A Minor Enquiry

Famili(arity)

2007-12-31T11:48:00.000-08:00

She didn't speak to him. The silence wasn't awkward. No. More hopeless she thought - on his part. And resetful; contemptuous, on her's. For his miserable silence. For his glances: long and lost. Needy. Hounding. Waiting all the while for her to talk to him. But their exchange - never more than a comment on the weather or a bland observation. And as they sat and listened to the music each glance of his that met with hers was vacant, hollow, surrounded by the features of a forced smile. Each glance ruined her mood. Made her uncomfortable and longing for the conversation or the perfect silence had anyone else been sat in the chair opposite.

As the evening marched into its late hours she wondered, and struggled to recall if indeed they had ever had anything to say to one-another - A conversation that was neither forced nor practical.

Upon a Failure to Meditate

2007-12-31T11:36:00.000-08:00

He wanted to do nothing.
He wanted to be unproductive.
He wanted to ignore time.
Not waste it.
Just pass it.
As if he had time to spare.
Which he didn't.
And this probably didn't matter.
Because it wasn't working.
And his blank resolve submitted to engage with himself again.
A tidal surge of image and opinion.

...

2007-12-29T15:24:00.000-08:00

Perhaps like most of you I specialize in narcissistic self pity. This is an overtly self-conscious and trivial account of a selfish mind. No more.

2007-05-16T05:59:00.000-07:00

Is notoriety really an achievement?

Accommodation

2007-05-13T14:37:00.000-07:00

This year I became an island
Small, isolated and non-descript
The natives are liberal
But no more than is acceptable to you
Their opinions and culture are whatever yours is
If it means that we get along
And if you want, you can call it an alliance
But it isn’t honest

I am not what I used to be
And this is not who I am
From no angle am I truly reflected in you
That soulful reflection
Wholly unspoken yet agreed beyond doubt
Permission for a true opinion
The insult that would never require an apology
We don’t have that
You and me

And I couldn’t raid your music collection, your library or your fridge without your say so

I am pretentious here
Our minds are parallel
I watch what I say
In case I offend you or contradict you
Because truth be told, I will only ever tolerate you
I am not interested in your point of view
Or how you grew up better than I did
Did you?

I talk for its own sake these days
And I search for a thing to say that might interest you
Because our silences are not comfortable
Our laughter is empathetic
Not simultaneous, subconscious, off-beat and spontaneous
These days I explain the joke after I’ve laughed alone
And my quotes
Though they have a history and are from the heart
Even if I explained
Would mean nothing to you
But if I keep them to myself, they might not lose their value

Your opinion, music, interest, humour
It is not mine
And this inoffensive, bland and noncommittal middle ground that I have backed myself into
Feels like no more than a temporary situation
Hollow, borrowed, fake
Your blissful ignorance
And my mistake

Marmalade

2007-03-19T13:38:00.000-07:00

I am such a social retard.
I also like marmalade.
I have taken to sleeping in the nude...on the village green.

Piccadilly

2007-03-13T17:38:00.000-07:00

Tie-dye and rainbows
From 10 til dark
Congregated
Flocked
To Piccadilly
Before concrete and fountain
Amongst the trees

Stayed through regeneration
This generation
Of students, blue collar, white collar

Younger back then
Free, communal, open.
Knew everyone
Loved anyone
Head-scarves
Flares
And air cushioned souls

Then we grew up
Moved on
Stopped visiting
Piccadilly

Tokyo

2007-03-13T05:44:00.001-07:00

It's
night-time
in
Tokyo

A Little Bit Lost

2007-03-12T09:17:00.000-07:00

Is it wrong that I feel so removed from myself. That I am no longer myself. That happiness is no longer my casual state of mind, but a rarity to cling to.
Is my happiness only in nostalgia these days.
Perhaps the happiness I'm looking for doesn't exist.
But I know that it does, I've felt it.
That Summer evening serenity. Innocent warmth.

Should I have my double
Would they live my life fuller than me
Love moreso
Open their hearts
To friends, family, lovers
And cherish the moments that I fail to grasp
Make good my missed opportunities
Right my dashed confidence
Feel more secure in my skin than I do
Make the hasty minutes count
Mourn less
Fret less
Fear less
Fearless

He tells me his mother's wisdom
No regrets
No time wasted
Love and move on
Do not dwell.
I cannot love so indiscriminately
Can I still love at all?
Incompatible with my peers
So much to say
Too much left unsaid

In a st, st, stammer
Shaking, quaking voice
Hurried comment
Fleeting eye contact
Fleeting glimpse of what is me
But how can you expect them to see
If you show nothing

No small chatter
No worthy banter
No intimacy
No flow of words.
Disjointed remarks
Shattered confidence

If I were to find all of the pieces
Could I put them together?
Have I faded so much?
Too much?

When it's hard to form words
You have to repeat repeat repeat
Heart skips a beat and sinks
Through slurs
Starts
Stammers
Shakes
to be understood
They mimic

And you laugh it off
Good humour
Thick skin
While it eats away
Deep
Down
Inside

You're worth nothing
Freak
Social retard
Geek
Used up
Spit out
Leaned on
Comanded
Make you feel you're the evil
Mean-spirited
Piece of shit
Because IT'S ALWAYS YOUR FAULT
It wears you down
Though you don't believe it
You know they do.
Don't give them a chance anymore
To form that opinion
To form any opinion

The ghost in the room
Silent observer
Shy kid
The quiet one
Unsociable
Miserable
Ignorant

Do I hate you?
No.

I want to speak to you
All of you
To reply
To connect with you
To smile with you
Have a decent conversation
Tap in to that code that I lost back there

In my childhood
I smiled
I laughed
I was confident
I was free
I was uninhibited
I danced with a careless confidence

...this is for those who have forgotten how to dance, and for those who have had their dance shoes stolen.

Moving

2007-02-22T11:29:00.000-08:00

From the first day of Primary School until I was seven, maybe eight years old I had a best friend.
Lucy Karen Andrews. Proud of her middle name.
Karen - my cousin's name. That bonded us.
We shared a birthday - 14th October.
Shared the stage in "Birthday Assembly", Thursday morning with Mrs Collinge.
Lucy got "The Littlest Pet Shop", I showed my Minnie Mouse roll skates. Old school. Four wheels.
For two years we were in different classes. Still best friends. Every lunch-time.
We went to each other's houses for tea.
We fell out with each other a couple of times.
We made up. Always. Best friends.
We.
We.
We.
We played on the field in our summer dresses.
We played in the snow on our sledges.
The "big hill". The "little hill".
We played house. So did Hayley.
Lucy's mum dropped her off a the top gate.
My mum dropped me off at the bottom gate.
Hayley lived around the corner.
We met at the bottom of the "big hill".
Me, Hayley, Lucy.
Three.
Sometimes a crowd. Not often.
We sat seperately in the dinner hall.
Me and Hayley took packed lunches.
Lucy got school dinners.
On Fridays sometimes Hayley and I would be allowed to get school dinners. One off. "Pay as you go".
Then we sat together.
Three.
One summer Hayley decided to leave home.
Days without fashion.
Cycle shorts, neon pink, over tights. T-bar shoes. T-shirt.
She arrived at mine. And later that summer evening her mum picked her up in the car.
Me. My jeans. My dungaree-shorts. My Manchester United shirt. Tuck your shirt in.
Summer evenings used to glow.
Used to smell so good.
Used to last forever.
Used to.
Used to.
Used to.
Lucy moved to Rawtenstall. Too far to school. She stopped coming, moved schools.
I visited once, twice...
Her room was painted black. Stars on the ceiling. Glowed in the dark. Knitted Father Christmas.
Her brother bit me.
We had chips. Played. Watched TV. Kid stuff.
Visits became less frequent.
Visits became pen-pals.
Pen-pals became a forwarding address in Kent.
Letters stopped.
Just me and Hayley. Great friends. Not best friends.
Needed to be three.
Just two.
We never forgot.
We adapted a hymn in assembly. Put all three of our names in it. OUR altered lyrics.
But we had other friends.
Part of a crowd.
No best friends.
The last summer after Year six; end of Primary, we played on our bikes. Late into the evening.
The group.
All summer. On Sunnybank. The golf course. The river. The swings.
Came home tired, exhausted, drenched, muddy. Happy.
The weather got colder.
We played less.
And less.
And didn't.
We went to seperate Secondary schools.
Made seperate friends.
We've spoken once since then.
"Hello"
"How are you?"
"Fine"
"See you around"
And that was the last of three. Of two. Of kid's stuff.
Of summer nights that last forever. Dungarees and second hand bicycles.

Plans

2007-02-15T12:41:00.000-08:00

The plan is to cycle from Land's End to John O'Groats.

We planned to walk it once.

Never came off.

I hope this does. There's more chance. It's 17 days to cycle, 98 days to walk.

...I also plan to buy sandals.

Silence

2007-02-10T08:49:00.000-08:00

Silence breeds.

Silence starts with a last encounter and snowballs into reverie.

Reverie, which must be broken perfectly.

The end of a silence must convey all that needs, and is wanted to be, and is felt MUST be said before silence begins once more, lest it shatter a perfect memory immortalised in silence.

Lies

2007-02-04T11:16:00.000-08:00

I lie to myself
I lie beside you
Behind nostalgic eyelids
A few years and three-hundred miles away

Today

2007-01-30T13:13:00.000-08:00

Today was average. Phenomenally average. Woke up, had cereal, checked e-mail, put on some music, showered, dried my hair, dressed, watched a dvd, read some, prepared for a seminar, went to a lecture, then a seminar, returned home, cooked food, watched internet videos, checked e-mail again, randomly surfed the net for interesting books etc.

And here I am, blogging a blog that will probably never get read.

I wonder what the point of this life is, is there something that I'm missing? Is this it? Where do I want to go from here? Presently I exist, day to day, it doesn't appear to me that I have any plan for the future, I know roughly that I would ideally write for a living. Write what? I can't say that I know. Like everyone, I have a world view and a set of values upon which (whether I should do or not) I judge other people. I judge on religious, political and moral beliefs, on musical, literary and artistic tastes. I judge people on appearence, on initial impressions without getting to know the individual well enough. Like every single person, I deeply believe that I am right and you are wrong. But I neglect to enforce my world view even on myself. That is to say that I do not meet with my own standards.

I have political beliefs, but other than voting I do not attempt to change anything beside the occasional online MP lobby about which I am no more than briefly passionate about. Morally I fail myself too. I do not feel that I make full use of the faculties that I have for the benefit of myself and others. What am I doing with what life has given me? Not enough. I have more time and effort to give to everything I do. And I realised that I contribute nothing wothwhile to society. All that I have is potential, and it remains just that. And I am dissatisfied.

This state of affairs in my own life reminds me very much of a complaint made by a friend of mine following a summer when he spent a month in the USA: "Manchester and the UK as a whole really needs to step up it's game to draw me back in. This is the third time I've written this now today, I don't miss being anywhere specifically, not New York, Florida or Virginia, I just simply miss not being here." I have never been to the US. I would like to visit, perhaps even stay a while, it sounds really rather exciting, vast and new. But that is exactly why I was disappointed with my friend's comment, and I think now I understand why. I saw my reflection in his words. It was my disillusion too, but I believe the problem in this case lies with me. During his time in the US "everyday seemed thrice as long as the days here [UK], because I was always doing so much, out on the town all day never with a moments rest, never needing to rest, actually let me elaborate, I would sit, here and there, but when I was sitting my mind was traveling all over the far reaches of the universe,", and on being back in Manchester UK "I've got nothing to do, or maybe I do, but nothing here has yet to motivate me to do anything, tomorrow I'm going to get up at 10am, go into town and just try and fill my day,", "everything here seems so empty, hollow, meaningless", and it occurred to me that may be due to the fact that his time in the US was ultimately limited, every day was lived to the fullest because the end was in sight, at home, wherever your home is, famliarity breeds contempt, life stagnates with routine. "Anywhere but here" is fine, but "here" could be anywhere. Because he caught what I feel so well it struck a chord with me. My frustration presently is with Aberystwyth (a small Welsh University town); for issues which I will probably vent at another time. Being somewhere new, or the novelty of revisited places is a wonderful thing, I don't believe that I will stay in the same place, even the same country permanently, I need change, newness and vibracy to keep me going, to make me feel alive, but I have come to realise that it is my responsibility too, to make the time I spend in any place, wherever I am worthwhile. Although the "how?" remains to be answered.

The people we remember

2007-01-28T17:02:00.000-08:00

Of that summer, must be four years ago, the memory still hangs on my keychain. Still looks back at me from the wall. Still embraces me in my sleep. It still lives in my memory. Thought and memory. The colour fades with the months and years between us. Not a day goes by that I don't absently recall your face. Every expression in you eyes, a raised eyebrow, wrinkled nose. And I wonder how you have changed in our absence from each other. Would you know me if we passed on the street. I would know you. But there my certainty ends. I believe that time has clouded our spirits, which were once so perfectly aligned.

Ashes and snow

2007-01-28T16:35:00.000-08:00

I recently spent a couple of days viewing the TEDTalks links on ted.com. If ever you have time to spare then I suggest that you do this, I did not regret it. One of the contributors to the TED conference was Gregory Colbert, a Canadian photographer who is currently exhibiting his work in Tokyo. The exhibition is entitled "Ashes and snow". Part of the website for this work comprises a series of 35mm stills, set to music. Watch and you will watch with reverie, spontaneous, captivated reverie. And keep watching. For hours keep watching and listen to the sound. Let it wash over you. Let it take you with it, away from the dim day, look through the artist's lens, and listen to his words. Be prepared to wait for minutes. Do not be restless if it takes hours. You will hear his wisdom and you will feel that you know his world, and you will feel also that you only glimpse the ripples on the surface. On the water. And you will return to visit these images, to hear the words whispered in your ears. And hope that for just a moment you will glimpse his depth.