Mitchell's Mustard Blog

November 20, 2015

The Junkie Boneyard

Filed under: A Little Something — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 3:19 pm

I will always remember the day I decided to turn a corner . .

 

The air was so heavy I could taste it, a mixture of mould and the unkept. The room was dark and dank, a patchwork of plaster and brick on the walls, urban artistry that occurs only from being unloved. The only thing that broke the silence was the creaking of ropes that held up the hammock I was laying on. On further inspection, this hammock was about five foot from the ground and held up by pulleys connected to two of the walls across the corner of the room. God only knows how it was holding my weight, also I’m hoping he might know how I got here, because I had no clue. In fear of moving too much I carefully checked my surroundings. To my right I could see the room was littered with cushions, candles, and sporadic limbs protruding and entwined with sleeping bags. Hoping these limbs are still attached to their bodies. To my left was a window, a battered and ripped blind masked the sunlight from outside. I could see dust dancing in the rays of light that beamed through the cracks. The window ledge was covered in dust, burnt out candles, spilt wax, and the one main thing that caught my attention, a bloody hand print. ‘Where the fuck am I?’ I thought to myself.

   I had been wearing the same clothes for 3 days, my skin felt like it had forgotten about it’s love affair with water. My jeans clammy from sweat, my skin sore where my clothes had started to pinch. My mouth was dry, my nostrils on fire, whether that was from substance abuse or breathing in the close encounters of the room, I wasn’t sure. Craving fresh air and a warm shower to wash away the loathing, I needed to move.

   Before testing the strength of the hammock I looked underneath to make sure if I did fall, I wouldn’t be landing on something or someone. There wasn’t even anything I could use to climb down onto for a safe dismount, there was no way I could do this quietly or gracefully. I lay there for a moment trying to execute a plan in my mind, I didn’t want to find myself in a position where I’d have to converse with another human being, I just wanted out. In one swift movement I was sat upright with my legs dangling below me. If I gently eased myself off the hammock I felt like I could land quietly with great precision, like a ninja. Oh how I was wrong. After breaking what could have been 4 glasses of water, knocked over a couple of candles, kicked a metal tin across the room, and standing on someone’s hand, I had successfully caused the room to stir. All the movement under the sleeping bags and cushions played games with my mind, I felt like I was in a scene from the movie Tremors, the floor looked like it was moving, I panicked, I did what every straight laced mind wouldn’t do, rather than run I sat down cross legged and closed my eyes. For a fly on the wall view this would have been quite amusing, the floor moving and crashing like waves around me as I sat cross legged in the middle, eyes closed while humming to myself to find the calm inside.

   I don’t know how much time had passed, but the room was deadly quiet again, and my heart wasn’t trying to leave my chest. Looking around me I could see all sorts of drug paraphernalia, the ones that caused me to think long and hard about my current circumstances were the used hypodermic needles that littered the floor. There was a fine line between a bohemian drug haven and a junkie boneyard, this was a glimpse into the latter and I wasn’t interested. I couldn’t quite put my finger on what the smell, taste, and feeling of this room was. But I knew I didn’t want it to be part of my life. My current lifestyle was hanging above my head like a noose, so the decision was easy to make. With this new found motivation, I got up, I found the door, and I got out. I remember stepping out into the sun, feeling warmth. I walked up the path and turned back to look at the house. I had never been there before, and in more ways than one, I have never been there since.                   

No turning back.

          

Advertisements

July 1, 2015

Mirror

Filed under: A Little Something — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 7:58 pm

Pale, the curving contours causing shadows and dull patches. Coloured spheres darting back and forth with a similar rhythm to a pendulum on an old washed out piano. A surface that has seen many elements, masked, but only a prevention from age, there’s no cure as the time passes away. Weathered, yet attractive. Like pebbles skimmed across the surface, leaving ripples and wrinkles of life, but unlike water, the wrinkles become more apparent with no signs of fading or drifting away. With each cycle of the sun, the lines hold firm and claim their place. Each passing he notices something different, a soft façade capable of love and emotion, but sometimes riddled with exhaustion and anguish. Depending on his frame of mind he sees beauty, positivity bringing on the attractive glow. Knowing that negativity will only swallow up the good and drag the insecurities to the surface, only for him to see but is believed all will bear witness. A state of vanity that’s stoked like coals in a raging fire, he knows that growing old gracefully is the only option. Most days he knows what he sees, but on the odd occasion he doesn’t recognise what’s before him, what looks back at him each and every day. He knows it better than most, the shape, the strengths, the weaknesses, but there are days, days that just leave him to question. Today isn’t one of those days, he might be looking older, worn, weathered, with dashes of silver, but that is what’s looking back at him. The mirror doesn’t lie, but the mind does.

March 31, 2015

When was the last time you complimented someone?

Filed under: Just a Thought — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 12:19 pm

I’m no stranger to the occasional passing comment about the way I look, or especially the way I dress. When I say a ‘passing comment’, I don’t mean a compliment. It’s funny how people mainly voice their opinion when it’s negative, is this who we’re becoming? When was the last time you gave someone a compliment? It’s amazing how far a few nice words can go, can change someones view on the whole day.
I remember quite a few years ago, I was sat on a bus and noticed that someone had scribbled ‘You are beautiful’ on the back of the seat in front of me. The words looked worn, old, but they still held the strength of the day they were first written. These words were obviously penned for someone in mind, I hope they got them. It was strange, but those words made me smile. I know they weren’t written for me, and that wasn’t the point, it was the fact someone had written those words to make someone feel beautiful. It’s amazing how a couple of words can cause such an uplift. From that day forth, I made it a conscience effort to compliment, whether it was written, or verbally. To my loved ones, or even strangers that I have a conversation with. Something so small, yet something so powerful. Obviously there are boundaries with this, you can’t just walk up to a complete stranger and tell them they have a cracking arse! If you could, we’d all be doing it. Don’t forget that the main point of giving a compliment is to mean it, don’t just say it if you think it’s going to get you brownie points or it means nothing! A compliment should never be fuelled by personal gain.
It’s no secret to anyone who knows me well, I read a lot of books. What isn’t well known is that once I’m finished with them, before I take a select few to the charity shop I write a little motivational note in the front, such as ‘Today is your day’, ‘Smile’ or like the one that made me smile on the bus ‘You are beautiful’.
The importance behind this is how powerful words can be, something so simple, can mean something so amazing. But it can work both ways, words can also be painful, and vicious, so watch your tongue!
If you always have a negative opinion, you’ll only ever see negative results . . . I think it’s about time you went out and complimented someone.

February 4, 2015

The Grand Misconception.

Filed under: A Little Something — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 5:49 pm

Ladies, there is, and probably always will be an unwritten rule – a man never chooses a woman, he can only show you that his interest and availability is there, and as much as most of us men would hate to admit it, the decision generally falls onto your lap. But with that, that doesn’t mean that the effort should only lay claim to the male. We all know that the instruction manual for the opposite sex will never be published in our lifetime, if I took a guess, the author is probably battling their sixth divorce and feeling quite like a fraud.
There is a grand misconception that us men do not discuss our likes, wants, and dislikes between each other, well, we do. Whether it’s in the gym changing room, the pub, or even a chance meeting in the magazine aisle in Tesco. We talk about you. From the women that have crossed our path, or the ones that are yet to do so. I’m not talking about the childlike ‘I’d do her!’ comment from the prepubescent jock, I mean the conversations that happen between like minded, early thirty somethings that have slayed their man mountain ego through their twenties and have come out the other side as a gent.
I thought I’d take this opportunity to give you a heads up, I’m not taking sides, I’m not selling out, just giving you something to think about.

We’re not as shallow as you think we are. Bold statement, I know. Nothing ever just comes down to looks. Yes, the way you look will always be our first impression, but if we’ve made that effort to open a conversation with you, that means we want to know who you are. Please don’t ever think that the way you look on that particular evening holds precedence over confidence and the ability to hold a good conversation. It’s always nice to have someone attractive on your arm but if your social skills are as strong as a chocolate teapot . . you’ll only ever be an attractive someone on the arm, nothing more. We want to be able to take you to a friend’s wedding and be in sound mind that if we nip to the mens room, or the bar, we don’t have to rush back to our ‘rabbit in headlights’ plus one.
If we’re dating you, amongst other things, we’re attracted to the way you look, so easy on the make up please, love. We all love a woman who takes care of her appearance, but there is a thick line between looking good, and looking like Boy George, yet you sometimes still try to cross it. Waking up next to your natural self, shows that you are confident around us, your confidence gives us confidence. . . . We want to get to know all of you, and we won’t judge. Please don’t misconstrue the point I’m trying to make, I’m not saying don’t wear any make up, as I said before, we all love a woman who takes care of her appearance. I’m saying, the less make up, the better. And don’t be coy about us seeing you without.
A high majority of us men find women that train attractive, whether you’re the woman in the gym on the cross trainer in the morning, or out pounding the pavement at night. Yes, you might be all red faced and sweaty, to us, we see the confidence, the discipline, the motivation to get up and make that personal effort to better yourself, or to keep in shape. This shows us that you are willing to go out and put effort behind making a difference, and while having that attitude with training, in most cases means that you also have that attitude with all aspects of your life. Next time he asks you to train together, run together, go to a class together, don’t over think it. Just do it. He’s not going to think about your level of fitness, whether you look red and out of breath. He just wants to share that motivation with you.
If you’re on a night out with the girls, on a work lunch, or just popping to the shops, and you see someone who interests you, don’t wait for them to come and chat you up, act on it. There’s a chance they haven’t spotted you so don’t automatically think they’re not interested. That confidence will speak volumes. We are the same as you, we all fear rejection, we all have our own insecurities, and because of this we all have missed opportunities. The fact that you have approached us is attractive in itself. The idea that a woman should never approach a man is outdated. Also, if you are approached by someone and you’re not interested, don’t be a dick about it. Just think of the courage that person has had to build just to come over and talk. Put yourself in their shoes. Being polite costs you nothing.

Above all, just be yourself. You don’t want someone to fall for the person you’re trying to be. We’re pretty simple beings, be honest, be open, and if you have any sense . . never sleep on an argument, a man full of doubts is a dangerous man.

February 1, 2015

For when the blanket of expectation falls . . .

Filed under: A Little Something — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 7:35 pm

To chase a fools gold, the myth found at the end of a rainbow, making the journey just to kick yourself as the end destination keeps moving, grasping and clasping to catch a rogue leaf in a windy city, the key is knowing when to give up. The longing for the false hope you would receive from the thing your mind laces with fortune and future, only to realise that your illusionist mind works for the enemy, and what you thought you wanted, doesn’t exist. The cloak and dagger tales that are spun for your mind, to hold them in the cobwebs that accommodate the corners, waiting to be devoured or disturbed and blown away. Sometimes we are oblivious to what’s in front of us, It can only ever be as complicated as you make it, and by all standards, it seems that complicated is key. To know that you want what you can’t have is a step towards affliction, a step towards addiction, but a huge stride to a solution, lacing up and stepping out in a different direction than before, a strange but true horizon, an unfamiliar future, but a future none the less. Let those cobwebs be blown away by the refreshing breeze of a better day, a realistic sunrise, turn so the history of shadows surrender and lay down at your heels, bask in the knowledge that what’s in front of you will only ever guide you, take my hand, tomorrow will be successful, the day will guide and never dictate, to pull on the corners of this existence together and wrap it around us like a magicians trick, for when the blanket of expectation falls to the floor, we will have left it all behind, only to return when we choose.

June 29, 2014

We Will Never Change

Filed under: A Little Something — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 2:29 pm

Do I help you pass the time,
and fill the gaps you made,
extinguish the loneliness,
help build a bridge a day.
We will never change.
My insecurities believe,
I’m only a passing whim,
distracting your mind,
just while you wait for the next best thing.

Lying, and crying,
you will never change,
bad nights, and fights,
I will never change,
my fears, and your tears,
It will never change,
we will never change.

A huge space to fill,
becoming like a stone in my shoe,
the bad things we put each other through,
we could both name a few.
We will never change.
Treading on eggshells,
when seen together,
you shrug and smile,
I’m at the end of my tether.

Lying, and crying,
you will never change,
bad nights, and fights,
I will never change,
my fears, and your tears,
It will never change,
we will never change.

You need more of me,
I think of you less,
a corner is turned,
we’re rolling down from the crest.
We will never change.
Back to square one,
We’ve been here before,
we break up, then make up,
but we know what’s in store.
We will never change.

You will never change,
and I will never change.

December 12, 2013

Mirage

Filed under: Just a Thought — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 3:55 pm

It may have been your father who stole the stars for your eyes but it was me that caused you to lose them, the diamond sparkles sunken and lost for now. I’ve become a master illusionist by accident, hiding the good to cause panic and turmoil without reason. The gentle breeze becomes the blizzard, swirling out of control, disobedient emotions crash and burn surroundings to set for a new dawn. Concrete insoles in a vast desert, eyes on the prize in the horizon that could merely be a mirage. Heavy feet mirroring my heart, with each new step the sand of my past swallows up my footprints. No turning back for I would truly get lost. Like an old tape deck, no chance to rewind. My hands are the only shade for my eyes, to remove the sun’s glare and maybe hide the truth. The ache of realisation, to know that things aren’t what they seem, the plan unravelling into nothing right before your eyes. They say ‘its not about the problem, it’s how you deal with it that counts’. To experience, touch, and hold such beauty will make you chase, but a mirage is still a mirage. So breathe, rest those weary bones, but be prepared as we have some walking to do.

June 16, 2013

A fathers decision

Filed under: A Little Something — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 2:12 pm

He sat, he thought, he reminisced. If he could live it again, he would change every day, every sunset he missed, every breath. It was days such as today, fathers day, that stopped him in his tracks so he could be reminded of the bad things he had done, the bad things he had spent years trying to correct but had failed so far. He was sure it was never meant to end out this way, the fairy tale lives in stories you heard as a child, they were so easy, uncomplicated. no one ever told you that these stories could never be a reality, The decisions he had made, the paths he had taken, they had led him to this moment, on his own, in someone else’s home, where no one knew his name.
He stared at a father’s day card on the mantelpiece, it held him in a trance. The names meant nothing but the card held other life choices, what could have been, he wondered if his children thought of him, remembered his name. He knew he was a disappointment to many, he never wanted to stop trying to change their view. Etched into his mind were the last moments he shared with his family, his wife, his toddler son and daughter. The last time he heard her voice, the words that crossed her lips, “It’s not fair on the children to see their father like this”. Prison has a way of separating families.
It has been twenty years since he had seen his family, since he had been a father. Twenty years since he had received a card containing the word dad. He knew that the decisions he had made where the reason his children didn’t know their father, but what they didn’t know was that the decisions he had made were for them, to give them a better life, a better future but his decisions had backfired.
He picked the card up to take a closer look, blue crayon scribbles containing the words ‘love’ and ‘dad’ from a child named Tom. The scribbles he longed for, something so simple that means so much. A part of his life he always missed, someone to look up to him, some ones hero. He held the card to his chest for a moment knowing that he will only ever be some ones criminal, or some ones past. That moment, he wished he could change everything but he knew he never would.
He slipped the card into the bag of all the other goods he had taken from this house, he took another quick look around for anything else he could sell before he headed out through the back door, the door he had broken. He always wanted to be remembered or recognised by loved ones, but the decisions he had made meant that couldn’t happen.

Create a free website or blog at WordPress.com.