Yes, that last one was a little too specific wasn’t it? That’s because I’m referring to myself. 6000 words in and I’m hating it. I hate the storyline, I hate the characters, I hate the fact that it has no sense of humour. I hate the fact that it’s mediocre science fiction. I hate my half-finished e-book. The beauty is, I don’t have to finish it. I can abandon it. That’s exactly what I’m going to do. I’m going to toss it to the wind and start a new one. A funny one. With funny stories and arbitrary situations. It will be wonderful.

So, going back to those of us caught in dead-end relationships and other dead-end things. Why? The reality is that when you end something that’s going nowhere, you open up an opportunity to go anywhere. A brand new door is thrown open and you can go anywhere and do anything you want. Pretty intimidating huh? I guess that’s why we sometimes run back to the thing that we hate, because having that kind of freedom is scary.

I tell you what though, if you get that freedom, run with it. Even if it’s a bit scary, just stick with it. That whole story about endless possibilities? It’s true.

“If you go to bed with a demon, don’t expect to wake up with an angel.”

That is what someone said to me the other day. I think it means that people don’t change. When you first hear it, it makes sense. It only takes a few more seconds of thought to realise that it isn’t true at all. People DO change. So why the hell does a saying like that even exist? I know, because someone, somewhere was disappointed by someone else. Well sad times for that wanker, right?

We’ve grown addicted to stupid little sayings that make us feel good inside. I’ll bet that when the person who said that was done saying it, they felt incredibly clever. Feelings are not always an accurate reflection of reality though. You may feel clever, but you may also be the dumbest fuck that ever walked the earth. Your feeling has nothing to do with reality. I think it’s time we threw away our little books filled with quotable quotes. Or, perhaps it’s time we actually read them and analysed the garbage that we’re being fed.

Here’s what I know. Life is chaotic. People are unpredictable. You never know how any situation is going to turn out. Instead of trying to apply some kind of mediocre, bumper-sticker philosophy to your life, just live it. Give people a chance, give situations a chance, go with the moment. Everything around you is dynamic and changing. I know it’s part of the human mindset to try and categorize and put things in boxes, but stop doing that. You’re going to end up living life through a letterbox. Nobody wants that.

Oh, and stop being a worthless sack of shit. Nobody wants that either.

I am lying through my teeth of course. I’ve spent the last week or two thinking of some rather brilliant ways to improve my existence and I’ve even started implementing some of these ideas (with a little help from my friends). I still feel like I am neglecting a very important aspect of my life though. I know this because while I should feel absolutely and entirely satisfied and happy, I do not. I feel itchy on the inside. It is a bit bothersome. What to do? Take stock? Be grateful? I have, I am. Be positive? I try.

Sometimes, trying is all you have. Trying and failing. I fail far more times than I succeed. I fail to be good. I let people down, I hurt the people I care about. All I ask is that people bare with me, because I’m trying. When I fail, it is because I tried, not because I sat in a corner being pathetic.

Why keep trying? Because it’s really all I have, my attempts. If I stop, I’ll get bored and throw myself off a cliff. That’s the truth. You can paint a thousand pictures, write a thousand stories, but the only real masterpiece worth spending any time on is yourself. I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again, pull your head out of your ass and do something.

As for my itchy insides, I’ll have to try and figure out what that’s all about. How interesting.

There are a lot of things in life that you can change. More than you would like to accept. Accepting that you can change your destiny is overwhelming. All the power is yours. Your future lies in your hands. What are you going to do about it? Look at yourself. Forget what others think, forget about the world’s opinion. You are millions of cells all connected together to fulfil an amazing purpose, a purpose that you can decide. Don’t let yourself down. Let go of fear. You are intelligent, you can do this.

I haven’t blogged in a while, sorry about that. Been busy with other projects and stuff. This week looks quiet on the social front so I promise to write more. Ha! Look at me typing this as if I actually have an audience.

Right. The Shawshank Redemption, what a classic movie, right? If you haven’t seen it, just a warning: this post is chock full of spoilers. If you have seen it then this will all make sense. The Shawshank Redemption is the perfect allegorical study of the different kinds of relationships you get. Let us begin:

The Old Man and the Bird (The Needy Relationship)
If you recall, there was this old guy that Tim Robbins was friends with. He had this little bird and he’d feed it worms all the time. I can’t really remember all the details of this little sub-plot, but I guess it was cute and made everyone go aw. The fact is, there are a lot of human relationships like that. When you’re in prison, carrying a little bird around and shoving worms in its face is pretty cool. When you’ve got a job and hopes and dreams and friends and bills, it isn’t that cool. Especially when the bird is a full-grown human and the worms are constant reassurances of love and fealty. Then it becomes a downright pain in the ass. Let’s be realistic, we all need reassurance and bits of love, but every fucking second? Anyway, you know what happens to the old man right? He dies. You’ve been warned.

The Gang-rapers (Unrecquited love)
During a big portion of the movie, Tim Robbins is pursued by a bunch of rapey men that want to get down with him. I guess when you’re in prison and you run out of worms and birds, you take the next best thing, in this case: Tim Robbins. Getting gang-raped in prison is kind of like unrecquited love. It’s sore, it leaves you broken, and you know that tomorrow its going to happen all over again and there’s nothing you can do to stop it. A lot of people say that there’s a certain poetic tragedy in unrecquited love. Yup. Also, your bum bleeds a lot. The rapey guys get beat to death with spoons in the end (or something like that). Once again, warning issued.

The Three Football Fields of Shit (The Comfortable Relationship)
Hey, if someone tells you that all you have to do get ultimate freedom is crawl through a shit-filled pipe three football fields in length, you’d do it right? Of course! It’s ultimate freedom bitches! Tim Robbins smashed into that pipe with gusto. Some people do it, but they kind of get stuck halfway. They get overwhelmed with the shitty fumes and they just forget what they’re doing and where they’re going. They forget who they are. They just get stuck because hey, shit is kind of warm and it doesn’t smell so bad if you breathe through your mouth. What they don’t realise is that ‘comfortable’ relationships destroy your soul and kill your will to live. Blink and you’re 40, overweight, with three kids and a death wish. If you’re in a pipe like that, get the fuck out, because you know what happens next. You drown in poo, that’s what.

Morgan Freeman, Tim Robbins, The Beach and The Boat (The Best Relationship)
At the end of The Shawshank Redemption, Tim Robbins is on this amazing beach busy working on a boat. Just fixing it up. Morgan Freeman approaches him (having just gotten out of prison), they kind of smile and they begin working on the boat together (that’s how I remember it at least). That’s right, they begin working on their relation-ship. See what I did there? Boat, ship? Get it? Aw fuck off! It is funny! That’s the perfect relationship man. Two people working together to achieve something. Helping one another to achieve a common goal. Mutual respect, appreciation, grace. The days are beautiful, the work is hard, but you’re doing it with your best friend. Nobody has given up, everybody is getting enough love, it’s all flowing both ways. Good times.

In Conclusion
I’ve experienced all of these kinds of love, even the last one (sort of). I think everyone goes through a few of these kinds of things, sometimes with the same person. It’s life man. It’s chaos. Nobody knows what the fuck is going to happen next. Just be good and don’t give up. If you’re single, you’re Tim Robbins, alone in your cell, digging a hole to freedom. Keep digging. If you’re stuck in one of those shitty relationships, shame for you. Best you make some choices. If you’re in the boat and beach one, I am jealous of you. I want to be you. I will find you and cut your face off with a scalpel and wear it like a mask and assume your identity just so I can have that type of relationship for even a day.

Enough!

Bye.

Serious face. I went to watch a stand-up comedy show last night. Really hilarious. They covered the usual stuff: relationships, sex, politics, a bit of religion. But here’s the thing, one guy tried to make death funny. He succeeded, which is a really great accomplishment, but there was a bit of an undercurrent of fear in the audience. The laughter was a little nervous. I still take my hat off to that guy, I didst lol fervently.

Me, I know a bit about death. In the last two years, I’ve buried four friends. Well, I mean, I didn’t bury them. They died and somebody else buried them. It would be weird if I just randomly went around burying my friends, right?

Anyway, the first time someone you’re close to dies, it’s a bit of a shock. You wonder if you’ll ever recover. But time is this weird thing. It makes you forget. Not the person, just the sore part of your heart. The bit that got hurt. Time does heal. But then someone else will go and die and you end up feeling sore all over again. Each time it happens though, the scab gets thicker. I’m a little sad to say that when I was faced with the recent death of a friend I just felt a little melancholy.

So what does this all mean? Well, we’re just here for a little bit. We’re not here forever. I don’t know what happens when we die but I kind of like to think that we get to be close to the people we love. I like to think that we get to watch over them, that we get to share their trials and tribulations. I think that would be a beautiful thing. But like I said, who knows. I’m losing the point a bit here. Um, oh yes. We’re here for only a little bit. So do things. Do a lot of things. Do the things you’ve always wanted to do. You don’t get a second go at this. And love, my word, love. Love as much as you can. Don’t be scared of getting broken and hurt, because time, it does heal like I said. Just smash into love like it’s an ice cold swimming pool. If you don’t suffer from some kind of spontaneous heart attack, you’ll be refreshed and you’ll discover it’s fun (as long as you do it right).

Most of all, be good. Be as good as you can, be the best. I think it’s important to make your life count. Make other people’s lives better.

Right, that’s my two cents on life and death and stuff.

I wake up at 8. I’m not a morning person and this getting up at 6AM bullshit is a big part of why I’m never quite myself. 8 is a good time. When I wake up at 8, I am myself. I take Bailey, my Australian Shepherd dog for a walk. Does Bailey exist? Only in my imagination. Even in my imagination, he’s awesome. Best dog ever. Anyway, the walk ends at around 9AM, then it’s breakfast. Scones and strawberry jam. Oh yes please. Then I write. I write and write and write and write and write. That’s what I do. It’s my job. I might reply to an e-mail or two, but for the most part I’m writing. I write in a bright and airy room, with a big window that overlooks an amazing garden. I may stop for lunch, I may not. I doesn’t matter. Then at 5 I knock off and go have dinner with friends or do something else. Sometimes I may not even go out. How’s them apples? Yup. Some nights I may just stay in and Bailey and I will watch old movies. That’s how we roll.

That’s my perfect day. I’ve started working towards it. Progress is slow, because right now I’m dealing with imperfect days. I work at an advertising agency. I don’t know why. I avoid advertising like the plague. I don’t watch television. I have ad blockers across all my browsers. When the people around me mention amazing ads that they’ve seen, I couldn’t give a flying fuck. I’m tired of tricking ignorant people into buying shit they don’t need. Fuck the man. Viva intellectual freedom! Viva! I digress.

There you have it: the concept of a perfect day as well as a rather nice example of what one is. The truth is that when I’m done crafting my perfect day, it may turn out to be slightly different. Maybe Bailey is another breed of dog. Maybe I’m married with kids. Whatever it is, I won’t know until I start building it. You should start building it too.

Looking around the room, he noticed the bloody trail that disappeared back under the bedroom door. No doubt the hippy was in the living room with his girlfriend. He held his breath so that he could hear better.

“I shot him ‘cos I love you.”

“I know Applelove, be calm. We have to find a way of getting rid of the body now.”

The rest of the conversation was a debate as to whether Benjamin should be chopped up and shipped to China, or buried in the backyard. Benjamin stood up. The exertion of standing caused a rather powerful squirt of blood to dance across the bedroom wall. Benjamin looked in the dressing table mirror.

I look like shit. I’m bleeding everywhere. Of course, it could be worse. I could’ve been shot by some filthy hippy with a fucking stupid name like, oh I don’t know, Applelove. Oh wait.

Benjamin enjoyed his inner dialogue. Even in times of deep distress, it was always light-heartedly sarcastic. It amused him.

What Applelove and Benjamin’s now ex-girlfriend did not know, was that Benjamin was not quite human. Had he been a human, he would’ve died several hours earlier. The syringe had contained a fair quantity of cyanide, the bullet had not been a necessity. Sadly for Applelove and Benjamin’s now ex-girlfriend, Benjamin was a genetically enhanced super soldier. How he had come to live in a small flat in Birmingham with a nymphomaniacal shoplifter is a completely different story.

Benjamin sat at the dresser with a pair of pliers. He lifted his t-shirt and plunged the pliers into the hole in his stomach. He fiddled around, twisting and turning them . Eventually he pulled the pliers free from his belly with a bullet clasped firmly in its jaws. The hole closed up immediately. Benjamin stood up and sighed.

Time to go face Applelove and my dearest girlfriend.

Benjamin wished that he didn’t have to walk through the living room to get to the fridge. He was thirsty and a beer would go down a treat right now. He opened the bedroom door and stepped out into the living room.

“What the fu…..”

Applelove didn’t finish his sentence. Benjamin sprang at him, grabbed him by the throat and with one quick motion, snapped his neck. Applelove collapsed to the floor, dropping the gun. Before the gun landed, Benjamin caught it, turned to his girlfriend and put a bullet between her eyes.

Benjamin spent the rest of the afternoon drinking beer and watching television on the couch.

It’s like old times, except she’s a lot quieter when she’s dead. Who said breaking up is hard?

This night she came, standing at the end of his bed, she beckoned.

“Come with me, we’re going on a picnic.”

Her grin was wide and mischevious. She was altogether wonderful and beautiful and enchanting, Edward Smith could not help but sit up straight in his bed. “Where?”

“Wherever we like. Imagine us a pretty meadow Edward. Let’s go there, somewhere the sun shines and the world is sweet.”

Edward closed his eyes. He felt warm sunshine on his face at first. He turned and let his feet hang over the side of his bed. The long grass tickled his soles and he smiled before dropping off the edge. He opened his eyes. The meadow was beautiful. Surrounded by tall dark trees on all sides, the tall green grass rose to just under his knees. The air was still and warm and butterflies fluttered between bright, yellow flowers. The princess turned to him and smiled. “It’s perfect Edward.”

She took his hand and led him to a spot in the middle of the meadow. The sun reflected brightly off her copper hair, her brown eyes were alight with mischief. “One more thing left to imagine Edward.”

“What is it?”

“Make us grown up Edward. I’m tired of being a girl. Make me a woman, just this once. You too. Don’t be a boy, be a man.”

Edward closed his eyes once more. He bit his lip and concentrated. When he opened his eyes she was different. She was tall, she had the figure of a woman, and he was frozen at the sight of her. He had not imagined her like this, she was perfect. She had grown up all on her own. He was taller too. He felt different, stronger somehow, braver. “Kiss me Edward.”

She took a step closer to him. He looked into her eyes and leaned forward. They pressed their lips together. Edward’s senses were overwhelmed. The kiss seemed to last an eternity, but an eternity wasn’t long enough. When they finally pulled away and Edward opened his eyes the princess was gone.

He woke up, alone, and still a boy. It had all been a dream.

The princess never visited Edward again. He spent the rest of his life searching for her. Eventually he fell into the bottle and almost drowned. He spent his days sitting on street corners begging and his nights wandering the streets, a bottle in a paper bag his only friend.

One day, Edward found his way back to the meadow. He found the princess again, and he found the perfect eternity he had been searching for.

I’ve just been quietly melancholic. Dazed by existentialism if you will. I’ve been longing to feel special, set apart, somewhat wondrous. I haven’t felt that lately. Alas, at this point someone with an obvious weight problem will step forward, squeeze my cheek (preferably one on my face) and say, “But you are special.”

Thank you. These are simply feelings and feelings as we all know are not based on fact. Having said that, these feelings do tend to block the creative pipe. So, I’ll write something and in the process I’ll hopefully get some mental plumbing done.

A Blog You Should Read
It may seem like I’m a hermit, a complete shut-in, socially inept, nervous and sweaty in public, a wastrel. This is all perfectly true. My one and only salvation is that I do have a friend that drags me out to places. These outings force me to bathe and put on a happy face. I don’t blog about the places he takes me because he does that already. While he never really mentions me, just know that I am ever-present. My role is that of sidekick, purely supporting. While he wanders around meeting people and such, I sit at a table somewhere nursing a beer. Occasionally I’ll speak when spoken to, but usually I keep my charismatic banter to myself. Go read his blog. We go to really cool places, we meet cool people, we see cool things.

A Band You Should Listen To
Despite going out and watching bands a lot, I am still taken by American and British music more than I am by South African. Sorry South Africa. The latest band I’m loving is Kodaline. Go have a listen. Great music videos too.

A Book You Shouldn’t Read
The Dalai Llama’s Cat (these guys say it’s good, but they lie). What a steaming pile of you know what. I’m all for the esoteric, but if you’re going to write like an overly sentimental shit-head, you can fuck right off. Maybe I’m just jaded. At this moment in time I’m trying to get through the seventh and final book of Stephen King’s Dark Tower series. It’s been a bit of a slog, but I am a little bit emotionally invested in the characters now, so while the story has deteriorated over the last few books, I have to see how this ends. Yes, Tim Ferris says you don’t have to finish what you start if the thing you’re doing sucks, but hey Tim, I’ve been reading this crap for two years and I’m 500 pages away from being free of it forever.

I’m A Hipster
No I’m not. I own a record player and I can play the banjo and I listen to bands you’ve never heard of. So fucking what? I don’t wear those glasses (because I have perfect vision), and I don’t have a beard (because my beard grows out ginger and I’d rather have society reject me based on principle than beard colour), and I don’t dress like a trendy lumberjack (I dress like a really down-and-out alcoholic). Don’t ever call me a hipster. Those guys are sheep-like wankers. Fuck them.

A Creative Issue
A little project I’ve been working on (in my mind) for the last few years is a grandiose graphic novel. I am close to the solution: how to create the perfect workflow. In fact, the solution is probably just one Google search away. Instead of just doing it, I’m blogging instead. Procrastinate much? Jesus. Anyway.

In Conclusion
Thank you for reading my drivel. Have a lovely weekend. I shall write something more meaningful soon, I promise.