The Wayfarer and other journeys

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Art is not just decoration once the real work is finished, it is absolutely central to our humanity. The stories we have been telling each other since we sat around a camp fire tens of thousands of years ago, remind us of the joys and fears we all experience and make us feel more connected and less alone.

None of us is fully independent, we all need help and friendship and we all need to be heard - particularly when we slide out of a place of safety. I spent eight months “On the Streets” making a film about the lives of street homeless people in London. I was struck by the shattering human and financial cost of dealing with homelessness as simply a housing issue. I saw many times that abandoning vulnerable adults in tiny, expensive bedsits and expecting them to cope with independent living was simply buying them another ticket to a rollercoaster ride that would soon spit them out onto the streets again for emergency services to mop up before the cycle started again. The only beneficiaries of this short-sighted system – if you can call it that - are racketeering private landlords.

VOICES are proposing a more thoughtful and integrated approach. Along with offering on-going vital practical help and support with addiction and mental health as well as housing, they understand that all of us need to be listened to, we all have a voice. This poetry book along with the wonderful life stories on the VOICES website is one of the ways of opening up real space for those who have never been listened to. Lisa O’Connor writes movingly about her personal experience, some of it while in the throes of addiction. I admired the verbal calisthenics of her description of the seduction of the highs of self-medicating: Im not coming down, want to stay in this place With a Peaky speeder tripper grin upon my face She is eloquent about the depression that inevitably follows the speeder tripper grin, the vertiginous fall into a trap that snaps shut, when the drugs fail to heal the underlying pain and loneliness they were intended to resolve. existing in a nightmare, captured in a snare, lost in a vicious circle – in a stupor – too hooked to care We are all more than the labels others give us, nobody should be defined by an addiction - junkie, speed freak, crackhead – nor by a mental ill health problem. Lisa is also a poet and a writer and she takes us on a journey where she ‘stumbled upon the strange’ and challenges us to wonder whether we could have survived it.

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Inspiration, it’s controversial, but for me inspiration has been the essential element in my writing, and it hasn’t always come easily. It is not just bizarre but so intriguing due to the fact that when I have been going through problematic times, traumatized and generally ill, too physically ill to not just write, I couldn’t even walk, inspiration was more or less non-existent. Inspiration lives / exists somewhere deep inside, not just in the mind, but in your soul.

No matter how ill you actually are through drink, drugs, mental illness, it thrives and it is something that will always try and come and elaborate itself, no matter what psychological state you are in. If it is there, it is there- and even if you have to use complicated analogies to describe to people what it’s all about, it always makes sense to you. I have been ill, very ill, the things that I have not only felt, but seen and heard, left me not only curious as to how complex and diverse the mind operates and how scary the effects can be- horrendous.

Writing for me was a high. I could not settle until it was as accurate as I could get it, it had to be perfect, as an addict I am a perfectionist. Not everyone could comprehend what was going on in my mind… I could - I felt alone due to the fact that nobody understood - the majority felt, very perturbed - a lot of it I suppose in hindsight was macabre but that’s life - due to life episodes I was never a sadistic person but…. I have been exposed to a lot of it - due to my chaotic lifestyle. Here is a compilation of assorted poetic explanations of moments of inspiration I’ve experienced in my life.

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Another Bad Day My Monologue Utopia A Happy Medium Beaming B*A*B*Y Love Glass Bottle Vision Prodigious Implore I Live Life My Reminiscent Allegory Velocity Yellow Speedy Tripper Subdued Conjecture Profound Depth A Nippy Jaunt Farewell Feline I Deliver In 2 Lisa’s Rant on Shit That Happens But Shouldn’t SOLITUDE I Multi-task All Fantastic Day The Wayfarer Director’s Notes Sleeve Notes

My sad, empty, black clouds A constant dull and grey The dark, lonely atoms never goes away Hijacking my perception and playing with my brain, altering reality, turning me insane These manufacturers of evil are specialists in dread Destroying rationally and poisoning my head I’m looking through my dark eyes – the tunnels to my mind.

A way out of this dead box I try my best to find I drown in a sea of depression and suffocate in a morbid mist Prisoner in a life, banned from living... but life sentenced to exist...

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Deep-seated problems you should never dismiss-I’m fed up of being lost in this abyss-alone and scared each day, as they slowly appear to very rapidly role into each other. It’s like this every day, and I mean with full on capitals every day has become very, very apathetic, I am despondent and I no longer feel a need to live, if only I had a concrete reason to end my life-in my eyes, BOOM-I have, but I can only ever think of my family and my only son and they are the only two reasons in which I don’t, I’m scared because I cannot see a way out. My head is a massive building site full of chaotic thoughts and love-love for all and everyone around me and how it would affect them if I were to suddenly end my life. I wouldn’t wish that upon my worst enemy-well-tell a lie of course I would-who wouldn’t?

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COULD IT BE I’M FAR AWAY IN ANOTHER SPACE AND TIME? WITHIN SOME OTHER DIMENSION INSIDE MY HEAD IN A ROOM OF MINE UP TO THE TOP I’M RISING, INTO ORBIT AS I CLIMB I REACH A LAND WHERE I’M QUEEN OF MY CASTLE IN THIS PLACE I FOUND IN THIS HEAD OF MINE

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A HAPPY MEDIUM WE SHOULDN’T WASTE TIME ON ARGUMENTS, CONFLICT, RESENTMENT, HATE, ANGER AND DECEIT, LIFE IS TOO SHORT BUT TO PASS TIME LIVING IN PEACE AND HARMONY, GIVING, LOVING AND AGREEING, LIFE IS TOO LONG

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Beaming See this smile upon my face? – It’s Not your average grin, I’m glowing in a charming Place-serenity within, I’ve settled on a cloud of bliss, no Sweeter place to be, I’m on another level- found my Spirit- set it free…

I’m a walking, talking euphoric Soul, Complete again, that’s me…

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‘TWAS SENT A MAGIC VISTA, A SCENT OF PURE DIVINE, A NATURE BORN ENIGMA OF BEAUTIES UTMOST FINE, THE LULLABIES OF HEAVEN EACH BREATH THE SWEETEST NOTE, BORN TO ME A PRECIOUS BEATING LIFE OF LOVE AND HOPE, MY SUNSHINE WALKS BESIDES ME, MY BEST FRIENDS NEVER FAR, DEVOTED ALWAYS TO MY BOOBOO-MUMMIES SHOOTING STAR

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Existing in a nightmare, captured in a snare, Lost in a vicious circle – in a stupor – too hooked to care.

In a mind amidst of sorrow and desperation for the life you miss, blotting out emotion whilst lost in this abyss.

As to be conscious is a game you simply struggle to play, Empty and sedated lost with an ache of dismay …

Awoken from this coma-afloat catching bubbles of hope- it’s me -I’m running upwards on that downwards slippery slope.

A vista that’s so vivid, amity all around, an ambience I recognise, the old me lost and found.

Each page of my sombre saga is hidden in a book shut tight, A horror story-my journey-in which I won the fight.

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Alluring superior mind, esoteric-one of a kind, constant cranium overload, a raging want in your thought abode, a perpetual hanker for more, a craving far bizarre to score.

Pensive anticipation for a data fix, fascination with aberration-where you get your kicks.

Library of curiosity in Pandora’s Box-a risky place to be psychotic answers an inquisitive mind would be better off not to see.

Cram my head with info that’s pure perplexity, immersed in my element, transfixed in what I see.

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I LIVE LIFE I LIVE LIFE

I ACCEPT LIFE

IS REAL

MISTAKE MAKER MAKING MISTAKES MISTAKES I MADE I FELT

SCARED, PANIC, UNCERTAIN, I REMEMBER TRYING TO HIDE FROM REALITY, I FELT

SCARED, PANIC, UNCERTAINTY,

BECAUSE I REALISED...

REALITY IS LIFE LIFE IS REALITY

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Chasing rainbows am I? I gaze up dreaming to the sky, is it I? I drift away, is it true there’s yet another day?

Perfect pure, oh I adore the softness of your skin, I close my eyes or I shall stare…

I’m so alert-don’t want to care… or be there…

The strangest imaginations are the warmest idea to mind, let’s mix up euphoria, hopes and dreams, let’s tie and blend and bind, let’s not stay-let us fly away to cushions soft as bliss, dream states of my own kind-but darling it’s you i’d miss x

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Oh sweet, sweet slight elevation come on jaunters lets go up, tachycardiac insomniac maniac pupil’s largen – the tunnels in sight black holes lead the way to the adrenaline fast land to the apex that is now in sight.

Let’s go on a jaunt to the roof to the ceiling the buzz we chase the ultimate feeling.

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Alcoholism brought Jaundice - it made me...

Yellow as a lemon, poisoned within, Shades of macabre reside in my skin, Delirium Tremens - so morbid the morgue inside my mind, A visual first-class horror show, the worst you’ll ever find.

A strobe of flashing faces plague each twilight hour, I’m terrified, nocturnal as I shake and cower, Sad, sorrow faces, lost angels look at me, Arriving after demons - they know what I see, The only way to ease this will only make it worse, A miracle is needed to lift this lifelong curse.

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“My experience with amphetamine usage”

Oh sweet, sweet slight Elevation Come on jaunters lets go up, Tachycardiac maniac mmm insomniac Pupil’s largen yes– the tunnels in sight Black holes scream adrenaline to fast lands Far away - the apex drawers near, So let’s go on that jaunt to the ceiling Chasing a buzz-that’s the ultimate feeling, Skittish being-oh what a rise, Changing the appearance of your eyes, Here we go –oh what a frightAlways better in the mid of twilight I’m not coming down, want to stay in this place With a peaky speeder tripper grin upon my face

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Will I, won’t I, where will I be?

Repetitive wonderment smothering me, Time keeps on moving, Wonder will remain, The clock will keep on ticking The latter stays the same

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The sky is so deep upwards, the ocean deep below, deep just leaves me pondering on just how deep can go, Does deep keep on going, does deep ever end- do we just perceive one when it’s really just a bend?

I delve constantly always-can’t help myself you see, As deepness is the doorway to the place I love to be.

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Description of my ‘amphetimine dealer’

Watching through dark eyes, Be careful what you say!

The paranoid and peaky…

SPEEDY TRIPPER’S OUT TO PLAY… On a jaunt, in the sky, never down always high, A manic grin and glaring eyes, On his transitory rise, His territory is evil!

Take heed-he’s come to preach!

He’s out to score and if you’re swift you’ll start his Rhythmic speech ‘’Hello to you there gazing… did I catch your eye?

Come inside and join me There’s no reason to be shy

GAZE INTO THE DOORWAY… THE BLACK HOLES IN MY EYES! Welcome to your new abode deep inside my head, An optic vault-a storeroom fully stocked with dread, I hope you enjoy your visit… or should I say you’re STAY… As the ONLY entrance in… IS ONLY ONE WAY”

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So grateful for the years we shared, we never shall Forget, A family member, loyal friend-classed much more Than a pet GIZMO’S in our hearts always, In our thoughts each day Our longing for our precious friend shall never go Away.

God Bless Limonio –the cat with a big heart, Our bond remains in spirit-we shall never be apart…

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Well, after trying to come to some sort of decision on what FONT to use-yeah, I know, all these MAJOR problems are going on-trapped in a major dilemma ‘’iffing and r’ing’’ over what font to use-CRAZY! Life is going Pete Tong again… (Wrong in cockney rhyming slang) thank you mind set, cheers addiction (not) you m*t!er f*ckernot only have you wrecked my life, my sons but my families also- I HATE YOU, I HATE YOU-GOT IT??? GOOD I am blessed to have a good family, addiction, you are sacrificing all of that, and I don’t even get a say in it because you’ve captured me in your evil no-return snare.

I have been given a strange brain, one that is clever and intelligent, I suppose, but does not work as adequately as it should. This over many years has given me many, many problems, which have affected my life in more ways than one…

Enough said.

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I need to run so fast feel calm when I multitask can’t sit down, or sleep at night, too many ideas I need to write I’m feeling a desperate need to release this crave for speed I’m not very good at sitting still its making me feel such rage I know it’s not good to be sedatory either-especially at my age, but is such rage what you feel this agitation is unreal, my head is crammed ready to burst, I’m bouncing off the wall

Oh, what a fantastic day it was to be.

My love arrived.

Two new lives - two marvellous lives began.

He brings me so much joy and happiness, much more than I ever thought possible.

Perfect in every way, such a pure, innocent, tiny creature with such a personality and an innate character that brings a smile to every face he shall meet.

For I - I am blessed.

For each day I thank the heavens and the starts above for my only one, my angel.

His life is the only gift, the one gift I shall be truly grateful for forever.

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In the wilderness of my mind-buried in the depths of my intuition, I stumbled upon the strange.

The journey to my utopia had begun.

Indeed, in the depths of my mind peculiarity was hiding…

This is no land for the inquisitive mind, for I am jaded with small talk and like some, not engrossed in fiction.

The majority who are content within the boundaries of imagination, those who conform to the known and turn a blind eye to aberration surround me, Maybe this is why I had started to use the evil white-id think nothing of filling rizla with A gram of amphetamine and going to the fast land inside my head.

To me it was normal.

Sometimes what we cannot see, is just hidden We look through windows but we don’t see what’s going on outside We can’t rely on perception alone - electricity is invisible, yet can light a whole city

Standing at my bedroom window, I watch the streetlights outside come on one by one and let out a huge sigh, another day is slowly passing.

I’d spent most of my morning at the local library, scoring through the dusty shelves for psychology books to study and to my great delight had found quite a few, well fortysix to be precise. Ever since I’d left school at sixteen psychology had always struck a chord with me and left me with a feeling of wonderment, to understand the human psyche was by far the most exquisite of aptitudes. Now as the night was drawing in, I’m left feeling wistful, life had become a little mundane-my job at the rubber factory was low pay and hard graft but without the wage, my dream of going to university to study psychology would say just that.

Yawning, as I reach to close my curtains, something catches my eye, I notice that outside a stranger is stood staring, leering up at me, I stand straight faced-staring back-as never before had I seen such a thing.

Sparkling, polished glass eye watching me, eyes with no ordinary twinkle but momentary flashes that appeared as electricity in his eyes, his fixed, dilated pupils with luminous lights held me transfixed, half in astoundment, half in fear, I was captivated by these dazzling, optic torches, like beams-being shone at me from a crosswise world.

Drawing me further in, mesmerising, hypnotising me.

He had something to tell me, something he knew-a story a special secret he wanted to share with me, something he wanted to show me.

Inquisitive and eager to delve into this mysterious offering, I went to him …

And everything began to change; As the room began to spin I felt myself being catapulted

Once on board, this remote plane, I now find myself in this perpetual gyration of what appears to be a loop, I’m going around and around along with extrasensory enlightenment, strange symbols, visions, profound insights were all mine. For this was no reverie or a short jaunt, this place had a sardonic ominous ambience-that I not only could sense but also smell and see. This was much more profound than any simple occult, the loop is ultra-subliminal, a transverse secular.

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I’m standing in what I perceive as a tube, a room with curved walls-which are steadily spinning around me-I assume with the intention being.

That I see this bizarre pattern of mathematical formulas and strange symbols, which are covering them, a fascinating as this inexplicable wallpaper is-I can’t help but notice the black and white checked floor-as it’s the only aspect of this capsule that’s relatively ‘’normal’’.

Unbelievably its only then I suddenly begin to wonder how the hell I got in here, and more to the point…how do I get out?

As I don’t recall walking into here, it doesn’t take me long to realise that I was placed in here which understandably fills me with a full-blown terror that accounts for the tachycardia that’s making my jumper rapidly twitch as my heart thumps in my chest, up until then I still hadn’t done the obvious-which naturally would have been to look upwards, was I unaware, scared to, or was the ceiling meant to be the last I saw before my legs buckled as adrenaline shot through my veins at a thousand miles an hour? Probably.

Shock, immense fear, big style fight or flight? Indeed-my pupils felt large but let me tell you they are pinpricks to the ones looking down at me. This ceiling is a p[peephole, and dark eyed stranger is haughtily leering down straight at me. I don’t speak, I automatically close my eyes, my mind completely shuts down for a moment but unfortunate for me kicks back in and I’m left for a millisecond wondering whether to dare look again. I decide to just squint, as to take a good look again would just be unthinkable, don’t you agree? Exactly.

It had become quite obvious now, I no longer had to be pensive of how I entered this dark, perturbing place, and the answer was in front of me these pupils area a portal.

Crouched on the floor petrified, with the front of my jumper still doing its tachycardia rhythm dance, I feel a glimmer of hope, as the wall is no longer a collage of symbolic bewilderment and is no longer spinning, the wall which I’m leaning against is rippling-I flip to the centre of the floor huddled up, uber petrified, and its then that I see that the sudden ripple I felt is a door that I’ve had my back to.

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This door which has now become solid, has no handle, for a moment I fear I am really well and truly trapped but to my amazement it becomes transparent before my eyes, now do I stay or do I go? I am dumbstruck all I know is that I cannot bring myself to raise my head-I don’t want to risk catching sight of what I saw up there earlier. So I keep my head an eyes down and reach my hand towards the door, which I gather is technically a window-one with no visible view. So I hold my breath, close my eyes, and walk slowly towards it, I keep walking, pretty sure I’ve emerged by now but would you open your eyes? –would you?

Squinting again I put my hands to my face-my fingers ready to protect me from what I may see, slowly I open my eyes and the first thing I see is Black glass, very apprehensively I move my hand closer to touch it, and an unpleasant texture automatically forces me to lurch it back, I felt no ordinary glass it’s more like a moist toughened film and only then does it dawn on me that this odyssey is without a doubt getting more diverse than any human brain could ever comprehend, of course, I’ve already accepted this is not a dream, and surely, not even the most severe feverish delirium could possibly be this vivid? Is this some sort of drug induced hallucinogenic trip? Perhaps I am safe in hospital-comatosesurrounded by friends and family, have I been abducted by aliens or could this be purgatory, have I met my demise…am I dead?

As my mind ponders over the huge array of possible scenarios, I suddenly become aware of an intense sensation that starts to elope me, a struggling feeling of rage, a craving of a physical and biochemical nature, an inner transition a metamorphosis is happening and I’m completely aware of it-I know that I’m being re-programmed somehow-by something, it’s taking over me and leaving me no longer composite of my previous state of being-I’m compulsively symmetrically sorting pictures in my head of symbols, patterns I’ve never seen before.

I’m not even feeling human anymore, I feel I’m more than that, and then I see a vision flash before me-the black film I’m peering through is a lens-and I’m inside!-I’m inside the pupil of the dark eyed stranger, and he is inside my head, foreseeing my thoughts, what is he, how is all this possible and what will happen next?

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This is by far what I would call my ‘worst-worst’, I spin around frantically-this can’t be happening-but it is, its total darkness inside the optic dome, so I turn back to the lonely window which had become my only solace, as I do, my eyes widen, what appears to be a vivid hallucination and directly in front of me a ‘movie’ has begun.

The man in the scene has his back to me and if facing a white tiled wall as he sits on a metal chair, from somewhere a soundtrack begins to play, and children are singing a song in harmony …’’in a hoop, in a loop, 123, going round in circles rotating constantly, in a race in a loop 123, when you reach the finish line back at the start you’ll be…’’ the children singing fades out-laughing as they go.

I watch as the man in this movie rocks back and forth, back and forth, ‘’stop, stop, please!’’ he shouts as he covers his ears and bows his head just as he repeats the children’s song. ‘’In a hoop in a loop, 123, going round in circles is where you’re gonna be …’’ just then a nurse walks into the room, ‘’come on john, time for your meds,’’ the man is helped to stand and as he is led away he slowly turns his head and looks straight at me! - He says, ‘’it never stops-round and round, no way out-help me!’’ I stumble back, my hand over my mouth-as the man and the nurse disappear down a long dark corridor.

I crouch down frantically scratching my headI never thought I would be aware of one’s self losing the plot, but it’s happening right now-to me – I think.

As darkness falls once more at my ‘window’ I start to panic, but it doesn’t get a chance to reach fully blown before another movie begins, this time I see a woman, she is laughing and muttering to herself as she manically darts around a room, stopping to take two steps forward two steps back-two forward, two back, she continues doing this until she accidentally misses one-all hell breaks loose and she starts head-butting the wall with such force she leaves a bloodied print on it, her pallid face turns to me-she starts laughing hysterically, ‘’come on’’ she says to me ‘’two steps forward, two steps back’’ and the she just continues her frantic dance around the room.

Me? I’m just watching now-a extremely shell-shocked vigilant, maybe some sort of coping mechanism has kicked in, or is it helpless acceptance? I don’t know, I feel like I’m at some sort of party with a camcorder but I’m not, and I also know I’m not at the cinema watching movies either. Movies do not talk back.

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In the blink of an eyelid, I’m at the end of a long, dark corridor that is lit with night lamps, the stench of bleach hits me instantly and I gather I’m in for another bizarre viewing, this time flowery patterned wall paper is the first thing I see, followed by an elderly lady sipping tea from a china cup, she’s talking to ‘Henry’ who Henry is, is anyone’s guess, but it doesn’t take me long to realise she’s conversing with the assumption he’s beside her, ‘’so when are we going to collect the grandchildren HenryHenry you are ready aren’t you? – You do know how I hate to be late, I hate tardiness!’’ I listen as she continues talking to Henry, of course, as far as I am concerned-all would be fine and dandy-if it weren’t for the fact that she’s all alone in that room as she continues to converse with the mirror she’s sitting opposite to. ‘’Henry, Henry!’’ she shoots around swiftly and jumps up-I jump back, cursing as I go, she lunges towards me, her eyes bulging as she screams at me ‘’we are going to be late!’’

The picture then starts to fade, darkness falls, and all is silent.

Shivering, quivering, petrified, feeling lost and apathetic, I close my eyes and just pray.

Now this is the part of the story that I still can’t get my head around and I don’t think I ever will-because these people are talking to me-but is it me they are seeing?

I know there’s only one way I am ever going to find out and the thought fills me with trepidation I don’t think I can handle or grasp, but if I don’t attempt to try and expand my knowledge of this macabre scenario now, it’s going to take my sanity away-if of course it hasn’t already done so. Watch this space, I have no choice …

In the wilderness of my mind-buried in the depth of my intuition, I had stumbled upon the strange.

I thought the journey to my utopia had begun.

Indeed, in the depths of my mind, peculiarity had been hiding.

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VOICES is a partnership project funded by the National Lottery through the Big Lottery Fund including a wide range of statutory and voluntary sector organisations. We are listening to and learning from people with lived experience of homelessness, mental ill-health, addiction, and offending in combination as multiple needs.

Our aim is to help coordinate the services that people need, to make them more accessible, and more effective through systems change. We want to generate greater empathy for people with multiple needs by, among other things, providing a challenge to the pervasive stereotypes.

We are supporting people with multiple needs to realise their gifts and to express their stories creatively.

Lisa’s poetry provides us with an insight in to the lived experience of addiction in its entire colour. The intense soaring highs and drowning overwhelming lows.

Her craft and wordplay are impressive, demonstrating a genuine talent. Lisa’s candidness in the subject matter is often heart rending and is a generous gift to us all. We are extremely grateful.

John F. Kennedy said that, “When power leads us toward arrogance, poetry reminds us of our limitations. When power narrows the area of our concern, poetry reminds us of the richness and diversity of existence.”

Andy Meakin Director

www.voicesofstoke.org.uk

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Lisa O’Connor is a poet and author from Stoke-on-Trent. This is her first book of poetry and prose that chronicles her own struggles with grief, mental ill-health, addiction, and the associated chaos.

Lisa started writing as a teenager. For Lisa, writing is a high. Even in her darkest hours she has found hope and inspiration through writing, “when I have been going through problematic times, traumatized and generally ill, too physically ill not just to write, I couldn’t even walk, inspiration seemed more or less non-existent, but it lives and exists somewhere deep inside, not just in the mind, but in your soul.”

This book represents a compilation of assorted poetic explanations of moments Lisa has experienced. Lisa’s writing provides hope to people that are living through mental ill-health and addiction but also a realistic insight for those that have little personal experience of the dramatic highs and lows of substance misuse.

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