The light flickers in our hall way.

December 20, 2011

The light flickers in our hall way.
I never noticed it before.
But it flickers every three seconds. I counted.
Counting flickers means that the mind is focused on something that matters little.
Instead of people watching.
People watching has evolved into people loathing.
Nandos menus have about four different fonts. I want to throw them in a fire.
There is one face in a billion that makes me want to learn their story.
Otherwise there is just a field of sullen faces all in a rush to nowhere.
I want to tell them that they’re not welcome.
The pretty faces as cheap and easy drugs, some of them. The crash is inevitable. The high is predictable.
And they seem deformed.
Not physically.
But deformed they seem, nonetheless.
There are just no layers. Or at least if there are, I don’t much care for them.
Like robots. Their tired Friday face looks the same as their Monday faces.
The theme tune to ‘Big Break’ brings back floods of childhood memories. Sundays at the grandparents house. I don’t know why. We pushed the neighbours car the other night. It went eventually. Crap battery and all that.
I want to see a face that makes me want to devour their mind with an unstoppable passion and unearth their brilliance and the uniqueness and discover their creative ingenuity and explore every last cave of their thoughts and say to other people “this is what living is”. When I dream at night I am at my most creative; the Worlds are magnificent and the plots are beautiful and the people, their faces are memorable and my dreams are the World as I want it to be but it isn’t. Or, my dreams are my way of telling myself that I am a bore. I love to sleep because my subconscious is demanding a creative outlet. Dreaming is my creative outlet. Like a big sigh of relief. How arrogant of me to expect the World to be a replica of my dreams. The World turns without my arrogance.
Minimum wage has a funny way of making me give a minimum shit. But it can’t abide that sentiment. It demands 100% of your caring ability, for a big ‘fuck you’ in return.
The upstairs light in the hall way doesn’t flicker. But it’s pretty bright. The downstairs light is the flicker. I always turn the wrong light on when I come in at night. I’ve lived here for for 22 years and I still get it wrong.
Lost. Very very lost. The light flickers. I look at it.
A face that stands out, and demands understanding. As the tornado of faces passes every day, always the same. Just one that stands out. Or maybe I wish my face stood out. It doesn’t.
What the heart holds on to, is a fucking nightmare to pull away from. It haunts me. Throw rocks and boulders at it and it’ll come away unscratched let alone unattached. And what then? “you’ll be fine”. Yeah, thanks.
I walked through St James’ Park the other day.
There were Autumn leaves in a pile. They were orange and red. Like someone had pressed the pause button during a great fire.
It was evening.
I was momentarily stunned by the buildings across the Mall toward Green Park. Humanity has came from the threat of extinction less than 100,000 years ago, to giant buildings and lush gardens. Eyes are drawn to beauty more so in the evening because the lights are prominent and they cast shadows and distorted reflections. Or maybe reality is a distorted reflection. London. Awe inspiring.
I torture myself with bad decisions.
There were very few people. I kicked the leaves like a child. I thought about it for a second or two. I’d look like a maniac of course. 25 years old and kicking leaves. It is surely the first sign of insanity. But I thought fuck it. If sanity means walking by, wishing i’d kicked the leaves, then I don’t want sanity. Sanity has a curious way of seeming inexcusably dull. I will never see these two or three monotonous faces again, I thought. So I kicked the leaves. That is life.

And then there’s life.

University done for 2011. Sleep for the next three weeks. Weep at turning 26. Finish dissertation. Graduate. Be unemployed. Be employed. Rome. Paris. Be happy. Be miserable. Uncertainty. Love lost. Florence. Eat well. Make friends. Write. Complain. House. Marriage. Kids. Say stupid things. Get shouted at. Learn. Be curious. Be suspicious. Be accepting. Abhor ignorance. Be loved. Shop. Wave to people. Buy a French bulldog. Move down south. Swim the sea. Foolish pride. Sit on the cliff top in Devon. Regretfully wish I’d told you how beautiful I thought you always were. Try new foods. Act like I give a fuck about tedious work. Meaningless, soul destroying encounters. Look out of the window of a train. Cry. Remember Montmartre. Miss the bus. Catch the bus. The M1 between Leicester and London is like self harm. Contemplate. Stream of consciousness. Go swimming. Road trip. Watch comedy. Sleep warm. One leg out of the duvet. Sing in the car. Badly. ‘The feeling of absurdity’. Tattoo cooling gel. Judge books by their cover. Tell people not to judge books by their cover. The faint lights of a town across the coastline at night. Walk through fields. Burp. Loudly. Caravan holiday Weymouth, 1990. Play in the sand. Eat ice cream on Weston pier. Make the wrong decisions. Poetry. Tell friends that I really fucking love them. Play piano. Remember your face. Argue. Stick two fingers up. Devour books. BBQs on the beach. Worship beauty instead of the smell of an office. Let it be. Family Christmasses. ‘…burn burn burn like fabulous yellow roman candles’. Smell Spring in the morning. Traffic jams. Over analyse and destroy. Wasteful spending. Be ill. Moan at being ill. Hemmingway. Speak with conviction. Lost at Monopoly. You always took Mayfair. Attempt accents. Fail at accents. Mock. Squeeze into a Tube train. Jubilee line to Southwark. Mind the gap. Punch a wall. Wonder what the Pacific ocean looks like. ‘We are like roses’ said Bukowski. Gym. Romance. Always romance. Watch football. Play football. Political diatribe. Sunbathe. Take photos. Make memories. Push cars in winter. Kick leaves. Babysit. Look at the stars. Skim stones on the ocean. Write. Always write. Drink beer. Not too much. Play pool. Lose at pool. Win at pool. Be spontaneous. Run. Walk. Laugh. A lot. Miss people. Reflect. Love. Fix the flickering light in our hall way.

Christopher Hitchens 1949 – 2011

December 16, 2011

“Beware the irrational, however seductive. Shun the ‘transcendent’ and all who invite you to subordinate or annihilate yourself. Distrust compassion; prefer dignity for yourself and others. Don’t be afraid to be thought arrogant or selfish. Picture all experts as if they were mammals. Never be a spectator of unfairness or stupidity. Seek out argument and disputation for their own sake; the grave will supply plenty of time for silence. Suspect your own motives, and all excuses. Do not live for others any more than you would expect others to live for you.”