Since there is a picture, that I don't really look like anymore, but a picture none the less I figure I should say something about myself. Like those meetings for addicts because I know we're all addicted to something here. Im and odd bloke and I live off Coffee, Vodka and Springbank Campbeltown 20-year-old single malt Scotch whiskey when I can find it.
Followers of Religion raised me. Good catholic men and women who would not fall under the category of good men and women anywhere else. Religion is more often than not a by-product of fear. For much of human history, it may have been a necessary evil, but why was it more evil than necessary? Isn't killing people in the name of God a pretty good definition of insanity? So by cause and effect I am also insane, which is good, Insane people have the greatest stories.
Im a little bit of everything, but besides being raised by angry nuns with rulers and a rigid sensibility I was also raised by an apache mother and English Father. I was born In Newcastle upon Tyne and raised primarily around London in various boarding schools. my accent is foul Estuary English with just the barest hint of education when I can't find it in me to hide it.
I suspect -- and hope -- that my run, my time in this life will be a beast alone. If not, why bother doing it in the first place? I have no intention of spending my time re-running previous mistakes and annoyances Ive seen and heard. Im supposed to be learning constantly after all.
I write often about what happens to me, or what happened that it reminds me off. I want to bring back the memories of the follies humanity has pulled off and swept under the rug. I want our glaring inaccuracies and detriments to be worn like a scarlet letter. Never learn everything from being right all the time you know. Im happy to be proven wrong. Mistakes are the sharpest lesson we learn. The stay with us longer than those we figure out playing it safe in our relative happiness.
As to the "relative happiness" thing; it's always been my suspicion that I am happier -- only happy, in fact -- when I've got my arm stuck in something nasty. I'm an adrenaline junkie. I look for the bad shit because it makes me know I'm alive. I wait till the last minute, I switch lanes right before impact and all the other bollocks. This is all to say that I don't believe domestic bliss is my place. Thought it was, once. But it ain't.
No the doctors didn't tell you that you were dying. They just collected their money and sent you on your way. But you knew all along, went on pretending nothing was wrong. You said, 'I will keep my focus till the end.' In the journal you kept by the side of your bed you wrote nightly in aspiration of developing as an author. Confessing childhood secrets of dressing up in women's clothes, compulsions you never knew the reasons to. Will everyone you ever meet or love be just a relationship based on a false presumption? Despite everyone you ever meet or love, in the end will you be all alone? As the disease spread slowly through your body, pumped by your heart to the tips of your arms and your legs, your greatest fear was that your mind wouldn't last. That coherency and alertness would be the first things to fade. As your hair thinned, as your teeth blackened, as the weight fell off, as the legions spotted your skin, as you fell to your knees in the centre of the stage, as you offered witness to your humanity in exchange for the ticket price, as the lights blneded into the continuing noise, as all hope was finally lost. Adrenalin carried one last thought to fruition. 'Let this be the end. Let this be the last song.' Let this be the end. Let all be forgiven.
Anyone want to hazard a guess a that little gem?
One; People who gossip.
See, I don't gossip. I talk shit. There is a difference. It's in the execution.
Two;Women who work at the perfumes department in the mall.
They dress like they're professional working women, with name tags and sometimes white labcoats. What great scientific discoveries one can find in the mysterious world of lip gloss and $36 foundation. These women are a step down from secretaries. They never know anything outside of "their department." The only thing they do know is how to put on ten layers of make-up and still look like shit. Think I'm gonna take anyone to get make-up tips from you hens? I think not.
Three; Fat people who put themselves in the same boat as black or gay people. .
"We have been oppressed and discriminated against!" Not nearly enough, shut the fuck up. Black and gay people cannot help the fact that they are that way. Most fat people can help the fact that they're fat.
Four; People who say "Korean for life" or "Puerto Rican for life" or whatever ethnicity.
Do you realize how stupid that sounds? It's not like one day you're gonna wake up and change to Mexican are you?
Five; Fucking road signs every. Three. Feet.
There's just too many of them. Speed signs, stop signs, give way signs, give the finger signs. Dad's pies, Welcome To Ipswich (A Tidy Town). Elderly Crossing, Children's Crossing, Koalas/ Kangaroos/Four Nude Men Wearing Socks Over Their Genitals Crossing. My absolute favourite, though, is the Driver Reviver signs - Rest. Revive. Survive. Sound advice indeed, old chap, and advice I may well follow if I could pull over into a single square metre of roadside that wasn't covered in bloody SIGNS.
Six; the magic number. Bulimics.
If you're gonna have a eating disorder in order to be skinnier, do it right. Stop eating altogether, like the anorexics. They're fucking hardcore.
You have these 5'6 chicks, 80 pounds, nothing in their stomachs but water and a couple of crackers. Bulimics are like "Well I feel fat, but I like to eat. So I'll eat and enjoy the taste of food, but then cheat and throw it all up, before the fat and carbs can get absorbed." By the way, the bulimics I have seen are always fat. Like I said, they're trying to take the shortcut and it just does not work. And it's gross, making yourself throw up so you reek of vomit, your esophagus disintegrating, your best friend is a fucking toilet.
Side note
Just to make this clear before people start flying off the handle at me I don't hate fat people.
I do, however, hate fat people who complain about being fat. I'm sorry, but Abercrombie and The Gap are forever closed to you. H&M and Banana republic knows you're not the target demographic so stop telling people no one makes clothes in your size because they do. I used to wear them.
Another Side Note
I can feel something bleeding behind my eyeballs.
I think it's my brain
Followers of Religion raised me. Good catholic men and women who would not fall under the category of good men and women anywhere else. Religion is more often than not a by-product of fear. For much of human history, it may have been a necessary evil, but why was it more evil than necessary? Isn't killing people in the name of God a pretty good definition of insanity? So by cause and effect I am also insane, which is good, Insane people have the greatest stories.
Im a little bit of everything, but besides being raised by angry nuns with rulers and a rigid sensibility I was also raised by an apache mother and English Father. I was born In Newcastle upon Tyne and raised primarily around London in various boarding schools. my accent is foul Estuary English with just the barest hint of education when I can't find it in me to hide it.
I suspect -- and hope -- that my run, my time in this life will be a beast alone. If not, why bother doing it in the first place? I have no intention of spending my time re-running previous mistakes and annoyances Ive seen and heard. Im supposed to be learning constantly after all.
I write often about what happens to me, or what happened that it reminds me off. I want to bring back the memories of the follies humanity has pulled off and swept under the rug. I want our glaring inaccuracies and detriments to be worn like a scarlet letter. Never learn everything from being right all the time you know. Im happy to be proven wrong. Mistakes are the sharpest lesson we learn. The stay with us longer than those we figure out playing it safe in our relative happiness.
As to the "relative happiness" thing; it's always been my suspicion that I am happier -- only happy, in fact -- when I've got my arm stuck in something nasty. I'm an adrenaline junkie. I look for the bad shit because it makes me know I'm alive. I wait till the last minute, I switch lanes right before impact and all the other bollocks. This is all to say that I don't believe domestic bliss is my place. Thought it was, once. But it ain't.
No the doctors didn't tell you that you were dying. They just collected their money and sent you on your way. But you knew all along, went on pretending nothing was wrong. You said, 'I will keep my focus till the end.' In the journal you kept by the side of your bed you wrote nightly in aspiration of developing as an author. Confessing childhood secrets of dressing up in women's clothes, compulsions you never knew the reasons to. Will everyone you ever meet or love be just a relationship based on a false presumption? Despite everyone you ever meet or love, in the end will you be all alone? As the disease spread slowly through your body, pumped by your heart to the tips of your arms and your legs, your greatest fear was that your mind wouldn't last. That coherency and alertness would be the first things to fade. As your hair thinned, as your teeth blackened, as the weight fell off, as the legions spotted your skin, as you fell to your knees in the centre of the stage, as you offered witness to your humanity in exchange for the ticket price, as the lights blneded into the continuing noise, as all hope was finally lost. Adrenalin carried one last thought to fruition. 'Let this be the end. Let this be the last song.' Let this be the end. Let all be forgiven.
Anyone want to hazard a guess a that little gem?
One; People who gossip.
See, I don't gossip. I talk shit. There is a difference. It's in the execution.
Two;Women who work at the perfumes department in the mall.
They dress like they're professional working women, with name tags and sometimes white labcoats. What great scientific discoveries one can find in the mysterious world of lip gloss and $36 foundation. These women are a step down from secretaries. They never know anything outside of "their department." The only thing they do know is how to put on ten layers of make-up and still look like shit. Think I'm gonna take anyone to get make-up tips from you hens? I think not.
Three; Fat people who put themselves in the same boat as black or gay people. .
"We have been oppressed and discriminated against!" Not nearly enough, shut the fuck up. Black and gay people cannot help the fact that they are that way. Most fat people can help the fact that they're fat.
Four; People who say "Korean for life" or "Puerto Rican for life" or whatever ethnicity.
Do you realize how stupid that sounds? It's not like one day you're gonna wake up and change to Mexican are you?
Five; Fucking road signs every. Three. Feet.
There's just too many of them. Speed signs, stop signs, give way signs, give the finger signs. Dad's pies, Welcome To Ipswich (A Tidy Town). Elderly Crossing, Children's Crossing, Koalas/ Kangaroos/Four Nude Men Wearing Socks Over Their Genitals Crossing. My absolute favourite, though, is the Driver Reviver signs - Rest. Revive. Survive. Sound advice indeed, old chap, and advice I may well follow if I could pull over into a single square metre of roadside that wasn't covered in bloody SIGNS.
Six; the magic number. Bulimics.
If you're gonna have a eating disorder in order to be skinnier, do it right. Stop eating altogether, like the anorexics. They're fucking hardcore.
You have these 5'6 chicks, 80 pounds, nothing in their stomachs but water and a couple of crackers. Bulimics are like "Well I feel fat, but I like to eat. So I'll eat and enjoy the taste of food, but then cheat and throw it all up, before the fat and carbs can get absorbed." By the way, the bulimics I have seen are always fat. Like I said, they're trying to take the shortcut and it just does not work. And it's gross, making yourself throw up so you reek of vomit, your esophagus disintegrating, your best friend is a fucking toilet.
Side note
Just to make this clear before people start flying off the handle at me I don't hate fat people.
I do, however, hate fat people who complain about being fat. I'm sorry, but Abercrombie and The Gap are forever closed to you. H&M and Banana republic knows you're not the target demographic so stop telling people no one makes clothes in your size because they do. I used to wear them.
Another Side Note
I can feel something bleeding behind my eyeballs.
I think it's my brain
hrm...Against Me?
All the best to ya'