When Police Commissioner Gordon revealed to his wife that he’d only faked his death and indeed was still alive, she slapped him round the face. Last time I returned, I felt you all slap me round the face. I gazed into your teary eyes. I felt your warm embrace invigorated by the scent of my return, yet fouled by distrust. You welcomed he who returned back, though you asked if you could still know he who appeared; how could that young, cycling, dream-caught boy of old pretended to have left you? That was never in his spirit, you thought.

Yet what would have Gordon’s wife done had he pulled the same stunt twice? Another slap? I should think not. I fear his actions may’ve garnered only disappointed indifference instead, though we will never know as the Dark Knight movies are unfortunately finished. Jesus resurrecting himself once was impressive, but twice would’ve been milking it. Certainly no-one would’ve dedicated to the event another yearly holiday. And where does this all leave me and my return now? Will anyone trust me anymore? Will anyone even care? How many times can you die and return before resurrections blend into banality?

Though I had an excuse! Of course you did, you shout. OF COURSE YOU BLOODY DID, you cry, tired of this emotional roller-coaster that one finds only at, wishing to get off, but stuck to your chairs by a gravity born from a huge mass of surrounding intrigue. And of course it is only that which holds you, there is no seatbelt; I took out any safety measures here before I even put them in.

But I live on the road mannn! This is the damn road that I live on man! Damnit man can’t you understand? You see, we ain’t always got the internet where I’m headed. This is the road, this isn’t your house and street and work all crafted from bricks of predictability and linked by the cords woven from safety nets, this is the damn road I live on man! Sometimes you end up in Puglia for a month and you get a wireless dongle and it runs out of data allowance because you watched too many videos on youtube man. This isn’t your cushy, mushy, eat chop suey on Wednesdays London apartment life man; we ain’t got no unlimited wifi, no data limit sky high, no quick hi skype-by, it ain’t all one big apple pie. This is the real road man, on the surface of the real world man, and sometimes, well, you just gotta disappear on it for a while, that’s all.

But then you got to come back. And I will keep coming back. Whether to slaps or to ignorance, to worldwide parades or to indifference, one thing is for sure; I will keep coming back.

About Sam

Sam is a go getter, he's one badass mudda', when he wants something, he gets it, before he even wants it, he cycled from Poland to London with 40 euros, he could do it again, men want to be him, women want to be him, mums like him, he is invited into people's houses on A REGULAR BASIS, he makes good soup, he eats good soup, he's that guy at the party who knows everyone, even if he knows no-one, he's out in the world seeking real stories and adventures, and the world be givin' it to him.
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2 Responses to Resurrection

  1. Chang Lee says:

    This isn’t your cushy, mushy, eat chop suey on Wednesdays London apartment life man; we ain’t got no unlimited wifi, no data limit sky high, no quick hi skype-by, it ain’t all one big apple pie.
    nice. real nice.
    welcome back baby.

  2. Bubs says:

    I thought the penultimate paragraph would have made a very good first paragraph…what do you see and hear on that road mannnnn? I hope to find out in person if you respond to my comms about visiting in October.

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