Archive for August, 2015

It’s all so far from perfection, from what you wanted, from what you imagined when you were an adolescent and thought of the future, how great it would be. Yet, here you are, hating every moment, and it’s impossible to imagine being/living any other way.

They’re all full of shit, half-truths and downright lies. Bogus adverts to con you out of your time and money. Bright lights and make-up, botox and airbrushing, a little bit of cleavage if you’re lucky. A fifth of your downtime being used to fleece you: in between entertainment and (occasionally) educational stimulation, you get conned.

You wake up to the situ. You feel dirty and sullied by commercial TV, in bondage somehow. You change the channel, feeling the need for some spiritual nourishment, you give your attention to the religious networks. And, fuck, you’re right back at the beginning. … They’re all full of shit, half-truths and downright lies. Bogus adverts to con you out of your time and money. Bright lights and make-up, botox and airbrushing, a little bit of cleavage if you’re lucky. Your desire for salvation being used to fleece you: in between Bible quotes and (occasionally) interesting ideas, you get conned.

Looking Up.

Posted: 2015-08-29 in Uncategorized

The foetal position is comforting until something goes wrong and now you can’t lie on your right side without a cry-out-loud pain resulting. Life. You turn left, there is some comfort, but best of all is when you lie on your back and look upwards to the heavens, when the roof isn’t there and the clouds are gone and you can see the real sky and stars, mid-winter, clear, glistening, then you feel peace and perspective. You can breathe.

Dentist waiting room, I wouldn’t expect to see a spread-leg, no-undies, slit. Your daughter needs some care. I avert my eyes and I think about the problems and implications.

There are too many bad men in this world – innocence won’t get you to a good place.

As a writer, in part, I don’t actually care what my life, per se, is like (how much it sucks) – just so I get the chance to write, real and proper. As such, prison is a haven for me.

I am disturbed that the murder of the TV news crew in VA is turned into witty repartee by online commentators, making a statement about gun control. Yes, the prick was aided and abetted in his murderous cause by easy-going gun laws. But, really, the issue is that he was a disturbed murderer, not the gun he used. He could have used another way to steal the lives of the two on camera, it’s all a question of how determined a butcher the psychopath is – think IS & sharp blades, sometimes flames.

RIP news crew.

Posted: 2015-08-26 in Uncategorized


My silence and/or grunting has nothing to do with you – it’s just the best that I can manage.

Got nothing to say.

I hate wasting my voice. Assholes either can’t understand, or don’t want to. I smile first, involuntarily, then I despair. I hate wasting my efforts. I grow tired. I feel tired when speaking, sigh, my tone betrays it, I can’t control it, even towards my mother, and the girl I’d like to fuck.


I’m not gonna take it anymore.

Don’t waste my time – I can do that myself more than well enough. You think you’re the only thing that weighs upon me, millstone? Hah, sigh, sadly not! Don’t waste my time.


“I Hate My Life.”


“I Hate My Life: Residents Take Stock After Devastating Wildfires.”

The headline caught her eye, it was a sentiment she could relate to: devastation and a chance for some perspective; the realization that your life sucks and, even worse, it always has. A massive catastrophe, or a series of events – man-made or a freak of nature, it makes no difference – bringing you to a point of destruction, a negative, empty dénouement. And you realize that you hate your life.

For a while you try to fight it, you try to grasp for a shred of hope, you listen to preachers and their words, but it all is for nought. You *know* you hate your life and you hate other people and you’re too broken to give a shit, it’s all so hollow.

Betrayed high and low, left and right, by friend and foe, you are left gutted, decimated as only a wildfire can do. It is then that you can see things unclouded by alliances or possessions. Exposed, bare, down to the essential facts. And there is no hope.

But if there is one thing that sparks a flame of light and interest in your psyche it is the knowledge that other people hate their lives too and your wonder of how they approach their own existential misery.

So, she read the article but she didn’t see what she was looking for.

She re-read the headline and winced: “I Have My Life: Residents Take Stock After Devastating Wildfires.”

Fucking reactionary! Relativist history. Dyslexic progressivism.

Misery loves a friend.


Words, just words.


The fool uses the diminutive “just” and “words” together. Just words? They’re only words? They don’t really matter. Really?

Just words would be fair words, words that liberate, because words have power. Power. At the end of the day, words are all we have. Words are everything. Respect your words.

Dom Knigi is a paradise I’d be happy to be lost in, indeed I have been many times in my happiest times past, memories. Today it seems so distant, overcome by tech and distractions, complications and conspiracies against me and everyone else, I imagine, who feels at home in Dom Knigi.

Dom Knigi in the 1970s, on one hand, and Andrew Carnegie’s honest, upright wealth creation strategies for the betterment of society, on the other. This is the world we live in. 2015.

Indeed, cereal bloats.

That wonderful utilitarian gray coat. Such warmth, such functionability. It is my closest ally, my only true friend – its pockets have held secrets no one else could be trusted with. Heavy, beautiful wool, grown so far away on a sheep’s back in a sunburnt country. It’s quite strange, you know, I can almost (in fact, actually, somehow I really can) feel my coat’s longing to return to the land of its incipience, it’s like it’s seeped into me somehow. Now that my nation state is dissolving around me, barriers are falling, one could say that opportunities are abounding. Yes, quite, indeed, certainly, I feel an imperative: perhaps it is the Holy Spirit talking to me, as my mother told me about in the sunshine of my youth; she (as always) trying to avoid the shadows (a great believer, despite the cost).

Hagia Sofia.

Posted: 2015-08-19 in Thoughts For The Day

Hagia Sofia.

Yes, we need, to overcome our banal slaveries.