I have a tendency to act like an ass. A colossal ass. I can't help it, it's the result of my inability to complete thoughts before acting coupled with a lack of fundamental understanding of the consequence paradigm. Whenever I behave in such a manner, my mind instantly creates a back story for my actions - a flamboyant and fictitious work of art so full of inaccurate facts and hyperbole that it warrants a place on the cover of some tabloid.
I think the reason my mind does this is because it hold a certain image of me, an ideal K, and whenever I behave in a way that contradicts this ideal, my mind becomes dumbfounded and in order for the ideal to be preserved and to avoid my mind entering a state of implosion, a world of tales is created. My mind appears to have an undeserving delusion of grandeur. Unhealthy? I think so.
The ideal K, like all ideals, is nothing more than a projection of hopes and a rummage through the possibilities of a situation. Nice. However the downfall stems from knowing that you are several thousand leagues below this ideal and it is that inescapable truth that my reality confirms but my mind cannot compute.
- I write in order to avoid talking, for you see as a human, I suck at talking.
9 February 2012
Three things I learnt this week (insomniacs edition).
1) Hard and impossible are polar opposites.
2) Distraction wears many masks.
3) Sleep isn't a human right but it should be.
- I write in order to avoid talking, for you see as a human, I suck at talking.
2) Distraction wears many masks.
3) Sleep isn't a human right but it should be.
- I write in order to avoid talking, for you see as a human, I suck at talking.
23 January 2012
Monday Thought
Going to the gym is always an exercise in humility for me. Why? Because:
1) Being worked into a sweaty, breathless pulp by a machine that neither recognises or responds to sarcasm or insults, always ends the same way - me, skulking away from the treadmill, with my head hung low in a Bill Bixby homage, as the Incredible Hulk's 'Lonely Man' plays proudly over the tannoy,
2) My local gym is where those who lost their homes during last summers riots had to reside for a period of time. A gym that is usually busy with badminton enthusiasts, played home to distraught families, while the nation listened to the pedantic and trifling response of many a politician.
- I write in order to avoid talking, for you see as a human, I suck at talking.
1) Being worked into a sweaty, breathless pulp by a machine that neither recognises or responds to sarcasm or insults, always ends the same way - me, skulking away from the treadmill, with my head hung low in a Bill Bixby homage, as the Incredible Hulk's 'Lonely Man' plays proudly over the tannoy,
2) My local gym is where those who lost their homes during last summers riots had to reside for a period of time. A gym that is usually busy with badminton enthusiasts, played home to distraught families, while the nation listened to the pedantic and trifling response of many a politician.
- I write in order to avoid talking, for you see as a human, I suck at talking.
Location:Post workout.
17 January 2012
Parliament Square
Parliament Square is now almost protestor-free. No longer will it be filled with vocal members of the public as it is illegal to use amplified equipment or pitch tents on this turf. Instead, it will be become politically inane, an island whose inhabitants and intentions lie dormant in history books and press clippings.
One of the things I admired about the placards and statements of change that decorated Parliament Square, was that politicians, the public and tourists alike could not ignore it, on their way to the Commons, in and out of meetings, they would have to glance at the disgruntled dissenter who chose to go beyond the walls of web-domains and bring their grievances into the physical world.
A part of me believes that a moments’ glance of the late and unshakeable Brian Haw - an occupier who without question, inspired and motivated the current wave of occupiers - would claw into the minds of politicians and slowly trickle through to their conscience and over time slowly erode their political ambitions, an internal struggle that might shift their perspective and allegiance.
But to have that catalyst removed is to make their days and their decisions easier, and it doesn’t end there. Eventually, the plan is to have all demonstrations removed from Central London, leaving politicians to make decisions and frolic in a world where their immediate landscape is void of public opposition. Nice.
- I write in order to avoid talking, for you see as a human, I suck at talking.
One of the things I admired about the placards and statements of change that decorated Parliament Square, was that politicians, the public and tourists alike could not ignore it, on their way to the Commons, in and out of meetings, they would have to glance at the disgruntled dissenter who chose to go beyond the walls of web-domains and bring their grievances into the physical world.
A part of me believes that a moments’ glance of the late and unshakeable Brian Haw - an occupier who without question, inspired and motivated the current wave of occupiers - would claw into the minds of politicians and slowly trickle through to their conscience and over time slowly erode their political ambitions, an internal struggle that might shift their perspective and allegiance.
But to have that catalyst removed is to make their days and their decisions easier, and it doesn’t end there. Eventually, the plan is to have all demonstrations removed from Central London, leaving politicians to make decisions and frolic in a world where their immediate landscape is void of public opposition. Nice.
- I write in order to avoid talking, for you see as a human, I suck at talking.
Location:Dystopia
12 January 2012
Three things I've learned this week.
1) Gorging on anything will result in desensitization. Whether its an excess of information, material wealth or lightly salted Kettle Chips, a person will soon become numb to the rapturous euphoria they chase.
2) Attaching your pride to external events will almost always result in pain. I've recently rekindled my mind with the premise that external events are neither good or bad, that those terms only surface once my pride has been successfully attached and subsequently stroked or quashed by said events. It's a strange phenomena pride, yet without fully appreciating its fragility, we pin it to a wealth of uncontrollable chaotic affairs and pray they decorate it with stars not skidmarks.
3) Time heals nothing. It distracts, it entertains but it doesn't heal. Truthfully, I think time, as we humans perceive it, is part of a system of constructs we employ to validate and add a dimension of meaning to the little time we spend on this earth. But that's another blog post entirely.
- I write in order to avoid talking, for you see as a human, I suck at talking.
2) Attaching your pride to external events will almost always result in pain. I've recently rekindled my mind with the premise that external events are neither good or bad, that those terms only surface once my pride has been successfully attached and subsequently stroked or quashed by said events. It's a strange phenomena pride, yet without fully appreciating its fragility, we pin it to a wealth of uncontrollable chaotic affairs and pray they decorate it with stars not skidmarks.
3) Time heals nothing. It distracts, it entertains but it doesn't heal. Truthfully, I think time, as we humans perceive it, is part of a system of constructs we employ to validate and add a dimension of meaning to the little time we spend on this earth. But that's another blog post entirely.
- I write in order to avoid talking, for you see as a human, I suck at talking.
Location: An empty office.
29 December 2011
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.
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
12 December 2011
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
“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
“More cocktails?” asked the blonde.
“I think you better” responded Auburn
****
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