Or, if you prefer, please enjoy this picture of a dancing squirrel:
Thursday, 18 December 2014
Not writing, just typing
Welcome to my 2004-2013 journal. Older stuff can be found here, while the latest writings should be here. All in all, there are at least two million words for you to peruse. Though let me know if you run out and I'll find some more.
Friday, 20 December 2013
Victoria, BC #7
I guess it's ironic
That I did all that writing yesterday
About no longer wanting to write
Posted it on a blog I declare
A pointless waste of time
Spent hours editing it
After extolling the virtues of
Pure
Unadulterated
Expression
Then wrote emails
Then sat all day on this computer
Then thought about books I wanted to publish
Feeling liberated by the knowledge
That I no longer had to
But more than that -
Change comes slowly
In the beginning, there is the feeling
Then the thought
And then the word
I may know what I want to do
Or at least have an inkling
But it takes time
To make it real
It's two years since I first admitted
That I was afraid of love
Exactly twelve months ago
That I first deleted this blog
And abandoned journalling
For all of ten weeks
Five months since
I really did stop it
Though here I am again
And pretty much exactly four years ago
That I fasted a week at the hot springs
And knew in the depths of my heart
That what I need is a wife
It occurred to me many years ago
That life has its own gestation periods
Quite often, actually,
Somewhere around nine months
Between time of conception
And its popping into the world
Still
I'm feeling a little like...
I'm stuffing the baby back up the chute
Holding it in
Prolonging the labour
Pretending it's never been born
I'm feeling like I need to break free
But can't
Forever stumbling into the past
And submitting to habits
Habits unfortunately not quite as damaging
As taking drugs
Getting drunk
Crashing cars
Gentle habits
But destructive nonetheless
How about some
New Year's resolutions
Evolutions
Ideals
Or at least suggestions?
1. I will delete this blog.
2. I will just talk instead.
3. Or at least handwrite and type just for myself, and not as a way of avoiding talking about something, but as a means of aiding expression, and getting down to the heart of the matter
4. I shall stop endlessly looking back on things previously written. Get it out of me and then move on. File it away if necessary. But maybe just "burn it", like the Bibles of yesterday's monk (I shudder).
5. I shall try to forget about writing books, and just live instead. And if Life directs me to writing books, I shall give it a go.
6. I will stop sending emails to people from the past. I often want to quit, and I get annoyed with how much I'm invested in that and when I have a backlog. But, truth is, it's mainly people just responding to me anyway. I so admire people who don't exist online. I know one person who has basically no online presence. I bet their life is lacking nothing.
7. I will quit facebook again and stay quitted. I will use emailing people just for purposes of arranging meetups, etc.
8. I will try to use the telephone more. I'm always saying that. But never actually doing it.
9. In a nutshell, trying to get back to how life was before the blasted internet. It was good back then. Things moved forward. Flowed naturally. Never really harked back. I liked it. It's my fault it's difficult now to be like that. The internet is too powerful for me. Too stimulating. There's always something going on. But as my time in Exeter and Mexico and Greece proved, it's just not as healthy as life in the outside world. I want to break away. Keep it merely for football results and plane tickets. I wonder if I can. Not easy.
10. I want to give myself to love. To not run away from it. To find someone who can deal with my madness, my vulnerability, my complexities - as well as all the good things I have to offer. To find that person and then stick to them like glue. Not in a smothering way, but in a sense of true commitment. I'm ready for that.
11. I want to work a good job. Be productive. Help others. And go home to a happy situation. Many years ago I decided "life is what you go home to." A difficult job can be tolerated by what's waiting for you at the end of the day. And a wonderful job can still seem empty if it excludes sharing your life with somebody you love.
12. I want to work my way up the football referee ladder.
13. I want to find a place to call home.
14. I want to be in a position where the making of one or two little people is not only possible but likely and even inevitable.
15. I want to overcome my inability to feel wanted and loved.
16. I want to stop looking at pictures of and reading about celebrities.
I guess the main thing is:
I want to quit the internet
Woohoo!
I'll betcha that's easier said than done
I've certainly said it before
But then what if I just tossed a coin?
"Heads, I shall completely obliterate this blog
By the end of the year"
I toss the coin
And heads it is
"Heads, I shall close my email accounts"
And this time it's tails
"Heads, I'll close my Skype account"
Heads
(I only ever used it with one person anyway)
And then I went and spent two silly hours
Trying to remove my presence
From dozens of years-old
Forums and arcade sites
Reading words like:
"Last login: April 10th 2003"
That I did all that writing yesterday
About no longer wanting to write
Posted it on a blog I declare
A pointless waste of time
Spent hours editing it
After extolling the virtues of
Pure
Unadulterated
Expression
Then wrote emails
Then sat all day on this computer
Then thought about books I wanted to publish
Feeling liberated by the knowledge
That I no longer had to
But more than that -
Change comes slowly
In the beginning, there is the feeling
Then the thought
And then the word
I may know what I want to do
Or at least have an inkling
But it takes time
To make it real
It's two years since I first admitted
That I was afraid of love
Exactly twelve months ago
That I first deleted this blog
And abandoned journalling
For all of ten weeks
Five months since
I really did stop it
Though here I am again
And pretty much exactly four years ago
That I fasted a week at the hot springs
And knew in the depths of my heart
That what I need is a wife
It occurred to me many years ago
That life has its own gestation periods
Quite often, actually,
Somewhere around nine months
Between time of conception
And its popping into the world
Still
I'm feeling a little like...
I'm stuffing the baby back up the chute
Holding it in
Prolonging the labour
Pretending it's never been born
I'm feeling like I need to break free
But can't
Forever stumbling into the past
And submitting to habits
Habits unfortunately not quite as damaging
As taking drugs
Getting drunk
Crashing cars
Gentle habits
But destructive nonetheless
How about some
New Year's resolutions
Evolutions
Ideals
Or at least suggestions?
1. I will delete this blog.
2. I will just talk instead.
3. Or at least handwrite and type just for myself, and not as a way of avoiding talking about something, but as a means of aiding expression, and getting down to the heart of the matter
4. I shall stop endlessly looking back on things previously written. Get it out of me and then move on. File it away if necessary. But maybe just "burn it", like the Bibles of yesterday's monk (I shudder).
5. I shall try to forget about writing books, and just live instead. And if Life directs me to writing books, I shall give it a go.
6. I will stop sending emails to people from the past. I often want to quit, and I get annoyed with how much I'm invested in that and when I have a backlog. But, truth is, it's mainly people just responding to me anyway. I so admire people who don't exist online. I know one person who has basically no online presence. I bet their life is lacking nothing.
7. I will quit facebook again and stay quitted. I will use emailing people just for purposes of arranging meetups, etc.
8. I will try to use the telephone more. I'm always saying that. But never actually doing it.
9. In a nutshell, trying to get back to how life was before the blasted internet. It was good back then. Things moved forward. Flowed naturally. Never really harked back. I liked it. It's my fault it's difficult now to be like that. The internet is too powerful for me. Too stimulating. There's always something going on. But as my time in Exeter and Mexico and Greece proved, it's just not as healthy as life in the outside world. I want to break away. Keep it merely for football results and plane tickets. I wonder if I can. Not easy.
10. I want to give myself to love. To not run away from it. To find someone who can deal with my madness, my vulnerability, my complexities - as well as all the good things I have to offer. To find that person and then stick to them like glue. Not in a smothering way, but in a sense of true commitment. I'm ready for that.
11. I want to work a good job. Be productive. Help others. And go home to a happy situation. Many years ago I decided "life is what you go home to." A difficult job can be tolerated by what's waiting for you at the end of the day. And a wonderful job can still seem empty if it excludes sharing your life with somebody you love.
12. I want to work my way up the football referee ladder.
13. I want to find a place to call home.
14. I want to be in a position where the making of one or two little people is not only possible but likely and even inevitable.
15. I want to overcome my inability to feel wanted and loved.
16. I want to stop looking at pictures of and reading about celebrities.
I guess the main thing is:
I want to quit the internet
Woohoo!
I'll betcha that's easier said than done
I've certainly said it before
But then what if I just tossed a coin?
"Heads, I shall completely obliterate this blog
By the end of the year"
I toss the coin
And heads it is
"Heads, I shall close my email accounts"
And this time it's tails
"Heads, I'll close my Skype account"
Heads
(I only ever used it with one person anyway)
And then I went and spent two silly hours
Trying to remove my presence
From dozens of years-old
Forums and arcade sites
Reading words like:
"Last login: April 10th 2003"
Thursday, 19 December 2013
Victoria, BC #5
I've come to Victoria
Ostensibly to write
But what I've realised is
Writing to publish
Striving to craft
Is a
Hateful
Objectionable
Destructive
Use of my time
I like
Pure flow expression
For personal growth
The rest of it?
Fuck it.
I thought the whole reason I came to Canada
Was to knuckle down and work
Write some books
Expunge long-cherished ideas
But really I came
To fall in love
To find a new way of life
Love is more important than writing
Happiness is more important than recognition
I would rather dig holes
And go home to somebody's warm arms
Than slave away on this computer
For such little reward.
How did it come to this?
Why do I try?
Wherefore the roots
Of this compulsion to write?
Well once upon a time
I wrote an online journal
It was therapy
Helped me heal
Allowed exploration of unseemly parts
That were accepted by others
I enjoyed the expression
And then I went on
To live an interesting life
Which others enjoyed reading about
Then came the leap:
You should write a book, they said
You should get published
You can change the world
Get rich
Find fame
We make this leap all the time
With musicians
With artists
With understandings
With feelings
But why do we seek to take something so pure
Something so natural
And concretise it
In a shape
That conforms to the world?
Habit, I guess
The way the mind slots into grooves
Follows well-trod paths
All those people saying
"You should write a book"
Thinking they're giving encouragement
Really they're placing a curse
Planting a seed
For a weed
That grows enormous
Dragging me in its spiny tendrils
To places I don't want to go.
This blog...
It's been a long time
Since it was therapy
And I suppose I continue it
Out of habit and compulsion
The joy of typing
And an unwillingness to
Let go
Not recognising
Things have long since changed
Does any good come of it?
Has it helped anyone in a real way?
I feel embarrassed when I think
Of the hours I've spent
In self-absorbed typing
And contrast it with people
Who do good in the world.
Likewise, my book
The urge to publish it
Placed like a bug in my brain
Fed by dreams of
Inspiration and change
Never having to worry about money again
Thinking
Because I'd found BLISS
- Incontrovertible evidence! -
Everyone one else would too
Such young, foolish delusions
Dreams I've dedicated years to
But - dig this:
It's out there and
It hasn't changed the world
Nobody cares
People read it and move on
Soon forget what's in there
And there are already a thousand books
Saying the same kind of things
And more advanced things than mine
I discovered one of them recently:
Michael Crichton's 'Travels'
He's a scientist and doctor
A successful and respected writer
He reports spiritual experiences
Impossible to deny
And yet
Denied they are
So where does that leave me?
I don't want to write
I don't want to waste my time
I don't want to be on this computer
Always wishing
For someone to discover me
I want to be in love
Learning about love
Living a simple life
Feeling happy and content
I know that works
And yet still I return
To these old ideas
About writing and words.
Two interesting things happened yesterday
The first was on a walk to a park
Where I climbed a nice tree
Sat in its branches
And pondered
I was emotional and fraught
At a loss with my urge
To abandon this writing
Plus having overdosed recently
On the great drug called LOVE
I hugged the tree
And thought of times trees had spoken
I said to the tree
"Oh, what shall I do?"
And the tree said
"This is your new life"
And I felt it.
The second was in a thrift store
Where I read a short story
About a monk on retreat
He forgot to bring his Bible
And the guestmaster said
"Why not write your own?"
He did, and it was useful
And then at the end of the year
The guestmaster suggested
Tossing it in the fire
Along with his journal
A whole year's wisdom and labour
Gone up in flames
When I read this
I suddenly burst into tears
Tears out of nowhere
Tears, I want to say,
I know not why
But I do.
Back in 2009
I lost a notebook containing
Many thousands of words
Of emotions and realisations
After briefly mourning
I saw quite clearly
That the greatest tragedy was not the loss of the words
Already expressed
But the loss of the blank pages
Never to be expressed on
It's true!
The pages were not for
Preserving
They were for
Unburdening
After losing that journal
I continued to write
But no longer thought about keeping
Everything was discarded
Sometimes immediately
And I missed it not.
Am I making my point?
And
More to the point
Am I picking up on it?
Acting on it myself?
It's hard
To break away
From such a
Long held
Compulsion
Especially with the weight of the world
Well-meaning friends
And my mind's own desires
Driving me along
To the edge of the cliff
But is it too late to
Change track
Step aside
And watch
The mad streaming juggernaut
Pass me by
And
Leave me free
Ready to walk
In a whole new direction?
What good came from
Facebook
This blog
My book
All those emails?
What
Return on Investment
For the thousands of hours?
The tree whispers
The mind wonders
The heart knows
But does the body act?
Ay: there's the rub
To force the body
To follow the feeling
To leave the known
To put a torch to the past
There's the faith
Faith in the face of the world
In the face of one's friends
In the face of one's dreams.
Ostensibly to write
But what I've realised is
Writing to publish
Striving to craft
Is a
Hateful
Objectionable
Destructive
Use of my time
I like
Pure flow expression
For personal growth
The rest of it?
Fuck it.
I thought the whole reason I came to Canada
Was to knuckle down and work
Write some books
Expunge long-cherished ideas
But really I came
To fall in love
To find a new way of life
Love is more important than writing
Happiness is more important than recognition
I would rather dig holes
And go home to somebody's warm arms
Than slave away on this computer
For such little reward.
How did it come to this?
Why do I try?
Wherefore the roots
Of this compulsion to write?
Well once upon a time
I wrote an online journal
It was therapy
Helped me heal
Allowed exploration of unseemly parts
That were accepted by others
I enjoyed the expression
And then I went on
To live an interesting life
Which others enjoyed reading about
Then came the leap:
You should write a book, they said
You should get published
You can change the world
Get rich
Find fame
We make this leap all the time
With musicians
With artists
With understandings
With feelings
But why do we seek to take something so pure
Something so natural
And concretise it
In a shape
That conforms to the world?
Habit, I guess
The way the mind slots into grooves
Follows well-trod paths
All those people saying
"You should write a book"
Thinking they're giving encouragement
Really they're placing a curse
Planting a seed
For a weed
That grows enormous
Dragging me in its spiny tendrils
To places I don't want to go.
This blog...
It's been a long time
Since it was therapy
And I suppose I continue it
Out of habit and compulsion
The joy of typing
And an unwillingness to
Let go
Not recognising
Things have long since changed
Does any good come of it?
Has it helped anyone in a real way?
I feel embarrassed when I think
Of the hours I've spent
In self-absorbed typing
And contrast it with people
Who do good in the world.
Likewise, my book
The urge to publish it
Placed like a bug in my brain
Fed by dreams of
Inspiration and change
Never having to worry about money again
Thinking
Because I'd found BLISS
- Incontrovertible evidence! -
Everyone one else would too
Such young, foolish delusions
Dreams I've dedicated years to
But - dig this:
It's out there and
It hasn't changed the world
Nobody cares
People read it and move on
Soon forget what's in there
And there are already a thousand books
Saying the same kind of things
And more advanced things than mine
I discovered one of them recently:
Michael Crichton's 'Travels'
He's a scientist and doctor
A successful and respected writer
He reports spiritual experiences
Impossible to deny
And yet
Denied they are
So where does that leave me?
I don't want to write
I don't want to waste my time
I don't want to be on this computer
Always wishing
For someone to discover me
I want to be in love
Learning about love
Living a simple life
Feeling happy and content
I know that works
And yet still I return
To these old ideas
About writing and words.
Two interesting things happened yesterday
The first was on a walk to a park
Where I climbed a nice tree
Sat in its branches
And pondered
I was emotional and fraught
At a loss with my urge
To abandon this writing
Plus having overdosed recently
On the great drug called LOVE
I hugged the tree
And thought of times trees had spoken
I said to the tree
"Oh, what shall I do?"
And the tree said
"This is your new life"
And I felt it.
The second was in a thrift store
Where I read a short story
About a monk on retreat
He forgot to bring his Bible
And the guestmaster said
"Why not write your own?"
He did, and it was useful
And then at the end of the year
The guestmaster suggested
Tossing it in the fire
Along with his journal
A whole year's wisdom and labour
Gone up in flames
When I read this
I suddenly burst into tears
Tears out of nowhere
Tears, I want to say,
I know not why
But I do.
Back in 2009
I lost a notebook containing
Many thousands of words
Of emotions and realisations
After briefly mourning
I saw quite clearly
That the greatest tragedy was not the loss of the words
Already expressed
But the loss of the blank pages
Never to be expressed on
It's true!
The pages were not for
Preserving
They were for
Unburdening
After losing that journal
I continued to write
But no longer thought about keeping
Everything was discarded
Sometimes immediately
And I missed it not.
Am I making my point?
And
More to the point
Am I picking up on it?
Acting on it myself?
It's hard
To break away
From such a
Long held
Compulsion
Especially with the weight of the world
Well-meaning friends
And my mind's own desires
Driving me along
To the edge of the cliff
But is it too late to
Change track
Step aside
And watch
The mad streaming juggernaut
Pass me by
And
Leave me free
Ready to walk
In a whole new direction?
What good came from
This blog
My book
All those emails?
What
Return on Investment
For the thousands of hours?
The tree whispers
The mind wonders
The heart knows
But does the body act?
Ay: there's the rub
To force the body
To follow the feeling
To leave the known
To put a torch to the past
There's the faith
Faith in the face of the world
In the face of one's friends
In the face of one's dreams.
Wednesday, 11 December 2013
Canadian supermarkets
Fuck Canadian supermarkets!
Walking through their doors
Is like entering some
Parallel
Surreal
Universe
Like asking a man in a corner shop
For a can of coke
And the man says
That'll be eight thousand pounds please
Like those crazy strip joints in London
Where strippers dupe you into glasses of champagne
That cost more than they do
(Never happened to me)
I'm pissed man!
All those years in England
Honing my shopping skills
Getting my routine down
My
System
Home Bargains for ninety-nine pee
Eggs (free range; six; large)
Pesto (Bertolli, mind)
Jars of Patak's curry sauce
Four-packs of lovely triple-ply toilet roll
Two hundred and fifty gram
Bags of figs
And then skip on over to Morrison's
For a five hundred gram bag of dates
One pound twenty-nine
(Seventy-nine pee in Home Bargains
Though not as good)
A loaf of Burgen's
Often but a quid
A lovely block of mature cheddar
With nothing weird added
Three hundred and fifty grams
For one pound eighty
(That's not the cheapest, mind
But one must buy good cheese)
And pizza
And veggie sausages
And lentils
And all the other things I buy
(There are probably other things)
And now it's like
All of a sudden
Some fucker's gone and changed the rules
Placed numbers next to products that
Do
Not
Belong
Six dollars
For a dozen eggs?
Five bucks
For a jar of cooking sauce?
Four dollars
For a loaf of bread?
I had it down, man!
But the rug's been pulled
And the cheese is not only
Crazy Martian prices
But a crazy Martian colour too
It bounces when you drop it
You sink your teeth into
Spongy
Rubber
Plasticine
No flavour
No resemblance
To cheese
To food
To anything of this world
And nobody bats an eyelid
I'm -
I'm cross about other things, I guess
I need a victim to take it out on
The prices here are mental
But people I respect
If I ever dared tell them
Would only say pertinent things like
"Shut the fuck up, Rory"
And
"If you don't like it
You can always go home"
And
"Anyway, isn't it a small price to pay
For all the awesome things you get
By being here?"
I'm sorry
You're right
I just struggle sometimes
I'd be the same in Switzerland or Japan
It's just taking my brain a little while to adjust is all
Well I've whooped it up in places like India
Now we get
The balance
I just wish I had appreciated more
That I lived in the greatest supermarket nation on Earth
Kissed the Kettle Chips that cost eighty-nine pee
Hugged tight tubs of margarine
That are always half-price
And wept with gratitude
To see men on market stalls
Selling enormous bags of
Bananas
Satsumas
Aubergines
Courgettes
For one pound
One pound
Everything's always one pound
I bet even maple syrup's
Cheaper in England
I -
No
I'm wrong
I just checked
It's not
Woohoo!
I think I've found some thing
Some reason
To live on
(The above 'poem' is written with tongue firmly in cheek. As if I'm really that anal and uptight and grumpy. As if.)
Walking through their doors
Is like entering some
Parallel
Surreal
Universe
Like asking a man in a corner shop
For a can of coke
And the man says
That'll be eight thousand pounds please
Like those crazy strip joints in London
Where strippers dupe you into glasses of champagne
That cost more than they do
(Never happened to me)
I'm pissed man!
All those years in England
Honing my shopping skills
Getting my routine down
My
System
Home Bargains for ninety-nine pee
Eggs (free range; six; large)
Pesto (Bertolli, mind)
Jars of Patak's curry sauce
Four-packs of lovely triple-ply toilet roll
Two hundred and fifty gram
Bags of figs
And then skip on over to Morrison's
For a five hundred gram bag of dates
One pound twenty-nine
(Seventy-nine pee in Home Bargains
Though not as good)
A loaf of Burgen's
Often but a quid
A lovely block of mature cheddar
With nothing weird added
Three hundred and fifty grams
For one pound eighty
(That's not the cheapest, mind
But one must buy good cheese)
And pizza
And veggie sausages
And lentils
And all the other things I buy
(There are probably other things)
And now it's like
All of a sudden
Some fucker's gone and changed the rules
Placed numbers next to products that
Do
Not
Belong
Six dollars
For a dozen eggs?
Five bucks
For a jar of cooking sauce?
Four dollars
For a loaf of bread?
I had it down, man!
But the rug's been pulled
And the cheese is not only
Crazy Martian prices
But a crazy Martian colour too
It bounces when you drop it
You sink your teeth into
Spongy
Rubber
Plasticine
No flavour
No resemblance
To cheese
To food
To anything of this world
And nobody bats an eyelid
I'm -
I'm cross about other things, I guess
I need a victim to take it out on
The prices here are mental
But people I respect
If I ever dared tell them
Would only say pertinent things like
"Shut the fuck up, Rory"
And
"If you don't like it
You can always go home"
And
"Anyway, isn't it a small price to pay
For all the awesome things you get
By being here?"
I'm sorry
You're right
I just struggle sometimes
I'd be the same in Switzerland or Japan
It's just taking my brain a little while to adjust is all
Well I've whooped it up in places like India
Now we get
The balance
I just wish I had appreciated more
That I lived in the greatest supermarket nation on Earth
Kissed the Kettle Chips that cost eighty-nine pee
Hugged tight tubs of margarine
That are always half-price
And wept with gratitude
To see men on market stalls
Selling enormous bags of
Bananas
Satsumas
Aubergines
Courgettes
For one pound
One pound
Everything's always one pound
I bet even maple syrup's
Cheaper in England
I -
No
I'm wrong
I just checked
It's not
Woohoo!
I think I've found some thing
Some reason
To live on
(The above 'poem' is written with tongue firmly in cheek. As if I'm really that anal and uptight and grumpy. As if.)
Monday, 9 December 2013
Victoria, BC
And now I'm in BC
Back with wonderful Eric
Eric of Christmas 2001
Christmas 2009
Eric the actual genuine published writer
Eric with a spare apartment he says I can stay in
To give some time to writing
To have long chats about everything
To eat and walk his dog
To -
I left Saskatoon Saturday morning
Took a semi-spontaneous flight
Rolling a dice right there in front of the check-in girl
And the dice said "buy"
Was weird to splash so much cash
On such a short flight
To skip out on the Rockies
To abandon the thumb
But perhaps it's time for a different way of living
Inspired by abundance
By thoughts of Charlie Chaplin
On the eve of his big break
And one or two other things besides
The love, by the way
Didn't die
Far from it
But I don't write about that stuff here anymore
Save it for elsewhere
I only write -
Well, what do I write?
I write
What happened
Where I am
I'm in Victoria, BC
I'm here with Eric
I'm here to
Write
That's the nuts and bolts of it
The long and short
The -
And now, ladies and gentlemen
My greatest fear
I've talked much about trembling
Trembling before random journeys into the unknown
Leaving behind safe good life
Flying on a feeling
But all that is nothing compared to the
Crippling
Overwhelming
Heart-breaking fear
When I contemplate WORDS
This is what I wanted
This is what I set myself up for
This is what is now available
The space
The time
The perfect environment
No more excuses
It makes me want to punch the wall
Beat my head
Collapse in tears
It's time to
Put up or shut up
But -
Offer me a chance
And I will quite happily accept the latter
Lord, take this cup away from me!
That sort of thing
The feeling is strong
But maybe it's just a trembling like all the others
A trembling that precedes
Quite happily doing it
Succeeding
And entering into a whole new sphere of existence
Or not
Fact is
I'm here
I've got what I need
I just need to start typing
And see what comes
If nothing else
Well at least I tried
And I can't say it hasn't brought me
Many other wonderful things
Four years ago
I sat in the hot springs in Mexico
And KNEW
What I wanted
And what I wanted was
A partner to love
And to write words on a computer
But
Love
Comes
First
Everything else is a bonus
Anyways
Shall we just crack on?
See y'all out the other side...
Back with wonderful Eric
Eric of Christmas 2001
Christmas 2009
Eric the actual genuine published writer
Eric with a spare apartment he says I can stay in
To give some time to writing
To have long chats about everything
To eat and walk his dog
To -
I left Saskatoon Saturday morning
Took a semi-spontaneous flight
Rolling a dice right there in front of the check-in girl
And the dice said "buy"
Was weird to splash so much cash
On such a short flight
To skip out on the Rockies
To abandon the thumb
But perhaps it's time for a different way of living
Inspired by abundance
By thoughts of Charlie Chaplin
On the eve of his big break
And one or two other things besides
The love, by the way
Didn't die
Far from it
But I don't write about that stuff here anymore
Save it for elsewhere
I only write -
Well, what do I write?
I write
What happened
Where I am
I'm in Victoria, BC
I'm here with Eric
I'm here to
Write
That's the nuts and bolts of it
The long and short
The -
And now, ladies and gentlemen
My greatest fear
I've talked much about trembling
Trembling before random journeys into the unknown
Leaving behind safe good life
Flying on a feeling
But all that is nothing compared to the
Crippling
Overwhelming
Heart-breaking fear
When I contemplate WORDS
This is what I wanted
This is what I set myself up for
This is what is now available
The space
The time
The perfect environment
No more excuses
It makes me want to punch the wall
Beat my head
Collapse in tears
It's time to
Put up or shut up
But -
Offer me a chance
And I will quite happily accept the latter
Lord, take this cup away from me!
That sort of thing
The feeling is strong
But maybe it's just a trembling like all the others
A trembling that precedes
Quite happily doing it
Succeeding
And entering into a whole new sphere of existence
Or not
Fact is
I'm here
I've got what I need
I just need to start typing
And see what comes
If nothing else
Well at least I tried
And I can't say it hasn't brought me
Many other wonderful things
Four years ago
I sat in the hot springs in Mexico
And KNEW
What I wanted
And what I wanted was
A partner to love
And to write words on a computer
But
Love
Comes
First
Everything else is a bonus
Anyways
Shall we just crack on?
See y'all out the other side...
Thursday, 28 November 2013
Saskatoon, SK
I arrived in Saskatoon late last night
After hitching the two thousand miles from Guelph
Snow covering every inch
Standing there sometimes
In minus fourteen
Peeing one morning
Barefoot and shirtless
In minus twenty-two
It was awesome
I'd thought of it as my greatest challenge
My biggest test of faith
In all these years on the road
Stretching right back to
USA '98
When I first realised
Some perfect
Beneficial
Groovy
Force
Operated in my life
The force that took me down to Mexico
The force that transported me
Penniless
Kept me sheltered and fed
Through thousands of miles of
North America
Europe
India
Etcetera
But this seemed different
Canada in the winter time!
Perils of
Actual death
Not just hunger
Sleeping out
Maybe getting wet
This was real
What to do
For example
When night falls
The temperature's twenty below
I've been deposited in the middle of
The vast Ontario wilderness
And freezing and frostbite and -
Well, in any case
I made it
It all worked out good
I was offered a place
Each day and night
Never spent a penny
Even though I wanted to
The magic is unbelievable
God loves a foolhardy fool
But I suppose what you're really wondering is
Exactly how did it work out?
Well I'll tell you
But first we'll have to rewind
Right back to Guelph
Right back to last Wednesday
Right back to me thinking
It's time to move on
And then wondering how
And checking planes and buses and trains
And just thinking
Fuck it
I can't be arsed with this
The thought of hitching terrified me
But I knew it had to be done
I did my trembling thing
The trembling subsided
And then I just got on with it
Well do I trust or not?
Or does God only work His magic
In sunny climes
On snowless ground?
No
Of course not
The God in my head isn't quite so limited as that
So I guess I had to prove it
Marching daftly to the highway in Guelph
Holding up a sign for "BC! Please"
And pretty soon got a ride
Straight to the front door of some friends' house
In Burlington
Good start!
The magic still works!
And confidence is instilled
One night there talking crazy Yorkshire talk
(Everyone was from Yorkshire)
And then after being deposited at a truck stop north of Toronto
The hitch began in earnest
It was cold and I shivered
It was six degrees ABOVE zero
Yowzers
I knew substantially lower temperatures were ahead
And I was nowhere near equipped
Oh well
The eccentric Englishman
Who plans in retrospect
Knows it always works out
And it did
Like I said
My final ride the first day
(After slight detour from expected highway
Thinking go with the flow)
Offers me dinner and a bed
And a day out the next day
Taking a boat to an island in Georgian Bay
Plus dinner and a bed
The following two nights as well
Gives me a great groovy hat
A big red warm coat
Some wool socks
And warm mitts
I do some healing
We chat all spiritual stuff
It's awesome
And then I'm on the road again
Sunday morning
Minus fourteen
A long cold wait
Everything white and beautiful
Loving the madness of it all
Loving my crazy new hat
With flaps over the ears
Get diverted again
But trust
And once more
Just before dark
A man takes me north from North Bay
Asks me if I want to watch the game
(The CFL final)
Stay at his
Shoot some pool
On the table in his basement
Andy the forest fire fighter
He's a great and groovy guy
He feeds me up
Sends me on my way
Says
Come back if it don't work out
If you're getting cold
But like every day
I get picked up quick
And I'm on the road again
Left this time really in the middle of nowhere
Have to walk a couple of miles
Tromp tromping in the falling snow
Whooping for the quiet of it
The solitude
And then get picked up by a crazy Christian
Who tells me he had to pick me up
Cos someone was trying to kill me
Did I know who that someone was?
Yes
That's right
Satan
Phew
I thought for a moment
It was someone real
But Satan I can deal with
So I settled down and let him 'minister' to me
Non-stop
For like forty-five minutes
And smiled inside thinking
Wow
He'd probably be doing the same if he had Jesus in his truck
And felt good that I
Never once tried to debate him
Nor point out his flaws
Just let it all wash over me
A non-reactive antidote
To all the arguments I was having
A few weeks back
And not long after that
A Mennonite picked me up
Offered me a bed
And even though it was early in the day
I thought
Why not?
It's not every day you get to spend time with a family of Mennonites
Say yes to everything, right?
Especially on a trip like this
So I slept in the loft above his cows
Dug him a trench
Tossing off layers
Right there in the cold
Met his wife and 7.5 children
(He was a year younger than me)
Ate Mennonite potatoes
Even ate Mennonite apple pie
And answered questions about the outside world
Answers which were apparently "very interesting"
This was near Englehart
I was going nowhere fast
It was about then that I looked at a map of Canada
And saw just how insane it was to attempt to hitch it
In the middle of winter
On these crazy Ontario roads
They'd told me so but -
It's all folly to an Englishman's ears
Who can contemplate a provincial slice of a country
That in itself takes twenty-four solid hours of driving to get across?
I'd travelled less than three hundred and fifty miles
I'd been on the road five days
Seen pretty much nothing but snow
And trees
Hundreds and hundreds of miles of trees
And not even beautiful trees
Just scraggly
Spindly
Scrawny trees
Standing shivering and ugly
Waiting to one day
Be hacked to the ground
Sawed and pulped
Something about this trip through Canada...
It was like the scales were falling from my eyes
It had always been the promised land
Where life was easy
People were happy
Everything was better than England
I mean
I'd been here eight times
I'd lived here one solid year
I hadn't just based it on movies
Like Bill Barrett and his
Magic America
But I was seeing a different side now
People chained to their work
Everyone divorced
On medication
Wrestling over children
Bitter and
Obsessed with cash
Industries that pulverised nature
The slowly-dawning realisation
That certain pockets of British Columbia
Far from define the whole
Now it was
Rednecks in big trucks
Nice people whose greatest pleasure
Was to shoot little animals in the head
And these endless thousands of miles of
Denuded ugly trees
With no change in sight
Save for
Denuded
Ugly
Prairies
I must be mad
Standing out in this snow, this cold
My socks all wet
My toes going frozen
Nobody stopping
Waiting an hour
On highway 11
Truck after truck
Knowing
Trucks don't stop no more
Their insurance has changed
It's not '98
Nor Colorado
What am I doing here?
In insufferably large Ontario
I'll never get out
And all for -
Yes
Chasing a girl
That old chestnut
High hopes but -
What the fuck
What the fuck am I doing?
It was the one time I thought about turning back
Toronto
England
Something safe
Not the madness of -
I keep on thumbing
That's the voice of doubt
God is good
Everything'll work out
But still -
I genuinely said it
"God help me!"
And within five seconds
A truck pulls over
Winnipeg, Manitoba
Written on the door
(Pronounced win-a-peg, apparently
Not winnie)
And I think
God, I hope he's going there
Or at least far enough to
Thaw out my toes and dry my socks
And he is
And he's happy to take me
We're on our way
Oh Holy Road God!
How can I ever thank Thee?
I've said it again and again
We're rolling and
I figure we'll be in Winnipeg soon
Just sit back and -
We pass a sign saying
Thunder Bay - 733km
And I think
My God!
That's not even out of Ontario
How big is this province
This country?
It's mind boggling but -
That's pretty much it
We drove all day to Ignace
(677 miles)
And after sleeping in bunks
Reached Winnipeg the next afternoon
(287 miles)
Where we were to part
And I was to strike out for Saskatoon
Once so unfathomably far away
Now a mere 500 miles distant
Still, that could be several days
Depending on what happened
But -
Fate is weird huh?
The morning before I'd been thinking of retreat
Thinking another two weeks to get there
Thinking it was all mad craziness
Or that I might still end up in Ottawa
Quebec, somewhere
Sneaking into Vermont
(Surrendered to the road, you see)
And then trucker Ed says
Next load's ready and
Whaddya know?
It's Saskatoon
I'll be there that night
It's all happened crazy fast
Ed trucks on
(He's now done 2400 kilometres in 36 hours)
And we roll into town
Crazily-named Saskatoon
Where I now sit
In the apartment of a girl-slash-woman
I'm seriously in love with
She beautiful
She lovely
She's all those other things and more
And agan I say it:
God bless that crazy Holy Road God
For the wonders He doth produce!
Ah fuckin' men.
After hitching the two thousand miles from Guelph
Snow covering every inch
Standing there sometimes
In minus fourteen
Peeing one morning
Barefoot and shirtless
In minus twenty-two
It was awesome
I'd thought of it as my greatest challenge
My biggest test of faith
In all these years on the road
Stretching right back to
USA '98
When I first realised
Some perfect
Beneficial
Groovy
Force
Operated in my life
The force that took me down to Mexico
The force that transported me
Penniless
Kept me sheltered and fed
Through thousands of miles of
North America
Europe
India
Etcetera
But this seemed different
Canada in the winter time!
Perils of
Actual death
Not just hunger
Sleeping out
Maybe getting wet
This was real
What to do
For example
When night falls
The temperature's twenty below
I've been deposited in the middle of
The vast Ontario wilderness
And freezing and frostbite and -
Well, in any case
I made it
It all worked out good
I was offered a place
Each day and night
Never spent a penny
Even though I wanted to
The magic is unbelievable
God loves a foolhardy fool
But I suppose what you're really wondering is
Exactly how did it work out?
Well I'll tell you
But first we'll have to rewind
Right back to Guelph
Right back to last Wednesday
Right back to me thinking
It's time to move on
And then wondering how
And checking planes and buses and trains
And just thinking
Fuck it
I can't be arsed with this
The thought of hitching terrified me
But I knew it had to be done
I did my trembling thing
The trembling subsided
And then I just got on with it
Well do I trust or not?
Or does God only work His magic
In sunny climes
On snowless ground?
No
Of course not
The God in my head isn't quite so limited as that
So I guess I had to prove it
Marching daftly to the highway in Guelph
Holding up a sign for "BC! Please"
And pretty soon got a ride
Straight to the front door of some friends' house
In Burlington
Good start!
The magic still works!
And confidence is instilled
One night there talking crazy Yorkshire talk
(Everyone was from Yorkshire)
And then after being deposited at a truck stop north of Toronto
The hitch began in earnest
It was cold and I shivered
It was six degrees ABOVE zero
Yowzers
I knew substantially lower temperatures were ahead
And I was nowhere near equipped
Oh well
The eccentric Englishman
Who plans in retrospect
Knows it always works out
And it did
Like I said
My final ride the first day
(After slight detour from expected highway
Thinking go with the flow)
Offers me dinner and a bed
And a day out the next day
Taking a boat to an island in Georgian Bay
Plus dinner and a bed
The following two nights as well
Gives me a great groovy hat
A big red warm coat
Some wool socks
And warm mitts
I do some healing
We chat all spiritual stuff
It's awesome
And then I'm on the road again
Sunday morning
Minus fourteen
A long cold wait
Everything white and beautiful
Loving the madness of it all
Loving my crazy new hat
With flaps over the ears
Get diverted again
But trust
And once more
Just before dark
A man takes me north from North Bay
Asks me if I want to watch the game
(The CFL final)
Stay at his
Shoot some pool
On the table in his basement
Andy the forest fire fighter
He's a great and groovy guy
He feeds me up
Sends me on my way
Says
Come back if it don't work out
If you're getting cold
But like every day
I get picked up quick
And I'm on the road again
Left this time really in the middle of nowhere
Have to walk a couple of miles
Tromp tromping in the falling snow
Whooping for the quiet of it
The solitude
And then get picked up by a crazy Christian
Who tells me he had to pick me up
Cos someone was trying to kill me
Did I know who that someone was?
Yes
That's right
Satan
Phew
I thought for a moment
It was someone real
But Satan I can deal with
So I settled down and let him 'minister' to me
Non-stop
For like forty-five minutes
And smiled inside thinking
Wow
He'd probably be doing the same if he had Jesus in his truck
And felt good that I
Never once tried to debate him
Nor point out his flaws
Just let it all wash over me
A non-reactive antidote
To all the arguments I was having
A few weeks back
And not long after that
A Mennonite picked me up
Offered me a bed
And even though it was early in the day
I thought
Why not?
It's not every day you get to spend time with a family of Mennonites
Say yes to everything, right?
Especially on a trip like this
So I slept in the loft above his cows
Dug him a trench
Tossing off layers
Right there in the cold
Met his wife and 7.5 children
(He was a year younger than me)
Ate Mennonite potatoes
Even ate Mennonite apple pie
And answered questions about the outside world
Answers which were apparently "very interesting"
This was near Englehart
I was going nowhere fast
It was about then that I looked at a map of Canada
And saw just how insane it was to attempt to hitch it
In the middle of winter
On these crazy Ontario roads
They'd told me so but -
It's all folly to an Englishman's ears
Who can contemplate a provincial slice of a country
That in itself takes twenty-four solid hours of driving to get across?
I'd travelled less than three hundred and fifty miles
I'd been on the road five days
Seen pretty much nothing but snow
And trees
Hundreds and hundreds of miles of trees
And not even beautiful trees
Just scraggly
Spindly
Scrawny trees
Standing shivering and ugly
Waiting to one day
Be hacked to the ground
Sawed and pulped
Something about this trip through Canada...
It was like the scales were falling from my eyes
It had always been the promised land
Where life was easy
People were happy
Everything was better than England
I mean
I'd been here eight times
I'd lived here one solid year
I hadn't just based it on movies
Like Bill Barrett and his
Magic America
But I was seeing a different side now
People chained to their work
Everyone divorced
On medication
Wrestling over children
Bitter and
Obsessed with cash
Industries that pulverised nature
The slowly-dawning realisation
That certain pockets of British Columbia
Far from define the whole
Now it was
Rednecks in big trucks
Nice people whose greatest pleasure
Was to shoot little animals in the head
And these endless thousands of miles of
Denuded ugly trees
With no change in sight
Save for
Denuded
Ugly
Prairies
I must be mad
Standing out in this snow, this cold
My socks all wet
My toes going frozen
Nobody stopping
Waiting an hour
On highway 11
Truck after truck
Knowing
Trucks don't stop no more
Their insurance has changed
It's not '98
Nor Colorado
What am I doing here?
In insufferably large Ontario
I'll never get out
And all for -
Yes
Chasing a girl
That old chestnut
High hopes but -
What the fuck
What the fuck am I doing?
It was the one time I thought about turning back
Toronto
England
Something safe
Not the madness of -
I keep on thumbing
That's the voice of doubt
God is good
Everything'll work out
But still -
I genuinely said it
"God help me!"
And within five seconds
A truck pulls over
Winnipeg, Manitoba
Written on the door
(Pronounced win-a-peg, apparently
Not winnie)
And I think
God, I hope he's going there
Or at least far enough to
Thaw out my toes and dry my socks
And he is
And he's happy to take me
We're on our way
Oh Holy Road God!
How can I ever thank Thee?
I've said it again and again
We're rolling and
I figure we'll be in Winnipeg soon
Just sit back and -
We pass a sign saying
Thunder Bay - 733km
And I think
My God!
That's not even out of Ontario
How big is this province
This country?
It's mind boggling but -
That's pretty much it
We drove all day to Ignace
(677 miles)
And after sleeping in bunks
Reached Winnipeg the next afternoon
(287 miles)
Where we were to part
And I was to strike out for Saskatoon
Once so unfathomably far away
Now a mere 500 miles distant
Still, that could be several days
Depending on what happened
But -
Fate is weird huh?
The morning before I'd been thinking of retreat
Thinking another two weeks to get there
Thinking it was all mad craziness
Or that I might still end up in Ottawa
Quebec, somewhere
Sneaking into Vermont
(Surrendered to the road, you see)
And then trucker Ed says
Next load's ready and
Whaddya know?
It's Saskatoon
I'll be there that night
It's all happened crazy fast
Ed trucks on
(He's now done 2400 kilometres in 36 hours)
And we roll into town
Crazily-named Saskatoon
Where I now sit
In the apartment of a girl-slash-woman
I'm seriously in love with
She beautiful
She lovely
She's all those other things and more
And agan I say it:
God bless that crazy Holy Road God
For the wonders He doth produce!
Ah fuckin' men.
Tuesday, 19 November 2013
Love Poem #9
If you've ever spent any time on Guardian Soulmates
As pretty much every single London-type person has
You'll very quickly realise
It's mainly the same thing
Over and over and over
"Beautiful awesome male
Seeks beautiful awesome female"
"Beautiful awesome female
Seeks beautiful awesome male"
When I realised that it made me want to bang some heads together
Dream up a system not so unlike Reverend Moon's Korean mass weddings
Find some Wise Old Soul
To take these
Beautiful Awesome People
And pair em up
Say
"You and you
You'll be good together
You'll have difficulties
You'll argue
Sure
But in the long run
If you stick at it
I promise you
You'll be good
You'll have fun
You'll love each other loads
You're beautiful and awesome!
Don't you see?
How could it not work out?
And anyway -
I'm wise and know the future and
You've got to trust that"
And then they'd nod
And pair up
And walk off hand in hand
Uncertain
Excited
Resolved to see it through
Just like in the good old days
When people tolerated one another's differences
And realised that being with someone only 98% perfect
Is still better than forever chopping and changing
And seeking things that don't exist
It's arranged marriage, basically
But arranged with an understanding of the two people involved
The Wise Old Soul KNOWING
That they will one day love each other massively
As Beautiful Awesome People
Are inevitably fated to do
If they just give of themselves a little
But, alas, there is no system like that
No Wise Old Soul
And so the singles go on searching
Beautiful Awesome People
Growing ever older
Always wanting somebody
Always people available with whom to make it work
But somehow never getting there
And the question is "why?"
Why in this world of so much choice
Do we so often
Fail to choose?
Shall we blame society?
Blame our freedoms?
Blame Old God Hollywood?
Forever commanding
"Thou shalt be perfect in body, mind and soul
Before thou canst be considered deserving
Of someone who finds you lovable"?
Or maybe blame our fears?
Blame the deep-down fears
That forever keep us searching
Not willing to lay ourselves bare
For instance -
I once met a man
Who wanted love more than anything
But every time it came knocking
He would always reach a stage where he had to admit
He was afraid of it
And the way he'd handle that
Was to decide that his lover was imperfect
And then go looking for another
He even wrote all that on his dating profile
Told the world
"I'm afraid of love
I'm afraid of the vulnerability
I'm afraid to get hurt
To hurt another
To reveal myself
To not be able to fulfill my promises"
"And I'm afraid of women
Of what they'll want from me
Afraid of mortgages and children's college fees
A mean-spirited boss
I'll be forced to work for
To pay for things I myself have realised
Aren't even that useful
But which I feel pressured to provide
For future non-existent children
That I may or may not have
With an unmet future woman
I may or may not meet"
"I just thought I'd better get all these things out front
Before we go on that date
So you know where I'm coming from
So you'll know why I blow hot and cold
Because the more I like you
The closer those things come
And the more I'll want to run away"
I paraphrase, of course
I can't remember exactly what he said
But I liked his honesty
Despite how daft it all sounded
But then it's hard being a single Londoner
In a world ruled over by Old God Hollywood
His pronouncements from up on high
Ringing in their ears
"Thou shalt never find someone to love
If thou aren't flaunting a six-pack!"
"Thou shalt never find someone to love
If thy income isn't enough to buy
A new iPhone for thy four-year-old
Every single year!"
"Thou shalt never find someone to love
If thou hast flaws and fears
And sometimes want to curl up in a ball
Moaning
'I can't do this'
'It's too much'
'I don't know what to do'"
"Thou shan't ever find someone to love
If thou aren't always funny
Don't have all the answers
Can't immediately figure out the way"
But, alas, the men I know
The men from Guardian Soulmates
Those Beautiful Awesome People
Fail to keep these commandments
And thus are doomed
By Old God Hollywood
To forever wander
The cold streets of Singledom
Looking
Searching
Wanting
Pleading
Chopping
Changing
Growing older and...
Alone
All those Beautiful Awesome People of their youth!
And then one day fifty-five
And life will never be the same again
Shame about those fears
That kept them from going for it
Shame about those moments
When they got caught at the crossroads
Of love and uncertainty
Felt their hearts spilling over
Became overwhelmed
By what they thought that meant
Unable to go on
Their fear of committing deeper
Their inability to express those feelings
For their fear of how the other would take it
They got stuck
They couldn't figure out what to do
And they never had the wisdom
To simply tell their other
"I don't know what to do"
Neither the wisdom
Nor the balls
For to do so would be to break the tenth commandment:
"Thou art a man and thou solvest all thy problems by doing things
And not knowing what to do is a sin"
But couldn't they simply say
"Dear God
I don't have all the answers
I only know what I'm feeling
And it's kind of hard for me
Can't I work it out with my other?"
Would that really be so bad?
Or is it too much against
"Thou shalt be easy-going at all times
And take responsibility for the whole world
And keep it all to thyself"?
Old God Hollywood
Thou art good
But sometimes I do feel
You've laid a heavy yoke
On my poor brothers' shoulders
And look where it's got them
No wonder they break the least of Thy commandments:
"Thou shalt not settle for second best
For to do so would be to avoid LOVE and GROWTH
And LOVE and GROWTH are the very purpose of life"
Phew
I'm glad none of this stuff is too much for me
Glad I've got it all sorted out
Know what I'm doing
Don't blow it
When I meet
Beautiful Awesome People
As pretty much every single London-type person has
You'll very quickly realise
It's mainly the same thing
Over and over and over
"Beautiful awesome male
Seeks beautiful awesome female"
"Beautiful awesome female
Seeks beautiful awesome male"
When I realised that it made me want to bang some heads together
Dream up a system not so unlike Reverend Moon's Korean mass weddings
Find some Wise Old Soul
To take these
Beautiful Awesome People
And pair em up
Say
"You and you
You'll be good together
You'll have difficulties
You'll argue
Sure
But in the long run
If you stick at it
I promise you
You'll be good
You'll have fun
You'll love each other loads
You're beautiful and awesome!
Don't you see?
How could it not work out?
And anyway -
I'm wise and know the future and
You've got to trust that"
And then they'd nod
And pair up
And walk off hand in hand
Uncertain
Excited
Resolved to see it through
Just like in the good old days
When people tolerated one another's differences
And realised that being with someone only 98% perfect
Is still better than forever chopping and changing
And seeking things that don't exist
It's arranged marriage, basically
But arranged with an understanding of the two people involved
The Wise Old Soul KNOWING
That they will one day love each other massively
As Beautiful Awesome People
Are inevitably fated to do
If they just give of themselves a little
But, alas, there is no system like that
No Wise Old Soul
And so the singles go on searching
Beautiful Awesome People
Growing ever older
Always wanting somebody
Always people available with whom to make it work
But somehow never getting there
And the question is "why?"
Why in this world of so much choice
Do we so often
Fail to choose?
Shall we blame society?
Blame our freedoms?
Blame Old God Hollywood?
Forever commanding
"Thou shalt be perfect in body, mind and soul
Before thou canst be considered deserving
Of someone who finds you lovable"?
Or maybe blame our fears?
Blame the deep-down fears
That forever keep us searching
Not willing to lay ourselves bare
For instance -
I once met a man
Who wanted love more than anything
But every time it came knocking
He would always reach a stage where he had to admit
He was afraid of it
And the way he'd handle that
Was to decide that his lover was imperfect
And then go looking for another
He even wrote all that on his dating profile
Told the world
"I'm afraid of love
I'm afraid of the vulnerability
I'm afraid to get hurt
To hurt another
To reveal myself
To not be able to fulfill my promises"
"And I'm afraid of women
Of what they'll want from me
Afraid of mortgages and children's college fees
A mean-spirited boss
I'll be forced to work for
To pay for things I myself have realised
Aren't even that useful
But which I feel pressured to provide
For future non-existent children
That I may or may not have
With an unmet future woman
I may or may not meet"
"I just thought I'd better get all these things out front
Before we go on that date
So you know where I'm coming from
So you'll know why I blow hot and cold
Because the more I like you
The closer those things come
And the more I'll want to run away"
I paraphrase, of course
I can't remember exactly what he said
But I liked his honesty
Despite how daft it all sounded
But then it's hard being a single Londoner
In a world ruled over by Old God Hollywood
His pronouncements from up on high
Ringing in their ears
"Thou shalt never find someone to love
If thou aren't flaunting a six-pack!"
"Thou shalt never find someone to love
If thy income isn't enough to buy
A new iPhone for thy four-year-old
Every single year!"
"Thou shalt never find someone to love
If thou hast flaws and fears
And sometimes want to curl up in a ball
Moaning
'I can't do this'
'It's too much'
'I don't know what to do'"
"Thou shan't ever find someone to love
If thou aren't always funny
Don't have all the answers
Can't immediately figure out the way"
But, alas, the men I know
The men from Guardian Soulmates
Those Beautiful Awesome People
Fail to keep these commandments
And thus are doomed
By Old God Hollywood
To forever wander
The cold streets of Singledom
Looking
Searching
Wanting
Pleading
Chopping
Changing
Growing older and...
Alone
All those Beautiful Awesome People of their youth!
And then one day fifty-five
And life will never be the same again
Shame about those fears
That kept them from going for it
Shame about those moments
When they got caught at the crossroads
Of love and uncertainty
Felt their hearts spilling over
Became overwhelmed
By what they thought that meant
Unable to go on
Their fear of committing deeper
Their inability to express those feelings
For their fear of how the other would take it
They got stuck
They couldn't figure out what to do
And they never had the wisdom
To simply tell their other
"I don't know what to do"
Neither the wisdom
Nor the balls
For to do so would be to break the tenth commandment:
"Thou art a man and thou solvest all thy problems by doing things
And not knowing what to do is a sin"
But couldn't they simply say
"Dear God
I don't have all the answers
I only know what I'm feeling
And it's kind of hard for me
Can't I work it out with my other?"
Would that really be so bad?
Or is it too much against
"Thou shalt be easy-going at all times
And take responsibility for the whole world
And keep it all to thyself"?
Old God Hollywood
Thou art good
But sometimes I do feel
You've laid a heavy yoke
On my poor brothers' shoulders
And look where it's got them
No wonder they break the least of Thy commandments:
"Thou shalt not settle for second best
For to do so would be to avoid LOVE and GROWTH
And LOVE and GROWTH are the very purpose of life"
Phew
I'm glad none of this stuff is too much for me
Glad I've got it all sorted out
Know what I'm doing
Don't blow it
When I meet
Beautiful Awesome People
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