Wednesday, February 20, 2008

On The Shiteside

So I saw that train and I got on it
With a heartful of hate and a lust for vomit

(The Pogues “Sunnyside Of The Street”)

‘Tis friggin’ late tonight, and I sit half-collapsed at some lousy counter of some lousy pub I can’t remember the name of. I can’t really remember much of tonight. I recall being here – or was it another pub? – with me mates, and havin’ a couple pints with them. A couple gallons, to be honest, a couple friggin’ gallons. I have some kind of flash-light going in and out in the Guinness-black of my memories of this evening. A very inglorious one indeed. I recall the beers, and a couple drams too. I was loaded when the evenin’ started – ‘tis Friday night tonight – and now I’m friggin’ skint, ynnow. So I can’t remember how many I drank. I only feel them, and recall emptying all the half-empty glasses me mates left behind them.
Must’ve had a sterling time, though. I recall being acquainted with this gal from Leicester, or Nottingham, or whatever. Spent half the night talking to her, I think. I recall myself, all sweaty, in my red polo shirt, shouting at the top of me friggin’ lungs some song. Flippin’ sterling music, they played at that pub. T-Rex, the Clash, Madness, the Pogues. “I’m your toy, your twentieth century boy”. But she didn’t let me be her toy. Probably I did expect a little too much, but you know how that is when you get sore drunk as I got. I really made an ass of meself, I think.
And that’s how I started to get nervous. Smokin’ a fag, with another whiskey in me hand, with my friends pissin’ me off ‘cause Jane had gone home. Jane, that was her name, right. Well, pissin’ me off for a laugh, as you always do among friends. Sort of tryin’ to cheer me up. But I’m a perfect asshole, and I was completely sloshed. I tossed down me shot, put me fag back in my mouth, at the right corner of it, and went over to Davy. Shakin’ me bleedin’ fist in front of his face and yellin’ at him. A complete wanker, I am. He didn’t stop laughing. Actually I must’ve been a very exhilaratin’ sight. I glow red when I’m pissed, and me neck’s veins look like they’re about to friggin’ explode. And Davy laughed, right in me face and all. And this wanker I am couldn’t stand anymore and swung his friggin’ fist at his face. “FUCK AWFF, DAVY!”. Must’ve broken his nose, he was damn bleedin’ all over the place. “Will, what the fuck got in your mind, you pisshead?”. That was Normsy, shoutin’ at me. I swung a fist at him, as well, but was too drunk and heavy. I missed, and he hit me with his head, right in me face. Davy wasn’t the only one bleedin’ now. Then Normsy punched me, in the face again, and now I see a blackeye reflected on the golden bar of this pub’s counter. I must’ve been kicked out, after that, so I chose this other pub, yes. Everything is gettin’ neater in my memory. There’s a bunch of blood-soaked hankies in front of me, I must’ve stopped bleedin’ here.
And now I feel my belly gurglin’, I’d love to puke, I feel like someone’s beaten the livin’ shite out of me. And I feel mad as hell at I don’t know who or friggin’ what. Probably I’m mad at me bleedin’ self. Time to get out of here. Staggering and lagging home, wherever I am right now. The friggin’ Canal, here it is. Birmingham, they call it the English Venice. Except Venice must be a beautiful city, and Brum’s a stinking shithole. I walk on the side of the Canal. Must stay steady on my feet, and it’s friggin’ hard. Must not fall in the Canal. Must not fall. I’m walking over about a million tons of duck crap. The whole friggin’ sidewalk is covered with it. Look on to the other side of the canal, and the path is unbelievably clean. Right, I’m on the Shiteside. Ducks seem to be leaving their droppings only here. Must not fall in the Canal. Must. Not. Fall. My head drops back down, starin’ at the tiny white dots of crap, and I think that maybe this friggin’ world must have a clean side and a Shiteside, as well as the Worcester and Birmingham Canal. And shit falls down only on the ones lagging on the Shiteside. Near a bridge, I hug a lamp-post. Must not fall, don’t fucking fall, William! I have to stop for a slash. I stay clinged onto the lamp-post, and take my willy out. I’ve to leave the company of the lamp-post. Will is havin’ problems holdin’ his willy, and doesn’t want to soak his jeans. Hide under the bridge, not so steady on my feet. Must not fuckin’ fall in the canal. Don’t fall, piss in it, for fuck’s sake. Must not fall down, must not. Fell down. Fucking hell!

(Billie MacGowan "On The Shiteside")

5 comments:

aliena said...

....WOW....
(tutto quello k c'era da dire in merito te l'ho già detto...quindi nn mi ripeto ulteriormente... :P)

Andrew:-)MaxStrong said...

Non c'ho capito quasi una cippa ma it sounds very Bukowski :D
Cmq se cadevi nel canale non ti dovevi preoccupare... They gonna find us, They gonna find us, they gonna find us love someday...

Pacor O'Gorg said...

per quel poco che ne capisco io è parecchio togo
l'ho copincollato e salvato
bravo billie!

Pacor O'Gorg said...

per quel poco che ne capisco io è parecchio togo
l'ho copincollato e salvato
bravo billie!

pavelilla said...

bel lavoro billino!..è proprio tuo ; )

e ho anche imparato un sacco di slang mai incontrati prima :P