‘Dreams. When I was a child, they were all I had. I dreamt of beauty. Of one day waking up to perfection. I dreamt of love. To love and to be loved. I dreamt of Fame. Where the Men wanted to be me, and the Women wanted to be with me. But most of all I dreamt of life. To live, and even in death, never die.’
Don't worry, I promise not to blog about anything too heavy (I've got a bad back, it hurts when I pick it up), the above piece of writing is actually the first paragraph of a story I started to write when I was 18, which in a few months will be three years ago. I’m not a fan of blogging, I’m not that kind of ‘let your emotions out with words & let everyone else see them’ type of guy. I’m more of a ‘let your emotions out with words’ guy. However, I thought it would be rude, not even to say why I am here & how I got here. Answer- Jonathan Gordge. I heard he is a bit of a keen blogger & while reading his works the other night, I came across a piece where he talks about throwing his lyrics away because he has become a better song writer & no longer in that place. I can relate to that. I’m no longer in that same place when I started to write that story. I’ve been writing lyrics, scripts & poetry since I could put a pen to paper. These writings come & go. I remember when my old PC stopped working and about 200 pieces of writings just gone forever. But this story is different, its not an 8 year old kid writing about the girl in the year above who he fancies. Its not a 13 year old trying to be Mike Skinner & make up the longest rhyme ever about how he felt when his Nan died. It is not close to the young man who at 17 wrote a piece of pure genius about the girl he naively wanted & made himself believe he fancied. This was an 18 year old, who from the age of 8 was the ‘man of the house’. The guy for 10 years who had pretty much done what ever he wanted when he wanted. The guy who thought he had figured life out & was a fully fledged adult, with opinions & knowledge to fight any other person in the world. Also a guy, who didn’t really appreciate anyone else’s feelings, as long as he had a solution for them in his mind. This was James Gunn whatever you deemed him to be, & that is not for me to say what the people thought of him. But this guy who started to write this story, was the one who I remember driving home from Morrison’s one day, and just start crying. (Its always been my downfall switching from writing in first person to third person & I just don‘t know when to stop).
The story is written in first person, & the few people I have shown it to have given me ratings on it, and I made sure not to give it to people who would pay to lick my ass. They also were worried, and almost all of them asked me if it was a true story & if it was about me. I replied ‘no’, which was 100% the truth. However, it is about me, in another life. It is basically what at the time, I felt could happen, if I didn’t fix the fuck up. Now of course, it is a story, and imagination got the best of me at points and some bits do sound far fetched. It is written as a life story in stages of importance as I go around being an absolute loser, but still pitying everyone else but myself. The story evolves as I give it the big talk as I usually do, about what I am going to be & what I am going to achieve in life, but not really realising LIFE is still going on around me, and I am living it. In the real 2009, I believe, although I do still go on about what I am going to achieve, I have actually gone about working towards that goal, not just jabbering on about it. I was once ignorant about myself, but I was then and still am very socially aware of what people say & do, whether it be to my face or behind my back. The ’Gunn should get a job/is a bum etc’ jibes will always exist, till I prove my doubters wrong. I’ve got notes all around my computer of all the uncompleted chapters, etc., but I just can’t complete it. In the last 3 months I’ve gone back to it, looked, and just had a complete mind blank. I remember when I was typing the first time around, it was so fluent that I wasn’t even thinking what I was writing.
Anyway, I’d like to think that I won’t become that guy in the story. Although I look back at it & think ‘what the fuck is that about’, I also see that in the writing there was a fight back. In one chapter, ‘I’ do fight out of the hole I’ve made for myself & get a job & girlfriend, although in the story I do go on to decline once again. That’s the point in the story I like to think, myself then, was obviously thinking there will be one shot, to snap out of this world, and in real life I took it in the story I never.
Between the ages of 15-17, I thought I was the main man. Probably because I was. But always at somebody else’s expense. The joke always went a little too far, to the point where I made even my audience feel uncomfortable. I could make excuses & say, I was picked on at the start of year 7, and when I fought back it stopped, so I had to carry on the façade. However I said I was always & am always aware of what peoples are saying & feeling. I have also always known the difference between right & wrong. So I would of known how my ‘victim’ would have been feeling & I would of still continued. I’ve kept going on with shit jokes at peoples expenses until very recently. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mean with your mates all taking the Mick out of each other. However I do mean, when we are all taking the Mick out of each other, and I realise I’ve gained the upper hand, I keep going, for that one extra laugh that will make myself feel good. There is no boundaries to my comedy, but there is now boundaries to my ability to absolute humiliate someone to the point of making myself upset for them. I’d also like to point out, this hasn’t be a conscious decision, only writing now, have I realised that I have started to do certain things, and have stopped doing certain things. I am not, by no means the worst culprit of the art of piss taking, god knows some of my friends will rot in hell for the way they treated certain people at school, and no doubt I’ll be there to laugh with them taking the piss out of the devil.
I don’t know if I read too much into this last paragraph, that is written from the story, but at this point in time I can’t think of anything to add to it, but you have a read for yourself.
“Its scAry. Scary to think. Your born as someone’s child, someone’s everything. And u grow. You live. You touch other peoples lives and people touch yours. And each day you live, you grow, and your story grows. You and other people write a story together. Your brain and your heart our indented with the illustrations. Each day you live is another line another chapter, you may not remember every single line of the story, but somewhere someone else will. That girl you helped, when she dropped her shopping. The same day her husband left her, and she used her last £5 to get her kids some dinner. That time you were in the pub talking to a suicidal drunk, and told him that his shit job was brilliant, and you told him that everything was going to be alright. You don’t remember smiling at someone who was having a bad day. Because you didn’t know. You don't remember when you cracked a joke and it was over heard by passers by. And that made there day. They told the joke to there loved ones when they got home. And though they don’t know you they pass on your actions which then affects someone else’s life. You unintentionally made people smile. Then one day. At one time. Your story ends. Your story writes the last word for its self. You cannot write the last word of your story. Its written by somebody else. Maybe God. Maybe Not. I just hope when my time comes. The story isn't forgotten. I hope that someone, somewhere remembers a time, when I was part of their story too.”
Reading this back, I agree with it, I agree that people have been in my life, who have written a little part of it, who probably don’t even remember me. I go back to when I was 15-17 & I thought I was THE MAN. I used to lie a lot, but I was so good at lying, in my head it became the truth, on numerous occasions, to numerous girls, I lied. I told them some of the worst lies you can tell. As James Gunn, I have always relied on being liked, I like being liked, but only if I’m liked for being myself. I told these girls, they were beautiful, that I fancied them, that if we did stuff I would go out with them. The complete bullshitters that I tell my sisters to stay clear of -I once was. It’s a shame they don’t trust me enough to let me ensure they don’t get tricked by the same wankers. These people, and they are not just male, repulse me. I hate liars. I hate people who lead people on, and astray. I done that to many girls, back in the day, but one imparticular will always be on my back. Her mates, and even there new mates, tarnish me with the tag that I used to walk around with. She has only after about three years accepted my friend request on facebook & that was after me getting another mate of hers to persuade her. I ignore every trace of what once was & pretty much just talk to her like I have just met her. Which is weak on my part. She has moved on though, and looks extremely happy, so why should I kill her mood by bringing her back to the past to make myself better? I won’t.
Everyone has moved on from these days, apart from me. Another girl, who I treated like an absolute mug, was one of the nicest girls ever to me. I fell out with her because, she fell out with some of my best mates, and I decided to take sides. I remember I used to get texts from my mates who went to her school, saying why is ‘bla bla’ saying they are meeting up with you & going to your house. And I used to say SHE was lying. Imagine, the humiliation that caused her, when her peers thought she was lying. What loser would lie about something like that, but people trusted me, they trusted my word over hers, and forever, until I can prove otherwise (which I hope I have) my word means nothing. If there is one thing I do believe in more than anything in the world, that is love. To think that I used to take advantage of feelings, and worm my way into a situation that would make me ‘look cool’ would allow me to boast, when the time came, etc etc, is just unforgivable. Yeah, people can say, boys will be boys, but I have always considered myself a man.
I’ve always relied on, being the one who is carefree, never takes anything too seriously. Between the ages of eighteen and nineteen, which are meant to be some of your best years ever. Were my worst. My 19th birthday, I was in L.N.E.R. getting absolutely wankered, with no-1 in there apart from my brother, and 2 of his mates, who were hardly drinking. I was ordering shots like I was at a party, Gary the barman, giving me free drinks because it was my birthday. Me making excuses of what I was doing down a football clubs bar with no friends. I think I got to this situation, because I was taking things too seriously. I started not to become carefree, I started to care. I started thinking about life, far too much. Just like the story. Thinking too much about what I wanted, instead of going out and getting it. I always wanted to leave school, I hated the way teachers spoke to you, and disrespected you. But when I left, I had nothing. I lost my regular audience. That was 8.45-3.10 Monday -Friday. For years I bunked & cursed school. But now I would do anything to go back. I also thought about death. I’m not scared to die, I’m scared not to live. That’s why in the story I wrote ‘live & in death never die’. Like Elvis. During my time, that I was feeling like that, I found a quote, ‘Sad are those who truly understand’. I still say this quote. Because it was how I felt, I felt I knew everything about life, about how you can be the happiest you have ever been, but always know, that without fail, sadness is coming, because, death is always coming. I felt people were so ignorant to the fact, that life is so short, and one day you are going to have bury a family member, or a friend. That day, could be today. Just think of what people say, when they think of the ultimate sadness, it’s a death of a family member, every time. It’s the saddest fact of life, yet people decide to ignore it, like its not going to happen. When people get cancer, everyone all of a sudden, realises that they are going to die. I believed Life was a cancer, just you might have longer to live. I can now see, I was thinking, what is the point of being happy, if one day it is going to be destroyed by sadness?
Reading what I am writing now, it seems a bit stupid, because I’ve always been a believer in, ‘grow some balls & man up’. If you’re an alcoholic stop drinking. If you want to stop smoking don’t put a cigarette in your mouth. I always thought that. I never do now. In the days when I just completely fucked myself up I was gambling like a mad man, I still do. Shamefully I’ve stolen copious amounts of money this year & wasted it down the bookies. Never again. Because these aren’t bad times, these are good times, I’m stepping my game up. And the fact my greatest hour came, in my worst time, shows that in my good times, I should only be capable of better. To keep it short & sweet in 2007 there was a holiday, on this holiday an incident occurred, and through all of the ‘Gunn get a job’ rants & ‘so immature’ jibes, it was Gunn, who stepped up to the plate, and dealt with a situation. This year infact a good friend of mine came up-to me after not seeing me for a long while, shook my hand, gave me a kiss on the cheek & said ‘I was thinking the other day, you were the only one on that holiday who stepped up like a man’. Nice words from a great guy.
Because I’m James Gunn, its funny, when I say something out of the ordinary, that isn’t sarcastic, or witty, …is that irony ? People, not mentioning any names, will always come up to me, and tell me there problems & ask for tips from the wise old owl. Even my mum does that, asks me what she should do about my brother or sisters problem. I wonder who she goes to, to see what she can do about me ??
I solved my problem by myself.. with a little help from my friends of course.
Some of my best times, have been with my friends from Joan Of Arc a’la GLC & chums. My fondest memories are from Woodlands. Which leads me to say, there is no doubt in my mind, that my reunion with them in 2008, saved my life. Malia saved my life. I don’t mean in the sense I would of killed my self, (I’m too much of a wimp), just that at this point I started to gain control of the spiral. Its not a slight on my other friends, I love them with all my heart, but seeing the JOA lot again was like starting a new school, and school was when I was at my best , and when you start a new school, no-1 is impressed with a bum who cares about everything and wants to debate death all the time. They want someone who throws house parties with loads of girls, and brings new words like ‘steaming’ & ‘steam pass’ to the table. At least when we sit in Harrow moons or Gordgeys burnt down flat, I know that when the blows start flying at me, they’re going to be cussing the real me, not some delinquent who missed messing about at school too much so decided to sit at home on a sofa for 3 years and drink cider like a tramp. Yes I wrote half a novel, but it has nothing on sitting in the pub, watching Rocco Nisco dance around with his fat belly out, Mark Rushton sitting in the corner on his own shouting ‘steaming’, Shea Linnane pretending to be Irish, or the rest of sitting there making hypothetical stories up about two men who found a winning lottery ticket down the side of a old sofa in the street, but decided they needed a sofa for their flat so left the ticket & took the sofa. Got home to find there was no butter left, so decided to melt down some yellow crayons & put it in the tub. Anywhoo… I hope GLC & Douay hook up next year when we are all 21 and go on a Big holiday together. Not to Cancun though.
“Nothing i can do, is ever good enough. Waking up, i wake up on the wrong side of the bed, but no-one ever says one side of my bed is pushed up against the wall.I never smile. Only the crazy sit there smiling. But, i do feel. And with feeling you hurt and you hate. And i have done both of these things. If i can take anything with me, to where im going, its that ive loved. And because ive loved, i hope and maybe deep inside i know, ive been loved. And Because Ive loved life, i'll have no sorrow in dying. I once said that you can't write the last words of your story. I know now that you can. This way. This sad sad way. For me? The only way.”
I also wrote the last paragraph of the story. There is only one more line in this paragraph. You can read it when it reaches all good book stores. Hopefully I will never be in ‘that place’ to be able to finish it though.
I don’t really know why I started typing, I think it was because today my mum was moaning about something that wasn’t really important at all, and my reply to her was ‘mum, its not important, one day ether you or me are going to die, so while we’re living shut your trap, & stop moaning about the most stupid things ever’. She never said anything. I was happy.
The End.
Ps: ‘Dont Fear the Reefa’ nuff said.
