The Dark Knight Rises Review

So. All good things must come to an end, and sadly now too must Nolan’s reimagining of the Goddamn Batman franchise.

Small Sayings

-We put him in the corner and put a sheet over him and a pillow under his head. We went to bed and when we got up we realised he wisnae breathing. We phoned an ambulance and he been dead for 5 hours. That was 4 days after his birthday. I shouldnae have let him buy that smack. - Firstbus

-I can count the number of times I’ve signed on on my one hand. - West Calder

-Are you at uni aye? Aye thought so, see me I’m nae a clever cunt. – Outside a bar

-Aye throwing his weight around just cause he’s got a uniform on. Prick. – Kitchen Manager

- If we see any fenian’s we’ll fucking batter ‘um. – Glasgow one night

- I wouldnae be wandering about here at night time. Hope you’ve got a car to get ye hame. – West Calder

- I’ve done things to your mother that ye widnae believe son, so cut out yer shite. – My friend’s stepdad, Addiewell

- Doesnae even ken who I am, doesnae ken me at all. Ken fit he says? Mess wi’ von and I’ll stab ye. Whit bottle that boy had. – Firstbus

-Aye yer lucky! I wis aboot to chib ye *Produces a Philips screw driver* - Livingston

-Nah they’re nae from round here! Aye fuck off I’ll turn that swagger into a stagger! – Blackburn outside a corner shop.

-I’ll beat fuck out ye. – Bathgate

-I swear. I swear. I swear on mah wains – Bus

-I didnae ken min, I wis that away wae it, anything could have happened. Maybe I did do something wi that lassie, maybe I didnae – Co-worker on a night out.

Coffee

I like coffee.

Bus

Like a giants arm

Crawling across the tarmac

Its joints creak and seep.

Sat in the seat, the window steams as all the passengers breath

Merge and condense

The arm is wounded

Water slowly drips through the cracks

A small stream works down the plastic connections

Dragging down all the dirt down its skin

An off brown stain ending with a drip onto my foot.

Drinking

There’s something admirable about it. The extent of actions and the pitiless judgement we examined it with. We get fuckin’ blazin then start again the next day. Nothing to show for it other than bein’ fuckin’ human.

We drank till the sun came up and we blacked out. Strewn bodies across the living room floor.  Flesh and bone decoration while our livers deal with the toxins. Nowhere I’d rather be. No other way I’d rather be.

It will kill me.

Eventually. But the point is in the act, not the aftermath. True love and true loss is somewhere between the stupor. It is a beautiful mess we create for ourselves.

End of shift

Shift over

Tables have turned

No need to smile at punters with dead eyes

It’s our turn to drink our livers out and we’ll do it well

No plan

Payday tomorrow

Or next week

Or at some point

So another pit please barman

And ten Jaeger-bombs as well...

Vodka Breath

She was beautiful once

At least you’d like to think

The days were not kind to her

Skin wrinkled and split

From years of alcohol, cigarettes and heavy make up

She’s a shadow on bones of her former grace

Clinging on desperately to how it used to be and feel

Wondering

Where the fuck it’s all gone

No friends except vodka and mixer

And the yellow staining sticks

Glass in hand

She is loud with no audience

She’ll try to grab at anyone that comes close

Forcing stories that have no end or punchline

Just filled with eager smiles or her rasping laugh that once was so charming

Looking at her you’re not sure whether she’s 30 or 50 or somewhere in between

Short skirt

Denim jacket

And rooting peroxide hair

Lipstick caked

Some of it taking refuge on her teeth

Either she has trouble letting go of her youth

Or she still has some

That she must get out

And put on show

Now she is slurring

But it’s raining outside but she doesn’t have a proper jacket

Or umbrella

And she’s in heels

And just doesn’t want to go home

She tells me as I pour her another

A group of young men come in

And she attempts to mingle

Some lonely people are good at finding company

Or at least forcing themselves upon it

She flirts with them

As if it was the good old days

But her passes at them are met with awkward eyes and smiles

She is losing herself to some drunken nostalgia

Clasping their necks in struggling embraces

They laugh and humour her

But you can tell the novelty is wearing thin

The smell of alcohol seeping through a person’s lips

Has nothing to do with the tongue, teeth or throat

It is the alcohol flowing through the person’s veins

Once the heart pumps enough

The level is so high

The lungs themselves become beacons to the sober

Funny that the heart betrays itself of its wants

Slackened

She dribbles into one of the men’s ear

I can almost see the wretched hopeless vapour

As her lungs spit out toxins

He pushes her away and shouts at her to

FUCK OFF

There is a silence

She looks at him in a way that would have broken hearts when she was in her prime

Now it’s just pathetic

Like an old animal that knows it’s going to be put down

She looks to the floor and potters away

Standing alone again at the opposite length of the bar

I was surprised she didn’t put up more of a fight

She must have lost it

With past back-hands, black eyes or trips down stairs

Her hearts only purpose is to pump round bloodied vodka

No love or lust

Just the bitter memories that she will never forget

She sips as a tear travels down her cheek

She wants the old feelings back

But only the good

Quickly people forget struggle only for it to repeat

She smiles at me

Her red, glazed, glistening eyes bore into mine

For just a second

No longer loud

And now wounded

I feel I should reach over to her

And give her some promising, loving words

Some foolish, empty sense of saving her

But the scene is broken

And she turns

And walks out the door

To find more fumes for her lungs.