I’m in search of something but I don’t know what it is. And so my days are filled with a constant yearning, an unquenchable thirst, an insatiable hunger as I embark on an existential pilgrimage, a restless pursuit of the wonderful, the sublime and the miraculous.
I have lived in sheds, studios, chalets, barns, bedsits and shared houses. From Mousehole to Zennor, Newlyn to Penzance, Bristol to London. I have camped in the wilderness, canoed down rivers and partied at festivals. I have lost friends, made enemies and wasted time and money on shit that doesn’t matter.
I have slept in beds I did not recognise, in run-down doorways and on kitchen floors with a washing machine going off next to my head. I have passed out in long grass, sweaty cars and on jam-packed dance-floors. I have explored moors, fields, woods and marshland. Beaches, farms, cliff-tops and coastal paths.
I have cried me a river, sobbed me an ocean and wept me a waterfall.
I have scrubbed pots and pans, pulled pints, washed cars, waited on tables, dug trenches, drilled concrete, painted houses, traded t-shirts, served piping hot pasties to ungrateful commuters and sold records to anoraks and crate-diggers. I have scribbled word after word on page after page. I have cycled for miles, walked for hours and joy-ridden cars shitfaced under the cover of darkness. I have thrown punches, taken beatings, assaulted police officers and spent the night in Camborne Nick. I have let everybody I care for down. I have broken hearts and had had mine obliterated in return. I have fumbled with condoms and groped blindly at sweaty figures beneath duvets. I have been tangled up in sticky sheets and shared morning breath with beautiful strangers. I have loved every girl I have ever been with, whether for five seconds or five years. I have guzzled pints, snorted lines, sniffed poppers, smoked bongs, swallowed pills, slammed shots and dabbed fingers in bags of powder. I have flipped bikes and shattered bones. I have kissed and been kissed and danced til I was dead on my feet. I have been bullied, rejected, ignored and accepted. I have been praised and loved and hated and hugged. I have sat in classrooms doodling in the back of my exercise book, sworn at teachers and bunked off school. I have been caught red-handed and gotten away with murder. I have surrendered myself to self-loathing and despair. I have shared stages with heroes and stared loneliness in the face from the soulless comfort of a Premier Inn. I have made brilliant work with the people I love. I have ashamed and embarrassed myself. I have been welcomed into communities I never knew existed. I have seen the sun rise and fall a million times. I have endured intoxicated conversations with my own conscience and I have glared into mirrors and wondered what the point of it all is. I have puked my guts up til there was nothing left to give. I have feasted on gourmet dinners, sunbathed on tropical beaches and swam in waters clear as the night is black. I have gone days without sleeping, greeted anxiety attacks at every corner and awoken in the middle of the night convinced I was suffering from heart failure.
We’re led to believe that there is some sort of unspoken truth that awaits us all at the end. That one way or another we will stumble across the answers. A solution to it all. But the solution is in the journey. It is in the scramble, the slog and the daily grind. It is in the beautifully mundane monotony of it all.
I wrote this an exercise in response to Newlyn Art Gallery's 'In Search Of The Miraculous' exhibition, running between 27th June - 19th September 2015. It was written in just over half an hour and uploaded before I could fuss about editing it too much.