Last Night in Frome

All things must pass. Frome is a lovely market town. Fairly priced property. Independent retail outlets, laundrette, garages everything you could need. Low crime rate, safe streets. When I landed in a blur of chaos from another psychotic collapse I was welcomed. The Jesus tail of small town curiosity at new faces welcomed in. Within a week they're crucifying him. I leave, slinking an escape, unpopular, an outsider, but alive. Good times and bad. My girlfreind I moved to be with visitted my father but once, twelve years of regular visits to her parents. I grew up in a dirty house, broken windows, electric regularly off through none paid bills. Richards parents house was the only equal in filth, other than squats, I have come across. Despite the surface grime, Richards parents were intellectuals. My father, though from real poverty, kept a house where fools were not suffered gladly. Intelligence and thought, reflection and never accepting consensus views, always to question authority. These values my home shared with Richards. Meeting approved societal respectability. A consious sideways look and comparrison to ensure one was appropriate were the new values I found. In truth, despite his coming from real poverty, my father got a grammar school place, embraced conservative values, made it to the suburbs and married a middle class woman. His reward for achievement, escape from roots, was the fickle hand of cancer and his wife's death. Until nine my life was idyllic. Parents never fought, we were loved, cleaned, fed well. After chance took my mother my father, seperated from his tribe, no old freinds to support his tragic loss, took to alcohol. Our house never cleaned again. I felt shame being the dirty one. Mrs Wrights history lesson, last lesson on Friday, my single white shirt after five days sported black grime lines at collar and cuff. She brought me before the class, pointed out how dirty I was, held up my hands so the other children could see the dirt under my nails. She then made me sit on the floor, where dirt belonged. This episode still raises my hackles. Once outside I attacked and beat up the first kid I saw. Taken to the headmaster. Not just dirty but an animal. In time I learned to embrace these unavoidable traits. Grew my hair. Having no parents to answer to I went feral. Clearly no homework was possible without light. From being top or second in most subjects I took reverse pride in not giving a shit. Pride in being best at being worst. Enjoyed notoriety and school celebrity. Leaving early without qualifications. But I had found psychedelic transcendence. A brotherhood of like minds. But this window of colour and brightness was all too breif. Our gang seperated. I moved to Cornwall. Left Leeds for new ground. Escaped.
Again I find what began so clean turned darker, then darker, till finally, having messed up and no real social circle of support, a few individuals. Again I am escaping.