Death Rattles

AT HOME Carelessly)
Tried to kill myself Monday morn – I don’t think I meant to try it just developed that way. Similar to a child squashing a bug, I had no fear, no hatred, no angst just sheer disconnected curiosity.
There was quite a small explosion, lots of sparks – and then I went to work, half hoping when I got home there’d be nothing left – my whole life, the bits that weren’t working the bits I hadn’t managed to throw away yet would be burnt to the ground – but they weren’t – they were still there – just a tripped switch in the fusebox – then maybe...when I flicked it back on so the fridge hummed once more – and I realised I was quite suicidal – in the best way though not actively seeking death just without fear or care, that maybe...I’d burn in my sleep – but I didn’t I just crumbled. – and then today I ran out into the road not looking as carefree as a five year old!

- that same night I woke as if from a dream in cold water, two-thirty, I wrapped a towel around my wet hair and rushed into my bed – I say woke but the whole time weeks even I’d been asleep in a fugue a timeless nostalgic haze – to be rudely shaken out of it come three-thirty by knocking. Urgent, insistent knocking, persistent. On my door, on the windows – too long to keep holding my breath in, too long to continue listening to, long enough to send me back to uneasy sleep. Afterwards I thought about it to the point where I was unsure it had happened at all.1

(Plumbing – pipes – the flows of sewage and energy – flooding - chaos2 -exploration of mines – digging deeper – always deeper into the internal workings of something.)

Bakewell Road Industrial estate – all the dust that the mechanical processes throw out – entropy spiralling in the breeze – sticking to sweat – clothes – entering pores -  a layer of it coating the keyboard/ the desk – The frozen days walking along the canal – form of industry (transference of goods and waste) dead, the frozen over canal – the stillness – me death palpable- the yard shunter mukka silent. No music no radio 1, just silence, breath visible in the air, men on their knees – me with my sense of how Dickensian it all is... how dark, the roof leaks, the men are cold and grieving – the massive puddles – disturbed rats – slamming of doors – rattling of machines, dust death and fumes in the air.

What is a machine but a lump of metal clawed from the earth our will imposed on it – to fit and work to our aim3.

Carrion crows tear and pick at a rabbit carcass on the road, snow has dusted the steely grey of the industrial park – still not beautiful – bleak – lonesome.

The ragged curtainsider lorries parked up on the double yellows, bent side posts – chipped paintwork – like drawings of negative space – big frames framing nothing –

In the office dust coated files, grubby fingerprinted job cards with paint codes mj41 in 498 etc. Repair raves etc. Scrawled across them. A battered door marks the line between shop floor and management – it swings back and forth constantly, there are 3 doors into the production office and men in boiler suits criss cross the room continually –
a horrendous rattle splinters the tinny tunes pumped out by radio 1 – music for the masses / music for mass production – repetitive, soulless – death drives- vaguely catchy and pleasurable – the air chisel splinters the tinny sounds for the masses – the soundtrack to mass production...
The air chisel grinds right through me – I shake inside to its rhythm

Walking around the industrial park in the daylight and in the dark, it resonates a non atmosphere a world of machine and coldness. I walk past a building – a mondrian painting against the sky, twisted metal underfoot – railings and massive tubes and pipes.4
Hi-visibility is non visibility when it’s the norm –
Sometimes we eat greasy cobs – most of the time the phones ring and the men stomp and swear –

the men lose their nerve their zest for hard labour the phones stop ringing and the air chisel no longer raps out.5
The tinny music less of a roar – more a background itch – incessant rain then cold and snow. I abandon my car and choose to walk to and fro in the constant darkness.
Redundancies loom – I’m one of the first and then the rest queue up – the men aggressive / hostile.

1 Alcohol is a disinhibitor

2 breathing as a device to keep entropy out/ energy chaotic /flying off is where it wants to be.

3 My boyfriend says...

4 I’ll return to the tubes and pipes because they are the landscape of my nightmares.

5 I have a new mode of aesthetic understanding, I appreciate the sound of a nice engine, a mechanism turning efficiently and smoothly.