BFF - Best Friends Forever. Eternal Life. Eternal Damnation. "I'll love you forever".
Infinity. Eternity. Forever. Evermore. Hogwash.
As humans, we seem to have an obsession with stagnation. A refusal to embrace change, growth, the spice of life. We want things to last forever; why? Fear of the unknown future? Why is "eternal life" the ultimate reward? Is what we have never good enough?
Certainly, it is pleasant when a good thing lasts more than a fleeting moment. But who's to say that if a good thing passes on, it won't give way to something better?
One can spend so much time and energy in futile attempts to prolong, preserve, and hoard, that something perishes without being fully enjoyed. Smell the flowers now; tomorrow they will be gone. Don't store that food until it is stale and mouldy, because it is too good to eat. "Eat, drink, and be merry".
Clinging to relationships (be it family, friends or the OneTrueLoveTM) and not wanting to have to make new ones, long after your lives have gone down different paths, is senseless. I suspect that worrying over how to keep someone forever, has killed more than one relationship.
Similarly, fretting endlessly about health (sometimes to the point where it makes you ill and stressed!); enjoy things in moderation, don't refuse every slice of white bread, piece of cake, drink or cigarette, for the sake of the extra two weeks' life it might bring you when you're old and decrepit and shitting in your pants. When death could be just around the corner, as inevitable as taxes, why waste time and effort to suffer in vain?
Friends, food, moments, love, lovers, life....all come to an end. Fact. There's no use worrying about it. I'd rather simply enjoy it all as much as I can when I have it, and when it's gone; it's gone.
Friday, 7 August 2009
Saturday, 1 August 2009
Deep down, all people are good....
....it's just difficult to get past the ribs to the really tasty parts.
I can be somewhat disillusioned when it comes to humans. It's not that I'm cynical, we just all suck. The social constructs we weave around ourselves, to create a senseless prison, are frustrating to say the least.
God loved the birds and made trees....Man loved the birds and made cages.
We have emotions, good and bad ones. They can occasionally override logical thought. To complicate things, we also have a plethora of -mostly unwritten- laws attempting to control how we deal with our feelings; taboos, stiff upper lips, keeping up appearances, "proper" behaviour, religion, dating protocols, institutions such as marriage...
Love, in its purest form, is arguably one of the finest and most powerful emotions (brief aside: Ziggy Marley is Epic Win); yet we so often manage to spoil it with jealousy (and who doesn't love Freddy?).
Relationships have been on my mind rather a lot lately; dealing with the fallout of friends' romantic dilemmas, other friends getting engaged/married, various dramas and gossip, have all had me thinking about how I relate to others, and how that compares to the general populace.
I've also met some thought-provoking people and had great discussions on various subjects. One of them I was interviewing for FYi RADiO, and had some interesting things to say on the subject of sexuality and its fluid nature; having previously considered himself a happy out-n-proud homosexual, he is now a happily (heterosexually) married father of one. Another is an enlightened Swede (I'm slowly building up a collection of them) who seems to share similar views to me regarding relationships.
Far too much defining and limiting goes on in mainstream thinking. Friendship is this, and "serious" relationship is this; friends can't cuddle, or hold hands, or share a bed; partners must only do these things with each other. I am this, therefore I can only be romantically/sexually attracted to/involved with this; why is a gay man treated like a heinous traitor for finding happiness with a woman, getting married and having kids?
Can't we just go with the flow, and do whatever feels right in the situation? Why the rigid adherence to generalised preconceptions about ourselves? Why the stifling sets of "appropriate" and "inappropriate" behaviours? I have good friends whose company I truly enjoy; it has been assumed on more than one occasion that we are dating, when the relationship couldn't be any more platonic. It's at once amusing and infuriating. Blur the lines a bit, people! Break down the walls! In previous blog entries I ranted about how we sometimes view physical contact; how sad, for example, that two male friends would refrain from exploring any physical element to their relationship (eg hugging) for fear of appearing gay.
The dubious virtues of monogamy is another aspect of relationships open to debate. Had you asked me a few years ago, I would have been quite staunchly all for it, and why not? We are brought up with the concept drummed into us as the ultimate ideal. Yet it is a practice founded on jealousy and possessiveness, neither of which I would consider beneficial.
The highly unrealistic Hollywood/Disney concept of One True Love (TM) only serves to compound the problem. Two people meet, perhaps become friends first, get along, and then the Next Step is taken and they're Going Out. So much unnecessary stress and pressure to Live Happily Ever After, and somehow the relationship changes; rather than progressing naturally, easily, suddenly everyone's talking about it, there's nerves, a whole list of things to live up to. One person has to fulfil all of another's needs and desires, almost from day one it seems. There is a monopoly on who they can see, how they can interact with others. You can't hang out together, you have to go on Dates. Suspicion and jealousy rear their ugly heads, people feel "trapped" in their relationship, some "cheat". They've moved out of the "friendship" box and into the "partners" box, where the rules must be different.
Those who aren't privileged and are Single can feel a sense of despair, longing, sadness. They're not good enough to be in this fabled Relationship. Attraction, or Crushes, become a source of boundless angst, for fear of expressing love and receiving rejection, or apprehension over what moving out of the Friendship box will do to the existing relationship. Pointless. Complicating.
Marriage; once a business/political contract, joining tribes/families, sealing the exchange of land and possessions (including the woman). Nowadays more for "love" (and to give into peer pressure, religion, for legal/tax benefits, or immigration, and to claim exclusive possession of each other). Noble.
Am I generalising? Of course, but I've met far too many people who are all worked up over the whole monogamous relationship thing.
Do I disagree with monogamy in general? No; I disagree with it being marketed as the One and Only Way, and of people falsely committing to a monogamous relationship, when they're going to cheat. Certainly, if two people grow close enough that they meet all each others' desires, or they wish to take on the responsibility of raising a family, then monogamy could work. Divorce statistics would suggest a lot of people are rather hasty in making that decision, though.
How sensible is it, considering the fluidity of sexuality and character, to bind oneself into a lifelong emotional and sexual relationship with one person, and one person only?
Nor is this justification for being a slut. I view promiscuity as lots of sex, with minimal relationship. What I'm talking about is being open to concurrent relationships developing naturally, building trust and respect, taking them as far as the people involved wish, without adding all the complications and social hangups. Omitting the jealousy. It doesn't always have to lead to copulation, nor does it have to avoid copulation. There are other forms of intimacy/physical closeness that are just as valid, perhaps more so in certain situations.
Besides, sex is the last thing I'm looking for in a person.
(But it's still on the list, with a very select few.)
I can be somewhat disillusioned when it comes to humans. It's not that I'm cynical, we just all suck. The social constructs we weave around ourselves, to create a senseless prison, are frustrating to say the least.
God loved the birds and made trees....Man loved the birds and made cages.
We have emotions, good and bad ones. They can occasionally override logical thought. To complicate things, we also have a plethora of -mostly unwritten- laws attempting to control how we deal with our feelings; taboos, stiff upper lips, keeping up appearances, "proper" behaviour, religion, dating protocols, institutions such as marriage...
Love, in its purest form, is arguably one of the finest and most powerful emotions (brief aside: Ziggy Marley is Epic Win); yet we so often manage to spoil it with jealousy (and who doesn't love Freddy?).
Relationships have been on my mind rather a lot lately; dealing with the fallout of friends' romantic dilemmas, other friends getting engaged/married, various dramas and gossip, have all had me thinking about how I relate to others, and how that compares to the general populace.
I've also met some thought-provoking people and had great discussions on various subjects. One of them I was interviewing for FYi RADiO, and had some interesting things to say on the subject of sexuality and its fluid nature; having previously considered himself a happy out-n-proud homosexual, he is now a happily (heterosexually) married father of one. Another is an enlightened Swede (I'm slowly building up a collection of them) who seems to share similar views to me regarding relationships.
Far too much defining and limiting goes on in mainstream thinking. Friendship is this, and "serious" relationship is this; friends can't cuddle, or hold hands, or share a bed; partners must only do these things with each other. I am this, therefore I can only be romantically/sexually attracted to/involved with this; why is a gay man treated like a heinous traitor for finding happiness with a woman, getting married and having kids?
Can't we just go with the flow, and do whatever feels right in the situation? Why the rigid adherence to generalised preconceptions about ourselves? Why the stifling sets of "appropriate" and "inappropriate" behaviours? I have good friends whose company I truly enjoy; it has been assumed on more than one occasion that we are dating, when the relationship couldn't be any more platonic. It's at once amusing and infuriating. Blur the lines a bit, people! Break down the walls! In previous blog entries I ranted about how we sometimes view physical contact; how sad, for example, that two male friends would refrain from exploring any physical element to their relationship (eg hugging) for fear of appearing gay.
The dubious virtues of monogamy is another aspect of relationships open to debate. Had you asked me a few years ago, I would have been quite staunchly all for it, and why not? We are brought up with the concept drummed into us as the ultimate ideal. Yet it is a practice founded on jealousy and possessiveness, neither of which I would consider beneficial.
The highly unrealistic Hollywood/Disney concept of One True Love (TM) only serves to compound the problem. Two people meet, perhaps become friends first, get along, and then the Next Step is taken and they're Going Out. So much unnecessary stress and pressure to Live Happily Ever After, and somehow the relationship changes; rather than progressing naturally, easily, suddenly everyone's talking about it, there's nerves, a whole list of things to live up to. One person has to fulfil all of another's needs and desires, almost from day one it seems. There is a monopoly on who they can see, how they can interact with others. You can't hang out together, you have to go on Dates. Suspicion and jealousy rear their ugly heads, people feel "trapped" in their relationship, some "cheat". They've moved out of the "friendship" box and into the "partners" box, where the rules must be different.
Those who aren't privileged and are Single can feel a sense of despair, longing, sadness. They're not good enough to be in this fabled Relationship. Attraction, or Crushes, become a source of boundless angst, for fear of expressing love and receiving rejection, or apprehension over what moving out of the Friendship box will do to the existing relationship. Pointless. Complicating.
Marriage; once a business/political contract, joining tribes/families, sealing the exchange of land and possessions (including the woman). Nowadays more for "love" (and to give into peer pressure, religion, for legal/tax benefits, or immigration, and to claim exclusive possession of each other). Noble.
Am I generalising? Of course, but I've met far too many people who are all worked up over the whole monogamous relationship thing.
Do I disagree with monogamy in general? No; I disagree with it being marketed as the One and Only Way, and of people falsely committing to a monogamous relationship, when they're going to cheat. Certainly, if two people grow close enough that they meet all each others' desires, or they wish to take on the responsibility of raising a family, then monogamy could work. Divorce statistics would suggest a lot of people are rather hasty in making that decision, though.
How sensible is it, considering the fluidity of sexuality and character, to bind oneself into a lifelong emotional and sexual relationship with one person, and one person only?
Nor is this justification for being a slut. I view promiscuity as lots of sex, with minimal relationship. What I'm talking about is being open to concurrent relationships developing naturally, building trust and respect, taking them as far as the people involved wish, without adding all the complications and social hangups. Omitting the jealousy. It doesn't always have to lead to copulation, nor does it have to avoid copulation. There are other forms of intimacy/physical closeness that are just as valid, perhaps more so in certain situations.
Besides, sex is the last thing I'm looking for in a person.
(But it's still on the list, with a very select few.)
Wednesday, 17 June 2009
i am the voices......
Yes! I hear you cry out in astonishment and woe; 'tis I indeed! Back once more from the dark and mysterious nethers of obscurity, breaking radio silence with grandiose prolix aplomb, and striking forth once more into the dubious realms of international renown, bearing gifts of tautological obfuscation and recondite prose. Behold (aghast, perchance) as I weave tales of whimsy and spin elaborate flights of fancy before your bedazzled eyes!
Or not, as the case may be. Buggrit! (as Foul Old Ron would likely put it).
As of late, I haven't been lacking in time to blog, so much as lacking inspiration and drive. My reticent nature (whilst quietly longing for someone willing to persist and prise information from me) forbids the documenting of every fleeting spat, crush, whinge, nonevent, and minor tribulation in my humble existence. Maybe I'm just not in touch with my inner teenage girl. Meh. Who needs an inner child, when you can have an inner chicken?! *SQUAWK!*
I hit a turning point today. After a long, dark period of self-scrutiny, questioning and (let's face it) depression, something, somehow, fell into place. Like the dropping of the finest of pins onto the cold hard floor of the cavernous dimensions of the mind, sending disproportionate echoes reverberating to the farthest reach, at a frequency that cuts through the hubbub of the psyche as if it were perfect silence. Spreading, seeping steadily through everything like a damp British fog, changing nothing whilst altering all. A peculiar sensation to put into words.
Strange, really, the things we hold on to. The buried thoughts and memories, lodged and hidden, that, for all intents and purposes, should be insignificant and yet conspire to cause untold grief and torment. How odd that something I once stated, as the culmination of insidious ideas I had been led (or led myself) to believe, should be the vital strand. That elusive segment of the tangle, which needs but a small nudge; to be looked at in a different light, from a different angle, in order to start the whole mess unravelling.
There will certainly be more knots to untie as the jumble unwinds. I hope and pray this isn't a brief high on my emotional rollercoaster, soon to be banished (yet again) by the uncontrollable plummet into devastation and morose self-pity/-absorption; a momentary surfacing of an extroverted, exuberant persona, soon to go the way of the mayfly.
But via the releasing of these memories, I have rediscovered the Meaning(lessness) of Life (or was it Liff?), together with the ability to earnestly cease taking it all so damn seriously. The damage will slowly be built over, stronger than before.
Here's to new beginnings, old endings, obscure neglected vocabulary, and sausages.
rAmen.
Oh, and here's also to the cute foreign barman I'm so going to hit on, for the lulz, next Tuesday.
Peace out.
Or not, as the case may be. Buggrit! (as Foul Old Ron would likely put it).
As of late, I haven't been lacking in time to blog, so much as lacking inspiration and drive. My reticent nature (whilst quietly longing for someone willing to persist and prise information from me) forbids the documenting of every fleeting spat, crush, whinge, nonevent, and minor tribulation in my humble existence. Maybe I'm just not in touch with my inner teenage girl. Meh. Who needs an inner child, when you can have an inner chicken?! *SQUAWK!*
I hit a turning point today. After a long, dark period of self-scrutiny, questioning and (let's face it) depression, something, somehow, fell into place. Like the dropping of the finest of pins onto the cold hard floor of the cavernous dimensions of the mind, sending disproportionate echoes reverberating to the farthest reach, at a frequency that cuts through the hubbub of the psyche as if it were perfect silence. Spreading, seeping steadily through everything like a damp British fog, changing nothing whilst altering all. A peculiar sensation to put into words.
Strange, really, the things we hold on to. The buried thoughts and memories, lodged and hidden, that, for all intents and purposes, should be insignificant and yet conspire to cause untold grief and torment. How odd that something I once stated, as the culmination of insidious ideas I had been led (or led myself) to believe, should be the vital strand. That elusive segment of the tangle, which needs but a small nudge; to be looked at in a different light, from a different angle, in order to start the whole mess unravelling.
There will certainly be more knots to untie as the jumble unwinds. I hope and pray this isn't a brief high on my emotional rollercoaster, soon to be banished (yet again) by the uncontrollable plummet into devastation and morose self-pity/-absorption; a momentary surfacing of an extroverted, exuberant persona, soon to go the way of the mayfly.
But via the releasing of these memories, I have rediscovered the Meaning(lessness) of Life (or was it Liff?), together with the ability to earnestly cease taking it all so damn seriously. The damage will slowly be built over, stronger than before.
Here's to new beginnings, old endings, obscure neglected vocabulary, and sausages.
rAmen.
Oh, and here's also to the cute foreign barman I'm so going to hit on, for the lulz, next Tuesday.
Peace out.
Wednesday, 27 May 2009
Don't Believe Everything You Think
I'm sure I'll remember what I wanted to write about eventually, but for now, let's talk about exams.
They annoy me. Partly because almost all my friends are currently in the throes of exam season, and are resultantly busy and tired and stressed. But also in a broader sense. Such an inaccurate, traumatic method of judging and separating people. Not to mention, with current trends in moderation, increasingly useless as the bar continues to be dropped. So much for standards.
One of my pet peeves is the onus placed on people to succeed in exams, gain qualifications, go to university, etc. Complete and utter bollocks. Certainly, if you want to be a doctor, or a microbiologist, teacher, or any other profession that explicitly requires a university diploma, go for it. But why all the stress and angst? Especially if what would really make you happy is a job completely unrelated to any of the academic qualifications you're accruing.
I wanted to leave school after O-levels; ended up making a deal with the parents, which involved my staying on until I'd done A-levels.
I pretty much left home as soon as I'd finished my exams. And guess what? In nearly five years since, not one person or prospective employer has asked about my exams. No one gives a flying duck (sic) that I got the highest attainable grade in all my subjects up to AS level, the best IGCSE English results in the country, distinctions in my music grades, or an ABB for A-level in Physics, Pure Maths and Biology, despite not doing any coursework (30% of the grade, hence the B's). Heck, I don't even know where the damn certificates are any more. Useless bits of paper.
Why lose so much sleep over something that means so little? Chillax and enjoy.
Bingo! Brain has come back with what I was supposed to be rambling about, during a quasi-random Facebook conversation with Frau Steeple (who really shouldn't be so entertainingly cruel towards Herr Schnick):
I was never one of the "cool" gang in school. Quite the opposite. I was most certainly one of the misfits, the strange fringe groups. I daresay I still am, being rather odd, and prone to random whims and personality jumps.
Some of my friends only fit in certain groups; they are uncomfortable if they are ever in another social circle. I regularly interact with people from so many opposing social factions, it's like a bad comedy. But I prefer it that way. My taste in people is like my taste in music; very eclectic.
Meh.
They annoy me. Partly because almost all my friends are currently in the throes of exam season, and are resultantly busy and tired and stressed. But also in a broader sense. Such an inaccurate, traumatic method of judging and separating people. Not to mention, with current trends in moderation, increasingly useless as the bar continues to be dropped. So much for standards.
One of my pet peeves is the onus placed on people to succeed in exams, gain qualifications, go to university, etc. Complete and utter bollocks. Certainly, if you want to be a doctor, or a microbiologist, teacher, or any other profession that explicitly requires a university diploma, go for it. But why all the stress and angst? Especially if what would really make you happy is a job completely unrelated to any of the academic qualifications you're accruing.
I wanted to leave school after O-levels; ended up making a deal with the parents, which involved my staying on until I'd done A-levels.
I pretty much left home as soon as I'd finished my exams. And guess what? In nearly five years since, not one person or prospective employer has asked about my exams. No one gives a flying duck (sic) that I got the highest attainable grade in all my subjects up to AS level, the best IGCSE English results in the country, distinctions in my music grades, or an ABB for A-level in Physics, Pure Maths and Biology, despite not doing any coursework (30% of the grade, hence the B's). Heck, I don't even know where the damn certificates are any more. Useless bits of paper.
Why lose so much sleep over something that means so little? Chillax and enjoy.
Bingo! Brain has come back with what I was supposed to be rambling about, during a quasi-random Facebook conversation with Frau Steeple (who really shouldn't be so entertainingly cruel towards Herr Schnick):
I was never one of the "cool" gang in school. Quite the opposite. I was most certainly one of the misfits, the strange fringe groups. I daresay I still am, being rather odd, and prone to random whims and personality jumps.
Some of my friends only fit in certain groups; they are uncomfortable if they are ever in another social circle. I regularly interact with people from so many opposing social factions, it's like a bad comedy. But I prefer it that way. My taste in people is like my taste in music; very eclectic.
Meh.
Monday, 20 April 2009
"Tempt not a desperate man...."
Long time no rant. I've been a busy little bee. A bee that also excels in procrastination, it seems. Alas.
Tempting as it is to go off on one about politicians, lawyers, police, insurance brokers and the DSA, I'm not allowing myself a foray into such self-indulgent drivel.
Instead, I'm going to indulge myself and drivel on about people. Shock horror surprise.
It is oft bemoaned that, in our society, the general assumption is that one is heterosexual until proven otherwise. I have a related gripe, which I have found extends right across my somewhat disparate social circles: why, I ask, why is sex assumed implicit? (Not gender or genitals or any of that malarky; I refer, for now, to that messy, sticky, glandular act of copulation)
I'm going to be twenty two in a few weeks. I've been told I'm not bad looking and a reasonably likeable sort of person (but then again, mums and friends are indebted to say such things, right?). It would seem that many expect, upon seeing me and knowing my age, that I have one or two notches upon my bedpost. Perhaps a lesser occurrence amongst religious types, where abstinence (or professed abstinence, as the case may be...) is more common; until they find out I bat for the other team, whereupon I must surely be doing more screwing than a Black&Decker cordless 'driver. Can you say "stereotype"?
As my boss so eloquently put it, "21?! You must be up to your nuts in guts every night!"
Now, don't get me wrong, I have nothing against the act of coitus, nor those whom partake of it. I'm sure it's great, and I suppose I'll get round to it some day. But it becomes tiresome to have it repeatedly presumed that ones decisions, actions, aspirations, et al. are influenced by a libido that isn't there. That, for example, I'm into someone for the sake of getting into them. Can't I just be interested and friendly?
No, I don't like pussy and tits. No, I'm not a top. Yes, I am a virgin. No, it doesn't bother me. Yes, I could get some if I wanted. No, I don't make a habit of objectifying people. No, sex and romance isn't the be-all and end-all. Yes, I do wish people would stop portraying it as such, and pressuring others into thinking they need to get some ASAP, or thinking they're worthless/ugly/failures/doomed because they haven't.
Perhaps I should just print that out on little cards and hand them out as a pre-emptive measure, to save reliving the same tired old conversations?
Tempting as it is to go off on one about politicians, lawyers, police, insurance brokers and the DSA, I'm not allowing myself a foray into such self-indulgent drivel.
Instead, I'm going to indulge myself and drivel on about people. Shock horror surprise.
It is oft bemoaned that, in our society, the general assumption is that one is heterosexual until proven otherwise. I have a related gripe, which I have found extends right across my somewhat disparate social circles: why, I ask, why is sex assumed implicit? (Not gender or genitals or any of that malarky; I refer, for now, to that messy, sticky, glandular act of copulation)
I'm going to be twenty two in a few weeks. I've been told I'm not bad looking and a reasonably likeable sort of person (but then again, mums and friends are indebted to say such things, right?). It would seem that many expect, upon seeing me and knowing my age, that I have one or two notches upon my bedpost. Perhaps a lesser occurrence amongst religious types, where abstinence (or professed abstinence, as the case may be...) is more common; until they find out I bat for the other team, whereupon I must surely be doing more screwing than a Black&Decker cordless 'driver. Can you say "stereotype"?
As my boss so eloquently put it, "21?! You must be up to your nuts in guts every night!"
Now, don't get me wrong, I have nothing against the act of coitus, nor those whom partake of it. I'm sure it's great, and I suppose I'll get round to it some day. But it becomes tiresome to have it repeatedly presumed that ones decisions, actions, aspirations, et al. are influenced by a libido that isn't there. That, for example, I'm into someone for the sake of getting into them. Can't I just be interested and friendly?
No, I don't like pussy and tits. No, I'm not a top. Yes, I am a virgin. No, it doesn't bother me. Yes, I could get some if I wanted. No, I don't make a habit of objectifying people. No, sex and romance isn't the be-all and end-all. Yes, I do wish people would stop portraying it as such, and pressuring others into thinking they need to get some ASAP, or thinking they're worthless/ugly/failures/doomed because they haven't.
Perhaps I should just print that out on little cards and hand them out as a pre-emptive measure, to save reliving the same tired old conversations?
Sunday, 8 March 2009
The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly
So it's midnight, I have to be up for work in six hours at the latest, and the beehive of my mind continues to elude slumber's sweet embrace. Take note kids, that's what you get for selling your soul and working double shifts; screwed up body clock. Oh, and lots of overtime pay to go towards your bike fund.
Experiences. Memories. The good, the bad, and the ugly.
Why is there evil in the world? Why can we not always be happy? Without contrast, how could we truly appreciate anything?
It was with shock that I realised we're over a week into March. Six months since I've been living in London. Less than two months 'till I turn twenty two. Along with remembering old and current friends, I've been recollecting some of my more memorable experiences, and the great contrasts between them.
I have been in over twenty different countries, all unique; both wonderful and terrible in their own ways. Seen people and creatures dead, dying, diseased, disfigured, in poverty, and in pain; met people content, healthy, rejoicing, friendly and generous.
I have been atheist; I have been Christian.
I have had £5 to my name and no roof over my head; I have earned over £300 in a day, eaten the finest of foods and lived in more than comfortable housing.
My first girlfriend; my first boyfriend.
I have been healthy, strong, fit as a fiddle; I have been so sick I couldn't keep half a cup of water down; was once in such constant pain I was popping codeine just to try and sleep; spent 3 months with the prospect of cancer hanging over my head.
Friends who love me, supported me, advised me; enemies who bullied, tortured, slandered and tried to undermine me.
Times when I could have died, gone to Heaven, and not been happier; times I wanted to die, to put an end to it all (and nearly did).
Times I have injured or killed; times I have comforted or healed.
Work that involved sitting on a boat, reading books in the sun; work that saw me elbow-deep in oil and sludge, getting 4 hours' sleep on the good nights, or drenched in raw sewage (if I ever tell you something tastes like shit, I mean it...)
So cold I couldn't feel my limbs; so hot I couldn't sweat any more.
Going out to drink on a Thursday, finishing on the Monday morning on the way to work; getting through a couple of bottles of wine with each meal; drowning sorrows; being dry, learning to enjoy alcoholic beverages when I don't just want to get hammered.
Doing nothing but chilling for a month or two; clocking 300 hours of work a month.
Hoarding possessions; giving everything away.
My 20th in Loughborough, drinking shots all night, sleeping in a grotty student house; my 21st in Nacula, Fiji, sober and sitting on a deserted beach with a bonfire, sleeping in a local village about as far from civilisation and the beaten track as you can get.
The list goes on for quite a while further, but this is all very self-indulgent; you're forgiven if you're bored of this tripe. To conclude, variety is the spice and zest of life; seek it out. Weather the bad moments, for they are what make the good times good.
What I once considered the worst things to happen to me, I now consider the best, for they made me stronger, and make me realise how blessed I am. To forget your life is, perhaps, one of the saddest of losses. Treasure all of it.
0130....damn
Experiences. Memories. The good, the bad, and the ugly.
Why is there evil in the world? Why can we not always be happy? Without contrast, how could we truly appreciate anything?
It was with shock that I realised we're over a week into March. Six months since I've been living in London. Less than two months 'till I turn twenty two. Along with remembering old and current friends, I've been recollecting some of my more memorable experiences, and the great contrasts between them.
I have been in over twenty different countries, all unique; both wonderful and terrible in their own ways. Seen people and creatures dead, dying, diseased, disfigured, in poverty, and in pain; met people content, healthy, rejoicing, friendly and generous.
I have been atheist; I have been Christian.
I have had £5 to my name and no roof over my head; I have earned over £300 in a day, eaten the finest of foods and lived in more than comfortable housing.
My first girlfriend; my first boyfriend.
I have been healthy, strong, fit as a fiddle; I have been so sick I couldn't keep half a cup of water down; was once in such constant pain I was popping codeine just to try and sleep; spent 3 months with the prospect of cancer hanging over my head.
Friends who love me, supported me, advised me; enemies who bullied, tortured, slandered and tried to undermine me.
Times when I could have died, gone to Heaven, and not been happier; times I wanted to die, to put an end to it all (and nearly did).
Times I have injured or killed; times I have comforted or healed.
Work that involved sitting on a boat, reading books in the sun; work that saw me elbow-deep in oil and sludge, getting 4 hours' sleep on the good nights, or drenched in raw sewage (if I ever tell you something tastes like shit, I mean it...)
So cold I couldn't feel my limbs; so hot I couldn't sweat any more.
Going out to drink on a Thursday, finishing on the Monday morning on the way to work; getting through a couple of bottles of wine with each meal; drowning sorrows; being dry, learning to enjoy alcoholic beverages when I don't just want to get hammered.
Doing nothing but chilling for a month or two; clocking 300 hours of work a month.
Hoarding possessions; giving everything away.
My 20th in Loughborough, drinking shots all night, sleeping in a grotty student house; my 21st in Nacula, Fiji, sober and sitting on a deserted beach with a bonfire, sleeping in a local village about as far from civilisation and the beaten track as you can get.
The list goes on for quite a while further, but this is all very self-indulgent; you're forgiven if you're bored of this tripe. To conclude, variety is the spice and zest of life; seek it out. Weather the bad moments, for they are what make the good times good.
What I once considered the worst things to happen to me, I now consider the best, for they made me stronger, and make me realise how blessed I am. To forget your life is, perhaps, one of the saddest of losses. Treasure all of it.
0130....damn
Sunday, 1 March 2009
What are you? A man or a mouse?
I've had this question posed to me on quite a few occasions, mostly when I was a child. Amusingly, I recall a little voice in my head that piped up every time, giving "squeak" as a private reply.
Identity has been on my mind of late. I don't consider my "identity" to be who/what I view myself as; I am a stream of consciousness contained within a corporeal shell, with various subconscious and/or glandular desires and emotions. I have the capacity to learn, reason and remember, and a greater capacity to forget. To define and categorise oneself is to impose limits on what you can be or achieve. It's similar to trying to describe God; every label you apply makes God less like God and more like your own (mis)conception of what a God should be.
When I think of my "identity", it is what others view me as. I have many, quite different identities, depending on who you ask; depending on what sort of situation people have experienced me in. When someone says they're afraid of me, I'm generally shocked (and I know a few people who would laugh at that). But that's the facet of "me" that they've seen.
I am rather fond of getting my own way; when I want something to happen, I'm not averse to doing whatever I have to in order to realise my wish. Appearance, how I present and comport myself, is one tool I have come to use a lot. It is something we are all judged on, and something we can have a lot of control over. I also find that my mental self image rarely lines up with my actual image; what is inside is rarely reflected on the outside.
This doesn't bother me much. For whatever reason, I am quite detached from what body I have, or what people call me/refer to me as. Those who ask me what name I want them to use, invariably get a hazy "whatever" in reply.
At face value, it seems most people see me as a heterosexual man in his mid-twenties, confident, neatly dressed, well-built, quiet and well-mannered. It is an image I have cultivated and encourage, for the simple reason that it helps me get what I want. In general, people afford me more respect as a result, for like it or not ours is a sexist, ageist (etc) society; if, for example, I were to look my age or younger, or look like a woman, certain things would become a lot more difficult.
Someone once commented to me, "You know, for such a macho guy, you sure do have some very feminine traits..." I just grinned.
We all judge books by their covers; it can't be avoided. But don't forget there's a myriad of pages contained within.
Identity has been on my mind of late. I don't consider my "identity" to be who/what I view myself as; I am a stream of consciousness contained within a corporeal shell, with various subconscious and/or glandular desires and emotions. I have the capacity to learn, reason and remember, and a greater capacity to forget. To define and categorise oneself is to impose limits on what you can be or achieve. It's similar to trying to describe God; every label you apply makes God less like God and more like your own (mis)conception of what a God should be.
When I think of my "identity", it is what others view me as. I have many, quite different identities, depending on who you ask; depending on what sort of situation people have experienced me in. When someone says they're afraid of me, I'm generally shocked (and I know a few people who would laugh at that). But that's the facet of "me" that they've seen.
I am rather fond of getting my own way; when I want something to happen, I'm not averse to doing whatever I have to in order to realise my wish. Appearance, how I present and comport myself, is one tool I have come to use a lot. It is something we are all judged on, and something we can have a lot of control over. I also find that my mental self image rarely lines up with my actual image; what is inside is rarely reflected on the outside.
This doesn't bother me much. For whatever reason, I am quite detached from what body I have, or what people call me/refer to me as. Those who ask me what name I want them to use, invariably get a hazy "whatever" in reply.
At face value, it seems most people see me as a heterosexual man in his mid-twenties, confident, neatly dressed, well-built, quiet and well-mannered. It is an image I have cultivated and encourage, for the simple reason that it helps me get what I want. In general, people afford me more respect as a result, for like it or not ours is a sexist, ageist (etc) society; if, for example, I were to look my age or younger, or look like a woman, certain things would become a lot more difficult.
Someone once commented to me, "You know, for such a macho guy, you sure do have some very feminine traits..." I just grinned.
We all judge books by their covers; it can't be avoided. But don't forget there's a myriad of pages contained within.
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