Private August journallings #2

Bit of a nothing day so far today. Was wanting it that way given I’ve worked pretty much every day for the last two weeks but, to be honest, it just leaves me a bit dissatisfied, like time wasted. Little internet things. Mooching about the house (but only just got it together to cook for the first time in about a fortnight) (and by cook I mean, quickly chop some veggies, smother ‘em in oil and chuck ‘em in the oven). Day began by thinking I wanted to watch like the first and last ten minutes of Cast Away – been remembering how when I watched that back in ’01 I was inspired to fly off on mad missions to Canada – but it was so damn amazing I ended up watching the whole thing. Cried a good few tears at the moment when Helen Hunt gives him that big hug, and a little bit after that too. First time I watched it I decided in my bones that love was the only thing that mattered in this life; it was when I was pursuing all manner of irrational sign to reconnect with Sara. ‘Bout the same thing happened again, though not as strong, tempered by the years and the lack of a definite goal. What do I want? In particular? I’ll be buggered if I know.

The other thing I’ve done today was read some from the books that are stacked next to my pillow; not just by the bed, but on the bed. Sleeping alone affords that space. Main ones I’m reading are Lorna Byrne’s ‘Stairways to Heaven’ and Brian Weiss’s ‘Same Soul, Many Bodies’. That’s maybe the fourth Brian Weiss book I’ve read and I really dig his vibe, loved it ever since I read ‘Many Lives, Many Masters’ back as a wee snotshitter sitting in the Manhattan Barnes and Noble in 1996. Really makes me wanna experience some past life regression. To meet the man. To feel healed of whatever it is that holds me back in life and provide some clarity, some direction. Illegally downloaded some CDs of his. Maybe that’ll be a start.

But, anyways, back to the writing – felt mighty grand after yesterday’s stint, another reason to feel disappointed in the day so far today, since writing was what I had in mind – and back to…

Thought #6

A few weeks back I got this idea in my head that maybe, as far as women are concerned, I’m too easy. It’s a weird notion because I’ve been brought up – like any male – to believe it’s us that does the pursuing and using as far as sex goes and women that are generally the innocent victims left emotionally-bereft and attached and wanting more. We value only the physical, they’re looking for love. We move on without a second glance once we’ve got our kicks, they don’t do that. But I’ve talked much about thinking the girls I’ve encountered have generally had much more desire for sex than me and what I was thinking was that perhaps I give myself away too cheaply – that perhaps I’m actually the one who’s getting used for physical pleasure and not really getting what I want from it. I mean, a girl sidles up to me – I never make a move on them – and then takes what she wants and I quite happily give it to her. I don’t really think twice. I hardly ever consider saying no. That’s what I mean by being easy. I’m just a dead cert lay. If I had a reputation about town a woman would know she could come to me and get it whenever she pleased. I’m not sure if that makes me a slut or just stupid or what. I guess when you’ve been taught that you’re the one getting the best part of the deal you don’t really question it. But then when I look at my feelings…well, I’m just not sure it’s that good a deal after all.

All this, of course, was before I slept with California#1 last week. Certainly, there was attraction between us, and I did have desires to be closer to her physically. But when I contemplated it in the days before it actually happened and wondered what I would do if it became a reality I thought what I’d really like is just to cuddle and talk and share something nice together. Maybe kiss but maybe not even that. To hold one another. To express our hearts.

Sounds insufferably mushy, I know, but that’s what I would have liked.

In the end, I came into my room from showering to find her on my bed in her knickers and next thing I knew we were frantically kissing and before long having sex. It was pretty good for a first time. She was a wonderful and joyous lover, all throughout sporting a gleeful smile and certainly giving as good as she got. Taking pleasure. Having fun. And I did too. Just…looking back, I’m not sure how I feel about it.

But – man! – I sure sound like the stereotypical woman! I think I just put a bit of my heart into it and got bent out of shape when she left and started thinking all manner of things I probably wouldn’t have done if we hadn’t fucked. Wondering who she with further down the line. Wondering…well, she’s in a band and on tour and one thing she said was how it wasn’t as easy to get, you know, as you might think.

Does that make me a groupie? Did I get used? Just my fingers and my penis and my mouth instead of my soul and my heart and my love?

But then we did connect in other ways.

I dunno. I wish I had it in me not to lay girls when they’re in bed next to me – did it with Laura too the Saturday and Sunday last week, just a couple of days after Erin – but I’m not sure I do. And that’s what I mean by easy. Christ! I only fucked Laura ‘cos I thought it might help her sleep!

Headshaking time. I really am easy. Or maybe I take the whole thing too serious. Or maybe I underestimate the power of combining our bodies in this way.

And maybe interesting that I typed ‘understand’ instead of ‘underestimate’ in the sentence above.

It probably does mean something. It probably would’ve been better if Erin and I had just hugged. But…

Groupie. Used. Easy. Innocent. Child.

I don’t really know the answer to these things. And it’s hard to judge it by feelings when the before feelings and the during feelings and the after feelings are all in such contrast.

“The wise man measures his pleasure by how he feels afterthe fact.”

Yup, I said that.

Love

I really want love. I want to feel it and break through these blockages that keep me from it and experience something real. I’ve been thinking that a lot this last week. I think being with Erin opened something up in me. The desire to give myself to another person. To be totally vulnerable. People accuse me of not doing that but I feel ready. I want to have one of those relationships where it’s just crazy and emotional and joyous and insufferably beautiful. Where everything is said and everything old is brought to the surface and healed. I want to lay myself bare. Weep in the arms of the other. Be held and assured and blink my teary eyes incredulously to feel so totally accepted and wanted. Something a little like how I had with Eve, I suppose. I don’t feel I could do something like that with Laura; I just feel like I dominate her too much, have the power over her and spend all my energy trying to keep her balanced. She winds me up. She’s so obsessed with silly little things like closing windows and not upsetting people. I guess the kind of thing I want is something outside of this world, away from the humdrum and the day to day and all those things that invariably take over, like bills and plans and material concerns. Again, the kind of thing I had with Eve – and the kind of thing I imagined would happen with someone like Erin. Just souls living for love and forgetting the world for a while. I want to be crazy with it and get to the bottom of my heart. There are things in there that are wondrous. And there are things in there that are keeping me from experiencing that. I’m not sure counselling or writing or thinking about it are ever gonna help me make the breakthrough. And certainly not meditation or prayer or being so frickin’ smart all the time. But the love of a good woman…yes, that’s what I want.

So why not Laura?

Why not Laura? Because: a) I don’t fancy her. Well, I do fancy her – her body, her vibe, the feel of her skin, her kiss and her sex and her hug and her humour – but I just don’t fancy her face. Remember that time I felt like we should get married – yes, during/after sex, which is when I always feel things like that with just about anyone – and I was just like, no, I could never truly look this woman in the eye and be like, I love you.

But what about, “if you wanna be happy for the rest of your life”?

What about it?

Doesn’t it mean anything to you?

Yes: it’s a song I heard after the first time I met Grace and it made me laugh ‘cos I thought it was steering me away from her. But then, I met her again anyway and the feeling was just as strong, if not stronger. Man, maybe I should just never have turned that radio on! You really think that was a sign directing me to Laura? How could it be?

So that’s what it means to me: a brief incident that I can’t stop thinking about and which a part of my brain interprets as a message that maybe Laura is the one when I add it up with all the other ‘messages’.

The other messages being?

The one from Momma about Eve not being the one and that a soulmate would be coming. And then Laura is on the scene around that time and says she feels like I’m her soulmate and that it was prophesied by some old lady in a spirituality church. Except I have that dream about Sara and take Momma’s message to mean her and go off in that direction instead. And Sara was beautiful inside and out – or, outside, at least, not sure about the inside bit – and Laura just isn’t. Unless you discount her face and are only talking about her body, which is a bit harsh. Oh, I dunno, I’ve tried to rationalise that it’s not important what someone looks like but…it just seems like it is. What the fuck do you want from me? Why won’t you give me a goddamn clear answer in all of this?! Is Laura the one or not? The girl I should marry, impregnate, grow old with? Or do I need to be thinking outside the box somewhat: that maybe we could be together but don’t need to have babies, get married, grow old; that that isn’t what soulmate means? And what did Momma mean anyway? Was she right or wrong? Was it just for that time, like Shawn’s angel later said? Or is the whole thing just bona fide crackers? I wish some fucker would answer me! Please, kind angel, guardian angel, God – why won’t you give me an answer on this question?

Because the answer is the answer you don’t want to hear: that you’re making the whole thing up as you go along.

Then why Momma’s prophecy? If it was just to save me from Eve why couldn’t she have left it at that and not mentioned “the one who is to come”?

Good question. Maybe she got it wrong. Maybe she wasn’t as enlightened as you like to think. Maybe Shawn isn’t either and you’ve been relying on them too much.

But what of all the things I experienced in their presence? The energy? The healings? The readings?

Good and bad fruit in everything. The wise man picks only the good. The –

That’s not fair! You want to be able to trust somebody in this world. Especially your miracle-working spiritual teachers. That’s just not fair!

You have to learn to trust yourself. Even those with the best of intentions are capable of making mistakes.

Ho hum. I don’t even trust these words. I’m writing them like it’s some sort of ‘conversation with God’ but I know full well it’s not. I don’t feel the energy, the peace, the joy. There’s nothing in these words that surprises me, that strikes me as truth, that comes from outside my standard way of thinking. Nothing that is changing my mind or making me think any differently about all of this, no matter how much I wish all that were true, that I could communicate with God or angels and receive answers to the questions that plague me. I mean, most things I do receive the answers to, sooner or later – but this one about women…my God! What do I have to do to get this one straight? I’ve ‘bout had e-fuckin’-nough, you know what I mean?

Go turn off your vegetables. We’ll talk more when you get back.

I’m feeling a bit wound up. Not the usual calmness and joy I get from my writing. Maybe that’s ‘cos I’m relating unknowns – and perhaps even unknowables – instead of just talking about what I’ve been up to. These are things I want to know the answers to. Issues at the core of my being. Poor Laura, having to deal with me: the last few days I’ve been thinking maybe we could have one of those old style eighteenth century relationships where the husband’s off exploring for months and years at a time while the wife stays back in Englandraising the bairn. I’m good for contributing genes and occasional visits but not much more beyond that. Domesticity bores me; soon enough I need to get away. I couldn’t stand the humdrum – that’s what terrifies me about a proper sensible relationship with her. That it’d be just humdrum. Even now, when we hardly see each other, pretty soon she’ll be suggesting watching bad TV and just settling down on the sofa staring at it like millions of other couples. It’s comfortable. It’s okay. For a one-off. But it’s not the long-term future I’d like for myself.

What would you like?

That’s a good question. I don’t know. I suppose I’ve always said writing and –

And you don’t think that you could write living with her, perhaps while she’s watching TV?

Grrr. That’s a good one there. You got me. I guess I’m terrified of my own laziness too. That I’d perhaps want to watch TV. That I might just get domestic and happy and fat. Writing’s tough. And having to maintain the dayjob. And support the wife and family, with a woman who winds you up and you’re not attracted to.

Except you are.

Huh? Am what?

Attracted to her.

I am? I…well, yes, I guess I am. I spend all that time with her. I hold her most joyfully. I love her in bed. I…it’s just her face, that’s all. I’d feel bad posing for wedding photographs. I know I wouldn’t be enjoying it. It’s so fuckin’ foolish, to even think that should be an enjoyable day for a man. It’s the end of his freedom, fer chrissakes! I mean, I might enjoy the marriage itself, but not the wedding. I dunno: maybe this is just Laura we’re talking about here. We’re too far gone for mushy slushy love. To fool ourselves that it’s anything more than work. Those couples in the Women’s Weekly you see smiling so gloriously on their wedding photos – and then he turns out to be a kidnapper paedophile who makes her life hell. I guess I’m somewhere in between. No Romeo/Lothario, but not evil monster either. The same today as yesterday as on my wedding day – that one day that marks merely the beginning of the marriage, not the totality of it.

But then maybe I’m just doing my intellectual justification/avoidance thing again. Maybe there’s something deeper here at work. The reason I’m talking about wedding day photos with Laura is…

Is because I know I wouldn’t be able to look at her with love in my eyes. Not in the state I’m in at the moment. Not in the way it’s supposed to be in our romance-obsessed 21st century UK outlook. To think her the most beautiful girl in the world, the way I probably once did with Sophie and Perlilly and maybe even Lauren. To want her above all others. For I want others too. I haven’t stopped wanting them. And I know I couldn’t give them up.

I mean, is there even an answer to any of this? ‘Cos if there is, I’d sure like to hear how it goes. And even as I type that my mind is whispering the word, Grace – which I take to mean Grace, though it could just as easily be grace as in divine grace – and…well, I’m getting myself into a state.

Blabbing everything I’m thinking on the subject doesn’t seem to be doing me any good at all. How about I move on to something else, like…

Thought #7

And the California girls, naturally, fuelled my desire to head on over to their neck of the woods and, though I’m no longer thinking about it, having just picked up my devil sticks while I was down in the kitchen turning off the vegetables I remembered thinking about how on Earth I could make it work living wild as an illegal alien in the States: namely, in little job things like juggling and selling devil sticks; and doing massages; and digging gardens alongside the Mexicans (which I now know how to do); and playing music; and waiting tables (which I still love); and perhaps even being a referee; and several other things besides. I dunno; one thing that had always put me off about being in a country where I wasn’t legally allowed to work was the whole money thing and not wanting to be lame or struggle around that given my more mature years and all those thoughts of having a family. But the California girls reignited ideas of a different way of being and I realised just how cool it could be, just to be a juggler or a healer rather than a shirt-n-tie English guy with a mortgage and a pension and a more standard way of being. Fuck! Who’s to say what’s right and wrong anyway? The world keeps on turning and when you think of all the ridiculous yet respected professions on the planet – cricketer, banker, security guard, fuckin’ lawdy-dawdy chef in a chi-chi fancy restaurant – it seems really obvious that it don’t matter what you do so long as you’re not a beggar or a thief or robbing any other guy. National borders and rules about being able to take money on this side of an imaginary line but not that side? Pff: don’t make me laugh.

But, still: I’m kind of getting over the American thing now. I did a soul test and I think it was a “no”. It’s probably far from sensible. But Canada? Yeah, I think about Canada a lot. But then –

One step at a time, bucky. Canada’s like your default setting for when you get antsy and want to dash off somewhere. You’re forgetting that you’re dashing off to Greece sometime soon – and who knows who you’ll be out the other side of that?

You’re right. Thanks for reminding me. I should chill on the whole thing. Except…

Except that brings you to a whole new raft of question, right? Like –

Like how long to go for. Like whether to go one-way or return. And like about the whole question of studying psychotherapy in Scarborough. I mean, I think I wrote about this the other day but I’m no clearer to an answer. Except I have started to think less positively about it – perhaps as a means of escape – and ponder those questions as to whether it even works, and therefore whether I want to give 4+ years of my life to something that might not have any real benefit. Also, is it psychotherapy I’ve long been interested in or past-life regression? Isn’t that the stuff that really rocks my world? Cures, not analysis: man, I’ve been analysing myself pretty much my whole goddamn life and, sure, we’ve had some good understandings and gotten pretty smart and all that blah blah but…have we ever really gotten anywhere with it? Especially when compared to the cathartic, spiritual experiences that really do seem to shift things. People have doubts about psychoanalysis and I do too. It’s using the diseased part of the self – the mind – to try and fix the disease. And if the disease has it’s roots in past frickin’ lives what’s the point of that anyway? You could talk for years and years and years and still never get down to the actual cause – which Brian Weiss, gawd bless him, seems to be able to reach in an instant.

I don’t frickin’ know: all I know is I’ve got a supposéd interview on the 15th – in, like, 11 days time – and in amongst Greece and everything else it’s giving me spasms and dilemmas. I want it to stop! I want the whole world to stop spinning and just give me a break for a while! Another football season starts and another Australia vs England cricket series, and meanwhile everybody’s getting older and retiring and looking back at things I remember from my youth now thirty-odd years past and I just don’t know when it will ever end, it’s the same old thing day after day after day. I don’t want my life to be like that: somewhere out there people are practising amazing things – learning how to levitate – experiencing angels – and I just couldn’t stand it if I gave up on all that for a safe little job and a pile of bricks. Sitting in my dad’s shop? Look at him! He’s a boozer and a telly-addict and even he thinks it’s a piece of shit life! So who could a star like me make some joy out of it?

Yes: stop this world, I want to give off. To go to Greece. To give up all possessions. To just be a silent, nomadic wanderer. But to love beautiful women too. And to feel the sun on my back.

Maybe just one more year of it. One more try…

Possessions

I don’t have many, and what I do have is pretty much totally dispensable. It’s all up in my dad’s shop at the moment: a mattress, a hammock, a few bags of clothes, some books. That’s about it really. Except I did go on a bit of a guitar buying binge and I think it’d be smart to get rid of those seeing as they’re starting to weigh on my mind and also I’m losing track of them.

Guitars I currently own:

Guitar	Paid	Worth	Situation
1974 Fender Strat (refin)	£500	£800	Been on eBay. Had some offers.
2005 Epiphone Casino	£300	£400	Pretty much forgot about that one.
Late-60s Kent bass	£80	£200	In dad’s shop.
Epiphone EB-0	£62	£120	Ditto
Eko Ranchero	£40	£80	Ditto
My strat	£0	Keeper	Not for sale. Mine.
My classical	£0	Ditto	Likewise.
Hondo Les Paul	£50	£99	Just sold on eBay today.
Ibanez Tubescreamer	£15	£30	Keep forgetting about it.

Yup, I really must sort them out. It’s easy money but it does get annoying thinking about them.

Money

I’ve got about £2700 in the bank, about £320 in cash, and I’m due about £500 in wages. Add that to the guitars above and, when sold, I ought to have a little over five thousand pounds. Holy smokes! That’s like totally more than I’ve ever had in my life: where the hell did that come from?

A: Staying in one place and not travelling and hardly paying any rent and living without buying anything except food.

In any case, it’s a fair old whackerooni and, if I wanted, I could probably live on that for a good few years. Only problem being, having that much, I find, sure makes it a lot harder to spend, if you know what I mean.

What I mean is, when it starts to grow, I like to see it keep on growing. When I’ve hardly got any, I don’t give a hoot.

Spending money’s easy when you’re skint.

Wail

Oh travel! Oh money! Oh Greece! Oh women! How I long to know the answer to all this and to the mystery of my life! To be one of those who emerges from Dr Weiss’s sessions and then knows exactly what they’re here for and does it. To be a writer not just with a talent and a strong voice but also a story to tell. (Plot! Characters! Dialogue! Theme!) And talking once more of past-life regression – what the hell would I be were someone looking back on me sat in some hypnotherapists chair a few hundred years in the future? How on Earth would they (I) describe themselves (me)?

“I’m a man in England in the 21st century. I don’t have one particular job, I just flit from thing to thing mostly feeling dissatisfied. I had dreams of becoming a writer but nobody wanted my work and I could never quite get it together to put the effort in anyways. Mostly I just spend my time thinking – and there’s a thing called the internet where you can sit in your bedroom staring at a computer screen and clicking on pictures of celebrities without their makeup. I don’t really enjoy that sort of thing but I do it anyway. I have no family. I’m just sort of alone. I keep thinking one day it’ll all click into place but meanwhile my body gets ever older and then one day I realise I’m an old and tired man and nothing really happened. The world kept spinning. Cricketers kept being born and making runs and retiring. And I never did anything worthwhile with all that time, life just sort of slipped away…”

Is that what they would say? Or would they talk about glorious travels or –

Man, I’m well and truly fucked.

Thought #8

Sometimes I just want to walk out the door and keep on walking, see where it takes me. I was thinking that a lot back in the spring, back when I was out of my head over Nicky. It definitely appealed. Many people have probably done that sort of thing. People have done every sort of thing. When I think about it I really can’t work out what’s going on on this planet: most occupations seem pretty bizarre. Society would call me mad if I just wanted to walk or sit under trees. But if I wanted to pretend to shoot people in movies they’d pay me millions. Or stand by a perfume stand in a department store helping women paint their faces, that’s okay too.

I just wish someone would tell me what to do, direct me to what would be best for me.  I haven’t a fuckin’ clue.

But maybe now it’s time to weigh up the options.

What?	Why?	The reality	Why not?
The whole psychotherapy thing.	I wanted to do that because I thought I needed a career, to get serious, to knuckle down in life. Back when I was having my mid-life crisis I got terrified and felt I was drifting. This seemed like a good idea. I’ve thought of it for a long time. It’s helping people and also the pay is good.	There’s a 4-year course in Scarborough, weekends here and there. I’ve an interview scheduled for the 15th of this month. Signs pointing to Scarborough. I Ching encouraging. Plus a two-month gap between the first weekend and the second that could be used for travel.	Maybe psychotherapy doesn’t work. Maybe it won’t be the ‘dream job’ I imagine it to be. Maybe it’s just another cop out, a decision made out of fear, one based on future and money worries, the seeking of material security and the provision for a wife and family that don’t even exist. Also, I’m a fuckin’ lousy student.
Going to Greece	I had a vision at the end of last year when I was feeling a bit bored and desperate and wanting to be somewhere useful; the vision was of the word ‘Korinth’ and slowly I got a liking for the idea of Greece. Signs appeared seeming to say August was the time. And now it’s August.	Even though it’s high season – ie, school holidays – cheap fares still abound. Only problem is knowing whether to go one-way or just for a two-week jaunt.	No reason. Everyone deserves a holiday.
Laura	Because I want to be with someone. Because she’s always been willing and around. Because we have a strange powerful connection and she loves me and wants to be with me. Because she’s a good and decent person, got money to buy a house, doesn’t hassle me too much. Because she’s great in bed and when she holds me I feel really, really good. Because I guess it’s what everyone does sooner or later.	The reality is she’s keen but, much as I’d like to think otherwise, even though I’m maybe ready and willing I’m probably just not able. I’m trying to force myself into it. To commit when I don’t even have the tools in my box. That’s the reality I’m working with at the moment.	Because I don’t fancy her. Because she winds me up by being all finickety about pointless little things like the washing up and closing doors and windows and worrying endlessly about security and not saying the wrong thing at the wrong time and being so bloody English and uptight and daft. I get mad with her for all that. Plus she drags me places I don’t want to go. Plus she gets cross with me for being who I am. Although, to be fair, I could probably counter all those things quite easily, and maybe should.
Canada	I’m thinking of Canada again, as I always do. I’ve still got friends there and I always felt at home there. Plus, it’s so close to the States and Mexico. Little nibbles of signs but nothing major. Though it is one of only two ‘soul test’ yeses I’ve received during those experiments.	The reality is all that’s a long way off in the future and not really anything that needs thinking about. Plus, plane tickets are ever so expensive compared to how they used to be. ;-)	No reason. ‘Cept it’s perhaps just backtracking into an aimless life I was trying to break out of. More drifting and foreign travel and postponing of ‘adult responsibility’.
Adult responsibility	Why? Because I’m thirty-seven, goddamnit! And because I live like a twenty-one year-old and I’m not getting any younger and I’m perhaps frittering away my existence in chasing dreams and stupid things that aren’t actually fulfilling after all and occasionally I’ve felt terrified by that and longed for some sort of bosom of security that those around me seem to have nestled for themselves.	The reality is I have a job, I can afford everything I need to provide me with material comfort, and I’m happy enough in this city of Leeds, so long as I’m typing and playing sports and got a roof over my head. Haven’t got much of a social network or friends as such but it’s okay.	Why not? Because it doesn’t seem that exciting. Because after three and a half years back in England I don’t seem to have gone anywhere. And after two years in Leeds I’m still mostly alone and oddballed; in fact, the best connections I’ve made in my time here were with some Americans last week. All this life seems to me is bricks and pensions and sitting around and staring weirdly at people in Morrison’s wondering just what the hell they’re existing for.
El Cañon in Mexico	Three point five years ago I was there knowing that I needed to sort out my woman thoughts – which therefore took me back to Europe – but also thinking how great it would be to return and to live there a long time and to write a book about it. That was sort of the plan. It’s a plan that got put on the backburner when I did my MA instead and then had the whole mishmash with Nicky.	I mostly forgot about it. Maybe it’s one of those passing thoughts. Or maybe it’s one of those things that someone a bit more determined and stick-at-it than me would’ve done. People make plans and then do them. I make plans and then get distracted, let them slide, and then moan that no one will tell me what to do.	Maybe it’s stupid. Maybe it’s just a foolish boy’s daydream. Maybe there’s something I should be doing. Maybe it’ll all come to nothing. Maybe it’s…yes, it’s the idea that “there’s something else I should be doing that stops me.” But, man, it was only ever going to be six months out of my life! And we’ve seen how quickly six months can pass in the world of work and football refereeing and living in the city visiting Morrison’s and doing the same old thing day after day after day. I type this and it seems a bloody good idea…
I think that’s the end of this list. I suppose there’s always the unknown.	Why? Because there is always the unknown. Who knows what’s around the corner? Who knows what God’s got in store?	The reality is I have nowhere to live as of two days time. I have a job that isn’t going to go away and now my dad’s talking about giving me his guitar shop. Laura’s still buzzing around and my head is also full of other women, as it ever will be if I keep on as I’ve done so far. Nothing’s clear. Maybe it’s all up to me.	Why not? I don’t think that makes any sense in the context of this table. Lol.

Thought #9

And so there I seem to have stumbled on something. The idea for the Mexicocanyon jaunt pushing its way back once again to the surface of my mind. I was all for that when I first got with Nicky, and when I did the iboga trip too. But I’ve let it go – let go of the thing Iwanted to do – and given it up instead for asking the universe, once more, what IT thinks I should be doing. Is that really how it works? Or is it just up to me to decide and to create and for God to say, sure, man, do whatever you please? Man, it’s the people who live like that who I really envy. And yet in my life it always seems like something else is in control. I’m just not sure I buy into that idea of doing what you want and all God does is bless it and smile. If that were true then how come so many times I get thwarted? How come things like when I was all set to leave Leeds in March my soul basically commanded me to stay? Not to mention the way the I Ching opposes my desires and feelings, and always, seemingly, for the better.

There’s a question I’d really love the answer to.

Further thoughts

Bugger off to Mexico. Invite all the groovy people you know. See who turns up. Stay there. Write a book about it. Create that community you’ve been longing to find. Maybe inspire the fuckin’ world and maybe not – but at least live the life you want to live. Take Laura – or at least offer her the trip; she’s always moaning about you buggering off – and if she don’t want to live it then that’s her problem.

Or – here’s a thought – find your Mexican canyon paradise somewhere in Greece. Somewhere a bit closer to the UK. Somewhere…

Life, please lead me to the place where I can get all this straightened out. I’m a man who feels very much all on his own. I want things but I’m fuckin’ shit at going out and getting them. I’m bored in this city and I feel my time is pretty much up. I don’t really want to run my dad’s guitar shop – not long-term – but then I don’t know what I want to do full-stop. Except write, right? That’s what I keep claiming – and that’s what I never, ever make any moves to do. ‘Cept in doing an MA. And writing hundreds of thousands of words on this blog.

Where are these fuckin’ angels that Lorna Byrne gets to see every day, that Shawn channels at will in my life? Where are you, if you’re sitting right here on my shoulder watching me type this, when I need you, when I feel all alone, when I’m floundering for answers?

Was that you the other day when I was mulling everything over in the bath and I got briefly emotional and then I realised/heard, “just Greece, that’s all” and everything was suddenly peace? Were those words to be heeded and here I am not heeding them? Is that why I don’t feel you? Or do I not feel you because I don’t make the effort, take the time, create the quiet space in my mind?

Good question, that. And I could do that – could just stop this typing right now – but then: what else would I do with my time if I just sat there being peaceful?

Lol! How funny is that?

What would I do with my time if I just sat there being peaceful?

Craziness, huh? And – you know what – to counter that I do have to say, once again I feel this writing has taken me some place and that something good has come out the end of it. Reminders of Mexican canyon idea. Thoughts further on the question of who’s running the show. And a little inkling of a determination – once again, cos fo’ sure we’ve been here before – that I need to take control and stop moaning to the universe for direction. It can always stop me if I’m going wrong. But even going wrong’s got to be better than sitting here endlessly at the side of the road waiting by this crossroads.

You stop me if I’m wrong, if there’s somewhere my soul would rather be – you’ve done it twice now when I’ve tried to leave Leeds – but, honestly, we really can’t go on like this, something must come. And with that in mind…

Further options (that I think about)

What?	Why?	The reality	Why not?
Refereeing	‘Cos I dig it. ‘Cos I get ambitious. ‘Cos I got this idea that I could go right to the top and I dug that idea. ‘Cos I love it.	The reality is I probably can’t go right to the top ‘cos it’s pretty unlikely that I have the right attitude or the talent. The reality may well be that refereeing just came into my life to give me an easy way to earn enough money while I was doing my MA, and perhaps beyond.	It means staying in one place. It’s only a few hours out of a week, not enough to build a life around. It’s blokes who drink and shout and who I can’t really reconcile myself with (or at least they’re the ones I notice). It’s unlikely to go anywhere serious.
My old flat	‘Cos it’s cheap and just before I left there in March I was getting into a really good space with plenty of writing and also what perhaps felt like some out of body experiences. Because I wasn’t supposed to leave, and wouldn’t have done if I’d asked the I Ching. Or at least not so soon.	The reality is it’s coming empty again in September and I could probably move straight back in.	It’s a bit dingy. At times I was pretty unhappy there and in a bit of a rut and in a lot of ways it wasn’t as good as living with other people. A bit lonely at times. A bit squalid. It’s only viable if staying settled in this town is what I want to do.

The end

And now I’m done. I’m off for a piss. I’m hungry and need to check out those veggies. I’ve been typing pretty much non-stop for just under three hours. It’s nigh on seven thousand words that no one’s going to read ‘cept hopefully the angels and maybe crazy Eve, who’s asked me if she can. Probably she’s addicted to getting this fix from me. Probably I need to put a stop to that and disengage myself from her. Having energy spread across the internet is not a wise idea. The less of that, I think, the better.