The Suicide Diaries

The Indie Kid came to my house this morning. He was lucky to catch me because I didn't have to be in until twelve. He had on his best Pete Doherty kit and an acoustic guitar by his side. He tipped his hat and said:

"Mr. Tuesday Kid, I'd sure appreciate it if you'd take my moleskin jotter and keep my dreams alive somehow."

The wee skittery notebook had "The Suicide Diaries" scrawled across the front of them in tippex.

"Are you going to top yourself?" I asked him.

"Naw, it's just poems about my life, and sure isn't life just suicide in slow motion?"

"Not really, no, why are you giving them to me?"

"I have to go back to live on my dad's farm now Uni of over, and I always thought there'd be some wee lassie I could give my poems to and say there's one in there about you but thon never happened and so I have to go back to milking coos and all that shite. Wee ladies down round Banbridge aren't really into poetry."

"What do they like?"

"Fighting and calling folk cunts," he said. By the look of him I'd say he isn't too hopeful about his ability to do either.

"I'll keep your songs alive," I said. "When I'm drunk down by the Lagan I'll sing them to the wind."

He pulled this face like I'd just said something wanky but I only did it to give him an indie kid moment. He sauntered off with a tip of the hat whistling an old Libertines tune.

I flicked through "The Suicide Diaries" there's not one thing I like, even all the stuff about the smoker. I'll put a few of them down here from time to time, but I haven't picked out which one makes me laugh the most yet.

Sometimes I Stumble and Fall

I was sitting in Charlie's Coffee shop on Bradbury Place when Rock and Roll Stephen walked in. He was with some Rock and Roll girl so when I tried to say hi he blanked me.

I sat sipping my coffee and trying to think about what to do for the day but I couldn't help but over hear them.

"I was cool at school, but no one ever gave me credit for it," the girl who looked to be in her twenties was saying. "I was listening to the Libertines before anyone else."

Rock and Roll Stephen just sat pulling a pose that made him look deep and unconcerned.

"Then they all started listening to them but I'd moved on to other cooler bands," she said, with this big smile like she was finally getting validation.

Rock and Roll Stephen turned to look at her. Then he said:

"I never asked you to understand how I keep myself to myself in the crush of the crowd. But all you can say is 'Who cares? It's part of the deal'".

Then she looked at him all amazed like he'd said something so vital. They didn't really make much sense. I know they're fucking Razorlight lyrics and if she was half the musso she claimed to be she'd know that too. Rock and Roll Stephen said he wrote them and was going to put them in a poem he was writing. Then he went on about how he's a Pete Doherty type and if it wasn't for people like her then the Libertines might have given up and Pete and Carl wouldn't have saved his life.

I really wanted to interupt and tell her that I knew Rock and Roll Stephen back when he was seventeen and used to get turned away from The Venue yet and he used to go home and wank over his ma's club books and get caught and get a clash in the face and a burst mouth and say he got it from fighting with street gangs. Lying wee bastard.

I wanted to say this, but how could I? They looked so loved up and they're both wankers so at least they can be wankers at each other and not fuck up someone decent.