Posts

We are a time-clock civilization.  We wear time on our wrist.  We hang time on our walls.  We have time in the corner of our TV screens.  We have time on the dashboard of the cars we drive.  We have time on mobile phones, console games, town squares, microwaves, cookers, computers…time is everywhere.  Time for this.  Tine for that.  Time does not exist, yet we use clocks to tell us otherwise.  The clock on my mantlepiece is ticking, ticking like a time bomb.  Ticking with excitement.  Ticking with anxiety.  Ticking with reflection.  Ticking with anticipation into the void.

An old family friend was visiting us.  She looked at Ruth and said to me:  “She looks good.  She doesn’t look haggard, which means you are being good to her.”

“What about me?’” I asked.  “Do I look haggard?”  The old lady placed her hands on my cheeks and inspected my face in the light.  “No,” She said.  “You look good too.  You two are good for each other.”

He walked up to the roof of the hotel to get some fresh air and watch the night sky turn to dawn.  The time between dusk and dawn is meant to be a time of magic.  At the precise moment when it is neither night nor day, the gods can be summoned.  He has never seen a god before, maybe today will be his lucky day, but he doubts it.  The gods abandoned man a long time ago when we decided we no longer had a use for them apart from killing each other in the name of one god or another.

The cars in the distant stream by like shooting stars.  He moves closer to the edge and looks down. Edges make him feel uneasy.  He always feels compelled to jump.  He struggles for reasons why he shouldn’t.  Lately he has found it harder and harder to find a reason that’s worth a damn.

He hasn’t said good bye to his wife.

He steps back from the edge.  Maybe tomorrow he won’t be so lucky.

Poor human hearts pounding everywhere, lying in their beds, walking their dogs, worrying about their future, dwelling on how their life took a wrong turn as they ride the bus to work in the morning.  I’m lying here in my hotel bed.  No other guest are stirring at this hour.  The dull roar of distant traffic reminds me that the poor human heart pounds 24 hours a day.

My past is a distant memory.  Who I was before no longer matters.  I resist thoughts of the future; they only bring anxiety born of uncertainty.  My crystal ball is full of thunder clouds, the clouds of unknowing.  Not being able to see the distant shores makes me seasick. I ground myself in the present with Jack’s words.  On my nightstand is last night’s entertainment, the Portable Playstation, Burnout Dominator crashing into cars to earn points, a fantasy of the human heart pounding of road rage.  Dark Resurrection, a hero’s quest to claim an unknown prize.  The prize doesn’t matter, what matters is the adventure along the way.  I long to feel my human heart pounding with the anticipation of unknown trails, dangerous trails, where the capacity of one’s own wit and resourcefulness determines life over death.  Adrenaline becomes my addiction, instead of cheap whores and booze.  An addiction that prowls like a hungry wolf on a cold desolate winter day looking for his next kill to keep him from Death’s steel jaws, the circle of life, the pounding of human hearts beating to different tunes on their iPods.

I close my eyes.  I’m on an empty beach watching her stand with her feet in the sea.  Her peach colored Spanish dress pulled above her ankles, she is dancing with the waves.  I feel lonely in this empty bed of fluffy white blankets and pillows listening to my poor human heart pounding.

And what does it matter in the end, the prince and the pauper travel different roads to reach the same end, buried six feet beneath cold earth, food for the worms and a silent eternity.

I’ve heard the eternal footman hold my coat and laugh hysterically, and I laughed with him!  You have no choice but to play the game hard and fast because he’s always riding your ass and one day the bell will toll for you.

Civilization is only good for the very weak and the very clever; the strong lose their natural Darwinistic advantage.  The weak can get a way with shit they would never pull if they didn’t have the law to protect them, like the counter clerk who gives you attitude because they are having a bad day.  Perhaps they would think twice before mouthing off if they knew there was nothing stopping the now irritated customer from reaching across the counter and ripping their eye out of the socket.  The clever are clever because they put the whole system in place to protect their asses against the savages amongst us who would go around looting and pillaging and having their way with the weak and the clever.  If you are not weak or clever, you are one of the masses doing time with shackles on your feet that you cannot see.  What’s even better than being clever is being strong and clever; then you rule!

Driving down the motorway at 5.30 in the morning, I can’t help but think we are little more than sophisticated ants.  The central government plays the role of the queen ant.  We play the role of the workers, warriors, and consorts.  No one asks if you want to belong to the system.  You are born into it, and you either learn and accept the rules or you perish.  It is as simple as that.  Of course they dress it up, give it some clothes, and tell you that you have choices and that you’re opinion matters, but the reality is you don’t and it doesn’t.  Get in line and do your part for the system like everybody else.

You can’t trust people.  They will only let you down.  The things you say are taken out of context and used against you.  They will cut you deep with your own words and stand and watch you bleed.  I will keep my words shallow with no depth and no meaning beyond civility.  Was it malice or insecurity that lead to her betrayal?

I am glad I did the things I did when I was young.  I lived hard and played hard as a soldier and a young man.  I see some of these young kids in the call centre and I think what a waste of youth.  I am working with a 19 year old girl and she is absolutely miserable.  She is not married, has no kids, no mortgage and yet she feels miserable because she feels trapped.  Trapped by what I am not sure? She wants to do things.  But she makes excuses for not doing them.  And I think fuck, you are 19, how can you be this miserable?  Why not go out and do something with your life?  At 19 I was convinced I could conquer the world and nobody could tell me different.

Life has been trying to creep back into my consciousness. Or least all those things that try to distract me and pass themselves off as life – like death and taxes. It seems that when I live in the now, all sorts of other things build up in the periphery and at some point come into plain view and demand attention – attention i don’t necessarily want to pay, especially since they set my mind to worry and focus on things that I have the illusion of control over.

I am back home after another week in Rayleigh. The hotel I stay in during the week only serves food that I have to ask someone what it is.  Yes, I could go out in town to get a bite, but my dinner allowance is mixed in with the hotel bill, so if I go out I’d have to pay out of pocket and sacrifice my free evening meal.  And who wants to pass up a free meal? That said, my priority this weekend is to eat caveman food – burgers, pizzas, ribs and chicken.

My tasks list today tells me that I have a ton of stuff to get through this weekend.  My mind, body, and soul tell me that I don’t want to do any of it.  Instead I want to sit down in my big comfy chair and read Will Self’s tough, tough toys for tough, tough boys.  Let’s see who wins.