Liam Levitz
(11) Coulrophobia - of course, if I fail (or 'broken dreams of a clown')
And as for these words, well, let me jist say it hus been a fucking pleasure to know that some of yoose folks huv been reading some if not aw of this. Those who give up their time would receive a warm hug if a was ever to say hello to you. It means a fucking lot.
Ye see, a have long been told to write, we’re talking since primary school onwards. From friends, to family to Hazel, aw buggers pestering me and hassling me to write something down. It’s easy to say, not so easy to do.
You ever tried tae write? Not just fucking slapping anything down, but write something that means something to you, that does nae make you fucking greet with embarrassment in a week and something you think is the equal of your favourite authors (and efter all, if it’s no, whit’s the fucking point?).
For me it’s like standing at the top of a cliff knowing that if I wanna make it tae where I wanna go that I jist have to make the jump. Now, there’s no telling if am gonnae make the landing, and there’s no telling if any fucker is gonna pay any attention if a do. So a stand there and think aboot it, trouser legs flapping in the breeze, hands twitching away against each other and aw a hear are the words or Murakami or Irving, Heller or Dickens.
Their words get carried up to me on some bastard of a breeze. These aren’t kind words, these words are fucking asking me out for a fight, a fight that a think a have to win to be sure that a land at the bottom of this fucking awfy big cliff. A fight that a have to win if a wanna make that landing, if a don’t wanna be jist another splattered clown with a broken dream and 9 to 5 job.
So time efter time a have walked away. Folded my arms, put down ma pen and walked away. But not this time. And a tell you, it has been a fucking pleasure. A don’t really swear like this, and a won’t always write this way, but right now, a have words bursting oot inside ma chest every minute of the day and it feels gallus. Right now, a could write a fucking book and someone out there might actually just read it. Right now a feel like a could step over that cliff and just about make it, mibbe no all the way, mibbe a wouldn’t be noticed by any fucker, but a would make it to the bottom at the very least. After that, who the fuck knows.
So, there’s a bit more clown tae come, nae luck for you, but hopefully a whole lot more besides. This has aw been hard, this has aw taken time, but am hoping tae fuck it’s worth it and am hoping tae fuck that every bugger who has read a word or left a comment knows that if a jump, and if a make, they’ve played a big part in helping me down.
Of course, if I fail…
(11) Coulrophobia - of course, if I fail (or 'broken dreams of a clown')
And as for these words, well, let me jist say it hus been a fucking pleasure to know that some of yoose folks huv been reading some if not aw of this. Those who give up their time would receive a warm hug if a was ever to say hello to you. It means a fucking lot.
Ye see, a have long been told to write, we’re talking since primary school onwards. From friends, to family to Hazel, aw buggers pestering me and hassling me to write something down. It’s easy to say, not so easy to do.
You ever tried tae write? Not just fucking slapping anything down, but write something that means something to you, that does nae make you fucking greet with embarrassment in a week and something you think is the equal of your favourite authors (and efter all, if it’s no, whit’s the fucking point?).
For me it’s like standing at the top of a cliff knowing that if I wanna make it tae where I wanna go that I jist have to make the jump. Now, there’s no telling if am gonnae make the landing, and there’s no telling if any fucker is gonna pay any attention if a do. So a stand there and think aboot it, trouser legs flapping in the breeze, hands twitching away against each other and aw a hear are the words or Murakami or Irving, Heller or Dickens.
Their words get carried up to me on some bastard of a breeze. These aren’t kind words, these words are fucking asking me out for a fight, a fight that a think a have to win to be sure that a land at the bottom of this fucking awfy big cliff. A fight that a have to win if a wanna make that landing, if a don’t wanna be jist another splattered clown with a broken dream and 9 to 5 job.
So time efter time a have walked away. Folded my arms, put down ma pen and walked away. But not this time. And a tell you, it has been a fucking pleasure. A don’t really swear like this, and a won’t always write this way, but right now, a have words bursting oot inside ma chest every minute of the day and it feels gallus. Right now, a could write a fucking book and someone out there might actually just read it. Right now a feel like a could step over that cliff and just about make it, mibbe no all the way, mibbe a wouldn’t be noticed by any fucker, but a would make it to the bottom at the very least. After that, who the fuck knows.
So, there’s a bit more clown tae come, nae luck for you, but hopefully a whole lot more besides. This has aw been hard, this has aw taken time, but am hoping tae fuck it’s worth it and am hoping tae fuck that every bugger who has read a word or left a comment knows that if a jump, and if a make, they’ve played a big part in helping me down.
Of course, if I fail…