A couple of days ago I woke up and decided to go into the town center of Edinburgh and get some reading material. And no I do not mean porn you filthy minded swine.
After getting the bus into town I went into Waterstones and got...

Dude! Wheres my country. Michael Moore.
To kill a mocking-bird. Harper Lee.
The book of tells. Peter Collet.
Join Me! Danny Wallace.
A short history of everything. Bill Bryson.
Spike Milligans Biography.

Left the bookshop and went into burger king for some food then went to Princes street gardens and sat on the grass.
Closed my eyes for a short time and unwillingly fell asleep.
I was awoken by a Japanese tourist about two hours later. "you burn, you burn" she was saying as she pointed at me.
"fucking hell!" I said as I looked at my arms and shoulders to discover that I was indeed burned. quite badly as I am fair skinned and have always been easy to burn. in fact if you were to show me a picture of the sun I'd begin to burn.
So at the moment I look like a madman has been let loose on me with a can of red spray paint but decided only to do the front of my arms and the sides of my shoulders.

I Awoke the next day feeling like I had on a suit of clothes which was three sizes too small. I actually let out an audible yelp when I tried to sit up.
There was a knock at the front door. it was my sister. "Oh my god Ross, how did you get that badly burned?" she asked.
"From sitting indoors" I Said.
"Really?" she asked somewhat puzzled.
"Don't be fucking stupid. I fell asleep in the sun" I said walking into the livingroom all the while trying not to move my arms more than a millimeter.
"Can you come to the DIY store with me, I need to get some things for the kids rooms." she asked.
"As long as I don't have to lift anything or move my arms excessively sure." I said as I threw on some jeans and a shirt, grabbed my house keys and ciggys and pulled on my sneaks.
We arrived at the DIY shop and spent about ten minutes picking up lampshades, toy boxes and other stuff for the kids rooms.
"Can you see anyone around that works here?" my sister said.
"No, but they are easy to get a hold of. watch this." I said cupping my hands around my mouth. "FUCK! FUCK, DAMN AND BASTARD!" I Yelled at the top of my voice and was rewarded by an assistant coming running down the aisle looking very panicky.
"Excuse me sir but would you mind keeping the language to a respectable tone?" he said.
"Fucking certainly" I said smiling, "There you go sis."
"Ermmm, Thanks I think." she said and proceeded to ask the assistant if they were able to mix paint to a specified colour. he said that they could and that the machine was three aisles down.
We walked to the correct aisle and found another assistant standing next to the paint mixing machine. "Can I help you?" he said as he stood staring at my sisters chest in a way normally reserved for her husband.
"Hey, cuntface" I said, "eyes, UP."
realizing he had been caught he apologized and made an excuse about being in a day dream.
"Really. normally people have those kinds of dreams at night" I said and stared at him in such a way that he knew I was watching him.
"What can I help you with?" he said meekly.
My sister explained what she wanted as I stood there feeling like a total arsehole and the assistant tried to stifle his laughter.

She asked him if she could have three tins of paint matched to the colour of my arms.

BITCH.

Out, out damned spot!

The mind can play some nasty tricks on you at times.
While walking through the desert thirsty for water you may see a mirage shimmer and take shape in front of you, a glorious looking fountain pouring forth clean fresh water, you run towards it, your feet leave the ground and you sail through the air in a lengthwise dive to swim in it’s crystal clear depth’s only to find that you are swimming in sand and have swallowed several mouthfuls.

My mind loves to play tricks on me. It keeps popping up haunting memories while I sleep.

Why do dreams seem so real? Why do I always wake before any comprehensible information is given or got? Shit, I wish I knew. The reason for this ramble into the deepest depth’s of the fountain that is me is that I was visited by my first love last night as I slept and it’s shaken me to the core of my very being. There are days when I think of her while I'm awake but thanks to the passage of time those memories are mostly nice ones.

It’s when I'm sleeping and the subconscious takes over that pain is inflicted. Anyone fancy doing a frontal lobotomy? No? I didn’t think so. It’s always been a bit of a taboo in this society, hacking part of a friends brain out in order to silence demons past and present.

It’s a shame really; I really could do with a good night’s sleep without the unalterable past kicking hell out my heart and soul. I often wonder if I am the only person who is haunted by ghosts from the past but I'm in no way unique when it comes to having had my heart broken so I don’t wonder for very long.

Maybe if I were to actually talk to someone about it, rather that just sitting here and writing my thoughts out as though writing is a catharsis that can vanquish the demons that come in the night to torture me as I sleep.

So whom can I talk to about this curse that plagues me? A shrink? Fuck no. Been there, done that, got the T-shirt. A friend? Definitely not. Most of my friends think I'm balancing on the knife-edge of sanity at the best of times as it is, I wouldn’t want to alienate them any more than I have already.

I know what you’re thinking, you’re thinking I should talk with my first love. Well bubba, erase that thought from the blackboard of your mind ‘cos it aint gonna happen. My psychological problems are ingrained in my psyche and not in hers. Even though she is the cause of my angst I bear her no grudges and I wouldn’t want to relieve my burden by piling it onto her.

There are also times when the specter of my first love appears to me while I am awake, you know what I mean. You’re walking down the street and you spot someone long gone walking up ahead of you, you quicken your pace to catch up and as soon as you speak the spell is broken and you‘re facing a complete stranger who is looking at you like a social pariah. I’m sure that has happened to you before. The lord knows it’s happened to me, and no doubt it will continue relentlessly until my soul is splintered beyond repair.

Who knows what the future holds for me? Sure as shit smells I don’t. If it’s written in the book of my life that I should love, as strongly as I did once before, then it’ll happen. Once more my spirit shall fly on Loves updraft like a phoenix flying from the ashes of it’s former self.

Dice day.

http://www.lukerhinehart.net/

Having read Luke Rhineharts novel "The Dice Man" last week and finding it hilarious I decided that I should have a go at turning over some descions to the roll of a dice.

So I jumped on a bus and headed up the high street to the games workshop for a set of dice.

When I got to the shop I found the dice and decided that they should decide whether I should pay for them or not. I stepped up to the counter where the geeky looking gimp behind the counter stood engrossed in a comic book.

"Alright mate." I said
"Fine." he said looking up.
I placed the box of die on the counter.
"Care for a game of risk?" I asked.
"Pardon me?" He enquired.
I pulled my copy of the book from my bag and asked if he was familiar with the book. He said that he hadn't read the book but that he was familiar with the idea having seen a version of diceliving on the discovery channel a couple of years ago.
I explained to him that I was going to turn over the next 24 hours worth of descions to the dice. I opened the box of dice, removed one and said "If I roll odds I pay for these dice, if not you let me walk out without paying for them."
"Ok then." he said, breaking into a smile.

I took the small red die in my hand and gave it a shake.
"May the die be with you" I said as I let go of the die and watched as it spun and tumbled like, well, like a dice.

The dice clipped the corner of his comic book and spun off the counter and headed towards wherever physics decided it's final resting place was to be.

The assistant and I followed it, our eyes transfixed on it's path.
"Mind your feet, loose die" I said as it careered towards a group of teenagers who were hovering around the pewter figurines for the Lord of the Rings role playing game. As one they all looked down and stepped aside accordingly. The dice bumped off a display stand and slowly spun to a rest on the number three.
"That's four quid you owe me." Said the assistant as I bent down to retreive the dice from the floor.
I paid for the dice and headed back to the high street to get a bus to work.

I arrived at work and put the die to work straight away. I asked it if I should pretend to be sick so I could go home, No it said. I asked if I should be nice to everyone that I served it said, much to my chagrin, Yes. I asked if I should work very hard and not skive off and let the part timers do the work. No it said. I asked if it was serious. It said Yes.
Are you trying to annoy me I asked it. Yes it said.
"Damn." I said.

A regular at the club, Chris, came to the bar and asked for two pints of Millers and a can of Irn Bru. As I was pouring the millers I asked if he was a gambling man at all. "Sometimes." he replied.
I explained how the dice worked and asked if he was willing to stake the price of his order on the roll of a dice. "Ok then."
I took odd numbers, he got evens, and rolled the dice. A three. "arse!" I said as I reached for my wallet. "Thanks for the beers Ross." he said as he walked away.

"Ross" said a female voice, two minutes later.
I looked around the bar in every direction apart from the one I knew the voice to be coming from, "God, is that you?" I said with mischief in my mind.
"Over here Ross." said the voice.
I turned and saw Chris' wife, Laura, standing at the bar.
"Yes laura?" I asked.
"Did you just pay for those drinks?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"The dice told me too." I replied.
"Pardon me?"
"The dice told me too."
"I'm not with you..." She stated.
I reached below the counter and got a hold of the book. I explained the general idea to her and she looked at me with a curious look on her face. "Ross," she said "you are without doubt the most eccentric person I have ever met."
"Thank you." I said, smiling at the thought that I had officially become "eccentric".

Later on in the evening I was walking around the club and went outside to check that the veiwing gallery and scoreboards were all locked. The door to the scoreboard was wide open.
I drew my dice from my pocket and asked if I was to put something offensive on the scoreboard for the pensioners to see in the morning. "YES" it said.

The next morning a group of 70-80 year old men walked onto the green and saw "FUCK YOU ALL" in foot high lettering on the scoreboard.

What's underneath it all?

And so starts my first blog. Well, not strictly my first blog, but the other one sucks like a cheap hooker when the Catholic Church seminar comes into town.

So what is underneath it all? Just me.