RIP Dominic Raoul Lucas

In memoriam immortal of MSN, and the genre of ‘adult alternative rock’ with quarter speed scrubbing and Dave Matthews ‘Crash into me’, the best album ever*. *Alongside the rise and fall of Ziggy, and other great albums.

I would like to share some words of a dear friend, and my response, some  six years late, to them. Before I continue, I should put a trigger warning for depression, suicide, and caring for those who are depressive and/or suicidal.

The person in question is Dom  Lucas, someone I liked greatly from when I met him in my first philosophy class in 6th form. It was apparent at his funeral, that a deep and lasting impression was a response he often evoked, even in those who had counted him only as an acquaintance. Continue reading

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Heavy today, better tomorrow

The world’s crushing in through the screen that I stare at,

my thoughts drain through my eyes slurping out a vacuum,

they leave some stagnant mush where my brain’s supposed to be,

and it fills with the weight of the world’s misery…

channelled through the internet, where what you think  is what you get;

if trouble comes along,  cropping up close to you

you find it echoed, repeated and magnified,  clogging up the view.

I left. To get some air

to let my brain try to care

now it feels it and my tears flow

tho being sad’s pretty pointless, yeh I do know.

I should crack on it’d be more productive

might do my jobs better if I stick to the positive

but while life can be joy it is also bitter

and I feel it slipping by, each day goes quicker

it’s passing me by when I feel like a stone

grey, impervious, surrounded yet alone

then I get words so heavy they choke me

when I feel broken words hover and crush me

words getting stuck where pure meaning flows

they’re the flotsam and the ripples in the river hard to capture

when you think you got them down, the meaning’s seeped away

the heaviness is gone to emerge another day.

well the world’s fucked now, but it’s always been screwed

since adam and eve there’s no time it’s improved

the best there’s ever been is slots of opportunity

and places and times to exist with impunity.

Optimism? Pessimism? I’ll stick with realism,

you just gotta do what you can.

And I need to draw my community around me,

surround me with bonds that make it feel more livable

survivable. We can make it through, we can stay true.

At least we know we care, that we give a shit.

And shit can help stuff grow, if you let it so.

So let’s chill in these cracks, gently push them open

’til everyone can see them, the signs of decay.

Yeah they might put concrete over, but we won’t go way,

the seeds are everywhere, and the concrete shows they’re scared.

When they are gone, we will push through

when they are gone, we will grow anew.

Ever present are living spirits and the struggle of life is beautiful

though hierarchies can give distance, to develop isms that let us demonise.

with empathy we can develop our power to realise we can rehumanise,

and then we’re ready to organise, to link up and  revitalise,

so freshen up what you see  through your eyes,  and spread that feeling til we recognise

that its this society that distorts us and we gotta make it better til we’re free.

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I wrote this over a few weeks. Starting when I’d been on a computer, drawn into the dark places of the internet, feeling down about the kids I work with who are too anxious, for good reasons, like family members  in prison, to go to sleep at night, and then I went out and sat by the canal, and got words out into my notebook, and cried. I carried on working through the words, talking through it as I cycled home from parties where I’d felt my community around me. I was stuck on the ending though, until I came to it refreshed from Nest, [the first official regional burn in the UK]. I’ve come back with a hugely increased self-esteem, and comfort around myself, from my contribution to the event being appreciated so openly and reflected right back at me. My thoughts, writing and creativity are all flowing, after being blocked for  a long time.