Hello readers, my name is Billy Crash, an unfortunate name I know, but our own names never sound very right in another’s ears anyway.
I was born and still live, right here in Luton town and have walked the earth for thirty-five years, I am unmarried and single, not by choice, but by happenstance and fate.
I went to Hart Hill junior school and Ashcroft high school, both of which I never fitted into, not as a misfit of class, or of intelligence, but because I was fundamentally different from all of the children I walked among the swings and bike sheds with.
I’m not like you, or at least, most of you, I have seen and been through things that have ultimately changed the course of my life, my ka, my purpose.
You are probably now thinking that I am crazy, and you may be right, you may be saying to your self, that I am full of shit, and in that you are wrong, I am almost always right.
I do not have many friends, well one really good friend to be exact…his name I shan’t reveal without first getting permission, so I shall use the pseudonym Jack Green, he is a man of strange talents, a man who has benefited me greatly in moments of dire need, a man of fortuitous grace’s and opportunity. Basically a living walking commodity that is very much respected and misunderstood.
I guess I should describe myself, something I find hard to do as mirrors in my opinion, are shiny lies. I am only 5ft 5” smallish for a man I know but fuck it! I can’t make myself grow can I? My hair is a dark brown/blackish color and is very curly, a color I have inherited from my predictably absent father, a man I have never known but none the less heard an incredible deal about. My face is one that is mutable, that is I am unnoticeable, I blend into the background, no matter what texture that it has. I am unremarkable to behold, and bear no grudge against this; it is a blessing that disguises me.
I have decided to tell you my story, as it continues on, it haunt’s me and barricades all reason, in a web of misunderstanding and ill grace and unrest.
I must have someone know what it is that I see I must spew forth the poison of my ever reaching future so that the boil of confusion and loneliness can be lanced.
You must understand, even in disbelief, and then shall my tale be told.
I shall be free in the anonymity of the web, these little electric letters a cathartic fuelled by wine and the spare time to indiscriminately divulge in secrets you would perhaps better not know, whether you believe what I say or not.
You know, I long for the security of a secular life… a soft faced wife with aqua eyes and becalming graces, a body that smells velveteen when I rest a weary work hardened cheek against its warm midnight invites. The comforting, lucid awareness of the beauty of a sleeping well adjusted child.
Regular Sunday dinners, always with gravy soaked Yorkshire pudding.
But these things are not mine, and in my opinion will never be.
And I am stilled and saddened and subjugated by my duties to you!
I am your unseen protector, a guardian of lies, a master of invisibility standing alone and aloft. Ultimately I am cumbersome in my own disgust of my solitude and standing, in my irrevocably unbelievable and pompous tales and attitude towards life.
I do not ask you to believe what I shall share with you.
I do not need you to believe….I only need to know that someone has possibly read my wine and Hennessey fuelled confessions, my gorge of lonely experience, my insomniacs ravings.
For if you see the things I have, your sleep will become stolen and never returned; an invaluable jewel stolen and hidden and never resold.
So what am I getting at and to? What plagues my dreams when sleep finally slips into me like a blue and liquid rapist?
What is it that haunts me like a beautiful and intelligent but ultimately spurned and psycho lover?
It is this; I have seen the things that squirm and blindly seek in the depths of twilight, I have scratched at the surface of the seedy underbelly of this town and found it rotting and fetid and irrevocably integrated into our own mode of being.
There are things that walk amongst us that you cannot often see, and when you do, you do not know you are seeing them.
They walk amongst us with a certain and often egotistical, knowledgeable stealth.
Reaching out and capturing with an insistent and invisible whisper.
They fracture all reason without you even knowing it.
They disguise themselves, they hide and they also flaunt themselves in our world, and we accept them without suspicion because we do not know their truths or their lies.
But I do.
This is what I share with you, my invisible reader, and my catharsis.
Alcohol is the liquid that loosens my lips and you are the mouths with which I kiss them with.
I am damaged, and I am ungrateful and bitter.
This is not what I wanted, but this is what I have…a tale that will never end, until that is, when I am dead.
So for now, I take my prescribed sedatives, and I will sleep the sleep of the chemically balanced.
And I will dream of the atrocities that have been and will be to come.
And you shall sleep soundly until you know my tale a little more.
Then you shall share in the dread that I carry and bear for always.
My dear reader, my world is not yours, it is all yours dreams made tangible.
And for that I am sorry.