61 - Try now we can only lose. And our love become a funeral pyre
I have been reminiscing a lot lately, I'm not sure if it is a reflection of my sour mood, or because I was stuck in bed unwell for a few days. This has led me onto thinking about Fatalism and Determinism. I've never really bought into either school, I think that's true about any -ism, [that is not the same as saying that sometimes I didn't wish I did, or we knew that for a fundamental fact that our fate was out of our hands]. But Free Will still holds all the aces for me.
I remember when I was about 12 or 13, one of my friends was having a birthday party. Unfortunately I wasn't invited, we had had some stupid childish falling out a couple of days prior. I, as you can imagine was devastated. There were only about a group of 8 or so of us and I was the only one not going. The day of the party came, and I sat sulking in my own back garden, while about 20 back gardens away, what I can only imagine as the worlds greatest and most fun child's birthday party in the history of mankind was under way. Fuck them cunts I thought, probably didn't say it out loud, my old man might have been about, but I definitely would have thought it. So....in what can only be one of the most immature things that I have ever done in my life [the list is very very very long] I dragged an old abandoned settee (I lived in such a picturesque hamlet of Newcastle] up against the back fence of said garden party and using my always on hand box of matches, set it on fire. No I'm not proud. I was at the time, well chuffed with myself. Until the bastard fire brigade turned up, quickly doused the fire, and spent the rest of what must have been a quiet afternoon enjoying some beers at the party, while all my ex-friends got to play on the fire engine, the only missing factor from the already near perfect party, they were fucking loving it, unreeling the hose, flashing the lights, I could see it all from my closed curtained bedroom dark bedroom. Utter bastards.
Not sure why that just popped into my head, nor why I shared it, when it went against my original point somewhat?
Any...way...You may be pleased to hear that I've started work on a new writing project, the novel is going to take a rest for a couple of months, emailed The Ed, she's cool [she must have guessed I'd been struggling] she's said [but I guess they all do] that she'd be interested in anything I do in the short term [I didn't mention the film project, its happening One-Speed]. My new piece is probably going to be novella length, unless I ramble on [me, never?] and I've have titled it for now [very tentatively just cause you have to save it as something] "More Crazy Shirts Please" it is going to be a touch more surreal piece than I have been doing of late, a bit more like my first two ever published shorts but slightly more...out-there [and one of those was about a delusional schizoid who collected rubber bands he found in the street because he thought they were evil]. Anyway, the idea, as usual came from [Gan -19?] from nowhere, but as always, I knew it was a keeper, so drafted what I could in a time line, and have just finished the first couple of pages? Wanna read the first paragraph? No? Tough fucking luck.
I remember when I was about 12 or 13, one of my friends was having a birthday party. Unfortunately I wasn't invited, we had had some stupid childish falling out a couple of days prior. I, as you can imagine was devastated. There were only about a group of 8 or so of us and I was the only one not going. The day of the party came, and I sat sulking in my own back garden, while about 20 back gardens away, what I can only imagine as the worlds greatest and most fun child's birthday party in the history of mankind was under way. Fuck them cunts I thought, probably didn't say it out loud, my old man might have been about, but I definitely would have thought it. So....in what can only be one of the most immature things that I have ever done in my life [the list is very very very long] I dragged an old abandoned settee (I lived in such a picturesque hamlet of Newcastle] up against the back fence of said garden party and using my always on hand box of matches, set it on fire. No I'm not proud. I was at the time, well chuffed with myself. Until the bastard fire brigade turned up, quickly doused the fire, and spent the rest of what must have been a quiet afternoon enjoying some beers at the party, while all my ex-friends got to play on the fire engine, the only missing factor from the already near perfect party, they were fucking loving it, unreeling the hose, flashing the lights, I could see it all from my closed curtained bedroom dark bedroom. Utter bastards.
Not sure why that just popped into my head, nor why I shared it, when it went against my original point somewhat?
Any...way...You may be pleased to hear that I've started work on a new writing project, the novel is going to take a rest for a couple of months, emailed The Ed, she's cool [she must have guessed I'd been struggling] she's said [but I guess they all do] that she'd be interested in anything I do in the short term [I didn't mention the film project, its happening One-Speed]. My new piece is probably going to be novella length, unless I ramble on [me, never?] and I've have titled it for now [very tentatively just cause you have to save it as something] "More Crazy Shirts Please" it is going to be a touch more surreal piece than I have been doing of late, a bit more like my first two ever published shorts but slightly more...out-there [and one of those was about a delusional schizoid who collected rubber bands he found in the street because he thought they were evil]. Anyway, the idea, as usual came from [Gan -19?] from nowhere, but as always, I knew it was a keeper, so drafted what I could in a time line, and have just finished the first couple of pages? Wanna read the first paragraph? No? Tough fucking luck.
"I never believed in wishes. To quantify that, I never believed in wishes that came true.
Chapter One
My alarm clock played the theme to The Mighty Morphing Power Rangers. It always had. It wasn't some nostalgic Dan Brown thing, later to be revealed in a flash back/dream or via a trauma induced vision, the thing was just a shit novelty Christmas present that I didn't have the heart throw away.
I’m guess I’m weak. But I survive, isn't that enough? I didn't let the thing get into a second verse; with a slap of my left hand the monstrosity was silenced. I suppose it worked though?
My feet touched the bitterly cold hard wood floor of my bachelor pad, it was meant to be spring outside but nobody had told winter and my flat remained so. To save on the heating bill I didn't have the radiators on during the night, it was fine under the duvet but out here was a different story.
I’m not even sure why I bothered setting the thing to wake me up at eight, I guess it was to keep some sort of semblance of a normal person’s life. You know the sort; up and about, perhaps a quick jog or visit to their local gym, then a high fibre, low release diet setting them up for a challenging, yet rewarding day in the their chosen careers. Not sure if I required a slow release breakfast for my day ahead, not sure I knew what a slow release diet is if I’m being honest.
A couple of slices of toast and hot brew would suffice this morning, and slipping back under the duvet to watch the news."
So that's that. It feels mighty good to be writing again [and I don't mean this nonsense] but if I'm going to race through the first draft at speed I likely to, I'm going to have to turn off Twitter, it has no affect on my story arc if Jimmy Carr has arrived in Preston for a gig this evening.
Peace.
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