If you ask me how to get to the top
I couldn’t tell you.
While mistakes can be alchemised
transmuting trauma
and forging futures front foot forward
I have also danced upon the edge of despair.
I’ve driven myself mad
deciphering depression
and analysing anxiety.
So while I bask in favourable fortunes
I shan’t look to explain them.
Instead,
I shall enjoy the rippling winds of change
and appreciate the pleasure of this moment.
Today I’ve embraced the official prompt of using an entry from the Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows.
For three fortnights I’ve pondered
as the diorama spun-
splintering inside my fractured mind.
“I’m aware it’s a game,”
“I’m aware that it’s a no.”
I’m aware I was tripping balls
but it’s an opportunity to grow.
In that realm context brought pain,
sautéed synapses soaked in regret.
Why does everything have to relate to everything
when you’re finding it hard to relate to anything?
Yet I stood tall, I owned the wrong I did to others.
I refused to partake in cruelty even in a realm defined by it.
But now, I must right the wrongs in how I’ve treated myself.
Today I’ve opted for the official NaPoWriMo prompt of using metonymy.
Is it a bee?
Is it tea?
Is it a bee eating its tea?
Is it Oasis?
Is it the rain?
Is it euphoria that glides ‘cross your brain?
Is it United?
Is it City?
Is it the pints, the cheers and the ditties?
Is it your hopes?
Is it your dreams?
Is it a place that’s more than it seems.
From Peterloo to the splitting the atom…
it’s Manchester, and it’s fuckin’ smashing!
Today is the first day I’ve gone without a prompt. Essentially it’s because a great development opportunity is available but it’s also one that would potentially fuck my shit up in terms of going beyond what is deemed permitted work.
This development opportunity is designed around providing a ladder up for those with disabilities and from lower socio-economic brackets.
However I have made it known that current DWP rules essentially great an aspiration premium whereby opportunities for advancement act as an aspiration premium.
This isn’t new to me. In 2008 after getting into Manchester University for my 1st attempt at a university education (which was plagued with mental health struggles) I went 3 months between signing up for uni to starting at uni without money because I was classed as student… completely ignorant of the fact I at that time had an insecure tenancy due to it’s infancy after spending the prior year homeless and on top of that having no money to in benefits to live off. This also meant no housing benefit either which meant I’d start university with 3 months of rent arrears.
This new opportunity years later after a year out of work as a chef due to Covid would double what’s deemed as permitted work. I believe opportunities designed to support the most vulnerable in society should also acknowledge the systemic barriers that mean the support offered to such people shouldn’t fuck their shit up. Be creative. Give half as a salary and half as a grant. Split one offer between two people in the same boat with the permitted work situation… £6500 of £13,000 is sure as hell better than £0 which is what I’ve had as a chef for the last year.
For years I was embarrassed of being on ESA, of my disability, and of my mental health struggles.
But now I offer a fuck you to the system and society that made me feel that way… I, am the hammer!
Apply for this grant,
get your dream job.
Stay in your lane,
you dumb benefits slob.
Volunteering isn’t work.
Domestic labour isn’t work.
Experience and exposure isn’t work.
This system,
doesn’t… work.
We’re expected to do better,
we’re expected to be better.
We’re expected to act as if
the aspiration premium of bureaucracy
isn’t a ceiling tinted with rose coloured glass.
But I, am the hammer!
So a little precursor for day 1.
I stand on the precipice of some amazing opportunities but a combination of depression and witnessing the pointless cruelty of someone stifling the creativity and growth of a loved one while also affecting a potentially beneficial project have gotten me royally fucked off. Jaime Lannister may have said “by what right does the Wolf judge the Lion?” but a larger question for our society is “by what right does the fly hinder the workhorse?” For a fly knows nothing but the stench of shit and hindering those that are doing or have the potential to be doing good work.
Anyway. Here’s the piece:
Take a pinch of reality – oh shit… the whole cup
with the wisdom of Solomon to ask for none.
For knowledge without power is lacking in agency…
I have no taste for fuelling falsehoods flagrantly.
Is a pigeon stand-offish when the ledge is spiked?
I carry the message that’s needed, not the one that is liked.
Many are stupid, and many more crueller…
they sip Arbor Gold, gallivanting to stupor.
Bereft in agony, for my loved ones oft afar…
my heart remains open while life is ajar.
The ingredients are gourmet
but the pan is rusted.
I’m brilliant, alone and depressed
but is it me that’s busted?
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