star on my shirt . I stagger towards them, like I’ve been clattered from behind by a German centre back. I get to the goal and just as I am about to cross the line and invade their space the whistle blows. I’m back at the beginning. I’m running towards the ball and I’m thinking this is mine. I’m excited. But I’m not scared. Not this time. The ball stops. The players are frozen and the crowd hang. I look down at the ball and I can see a butterfly. It doesn’t move but it doesn’t have to to tell me it’s alive. I look up as if moments ago I was on my knees. The stadium stares but does not see. The wind stirs but does not blow. Then I hear it speak. Can you feel me? I have chosen thee. Don’t be scared. I am a god, your god. I am the god of war. This is not the end, the war is not lost. I wrought the heathen altars, the almighty lord o’er the wide heavens. Prepare thyself for battle.

4 I Wrought the Heathen Altars

I hate closing my eyes. I loved it yesterday, but now I don’t. Whenever I do it comes back. I’m running towards the ball and I’m thinking this is mine. I’m excited – can you feel me? - I’m like my girl’s dog. I want to touch it, want to kick it, want to show to the world I am a football god – I have chosen thee -. But I’m scared too. Scared that I’ll fuck it up and give it away – don’t be scared – and that is just what I do – I am a god, your god – I should have kept my eye on the ball – I am the god of war – but I wish I hadn’t when I saw it drop into the feet of their striker – this is not the end, the war is not lost – when I see the ball smash the net, our net – I wrought the heathen altars – see the scowls on my team mates faces -  the almighty lord o’er the wide heavens – shit, shit, shit!

I see Jonesy’s still asleep. Still got his ipod on, soft git. I wonder how he’s gonna be with me? Nah, he’s safe. We play together for fuck sake. We fuck about in the shower after a game. I’ve even seen his eyes scrunch up together in animal joy at the other end of a prossie. Nothing like seeing someone come to know where they’re coming from. Yeah, he’ll understand. He’ll be alright. But you know, I don’t get it. I’m a grown up, earn lots of cash and this here is supposed to be a “multi-million pound training complex”. So why the fuck do I have to share a room?  I just don’t get it. I’d pay for my own room if they’d let me. I can afford it, right. Feels warm down below though, like being inside a highly metabolic Thai girl in summer. Not that I’ve ever been there. Don’t have to when they come to you eh Jonesy? And another thing I don’t get is why they have the world cup now, in this bloody heat, after a long season. Rigged innit, gotta be. FIFA you are a disgrace. Don’t like Inglerland do you. How can we play our premier league high tempo game when we’re sweating our balls off? No wonder they don’t have it back home again, it’s the only time we might get another bloody star. Anyway, I‘m worn out just thinking about it. Which reminds me, maybe I should get breakfast now.

3 Deep Heat

What I need is a kick. Oh yeah, where is it? Where’s my stash, my Deep heat? Might be under my pillow. Yup, here it is, praise the lord. Cap is a bit tight and there’s not much left. Funny how it doesn’t burn your fingers when you rub it on. For muscular relief – yeah, and a bit more. Ah yeah, that’s it, I can feel the first tingling of heat. Now I know what the colour red feels like. Winter is definitely over. Guess I’m lucky I’m a bit clumsy because I wouldn’t be sitting here now rubbing this stuff on my cock if I hadn’t missed my groin a couple of weeks ago. You know, I think most of the team have little “sessions” themselves. Did I mention it to Jonesy after we’d had a few beers? Thanks De’Arth, took you long enough to realise an Englishman likes a few beers to get the best out of him. Not too much mind, otherwise we go loopy- alright I do. So what if I pulled Dawson’s trousers down when we were watching Spain thrash France one nil? Ha, think you’re gonna win do ya? Probably might actually. Anyways, can’t have too much of the piss, got to think of our temples, and my bod is a beauty. Well, it would be if it wasn’t for these little niggles I get in my groin when I run. Like constellations of pain, as Helen would say. I really need a holiday, anyone can see that. My proper boss at the club knows it, my next neighbour knows it, fuck, even the check-out girl at Sainsbury’s knows it. Yeah, probably thinks she should come with me and all. I’ve seen the looks. Like that time I was cornered in the car park back home by a townie with a forced tan and deep bosom. 
“Hi sweetie, you played really well tonight”. Keep talking honey you are pressing my buttons.
“How’d you fancy coming back to mine for a bit of fun?” Fun? Hmm, let me see, I’ve just scored 2 goals in the champions league, how the fuck can I top that, nah? I’m a bit tired hun. But I do fancy you so give me your number and we’ll see another time eh? Filed that tatter of paper with the rest. Gotta keep your accounts up to date eh? No mobile numbers for me. Not gonna let the press catch me out like that. Yes, I’m a wise one, no comebacks for me. Well, apart from that bloody back pass I bet, but, every fucker makes mistakes, right?