I begin typing frantically, trying desperately to keep up with the pace. My typing is never fast enough for my thoughts and I make more mistakes than George W Bush did during his entire presidency. But this is not a problem, I can spell check and erase my errors, he cannot.
The idea is to type in stream of conciousness as the music plays, in order to break the bonds of thought and intent, thereby opening my inner-self to the page before me. Fuck knows if it works or not. I will have to wait until the end of the album playing and read it back. You will not have the experience of the music playing along and will have to take my word for it that I'm listening to Neon-Neon at the time of writing this.
I don't last long before I have to stop and read back through the previous paragraphs in case it scans like utter shite on a level never known to man before. I think it's all good so I let it go and get back into the flow. The tune has changed but the music is still in the same pop/electro groove and getting my head back into it is relatively easy. Though I am still unsure if it's making sense or not...
Today I awoke early for me. At just after 1pm my eyes open from a dream where I'm mowing down ex bosses with an articulated lorry whilst they play bowls. I laugh at the shit my subconscious still doles out to these swine on a regular basis, and hope they do not attempt to sue me for having dreams that may portray them and their precious bowling club in a negative light.
I swing my legs out of bed and kick aside the accumulated garbage at my bedside that has grown to a level where even I begin to wonder if I am inherently lazy, too deep with the dope to care or just a fucking slob. The thought "You must clean this house." passes through my mind, I silence it with a moan of "Fuck that, there are a limited amount of days left in your life, why clean today when you can merely kick a path from your bedroom to the bathroom and deal with all that shit later."
I shower, smoking a cigarette whilst doing so because my lungs demand that they are not allowed to breathe without highly poisonous carcinogens being drawn into them, taking care not to get the cigarette wet. A damp cigarette will not relight and I cannot walk from the bathroom to the living room, where my lighter is, without picking up all manner of detritus on my wet feet.
As the water runs down my body I revel in the warmth and keep my eyes open to watch the drops of water cascade off my head and hit the cold, white bath below me. Where will those drips end their journey? I ponder. Where will I end my journey? Is the energy I am made of indestructible, as the first law of thermodynamics suggests, and will I go onto another life after this one, or is this indeed my one and only chance. I let the thought twist and turn in my mind but eventually my concentration slips and the thought morphs into something all-together different.
I switch the shower off and am shocked with the difference in temperature between the water of the shower and the air in my bathroom. Perhaps the time is upon me again when I close all my windows and lock down for the coming winter. If the air in my house is anything to go by this winter is going to be a chillier than Hillary Clinton when Billy-boy nudges her during the night and asks "Tonight baby? How about it? Huh? Lets play President and Intern..."
I dry myself off and head for the living room where my clothes await me. The shape of my legs is still visible in the legs of my jeans and I slip them onto myself, revelling in the familiarity of clothes grown into over time. I rummage in the pile of clean clothing on my sofa and choose the T-shirt of the day. The Sex Pistols - Anarchy in the UK is emblazoned across the front and the words Boredom and Nowhere are written on it and the thought passes that it is appropriate for my life at this moment in time.
I am indeed stuck in a rut of boredom and am slowly going nowhere fast. One day this will pass and I will take the next step, just not today. I have other fish to fry. I have the rent to pay and need to get to the post office before it closes.
I finish dressing and get my shit together for the day ahead. My ipod is fully charged and today I will be shutting out the external world through the medium of sound. People will be ignored wholesale and the only interpersonal relations I will be engaging in will be absolutely necessary ones. The only words I shall speak are the ones where I will be stared at as though I am retarded if I do not let the person in front of me know what it is I am seeking from them.
"Coffee" is the first word I utter and it is brought to me at the table of the cafe opposite the post office. I drink from the mug in front of me and spill some onto my newspaper. The second word I utter is "Fuck." as the coffee spills onto Charlie Brooker's column in the Guardian.
The coffee monkey brings napkins to dry the table and my newspaper and I thank her in polish. She seems somewhat perplexed to hear a Scottish person thank her in her mother tongue and she smiles as she replies in kind. Perhaps I have lifted her spirits and have readjusted her mind in regards to this awful, grey and drab country she is resident in. Perhaps not. I cannot be arsed with the niceties of life today and do not want to tell her to go take a running fuck at a rolling do-nut so I smile instead and get back to reading my newspaper.
The newspaper is scanned as I drink the remainder of my coffee and the wider world invades my mind. The stock market is in free-fall and I laugh inwardly at the thought that any day now stockbrokers around the world may begin throwing themselves from windows because they can no longer afford the maserati in the driveway in the three car garage at their country house. Welcome to the real world wankers. Behold the great leveller. Witness the world laid bare. Practice this phrase... "Big issue, big issue, big issue."
The waitress brings me my breakfast and I stare at it with wonder. How many calories am I pumping into my body with this grease soaked bacon, eggs and blackpudding? I have no idea but chances are they are not low. There is little thought for my cholesterol levels. I need food and am not the type to eat like a rabbit.
The food is eaten as the music plays in my ears and the world outside passes by the window on its way to wherever. What these people are doing wandering the streets at 3pm on a Monday is beyond me. Not all of them have the day off and not all of them could be unemployed so where the hell are they headed? I have no idea so I concentrate on the music instead.
I leave money on the table for my breakfast and leave the cafe. A tip for the waitress is left as I know these people rely on tips to supplement their income. I have been this person before and may do one day in the future so I see this as karma. A small tip from a stranger may not be the difference between able to pay the rent but it is a brick in the building block of life.
After wandering along the road to the bus stop, braced against the wind and the cold that howls along Gorgie Road, I stand waiting for six minutes for the bus to arrive. The people at the bus stop are paper cut outs and make no impression on me. Apart from one small child who has a bright blue jumper on with the name of her nursery across the front. She is smiling at me and I smile back. The innocence in her eyes is clear as a bell and I pray to the Grand Whazoo that she keeps the joy that is apparent on her face for as long as possible and doesn't drop into the shitty reality of life these days.
This child knows nothing of wars, famine and stock market crashes. Her day is filled with play and friendly faces. Her hands are covered in several different colours of paint and I see a finger painting being held in the hand of her mother. Blobs of colour cover the childs canvas and I see a reflection of the child before me in the finger painting.
The mother of the child pulls her close and gives me a sneer that makes it clear she does not want me to smile at her child. I ask "Something wrong?" and am answered with another scowl and a grumble that sounds distinctly like "Freak."
I keep my smile on my face, so as not to project my anger at a level where the child knows what I am saying, and tell the mother to "Fuck off." She responds by pulling her child closer and I wonder if she sees all people as some kind of predator hell bent on the corruption of her child. I walk away and ponder more upon the futility of trying to be nice to people when the inherent perception is one of fear and mistrust.
Later, as I sit in my house at 4am, I stick another album on and begin typing.
Which is where we came in. And where you find me now...
Mahalo.
The idea is to type in stream of conciousness as the music plays, in order to break the bonds of thought and intent, thereby opening my inner-self to the page before me. Fuck knows if it works or not. I will have to wait until the end of the album playing and read it back. You will not have the experience of the music playing along and will have to take my word for it that I'm listening to Neon-Neon at the time of writing this.
I don't last long before I have to stop and read back through the previous paragraphs in case it scans like utter shite on a level never known to man before. I think it's all good so I let it go and get back into the flow. The tune has changed but the music is still in the same pop/electro groove and getting my head back into it is relatively easy. Though I am still unsure if it's making sense or not...
Today I awoke early for me. At just after 1pm my eyes open from a dream where I'm mowing down ex bosses with an articulated lorry whilst they play bowls. I laugh at the shit my subconscious still doles out to these swine on a regular basis, and hope they do not attempt to sue me for having dreams that may portray them and their precious bowling club in a negative light.
I swing my legs out of bed and kick aside the accumulated garbage at my bedside that has grown to a level where even I begin to wonder if I am inherently lazy, too deep with the dope to care or just a fucking slob. The thought "You must clean this house." passes through my mind, I silence it with a moan of "Fuck that, there are a limited amount of days left in your life, why clean today when you can merely kick a path from your bedroom to the bathroom and deal with all that shit later."
I shower, smoking a cigarette whilst doing so because my lungs demand that they are not allowed to breathe without highly poisonous carcinogens being drawn into them, taking care not to get the cigarette wet. A damp cigarette will not relight and I cannot walk from the bathroom to the living room, where my lighter is, without picking up all manner of detritus on my wet feet.
As the water runs down my body I revel in the warmth and keep my eyes open to watch the drops of water cascade off my head and hit the cold, white bath below me. Where will those drips end their journey? I ponder. Where will I end my journey? Is the energy I am made of indestructible, as the first law of thermodynamics suggests, and will I go onto another life after this one, or is this indeed my one and only chance. I let the thought twist and turn in my mind but eventually my concentration slips and the thought morphs into something all-together different.
I switch the shower off and am shocked with the difference in temperature between the water of the shower and the air in my bathroom. Perhaps the time is upon me again when I close all my windows and lock down for the coming winter. If the air in my house is anything to go by this winter is going to be a chillier than Hillary Clinton when Billy-boy nudges her during the night and asks "Tonight baby? How about it? Huh? Lets play President and Intern..."
I dry myself off and head for the living room where my clothes await me. The shape of my legs is still visible in the legs of my jeans and I slip them onto myself, revelling in the familiarity of clothes grown into over time. I rummage in the pile of clean clothing on my sofa and choose the T-shirt of the day. The Sex Pistols - Anarchy in the UK is emblazoned across the front and the words Boredom and Nowhere are written on it and the thought passes that it is appropriate for my life at this moment in time.
I am indeed stuck in a rut of boredom and am slowly going nowhere fast. One day this will pass and I will take the next step, just not today. I have other fish to fry. I have the rent to pay and need to get to the post office before it closes.
I finish dressing and get my shit together for the day ahead. My ipod is fully charged and today I will be shutting out the external world through the medium of sound. People will be ignored wholesale and the only interpersonal relations I will be engaging in will be absolutely necessary ones. The only words I shall speak are the ones where I will be stared at as though I am retarded if I do not let the person in front of me know what it is I am seeking from them.
"Coffee" is the first word I utter and it is brought to me at the table of the cafe opposite the post office. I drink from the mug in front of me and spill some onto my newspaper. The second word I utter is "Fuck." as the coffee spills onto Charlie Brooker's column in the Guardian.
The coffee monkey brings napkins to dry the table and my newspaper and I thank her in polish. She seems somewhat perplexed to hear a Scottish person thank her in her mother tongue and she smiles as she replies in kind. Perhaps I have lifted her spirits and have readjusted her mind in regards to this awful, grey and drab country she is resident in. Perhaps not. I cannot be arsed with the niceties of life today and do not want to tell her to go take a running fuck at a rolling do-nut so I smile instead and get back to reading my newspaper.
The newspaper is scanned as I drink the remainder of my coffee and the wider world invades my mind. The stock market is in free-fall and I laugh inwardly at the thought that any day now stockbrokers around the world may begin throwing themselves from windows because they can no longer afford the maserati in the driveway in the three car garage at their country house. Welcome to the real world wankers. Behold the great leveller. Witness the world laid bare. Practice this phrase... "Big issue, big issue, big issue."
The waitress brings me my breakfast and I stare at it with wonder. How many calories am I pumping into my body with this grease soaked bacon, eggs and blackpudding? I have no idea but chances are they are not low. There is little thought for my cholesterol levels. I need food and am not the type to eat like a rabbit.
The food is eaten as the music plays in my ears and the world outside passes by the window on its way to wherever. What these people are doing wandering the streets at 3pm on a Monday is beyond me. Not all of them have the day off and not all of them could be unemployed so where the hell are they headed? I have no idea so I concentrate on the music instead.
I leave money on the table for my breakfast and leave the cafe. A tip for the waitress is left as I know these people rely on tips to supplement their income. I have been this person before and may do one day in the future so I see this as karma. A small tip from a stranger may not be the difference between able to pay the rent but it is a brick in the building block of life.
After wandering along the road to the bus stop, braced against the wind and the cold that howls along Gorgie Road, I stand waiting for six minutes for the bus to arrive. The people at the bus stop are paper cut outs and make no impression on me. Apart from one small child who has a bright blue jumper on with the name of her nursery across the front. She is smiling at me and I smile back. The innocence in her eyes is clear as a bell and I pray to the Grand Whazoo that she keeps the joy that is apparent on her face for as long as possible and doesn't drop into the shitty reality of life these days.
This child knows nothing of wars, famine and stock market crashes. Her day is filled with play and friendly faces. Her hands are covered in several different colours of paint and I see a finger painting being held in the hand of her mother. Blobs of colour cover the childs canvas and I see a reflection of the child before me in the finger painting.
The mother of the child pulls her close and gives me a sneer that makes it clear she does not want me to smile at her child. I ask "Something wrong?" and am answered with another scowl and a grumble that sounds distinctly like "Freak."
I keep my smile on my face, so as not to project my anger at a level where the child knows what I am saying, and tell the mother to "Fuck off." She responds by pulling her child closer and I wonder if she sees all people as some kind of predator hell bent on the corruption of her child. I walk away and ponder more upon the futility of trying to be nice to people when the inherent perception is one of fear and mistrust.
Later, as I sit in my house at 4am, I stick another album on and begin typing.
Which is where we came in. And where you find me now...
Mahalo.
4 comments:
It is sad that one cannot even smile at a strangers child today, without thoughts of pedophile coming to the minds of the parent.... However, having said that, and being a father of two, I know how sick this world and it's inhabitants have become, and might have a similoar reaction... No, I wouldn't cause I'm the guy who will walk upto a mother/father with a small child and tlk to the child. I will be the stranger who's forward, smiling, and who will be perceived as threatening. And why? Because it's natural, because I am normal, and because I don't believe that everyone is sick and twisted. And if you don't like it, keep your self and your family locked away in that deep dark hole you call home..
Keep up the writing, it's probably the only thing that's keeping you sane...
Salagatle!
I can only echo Wreckless' sentiments...
It's a sad pity that almost every man walking alone, or standing at a bus shelter, is treated like Gary Glitter. Why do you have to have a woman or another child standing next to you to be treated like a human being? While I don't agree with your stooping to the mother's level, I also cannot blame you for your reaction. In the words of some of the Jerry Springer participants, she "doesn't know you" and had no right to slap you with a label like that, so you were perfectly within your rights to defend yourself.
The mother, on the other hand, may have been defending her child's innocence, but maybe she was reacting to a previous bad experience...one will never know, but it did not justify her comment.
The world is 50% full of fuckwits and 50% full of nice people, I reckon, and together they make up this fucked up world of ours. I know that my Cuzzin is part of the latter of the two groups...
Yes you are right we do not live in a trusting world anymore. That's why so many people have pets these days instead of friends. They are more trusting and loyal. I hope you are feeling better soon. Seeing that you are in a strange funk have you tried reading "A New World". It pretty much echoes your ideas.
Sounds to me like your house needs its annual clean, and as I am off work, bored stiff and need a mission in my life I am coming next week to clean it..............SO BE PREPARED. I WILL NOT BE PUT OFF AGAIN, YOUR MAMMY, HER MOPS AND BUCKETS ARE COMING..........
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