Tuesday, December 25, 2007 3:16:44 AM
It does exactly what it says on the tin...
In the beginning
we had the word
now we have many of them
what shall we do?
go outside?
have your parents round for tea?
stay inside?
hide from all the words, I say
It's only other people speaking them
and they where never real,
anyway
I'll stay in here
you can go outside
to see what they say
how many of them are there?
Many, too many
more than you can hear
too few of us to listen
so why bother trying?
hear them call and rant
mating calls and threats lost in Tescos background music
no wonder they scream
Saturday, December 15, 2007 8:10:31 PM
Sheep feature pretty heavily in the lives of many Welsh folk. I also seem to remember reading some mind bending statistic that for every person in Wales, there are four sheep. I'm not to sure how true this is, especially considering that my Sudanese house mate seems to be trying to eat all the sheep he possibly can.
Any ways, as you might be able to guess, I've not got much to say to you people this week. Check out the links page if you really want to blow some time on the internet. Try to visualize your life in the form of a leaking vat of three hundred year old, priceless red wine. What do you feel as you watch the pool of now undrinkable wine accumulate in the sawdust beneath your feet? Picture your life force slowly dripping away in this manner...
Got it? Good. There's the spirit, now get on out of here, you crazy cat.
Monday, December 10, 2007 7:48:59 PM
Armed with a half price South African red wine and some suitably depressing music, it’s probably time to begin with the first post proper. I’m usually banging on to anyone who’ll listen that experience is all about perception. Nothing new there then, but I feel that many people miss the whole point of this assertion. Perception isn’t just about receiving information from our environments, the means by which this information is processed and interpreted is equally important, if not more so. Self helpers, motivational speakers and other social parasites of this type capitalise on this basic truth to try to turn shy, insecure unsuccessful people into brash, insecure unsuccessful people. As I said to someone recently, we aren’t just automatons going through life reacting to external stimuli. She stared at me and told me that I wasn’t helping.
I’ve just spent the past nine years of my life living in Aberdeen, North East Scotland. The backdrop it provided of Gothic gray granite architecture and shambling dead eyed heroin addicts ended up giving me the impression that I was some sort of living George from Rainbow, bimbling my way through the city in a dewy eyed haze of pinkness and endearing speech impediments. Unfortunately, the truth is that I’m no camp pink hippopotamus and never will be. Moving to South West Wales, where green hills and valleys are gently dotted here and there with postcard ready villages populated by people with easy going natures and a fondness of humour seems to have cast me in a different light. Gone the pink gay thing from my childhood television set, bring on the cackling gray miserablist. I actually live in an old mental asylum on top of a hill next to the town I now live in. I have visions of being chased out of town by angry locals with burning torches, albeit in an easy going and good humoured way.
The point I’m coming to is concerning the differences I’ve noticed between a good friend of mine, I’ll call Mark, and I. His world view is, although not an optimistic one, certainly a healthy one to my mind. I called him some time ago and, as etiquette demands, asked how he was doing. As it turned out things were not going that well. “You know when you have the shits and you have to puke in the sink because of the smell?” was his reply to my half sincere inquiry after his health. It wasn’t the first time this had happened to him he revealed after I’d stopped laughing. The thing about Mark is that he is able to simultaneously see the horror of a predicament yet also the inherent humour. Initially he’d automatically assumed that everyone must have to “puke in the sink because of the smell” every now and then, what could be more natural? When he discovered that not everyone led their lives in such a base fashion, his response was to find the whole thing hilarious. Undignified, uncomfortable, but none the less fucking funny. For my part, I don’t deal as well with embarrassment or personal discomfort. I can agonise for a whole day following a night out where I might, for example, flirt with a lesbian, be threatened by said lesbians girlfriend and then go on to piss in an ornamental fountain. Not that I would behave in such a way you understand, this is merely illustrative of the sort of thing I would worry about.
For fun, can you guess which of the two guys in this picture is Mark?
Aha. Now it's dark and I can smoke out of my window without the townsfolk seeing me...
Monday, December 10, 2007 4:14:16 PM
I have felt compelled to begin this blog as a distraction from the overwhelming, non specific sensation of impending doom which I feel, to some extent, on a pretty much constant basis. Catharsis is not something to which I readily subscribe, but I've met many who have found an outlet in their diary keeping, painting, kicking dogs and the like. To us futuristic cybermonkeys the term melancholia might be most closely synonymous with depression or dysthmia. I claim neither of these labels, nor an excess of bile (black or otherwise), merely that as part of the human experience there is, inevitably, the sense that all is not well, in fact all is pretty much far from well. This isn't to say that good does not exist, how can there be darkness without the light by which to compare it? But that's not why we're here is it? As Denis Leary says: "Life sucks, get a helmet".
My Opera
(0%)
