Very early... 9am to be precise...
A time that I have forgotten even existed over the last few years due to living, as I do, mostly at night when the streets are quiet and the sun is busy heating the Hawaiian shoreline. I'd fallen asleep on the sofa at about 5:30(ish) having spent an hour or so alternating between watching a film about surfing and watching the beauty next to me sleep.
She'd fallen asleep an hour or so earlier while listening to me explain the difference between a conventional "Screamer" Two-Stroke 500cc Grand Prix motorcycle, a "Big Bang" Two-Stroke 500cc Grand Prix bike and the new breed 990cc Four-Stroke of MotoGP motorcycle and Richard Pryor asking if it was Something [he] said.
I've no idea which of us was most responsible for her falling asleep but the chances are it was a bit of both, the late hour and the fact that both of us had had enough drink to easily kill any one of the hoodies that hang around the shops at night in cities all around the country.
I'd spent three and a half hours flitting between the realm of being half awake and being half asleep where I had disturbing, drunken, dreams of drowning, thanks to the fish tank across the room gurgling and splashing a constant stream of water into the top of the tank. She'd awoken at some point after I had fell asleep and had brought a pillow for me to rest my head on and placed the same duvet over me that I had earlier placed over her when she had dropped off into the land of dreams before heading off to her bed.
To wake myself up I slapped the side of my face. "Wake up." I said aloud, hoping that somehow in giving myself a direct command and a brief flash of pain I'd shed the sleepy feeling and sober up. This didn't do much to wake me so I slapped myself again. WHACK! went my hand as it caught the side of my face, and also my ear, and instantly realised I had given myself quite a smack.
To take my mind off of the stinging in my face and the ringing in my ear I picked up the empty bottles and glasses into the kitchen that were sitting on the table and put them in the bin. I folded the duvet and put it and the pillow back where it belonged. As I returned to the living room I bounced off the door frame and staggered towards the kitchen to put the kettle on for some coffee.
Behind me I heard her say "Morning" in the honeyed tone of someone who is still half asleep, groggy and ever so slightly hungover.
"Hello you." I said, putting more empty beer bottles into the bucket and forgetting to switch the kettle on. "How're you feeling?" I asked.
"Rough." She replied.
"I'm probably still a bit drunk." I said, remembering that I had drank almost a full bottle of Cherry Sourz, a good few strong rum and cokes and about a half dozen shots of some kind of strawberry and cream vodka mixture that instantly curdled when poured into the shot glasses due to the dregs of the Sourz and the rum that coated the glasses.
"Are you OK?" I asked a few minutes later when we'd had a cup of coffee and had properly woken up.
"Yeah, I'm fine" She replied.
"And how about us?" I enquired, remembering the previous night. "Are we OK?"
"Yeah, of course." She replied.
"Good." I said.
And I meant it.
Friday, March 13, 2009
Watching the snow falling...
It's the small things in life that make me feel alive.
The laughter of a child, the smile of a stranger, the pleasure of spending time with someone whom I care about, watching snow flakes float gently to the ground and many other things that, on occasion, have been known to move me to tears or cause me to smile.
It's the emotion you see. The pure unrivalled and unexplainable emotion. It's what separates us from dumb beasts and makes us human. It's what drives us to be who we are and it's the thing that will forever remain unknown to one another despite our shared humanity.
We can use words to communicate our basic emotions but sometimes words are sadly lacking in their ability to express that which we truly Feel.
I have, for example, stated above that I feel most alive when I am in the company of someone whom I care about and you will be able to sympathise with that statement but no matter how many words I use to explain the heartfelt emotion behind that statement you will only ever know the words. Not the feeling.
Not because you are any different to me on a physiological level but because you have not lived the life I have lived and we don't have any way of connecting to each other on that level. So, as often happens with people, we use the artistic form to try to connect with each other on that level. We share the music that moves us, the art that we love and make attempts to allow one another to see that which resides in our Souls.
And that kinda makes me sad. I'd love to give each and every one of you a view into each others soul. The world would be a better place, humanity would evolve past the lower reptilian brain and we would, as one race, be all that we can be. All that we are destined to be. All that we truly are.
Mahalo.
Jack Vettriano - Dance Me To The End of Love.
The laughter of a child, the smile of a stranger, the pleasure of spending time with someone whom I care about, watching snow flakes float gently to the ground and many other things that, on occasion, have been known to move me to tears or cause me to smile.
It's the emotion you see. The pure unrivalled and unexplainable emotion. It's what separates us from dumb beasts and makes us human. It's what drives us to be who we are and it's the thing that will forever remain unknown to one another despite our shared humanity.
We can use words to communicate our basic emotions but sometimes words are sadly lacking in their ability to express that which we truly Feel.
I have, for example, stated above that I feel most alive when I am in the company of someone whom I care about and you will be able to sympathise with that statement but no matter how many words I use to explain the heartfelt emotion behind that statement you will only ever know the words. Not the feeling.
Not because you are any different to me on a physiological level but because you have not lived the life I have lived and we don't have any way of connecting to each other on that level. So, as often happens with people, we use the artistic form to try to connect with each other on that level. We share the music that moves us, the art that we love and make attempts to allow one another to see that which resides in our Souls.
And that kinda makes me sad. I'd love to give each and every one of you a view into each others soul. The world would be a better place, humanity would evolve past the lower reptilian brain and we would, as one race, be all that we can be. All that we are destined to be. All that we truly are.
Mahalo.
Jack Vettriano - Dance Me To The End of Love.
There are storm clouds...
In the sky. And there are storm clouds in my head and my heart after the last few days. A few days in which I've fell out with my mum, my sister and a very special person who was a contributing factor to me packing in the hash habit I've had for the last ten to fifteen years.
If anyone ever tells you that it's easy to get off of the dope then take it from me they're either talking out their asshole or have never been an addict. In any way.
First off I'd like to try to explain the reason for my sudden decision to pack the weed in...
I recently got back in touch with someone who I have always liked. As a person, as a friend and as, well, as whatever she is to me. (The jury is still out on whether this woman is a friend of mine, a love of mine or merely a temporary infatuation.) I had the pleasure of spending some time with her and after spurning my declaration that I would like to be something more than just friends I came to realise that no woman in her right mind would ever want to be with a stoner.
So what did I do? I packed in the dope and waited for reality to kick in. And kick in it did. My emotions weighed in like a warrior into the fray and I annoyed this woman to the point where she fell out with me. On several occasions. But after a while she forgave me and we tried to stay as friends. But thanks to the whole "getting straight" gig my head is all over the place and thinking clearly became a problem. I annoyed her again. And again. And again. And again.
So a couple of weeks later I realised that right now me attempting to be her friend isn't the right thing at this time. I could have explained it better but didn't. I phoned her and told her it wasn't going to work. The words were wrongly chosen and my meaning was lost in a blur of argument and rejection.
What will become of me is unknown, and what will become of her and I is even less known.
If anyone ever tells you that it's easy to get off of the dope then take it from me they're either talking out their asshole or have never been an addict. In any way.
First off I'd like to try to explain the reason for my sudden decision to pack the weed in...
I recently got back in touch with someone who I have always liked. As a person, as a friend and as, well, as whatever she is to me. (The jury is still out on whether this woman is a friend of mine, a love of mine or merely a temporary infatuation.) I had the pleasure of spending some time with her and after spurning my declaration that I would like to be something more than just friends I came to realise that no woman in her right mind would ever want to be with a stoner.
So what did I do? I packed in the dope and waited for reality to kick in. And kick in it did. My emotions weighed in like a warrior into the fray and I annoyed this woman to the point where she fell out with me. On several occasions. But after a while she forgave me and we tried to stay as friends. But thanks to the whole "getting straight" gig my head is all over the place and thinking clearly became a problem. I annoyed her again. And again. And again. And again.
So a couple of weeks later I realised that right now me attempting to be her friend isn't the right thing at this time. I could have explained it better but didn't. I phoned her and told her it wasn't going to work. The words were wrongly chosen and my meaning was lost in a blur of argument and rejection.
What will become of me is unknown, and what will become of her and I is even less known.
I'm sitting at the computer...
Trying not to think about the one thing on my mind. A random selection of songs is playing in an attempt to distract me but it's failing badly. The lyrics seem to mirror the emotions and the feelings I need to avoid for the sake of... Something unnameable at the moment.
Tiredness is a major factor at the moment as I've not slept more than two to three hours a night since stopping smoking hash. Sleeping sober is not an easy thing. When the head hits the pillow the band begins to play. Random thoughts fire through the mind and keep the brain from shutting down. Lyrics from songs repeat over and over while I stare at the inside of my eyelids and pray for the small relief of the gap between falling asleep and the beginning of my dreams.
Dreams which tease, taunt, hurt and haunt.
Tiredness is a major factor at the moment as I've not slept more than two to three hours a night since stopping smoking hash. Sleeping sober is not an easy thing. When the head hits the pillow the band begins to play. Random thoughts fire through the mind and keep the brain from shutting down. Lyrics from songs repeat over and over while I stare at the inside of my eyelids and pray for the small relief of the gap between falling asleep and the beginning of my dreams.
Dreams which tease, taunt, hurt and haunt.
...
I can still feel the heat
from her hand when she held mine.
The same way I feel the beat
of my heart when I think of her.
from her hand when she held mine.
The same way I feel the beat
of my heart when I think of her.
It's an awful feeling; Being close enough to touch her and knowing she is still a million miles from me. This brown eyed beauty who holds my heart in her hand and doesn't want it. All she wants is my friendship. So what is there to do? Be her friend and have the joyous wonder of her company or walk away and deal with the pain now rather than later?
And that's the nub of the issue. What's the best time, not that there is ever going to be a good time, to take the heartbreak that I know is waiting at the end of the line like a solid concrete buffer seen from the front of the runaway train that this Love is. Now or later?
If I walk away now the heartache will be acute and direct. If I stay and try to be just a friend, hide my feelings deep inside and try not to let them spill out, the heartache will be the same. It'll hurt just as much but I'll at least get the pleasure of being close to her. For a short time. With the accompanying distance between us.
Saturday, February 05, 2005
Tuesday, February 01, 2005
Place title here.
Following a small bout of illness I'm back. Quite a frightening thought for both of us believe me.
Since I posted the phone number of my work on here the people at work have reported a growing number of strange calls.
Most of the calls are from telesales depts the world over.
I know that I did say I hate telesales but in order to keep a karmic balance I'm willing to answer every call from them from now on with a smile. But only during my working hours.
*note to telesales people; I will NOT buy anything or give you ANYTHING other than stupid answers to your enquiries.
Since I posted the phone number of my work on here the people at work have reported a growing number of strange calls.
Most of the calls are from telesales depts the world over.
I know that I did say I hate telesales but in order to keep a karmic balance I'm willing to answer every call from them from now on with a smile. But only during my working hours.
*note to telesales people; I will NOT buy anything or give you ANYTHING other than stupid answers to your enquiries.
Thursday, January 20, 2005
Lick my fucking nuts.
Telesales. The bane of everyone who picks up a ringing phone to be greeted by the dulcet tones of a barely trained monkey reading from their copy of the Sell-these-people-this-shit script.
I got one of these bastards today while I was at work today. I picked up the phone to be greeted by some fuckwitted moron with a cheeky-chirpy-chappy voice that sounded as genuine as pResident Bush's inauguration speech.
"Congratulations sir," It whined, "can I confirm that your number is 0131 443 5847"
"Correct" I said.
"Then it is my pleasure to inform you that you have won a grand prize draw to win a new car. All you need to do is give me a credit card number so we can transfer ownership to you." It continued.
"Do you realize that this is a police station you have dialed?" I said, having sussed it was an attempt at a scam.
And that was the end of that.
I'd recommend this tactic to you all. Works every time.
I got one of these bastards today while I was at work today. I picked up the phone to be greeted by some fuckwitted moron with a cheeky-chirpy-chappy voice that sounded as genuine as pResident Bush's inauguration speech.
"Congratulations sir," It whined, "can I confirm that your number is 0131 443 5847"
"Correct" I said.
"Then it is my pleasure to inform you that you have won a grand prize draw to win a new car. All you need to do is give me a credit card number so we can transfer ownership to you." It continued.
"Do you realize that this is a police station you have dialed?" I said, having sussed it was an attempt at a scam.
And that was the end of that.
I'd recommend this tactic to you all. Works every time.
Thursday, January 13, 2005
Every fucking year...
It's the same. January begins and Movie makers tout their latest flick as "THIS YEARS MOST ANTICIPATED MOVIE!"
Excuse me? It's fucking January! There are another eleven months of the year. I'm pretty sure that there may be a movie in that timespan that I want to see more than January's offerings.
In a vain attempt to change the world I live in I would like to ask film makers and marketing companies to start using honesty for a change and put on the posters "You may think it's a great film, You may think it's shit. Pay your money and take the chance. Or don't. Your choice."
I'd also like to ask them if they insist on putting film reviewers opinions onto promotion posters that they make them fair and balanced.
For every positive review on posters for movies there should be one negative. That'd be a lot better than believing the hype that you have to see the movie and enjoy it because The Times film reviewer says it's "Fantastic, A must see." Or that Jonathan Ross says it's "A Wolloking Woller coaster Wide of a movie..."
Take The Blair Witch for example, Touted by marketers as "Remarkable" "Suspense at it's best" And other similarly ass kissingly trite sayings. Wouldn't it be nice if there was my review of "Utter shite... Do yourself a favor and spend the saved hour and a half drinking heavily." beside the positive reviews?
I'm a dreamer.
Excuse me? It's fucking January! There are another eleven months of the year. I'm pretty sure that there may be a movie in that timespan that I want to see more than January's offerings.
In a vain attempt to change the world I live in I would like to ask film makers and marketing companies to start using honesty for a change and put on the posters "You may think it's a great film, You may think it's shit. Pay your money and take the chance. Or don't. Your choice."
I'd also like to ask them if they insist on putting film reviewers opinions onto promotion posters that they make them fair and balanced.
For every positive review on posters for movies there should be one negative. That'd be a lot better than believing the hype that you have to see the movie and enjoy it because The Times film reviewer says it's "Fantastic, A must see." Or that Jonathan Ross says it's "A Wolloking Woller coaster Wide of a movie..."
Take The Blair Witch for example, Touted by marketers as "Remarkable" "Suspense at it's best" And other similarly ass kissingly trite sayings. Wouldn't it be nice if there was my review of "Utter shite... Do yourself a favor and spend the saved hour and a half drinking heavily." beside the positive reviews?
I'm a dreamer.
Tuesday, January 11, 2005
Drying in the warm glow of the fire.
There's something wonderful about coming out of the shower, grabbing a warm towel and sitting in front of a fireplace and drying off at natures pace.
As I type this I'm doing just that. (Not really a nice thought for anyone who has seen what I look like naked but as that's only three former girlfriends, and my parents when I was a lot younger, so I don't have a major worry there.)
What makes it even more of a pleasure to sit here drying off is that at the moment outside it's like one of those old Black & White pirate films I remember from my mispent youth. Heavy winds are causing the rain to smack against the windows like flies on the windscreen of a fast travelling car during the Midge mating-season.
The only thing I can think of at the moment that would make this moment in my life even better would be having someone to snuggle into. The warmth of another human next to me seems to me to be the best thing I can think of at the moment, after all, is that not what every human wants in life? Maybe I'm just feeling a bit in need of company after four years of solitude.
Perhaps I should make the effort to get back into the dating game before I turn into a 40 year old curmudgeonistic swine that thinks everything is beyond fucked. [OK, I know that curmudgeonistic is technically not a word but it sure looks, and sounds, like it should be so I'm using it whether Collins, Merriam, Webster and the OED like it or not.]
In order to get back into the dating game I must start trying to remember the rules of the game. Here are the ones I can remember off the top of my head...
It's like riding a bike...
(I know that's a very poor synonym given the subject matter but it's really clever and quite funny so I'm keeping it in there.)
As I type this I'm doing just that. (Not really a nice thought for anyone who has seen what I look like naked but as that's only three former girlfriends, and my parents when I was a lot younger, so I don't have a major worry there.)
What makes it even more of a pleasure to sit here drying off is that at the moment outside it's like one of those old Black & White pirate films I remember from my mispent youth. Heavy winds are causing the rain to smack against the windows like flies on the windscreen of a fast travelling car during the Midge mating-season.
The only thing I can think of at the moment that would make this moment in my life even better would be having someone to snuggle into. The warmth of another human next to me seems to me to be the best thing I can think of at the moment, after all, is that not what every human wants in life? Maybe I'm just feeling a bit in need of company after four years of solitude.
Perhaps I should make the effort to get back into the dating game before I turn into a 40 year old curmudgeonistic swine that thinks everything is beyond fucked. [OK, I know that curmudgeonistic is technically not a word but it sure looks, and sounds, like it should be so I'm using it whether Collins, Merriam, Webster and the OED like it or not.]
In order to get back into the dating game I must start trying to remember the rules of the game. Here are the ones I can remember off the top of my head...
- Be yourself.
- Be polite.
- Be courteous.
- Tell absolutely no jokes that you wouldn't tell your Mother.
- Smile politely. (& only at her face.)
It's like riding a bike...
(I know that's a very poor synonym given the subject matter but it's really clever and quite funny so I'm keeping it in there.)
How my New Year went.
This post is here in order to answer the question posed by SeleneKyle as to what I was doing in a lawn bowling club at New Year.
Truth be told it's 'cos I have the dullest job in the history of mankind. I work behind the bar in the Bainfield Bowling & Social Club and spend most of my time wondering how many years I'd get in prison for throwing a hand grenade into the middle of the green during a game. I get the feeling that I'd get at least ten years but by God it'd be worth it.
On New Years eve as I was preparing to go into work I remembered the little blue pill that my friend had given me the previous week.
"Ohh well, if I can't kick the shit out of a bottle of rum I may as well swallow that chemical and have a laugh." I thought to myself. (Actually I didn't think that. I said it out loud as I was the only person there at the time and didn't need to worry about someone seeing me talking to myself.)
So with about twenty minutes 'til start time I pulled open a can of Diet Coke, Popped the pill into my mouth, took a long swig of Coke and felt the blue pill slide down my throat.
[Two Hours later]
I'm standing in a hall with 160 people who are no younger than 60 years old and nothing is beginning to give me the feeling that chemicals are whizzing about in my system. I pick up my moby and send a text to the man who gave me that little blue pill.
[Text message conversation between me and Oscar* follows]
Me: Hey m8, what was that little blue pill you gave me the other week? I copped it just before I came into work and jack shit is happening.
Oscar: U not getting the tingle?
Me: Not a fukin thing m8. I popped it more than two hours ago and no sign of anything happening. Where did you get it? What is it? WHY IS IT NOT WORKING???
Oscar: Got it from The Man. You feeling horny yet? VIAGRA BABY! VIAGRA! Have a nice New Year... ; )
* Name changed to protect the not so innocent.
"FUCKING SWINE!!!" I yelled at the top of my lungs, scaring the living shit out of the three other people that I was working with behind the bar.
"what's wrong with you?" They asked as one. I explained what my "friend" had done to me. They all burst out laughing as I began to rant into the void...
"That fucker gave me a pill that makes you want to fuck all night. Do I look like I need that? I have horny off to a T, I'm a man for the love of God, We don't need pills to get us horny... And not only that I'm stuck in a bowling club in a hall full of pensioners who are about as attractive as Maggie Thatcher... What the fuck would anyone do that for? I'm a member of the species that thinks about sex once every six fucking seconds. I haven't had sex in four years and that fucker does that to me... I'm gonna kill him."
Then just to make things worse the woman I was working with bent over to show her (more than) ample cleavage. "Fancy a diddy ride Ross?" She said.
I felt the blood begin to rush from my large head to my small head as the Viagra done it's job. Nikki's eyes dropped southwards in her sockets and spotted my rapidly swelling manhood. "Holy shit!" She exclaimed.
I tried desperately to fill my mind with images that would normally guarantee a Soft-on in a second but to no avail. I turned on my heels and ran out the fire door. I looked into the sky and screamed out at the void above me.
"AAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!"
And that was my "Happy" New Year.
Truth be told it's 'cos I have the dullest job in the history of mankind. I work behind the bar in the Bainfield Bowling & Social Club and spend most of my time wondering how many years I'd get in prison for throwing a hand grenade into the middle of the green during a game. I get the feeling that I'd get at least ten years but by God it'd be worth it.
On New Years eve as I was preparing to go into work I remembered the little blue pill that my friend had given me the previous week.
"Ohh well, if I can't kick the shit out of a bottle of rum I may as well swallow that chemical and have a laugh." I thought to myself. (Actually I didn't think that. I said it out loud as I was the only person there at the time and didn't need to worry about someone seeing me talking to myself.)
So with about twenty minutes 'til start time I pulled open a can of Diet Coke, Popped the pill into my mouth, took a long swig of Coke and felt the blue pill slide down my throat.
[Two Hours later]
I'm standing in a hall with 160 people who are no younger than 60 years old and nothing is beginning to give me the feeling that chemicals are whizzing about in my system. I pick up my moby and send a text to the man who gave me that little blue pill.
[Text message conversation between me and Oscar* follows]
Me: Hey m8, what was that little blue pill you gave me the other week? I copped it just before I came into work and jack shit is happening.
Oscar: U not getting the tingle?
Me: Not a fukin thing m8. I popped it more than two hours ago and no sign of anything happening. Where did you get it? What is it? WHY IS IT NOT WORKING???
Oscar: Got it from The Man. You feeling horny yet? VIAGRA BABY! VIAGRA! Have a nice New Year... ; )
* Name changed to protect the not so innocent.
"FUCKING SWINE!!!" I yelled at the top of my lungs, scaring the living shit out of the three other people that I was working with behind the bar.
"what's wrong with you?" They asked as one. I explained what my "friend" had done to me. They all burst out laughing as I began to rant into the void...
"That fucker gave me a pill that makes you want to fuck all night. Do I look like I need that? I have horny off to a T, I'm a man for the love of God, We don't need pills to get us horny... And not only that I'm stuck in a bowling club in a hall full of pensioners who are about as attractive as Maggie Thatcher... What the fuck would anyone do that for? I'm a member of the species that thinks about sex once every six fucking seconds. I haven't had sex in four years and that fucker does that to me... I'm gonna kill him."
Then just to make things worse the woman I was working with bent over to show her (more than) ample cleavage. "Fancy a diddy ride Ross?" She said.
I felt the blood begin to rush from my large head to my small head as the Viagra done it's job. Nikki's eyes dropped southwards in her sockets and spotted my rapidly swelling manhood. "Holy shit!" She exclaimed.
I tried desperately to fill my mind with images that would normally guarantee a Soft-on in a second but to no avail. I turned on my heels and ran out the fire door. I looked into the sky and screamed out at the void above me.
"AAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!"
And that was my "Happy" New Year.
Sunday, January 09, 2005
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