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.

More Songs About The Smoker

I went for a walk down the Lagan Meadows hoping I might find a fiver or a tenner lying around. Why is it that I always find some shit like a letter to an ex-girlfriend or some motivational shit someone's written to convince themselves not to top themselves but no one ever drops a nice fiver or a tenner for poor old Tuesday Kid no fucking way.

I came across Panther Man sitting scabbing some drink off The Indie Kid and telling him all these platitudes. It nice the two of them can hook up and bore the shite out of each other from time to time.

When he saw me the first thing he said was; "Have you ever dreamed about wolves Tuesday Kid?"

"I don't remember much about my dreams," I shrugged.

He gave The Indie Kid a look and said "you see?"

The Indie Kid wrote something down in a wee shitty moleskin jotter on his leg.

"What the fuck are you writing about me?" I asked and took the book from him.

The Smoker never dreams
even though he falls asleep
he cannot see the wolves
even in his dreams.

"So those smoker songs are about me?"

The Indie Kid started to blush. I thought now was a good time to scab a tenner off him but he said they'd spent their last money on alcohol for inspiration for songs.

There wasn't enough in the bottle to get me drunk so I wandered home skint and sober.