A Promise

A Promise (c)

By

Michael Casey

Well its getting late and I’m tired, so I may not be able to write anything new for you all today/tonight. So if I promise to write something good tomorrow will that be ok? I am talking to myself now because you all hear me after the event, after I finish here and after I’ve done my security and then posted this 4 times. And even after I’ve backed up my new talk to my off site places. Yes it’s that complicated, I have to sit here and talk to the page and do all I’ve just said before you all get to hear it. Mainly I’m in pain asleep or trying to get to sleep hampered by pain, yes really I’m not making this up. It seems to be a normal nightly occurrence 50% of my bedtimes.

As I sleep you all are reading my page, or listening to me talking to you, you may be promising yourself that you’ll never read my page ever again. That fat silver haired writer in shades from Birmingham is not my cup of tea, tastes more like wee. To which I ask why are you drinking wee, is it just a figure of speech. I have drunk wee and often too. My brother used to pee in the old glass pop bottles, the ones you got a penny for when you went back to the shop. He knew I drunk the dregs so he left his pee in the pop bottles waiting for me. All I ever did to him was put a red hot poker on his leg. Through he did save my life in Monument Rd Swimming Baths, so drinking his pee was just nothing, I could have drunk a swimming baths. He did save our dad’s life with CPR so leading me to having a wife. So he’s a great brother to have around, I promise you.

Now where was I, I was promising to write something good tomorrow, though that is a terrible promise. I never know what I am going to write till the first word hits the page. I like it that way it’s more fun for me, and today Indian and Turkish readers were hearing me for themselves. Can you imagine what they are thinking? Who is this fat guy from Birmingham, with the great silver hair and the cheap sunglasses. They are promising themselves never to visit me or Birmingham ever. Or then again they may promise themselves to come and visit my page often, or send me a decent pair of shades.

So much for promises. A promise should have meaning, it’s not a reckless word its a powerful word. Personally I never make promises, if I say I will then I will, no need to use the P word. If I were the fighting sort I’d never makes threats I’d just make promises. The kind a dad makes to his daughter’s future husband. For example, if you ever hurt my daughter I will catch you and lock you up in a basement till you beg for mercy. I will make you read all my books till you can recite them, word for word. All 1,310,000 words. Now, with a promise like that two things can happy. One, my daughter will have the perfect husband. Two, she will be forever a spinster. So be careful the kind of promises you make.

I did promise I’d write something good tomorrow, but how do I know if it is good? As I write I only see the page scroll down, sometimes I only read the full piece when I’ve finished and only then can I judge for myself if what I’ve talked about is good or bad. As I’ve finished the emotional effect on myself is revealed to me as I read it. I may even have a tear in my eye, depending on the subject matter. The choice of words, after the fact works or doesn’t work. I’m not going to waste my life forever polishing and polishing for an extra 2%, life is real, its not polished, and polishing would bore me. Yes I can see I could have phrased things a bit better here or there, but that’s what editors do, but to me they are like exorcists, and I’ll stay far far away from them.

I promise myself I’ll never explain where everything comes from, a chef should never give away the tricks of the trade. The explaining of things is for scientists and I’m no scientist, I’m an Artist, and not a piss artist as Lecj, Boris and Gregorgi might joke. 12 pints a year is my total. So I’ve just looked at the clock and it’s time to go to bed, I’ve made a promise for tomorrow or have I just kept it tonight?