What do you do with these?
I mean on a single, individual level. When you have an idea, what is the best thing to do with it?
Generally speaking, through years of hard experience, I'd say wait. Greater damage has been done to people, relationships, poems, novels, games of cricket, politics and indeed the entire world, by ideas that someone somewhere thinks are just amazing but is not prepared to stop and think about than anything else.
The same applies to sentences. If I'd stopped and really thought about that last but one sentence, rather than blurting it out while half looking out of the window at the really nice trees on this side of the Chilterns, I'd have reworded it and punctuated it properly.
The guys and gals who invented fire. Or discovered it. I bet they looked at it for a bit, scratched their heads and then used it in small, controllable ways. I'm prepared to bet that they did not, as soon as they could manipulate a flame, go and burn down all the forests.
On the other hand, MPs, given wadges of public money, did indeed take wheelbarrows full of it to the bank as soon as they possibly could. If only they'd stopped to think whether it was a good idea to toss themselves off on publicly funded porn.
Alas, they did not.
Also, it was not really all that long between the discovery of the neutron and the destruction of Hiroshima. Einstein did try to persuade Roosevelt to think about it, and look what happened. Mind you, lots of other people were thinking about it too.
But they just couldn't wait.
Now. It's a fair bet that many people, enraged by our government's unique mix of corruption, incompetence and authoritarianism spiced with just a little sexual libertinism, might be tempted not to vote Labour next week. You know, out of knee jerk rage or opportunism or whatever the buzz word is this week among Labour lickspittle lobby hacks who still have their tongues up Gordon Brown's increasingly sweaty arse.
But if they waited -
No, fuck it. Don't waste any time rethinking this idea, you'll only paralyse yourself by realising that they're all a bunch of bastards. So vote non-Labour (and non-BNP). Hey, good idea, eh?
But generally speaking, if you have any other ideas, like riding your bike without a shirt on, do think it through first, eh? Wobbly guts look best inside T shirts or better still inside shirts, jumpers and coats, which is where I keep mine. Not that I'm accusing Britain of being a nation of lardbuckets like myself, or anything.
Showing posts with label boredom. Show all posts
Showing posts with label boredom. Show all posts
Saturday, 30 May 2009
Friday, 10 April 2009
OMG! HOLS KICKIN OFF
Woooow! I was like, at this big like placee - Jeeesus, do I have to do this? yeah, so shut the fuck up - , and some dude was like in red and he was kickin it like good, man he was the dude, he like held up this big bit of wood -oh my god I want to die - and then he _OMG_ kissed it!!!! Hey man what kind of porn wos tat? Funneee! Yeah man I was like wot? But then - er, I mean ven - he like did other stuff too - 2- like give owt - is this right? - bits ov bred. Peepl -that's fine - they like took ve brd and like ET it - fucking hell is it hometime yet? No fucking get on with it you slackwitted twat - and then it was like, all quit - you mean QUIET you idiot, no he's rite, quit is good, oh fuck I really really want to die - and then we like went home.....
cross posted from my Facebook page, but with unaccountable interventions from the Facebook staff.
cross posted from my Facebook page, but with unaccountable interventions from the Facebook staff.
Wednesday, 8 April 2009
Friday, 6 February 2009
Journey in the Dark
An exercise in acting...
...which didn't lapse once...
Good heavens, these guys (and gals) were good. I mean really good. Is there a reason why bands like Delta 5 didn't make it big? Was it to preserve their genius? Was it to keep their special gift special? Was it because everyone in the world is a cunt?
Or is it because we men absolutely fucking hate any suggestion of female infidelity (which is not in fact suggested by this track, quite the opposite, but which *is* hinted by the music)? Yeah, damn straight it is. Girls like these were the object of crap songs, not the makers of piercing, modernistic love stories.
Fuck knows, but you know, I'd take Delta 5 over any mass production fucker any day - Elton John (hair transplanted) - fuck right off. Those girls were good. Really, fucking good.
Can you imagine Girls Aloud reinterpreting this? Fuck me, it would be all about how sex wasn't *quite* as good as the singer had hoped. About how his cock wasn't quite as hard as it should have been, and how he refused to fuck her in the back room (her "tutu" not quite to his liking, one imagines).
...one knows nothing, one knows the truth...
and someone *always* knows the truth
Human relationships obtain, despite the media saturation of genital contact, the actual relationships still exist, they are still real. Despite the non-contact of cock and cunt, humans still relate. Love still exists, humans co-exist, they seek each other, in the dark and they don't seek cock, cunt or arse. They seek each other. They seek truth - namely, the other. The other is -1, the self is 1. Together they are 0. It doesn't matter, and it is the supreme human calculation. Together we make 0. We make nothing. We slide into non-existence together.
That's the point.
...four days together....
....it gives another backdrop....
We have spent a decade building backdrops to relationships: glamorous, clean, shaven, plastic, unreal decor of a square room; light, always light, lots of light.
We are the backdrop to our own lives.
Our lives and pornography have merged, in a not-very-felicitous-concert: no difference between the two now: the achievement of sexuality is all we cling to. The achievement of body - ours or the other's - and of touch, the most brutal touch (devoid of time) - even people born at the time of Cuba are stoking their bodies with plastic and oil to make someone else want to possess them and nothing else.
In this late-capitalist world, possession is nine tenths of the law; debt the other tenth.
Grown ups really think that others will love them, for wanting their body for a moment. They really believe that slaking desire will give them life. They really think that in forty years, someone will be there, still addicted to their body, still giving everything for that word, fuck. Fuck, it will be the conversation of the dying in thirty years' time, the last word on our lips - but he wanted to fuck me, I wanted to fuck her, we wanted to fuck. We fucked. And still, while we lie, cadaverous, our bodies eating themselves, still we will say it, and still it will give us that thrill.
No end of fucking. Not now. Not ever.
End of love. Always, under the duvet, always, end of love is there. In the cry, in the thought. It is the stolen object that induces panic in the dream; it is the fence underneath the snow; it is the person who stares at you, inexpressive, silent.
No end of fucking.
Ever.
...which didn't lapse once...
Good heavens, these guys (and gals) were good. I mean really good. Is there a reason why bands like Delta 5 didn't make it big? Was it to preserve their genius? Was it to keep their special gift special? Was it because everyone in the world is a cunt?
Or is it because we men absolutely fucking hate any suggestion of female infidelity (which is not in fact suggested by this track, quite the opposite, but which *is* hinted by the music)? Yeah, damn straight it is. Girls like these were the object of crap songs, not the makers of piercing, modernistic love stories.
Fuck knows, but you know, I'd take Delta 5 over any mass production fucker any day - Elton John (hair transplanted) - fuck right off. Those girls were good. Really, fucking good.
Can you imagine Girls Aloud reinterpreting this? Fuck me, it would be all about how sex wasn't *quite* as good as the singer had hoped. About how his cock wasn't quite as hard as it should have been, and how he refused to fuck her in the back room (her "tutu" not quite to his liking, one imagines).
...one knows nothing, one knows the truth...
and someone *always* knows the truth
Human relationships obtain, despite the media saturation of genital contact, the actual relationships still exist, they are still real. Despite the non-contact of cock and cunt, humans still relate. Love still exists, humans co-exist, they seek each other, in the dark and they don't seek cock, cunt or arse. They seek each other. They seek truth - namely, the other. The other is -1, the self is 1. Together they are 0. It doesn't matter, and it is the supreme human calculation. Together we make 0. We make nothing. We slide into non-existence together.
That's the point.
...four days together....
....it gives another backdrop....
We have spent a decade building backdrops to relationships: glamorous, clean, shaven, plastic, unreal decor of a square room; light, always light, lots of light.
We are the backdrop to our own lives.
Our lives and pornography have merged, in a not-very-felicitous-concert: no difference between the two now: the achievement of sexuality is all we cling to. The achievement of body - ours or the other's - and of touch, the most brutal touch (devoid of time) - even people born at the time of Cuba are stoking their bodies with plastic and oil to make someone else want to possess them and nothing else.
In this late-capitalist world, possession is nine tenths of the law; debt the other tenth.
Grown ups really think that others will love them, for wanting their body for a moment. They really believe that slaking desire will give them life. They really think that in forty years, someone will be there, still addicted to their body, still giving everything for that word, fuck. Fuck, it will be the conversation of the dying in thirty years' time, the last word on our lips - but he wanted to fuck me, I wanted to fuck her, we wanted to fuck. We fucked. And still, while we lie, cadaverous, our bodies eating themselves, still we will say it, and still it will give us that thrill.
No end of fucking. Not now. Not ever.
End of love. Always, under the duvet, always, end of love is there. In the cry, in the thought. It is the stolen object that induces panic in the dream; it is the fence underneath the snow; it is the person who stares at you, inexpressive, silent.
No end of fucking.
Ever.
Day Off!
Isn't it odd how history repeats itself. I'm sure it was two years ago more or less today that we last had a bout of terrible weather. So today my school is closed (the one that does sometimes close, not the other one - you do know I have two jobs?): leaving a tough decision - what to do?
Hmm. I know. I'll just stay here, looking out the window. After all, with global warming, this is going to become more and more rare.
Hmm. I know. I'll just stay here, looking out the window. After all, with global warming, this is going to become more and more rare.
Thursday, 6 November 2008
World Goes Off Its Head In Delight/Anger
Myself: I couldn't give a toss. One guy wins an election, the other guy loses. Yes I understand the symbolism. And the significance. But it's politics. It's still people bossing other people about. It's still empty slogans ("Change" - although I like it when Tears for Fears say it). There are still wars to be lost, taxes to be raised, laws against liberty to be enacted and who knows what coming in the next few years.
We've had the candidates of hope before, and two of them particularly come to my mind: one who nearly blew the world up (JFK) and the other who tightened the state's grip on the neck of his people for a decade before anyone tried to object (Blair).
Governance is a messy business because life is messy. People with sweet sounding messages will always be forced to compromise or abandon them because things are not sweet or lovely. That is, if they believed what they were saying in the first place.
Things are bastards.
That's why governments are bastards.
The Obama administration will get an easy ride in the media, to be sure, but that doesn't mean it won't do un-nice things at some point.
And change isn't always good. I don't remember the left queuing up to praise the change taking place in the 1980s. In fact, if I remember rightly, they wanted society frozen as it had been in 1974 (before the monetarist policies of Callaghan) and no change from there (apart from steady increases in taxation of course).
Also losing my hair is not good change. I want that change reversed to around 1995 - when I had massive flowing locks of poetic-type hair.
We've had the candidates of hope before, and two of them particularly come to my mind: one who nearly blew the world up (JFK) and the other who tightened the state's grip on the neck of his people for a decade before anyone tried to object (Blair).
Governance is a messy business because life is messy. People with sweet sounding messages will always be forced to compromise or abandon them because things are not sweet or lovely. That is, if they believed what they were saying in the first place.
Things are bastards.
That's why governments are bastards.
The Obama administration will get an easy ride in the media, to be sure, but that doesn't mean it won't do un-nice things at some point.
And change isn't always good. I don't remember the left queuing up to praise the change taking place in the 1980s. In fact, if I remember rightly, they wanted society frozen as it had been in 1974 (before the monetarist policies of Callaghan) and no change from there (apart from steady increases in taxation of course).
Also losing my hair is not good change. I want that change reversed to around 1995 - when I had massive flowing locks of poetic-type hair.
Wednesday, 29 October 2008
Repairing The Road
Is what is going outside here today; it means i am sort of stuck here. But it is half term anyway so I was only planning on a trip to the gym. I thought the time was right for a quick gym update, so here goes: I have recently completed 100 miles on the exercise bike in 3 weeks rather than 4, which was the challenge (in aid of Breast Cancer) though I did it at the expense of everything else and ended up with some rather nice thighs. I have been bench pressing a mere 20kg (30 if you include the bar, or at least that's what the guy tells me) but it is creating some new chest muscle.
Unfortunately I continue to drink far too much, and eat too much fatty and salty stuff. This means I now resemble a cut-n-shut human being. Waist downwards: athletic, poised, full of youth and vitality. Waist upwards: balding barrage balloon.
End of update.
Unfortunately I continue to drink far too much, and eat too much fatty and salty stuff. This means I now resemble a cut-n-shut human being. Waist downwards: athletic, poised, full of youth and vitality. Waist upwards: balding barrage balloon.
End of update.
Saturday, 6 September 2008
Interlude
It's a fairly dull old day here, and the rain is as usual falling -
oh no hang on, it's stopped!!! It's actually stopped!!!
oh no it hasn't. False alarm.
UPDATE: 5.15pm
Traditionally the start time for Doctor Who, and in the olden days we'd be right at the start of a new season...
And it isn't raining at this precise moment.
oh no hang on, it's stopped!!! It's actually stopped!!!
oh no it hasn't. False alarm.
UPDATE: 5.15pm
Traditionally the start time for Doctor Who, and in the olden days we'd be right at the start of a new season...
And it isn't raining at this precise moment.
Good Lord
Woman fined for fire engine theft
A 45-year-old woman was fined after she admitted stealing a fire engine while its crew dealt with a flood near her home.
Catherine Durant was "irate" when she entered the cab of the fire engine before reversing it, crashing it into a brick wall and a car, South Wales Fire and Rescue Service said.
Durant, of Pontypool, admitted aggravated vehicle taking when she appeared before Abergavenny magistrates. She was given community service, fined and banned from driving.
Courtesy of msn.
A 45-year-old woman was fined after she admitted stealing a fire engine while its crew dealt with a flood near her home.
Catherine Durant was "irate" when she entered the cab of the fire engine before reversing it, crashing it into a brick wall and a car, South Wales Fire and Rescue Service said.
Durant, of Pontypool, admitted aggravated vehicle taking when she appeared before Abergavenny magistrates. She was given community service, fined and banned from driving.
Courtesy of msn.
Saturday, 30 August 2008
To The Reader From Wherever
UPDATE: this is a bit unfair, this post. I mean, I spend loads of time on blogs but rarely comment these days because it is so easy to get involved in rows. Sometimes i can't avoid it, being so uncontrollably enraged by whatever, but by and large I just surf n read. So for me to write a post about someone who, according to Sitemeter, reads my blog endlessly and also lives very close by, but doesn't comment, is out of order. I suppose I was just thinking about my general lack of comments. Then again my lack of comments probably reflects my lack of commenting elsewhere, and also the random and pointless-seeming nature of this blog.
So as you can see, I've deleted the post.
Reader, you're welcome. And i hope you found something you liked!
UPDATE 2: Actually, bearing in mind what sitemeter says, and where it is, it might be the government reading me!! Holy moley, could be Labour thinks I am a threat to national security (public safety, maybe). My endless drunken rantings have struck terror into the hearts of our rulers; my incisive and powerful critiques of government excess and the surveillance society have caused me to be targeted; my...
If it is the government then I'd like to amend the above welcome to something else...but I'm too scared.
So as you can see, I've deleted the post.
Reader, you're welcome. And i hope you found something you liked!
UPDATE 2: Actually, bearing in mind what sitemeter says, and where it is, it might be the government reading me!! Holy moley, could be Labour thinks I am a threat to national security (public safety, maybe). My endless drunken rantings have struck terror into the hearts of our rulers; my incisive and powerful critiques of government excess and the surveillance society have caused me to be targeted; my...
If it is the government then I'd like to amend the above welcome to something else...but I'm too scared.
Wednesday, 27 August 2008
Tee Hee
This story reminds me of an old joke from a very old series of Have I Got News For You, where a guy, cheesed off with Yorkshire Bank, changed his name to "Mr Yorkshire Bank PLC Are Fascist Bastards" and demanded a chequebook in the name. He got it, but the bank subsequently said that "Mr Yorkshire Bank PLC Are Fascist Bastards has been asked to take his account elsewhere."
Saturday, 23 August 2008
Laaaaaa La-La Laaaa La
Foolishness2.
Such is life.
Alright, alright. It's Tears For Fears again (Head over Heels).
Such is life.
Alright, alright. It's Tears For Fears again (Head over Heels).
Thursday, 21 August 2008
Reading
One of these words is good, a whole new world of intellect and emotion: the other is a pile of clogged up, part Victorian, part post-piss-awful-modern crap, which can barely facilitate buying a pint of milk in the space of one day.
Which is which?
Which is which?
The Boys of Summer
Are sitting at home getting fat, playing on the PS3: or else getting pissed under the smoking shelter while the rain batters the corrugated plastic; or else watching Olympics thinking those guys are all on drugs; or else forgetting the cricket; or else thinking that Frank Lampard is half the athlete of Chris Hoy and about a million times the money; or else shagging everything in sight on an Ibizan beach, or street, or in a club; or else being arrested for being a nobhead; or else getting a tattoo on the upper arm.
The worst thing...I told you...in the world (see post below for hint).
The worst thing...I told you...in the world (see post below for hint).
Friday, 15 August 2008
SATS Fuck Up Cleaned Up: No Casualties
Well thank fuck for this.
In other news:
British people cancel contract with "inept, bossy, arrogant" government.
British government cancels contract with "disloyal, selfish, ungrateful" people, claims "they will just never get the project of total surveillance".
CCTV camera walks out on country road, cites "disagreement" with motorists.
CCTV camera claims murder "not my fault", protests that "I couldn't see his face".
CCTV camera claims murder "not my fault", protests that "I did see his face but i'm only a mass of metal and plastic so I can't be expected to arrest someone now can I."
Ronaldo fails to move to Madrid, cites own "greed" and "idiocy" as reasons.
CCTV camera "not to blame" for theft, burglary, assault, GBH: claims "It's really hard to get a good look from this angle".
Evenings get darker: UK insists "it's the latitude, gov".
CCTV camera "scores result" in thrown apple-core case. "We got the bastard" it says, as high-fives with DNA database.
Pissed bloke gets hangover: curry "to blame".
Police officer sues member of public, cites "unrealistic expectations" of arrest of scumbag for crime. LATEST: arrests member of public, cites "Public Order Act" in case of looking at public servant "wrong way".
CRB form fails to prevent murder, whinges "well he was clear".
Bears cancel contract with "unhygenic, poorly maintained" public toilets, set to sign new deal with "woods".
Pope cancels agreement with Richard Dawkins, claims "not the deal I thought I was signing up for". Dawkins to sue for breach of contract.
Eggs reveal non-ovaristic origin, claim "we come from outer space".
Lifeboat operatives save life: disciplined for breach of H&S rules.*
*Yes: inevitably, this is true.
In other news:
British people cancel contract with "inept, bossy, arrogant" government.
British government cancels contract with "disloyal, selfish, ungrateful" people, claims "they will just never get the project of total surveillance".
CCTV camera walks out on country road, cites "disagreement" with motorists.
CCTV camera claims murder "not my fault", protests that "I couldn't see his face".
CCTV camera claims murder "not my fault", protests that "I did see his face but i'm only a mass of metal and plastic so I can't be expected to arrest someone now can I."
Ronaldo fails to move to Madrid, cites own "greed" and "idiocy" as reasons.
CCTV camera "not to blame" for theft, burglary, assault, GBH: claims "It's really hard to get a good look from this angle".
Evenings get darker: UK insists "it's the latitude, gov".
CCTV camera "scores result" in thrown apple-core case. "We got the bastard" it says, as high-fives with DNA database.
Pissed bloke gets hangover: curry "to blame".
Police officer sues member of public, cites "unrealistic expectations" of arrest of scumbag for crime. LATEST: arrests member of public, cites "Public Order Act" in case of looking at public servant "wrong way".
CRB form fails to prevent murder, whinges "well he was clear".
Bears cancel contract with "unhygenic, poorly maintained" public toilets, set to sign new deal with "woods".
Pope cancels agreement with Richard Dawkins, claims "not the deal I thought I was signing up for". Dawkins to sue for breach of contract.
Eggs reveal non-ovaristic origin, claim "we come from outer space".
Lifeboat operatives save life: disciplined for breach of H&S rules.*
*Yes: inevitably, this is true.
Tuesday, 12 August 2008
Life Goes..
As an aside, my CD version of "The First Picture of You" by the Lotus Eaters is currently being chopped away by my ancient crappy Tesco-stereo. It takes me at twenty times the speed, and with a tenth of the consolation, through that period of ten years ago, when every day was a challenge to prove that I did have a brain, even though I felt, as surely as I feel my feet upon the ground, that my head was empty. Eventually of course, with hearing quotes from Shakespeare in my laying down, and otherwise always feeling that I was plummeting into an infinite pit, I proved that it was indeed empty, as I had suspected.
Ten years: and nothing I've done since then in work or art that approaches the achievement of getting up each day of that week, putting on my suit & gown, daydreaming down to Exam Schools and picking up the pen.
I don't really care what you think at this point: I write it for the same reason I write everything or nothing: because I want to.
I vaguely remember a 15 year old Billie Piper singing something like that, soon after that week.
Ten years: and nothing I've done since then in work or art that approaches the achievement of getting up each day of that week, putting on my suit & gown, daydreaming down to Exam Schools and picking up the pen.
I don't really care what you think at this point: I write it for the same reason I write everything or nothing: because I want to.
I vaguely remember a 15 year old Billie Piper singing something like that, soon after that week.
Normal Service
Well it's very quiet round here. It always has been to some extent but I seem to have reached an impasse in terms of getting people over to read my stuff. I don't really mind, I like being sort of on my own anyway and I write this more for myself than anyone else, but you'd still like a few more Sitemeter clicks - anyone would. I seem to get almost all visitors via CBI and I'm still getting people here who've googled "harsh fuck". I get a few foreigners, Americans mainly, but no big deal. Most click throughs are still some kind of robot I suppose.
I like to write what I like to write but I don't have much of a stomach for the big net rows that kick off on the bigger sites, though I enjoy reading them. Maybe that's the reason I've failed to win any kind of readership. Also I'm pretty inconsistent: I didn't post much in July for example but not working at the moment, I'm flooding the two blogs with drivel.
I wonder if CtS can get a better consistency (the other blog, Completing the Square - click on the link at the side): that after all, is not supposed to be drunk, or swearing, or random, just thoughts on A Level maths. Yes it's pretty specialised but it might get a more regular readership.
Ho hum.
It looks like it might be a nice afternoon. I can't get the gym to pick up the phone.
I wonder if I might go for a walk instead?
I can't sit here blogging all day, that's for sure.
I like to write what I like to write but I don't have much of a stomach for the big net rows that kick off on the bigger sites, though I enjoy reading them. Maybe that's the reason I've failed to win any kind of readership. Also I'm pretty inconsistent: I didn't post much in July for example but not working at the moment, I'm flooding the two blogs with drivel.
I wonder if CtS can get a better consistency (the other blog, Completing the Square - click on the link at the side): that after all, is not supposed to be drunk, or swearing, or random, just thoughts on A Level maths. Yes it's pretty specialised but it might get a more regular readership.
Ho hum.
It looks like it might be a nice afternoon. I can't get the gym to pick up the phone.
I wonder if I might go for a walk instead?
I can't sit here blogging all day, that's for sure.
Friday, 2 May 2008
Bollocks
Damnit I can't think of anything to put. Fuck. My amazing creative genius has deserted me leaving no reason to blog other than sheer, honest to God narcissism. Well here we go then.....
er...
Fuck me I'm tired. I had some weird dreams last night about alien invasions and nuclear wars, and they've fair knackered my poor old brain, whatever is left of it.
er...
Fuck me I'm tired. I had some weird dreams last night about alien invasions and nuclear wars, and they've fair knackered my poor old brain, whatever is left of it.
Friday, 18 April 2008
Where Does The End Of Me Become The Start Of You?
Somewhere at the end of my sentence, is the answer. Then, you take what I've said and you mulch it through your prejudices, be they right or left, then you add your assumptions of what I am and you conclude the brief encounter with an idea of what you think I have said, and worse, what you think I think. All of this is rather nastily mashed in social mores and the end result is that you almost certainly think that I'm a cunt. I don't mind that, per se, it is probably true, I just "feel" that it's a touch unfair. And some people's feelings count for a good deal more than many others, so depending on your ethnic or sexual characteristics, this could well be enough to earn me a "cunt" certificate from the government itself. For example, if you scream and shout and say "cunt" but you happen to be a leftist, then you're not so bad, you were just provoked; if I do it, then I am full of rage and anger and I need therapy or a prison sentence, or worse. Or I'm defending my privileges, despite owning nothing at all, or whatever, but by looking at the colour of my skin you nonetheless know what I've been through or not, so you are qualified to comment by the presence of the Guardian under your flabby arm. And if I complain then I am yet another privileged white fucker against equality, or whatever justification for discrimination you've come up with this week after too long spent in the saloon bar of one of London's rather more fashionable establishments. And the comment threads at Harry's Place will go on and on about how easy I've had it and how I've never sat on an Equality Committee in my life, and how, after all, "cunt" is fair enough comment on me.
Where you begin is where my voice ends, and where I begin is where I turn what you say into whatever I want it to be: where I see memories of myself when you speak, and where I think of what you've made me think of myself when you've spoken of your life, even though it's taken me months to make you open up such that I now know something, a very small something, of the real you, and I've immediately reinterpreted it in the light of my bizarre assumptions about life and ethics.
Where you begin is where I've thought for a long time my words end, in gentle and soft landings somewhere in your outer consciousness; that's where I think I end but whether you see me there or not, is, frankly, up to you - and I guess that the answer is that I am a shell on the seashore, glinting in the occasional sunlight, but for the most part occluded by polluted waters or industrial skies.
And it all comes back to the end of the sentence: the suggestion of irony, the lifting lilt, the downbeat self-mockery, the absence of an actual full stop. I suggest by my insecurity that you might like to know more about me, and that I would like to know more about you: but you have other things to do, and your phone is ringing in your pocket, and the tea will be getting cold in an hour or so, so I am faded to black, which is where I should be.
The end of the sentence is no more interesting than the beginning, or the endless dullness of the middle with all its subordinate clauses and hesitations. The end of the sentence goes nowhere and says nothing.
Where you begin is where my voice ends, and where I begin is where I turn what you say into whatever I want it to be: where I see memories of myself when you speak, and where I think of what you've made me think of myself when you've spoken of your life, even though it's taken me months to make you open up such that I now know something, a very small something, of the real you, and I've immediately reinterpreted it in the light of my bizarre assumptions about life and ethics.
Where you begin is where I've thought for a long time my words end, in gentle and soft landings somewhere in your outer consciousness; that's where I think I end but whether you see me there or not, is, frankly, up to you - and I guess that the answer is that I am a shell on the seashore, glinting in the occasional sunlight, but for the most part occluded by polluted waters or industrial skies.
And it all comes back to the end of the sentence: the suggestion of irony, the lifting lilt, the downbeat self-mockery, the absence of an actual full stop. I suggest by my insecurity that you might like to know more about me, and that I would like to know more about you: but you have other things to do, and your phone is ringing in your pocket, and the tea will be getting cold in an hour or so, so I am faded to black, which is where I should be.
The end of the sentence is no more interesting than the beginning, or the endless dullness of the middle with all its subordinate clauses and hesitations. The end of the sentence goes nowhere and says nothing.
Wednesday, 16 April 2008
These Are The Things I Could Do Without
1) The government
2) Any other government
3) Sobriety
4) Work
5) Death
6) Dr Evan Harris MP
7) Fanaticism
8) Change
9) Stability
10) Consistency
11) Logic
12) Finity
13) The EU
14) Star Trek
15) Glasgow Rangers FC
16) Yorkshire CCC
17) Cricket Australia
18) Tattoos over the arse
19) Terrorism
20) Manky Feet
2) Any other government
3) Sobriety
4) Work
5) Death
6) Dr Evan Harris MP
7) Fanaticism
8) Change
9) Stability
10) Consistency
11) Logic
12) Finity
13) The EU
14) Star Trek
15) Glasgow Rangers FC
16) Yorkshire CCC
17) Cricket Australia
18) Tattoos over the arse
19) Terrorism
20) Manky Feet
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