Harrison Abbott

Writer

[harrison-abbott]

The spray painting had zoomed up around the district in recent times. When walking around the streets or the park there was often a new sign or logo that you noticed. You didn’t know what they meant. Or who was circulating them. What they were supposed to mean, if anything. In a woody suburb you saw little sense of territory or anguish, a lack of antagonism in the environment. Perhaps these people simply enjoyed spraypainting. Who knows.

[harrison-abbott]

A jet engine screamed above the city in a long witchy call and you wondered how Edinburgh looked to the passengers up there, through those tiny windows; you pondered who they were and which nation they’d just come from. And with all of the disarray in the aerospace these days, you missed flying. There was something magical in being up in a plane above the planet.

[harrison-abbott]

The past cannot be altered. It’s already there and you can do nothing to go back and change it, now that you’re older and you see how you should have done things differently. Perhaps what’s worst about the past is that there is a wide, solid weight of it. You know it’s story. It is a huge text that you’ve gone back to countless times. And the irony of the future is that you can’t see the pages of it yet. You have no clue what will come next. And as for the present – that can sometimes help. If you’re focused on meaningful action in the present day, this can dilute your history. The past can still be excruciating to deal with. You wish you were blind to it, as you are with the future. But you can’t do anything, save live with it, with your eyes open, in the present moment, and try and work on foundations for your future. As there is little other option.

[harrison-abbott]

Celsius Stats

Britain was a-bake in a heatwave!

All kinds of alarming Celsius stats.

HOTTEST BANK HOLIDAY ON RECORD.

Warmest day in May of all recorded time.

Did you do ‘projects’ when you went to

Primary school? I remember when I was

In P7, we did a project on ‘The Rainforest’

In Brazil; and how important it was that

We take heed of global warming and

Try and cut down on pollution. So that

Areas such as the Amazon were protected.

They were necessary for human survival.

That was in 2002 when I was a boy.

I’m writing here 24 years later.

You could look at how climate rates have

Changed in 24 years, and despair.

But to put it into loftier context:

Our planet is heating at a rate which

Hasn’t been witnessed in 10 000 years.

I have a little nephew and niece.

My elder brother’s kids; and I fear for

Them. What it will be like when they’re

My age (in their 30s). If indeed there is

Still a habitable planet by then.

It’s like being on a ride for international

Suicide which you didn’t buy a ticket for.

[harrison-abbott]

Here is a novel called The Crushed Cowards. Family Drama genre. [If indeed that’s a genre …] To be frank, I almost always give my books out for free. Not in it for the money. Only if you’re interested. Thanks. Harrison.

The Crushed Cowards: Abbott, Harrison: 9798197639035: Amazon.com: Books

The Crushed Cowards: Amazon.co.uk: Abbott, Harrison: 9798197639035: Books

[harrison-abbott]

It is quite the irony to try to be a moral person in real life, whilst also being a writer of prose. Because you know that if you know that you wrote a novel without any immorality in it then it would be very dull. Fictional thrives on darkness. You’re keen to be a good guy in daily matters. If you wrote stories about good guys succeeding all of the time then they wouldn’t have much magnetism. That’s how it can seem, anyway.

[harrison-abbott]

It can be daunting to write a book knowing that only three people will read it. But you just have to keep writing anyway … because what else is the point in being alive? Literary people are highly sensitive. Prone to grey mood; prone to stormy mentalities. If you couldn’t write then it would be far worse. You’d have nothing. It’s within language that you persevere.

[harrison-abbott]

Why are handshakes with women always different than handshakes with men? Although, I am a man. So it’s likely that ladies often think that shaking hands with men is far different from those within their own sex. Or, more likely, they don’t think about it that much at all.

[harrison-abbott]

BULLIES

Many of the bullies are dead these days.

Or if they’re still alive then they have

Self inflicted health issues, without an

Audience to laugh for them anymore.

What’s to be done with a bully? They have

Their hyena moments and then they slink

Off when there’s no culled meat to eat,

With skinny hindlegs and twitchy tails.

Sure, they have their harsh teeth they’re

Keen on the funk of DNA, and they

Feed on the nervous blood, for fear of

Their own veins stinging inside.

The victims they once gnashed on have

All left and are in other, healthier places.

That’s all the tormentor is: they act the

Way they do to mask their insecurity.

Masked people run out of gory calories.

They enjoy the bloody spectacle of

Other people in pain, but when that dries

Up they get confused in looking for

Further energy. Their teeth go blunt and

Their legs lack muscle, because there’s

Nothing sociable left to hunt and kill.

Are bullies remembered? Yes. Probably.

There are many big bully names that

You trade in everyday life. Historical

Names that seem to be a go-to resource

For black comedy, in multimedia as

Well as civilian dialogue. But it’s better

To be recalled for being the antithesis

Of that. Whatever that might be.

[harrison-abbott]

Grief and a Grizzly Past

After a few weighted days you

Can get clogged up with sadness.

It’s the sadness that weakens the anger.

You just can’t stay angry anymore.

It is too tiring. The fury never goes

Anywhere productive.

It only makes you ill. The forlorn

Emotions are way more potent

Than the irate vibes.

You can be weak, and survive.

Can learn to cope with grief and a

Grizzly past. Or you can tap in to

The anger again, and the wrath only

Harms you like a pointless battery.

The world can be a nasty place,

And consciousness exhausting.

The sad journeys can result in

Possible wisdom. The furious

Journeys only lead to harder places.

[harrison-abbott]

Minimum Wage

Working minimum wage can be grim.

You can feel like a loser, doing low skilled,

Messy work. When many of your peers seem

To have higher situations, better status.

What was the point in going to university?

Two graduate with those two degrees that

Have never gotten you anywhere in the

Job market. And the memories roll around

Your head. Bad memorial content. Real life

Violence; the laughing; the dreaded

Twitchiness of alcohol withdrawal.

How’d you ever get to this fucked up point?

Such are the twisted notions … and, it’s hard.

But you can also try to look at the situation

In a different way. All of the colleagues like

You. They’re funny, chirpy people, and they

All appreciate you coming in. And you could

Have no job whatsoever, or any clue on how

To get one. And it’s not a tricky job. Easy stuff.

By the latter hours there’s often a sense of

Redemption, somehow. You aren’t dead yet.

And the solitude could be way worse: you could

Have a whole clique of colleagues who openly

Unappreciated you. Actually: you’ve had that

In the past and it makes for misery. When you

Punch out at night, that’s it for the period.

Nothing else to worry about. And you do the

40 minute walk back through Southern Edinburgh.

This is a fine city, and you’re proud to hail from here.

Edinburgh’s a fantastic town. And, so you have a

Simple job that doesn’t pay well. But it’s okay.

We can’t all be lion tamers. Back home, we can

Switch on the laptop, get some writing done.

This is what you’re meant to be doing.

You have your head, and words. Life can get pretty

Dark, but you can always find illumination amidst

The gloom.

[harrison-abbott]

POETRY PERFORMANCES

Have you ever tried them?

Writing poems is not that tricky

But when you’re in a room filled

With 40 people they are very

Difficult to read out.

People twitch on their backsides

As you read the lines. And

It’s hard to lift your head up to

The microphone.

Composing and performing are

Not related in any fashion.

They have no genetics.

When you’re reading a poem out

To a room full of people they

Aren’t listening to the words.

They are only wishing that this

Excruciating social spectacle

Will end as soon as possible.

[harrison-abbott]

Newcastle

II

Heading into the city centre you hear

More Arabic spoken than you do English.

Schools opening up for the day. Shops

Opening their shutters. Your first destination

Is Grainger Market. It’s just blinking

Awake when you get there, with the folks

Setting up their stalls. The wealthy greens

of the fruit and veg stalls and the violent

Reds of the local butchers; the open slabs

Of dead animal directly on display.

But this building is made fantastically,

Within the glass conical rooftop that lets

The sunlight down. A feat of architecture

You’d never be capable of.

Tobacco shops; battery shops; local ale

Shops; soccer stores with the strips when

The side were decent. [And that football

Stadium can’t be ignored with its lurking

Giant presence whence in central grounds.]

You head out the market and southward

To the river. And you pass a huge ugly building

With tabloid newspaper logos in the windows.

METRO, Chronicle, Sun; except the windows

Are boarded up with plywood. And there’s

Nobody inside the building. So, it’s a defunct

Media joint? Who knows. Whatever the case,

The building looks suspended in the early

2000s, if you were to strip away the plywood.

You get to the famous Tyne Bridge. And

It’s about as un-touristy as possible, with

Refurbishments in place. The Tyne itself is on

Full volume in witchy vomit green far underneath.

You head over that bridge and then cross east to

Go back over the railroad bridge, where you

Can pedestrian underneath the train track.

And this is far prettier, with the shadowy angles

Of the bridge architecture crossing you

Sunlight and dark. And many people have

Stuck padlocks to the bridge. Love padlocks.

Good for them. It is far harder to break a

Padlock than somebody else’s heart.

At the end of this bridge there is the castle

That the town was named after. Of course,

It’s bonny in an atavistic manner. And there are

Ancient walls that dip down to the river,

Also wise and nice looking. But they’re

Also plugged up with graffiti and alcohol.

Empty alcohol cans and bottles under the

Bridges where folks have come to party.

And spray painted initials on the walls

That were built 1000 years earlier.

Why would you spraypaint on a medieval

Building? It’s fairly scandalous. And,

Seriously, the amount of trash that is

Left right next to the ‘main tourist attraction

Of the city’ is staggering. You’d think there

Would be some respect for the area. Hey ho.

But not ever city has to be a tourist city.

No problem. Just the way it is. Put it this way:

You wouldn’t come back here at night.

Let’s yomp back to the hotel for just now.

III

It’s like being in The Shining, walking about

The silent empty corridors. The only resident

In a building of 50 plus rooms. You wake up

Somewhere early morning and forget where

You are and then, needing a pee, head down

To the W/C and you’re half expecting the

Ghosts of two girls to pop out glowing at the

End of the hallway, to chant your name.

The theme of solitude is playing on you in

General; which can happen when you travel

Alone. Nobody around here has a Scottish

Accent. You haven’t spoken to anybody in

Days. And the dark history of adolescence

Comes back. The familial bullying.

Everybody else laughing at you around the

Dinner table. Aggressive mockery whenever

You try to say something. And now you’re

In the Northernmost English city, still solitary

And the annals of depression prickle you,

When you’re supposed to be on holiday.

In the morning you hear rain spattering

The window. There’s a free art gallery the

Other side of the Tyne and so let’s head there.

Baltic Contemporary Arts. Why it’s called

That is bemusing. What’s the Baltic region

Got to do with Newcastle? Inside the gallery

You donate to the donation box. To help

Keep the joint free to access. We definitely

Need things like accessible galleries and

Libraries in the 21st century United Kingdom.

The first floor shows paintings from some

Local artist. She’s there, manning the exhibition;

Some senior lady with red hair. The paintings

Are cryptic, interrupted with letters. You don’t

Really get the content but it’s worth a mosey.

The second floor grows darker. The instant

You head through the rooms the light

Plunges and there’s a sign saying:

THE FILMS IN THIS ROOM SHOW

CONTENT INVOLVING VIOLENCE

AND SELF HARM WHICH SOME

VIEWERS MAY FIND UPSETTING.

You head into a long room with three

Different films playing around the walls.

One of them is in black and white,

Showing a clip of Vladamir Lenin,

For some reason, followed by subsequent

Clips of disconnected civilian scenes.

And there’s no dialogue. But there’s

A nightmarish soundtrack overhead.

The characters seem angsty, embattled;

And you weren’t really expecting

Soviet art house cinema when coming

To this city, but, there you go.

[There is no immediate violence in the

20 minutes you spend in the theatre,

Apart from some man with blood

Stains zigzagged down his face, from

Some blow that you didn’t see.]

After the gallery you head back into the

City centre and you cross several people

Lying in sleeping bags on the street.

The U.K. has over 350 000 homeless

People struggling to get by, and it’s also

In the top ten richest nations in the world.

On passing the local restaurants and pubs,

None of the restaurants are English.

Vietnamese joints. Vietnam pops up a lot,

And there’s a Chinatown too. Different

Ethnicities come to the U.K. because of its

Wealth; people can migrate here and earn

A living because of the beneficial value

Of the £Pound; and there are still over three

Hundred thousand people sleeping rough,

The examples of which you can see

A hundred yards down the street.

Aside from everything urban, the U.K.

Trees are glorious in the May weather.

Horse chestnut trees abloom with their

Chariot foliage. And as you return home

The local park is having its grass cut, and the

Smell of cut grass is idiosyncratic,

And British in its own sentient way.

[harrison-abbott]

Newcastle [Part One]

Let’s head down to England on the train.

Reminds you of boyhood holidays with your

Father and brothers. And looking out the

Train windows at the rolling countryside

In warm greens and the astonished yellow

Of the wheat fields. You actually haven’t

Been to these little towns before. With

Their quirky names dotted around the

Big cities; and you’re reminded of the

Tight density of the U.K., the span of

The metropolitan populace.

You get off in Newcastle. Where’s our

Hotel? Google Maps, sir. The city is

Startled with high rise flats, aloom with

Handsome menace. Or/and the charm

Of red bricked housing; of terraced

Houses flanked on the valley sides

Of the Tyne in the far distance. And there

Are those black oak and white plaster

Buildings too. Thinking Elizabethan,

Very English vibes, something Bill

Shakespeare about old oak timber.

Nothing ceremonious about the hotel

Check in. The guy who mans the counter

Is asleep when you arrive and you have

To politely wake him up. You’re given

A key. Up stairs somewhere. Winding

Through the building. Nobody else here.

You nap in your room for a while. /////

Awakening early evening you jaunt out

Westward. Lots of folks around wearing

Burqas. Lots of ethnic eateries; African

Food; Thai food; Eastern European shops

With their colour wheel flags. Smells of

Grease, meat, oil; St George Cross rags

Strung to lampposts. Graffiti of some

Gang?, perhaps, doused on the alleyway

Walls. Some Premier League game

Playing on shiny screens with silent men

Glued to the show. Further on, a clique

Of young gals listening to pop tunes

Sitting on the floor with gin and tonic

Cans spread around them. Hilly streets.

High up, low down; again, you can see

The millipede suburbs on the hills many

Miles off in mazy urban zeal.

This is Northern England for sure.

It’s getting late. Head back to the hotel.

[You awake in the a.m. zone and head

Along to the shared toilet. There isn’t

Another soul staying here. Many numbered

Doors and long corridors with cranky

Corners; a bit spooky to be here alone but

Rather keen too.]

[harrison-abbott]

hospital visit

You went with your mother

to the hospital. She’d asked

you to come. As she was worried

about her sore foot, and just about

the visit in general. Didn’t want

to go on her own. You were glad to go.

How many times had she taken

you to the hospital when you were wee?

She was 72 now and you were 33.

She had snow white hair. And when

you got off at the hospital she asked

you to slow down a bit because you

were walking too fast. Into the whirling

matrix of the building you went. It was

like an airport, without the sense of

excitement. You went through several

plasticky corridors until you found the

Respiratory section [mother was being

seen for possible issues with the lungs].

And you sat with her in the waiting area.

You asked her if this hospital was where

we went when you swallowed a penny

when you were little. When you were three,

you thought it would be a good idea to put a

2p coin in your mouth and swallow it.

Your Dad had put his fingers down your

throat to make you throw it up. And it

worked. But they had to take you to get

seen in case there was any inner damage.

No, mother said, that was the Sick Kids

venue in another part of Edinburgh,

which wasn’t there anymore. Eventually

a young man green scrubs came and

called her name. She went off to speak

to him. You knew that you’d probably

have medical encounters of your own

such as this when you got to your 70s.

If indeed you ever got that far. For now,

it was the moral thing to be here, in this

little cranny of the hospital, waiting for

your parent to come back.

[harrison-abbott]

It was early April 2026 and the parliamentary election results were pinging up on the media. With the banners of each party in coloured blocks at the top of the page. SNP CON LAB SGR LD REF. For the last ten years you’d developed a disillusionment with politics. You found the whole theme cartoonish and far too like gory sport. Men and women dressed in suits, shouting at each other. Using vile tactics to deplete the other side. That was what sport was for. You’d grown to despise both sport and politics, and saw little desire to be involved.

[harrison-abbott]

Earlier on at work I overheard the colleagues chatting about music. I came in mid conversation and heard one of them say: “I don’t mind the Rolling Stones. But I can’t stand the Beatles.” And one of the other colleagues said, “I’ll second that.”

First off, I love both the Stones and the Beatles. And, second, people are entitled to their own opinions when it comes to music. It’s okay.

But it got me thinking about something else. The Beatles v the Stones thing. I was actually thinking about that the other day, before I headed into work. And I was never quite sure why people tend to compare these two bands. I’ve never understood it. Okay, so they performed around the same tenure in the 1960s. They were the big bands of that era.

Why compare them, though? As if they were competing with each other? There seems to be this divide between them which I don’t see. Because both bands are very different.

Just to refrain; I enjoy both of them and am not taking a side here. With the Rolling Stones, well, they are heavily influenced by blues and rock and roll music. And they were a band that pioneered the rock and roll genre, doing it very well. Their songs rarely deviate from the classic blues chord patterns. Fine. They do an ace job of it.

The Beatles know blues as well. And were influenced by that too. But they have a discography which goes way, way beyond that genre. And the amount of different genres across their repertoire is immense. There are the early singalong pop songs of the early 60s. To the unusual tracks of the psychedelic era five years later. I don’t understand what the Rolling Stones have to do with any of these examples.

It would be like comparing athletes who succeed in separate sports. Like making a comparison between a basketball team and a soccer team. They don’t play the same way as each other. So what it the point in judging them so? It’s one of those old debates that I see as a fallacy rather than something to pick or choose over.