Restate my assumptions

Yesterday afternoon I sat in McDonalds, my head full of fuzz, my thoughts like the snow, more vunerable than I'd been in a long time. Opening the bag I looked at a Fillet-o-Fish I'd just ordered. I'd tried to be healthy. In McDonalds. To the left and right of me, families were discussing how much better this years Harrod's Santa's Grotto was. This is what normal people do, they lead a 9 to 5 life, raise kids, go on trips, eat happy meals. Having spent the morning at the zoo copying the monkeys and watching the penguins, I'd just got back from Speaker's Corner where I'd been feeding Weeto's to a Barrel-Man in full make up and tails. Testing the boundaries of reality is all very well until you push it too far. On the train going home, four people were having a conversation, so I played my new game. It's a good one. You give each person a number (in this case from 1 to 4, but it doesn't have to be in any particular order), and every time a person speaks you write down their number. If two people speak at the same time you write a two-digit number and so on. Then when you get off the train, feed the whole sequence of numbers into a supercomputer and try to find patterns in the New York stock market. It's a lot of fun.

Owl Tales

Here's an excerpt from a piece I wrote about a guy and his pet. Although I'm all up for the leftfield, this is a little odd even for my standards:

I look at my owl, a long hard look. It is no use; I am going to have to iron him. I unpeg him and tuck him under my arm. Last night I’d left him out to drip dry but the wrinkles are still there.

His gaze is full of remorse, and rightly so. The previous evening, at our party, he was showing off as usual, and fell into the water, again. I had specifically warned him to be careful as I could see he was dancing too close to the slippery edge of the pool. He took no notice and as he skipped across the floor I saw him, almost in slow motion, begin to skitter and skid towards the water. With a small splash he toppled in, promptly sank, and then resurfaced, spluttering and flapping, water spraying everywhere, splattering the guests.

I shake my head and give a sigh. He sighs too. I unfold the silver board, fill up the iron with water and twist the dial to the highest setting. I lay him down on his stomach and stretch out his wing, while he peers over the edge of the board watching the floor with his small melancholic eyes. As I press the iron over the tips of his wing a large cloud of steam hisses from the metal. A warm damp smell rises as I follow the arc of his feathers with my hand. I think about nothing as I run the heated metal over his quills.

Soliloquy in D minor

Day breaks
We play your games I open
And you raise me with glimpses of glances
I lay down my cards my words and my guard
You leave with a smile and play hard to forget
I fall so strings are pulled and favours called
Arrangements are made to set motions in places
I stretch at full stretch to appear this laid back when
A message shakes me out of my sleep
Five lines of text that tip off your take off
And I am briefly aware of a car
Passing outside while inside the darkness grows
You are poison on my lips and I spit
The bitter taste of your taste on the floor
And yet later I sit there and stare at
The stains of your coffee in my coffee free cup
And the last of your leftovers you failed to wash up
I miss your mess and sleep is eluding
And as I lie to myself in a space set for two
A line from a song loops over my head
For a minute there I lost myself
I lost myself

les misanthrope

'some people got way too much confidence, baby...
...baby' -- bono

Hope slips and sways as she sashays away, leaving the darkness to rise and choke me with thick black waves of nausea. I find myself, reflecting on a reflection of humanity: Opposite she sits, bulging out of her trouser suit, fat hanging around her collar and drooping from her chins. Her small beady eyes dart around the carriage, her snout of a nose is fixed upturned, and her trotters lay guarded on her purse. I watch as more rats pour into the race; sweaty, grubby little people pushing and pawing their way on. And what am I to do? And what am I to say? The lowest of the lay, knelt down and yet unbroken. I squander my soul as I dispose my disposables and consume my consumerables. I find meaning, I find truth, and I try to look elsewhere.

This isn't that funny

Elijah Wood has a lot to be upset about. He lands the lead role, Frodo Baggins, in one of the most adventurous film undertakings of all time. He's the saviour of the world, the hero of heroes! Surely, he must have thought, he can get the girls now! And what happens? Along comes Aragorn, with his lank flowing hair, carefully sculpted stubble, and suspicioulsy large sword. There's no comparison there. What does Frodo have that can compete with that? A rather close relationship with his gardener and very hairy feet.

Chinese Whispers

A Zen master sat down to eat with his student. As he was eating, the master peeled a small splinter from his chopstick and balanced it carefully on the edge of the bowl. Seeing the student's intent gaze the master said 'Contained within this chopstick hair is the greatest truth I shall ever instruct you in.' Hearing those words the pupil cemented his sights on the sliver of wood, and as the master slurped his noodles, he looked away not once. The master, impressed by his pupil's concentration, removed himself from the table and slipped from the room. Night fell, time passed and dawn rose. Still the student continued to stare. Seven days came and went, and soon it had been a month, then another, until seasons slipped by like shadows past the door. The student's beard grew longer, his clothes grew shabbier, and over time his body became weak and frail. Finally, after twelve years had passed, one bright spring morning the master entered the room once more. He looked at the student, 'Tell me, have you found your answer?' The pupil, subdued and defeated, finally broke his gaze. 'Master, I have looked on this chopstick hair for twelve years now. Unwavering have my eyes been, and yet enlightenment has eluded me. Please, take pity on one so humble as I, reveal the secret to me.' The master's eyes softened, and he bowed his head. 'The secret is this: Don't take me so seriously.'

One for the road

I saw a horse-drawn carriage the other day. What I want to know is, how do they hold the pen?

I've got 21 seconds to flow

I’m outside the door in a coat that doesn’t really fit. My friend said goodbye at the door but she gave me no hug. Let's not be paranoid for a moment. Why did I buy a coat that was so big? Is it just me, or am I the only one typing here? The train I get on is full of people going home alone; the one's who got unlucky. But why no hug? The sleeves are too long, that's the problem, the sleeves are too long and the shoulders are hanging. A man puts a gun to her head. "I don't want to diet!" she screams. "What?" he demands. "I don't want to die yet!" she clarifies. Something clicks for the man. It's the trigger. Once a girl said to me "oh my poor sweet darling boy." Once. So there are four puffins in a barrel. Or there were. Once. But anyway, one turns to the other and wheezes, "so how come you're not out of breath", the other says "I quit smoking". How we laughed... I'll never know. Is it getting better? Am I making this any better? I had so many ideas once, so many things to right and write. On the train I thought I lost my train of thought. That reminds me, here are some words to describe a drunk eating a late night burger: slobber, guzzle, englut, quaff, etc. The list is endless until you run out. Whilst we're on the subject, snaffle, snuffle and sniffle are all verified words. With this in mind I wish to coin the terms sneffle and snoffle. I'd explain but it's already late. Later that night I lose myself in her eyes, or her lies, I can’t decide. Turn the page, I'm just chopping down trees here.

Tip Top Baby Tips

I almost tipped a baby out of a pram this morning. I didn't mean to, I was trying to be nice! I saw a woman struggling up the stairs with it, and I automatically offered to help. What a nice guy I am, I thought. Didn't even think twice about offering, just offered. I was so caught up in the niceness of my act, the cuteness of the baby and the heroic image I was creating, that I only had grip of one of the wheels. The mother obviously had an agenda for the day and couldn't hold on for the daydreamer, so started off, causing my hand to act as a pivot and rocking the pram to a dangerous level of wobblage. The first I knew of it was the look of dawning horror on the baby's face, as his little paws tightened their grip on his blanket and he squeezed his eyes shut. For a few moments it did indeed look like baby was going overboard, and I had an image of him bouncing comically down every other step in such a way that we'd all have to laugh. But at the last moment, the mother, being a mother, wrestled the pram back to the horizontal, like a pilot pulling up the plane just before the mountain. Needless to say, she climbed the rest of the stairs by herself. And then when I got on the tube, a guy in Nike shorts and a suit jacket, incidentally acting much too confidently for a man in his attire, started staring at me in disgust. How did he know?

If you didn't laugh...

Every year a friend of mine works on Dreamflight. The idea is that they send seriously ill kids on the "holiday of a lifetime", she does some magic, looks after them, and they generally make the world a cool place. Not only is it a great experience for the kids, it changes them and makes a lasting difference. So on the holiday this year is a 12 year old kid with cancer, so sick he is stuck in a wheelchair. He's in Disneyland, but because of the chair, unbelievably, the only ride he can go on is 'It's a Small World'. If you're not familiar with this ride, it's basically a boat trip through a scaled down version of the world, as the song of the same name plays over and over again. Clever huh? Disney categorise it as 'Whimsical Fun'. Interesting. I'd categorise it as hell on earth without the free heating. So anyway, he gets on and halfway round the ride breaks down. And we are talking complete and total meltdown. Stand Still City. This ride is over, finished, kaputt. Except... for one small part. One tiny little mechanism of this attraction soldiers on. Oh yes... the song is still playing; on and on it goes, looping over and over, 'it's a small world after all...' If you don't know this wonderful composition, here's a clip. It's the tune that inspired "I know a song that will get on your nerves". Agh, Pass me the pins, my eyes need sticking! So the poor guy is stuck there, stationary, unmoving, immobile for over two hours! Yes TWO WHOLE HOURS!! With nothing but this song for companionship. Finally they rescue him, and his helper says to him 'So, would you like to go round again?' And the kid, a comic hero in my now moist eyes, says 'Go round again? I'd rather have Chemotherapy!' What a Legend.

Momentary Lapse

The man sits on the tube, a boy no more. He thinks, lost. Snapping out of his distractions he finds himself on a platform, Westminster, still three stops from his destination. Why did he get off? he wonders. It was an unintention, his body acting alone, guided by traces, leading him here. For what purpose? The dot matrix predicts another arrival in one minute. The added delay will be short. But necessary? As he and we wait for the next conveyor, he considers the concussions that will knock on. Perhaps approaching on the next train is the woman to complete him, or an old school friend, long forgotten and curiously missed. The train pulls in, and trusting to fate, he decides to board the carriage that stops closest. Once aboard he glances around, and is disheartened to see no one of note, no familiar stranger. Opposite a drunk cracks open another White Lightning. A thought strikes him, has he been brought here to be struck down. Fists will be thrown and a broken face will be the scar to bear witness to the followings of this feat. Further fabrication fails to materialise, and the three stops go by. Exiting this nonevent, he climbs the escalator and considers the path now taken, the car crash he will never have, the smiles he will never return, as he walks a full sixty seconds behind his more attentive self. He moves on and so on.

Barrel Apparel

Last night I spent a considerable amount of time, with a friend and a large barrel, driving around London looking for Cheetos. It's not often this happens, so I felt I should mention it. Last Saturday was a very different story, but also where this one begins: At a party Robin and I were failing quite spectacularly to extricate ourselves from that evening's averagely abnormal small talk party topics (e.g. the likening of eternity to a billion piece baked bean jigsaw puzzle, the creation and subsequent discovery of inherent flaws of clarinet bellows, and the pros and cons of modern cereal). During a ponderous pause, Robin raised the subject of The Barrelman, and I rather recklessly promised that before the week was over I'd procure a large wooden barrel. Sunday night was hence spent scouring the net for a suitable product, and although one was found, at £94 it was somewhat out of our price range (a lowly 10 golden nuggets). And so it was that Monday morning I arrived at school barrel-less, broken-hearted and dejected. Another friend, seeing me so crestfallen, asked what was bothering me. Haltering and faltering, I relayed my profound need for the barrel, and at that moment his face began to shine and glow like an angel as he spoke the immortal words 'Hang on, I've got a barrel in my garden you can have'. Tears poured forth as waves of joy flooded over me, only to be callously choked as he added 'it's in Bournemouth though'. Cruelty! Thy name is Bournemouth. Defeated, I recounted my near miss to Robin. Robin paused, and stared at me for a long time. 'Bournemouth? That's where I'm working this week!' Fate, Destiny, Serendipity, call it what you like, someone was on our side! Long story short, Robin drives to the house of the parents of a guy he's never met, to pick up what can only be described as a Barrel of Epic Proportions. On the way he manages to steal a traffic cone, get given a car and deliver my friend's freshly couriered laptop, saving them sixty quid in the process. And thus it is so: Near is the time of The Barrelman, and soon it shall begin... [once we've found some Cheetos]

Minion Opinion

I quite liked recommending Stina last month so I have decided to make it a monthly occurrence. I know it's a little arrogant to suggest that my approval of someone's act somehow lends it a credence that others should take note of and follow like little sheep, but that's the way I hear about these people. So I hope no one minds. And if they do, too bad! I'm King of the Worlddd!

So Reggie Watts: part beatbox, part comedian, part Al Green, total legend. Indefinably undefinable, and a great great guy! The other week I went to the Jazz Cafe to see a band my friend was managing, and while we were waiting for the show to go, a man with an unfeasibly large afro and large coat walks on stage. After testing the mic, messing with cables, sending silent signals to the soundman, out of the blue he took the space and launched into a 5 minute diatribe on the origins of feedback. Then, on the verge of losing the audience, he broke into a blistering beatbox, which, with the aid of a little box, he layered into a gorgeous soundscape to accompany his scat. Anyhow, as luck would have it, I won tickets to his full evening show, and went along last night. This guy is genius, with a hard capital G. All I can say is he did a song about a Pterodactyl. What more do you need? Just go see him, buy the album and generally make him so rich and famous he loses all his heart and ambition, sinking slowly back to oblivion.

And finally I couldn't let this post go without mentioning Ian the Shoelace King, who has created the fastest method for tying shoelaces. Ever! Get this man a Gold Star. And then a life.

Critical Mass

Although I can be reasonably polite most of the time, it has to be said that I occasionally forget my manners. It's easily done in the early morning rush, not remembering to take them out of last night's trousers, or leaving them next to the keys; an easy mistake to make. However I do make sure I remember them for church. Yesterday, in mass, a man jumped the line for the Blessed Sacrament. He sidled out of his pew, ignored the lengthening queue and pushed right in front of me. He even avoided eye contact in that particular 'Traffic Light Gaze Avoidment of Speedily Overtaken Driver Who Has Now Caught Up' way. What is the social precedent for this? Should I tap him on the shoulder and quote Latin at him? Should I make a secret signal to the Priest and have him forcefully ejected? Or maybe I'll just clip his heels as he goes to kneel, leaving him sprawled on the cold stone floor as I step over his head on the way to salvation? I think there's probably a lesson on forgiveness I could learn from this... or Vengence?