Christmas is here

Easter is cracking up,

Halloween is scared to show his face,

Valentine's is feeling decidedly unloved,

Bonfire night is fuming, 

Independence day feels caged in by her presence,

Martin Luther King day feels discriminated against,

Christmas is here, Christmas is here. 

Christmas Revolt

"Look at him, all balls & bravado."

There had been a feeling growing among the festivals, a revolt of sorts; although there was no elected leader to overthrow.  For the most part of the year their calendar ran smoothly, peaks and trough, ups and downs, but a certain predictability was always present. Then December rolled around and Christmas began the parade of the insane. The grotesque with the mostess. They hated that guy, he minced around, all red and gold, balls and bravado.  

Ten ton truck

I rarely address the readers of this episodic wanderlust but my nerves do tell. Shan't we walk the rockin' horse, will we meet the maker? Who knew life would follow this course.....

In the spirit of santum i entreat mon sweetest massage. Wonder you might of this moog, but trilbies will come tonight, the sight should beguile you quite, but try as you might the hats will hatch. 

"If you ain't got a beer for a bro i don't want to know"

                                                  Tim 'the toolman' Taylor 

He said it, I read it!

Quel Chez?

Mon ami.

Chocolate Kisses

BN

"how come me no see no worms no more?"

Ale-n2

Down Dawson's Creek on a row boat,

Moving this vessel down streeeeeeeam.

I just eat a crunchie twice-time too fast,

Life is such a totally fantastic dream-wa-wa-weam.

You're a little monkey baby!

Bay-bay-baby-Bay-bay-baby!

Crazy lady Blues - I got the crazy lady blues!

Fruity Tooty

Cherry waterfall, take my sins away.

Cherry waterfall, take me hooooo-me.

Lem-on ja-cuzzi, you are my home now,

Lemon bla-monge, shake to-and-frooooooo.

Orange cornetto, moi'taliano,

Orange cornetto, uno momeeeeeeeent-o.

Fruity man fruity, you're such a cutie,

Fruity mon fruity, sleep to sleep. 

Goodbye Pumpkin Pie     (:{) 

WATCH OUT!

I spoke to a friend today. 

I came away from the conversation with a feeling I couldn't name. It was definitely a feeling I had experienced before, many times in fact, but I was no closer to finding the word to describe it.

He spoke with abounding spirit and storm, I enjoyed listening to him, his verve was infectious, but the subject matter, on reflection, bothered me. I worried for my fellow man. 

The plight that raised his blood pressure was so far removed from his everyday life that I worried, for his everyday life. I can't go into specifics at this time, but I'm warning you, WATCH OUT!    

Some people came to bust my head in (final verse)

And now my head is empty, it works much better now,

I've pulled myself together, I've got the know how.

Consigned to dusty thought shelves, unveiled when I allow,

because my head is empty, it works much better now.

Some people came to bust my head in

They split my head right open, that's all they wanted to do, 

I pleaded, "take my wallet, have my voice box too,

Anything but that, anything to subdue!"

They split my head right open; that's all they wanted to do. 

They took what they could carry, spilled some on the floor,

I saw a holiday memory, running for the door, 

There goes youthful exuberance, shaken to the core,

They took what they could carry, spilled some on the floor. 

My Right Hand is Wrong

What does one do with an inflated hand? A question I had never asked myself before and to be perfectly honest, a question I had never expected to have to ask myself. This morning though, the landmark moment arrived, I had to take a long, hard look at myself in the mirror, face the truth and ask myself, 'what does one do with an inflated hand?' 

If you imagine a marigold multi-purpose rubber glove, in white man's flesh colour, slightly ruddy; then take the said glove and blow into the open end until it is full of breath, you are getting somewhere close to my reality, my mystery. 

Even now I sit at my computer screen frustrated by my zeppelin, annoyed and frustrated by the sluggish motions it makes. I spit on my right hand, extinguish cigarettes on it's hump to reassure myself that it does belong to me.    

Trout Mask Repeller

Dave says he loves the woman next door. I believe him too. 

I was just saying that I thought she seemed nice, and that I enjoyed hearing her sing to her baby, and he said it. "I love her." Clear as day, honest as a fisherman, he fucking loves 'er!

What's wrong with us? 

Today was a day

Today I fought the good fight,

I stood up and was counted. 

I landed a hammer blow for the undertow. 

I bellowed for the mellowed. 

Today was the day,

Tomorrow won't be.

Rejoice!

Sing out! 

Exclaim my name!

For today I fought the good fight.

The Cranium Crush

Lightning strikes twice! Contrary to popular belief lightning does strike twice. Furthermore, the forecast predicts that it will strike for a third time on Sunday the 5th October, only this time the Gods may not be so kind, it is expected that up to 100 people will be struck simultaneously on the head by one mega-bolt.

It was late last night

"I saw the same light"             Robbie Williams, Stoke-on-Trent

The Conversation

An old friend spoke to me today. I believe he spoke the truth. 

He spoke of a feeling so buried that I believe I am the only living person he has shared it with; for this I am grateful. He explained that his life was haunted, his daily thought was dominated by an overwhelming longing. His only desire was to be diagnosed with a terminal illness. 

I wasn't expected to respond, this was clearly a confession. I understood.

I understood the sentiment. This was, in a confused weekday mind; an easy escape, a quick release, an ejector seat. To me, this seemed logical, the unnamed itch we all long to scratch. I reassured my old friend, cheering him in the knowledge that everyone in fact, thought thus; we all wanted to die.  

"CHIMICHANGA!"

To his girlfriend: "Chimichanga, I love you."

To his bestfriends: "Chimichanga you guys. You guys are the best."

To his burger: "Chimichanga! Chimichanga! Chimichanga! THE-BEST-BURGER-EVER!"

Months later, to me: "Chimichanga. That girl is rocking the chimichangas out of those tortillas." 

I had to say something, this was getting beyond a joke, i routinely encourage my friends to coin catch phrases, but this one was knackered, never had legs, broken spokes on a wheel that never existed. 

"Mate, that's knackered, that phrase, it's shit!"

"Whaa....?"

"Do you even know? Nnnn...you'd think i was being a knowcoach!"

"Go on. Say it."

"OK.....Do you even know where that word comes from? It comes from the founder of Tuscon, Arizona's own restaurant El Charro. She accidentally dropped a pastry into the deep fat fryer in 1922. She immediately began to utter a spanish curse-word beginning 'chi....', but quickly stopped herself and instead exclaimed chimichanga, the spanish equivalent of thingamajig. Fortuitously, the euphemism was a well understood Indianism for the standard Spanish 'chango quemado', meaning 'broiled monkey', which the chimichanga resembles. So, so mate, that's a shit turn of phrase to use, it just doesn't fit! Learn a lesson! Give it a rest." 

Chilliam Wallace

He's got IT!

He's got what? 

He's got the chill factor!

That's what people must say about him, it's so obvious, it pours out of his every pore. His weekends were spent perfecting the art, a school of art at which he sometimes felt he was the only student. 

He was a natural. 

His days at work were spent dreaming of duvet days promised, but never delivered; missed opportunities for much needed rest. He could disengage at the drop of a hat, lost in remission for what seemed like decades, he was the Thor of thaw, unbending and unending. 

I went to the supermarket and i bought....

....some snacks. I hadn't been out of the house for a few days and had lost track of the calender; turns out it was a Saturday. Whilst I had been inside, it seemed i had missed a lot more than Thursday and Friday. Society was falling to the ground, people were living out their wildest fantasies without asking anyone if it was okay to do so. This is what i had been waiting for, this is where i belonged.

The spirit road won't let up

It's like you always said, 'the spirit road won't let up, the childish will inherit the earth." Saturday strikes me as a creative day, a day that defines the winners and losers of this world. Well this Saturday i decided i'd be a winner.

"I started off on Burgundy, soon I hit the harder stuff!"

"An Eagle pointing at my weaknesses" (Part 1)

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I live at the dark end of the street, on the wrong side of town. 

Burgundy St. had once housed the artistic community of Olympia City; it was a hive of creativity, a bubbling, melting pot, but now the closest the majority of it's residents got to Art was a daily splattering of their porcelain bowls with shit belonging to the night before. It was sad state. A sight for sore eyes. A sore on your sad sight. It was nowhere.

I was there because I had nowhere else to be.    

I began the long walk towards the city, towards civilisation. As I rounded the corner of 22nd & 2nd I had the distinct feeling I was being followed.... 

'Bad Blog' on Loneliness

'Bad Blog' on Loneliness (Part 1)

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The 'Bad Blog' on Loneliness was a curious place to say the least. Before visiting the 'Bad Blog' I hadn't been aware that places of this ilk existed; after visiting i wasn't sure why places like this existed. I don't mean to sound uninformed, I understand now the stated purpose of the establishment, but I'm fairly certain I don't agree. 

On approaching the 'Bad Blog' there are no clues as to the ambiguous aspiration of this enterprise. It lies between two identical Italian restaurants, the sort of restaurants you rarely see anymore, the sort of restaurant that seemingly exists only to feed the extended family of the owner, no money exchanges hand, no business ever fails, it had always seemed a nice way to do business to me. Basically what I'm trying to make clear is that in a fairly uninteresting dark corner of a back street, the 'Bad Blog' was still very unnoticeable.  

Lighten Your Load

Here's some handmade jokes:

Q - How do you make a mischievous cat fall off the side of a pool table?

A - Tell it that Jeremy Beadle isn't dead.

Q - How do you make an overweight Grandmother break a deck chair?

A - Tell her that Jeremy Beadle isn't dead.

Q - How do make a enthusiastic young footballer run into the goal post with disastrous and hilarious consequences? 

A - Tell him the Jeremy Beadle isn't dead.

Secret Satan

The man cried, 'bargin!' The man sighed, 'incredible!' The people bubbled around the stage, clambering for a piece of what he had to offer. He didn't have to offer, he wanted to offer this, it was one thing that he desired to share, never before, but for evermore! Secret santa packing handbags in Taiwan, that's what he did now, that's what he planned. 

A massive cube in the middle of the wasteland

A massive cube in the middle of the wasteland, in the self same wasteland there was a circus, a circus made of dirt. There were animals, zoo animals, like dumbo.

Whack-eyed & Blue

That state I'm in

______________________________________

This is the state i woke up in this morning. This is the story which saw me wake up in this state. 

As i rounded the corner to the builder's yard yesterday, a juggernaut rushed passed me, rushed is a strange way to describe the movement of a juggernaut i know, but rushed is what it did! Seconds later another, and seconds later another. The fourth juggernaut that passed was only just picking up speed; speed enough to make my death-defying leap death defying, but not speed enough to make it my last. 

So i leapt. 

In alone moments i like to think of myself as somewhat of an expert leaper, so i wasn't scared or nervous, i was confident, i knew i had the skill set required to leech onto this machine. As i did, i could feel the ferocious, stone age power of my horse, it leaked through me, this is what i'd missed, this is what had kept me leaping throughout my childhood, against doctor's warnings, through parental discipline, beyond friend's fascination. This too was my downfall. 

I was suckered right through the town centre, laughing at those short-sighted walkers, waving to friends from times gone by, this is what i had missed; i think they had missed it too judging by their wild applause and acclaim! 

That's all i remember, the rest i have consigned to the open road. I lay here whack eyed and blue.   

My time away

The first day

We arrived at our destination this morning. It is very nice and extremely hot.
Our hosts seem accommodating if not a little over familiar. They seem to know an awful lot about me and my companion.
We were exhausted after the journey and fell asleep after eating a chicken.

The next day

We went on an excursion to the mountains today, it was very nice. The sun drenched landscape we had become accustomed to gave way to a land of colour, a limited palette, but colour all the same. I was surprised to find this alpine retreat in the middle of the desert.
We ate lunch, I ate a cheeseburger, then began the journey home.
On the walk I saw a wasp vomiting on the side of the road, on closer inspection i could see the the wasp was actually being sick on top of a minuscule ant. I had never seen a wasp being sick before and was surprised by how queasy it had made me feel. Without another thought I was sick a top both the living (but ill) wasp and the dead (murdered) ant.

Another day

Today i saw an abandoned hotel, it was called the 'Hotel Splendid'. I couldn't help but wonder.

A further day

I went to the fridge and took out a can of beer. It was to my great shock and confusion, that when I was closing the fridge door my selected refreshment spoke to me. He spoke clearly and confidently, but disappointingly not in what i had expected to be his native tongue. I presumed a beer domestic to a country would speak in the mother tongue of that country. It was explained to me however that this was very rarely the case.
At great length i was told that it is only compulsory for beer whose name includes or is wholly comprised of a human name to speak the language of its country of origin.
I thanked my beer for this information and allowed myself to pass comment that i thought this to be a little disingenuous.
Anyway, we chatted more as i drank and i was really beginning to enjoy the company of my drink, but i was becoming more cognizant of my growing thirst and my drinking partner's parallel rise in temperature. So i asked, in a veiled sort of way, if he had any last requests.
For a second time he surprised me. He didn't have so much of a last request, more a spoken epitaph, a reason for being, an admittance of love. He began:
"I have been all around the world, working in many different forms and roles, and never have i been touched, drunk or treasured like i have by you. You blow me away! The respect, the tender caress, you complete me. Thank you!"

Learning your lesson

Learning your lesson

__________________________________________________

"Child, it ain't easy being a Man." I was telling this to my friend David today.  He looked at me naively, not believing one word I was saying, "and believe me child, I am no liar!"

I grew redder and redder, madder and madder, I was shouting, "Child, what could you possibly know about being a man? You've lived all your life as a child, never experiencing the great responsibility and tension that comes with manhood." I knew that his whole argument was built on shaky foundations, he didn't need to say, I knew. His definition of manhood consisted solely of going to bed anytime you like and having money (from the job, that wasn't covered in his juvenile thinking) to buy video games on the day they are released. 

"You're a pecker Nick, why are you such a cock to me all the time?"

I was getting to him, I could feel myself crawling under his skin. Then he began to cry, right there, in the middle of an adult discussion, in the middle of a crowded street.   

 

A report from Skid Row

A report from Skid Row

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I ran into an old friend today, as you'd expect we began to talk. As the chat developed it became clear that time had been cruel to my old friend, it appeared to have driven him mad.

I can't recall exactly how the conversation reached it's final resting place, I think it was prefaced with some small talk about what i had for my dinner the previous night, but he began telling me of a fetish he had developed. As often as possible, my old friend would smell other people's underwear. He was specific, he had no interest in delicates fresh from the wash, none whatsoever, but only had eyes (and nose) for undergarments that had seen a whole day of action, in the trenches so to speak. He went on, seemingly unaware of the uncomfortable nature of the dialogue. I asked no questions. He told of how his nose had developed to the point that, he could plot the events of the day prior to the smelling, and this seemed to be the appeal. It dawned on me that this avocation wasn't, as I had immediately thought a sexual or sinister thing, it was a cry for companionship, a lament on loneliness. 

Then I shocked myself. I interjected, cut him off mid flow, "I'll send you some of my pants if you want, I live with two other people as well, I'm sure I could smuggle something of theirs into the parcel if you'd be into that, actually Dave has a pair of boxers that previously belonged to a mad man, I'm sure they'd make interesting breathing."

I wrote down my old friend's new address, shook his hand, smiled and continued on to my intended destination.