Trigger Warning!

Note:  Views expressed are not necessarily those of hiapop.

The ramblings and truth of guest writer Holden Zero. TRIGGER WARNING!!! 

25 August 2020


Grief is weird. Grief is ugly. Grief lingers and curls away in the darkest corners of your mind awaiting its moment. Grief is necessary. "Broken hearts make it rain" sings Thom Yorke on Radiohead's A Moon Shaped Pool an album submerged in grief and all of its guises. Melancholy and anger rub shoulders. How are you meant to act when you lose a friend? If you slide in to the position of organiser and worrier then where does that leave you? When do you cry? When do you shout? When does it feel real? You see the sensation is more like a dull ache at the moment and not actual pain. Like the first flush of flu you can feel it coming but it is not quite there yet. When will it morph in to full physical pain? What if it never does? Question question question  that is all I have. Answers are like the whiff of cherry you get when a steaming human vaper walks back past looking like the ghost of Christmas future all fire and finality, pale skin and clawing lungs. Sounds like I am judging but I am not as I was that person and I wish I could still be sometimes. What this event has triggered in me is an ache of sadness of laughs that will never be repeated or meals together never enjoyed but it has also made me focus on my own mortality. Death scares the shit out of me yet I spent so long rushing towards it. I think that my brain puts a twisted logic on it. Like deciding to take your own life gives you the power to remove the fear of ifs and when's and the fear of forgetting everything you have lived through and the people you have met...

People. God they can inspire and infuriate. If only stubbornness hadn't kept you from seeking the help you needed. If only you had told us sooner. If only if only if only if made us laugh with your open heart and vulnerability. You were so string for others yet refused us the chance to be strong for you. This is how you went..the same as you lived. Independent and shielding us from the darker aspects of the human experience. The stories (the LOADS of stories) we have read all focus on your friendship and your caring nature. Why didn't you allow us to care for you eh?

I still won't be able to say goodbye as you will remain always..when the 6 Nations start again and the Welsh anthem is sung. When a Paul Weller or Dai Bowie song comes on the radio you will smile. When someone needs me to measure them in work..that's when you will be here beside me. For now allow me to be sad even though you'd tell me not to be...I will smile again when thinking of you I promise....

Goodbye Blodyn x


8 February 2020

Hello again. been a while. buried my head up my ever expanding shitter whilst the world began its final crumble. I mean what the actual fuck are people doing? Am I the wrong one *insert Mitchell & Webb gif here you lazy shit*. What is it about the promise of exclusion and the constant stream of obvious bullshat a tat that makes people go "yep he's my guy"? have we all been spiked? are we through the looking glass? This is the worst trip I have ever travelled and it contains no bright colours or bending pavements. No cars floating and strobing trees, just abject misery and the sense that your head has been scooped out and dumped in the local long as you have proof of address that is. Council's are just leaving us for dead. they are milking and milking us for every seed yet never cum to our climax. What is this but yet another robbery. This bloke has been chatting to me for two hours about Fluff Freeman..not arf. head is swimming. He's nice enough but god damn this is hard work. He's lonely and I am scum I know but I just want him to leave so I can get some juice into me and breeze through until 6 when I get to enter the daylight (arf arf) and see my own kitchen floor which I think I might spew on..violence is an ugly man's dream and I am particularly ugly today. I want to smash and grab the face of the next person who smiles at me. Plunge it into the curb. Stamp on the legs breaking and breaking and breaking..

or I could just go home, eat a banana and wank peacefully over the image of that person I have a secret crush on Twitter. I am a good person honest I am just arvin' a bad day. Anyway night everyone sleep tight and FUCK TORY RULE.


12 December 2019

It's The Hope That Kills You

it's the hope that kills you. as radar echoes bounce back from social media's aquarium walls you start to believe that positivity might win out...change may indeed be a coming....Merzbow helps bring me back into my sceptical and depressive self. 5 more years of this shit? I can't cope with that. I have to be honest and say it would tip me over the edge as it would be the final nail of proof that the country I actually believed to have goodness and empathy running through it is a falsehood and really people are filth. me me me me me me me me me eme ememe eme eme eme ememememememeememmmem. That's the smegma stink of it all. Like cream cheese on an unwashed bellend fascists and racists cling to their billionaire donors..sucking on the dribble they spit on their heads...and they are grateful for it. Can you believe it? people actually LIKE being teabagged by the wealthy..they enjoy seeing the suffering of refugees, children , the homeless. they like it so much they want MORE MORE MORE...We are a self-harm nation slashing at the top half of our arms never revealing our true selves unless it's hiding behind dog avatars on Twitter...wave that flag around in your bio boy wave it like a semi in the deep end of the local swimming pool. Swing it wild and swing it large for this is the future you deserve and when the snake turns and starts biting its tail it is your arse that will feel the teeth first..


we could wake up tomorrow with a slight glimmer of Yoda proclaiming there to be another we could be looking up at the mood lighting and feel that maybe...just maybe the tide is finally turning...if it is greet it like a long lost friend and swim log and deep..

peace to you all and have a happy new year... 


6 November 2019


The whole bloody world is drowning in a world of ghosts. We are all being haunted. 

Take the music industry of which I play a small part by playing terrible guitar in a terrible band that I just can't seem to walk away from...tick this off as yet another addiction. The industry is haunted by its past. The giant labels hover over everything even if you think that they don't. Loads of the supposed independents get their money from up there , the PAYmasters and grouching chiefs. It's all so tiring. The world then is not an escape in fact it is like locking yourself in to a haunted castle surrounded by demons of the most violent and vile manner. Every corner stands a lurid spirit dripping in contempt for you..wanting your death. You are Jack and you've always fucking been here. We are the caretakers, the virgins and the spot-types. Basically anyone who has been fucked and butchered in gore/porn crass flickzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

There are guiding lights you know. There IS A  FORM OF HOPE. People who will cast out the demons and make the power of ghosts become nothing more than damp farts in the cupboard.

God I sound tedious eh. moaning on as my putrid gut rumples and curdles..I am pretty sure it will be my stomach that eventually kills me. Even if it's just chocking on the gormless burger of Westminster until I break on through to the other side. Christ that Morrison was a prick wasn't he. All this "shaman" bollocks is absurd when all he was is a violent alcoholic who beat women and grew a beard. Fair play he could belt out a blues jam that I would sing along to when I was an edgy teen swigging vodka and coke's in my mates house swallowing the Oliver Stone bullshit like it was Gospel. I am reeeeeeeeaaaallllllyyy glad I am not like that anymore. Or am I? He haunts me that ghost.




24 October 2019


Fucking prick. 39 dead. 39 dead. 39 dead. Humans. Heartbeats. Flesh and blood. Life smothered out of them in the pitch black fumes of lorry casket and here he is. Mr Brexit Party avatar all "fuck ‘em" and "good riddance". Well you know what? It’s cunts like these that make me think it is time to shuffle off. I've been trying for weeks but I can never get to that one final leap into blackness.

First the belt just looked at me in the wardrobe… then came the test run all wrapped round my neck as I stared at the landing... then came the tightening…the day after. Constant tears as I picture my's the calmness that is getting to me this time. I am not angry or distraught… I just feel ready... ready is in fact the emotion I can feel right now. Actually I am liar liar pants on fire. I feel irritated...pain...tiredness… no love for anything except one or two people…  It isn't easy keeping this fucked up charade going…  I keep losing my train o thought as you can see. Third time lucky… this time the other end goes round the doorknob... we... are… getting… closer.

Online I am all smiles and humanity when really I am done… cooked… caved in… hollowed out… chest under constant invisible pressure. I can't breathe.

And here comes Mr Right-Wing Fuck ‘em Brexit to add to my already black day… these pricks are allowed to drive… vote… tie their shoes up (with mummies help). I wanted a quiet day where I could just try and focus on getting better but no here comes the news… the devastation… the ugly end to 39 lives... these people are us and we are them and here they come the ugly spit and wank online warriors… they can't spell but they're "proppa English" they spell the word that describes them as cants... need to log off and avoid but the hatred boils up and over... I need rest… sleep… a shit and a sandwich then the courage to get past that one last hurdle… I don't really want to of course. This is the ramblings of a depressive and ‘tis is just Wednesday... wait until I tell you about Friday... barnstormer.

Stay happy and safe. Chose art music and film... read this on your phone? Turn to the person next to you on the train/bus/tram and just say hello... you could save their life.

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