Dog Days

So I woke up today and I was hungover. Again. Because I went to the Racing Page and then O’Neils. Again. And then I came home and ate haggis. Again. My life is getting strangely repetitive. Or at least strange and repetitive. Except that today was different than yesterday. Because it was a good hangover. Not the kind of hangover when you can barely move for fear of puke. Not the kind where you search the bed continuously for the cold spot to put your head on. Not the kind where you can’t face the prospect of eating, but you know that until you eat you are going to feel more and more fucked. Not the kind where the dread seeps through slowly from your subconscious and you know, you just know that you did something to regret the night before.

It was the kind where you wake up and everything feels beautiful. The kind where you want to get up because you’re happy to be alive and you want to see the world. I mean I still felt sick. And pretty stupid. In fact really fucking stupid. But when I opened my eyes this morning, I kept them open. And not to stop the world from spinning when I closed them. And it was nice. I even walked from my house to my girlfriends, which is something I have never even considered before. I even had a shower before anyone else in my house, which is something I have never bothered to attempt before.

I was confused why I felt this painful joy. But then I remembered (via someone on TV telling me). It’s Chinese New Year. It’s now the year of the Dog. My year. Our year. And it’s going to be fucking great. It’s just a shame I’m more of a cat person.

Sven

I’ve got this swan on my chest which will never go away. It’s made up of three numbers which have many meanings but which mean nothing. I can’t get rid of these things, and nor would I want to, but the way people talk to me about it I have to get rid of its meaning, because people don’t get why I did it.

It’s not for comedy. The reason I give for 256 being my lucky number is funny, but I didn’t get ink in my skin for a funny reason. It’s not because I think it’s a mystical symbol. True, when I thought of the number I was all fucked up and I was like “woah man, what does that mean?!”, but even when I’m fucked out of my skull I don’t really believe the shit that falls out of my mouth. I got it because I’m an idiot.

I don’t mean I’m stupid. Because maybe I am and maybe I’m not, but that’s what not what I mean. I mean that it reminds me that I’m an idiot. It reminds me of the things I’ve done. The really stupid, dangerous, unrepeatable, unforgettable yet forgotten things which make me who I am. And I’m not saying that I’m a stunt man or that my scarred skin is a sign of humility to remember that I’ve been a fool. It’s a mark of stupidity to remind me that I am a fool. That I don’t care about the worlds troubles and rules. That I’m not going to just give in and live an ordinary life. That I’ve chosen to be a fool, because it’s more fun. That I’m not going to go gentle into that good night. Because if I did, then I really would be an idiot, and the worst physical pain I’ve ever felt in my life would have been for nothing.

Teleholic

I wake up and something’s wrong. I feel funny. I open my eyes but my eyelids won’t go all the way up. I’m really fucking hot even though I’m fairly certain it’s really cold outside of my body. I hear the longest weirdest gurgling sound that has ever entered my ears and I look around for the freak that must have made it. The movement hurts my head. Shit I was drunk last night wasn’t I?

But I didn’t even drink that much. Maybe I’m just becoming a lightweight. Wait, think back, what’s the last thing you remember? Picking on some kids wearing stupid outfits because they claim that they’re classical music scholars. And then getting my ass kicked my Gene Simmons. Wait that can’t have really happened. Must have been a dream. Which must mean that I was asleep at some point. Well that explains why I’m in bed. Hangover. Hungover. Can’t think fully, so will have to make do with the brain of a monkey. Check my phone. Ok so I didn’t send any miscellaneous messages, that’s always nice to now. Here comes that gurgling again and this time I’m sure it’s from my belly. And it feels good. Oh yeah. Oh wait it feels like I’m gonna be sick. Ok, so that’s passed. Hmm. Gotta find some water. And a way out of this bed. Fuck it, I’m going back to sleep.

Headache. Can’t sleep. It’s too early to get up though. Maybe I’m still drunk. Maybe I’m still asleep. Maybe I should stop drinking. Nah. Just watch the TV. That can become my reality. Ahh that’s better.

My name is Justin

I was like 14 when I had my first encounter with karma. I didn’t realise it at the time, but in retrospect it was there staring me in the eye, plain as Michael Jacksons face after I’d hit him with a shovel. Tom found £40 on the street, and due to his good nature he handed it into the police. The only times where I got close to finding serious cash had been in conjunction with my brother, so I never got to spend any of that lucky loot. Months after Tom had been given the money back by the police, he found another £40. That jammy bastard. I remember him finding other notes now and then, but those two stuck in my mind, because the second time again he handed them into the police and got them back. No wonder he leads a semi-charmed kinda life.

But yesterday, yesterday it came back to me. My little business venture is altruistic in spirit, and yesterday I was discussing the finer points of how I would not give that up for any amount of money. And on the way to the ‘meeting’ with one of my ‘business partners’ I found £10. After I had fought my ‘I’m gonna help people’ corner for a few hours, I went home and then found £20. Hot diggity! The first two notes I find, and both on the same day. I was wondering what the third lucky thing would be to happen to me, and then I bumped into Lydia on a road which I imagine bumping into her on every time I walk down it. Luck is one mysterious bitch, just like Lydia, so this all made sense.

Yesterday topped the time I found 20 unopened Marlboro lights and then 18 later in the same day. I don’t remember what I did to deserve that, but it seems clear to me now as old peoples skin, that if you try to do good things, good things will happen to you.

That's when good neighbours become...

Neighbours made me cry this week. I never thought it would happen but it did. When I was younger than I am now, there was always the rumour going around that one day neighbours would end, and that a plane would crash on Ramsay Street and that everyone would die except Helen Daniels. Well that old bitch died years ago, so I thought it was safe to assume that was a crock of shit. That was until this week came along and Paul Robinson chartered an old school plane with all the characters on it and some motherfucker put a bomb on it. I thought it would be cheesy and an anti-climax in the traditional Australian style, but no. It was more epic than a sumo wrestler fighting a bear. And I thought they were all dead. And even when it turned out they weren’t it was so well done that I shed a tear for the pain my fake friends were feeling.

Maybe that’s what happens when you spend enough time on your own in your room. Your fake friends become a bit too important to you. But at least for half an hour everyday I’m not alone. Like I am on this blog. I asked if anyone was reading this to sign. And you didn’t. So now I’m back to screaming into a plastic bag. I don’t mind though, it means I can talk more shit than ever, if my only audience is me. Any old crap holds my attention. That’s why neighbours made me cry this week. I never thought it would happen but it did.

I'm not saying you don't have a brain

Sometimes when I look at people I swear I can see right through their eyes, through their brains and right to the back of their heads. I speak to these people, but somehow my voice just echoes in their head and comes back out their mouth. It freaks me out. I feel like I must be missing something, or else they must be, because how can people actually be like that? Hmm. Is there anybody really out there?

That’s why I’m doing what I’m doing. I can’t be bothered to explain here, but I’m working on an art related magazine. To me, I’ve always found it an amazing thought that all the shit that goes on in my head, the millions of unstoppable thoughts about everything and nothing are replicated in every head on the planet. And there are more than 6 billion of them now. I don’t mean that everyone thinks the same as me (because that really would be weird), but that everyone has there own whole world built into their head, their own worries, their own thoughts, their own point of view. As complicated as I feel life is for me, it is for everyone else too. When I walk down the street, I sometimes just look at all the windows on the top floors of houses, because most of them are bedrooms, and every bedroom implies a whole world. A whole life which is running on the same planet as me, but which I’ll never see. Hey that rhymes.

Anyway, my point is, that I’m doing what I’m doing because as far as I’m concerned art (in all it’s forms) is the only way that you can really be sure that other people really exist. I have no evidence that other people think except that they can express their thoughts, and that I can understand these expressions of thoughts makes me realise that other people see the world in their own way too. Not to be trite, but without art, how the fuck could I really know that the whole world isn’t just a figment of my imagination, and that people are just facets of that?

I once had a dream that I woke up one day and my whole life had been a massive hallucination and that everything I thought was wrong. Maths, physics, philosophy, everything I had just made up. In my dream when I woke up I was eating a dead rabbit and staring at a tree, which had been an ice cream and a tv respectively before I woke up. Does this make sense? No? Well it didn’t at the time either.

I digress. My point is (and this has been a really fucking roundabout way of getting there) that as much as art is the only way in which I can know people really exist, the comments on this thing are the only way I can know that anyone reads it. So please, leave comments, I don’t care in the slightest what they say, because otherwise this is like screaming into a plastic bag – almost like communication, but also quite like suffocation.

I’m gonna try write at least once a week now. I hope that’s enough for you to be bothered to check this thing. Whoever you are.

Religious Intolerance

Did anyone watch that “Root of all evil” show last night? I caught a bit of it, and I have to say I was extremely disappointed. I was intending on not watching it simply because I assumed that it would make the trite point that religious wars are all stupid, but instead it made the stupider point that people should look at the evidence for god then decide whether to be religious.

This was because the presenter was trying to say that science is better than religion as science doesn’t breed hate or intolerance. What he entirely missed, was that science is basically its own religion in that it breeds hate of things that it can’t explain and intolerance of religion and faith in general.

Believing in something itself isn’t a bad thing. To be a scientist you have to believe in many things, such as that without proof, something can’t be true. Believing in any god isn’t neccesaily a bad thing. What I think is a bad thing is believing in people.

The bible is 2000 years old roughly and people see it as the gospel truth. I believe in god, but I don’t believe in the bible. One reason why is that at the beginning of the 2000 years, most people couldn’t read, and so the bible would be told to them. If only a few people knew what it said, then what would stop them from changing it? I mean, even if it were the word of God to start with, if along the way someone or some people decided to use it for their own gain then what is to say that didn’t happen? The Romans, the Spanish inquisition, the Vatican, and many other powerful forces have had the Bible as their focus point for loyalty throughout this time, so as much I think believing in God is fair enough, believing in the people who claim to work for God is not.

This is of course not only true for Christianity. What about Mohammed? He went to Allah and asked for men to be able to pray less times a day as it was interfering with daily life. What if he was just a guy who didn’t want to pray so many times a day? I’m not saying he wasn’t holy, but no-one is perfect.

And what bothers me most about all religions, is the fact that most people believe in a stupid god. They say that god is omnipotent and all knowing and everywhere and in everything. Well if that was true, what would make Him angry? If He knew every side of the story, then why would anything we ever did bother Him? Why would He ever think violence was the answer, because if He is all powerful and He wanted one of us dead then He could make it happen in a million different ways.

One last thing. Science is a religion. It is religion for people who won’t admit to having faith. But there is no reason to believe that science and God are mutually exclusive. If I was God, and I wanted to make the universe and everything, I wouldn’t create things one by one, I’d just do one thing which started everything off. Just one. If He knows everything, then he knows the results of everything, so just one tiny event would be enough to make everything happen. Because if you knew everything, then wouldn’t everything be boring to you? So it wouldn’t be the doing of things which you would find interesting, it would be watching the action unfold.

Evolution! The most exciting and long running TV show ever invented.

If I had a point I'd be dangerous

Do you think if you lived forever that eventually everything you owned would be a Christmas present? Looking around my room now, there is a high proportion of regular items which have been replaced with novelty counterparts by people short of present ideas. Maybe it’s just the people who buy me presents, but my room is starting to look a bit like Robin Williams sisters room in Toys. If only I had his smoking jacket.

Not that I’m complaining of course (I would never complain about anything!), but drinking tea out of Darth Vaders head, or tapping off into an antique bed pan are not everyday events. Or at least not in most people’s lives. But I am blessed by randomness. Variety is of course the spice of life, and luckily I like it spicy. Despite being addicted to sleep.

That’s a nice way of putting it hey. Addicted to sleep. Instead of being tired, I get withdrawal symptoms. When I’m yawning, I’m craving a fix. When I sleep too much, I’m overdosing. When I dream, I’m tripping. Sleep really is the best drug, as it’s never killed anyone. Except maybe that guy in Se7en, but I’m fairly sure that Morgan Freeman was responsible for that due to his shoddy detective work.

I feel like this blog entry has no point at all. But then when do they ever? Hmm. So I guess I’ll quit while I ahead. Actually nah fuck it, I’ll say one more thing…. swearing is the poetry of the illiterate. So fuck you.

Dancing? No Fucking Way?!

So new years was fun hey. Motherfucking fun. Or so I hear. To be honest I can remember pretty much fuck all about it. I have been told that I was very happy and amusing most of the night and ended it with dancing, pretending to be sick and abusing strangers on the train while sitting on the floor. Sounds like me when I’m drunk. But you know what sounds more like me when I’m drunk? The recordings I made on my Dictaphone (a Christmas present for my beezneez) throughout the evening.

That’s right, New Years Eve, live and in audio effect. So if you are interested in me asking everyone the same question over and over again, or maybe hearing increasingly drunken philosophical debates with dave, or perhaps even my lame attempt at tricking Marta into admitting she’s a lesbian then I’ve got it all digitally recorded. If you are interested in anything that makes sense however, I’m really not your man.

I mean there is a recording of me singing happy birthday to the new year. And discussing how many puppies I had bought the preceding years. What the fuck happened? I have no memory of these events or many others. So if anyone out there can tell me what the fuck happened that evening, I would be grateful.

If I offended anyone, I am very sorry. If I was overly nice to anyone, then I’m not quite so sorry. But honestly, if anyone knows what I did the whole evening, then tell me. The black spots in my memories aren’t that funny anymore, just frightening little patches of *shit what the fuck did I do* stuck in my head.

But anyway, all in all it was a good night. I woke up with maraca’s (is that what they’re called?) in my pocket and a smile on my face. So I assume all’s well that ends well. Happy new year. 2006 is gonna kick ass. Hell yeah.

Monkey Christmas

Three monkeys fighting in the playground. Blood and fur going everywhere, when one stops and shouts

“Hey stop. STOP! What the fuck were we fighting for anyway?”

and one of the other two cries

“All the BANANAS!”

So they start again and fight and fight and bite and bite until one of them pull’s off another ones tail and says

“Hey stop. STOP! Doesn’t this look like a hairy banana?!”

and pretends to start eating it as if it were a banana. The other two monkeys roll around laughing until the first monkey has just about imaginarily peeled his hairy banana.

“Hey stop. STOP!” cries one of the other two monkeys. “Who’s tail is that anyway?”

So they all stop and start looking at their own butts, but as is traditional in the animal world, they can’t quite see, so soon enough they are all just spinning around on the spot trying to see their rears. This goes on for much longer than it should as they each occasionally catch a glimpse of one of the other two’s tail so panic and spin even faster.

After a while a nearby child takes pity on the monkeys as he sees they have started throwing up on themselves and all around them but still continue to spin. The child takes up a small collection from the other children and he goes over to the monkeys and says

“Please stop spinning. That’s not a tail, that’s an unconscious ferret who got caught up in your scuffle. I’ve brought you some bananas”.

Now of course monkeys can’t understand humans, but the word bananas transcends species and race, so within 5 seconds all three of the monkeys had jumped on the boy and were tearing the bananas out of his hand and eating them. These weren’t the smartest monkey’s in the world though, and as he said ‘bananas’ (plural) and yet they had only had one banana each they kept searching the boy until they accidentally on purpose killed him. Then in a blood curdling monkey scream one of the monkeys cried

“THE CHILDREN. THEY HAVE THE BANANA’S”

and the monkeys charged the children and killed them all in search of their yellow gold.

And that is why they don’t send monkeys to school anymore.

Merry Christmas.

Even when the world is dark, the sun can still shine

I love it when a single shaft of sunlight hits my face. Like when you’re sitting there without any natural light, be it because of blinds or clouds, and then suddenly a ray of light comes through and makes you smile. And feel all warm inside even though that massive ball of fire is only actually heating a small part of you. It’s frickin awesome.

I remember long ago when I used to work at Barclays I used to take daily breaks sitting in the sun. By this I just mean that in the 15 minutes or so each day that the sun could get through the neighbouring buildings (and if I was lucky the clouds), I would just roll back my chair and sit and close my eyes and forget that I was at work. Was a beautiful thing. But then I’d open them again and see the hustle and bustle around me. And some people staring at me usually as I had my eyes closed and looked like a freak. But anyway, good times, good times.

Strangely one of my favourite things about shaft’s of sunlight is that you can see all the dust in the air within them. I always think it’s pretty amazing when you are in a room and it seems all nice and clean and still, until a sunbeam bursts in and shows the intensity of the filth and movement in the very air you are breathing in. The filth doesn’t bother me, but the idea that there is such an incredible amount of stuff floating around us all the time, and we just can’t see it unless it’s illuminated by our star is indicative of all life. And it’s pretty cool to look at too.

I used edible glitter on a cake once, and as I was just experimenting, I guess I used a shit load more than I should have, as the next day when that beam of light came through the window the whole room looked like it was sparkling. It was intense. It was beautiful. King Kong would have appreciated it.

Even on a cold day you can still find warmth. Even in an ice cube, you can freeze a chilli. Even a bathroom floor can be heated. Even ice cream can have hot fudge sauce on it. I may hate the sun, but I appreciate everything in it’s right place.

Or is that everything all of the time? Damn confusing Radiohead

We only come out at night

I love the night time. It’s not just because I hate the fucking sun so much, it’s just because to me everything at night just seems right. The best feeling in London is at 4 or 5 am when there is no-one about and the city just seems amazing. During the day there are so many people about that everything is just buzzing and busy and used up so that you can’t really see the wood for the trees. At night time though you feel like a king as you travel through those amazing city streets that you belong to and that belong to you. You just want to touch everything. And even the air tastes different. During the day there are wafts of food and smoke and fumes and sweat, but at night, at night time it’s different. It’s pure. And not just because it’s cold and I love the fucking cold so much, but because it is actually a beautiful thing. If only there were stars to see. And no bit of weird sky an inch tall all around the horizon.

My beautiful girlfriend and I once came back from someplace absolutely fucked sometime in some early morning. And I got my duvet and we sat outside in the garden on the floor just looking at the sky having a smoke break. Huddling from the cold and love, we just sat and whispered and looked up. There were no stars, but it was beautiful. The hour and the peaceful quiet made that more true. The world felt so empty and quiet. And somehow right.

Damn I miss smoking. It’s been 50 days or some shit now. No wait I don’t miss smoking. It was a bad thing. A bad thing.

Anyway, night time offers other benefits to us regular folk like improved TV, no working, possibilities for drinking, for shagging, for smoking and of course for wondrous sleep. So in general, night time is a good time.

Good night.

To Sleep

I really wish I was dead right now. I could do with a rest. If I only I would be conscious to enjoy it, that coffin would be a joy to live in. Well die in. Or be dead in. Whatever.

But I can’t put my faith in death being like sleep, so I gotta keep going. I said from before the start that 2005 was gonna suck. And it has. Really really badly. Been a surprisingly good year for films though. Swings and roundabouts I suppose.

Doesn’t life suck when stuff happens to you that you have no control over. I mean you’re carrying on with your life and then suddenly something happens and everything is fucked for some period of time. And sometimes you can’t tell people about it, so then you start acting weird. And that effects them and the ripples spread.

Or sometimes you do something and to you it means nothing, but to the person you do it to it means a lot. And you change something in them forever, without spending a single thought on it. This is ok when you change them for the better, but it’s frickin terrible when you change them for the worse. Or they ask you about something that you know that you’re in no position to talk about, but you do anyway and you somehow make things worse. When all you really wanted was to stay the same.

The same. Or to change but keep parts of yourself. Or to change entirely. All of these roads are fucking hard to walk down. Sometimes reputations outlive their applications. Sometimes they underlive them. Sometimes you do stuff over and over again and think that people will have noticed or that it will have mattered, but in actuality it’s only you. So you might as well stop. But if you stop then you’ve given in. And you should never give in.

Except when you’re wrong. And who really knows when they are wrong? I love being proved wrong, but at the same time I know I’m pretty condescending so I must seem like I always think I’m right. But I don’t. I know I’m as fallible as everyone else. Everyone else doesn’t seem to think they’re as fallible as me though. I take time to stop and think what in my life I’m wrong about often. It seems to me that other people don’t like to do this. And if I tell them to, they get angry. I suppose it’s a case of arrogance. Probably my arrogance. I’d like to think everyone’s. But if I say that, you’ll get mad. Because no-one likes to think they’re wrong about how they are acting in general.

Which is why no-one will ever think of themselves as the bad guy. In films it’s so black and white usually. But in real life we have to wait for history to judge, and as it’s written by the winner, we really are fucked for the truth. When it comes down to people though, we just each have to think if we’re doing what we think is right. And it’s hard. If you always try to be nice, and other people aren’t nice to you, should you be mean back? If you do something to someone, should you consider their feelings before or after or at all? If you have done something unrelated to someone, yet they seem upset by it, should you dismiss them for interfering or listen for next time?

But there won’t be a next time. Because every moment is different. You just have to choose what it is you want to do, and who it is you want to be in each of them. I just have to choose what it is I want to do, and who it is I want to be in each of them.

And right now, I wish I was dead.

Breathe

1: “So have you heard that Justin’s not smoking anymore?”
2: “Not smoking? What do you mean by that?”
1: “Well he doesn’t smoke anymore”
2: “Really? Justin? How the hell does he do that?”
1: “I don’t know man. It’s weird when you see him now. No smoke coming out of his mouth. No cigarette in his hand”
2: “No cigarette in his hand?! I suppose that would be a good way of getting around it. Where does he get his smoke from then”
1: “Nowhere, he just doesn’t smoke.”
2: “That’s unfuckingbelievable. What about when he’s got a cigarette in his hand, what the fuck does he do then?”
3: “What the fuck does who do when?”
1: “Hey alright man, we were just talking about Justin not smoking”
3: “Yeah I heard about that. He told me that the trick is to not buy any cigarettes”
1: “I guess, but what about if he gets one off of someone else?”
2: “Or if he’s already got one in his hand?”
3: “Well he also said the trick is to not put any cigarettes in his mouth, and to not light them”
2: “Yes but what if he’s already got one”
1: “Yeah like if someone had given him one?”
3: “I don’t know, I guess he just doesn’t ask for one. Or if he does by accident then he doesn’t smoke it. I was out with him the other night in the pub and he wasn’t smoking”
1: “NO! In the pub! I thought that he just wasn’t smoking at reasonable times. How do you go to the pub and not smoke? I mean you’ve got your pint in one hand and your fag in the other. If he doesn’t smoke it then what does he do with it?”
3: “He just didn’t have one in his hand. He was just drinking.”
2: “Without smoking? That’s just fucking strange”
1: “Yeah what does he do when he moves his hand to his mouth to take a drag if there’s no cigarette there?”
3: “Umm.. I don’t know. I didn’t see him do that. I suppose he just doesn’t do that”
2: “And what about all the fag machines in the pub? How did he not use them?”
3: “I DON’T KNOW! I’m just telling you what I saw alright. He just somehow didn’t. I even offered him a cig and he turned it down”
1: “That’s amazing. He turned it down? No fucking way. That's not possible is it?”
2: “Yeah i suppose it is. But I can’t even imagine someone doing that. Let alone Justin.”
4: “Hey guys, let alone Justin what?”
3 “Have you heard Justin’s not smoking anymore”
4: “Yeah I was on pills with him the other night and he didn’t smoke a single one”
3: "Really!”
2: “That’s just fucking incredible!”
1: “Are you sure? Because I don’t see how that’s possible”
4: “Yeah I’m sure. He’s such a fucking quitter”

Claustrophobia

It’s so bright outside I can’t see. It makes me afraid. And not just of the monsters and the bad people, but of the light. Of seeing and being able to be seen. Even in a mirror I can’t see myself that clearly, so what will I see when I’m out there? I could be a monster myself by now, it’s been so long since I’ve seen myself properly. I haven’t been out since I had a choice. But fear has never kept me afraid, so one day I open the door and step out into the light.

It’s cold and still. The sun is shining, but not on me yet, so I start to walk. Out of the shadow of my home. And it’s easy. I start to whistle a few notes. I pick up my feet and glide through the world, comparing it to how it was last I saw it. It’s all brand new, yet somehow dirtier. I don’t mind at all. Before I know it I’m running. The feeling of the world flying beneath my feet is joyous. Even the bright sun burning the back of my eyes just gives energy to my smile. I grow bolder and stop and scream “What’s there to be afraid of anyway?”. But then I see them. And hear them. And smell them. They’re here. “Usssssss” they say. Monsters. Everywhere. I knew it would be like this, but I came anyway.

I am surrounded, but I have a way out. I choose not to take it. “I’m not afraid” I say, half to myself. The other half makes them laugh. “That’ll sssssoon change” they say. And I think ‘Fuck them. I’m so fucking sick of this’ even though it’s all pretty much new to me. I spit at them. And just stand there. I hit one in the face with a giant glob of snot and saliva gloriously mixed. I wish I had used my fist for a second. But only for a second, because then I give them the finger, and everything before becomes nothing. “You’ll wisssssh you hadn’t done that” they say. But I regret nothing but the things I didn’t do, so their words mean nothing to me. I wait for the violence, the attack. It doesn’t come. They just circle menacingly. I get bored.

So my eyes start to wonder. I look at my hands. In the bright sunlight, I can see the blemishes better. They don’t bother me. I see a puddle within the imaginary circle they are going around, and I look at my reflection. It’s still me. Well the back to front version of me which I always see. I’m no monster. But these guys are. So I kill them. I kill them all. The monster motto is of course, if you’re not with us then you’re against us, and who am I to redefine their rules.

I go home. It’s dark in there. I turn on the light, and look out the window.

Quitter

So you may say I have given up. My job. Smoking. Having a regular life. But I haven’t. I’ve just started.

See all my life I’ve kind of thought of the world as one big computer game. It’s not my fault really – I was brought up by TV and played a lot of them when I was young. To this day I can’t take my eyes off any sort of moving image behind a glass screen. Gambling machines in pubs. Windows out of trains and cars. Any old crap on any old TV. So not surprisingly my identification with life and reality has always been a bit hazy. Of course the things which I consume for fun hasn’t helped me either.

But my point is I realised that sometime in my teens I had been just waiting around for my life to finally start. That I’d fucked up so much so far, that I was just pissing around as I knew that eventually I would get fed up and quit and start a new game. Begin again at the beginning and get it all right. But of course along with this realisation came the fact that I knew that this would never happen. That no matter what I did, I would never get the time back which I had used up. That I had wasted. That I had been wasted during.

So I became a bit of a nihilist. Nothing mattered. Everything was about having fun. Which is fair enough I think in retrospect. I mean they were my formative years and taking it too seriously would have been just as regrettable at a later stage in life as not taking it seriously enough. But at least my way was fun.

And then I slowly by slowly began to betray myself. As I gave up on fun and tried to sort my life out, I started to listen to all the crap that I had sworn to myself that I would never listen to. To conform. And I wasn’t happy. I just thought that if I kept going for long enough that I would desensitize myself to it all, just like everyone else had. But then I remembered… I was going to do something different. I don’t need to be like everyone else. No-one does. It’s just easier to give in. So I stopped. And restarted.

As a mash-up fool once said, Suddenly I am Aware. Aware that life is big. It’s bigger than you, and you are not me. Ok, enough of the quotes. Well maybe not quite. As my point is, this isn’t the end, it’s just the beginning.

Dam

6/10 10:46 English Time
I burn my candle at both ends
It will not last the night
But ah my foes
But oh my friends
We’ll be in Amsterdam tomorrow night!

7/10 6.57 English Time
Couldn’t sleep. Kept thinking about that ad for Disney world.

7.48 English Time
Friends! Friends! I’m sick of this country. Let’s go dutch.

Fre: It’s too early man, I can’t think straight

8.14 English Time
12 Million in cannabis is seized. The stole our stash! Oh well, we’re gonna get some more.

Pop quiz 8.14 English time
What’s your favourite flavour of pancake?
F: Bannana and nutella and whipped cream
D: Mayple Syrup
S: Hash
K: Chocolate

9.54 English Time
Aeroporto. Free booze and the psp is brought out. Fear and loathing? No! And Freddy says? Nothing you idiot, Freddy’s dead.

Between England and Holland
K: Is that a cat hair on your head or are you going grey?
F: Is that a dog hair on your head or are you a bitch?

1.55 dutchy time
We’re here. It was foggy, and we’re late, but we’re smoking in the train station. It say no smoking, but we don’t understand anyway. And they have BK here!

2.10 dutchy
Tiny train stations! Dee speaks dutch! No more mention of Anne Frank. Saul detects traces of shit and Marlboro lights. Ooh.

3.06 dutchy
Ajax! We have a tv, but cannot smoke between 8 and 10 am. It’s gonna be a struggle.

5.23 dutchy
Kandinski was tiny. Nice start but not great. Food from shop was nicer than Chinese whispers.
Abraxus is sweet and cold. Not so comfy. Played Chinese whispers. Woah!
Pop Quiz: what’s your favourite thing in the world?
(Saul – Justin’s handwriting makes me question his sanity)
S: Gadgets man. No that’s not true. Right now I’d have to say my flat.
J: Yorkshire pudding.
D: Freddy
(Freddy, you better say Dee)
F: DEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
K: Your punches (she’s afraid of me)
T: Literature
Me: My psp.
I can’t believe no-one said Amsterdam. I can’t believe I didn’t say Amsterdam.

8.31 dutchy
anotheronebitesthedust
tsudehtsetibenorehtona
itsfuntosmokemarijuana
hmm maybe

We me a genetic phd student from Cambridge. From china. We drove them out and dee broke a drink.

F: I like bongs.

K: fools! I ain’s stoned motherfucker. Oh wait I am

10pm dutchy
Chinese whispers has turned into a monster. We is fucked up. Stressed out from not remembering.
Boo ya
Justin is begging for mercy

2pm 10/10 dutchy
on the plane home. Fuck know what happened here. There was a giant alligator, that I can be sure of, but otherwise who knows.

Feels like it was fun though.

Paranoia

So you have to understand that what I’m about to say I don’t actually believe is true. But that’s not to say that I believe it’s not true either, but it is just some stuff I thought so has no basis in reality, except that it angers me when people dismiss the idea that any of it could be true without reason. Paranoia exists because sometimes people really are out to get you. So if I die randomly anytime soon, maybe you should think twice about the things I’m about to espouse.

Have you noticed that most of the big bad things that have happened in the world recently have coincidentally all been in Bush’s favour? I mean it he wanted to plan some fucked up things to happen to the world to help his ass along the way, the things that happened wouldn’t be far off the things he would want to happen. Let’s start at the beginning. Well the beginning of this rant anyway.

September the 11th. Now I know you’re not supposed to say anything about that day except for what a tragedy it was, but let’s look at it reasonably. The world was a relatively peaceful place at the time, and Bush was a self proclaimed war president. His daddy had tried and failed to take over Iraq to help out his oil interests, so maybe Bush decided that he would do it. But people weren’t really up for another pointless war. People weren’t really afraid. So bang (x2) the twin towers go down. No one can miss such a thing. Everyone noticed. It was a tragedy. The tragedy from Bush’s point of view was that he was too dumb to realise that Al Quaeda (or however the fuck you spell it) was mainly based in Afghanistan and not Iraq, so however much he ranted about it, he was going to have to invade the wrong country. I doubt it upset him too much as he was after all a war president. And the fact that the Bin Ladens were personal family friends didn’t seem to bother anyone too much, so as far as he was concerned, no harm, no foul.

Fast forward. The Tsunami. America was told by that whole area that their companies would not be allowed to buy anymore property in the area as it was taking profits away from the natives. Whoosh a big wave fucks it all up. America rushes in without the UN to take most of the responsibility for the aid required to fix it up. Aid which can be denied at a later date unless certain property related view points are relaxed. And coincidentally an American military base is perfectly positioned to have created a tidal wave. Which is impossible. As far as we know.

Fast forward. July 7th. Bush is coming to Britain to make poverty history as far as everyone is concerned. 100% debt relief was the plan. Which really isn’t in the US’s economic favour, which is all Bush is really concerned about (his personal wealth would be fucked if his country’s was). If Africa was comparatively richer, then America would be comparatively poorer. Not to mention that the US just doesn’t want to chip in its fair share for international aid. So what happens? Our PM is taken out of the meeting to attend to terrorist attack issues. Coincidence? Hmm. And in the bargain, British people are meant to feel more afraid and therefore more up for war that their government is supporting the US in.

And then the hurricanes. Anti-American sentiment is at an all time high, so why not bring on a tragedy that no one could say they brought on themselves. Don’t try and fix it up too soon either, as the full impact must be seen around the world. We have to feel sorry for them. Other countries even send them aid, even though they can easily afford it themselves. But it doesn’t quite work. Contempt is felt for Bush at his apparent apathy to the plight of even his own people. So what happens? Another hurricane. And this time they do it right. Everyone is prepared. Bush visits as much as possible. The actual strength of the hurricane is over estimated until the last second. No need to kill anymore people. Just need to demonstrate that he does in fact care, and that everything possible will be done. P motherfucking R.

I can just imagine that little bastard telling his aides, “What no sympathy yet? Hit them again”.

I know you can’t cause a hurricane. But then if you think about it, why not? If butterflies flying in a circle can cause one, what about a machine made from the trillions of dollars that the US spends on defence? In the Second World War they hid bombs in rats and whatnot, and people would have said that was impossible at the time. This time the leader of the ‘free’ world is playing for big bucks, so why not go for the big bang? I mean, I can think of a few ways to make a hurricane machine off the top of my head, and I’m no science motherfucker. The same with a Tsunami. I know it’s impossible. But why?

As I said to start with, I don’t believe any of this to be true. But then, if someone told me it was I wouldn’t be surprised. Just like the moon landings. I believe Neil Armstrong went there, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t. I mean, why was that flag waving in the wind? And what was the point in not staging it. If I was in charge, I would have. I might have even included aliens. But then I’ve always been a bit melodramatic.

Don't just look at me, hit back

I’ve seen far more fun than violence in these times that I call mine. I’ve drunk and smoked and laughed my own age tenfold. I’ve smiled wide at things that had only a hidden funny side. I’ve screamed out loud my mirth to make life laugh with me. But then there’s the violence. I’ve seen my married mother broken and divorce. I’ve seen my friends unspoken pain after a punch was thrown with no explanation why. I’ve seen the moon reflected in a puddle spattered with blood. I’ve seen racists scream and attack and never understood the reason even if I’ve known their reasoning. I’ve seen a lot. But most of it wasn’t real.

I was brought up by television basically. I watched and watch the flickering images on the screen and revel in the blood shed for my entertainment. I have been told that if you watch too much violent television, you become desensitized. But not me. I watch and I learn and I fear and I burn just as if the screen were a videophone letting me in on a fight which will only be so brutal for that one moment so I need to see what’s there, because if I don’t then it may all be gone without a trace before I notice it. Just like real life.

I travelled a train the other day standing in the shadow of all the passengers grumbles about how late it was. It was burning hot and any one of us could have died I heard mumbled and mumbled. And then I heard a scream. A garbled cry of the insane in pain. I looked around and found an old man finally broken by the heat telling someone in too many words to move. Telling a giant. And the giant far from ignoring him, hit him square in the face and the old man crumpled. And the giant leant down and hit him again. And again. And people moved out of the way without saying anything to allow this to happen with more ease.

The TV and me have no bond. I shout at it, and it just sits there, ignoring my cries. I call for blood and it isn’t spilt. I call for revenge and there is only justice. I call for peace and war rolls on. I call someone a cunt and they hear me.

Real life is so much harder and so much easier than I ever expected. Than I could have ever been told. You can try your hardest and get nowhere, or you can sit back and relax and it all turns out fine. I scowl sometimes and the world scowls with me. I growl sometimes and the world growls at me. I fight sometimes and nothing fights back. It’s hard. It’s different. But at least it means something.

I saw a pigeon explode as train hit it in front of dozens of children, the blood nearing their innocent faces before falling. I saw a pigeon squashed with its guts spewn out of it’s mouth in 2D. I saw a pigeon flattened into a picture of a itself in flight, more free than it had ever been in life. Whichever one of these you want your life to be, don’t ever forget that the choice is yours. I’ve seen more fun than violence in my life, but maybe violence is fun. Maybe. I fucking hope not.

Don't just look at me, smile back

In these times that I call mine, I’ve seen far more fun than beauty. I’ve drunk and smoked and laughed my own age tenfold. I’ve smiled wide at things that had only a hidden funny side. I’ve screamed out loud my mirth to make life laugh with me. But then there’s beauty. I’ve seen my saddened mother rejoice and marry. I’ve seen my friends smile with restraint knowing that the joy they feel cannot be explained with mere words. I’ve seen the sky open and swallow the sun, only to let it go again after missing the colours it’s imbued upon the world. I’ve seen foreign climes and foreign words unfold before me and known what they meant even if I didn’t understand what they mean. I’ve seen a lot. But most of it wasn’t real.

I was brought up by television basically. I watched and watch the flickering images on the screen and laugh and cry along with them. I have been told that if you see yourself watching television, you can watch it no more as the image of your zombie face will stop you craving the distraction. But not me. I watch and I learn and I love and I yearn just as if the screen were a videophone letting me in on something far away that I would miss if I didn’t look. I need to see what’s there, because if I don’t then it may all be gone without a trace before I notice it. Just like real life.

I travelled a train the other day sitting on the floor. There were seats available, but I sat on the moving ground anyway. Each stop that came the door hummed upon and the world appeared anew. A new view came and a new segment of life was shown to me. And then taken away. It was nothing. But it was beautiful. I could have licked the door in congratulations of its beautiful trick had it not been so filthy. But then I shouldn’t really lick things to congratulate them.

The TV and me have no bond. I shout at it, and it just sits there, ignoring my cries. I tell the hero to think about his actions, and he ignores me and carries on. I tell the villain he can repent and he does no such thing. I tell Lynn Scully she’s a stupid bitch, but she heeds not my words. I tell my friends I a joke, and they laugh.

Real life is so much harder and so much easier than I ever expected. Than I could have ever been told. You can try your hardest and get nowhere, or you can sit back and relax and it all turns out fine. I smile sometimes and the world smiles with me. I laugh sometimes and the world laughs at me. I cry sometimes and no one looks at me. It’s hard. It’s different. But at least it means something.

I saw a pigeon drop out of the sky in front of me once and flutter on the floor unto its death. I saw a pigeon have sex with another and then run from its conquest. I saw a pigeon make love to another and then coo and preen with it, until they could both fly away together. Whichever one of these you want your life to be, don’t ever forget that the choice is yours. I’ve seen more fun than beauty in my life, but maybe fun is beautiful. Maybe.