Thanks.

(Written on 27/12/11 at 9:30pm)

Having no time to think can be virtuous. During my first trip to Jemma El Fina, where the air is thick with the smell of spices, tagine and opportunity, I was set upon by an Arab man wielding a smile and a snake, who asked whether I wanted to hold his reptilian accessory. Me being me, I ruminated on the potential dangers of his proposal while eyeing up the cobra several inches from my foot but before I could complete my thought, the snake was swiftly lassoed around my neck and draped across my shoulders like a leathery pashmina.

Naturally, I shrieked like a child while engaging in a series of flinches and twitches as dread consumed me. The Arab man then instructed me on how to hold the neck of the snake whilst posing for a picture, a feat best mastered in order to avoid being bitten (queue rapid heart palpitations and a moist forehead).

The whole experience lasted little more than five minutes but had I been given the time to conclude my initial thought, I would have surely opted out of the opportunity but the astute salesmanship of the smiley Arab man culled my considerstions before they reached fruition, thus stonewalling me into an experience I can enjoy through the prism of hindsight, something I am grateful for.



- I write in order to avoid talking, for you see as a human, I suck at talking.

Location:In Hindsight

Chapter 1 - Talks of a barren land.

“…So in the end, I had to spell it out for him. I…have…a uterus Steve. It’s barren land and like all barren land, I want it populated, full of THINGS, full of POTENTIAL.”

“Good for you” cheered the auburn bobbed lady sitting across from her. “What did he say?”

“Well, his first response was a full three seconds of silence, followed by and I quote...'Well, the economy is really on the decline, can we really be..' and after that, I just saw red.”

“Where you angry?” quizzed her audience of one.

“I was! But more than anything, I was fucking disappointed” her profanity punctuating her level of disdain. She poured herself her third Mai Tai, the last remnants from the pitcher they were sharing. “I mean, its not like I don’t understand or even appreciate his point but really, who cares?”

“Mmm, mmm” chimed the auburn bob in agreement.”

“So, that’s when I decided that I would lead in this situation...” She extended both arms as she announced her plan. “...That I would take the initiative, make the decision for him, so we can stop beating around the proverbial and just get it done.”

Friday nights at The Table always reeked of sexually craven clerical assistants seeking post-work relief and house brand vodka while the bustle and desperation always trumped the nostalgic whining and humming emanating from the in-house system. The Table was typical in décor, high wooden stools surrounding circular tables, each one blander than the last and adorned with a lit candle welded into the neck of a wine bottle. There were no sofas or booths, just groups of stools and tables, a posse of furniture huddled together, providing a counterfeit feeling of intimacy in a faceless establishment. It was 6:40 pm and the bar was nearing capacity, with people from the surrounding offices and businesses nursing their week-long blues with a Lager Top or some unidentifiable glass of white wine that has had its taste sufficiently drowned by liberal lashings of lemonade. In the far corner, a blonde and her auburn topped sidekick sat engaged in conversation.

“Hey ladies,” said a testosterone soaked voice behind the inebriated blonde. She refused to turn around, letting the cropped rear of her hair act as her eyes and ears. “What are we drinking?” The blonde sat still and grinned at her auburn compadre and whispered in a voice that was intentionally loud enough for the man to hear

“I can hear a voice but I can’t see the person. Have you heard, that it’s only cowards and paedophiles who make a habit of approaching woman from behind?”

“I did not know that,” replied the auburn one.

“Oh I get it,” said the voice. “Teasing me teasing me” he feigned a laugh. “As long as I get to tease you…” Auburn, who was in direct sight of the man studied the stranger, his polished grin, the stained edges of his shirt collar, his cropped haircut that some boy-band had declared cool and the fistful of hair protruding from his nostrils  - all of this allowed her to swiftly conclude him to be an unworthy addition to their nights entertainment.

The blonde continued: “Yes, in fact, they say that approaching anything from behind often signifies repressed homosexual feelings.” Auburn nodded in agreement, trying her hardest to not let her growing smile blossom into a chuckle.

“That’s a bit harsh now love isn’t it?” quizzed the man, his scarred ego manifesting in a quivering of his voice and a reddening of his cheeks. “I only wanted to buy you a drink.” He embarked on a monologue, a plea for the underdog but his voice trailed off as he took the lonely and defeated walk back to his pack of male friends.

“You can be such a bitch!” declared auburn.

“I know, but it’s my appeal.” She winked and the pair shared a moments’ laughter, a comfortable release of emotions suspect to strangers but coded to friends.

“So as I was saying,” continued the blonde, “I’ve decided toooo... come off the pill.” Auburn’s eyes widened in response and a momentary silence fell upon the space they inhabited.

“More cocktails?” asked the blonde.

“I think you better” responded Auburn.

****

Parenting?

At present, I work with children, not adolescents but actual toddlers, humans who are more dreams than reality, who speak in growls and relish the feeling of sand between their stubby fingers. It's daunting to imagine that I one day, may be a parent, a vision that I entertain more frequently than in past years.

Working closely with parents and families provides valuable insights into the limitations of human parenting, how intentions are often left unfulfilled once the ceiling of abilities are hit, how an addiction to being a part of a society that is often too large and shrouded in insincerity, can rob a person of their natural resources and resilience. Despite this, I see something quite honourable and humbling about the notion of being a parent.

So, in anticipation of my earthly demise, or the moment my capacity for remembering the salient details of past thoughts erodes, I am starting a list of values/ideas I would talk to my children about. Like all heredity values, they are themes that have played starring roles in my thoughts and experiences but hopefully, once these things have been mastered in my own life, my mere existence alone may act as an example to the children I father.





- I write in order to avoid talking, for you see as a human, I suck at talking.

Location:Caversham Ave,,United Kingdom

Too much too soon?

It was a succession of horrific moments that culminated in a spectacular finale, a climax of self-made cringe worthy moments exploding onto a backdrop of familiarity.

This was probably a time when moderation would have served me well but instead, I jumped feet first into the well of extremities and was subsequently singed to my calves.

Still, it's worth the __________ if I learn the lessons and endeavour not to repeat the mistakes. If.




- I write in order to avoid talking, for you see as a human, I suck at talking.

Location:There, again.

Suicidal Tendencies.

I woke up on Saturday morning to a suicide text from a friend. She wanted to fix all of her wrongs, she couldn't bear the pain and confusion that she lived with.

Her attempt was unsuccessful, she was found by a sibling and rushed to hospital, her system overdosing on angst and unprescribed medication.

She told me how annoyed she was at being found, at failing to end her own life. I stared at my phone for what seemed like a third of an eternity, trying to think of words that would help her, words that would express my deepening concern for a friend but everything felt false.

For most of the day I've sat in silence, grateful for her brother, thankful for doctors but lavished with worry for my friend, someone who is struggling to find a balanced horizon in her life.




- I write in order to avoid talking, for you see as a human, I suck at talking.

Location:Hmmm.

Writing.

I spent the last few weeks taking in various cultural activities, everything from a Tea and Coffee Festival, to Ice-Skating in Hyde Park. I was fortunate and unsociable enough to write reviews for a few of the shows that filled one particular week (interesting fact, at least 88% of each review was drafted on my iPhone using an app entitled 'Enso Writer').

It started with seeing Leon Michener and Seaming To at The Forge, followed by a visit to Yuri Suzuki's latest exhibition at Village Underground, swiftly followed by a night of music courtesy of Robert Glasper's Trio at Kings Place and finished with a brief seminar by Robert Glasper (yes, again) at Southbank.

You might enjoy some of the reviews however it's quite feasible, that you might think they are filled with the flowery language and idiosyncratic ramblings that fill my previous posts. Either way, business as usual will resume once I manage to tear myself from my current Skittles addiction.

Moderation

I'm learning that it's possible to overdose on anything, from fruit to feelings, there comes a point where nimiety begins to incur more harm than good. Even features that we're told are virtuous, in excess, can be harmful.

However moderation, is boring. Being moderately drunk, or moderately in love, or even moderately depressed is an offensive bootleg of something that is meant to be experienced in the extreme. Imagine if Noah had built a 'moderate' ark, it would be little more than the contents of the Ikea reduced aisle stacked two storeys high - with enough standing room for a gazelle and an otter - not the biblical combatant that braved one of the earliest documented cases of global warming.

As of today, I will try to step away from my comfortable and moderate existence and dabble in the world of extremes because if we are honest, it's the extremists who make historical differences and potent memories. I'm sure if Jesus was only prepared to be reprimanded with a 5-minute timeout on the Naughty Step for the sins of mankind, instead of dying for them, he probably would have been a footnote in God's lineage.




NB: Today is Sunday, hence the biblical references.


- I write in order to avoid talking, for you see as a human, I suck at talking

Location:On the receiving end of a bad phone call.

Training Days.

Public sector training days are bound by universal law to have the following:

1) Vile coffee. Not sub standard or passable coffee but vile, gut wrenching coffee. Instant coffee so traumatising you would have thought you were pouring scolding water onto a sachets worth of dehydrated dog turds.

2) Death by PowerPoint. Not only do trainers insist on using templates that have been psychologically proven to bore yet provoke homicidal tendencies in adults, they then cram them with every morsel of dialogue the day contains. But that is only the ailment. The slow spiral of death begins as the speaker begins to read the text to you in a voice that induces multiple toilet breaks, a voice so void of character and interest you wish it were possible to have it subtitled with emoticons just so the speaker can gauge the audience's perception.

3) An average luncheon. In this particular case I was spared the delectable spread of imitation Digestive biscuits and margarine heavy tuna sandwiches cut into triangles. Why triangles I've always wondered? A cucumber sandwich cut in the shape of a dodecahedron, now that would ensure positive feedback on the day's evaluation form.

This training day however provided no such luncheon, another casualty in the public sector bonfire that is austerity? Or the burning effigy we all long to become cinders. You decide.


- I write in order to avoid talking, for you see as a human, I suck at talking

Location:Several leagues below content.

Notes from the author.

"Most of us don't know what autonomous thought is. The world strips it away until all that's left is the intuition you are told to ignore." (K, 2011)

Art I like #5

Good morning.

Somedays I make a habit of staring at something interesting before I leave begin my commute.

This is today's something.



- I write in order to avoid talking, for you see as a human, I suck at talking

Location:In between sleeps.

Reading

The Telegraph has been my newspaper of choice lately. The editorials are usually dense layers of confusion and adverbs but I find them informative. There was a pretty powerful piece this week about the ticking time-bomb that is Britain's personal debt, which is valued at £1.5 trillion - more than the country's GDP. You can read it here.

The Frankie Boyle romp 'Work! Consume! Die!' (yes there are that many exclamation marks) is very entertaining. He casts his bottomless cynicism and taboo humour over many a topical issue, while interspersing one of his own short stories. One fond memory I can recall, was when he commanded me to imagine Cheryl Cole as a judge at The Hague. His phonetic interpretation of her accent had me laughing out loud, much to the discomfort of the other passengers on the 41 bus.

The book about surviving a baby's first year was my Halloween spine-chiller. Learning about colic, bonding and the importance of adult time, sent me into a frenzied spiral I hadn't felt since watching Saw at the cinema. I'll return to it one day, I hope.


- I write in order to avoid talking, for you see as a human, I suck at talking.

Location:Staring into my iPhone.

Pets?

As a regular user of public transport there are a number of things I have come to accept and indeed tolerate, but something that I cannot quite get to grips with is the presence of animals on the bus. Do not be mistaken, I like animals. In fact I'd go so far as to say that I quite love animals. I love then when they lie snuggled up in a toasted bun with lettuce, onions and relish, or when they are diced and tossed liberally onto a bed of mixed leaves, but these gargantuan descendants of Digby that owners try to masquerade as pets is a whole other caper.

They saunter on the bus with their owners, mouths foaming with the taste of human flesh wrapped around their gums, separated from the public by what would, under normal circumstances, be considered a sturdy chain but in this instance, is nothing stronger than the hair found on the head of a newborn.

When I was younger, there was a certain criteria an animal had to meet for it to be classified a domestic pet, for example, if your pet has wider shoulders then the current world heavyweight boxing champ, then they are probably not a pet. Or if they possess incisors sharp enough to tear your skin to confetti, then they are a long ways off from being a pet.

Perhaps my neighbour is right, we are living through the 'super-size' age and pets are the latest to fall victim to this ideology. Perhaps.







- I write in order to avoid talking, for you see as a human, I suck at talking.

Fear.

I've been stewing on the concept of 'fear' and I've trying to categorise it but this has proved a challenging feat. For example, I have a fear of mice and rats. Rationally, I am several times larger and stronger than any of those creatures, so my instinct is to categorise that particular shortcoming as irrational. However, to do that is to discount context. For example, as a child, I was frequently told that mice and rats harbour disease and were key agents in the spreading of the plague. Given this context, my fear of rodents is actually a fear of ailment and ultimately death, which sounds a tad more rational.

This string of nonsense led to me reclassify fear, opting for 'tangible' and 'intangible', labels that account for physical and abstract ideas. After the reclassification, I found that most, if not all my fears lie within the remit of the intangibles, those slightly complex and abstract ideas, like death and humiliation.

Such a disappointment to realise that I have an aversion to concepts that my mind should be able to tame.

Maybe you should try it. List your fears and see which are tangible and which are intangible.

- I write in order to avoid talking, for you see as a human, I suck at talking.

Location:The staff room.

Things I learnt this week (the Steve Jobs edition).

I’ve spent the lion share of the morning reading various obituaries and editorials on the life and exceptional contributions of Steve Jobs and have learned the following things:

1) Follow your passion and interests. Steve was a lover of all things electronic and found a mentor in one of his neighbour. His passions led him to have a conversation William Hewlett, co-founder of Hewlett-Packard during his early years about a missing component from one of their products.

2) Do what you feel to be right, not what others tell you is right. Steve dropped out of university. He saw that the cost of the tuition was eating away at his parents savings accounts and didn’t believe that to be the best use of their nest-egg. I’m sure Steve’s parents and his fellow classmates would have loved him to continue to study and aim for Cum Laude graduation status but instead, he decided to invest in himself and his ideas.

3) Defeat is a passing phase, not a static state. Before Steve Jobs made the iPod and its various mutations, he was responsible for a few commercial flops, notably, the ‘Lisa’ desktop computer.

4) Belief and vision are priceless. Steve bought a computer graphic and animations company from George Lucas, believing that the company’s creative output would be a staple of modern cinema. After years of nurturing and support, the group became what is now known as Pixar Animation Studios who released their first film, Toy Story, in 1995, raking in some £362 million in box office receipts.

5) Legacy is inevitable. Whether you are a pauper, a prisoner or responsible for one of the biggest evolutions in consumer electronics, you will leave a collection of people and places that hold memories of you.

The age of the unimpressed.

I think we are all slightly ungrateful and worse still, are becoming harder to impress. Like most, I was glued to the Apple keynote speech last night. The majority of it was just a re-hash of the iOS 5 features with a few new additions, such as Cards – Apple’s attempts at usurping Moonpig and Find my Friends, an app that allows you to track friends and family for a period of time - which pretty much buys into the hypotheses of many a dead science fiction writer.




Of course the main  event was the announcement of the iPhone 4S. I have spoken to a few tech-savvy individuals and a few laymen and both parties are deeply unimpressed and somewhat saddened by the product and are all too happy to post their disillusionment on various blogs and feeds. Somehow, being given shiny new everythings on a regular basis has turned us into spoilt lemmings with a diminishing capacity to be wowed.



Cosmetically, the new iPhone is almost identical to the current iPhone 4 model but the guts of the new handset are impressive and should not be so easily dismissed. It boasts a dual-core processor – DUAL CORE! I work in offices where staff routinely use computers/laptops that run on Pentium 3 or 4 chips. Remember those? Of course you don’t they were at the forefront of technology back in 2002.



I guess the reactions to the iPhone 4S reminds me of the individual who watches porn online but vents fury when the word ‘buffering’ appears and stops them mid pleasure – somewhere along the lines, perspective and appreciation of technology has been replaced with an over-inflated sense of instant gratification.

Tuesday (no winners).

A colleague rang the office this morning to say that she was running late. Turns out that the reason for her lateness was a discarded child she had found by the roadside. Actually, the term "child" is adds years to this human life; it was an infant, a newborn, left by the side of the road.

You can predict the comments that would soon be flung raucously between the varying professionals or the general public; “this kind of lack of responsibility is endemic today”, “I bet she was a young Mum- they have no idea what there were doing”. All judgement, very little compassion.

I feel for the infant; laying in a basket, in some urine-soaked bus shelter but my mind does wonder what the parent/s must be thinking, what level of despair and confusion managed to inform and justify their actions. Social services, the Police and all the other state regulators that come under the term "multi-agency" have been informed and are on their way to have their first of many interactions with the newborn.

Half-mast.

I lost a bet today. A gamble I believed I could win, chips stacked in my favour, a mere transaction was how I saw the situation. But as it turns out, I over estimated my bluffing capabilities.

Being on the wrong side of victory provides a vista populated with deceased dreams and the rotting stench of over-ambition, while your pride flies at half-mast.

At least I can find consolation in... no, I won't finish that mediocre sentiment.





- I write in order to avoid talking, for you see as a human, I suck at talking.

Location:Indebted

Three things I learnt this week.

1) Be knowledgeable of the things to which you attach your self-esteem and self-worth.

2) In every situation, one must ask "am I an asset or a liability." Doing this over an extended period of time, will reveal traits of your character that you would normally gloss over. Ruminate on your findings.

3) Participating in a chorus of 'The Wheels on The Bus', with a group of three year olds, a group who are nothing more than several pounds of impulses and SMA formula, is a humbling and energising experience.


- I write in order to avoid talking, for you see as a human, I suck at talking.

Location:East of Eden.

Reading.

I've been engrossed in literature of late. Two novels, alike in dystopian value.




Kingdom Come is well-written and it's dramatisation of consumerism is astute. The Stepford Wives is entrancing and paints a chilling view of suburban life and it's perceived idyllic existence.



- I write in order to avoid talking, for you see as a human, I suck at talking.

Location:A world of words.

Reservations

I really shouldn't be allowed to have the job/role/title that I lavishly throw about. It's one of great importance, a job/role/title that should be cherished, instead, I squander the possibilities and hold the responsibility with a grip that lacks lustre.

I used to think it was just apathy and a growing sense of delusion but these are not the only reasons for my skewed performances, it also stems from knowing just how unequipped I am. Not in education or even experience, for no matter how horrendous an experience may be, it is experience nonetheless, it is being unequipped with experiences outside of my job/role/title, an inexperience within life as whole, with great emphasis only ever being placed on specific fractions of life.

What to do?





- I write in order to avoid talking, for you see as a human, I suck at talking.

Location:The downstairs passage.

____________

They'll never know
What he saw
What he found
What he felt

They'll never know
What she was
What she is
What she meant

They'll only know
What they see
What they hear
What they assume
Their world
Their rules

His gain

He presumes


- I write in order to avoid talking, for you see as a human, I suck at talking.

Location:A room with very little hope

A Turbulent tomorrow.

Once this is all over, London as you know it will be different. These moments of supposed chaos are huge opportunities for politicians to grasp fistfuls of power and drive through legislation that would otherwise prove quite difficult. I can understand the resentment and anger that consumes many young people, they suffer from disproportionate levels of unemployment, have regrettable relationship with the law and adults in general and are constantly vilified in the press, all of which are symptoms of a fractured environment, an environment that children inhabit but adults largely create.

With the Olympics less than a year away, an event that has the power to redefine the worlds’ perception of our fair city, London has to be seen as a city that maintains law and order and is able to successfully combat any and all social disturbances. So be prepared, for the events of the past few days will create new laws and grant sweeping powers to institutions that so many are already sceptical of.

Over the last decade, arranging protests and demonstrations has become a much more laborious task but with all the pockets of social unruliness that has come with the many protests this year, we might find ourselves living in a city where they become relics of a bygone era, where past disruptions are used as reasons to prohibit en masse politically charged gatherings which goes against the very democratic values this country supposedly holds so dear.

The debate will no longer be whether we should have an armed police force but it will be whether it's needed for the entire city or only in 'problem areas.' Even the charges that the opportunistic looters of the last few days face will be overhauled; new charges, heavily focused on social unrest, societal threats and domestic terrorism will replace terms like 'breaking and entering' and 'theft’, all of which will result in stronger sentences and an increase in the prison population.

Today officials at Scotland Yard announced that they would be arresting people whom they believe have instigated and fuelled these events via social mediums. Only last week, the majority of people would have been outraged by such an idea but the images that we have all seen this weekend are enough to cast doubt onto the convictions once held dearly.

These young people have managed to catapult their way to the top of the nations ‘most despised’ list and their actions, whether they are aware of it or not, will drag us all into a turbulent tomorrow. 

Three things I learnt this week.

1) More often than not, talking/tweeting/Facebooking only exacerbate the otherwise unimportant and mundane. Try it. Try not regurgitating every quasi-thought and see what sticks, see what holds importance.

2) Moral high-horses often replace logic, empathy and truth. Whether it be scandals concerning media monarchs, or some other worldly trending topic, our aspersions are thrown onto the backs of said horses like a comfy, morally-balanced leather saddle and away we go. A stranger once told me that such reactions stem from a deep-rooted addiction to soap operas, a love of judging others & being able to publicly exercise our virtues. Hmmm.

3) When making Spaghetti Bolognaise, do not use spaghetti, opt for tagliatelle.

Location:Wapping Wall,Poplar,United Kingdom

- I write in order to avoid talking, for you see as a human, I suck at talking. 

Observations.

Several years ago, there was public debate on whether gambling should be legalised in Britain. For some it was a chance to regulate and tax a sinister yet lucrative industry, while to others, it was the last threads of society’s moral fabric beginning to loosen. As a result, there was a bid to turn the historical Alexandra Palace building into a casino, a fort filled with slot machines and forged opportunities. Local people opposed the proposals, believing that such a place would become a hub for organised crime, drug trafficking and men in well-tailored suits with overbearing cufflinks. Residents signed petitions, approached local media and with the backing of a few MPs, had meetings with planning commissions and won and Alexandra Palace remains casino free to this day. But as the locals cheered and celebrated their success with rounds of cider and letters to editors, strange phenomena began brewing in Haringey, an ever increasing amount of bookmakers started to emerge. Whether it be the classic brand of William Hill, or the culturally themed Paddy Power, these establishments began to surface in their droves, so much so that one day, I took a walk from Wood Green to Manor House, a journey of a few miles and within that space, I ran out of fingers on which to count them. 

To live in an area that is one-third fried chicken establishments and two-thirds bookmakers falls into the theorems of conspiracy theorists the world over, that corporations and councils do not have the interest of the public in the forefront of their minds, that providing a landscape of poor nutrition and presenting the idea of financial stability as a pipedream, is social engineering in its most rudimentary form and is only another way of keeping the least among us poorly fed with their retirement hats hung on the results of the 2:20 at Cheltenham. To others, this is just the make-up of any urban city, that there will be areas of deprivation but these areas are populated with individuals who are able to think, infer and make the necessary and relevant choices that will add value to their existence. That there happens to be an influx of bookmakers is clearly coincidental and to believe that a person is a product of their immediate surroundings is as insulting as it is assumptive.

However, in my slightly addled mind, I find the entire situation a deplorable state of affairs that feeds into my plump sense of apathy and disdain, for it appears that what people considered a victory, is nothing short of a well-groomed PR stunt, a moment of feigned victory for the locals and falsified defeat for those above, that has allowed a much more socially acceptable form of the proposed idea to manifest in record numbers.

Today I saw a William Hill, next to a Paddy Power, opposite a Ladbrokes and next to a fried chicken eatery, all underneath a housing estate that is meant to provide shelter to the least among us. The least among us. This is what is considered to be a suitable environment for the least among us.

Three things I learnt this week.

1) People rarely change. If they do, it is not because they possess a more robust allocation of willpower than their fellow man, it is usually because the randomness of their existence has made it impossible for them to remain as they are and so, their inner Darwinian qualities are activated in an attempt to stave off stagnation or extinction.

2) Humans, by and large, are foolish. They love to wallow in pursuits of uselessness that have somehow managed to scroll to the top of their totem pole of importance. This isn't so much a critique of individuals but more of that gloomy specter we call society, for it demands us to be frivolous hedonists, cyber consumers in the race for ever more depraved ways of entertainment and sensory pleasure.

3) Fear can be lethal. right dosage prevents us from simply wasting away in last months underwear in a sea of disused Polystyrene containers & unwashed tea cups. The right dosage can push you through unchartered waters & into new experiences. The wrong dosage can leave you in paralysis, a state that some are unable to shake. Lethal.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone (it's either I do this or bludgeon commuters to death with frowns and coffee cups).

Location:The Den.

Three things I learnt this week.

1) You know you are entering the later stages of you life when you start to talk about your best years in the past tense. There is nothing wrong with a little romanticism of the past but to constantly speak in the past tense, to constantly associate your life with events and people of the past can be a worrying trend. Life, unlike fashion is not cyclical, in fact, it may just be the most linear and tangible idea we humans grasp from an early age. To ignore, postpone or simply develop ostrich behavioural tendencies towards the now and future nows is an understandable set of actions but I cannot help but wonder how much value it adds to one's existence.

2) Never underestimate the human capacity for suffrage. I am not talking about the monumental levels of suffrage that fills history books, I am indeed referring to the bite size packs of suffrage we endure on a daily basis, the annoying pangs of a life unfulfilled, or the gripes of repression and indifference.


3) Watching a woman you are smitten with dance, observing the hypnotic sleekness of her lines and curves, the passion and intensity that fills her eyes and smile, the controlled liberation of her limbs and mind, is by far one of the greatest pleasures of this life.

190427112059 (the end of his novella).

"..and with that, he came to realise that people, be they friends, family, strangers or colleagues, cared not for what he created. Such was the liberation that accompanied this thought, that he smiled, the gentle beam that only a man at peace could either produce or understand. No longer would he bound by societal obligations and human shortcomings. True freedom had presented itself to The Gilt Kid."

2) The rituals of the damned.

"At what point did you decide, actually conclude, that self harm was an inevitability?"

She scoffed, ever so slightly so that the man asking her questions didnt think she was entirely crazy.

"To be frank, I don't think it was a decision that I made, with intent and purpose. It was just..."

Her pause had him clinging with intrigue.

"It's like a tap. I was wound way too tight and the harm, well I suppose it was a huge release, literally being turned towards... freedom and...release."

He was pleased with her response. His canine like nodding and note scribbling confirmed it. She too was slightly pleased with herself. Remembering such a disingenuous response, word for word and being able to deliver the lines with guile and poise was an achievement. Thank god for daytime TV she thought, so many raw emotions captured on film, it was always handy to draw on others for inspiration.


"I think now Dr Gruisin," she continued, "its about finding a balance, being able to let my emotions pour out in a timely and appropriate manner." She took a deep breathe and conjured a smile, an illusive and pensive smile. "Deep breathe..." she whispered to herself. "No more floods Dr Gruisin... more floods."


"That sounds like a great place to end today's session" he responded as he rose from his chair and looked her square in the eyes. "You are making fantastic progress. Truly, you are." Although his words were positive in nature and intonation, his face told a different story. His muted expressions added a touch of blandness to his words. She saw it and somehow, she took great pleasure in this. He shuffled around his leather chair and opened the door for her.

"I'll schedule next week with Sophia before I leave Dr Gruisin." she called, now standing at the doorway to his office.

"You do that" he responded. "Take care."

She stated at him, rather past him, into his cramped office, his walls decorated with certificates and plaques, doing an amicable job to hide some of that horrendous torpe pain.

"Thanks again Dr Gruisin" she said and with that, she closed the door.

As she strolled down the windowless corridor, she wondered how many times Dr Gruisin had contemplated taking his own life, how many times he had wanted to over prescribe himself some drug or another. She didn't believe his psychobabble and she very much doubted that he did either. But it was all a game and a business, telling people what they wanted to hear, receiving medicinal absolution from a person with very little knowledge of indulgence and despair, the driving force of those referred to psychotherapy. Luckily for her, the world was had become one big Dr Gruisin session, with people willing to divulge their inner self in return for a pair of ears and a captive audience, a necessary tool for her at this junction in her life.

"Afternoon Sophia. Can I book for the same time next week?"

"Of course. I'll put it in the book."  As she watched Sophia scribble down the appointment, she realised that having to undergo therapy was not such a hideous ideal. After all, it was either this, or a custodial sentence and despite what Dr Gruisin may have thought, she very much had her wits about her.










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Mothering Sunday

Mothering Sunday. Like most public days of celebration, I know little of its origin but a day when society chooses to stop and thank the matriarchs, is a gesture that has always resonated well with me.

I remember I asked my mother once about the meaning of Mothering Sunday and why there was no "Children's Sunday" or "Toddler Tuesday". Hastily, she replied that everyday was "Children's day". Me, being the obnoxious individual that I am, then demanded a present every day, nothing big, but a present nonetheless, everyday, to which she responded that "every day is for children because they receive day in day out, food, clothing, shelter, the works."

Of course I saw this as a mountainous pile of incomprehensible adult reasoning but over the years, I have mused on her conclusion and have found some truth in her words. Mothers spend a great deal of their lives raising their young, only for their young, to out grow them, create worlds for themselves and eventually leave - it's a tripe system best but it is part of our nature

Ideally, we would display great affection and respect on a daily basis, to the woman who carried us and who, relatively, is the closet thing we have to any sort of God on this earth, but if we take one day of the year to celebrate the strength, courage and selflessness of Mothers, than with that, I can find some justice.

Three things I learnt this week.

1) Women possess the ability to civilise a man in ways unknown to him.

2) Solitude and isolation are not equivalent ideas. Solitude is a necessary habit. To reside in solitude, a period of extended and chosen seclusion, has the potential to realign the mind, affirm beliefs and breed creativity. Isolation however, is not solitude. With it's roots in exclusion, its a place where the weary and unaccepted seek temporary refuge from chaotic societies and there ability to pulverise mans passion for life.

3) A single grey hair is neither refined or distinguished.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone (it's either I do this or bludgeon commuters to death with frowns and coffee cups).

Location:Albany Close,Tottenham,United Kingdom

Three things I learnt this week.

1) Democracy is a horrifically misunderstood concept. To many, it's a smiley, all inclusive form of government, where everyone is heard and the voice of the many, the righteous and judicious many, set the status quo. What people often forget, is that the voice of the many is usually a symphony of the confused and the misinformed. If this assertion holds any weight, it's easy to see why many see modern democracy as a failing idea, a concept that lives on paper and thrives in Utopias.

2) I'm starting to believe that there is no such thing as enough money. When pushed for a figure, a tangible, numerical amount, my response is usually an arbitrary sum, such as 'loads' or 'bare.".

3) Never take a well regulated colon for granted.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone (it's either I do this or bludgeon commuters to death with their own frowns and coffee cups).

Location:Tooting Bec Rd,Wandsworth,United Kingdom

Mental Post-It 1

Today I was reminded of the despondency and chagrin that ensues, when one accepts mediocrity. Never again shall I suffer the torment off instant coffee and low fat Digestives.


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Location:London,United Kingdom

Light reading.

To accept even a smidgen of the conclusions proposed in this book, is to accept that my dreams are the product of excessive sexual angst and an inner desire to castrate others.

Worrying times.




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Location:London,United Kingdom

Thought of the minute.

Leverage and smart phones. Few truly have a need for them, even fewer grasp their intricate complexities and possibilities, yet the many crave them just the same.


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Location:Albany Close,Tottenham,United Kingdom

Three things I learnt this week.

1) The London Underground network is awash with fairies. Their job? To rid all carriages of the mornings Metro newspaper by 2.10pm precisely.


2) Traps catch us all. To many, avoiding stereotypes is the sole criteria for success but do bear in mind that although a person may escape one stereotype, they must not make the grand error of believing that they have not succumbed to a less obvious, more deleterious cliche.

3) Words are mans greatest allies. The victors of this world tend to forge unflinching alliances between themselves and words, so like all allies, do not be afraid to integrate them into your life and embrace the opportunities they can present. I for one encourage the work shy to embrace the term 'sabbatical' over 'long term employment', the academic acceptance and eligible grant status alone is worth the trade.

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Location:London,United Kingdom

1) Beginnings and ends.

Beginnings and ends are alike in both loneliness and humility. Through each, one finds great meaning and possibility. Through each, a man is met with an idea of himself.
To most, beginnings are a time of ignorance, where the absence of knowledge provides a veil of optimism, and endings, which are rooted in history and hindsight, are a time of dross and melancholy predicated by it's mere existence.

That dross, that murky time between the now and the then, is where Stella found herself that morning.

An abyss of mementoes and memories occupied her mind, much like his belongings occupied their home.

She awoke, as usual, to the sound of silence , the deafening sort that haunts souls and shakes spirits. She flung off her quilt and slid out of bed and in front of the full length mirror that stood, man like, next to her wardrobe.

She examined the person in front of her and winced at the beguiling figure staring back at her. Her morning face told tales of a restless night before, while her hair, in all it's red beauty, was tied back while it's floppy fringe covered the three freckles on her forehead and the protruding yet stern beginnings of a black eye. The crimson and violet shades that decorated her right eye were in full bloom, alive with the vigour of last nights events. She looked at herself and whimpered, ever so slightly, ever so desperately.

As the sun crept through the curtains, illuminating her hazel eyes in the process, she shrugged a shrug of determination and defiance. She was sure. She was ready.

She walked over to the chest of drawers, crouched and opened the bottom drawer. With minimal fuss, she reached in and wrapped her right hand around the plastic grip. She paused and let her thumb scale across the familiar grooves of the etched plastic. Her index finger stroked the trigger of the 92FS Beretta handgun. It all felt familiar, the warm warmth, the assurance, the cold curves of the handgun. It was time.

She removed it from the drawer and made her way out the bedroom and towards the stairs. Her mind was raced, flashbacks of last night sent tremors through her mind, stirring feelings of angst and outrage. As she walked down the stairs, basking in the sunlight that streamed through the widows of the floor below, she cocked backed the gun, allowing her fingers to dance it's jostling rhythm and her face that was once filled with fear and humility, lit up ,with nothing more than a smile, a grin of expectancy and ownership.

She made her way into the sunlight below, basking in it's freedom and it's opportunities, it's ability to signal both ends and beginnings. Beginnings and ends. That's what this was about. She reached the last step, turned and heard the growing chatter of an adult male and the bumbled speech of a toddler. She held the handgun above her head, like 'the sword of Damocles' and walked towards the kitchen. With each step, the noise grew and with each step, she walked further away from the morning sun, all the while, lowering the gun so its nozzle appeared as sone extension of her chest.

It was time.

Tales from the Staff Room - Vol. 1

It's a Friday morning. The amicably sized staff room is littered with binders, highlighters and there is a tinge of fatigue in the air. Some kind soul has left a Soreen Cake and a Jamaican Ginger Cake next to the coffee and sugar, with a knife and sign that reads:

 

" A few days in. Resolutions already broken. Eat away colleagues". 

Woman 1: I so want to eat some, but I'll absolutely, KILL myself afterwards.

Woman 2: Don't eat it!

Woman 1: (eyes wide with delight, smiling at the possible goodness that is embedded in a slice of Jamaican Ginger Cake).

Woman 2: Don't do it! One slice and it's a slippery slope downhill after that. I have a slight addiction...

Woman 1: (riddled with bewilderment) Addiction?

Woman 2: Yeah, I love cake. Simple. I remember craving a slice of some cake or another and before I knew it, I had had one slice, two slice, then all that remained was the packaging and a slight feeling of shame.

Three things I learnt this week.

1) Unified failure often resembles unified success.

2) A breakfast consisting of mouthwash and a crumpled corner of the morning's 'Metro' newspaper, is not the best way to start your day.

2) Anxiety is the body's natural laxative.

Ode to Santa

(inspired by Mr Hanlon and his bold assertion, that as of December 26th, Mr Clause was a recipient of job-seekers allowance).

Santa, Santa, Santa

High on sugar,

Low on banter.

You work one, measly day,

Of one, important week,

The rest o’ the year,

You sit back 

And majestically, raise your feet.

How grand it must be,

To have your job,

If you were a mere proletariat,

You would be labelled,

A slob.

The tabloids would curse

Your state funded palace in Lapland,

And Mrs Clause,

Would do all the chores,

And buy your meals from Iceland.

Oh Santa, Santa, Santa,

How I envy thee,

Your sweatshop tactics

And burglar-esque antics,

Make you the King of Christmas Eve.

Santa, Santa, Santa,

Jovial elder from afar,

With the exception of J. Christ,

You are truly

December’s Superstar.