Step 40: Yolo, I recorded a poem
OKAY I DID IT. FUCK. FUCK. After all the 'record your shit' wonderful people say (but in better words), I am currently high on endorphins, my right knee fucking hurts, sort of, vaguely- it's fine, went on the longest run so far, mainly because I'm nervous about an uh...phone call I have to make this evening...
I mean who runs 10k just so they can get enough adrenaline up to call someone?
I recorded a poem. The running poem, which I've read before. With a camera, even. Kinda. They are unedited because one step at a time.
But zero to moving's the biggest change.
The motivational image below is one I fucking live by.
As someone who is PERPETUALLY terrified, of talking to someone, of getting on stage, of interviews, of going outside, of all the crazy shit, this motivational image is my goddamn go to:
SO HERE Are THREE RECORDINGS. Two of them aren't actually me recording successfully.
BUT ONE OF THEM IS.
Which one? I'll give you a clue. The one with the least amount of fucking pressure involved.
One day till the soft deadline on the first novel, I was going to talk about it but then I got high on endorphin and adrenaline and hit fuck it. The pieces aren't edited (I'm sorry). One step at a time (HEH). Two videos, one audio.
This is terrifying.
Okay, okay, it's alright. Technically I'm a pro, I've done this on stage. Loads of stage. I got paid 250 bucks once, but it was kinda dodgy so I gave it back, and there was this one comedy show where I got 200 bucks, so I'm a pro, I'm a grinder, I got like a pacific coffee voucher at a slam once and that makes a total of 600 dollars worth of paid performance.
VICTORY (dedicated to an old friend) #1
VICTORY (dedicated to an old friend) #2
VICTORY #3
Full text of 'poem', also unformatted
Victory (Dedicated to an old friend)
He cradles me.
Unwraps the costume that clings to my neck like it's paper.
Is he going to be gentle?
Grateful?
His hands are smooth but there's...hair on his arms.
He runs one thumb along my tongue.
It feels so good.
Then he rips the paper off
Tips me over
And empties me out the box.
ASSHOLE!
I watch him throw the packaging across the floor and onto a pile of discarded clothes.
Hmm.
He's messy.
But perhaps I'll be the first step in a larger change.
Yeah, this is it, I'm ready.
He looks around like he's paranoid,
Then lifts me up.
Sniffs me close.
Awwww yeah!
He loves that new shoe smell.
I want him inside me now.
He leaves me by the front door for 3 weeks.
Asshole.
I watch him not even bother to untie the shoelaces
Of some badly scuffed chukka boots.
YOU JACKASS!
Buy loafers!
I hear the leather strain, watch it crack from floor level.
It'll hardly last another month at this rate.
The sole breaks after just fourteen days.
He still wears it.
He brings it home after it turns another shade from a typhoon.
He thinks leaving it on the balcony will help.
But those are crepe soles- I mean what the hell?!
Then one day, there are two sets of feet
And one of them's small,
Perching diagonally.
A classy guy slips off her feet, minimal and sleek.
His girl has good taste.
She says: "You need new shoes babe. Seriously."
Fuck yeah, she's a keeper.
And I'm bored out of my mind.
The other shoes stretch, they groan, they complain when he walks instead of taking the bus.
They hate it if he doesn't wear thick socks.
I got no friends here, I'm an outcast.
I crave the pavement, hell I'll even settle for a treadmill,
I mean stand and carry weights if you have to,
But I was built for speed.
I want to kick the air and play dodge the dog shit,
I want to count the seconds,
Instead I count the weeks.
Mum told me this was going to happen.
I got bought around new year,
Never a good sign.
But I told her impossible is nothing
And she rolled her eyes in that been there done that sort of way,
Hell with you mum, I'm built from the stuff they send to space!
According to the ads at least.
And then his girl leaves.
He puts me on that very night like he's about to chase her down
But I can't go back in time, I try to tell him, but I think he knows.
He just sits instead, on the couch, I watch his face, hanging above me.
I watch it rain indoors.
And in his eyes, some other kind of storm.
He plugs up his ears.
Squares his shoulders.
The laces are a bit loose, but nevermind, I'm on deck,
He's wondering whether it's time,
But I squeak:
JUST DO IT!
And like that we're airborne.
And he lasts
All of two minutes downstairs.
Till he's slowed to a walk.
Shit, no wonder she left him.
He doesn't even own running socks.
His chins so low it's like he's gonna kick himself in the face.
His eyes can't find the horizon.
And I'm embarrassed as well.
As I finally meet the others- battle-hardened, scuffed, sweat-sodden,
They fly by and I think I can hear them laugh.
But that's okay.
He went from zero to moving.
And that's the biggest change.
Everything else is easier.
I can hear mum's voice:
That's it for you dear, he took a shot and missed, no swish,
He's never taking you out again.
But I fit his foot perfectly
And he knows it.
His other shoes are posers.
So when he takes me out two days later,
I know, deep down, he's loyal when it counts.
2 mins and 25 seconds this time.
That's a huge improvement champ!
I make sure to cushion the blows
And he keeps me airborne for as long as he can.
We're a team me and him.
And the first time he fell ill, when he got depressed and they made him take those pills,
He put me away, but I knew, I fucking knew, that this was no longer about
Just losing weight.
I waited three weeks whilst the others squeaked and laughed
But he came back and I knew what was at stake.
He was running to heal his mind
Make no mistake.
We weren't running in circles anymore.
Something had changed.
He was fat, sure.
He was slower than the others and didn't last as long.
But when the music caught,
When the beat was about to drop,
He didn't just run, he sprinted, and I was torn between crying stop:
You'll hurt yourself,
But I knew he wouldn't,
Because every flat was a hill,
And every hill was a challenge,
And every challenge was a victory his heart needed
So he could beat this.
So I shut up and helped him fly.
Just do it buddy,
We can do it together
Till the day I die.
He got lighter.
Bottom heavy, lost the top.
He had to tighten the laces,
Even replaced them once.
We were comrades in arms.
Now that we were moving faster, I finally heard what my cousins said:
Impossible is nothing,
They breathed through their tongues.
We're in this together.
All of us running towards
Something better.
It was an honor to take those blows.
To gather up scars and crack open my sole.
Because unlike mum, or dad, or almost anyone else at the store.
I was with him when my man ran his first marathon.
We'd never done 25k before.
He knew I might not have it in me.
Hell, he should have replaced me weeks ago but he didn't.
He said: Not till we do this thing.
Amen brother.
I had just one job.
Don't break, don't crack, stay on him.
We're a team, me and him.
He had to walk near the end.
But that's okay.
I liked that this got drawn out.
When we reached the end he cried, and I leaked some sweat as well.
When we made it back upstairs I left stains on his floor.
Footprints, if you will.
He took me off for the last time.
Bent down and thanked me.
I wanted to say: Buddy, it was you who let me live.
It was you who did all the work.
I was sad I suppose, but also lucky- how many other shoes get to fight till they die?
Only champions and warriors do.
Valhalla awaited- I knew I had earned an eternal afterlife.
In the presence Nike Air Max 95's
But then he did something strange.
He did not throw me away.
Instead he placed me next to the rack.
And left me there.
His next girlfriend asked him why he hadn't thrown them away.
He said: Because I'm not done yet.
I'm saving them, for the best, the final race.
Because I went from zero to moving
In those shoes
And everything else has been easier to do.
So I'm waiting on deck.
For the impossible challenge,
So I can squeak between the scars on my chest:
Just Do It man.
You got this.