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We'll Probably Be Fine

by On a Hiding To Nothing

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1.
Sack It Off 02:52
good performances begin with being freshly rehearsed so i'm not keen on having drinks without having a few drinks first. a couple nearby, like a stretch, just to warm up the system. or maybe three then, but start to get comfortable and a bit pissed and... inertia interferes, inclination disappears. doubt anyone there will notice or care. fuck it, let's just stay here. said we'd go, might be a laugh, but doesn't take long for the ordeal of getting up of my arse to start losing its appeal. distance times effort required over current levels of sedation. and double it all cos i'm tired: the can-i-be-fucked equation. inertia interferes, inclination disappears. doubt anyone there will notice or care. fuck it, let's just stay here. think i'd be bored if this was all there was, if we didn't have some better place to be, but somehow sacking off plans to do fuck all always sounds like a solid plan to me. i'm not sure why, there's just something about having opportunity to decline. saying that i'll go and then flaking out, a last-minute change of mind, switch from stella to wine, maybe head back to mine, like i could do anytime. inertia interferes, inclination disappears. doubt anyone there will notice or care. fuck it, let's just stay here.
2.
Dave 03:04
dave works a job he hates, has no real plans for an escape out of lower middle management monotony beyond weekly betting slips, an acca and two lucky dips, knows he's in his socially-disadvantaged tax bracket terminally, whinging about what britain's become but somehow always fine with how it's run. down the polling station joined-up thought, self-preservation and logic all stop. like a battered wife, just has to give them one more go, feels safer with self-serving old money calling the shots. so that's what we've got. our dave loves to berate public services: 'have you seen the fucking state those schools and hospitals and roads are in?'. knows first-hand how fucked things are but blames foreigners, not spending cuts by rich old cunts who, when they need a few quid, gladly put the squeeze on him as their family coffers get fat via questionable defence contracts and a little electoral fraud to help prevent an office that might not consent to leave any convenient loopholes in corporation tax. down the polling station joined-up thought, self-preservation and logic all stop. like a battered wife, just has to give them one more go, feels safer with self-serving old money calling the shots.so that's what we've got. he's all loyalty and not mistrust, aspiring reverence and not disgust. arsefucked at every opportunity, backs the same horse unswervingly, just another happy turkey voting for christmas.
3.
ever kind of get the feeling we're all fucked? like somebody pushed a knob marked 'self destruct', with no chance for us to intervene. we just laugh with jaws dangling slack and gawp at our protracted collapse beamed in 4K onto a screen. so settle down, we've so much misery to view. all the worst and most evil and stupidest stuff that we humans love to do cos economically we're queuing up in the poverty line, (can you spare a dime?) and yes, we've made a fucking mess of the sea and the air's fucked and filthy and everything's dying and you've gotta keep an eye out with I.S. just about to kill you all the time, assuming that the cancer doesn't get you first. try not to worry though, we'll probably be fine. the news mostly just makes me depressed, the flatlining NHS, and the brexit IQ test we couldn't pass. flicking through to see who's blowing who to bits, donnie tweets that we need to arm the kids as 30 more get shot up in class. the world's appetite for far right politicking grows. he got the year wrong but otherwise orwell was sort of worryingly on the nose cos economically we're queuing up in the poverty line, (can you spare a dime?) and yes, we've made a fucking mess of the sea and the air's fucked and filthy and everything's dying and you've gotta keep an eye out with I.S. just about to kill you all the time, assuming that the cancer doesn't get you first. try not to worry though, we'll probably be okay what shall we get upset by today? the middle east, or southern trains, or the west bank? hard not to get numb to the horrors when each time you blink there's another ten, and you've only so much despair in the tank. cut to the news - anchor stares through his autocue display. "...400 dead and rising" he smiles, signing off with "now you have a lovely day" cos economically we're queuing up in the poverty line, (can you spare a dime?) and yes, we've made a fucking mess of the sea and the air's fucked and filthy and everything's dying and you've gotta keep an eye out with I.S. just about to kill you all the time, assuming that the cancer doesn't get you first. try not to worry though, we'll probably be fine.
4.
No Filter 03:13
remember when it was possible to piss, moan and complain to other humans about what’s fucked you off and who’s to blame and be content, without having to sort of publicly proclaim every stupid thought the moment it formed in each stupid brain? ‘opinions and arseholes...’ is what those who say that sort of thing would say. just cos you’ve got one doesn’t mean you need to put it on display. put it away. cos it’s ok not sticking your big dumb oar in everything, some discussion gets on fine without a cretin weighing in with a tirade of uninformed, misspelt bullshit designed to drag every conversation back to their idiot view someone once said opinions are like arseholes, I’m inclined to agree. just cos you’ve got one doesn’t mean that anybody wants to see. and if yours is shitty, unpleasant, dripping bile all over the place, maybe have a go at not shoving it in everybody’s face. you think it’s interesting, trust me, that’s not the case. you’re just filling space with shit buzzwords and dumb clichés and each point you raise in pointless, typo-strewn essays. dive in, there’s no need to read what’s already been said. blurt your braindead knee-jerks as they pop into your head. scroll up, your point’s there, made and destroyed six times before. but it’s fine, the real point’s showing off the contents of that empty skull of yours.
5.
Sunday 02:04
cheer up you mopey fuck, i know you've got your problems, but no need to think of them today. so no dwelling on relationships you let come undone, how you had life figured out, then fucked it all away and how you're probably gonna wind up alone, poor, sad, old and grey, cos look! the sun's out so now all of that's ok for today. cos it's sunny, so forget about how old you're getting, and don't think about how little you've achieved, or the crushing weight of time relentlessly dragging you further from who and where and what you hoped you'd be, and don't think about the soulless career that consumes your days to fund the mortgage you'll never hope to repay, or the wasted chances and poor life choices your mind loves to replay. surely a bit of blue sky makes that go away? you're not sleeping, your roof is leaking, your geriatric spine is creaking, your body, home and life in disarray, the insufficient funds in your account and that suspicious lump you found, doesn't a burning ball of gas make it ok, for now anyway?
6.
Enough Rope 01:22
curious feature humans have got - gather enough idiots in one spot, they'll talk to one another and convince each other that lies they like are true and facts they don't are not. and the wonders of technology mean millions of like-minded fools can gather easily and maximise the spread of proven lies so we can all read them and nod and agree: fuck proof, decades of empirical evidence, fuck science, truth and history, logic and common sense, so-called experts, who gives a fuck about facts? you want your kids to die, that's fine with me. who cares? i'm anti-anti vax. cos there's a reasonable probability you're gonna impart your stupidity and push all your perverse medical flat-earth views into the heads of your unlucky progeny, so would it really be the worst turn of events if they're offed by what you refuse to protect them against? the world gets a bit less stupid and subtracts new recruits from your anti-sicence cult. fuck you. i'm anti-anti vax.
7.
do you get a warm self-satisfied glow inside of you from the sense of awkwardness that you inflict? does the way you make everyone on the high street uncomfortable make you feel like you're really doing your bit? cos in your own words you're a 'crazy and outgoing people person', of friendly banter a never-ending source, so you're a perfect fit to help the kids for £5.50 an hour to help support you through your BTEC drama course. don't bother opening your trap, cos i don't have a minute or want a chat. i'm busy not hearing you speak, or avoiding your eye, or just crossing the street. you're the master of the loud awkward unwanted chat, embarassment and harrassment your stock in trade. but no matter how much you think otherwise, no one on the high street actually wants to talk to you i'm afraid haven't you ever wondered why passers-by won't make eye contact and veer as widely around you as they do, make sure your eyes never meet, stare at their feet, or just try to be on the opposite side of the street from you? don't bother opening your trap, cos i don't have a minute or want a chat. i'm busy not hearing you speak, or avoiding your eye, or just crossing the street. you're not sure why everyone shrugs off your offers of free hugs, everybody's got an excuse (i'm on lunch mate, no can do). the moment their eyes hit your shit-eating grin and clipboard they can't stop staring at their shoes. don't bother opening your trap, cos i don't have a minute or want a chat. i'm busy not hearing you speak, or avoiding your eye, or just crossing the street.
8.
Stella 03:06
love to wake up to a slur-y call at quarter to five. she’s taken time out her busy drinking schedule just to let me know she’s still alive, and that the moment she figures out where she is she’s definitely coming home, assuming of course she’s managed not to lose her wallet, keys, mind, and phone. I like the way she doesn’t care her stella-and-puke perfume reeks, just staggers straight up the stairs to bed to collapse and pass out on my clean sheets. she can hardly stand, beer still in her hand, she won’t see alcohol going to waste. her vision blurs, she swears, spits, staggers, vomits and slurs. you just can’t quench her thirst, she’s ace at getting off her face. and later when she cracks open those bloodshot eyes and the last of last night’s evils and stomach lining have been exorcised, she’s still wearing the clothes she slept in, not washing or eating yet, but already reaching for the gin, a mirror, razor, and a cigarette. and I like to ask her all about what fun she had the night before but the blackouts and periods of unconsciousness mean she’s never really sure. she can hardly stand, beer still in her hand, she won’t see alcohol going to waste. her vision blurs, she swears, spits, staggers, vomits and slurs. you just can’t quench her thirst, she’s ace at getting off her face. trust me, she’s not taking advantage, we’re just both happiest when she’s having fun, and it makes me feel needed when I’m being taken for granted, so if she needs a 3am ride it’s a privilege to give her one. and her heartbeat races when I place my head upon her chest, although that could just be all the methamphetamine I guess, but she’ll always be the one, it’s not just my wallet she stole, and I’ll always be there to hold her hair and keep it out the toilet bowl. she can hardly stand, beer still in her hand, she won’t see alcohol going to waste. her vision blurs, she swears, spits, staggers, vomits and slurs. you just can’t quench her thirst, she’s ace at getting off her face.
9.
Slack 03:39
it's tiring having reasons to get out of bed. my affairs are best conducted with a duvet overhead but all these deadlines and unwanted commitments keep on getting in the way of my aim of an aimless existence. i know i'm a fucking bore but i can't really think of much that actually seems worth getting up for. i'm trying to sleep so try to keep it down when you're moaning that sleeping more's not an ambition and life's passing me by, i won't listen cos i don't really feel i'm missing out on anything. i lurk behind closed curtains, an agoraphobic vampire, i find the plasma screen provides all the daylight i require. i do plan do go out sometimes but always without success. seems i can't escape the clutches of my velcro couch or this sticky mattress. i'm a fucking bore, i know. all my get-up-and-go got up and left years ago and these square eyes aren't comfy focusing on anything further away than my tv i'm trying to sleep so try to keep it down when you're moaning that sleeping more's not an ambition and life's passing me by, i won't listen cos i don't really feel i'm missing out on anything. not been outside for weeks it helps maintain this pasty complexion. don't reckon the sun's much more than an annoying screen reflection. apparently there's a whole world out there that i'm missing out on. i'd go and see if doing nothing didn't take so fucking long.
10.
Time Thief 03:33
terminal procrastinator seeking lazy companion with nothing better to do than fuck about and piss some years away til you get bored of me or i get bored of you. you're probably gonna need to be ok with taking a shitload less than you give, cos you need someone to clean up after and i need someone to watch tv with. so if you find you've got a decade going spare and you're cool with never doing stuff or going anywhere then i'll help you wake up one day with your best years spent to find that you're a used-up burnt-out husk wondering where the fuck your life just went. so get in line if you're a fan of unreliability on which you can depend and like an innate inability to ever plan beyond the approaching weekend. and if my bare fucking minimum somehow doesn't wear your patience thin then rest assured that i'll always put my all into putting zero effort in. so if you find you've got a decade going spare and you're cool with never doing stuff or going anywhere then i'll help you wake up one day with your best years spent to find that you're a used-up burnt-out husk wondering where the fuck your life just went. so get comfy, pull up a glass, i'll nick 10 years off you sat on my arse. the wine, spliffs, gin and cigarettes and sleep and telly will help you forget how quickly life's deadlines are slipping and just how fast your life clock is ticking. but sedation should help you through it, there's nothing to do and forever to do it. we've got time and brain cells to kill, and so many good drinks to spill, and days and weeks and years to fill, just kind of hanging out. sitting down. standing still.
11.
R.T.S. 04:42
weekends are a bit weird these days, a clumsy solo through the keep-your-life-afloat score quite clearly composed to be performed by two. not mown the lawn in ages, that shower seal still leaks. mountains of laundry, piles of plates, can't see me getting through all that this week. conversation's quite one-sided, it turns out me and i have got fuck all interesting to talk about. don't look now but that ground you think you're standing safely on is rotting right through and falling to bits. and you're so used to it being there you let it fall into disrepair unchecked, and only noticed now that it's way too far gone to fix. finally got round to taking all your pictures down today. place looks a bit bare but feels less like somewhere something or someone passed away and kind of helps to mentally dissociate two lives tangled for so long i'm not sure they'll ever fully separate no matter how many relics i've interred. still search terms on my laptop, and name in all my passwords. and letters with it on that won't stop dropping through the flap, even though i always scrawl 'R.T.S. - not at this address' and send them back. don't look now but that ground you think you're standing safely on is rotting right through and falling to bits. and you're so used to it being there you let it fall into disrepair unchecked, and only noticed now that it's way too far gone to fix. i wonder how much of yourself erodes, what proportion gets spent. does each successive sucker only get about 90% of what you were offering up the time before? the other 10 lost to sorry and guilt and making fucking sure you don't drag you or anyone else here again, fine-tuning your ejector seat to stop being up at 3am staring at ceilings, mind never quite letting go, wondering if you did the right thing, and all you could, and how you'll never fucking know. don't look now but that ground you think you're standing safely on is rotting right through and falling to bits. and you're so used to it being there you let it fall into disrepair unchecked, and only noticed now that it's way too far gone to fix.
12.
Last Train 04:18
as she quickly raced slap a bit of make-up on her face, dawn reflected on how it looked like being one of those days. she sprinted to the station in time to watch her train pull away and see that the next one was cancelled, the two after that delayed. the one she got was heaving, boiling, bodies packed in every space, she spent half an hour with someone's sweaty armpit in her face. the croydon facelift jammed against her pulled her mobile out, that's when our protagonist felt the red mist start to descend. she tried to block it out but that voice was so loud, 'what sharon said to tracy' making her head pound, her knuckles whitened, her jaw clenched tight and her last shred of patience died, and something went snap inside. now she's making a mess, busting caps, chopping off heads til just a stack of body parts remains, thinking 'lucky i came here to die cos this was my best shirt that i've now soaked with blood and brains and that stuff really stains'. dawn couldn't quite remember what first drove her to replace the pens and paper and laptop in her briefcase with the machete and uzi she used to let years of anger out for every injustice she faced and did nothing about - every prick who elbowed their way through her to take a seat she was on her way to, the fucks with their feet up and bags taking seats up. her 12-inch blade made sure they won't do that anymore. now she's making a mess, busting caps, chopping off heads til just a stack of body parts remains, thinking 'lucky i came here to die cos this was my best shirt that i've now soaked with blood and brains and that stuff really stains'. she'd done it a thousand times already in her head so was calm repainting her carriage a fetching shade of red and when the last screams died she turned her gun around and then said 'ahh' and made sure she'd never have to get the train to work again.

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released February 8, 2021

Recorded, mixed, and mastered by Rob Quickenden at Ford Lane Studios (www.fordlane.com)

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