random cartoon of the day

I am in the office. Trying to get my brain into gear.

It’s not working.

I haven’t slept well this week, going back to work has thrown my mind into a loop. I was relaxed, and suddenly I am not. I am having stress and anxiety dreams, but not really sure if they’re trying to tell me something or just mirroring my internal stress and anxiety.

C is working non stop to meet a deadline, which is fine, I am dealing with that better than I usually do (perhaps I’m… growing…nah, surely not) but the amount of time I’m spending alone in my head is perhaps exacerbating (is that how you spell that?) the weirdness going on. Maybe not. Maybe it’s just allowing it to trundle along in its own way and I am dealing with it as a normal person should, i.e without flipping out/having an anxiety overload/getting depressed. Perhaps a somewhat low phase is ok? I don’t know…I don’t know what is normal. I’m so trained to look out for possible signs that I’m about to nosedive into doomcloud central that I worry whenever I am less than perfect inside my mind. (Perfect for me you understand, is really just the absence of anxiety)

I should just let this run it’s course maybe.

Oh lordy. I don’t know how to be a person… I didn’t expect this when I was wishing for stability. I don’t even know what is normality.


Ok. It’s fine. Breathe.

Breathing achieved.

I will have coffee. And write something about web office tools. That will make it all better. If I finish an article I will do the happy dance and things will be glittery and shiny again.


Go Team Shiny!


funeral music

(Sigur Ros – í gær)

Yes, long time, blah blah…ten dollar doesn’t get you far these days.

I was listening to Sigur Ros and thinking what great stuff it would be to play at a funeral. Is that morbid? I think not….funerals are generally sucky things, and made all the more sucky by the pallid, and uninspired crap that gets played as the bodybox is shunted behind the curtain.
Think about it, Sigur Ros… gentle, contemplative, with a thrumming edge of possibility, building to a crescendo of RAHHHHH-ness.
I’d like to think death is like that.

It probably isn’t. It’s probably very disappointing.

A thought that often crosses my mind, randomly, is that life may well be all we have, and death may be total shite. A gobbet of thought that as inspired countless movie plots, and erm, soap operas. Generally, it provokes someone to a new lease of life. That realisation that what we have, here now could be it, so why not seize it? Fear nothing…

Trouble is…I think that, and then just, well, can’t be arsed.

Life. It is not like the movies.
If anyone would like to volunteer to be my scriptwriter, it would make things easier.

the divine mockery of words

Its quite a moon. I am a little lost in it. Not in a bad way, although the line between good and bad is a little blurry on nights like these… things just, are…

This is what I am drinking to keep the ghosts away:

Its the key ingredients of the Darkarita!


The Darkarita

  • A jigger of Sauza Tequila Blanco
  • A small jigger (pony) of Cointreau
  • A splash of Blue Curacao (for the darkness you know, plus drinking blue stuff makes me smirk)
  • A healthy squoosh of fresh lime (about a third of a small lime but go with your tastebuds)
  • A smidgen of lemon juice (just a brief squeeze)
  • half teaspoon of palm sugar
  • Coarse ground salt

Chuck everything but the salt in a blender, with ice, blast the hell out of it.
Rub lime juice around the rim of the glass, grind the glass into a saucer of salt so the rim is coated. Pour tasty goodness into glass. Sit back and be endarkened.

So now you know the secrets of my success. Ignore. Avoid. Hide in the cellar until they go away. Scraping fingers at handle, whispers, curses.
Its a waiting game. Its only when you’re relatively sane that you know that they do go away, eventually, and you just have to let it play out. The ghost dance in your head. Some of you will understand what I’m talking about, some of you won’t. It doesn’t matter. The divine mockery of words…



It’s sunny, and me and my cat are in the garden.
She likes to get grass all over herself so she can rub it off on my bed later.
Just to annoy me.

I took this photo, and then lolcatted it up…
Whaddya mean lolcats are a representation of all that is wrong with the western world?

Lolcats are great.
Just cos you’re a miserable old curmudgeon too pompous to have a laugh at a cat talking in txt speak doesn’t mean we all have to be tedious 😉

I give in…

Darksimpson And if you saw that post title in a feed reader, no doubt you were thinking, ‘oh god, not another meandering laundry list of sorrow…
But no! See me be hip to be erm, square…is that a thing, or did Huey Lewis just make that up? I don’t know, but nonetheless, I can play too…
(I wonder what happened to old Huey, and indeed, his News? Anyone seen them recently? Perhaps they trobadour at your local hole in the wall bar, somewhat craggier, and less carefree, playing for beer, still knocking out ‘the power of love’ albeit without those top notes…good lord these are the parentheses that would not die)

So, without further ado (or any more Huey Lewis asides) I present my Simpsons alter ego, Dark Simpson. And his cat, Sparky.

Sponsor Note: This post was brought to you by Tesco Finest Swiss Plain Chocolate with Espresso Praline Filling (chocolate made from premium grade cocoa beans sourced from Ghana, Venezuela and Ecuador)


My pain is self-chosen
At least, so The Prophet says
I could either burn
Or cut off my pride and buy some time
A head full of lies is the weight, tied to my waist

The River of Deceit pulls down
The only direction we flow is down
Down, oh down
Down, oh down
Down, oh down
Down, oh down

My pain is self-chosen
At least I believe it to be
I could either drown
Or pull off my skin and swim to shore
Now I can grow a beautiful shell for all to see

The River of Deceit pulls down
The only direction we flow is down


****Incoming message from the big giant Ian*****

‘… the history of Society is only, after all, a symptom of increasingly more organised madness.’ – Kilgore Trout

Bill used to give himself lots of lateral downtime, or so he called it. This would involve him, maybe a beer and smoke, and lots of time drinking tea. It would help his creative preserves he said, sort of allowing himself to become sort of a better being, he said.
Strange thing was, Bill never did seem to get any better as the weeks would slip by.
Then one day, there was mum making mince in the kitchen on this summery evening and Bill turned from where he sat on the backdoor step , saying casually
“Thats it Marjorie, i have decided its probably better if i lived the rest of my life as a Bedouin Dancer”
and so off he went. I never did find out, but i like to think that somewhere in the corner of the world Bill does still whirl away in long desert robes.
And so it went.
When i was 23 i believed my friend was trying to poison me. I saw the vapours, and we didn’t like each other too much at the time anyway.
When i was 21 i believed Pearl Jam wrote a song about having seen me at a live gig.
When my Dad was fifty, my sister once told him about eating healthily, eating pasta. He always counted the pasta shells: thirty to make a good meal.
And on it went.
All life is, is one whole big collection of stories. I made this decision years after hearing that infamous ‘The Whole World’s a Stage, and we merely actors upon it’ – it took me a while to really grasp it Shakespeare, i guess i was always a windowshopper decider. Just like all the books on my shelves over the years have grown and shrunk, my life has been filled up with faces and lives and ideas. Little fragments of dreams and other worlds appearing and gently snuffing out, forever forgotten. Some enduring books and even whole collections stand constant and dusty, assured of their faded importance.
Life doesn’t have to make sense.
So this was it, i had decided to not sleep with my ex tonight. I would go around, collect some of my stuff, we’ll talk and watch a movie, she will see that i am still a nice guy and i will leave this evening both of us feeling like we are better individuals. I felt good, imagining myself like a Sufi Prince detached and joyful about my life. This would just be the beginning, i would start being a better human being across the board; i’d be able to politely turn down the lures of drink or boredom or melodrama. I’d start studying again and using my life creatively.
The next morning found me sauntering back home, and so on it went.
maybe i should get off the tablets-
i was chatting to a friend of mine today, this was the guy who told me a while ago: ‘It takes three years to recover from a breakdown’,
he seemed to be a little sad this time. I don’t know, something in his eyes maybe. My friend’s an ex-soldier, living on a frantic low income as a builder. he drinks hard, harsh tinnies in the town square – he’s a great guy; he’s always willing to have a cheery word. I remember once, before work i was sat, 8:45am in one of his old cars, with two of the local town street celebrities. We passed around some harsh weed and one of the guys behind me started going on about the beer he’d spilt in his lap. He’s got a wonderful alliterative use of the most disgusting swearwords of all time. The ex-soldier start saying ‘calm down, calm down’ in that slightly scary paranoid way: this was it, i thought. My Life is a Comedy. I am a bizarre rerun of Last of the Summer Wine.
He asked me what i was doing with myself when i saw him today, i always say an embarressed ‘Nothing.’ Shit. What are you supposed to say to that? I wander around morose, i shake with fear in my own home, i try to get by. He always gives me strange advice about ‘Doing What You Want To Do!’ going back to university, become a proffessional guitarist. I like him for that.
But today he seemed a little sad, almost as if he sensed my embarrasment, my reticience at our usual, ritualized question.
It takes three years to get over a nervous breakdown, my last breakdown was 20 months ago.
And so it goes.
Earlier this year i wrote a story about an improbable interview between various future me’s. They had all been different versions of me from different future dimensions, about six years from now. The current me (2007 me that is) interviewed them.
They kept on saying the same thing.
The first time i had sex was on a friends sofa at the end of a party. I was stoned, and fumbled a lot. The lass who had chosen me had a little daughter, only a baby, and she was committed to study Law and maybe go to University so she could get to know how to keep custody of her kid. i sometimes wonder what happened to her and her kid, what her alternate future dimensionary self would be like. I actually had an experience of meeting a future alternate (but at the time current i should say) dimensionary version of another young mother i knew.
Her name was Dannielle …(Bossinau?? I never could figure out how to say or spell her name). We knew each other as juniors and kids, i had a bit of a crush on her.
One day a friend in a college class was detailing to me the finer points of the CB radio. It was a little world that suddenly opened up for him who was like me i guess, a bit of a loser. A little whole community of people who talked to their husbands working on the passing boats, people chatting away about their corners of their world and the tasteless obsession of listening-in to the emergency service radios. Anyway, it turned out he had talked to Dannielle! He didn’t know her, but apparently she’d asked after me because she found out we both went to the same college. She’d dropped out after school, and had a kid. She lived with her parents, and was cheery.
I never heard about her again for years until i met her future (but at the time current) alternate dimensionary self. One summer break from University i bumped into her outside her old house just a street away from my estate. She looked really good, had her baby with her and i was struck by how things could have been different, how my expectations of her were so removed from this version of her.
Maybe i’ve got a single-mother thing.
When i was 28 i still believe that maybe, somehow improbably my future could be ‘saved’ by a glorious secret talent or luck or divine will.
When my Dad was 28 he believed that if he opened the front door a gunman would blow his legs off.
Puts it in perspective, sometimes.
Another other girl i had an unbearable crush on was my sister’s best friend. Her brother didn’t have any future alternate dimensionary selves. Her brother and his best friend killed himself in his car. He used to help me out at the Boys Brigade Youth Club. I kinda idolized him, in a teenage way. The dissappearence of his future alternative selves had a huge impact in our community, far more than i had realised until, years later my ex-fiancee (who had come from the same town i had, had used to go to the same places but we had met in a far off university in another Country) had told me the story of the couple of well-liked boys who had killed themselves in their car outside one of my old haunts.
Their tragedy escaped me really, like a transatlantic cement truck gliding past me on a foggy night. But the wider community didn’t know that my sister’s best friend’s brother had written what i still think is one of the most touching comments upon life. Apparently a part of it read; that all he wanted to do was to go live in Middle Earth with the elves.
One alternate me did most of the things i never did. When he was 9 he really believed in the power of that title ‘Man of the Match’ for throwing himself bodily against opponants as Defender. Shit. Why not- its not as if he was ever going to score or anything. He liked winning the mock boxing fights my friends used to have at 15. He probably even learned to write well, get good marks at Literature and now works as a clerk or a bookseller. His life is probably small, still in Southend but he feels comfortable, and confident, happy.
He’s lucky, he never made the mistakes i did, or the divine will looked favourably on his life. Just think, if there really are infinite dimensions then in one of them there is the Perfect You!!
What a jerk they would be at parties.
I wonder if the other alternate me sometimes stops at a window, before he answers his partner cheerfully and honestly as he always does. I wonder if he too is ever scared that Reality can shrink schizophrenically, in fragments.
There is this state i get into sometimes, when i’m really really high that somehow all of these stories make sense… My life is part of some big pattern, and its no big deal to worry about anyway. It’s peaceful.
Another alternative future me i bump into regularly goes to television and radio production shows. The kinds which like audiences to cheer and laugh or make votes and things. He tells me that if junkies were given adequate places to live, with reasonable rents you wouldn’t have this image of them all living on mattresses in squatted flats robbing bins for food. Poverty and addiction are directly related, as the Ratfarm experiments showed. If you were given a better and better environment to expand into you would, logically have no reason to try to escape it.
I feel sorry for this future alternative me. He’s doing well, but he became better friends than i did with Adam and Smiley, two of the older guys in my college philosophy class.
Red haired anarchist-buddhist Adam doesn’t have any future dimensionary selves either – we never knew but Adam had a genetic heart complaint, and once, taking whizz he just dropped down dead. Adam himself knew about it of course, which was probably why he started taking the whizz. I guess he just didn’t like having all these alternative future dimensionary selves running around.

(sub)missive from: Sacred Chao Brigade. Hail Eris.

let it go

I may still have a visitor or two left. I think so at least.
This has not been the most interesting of blogs lately, but it was never my intention to edify and entertain, nor even, like some other bloggers, the purpose to educate on the nature of mental health. I blog when I need to speak, and when I have something I want to say. Or when I’m just plain bored.

It would be impossible for me at the moment to trawl through what has been happening in my life, my emotions, my hopes, fears and dreams. Life is, as it always has been, an adventure with infinite vistas. Look one way and you miss something equally amazing over there…And there…

I am in contact with anyone who even vaguely cares about me, so they know I am ok. And I am ok. I am pretty good to be honest. I feel guilt for having the temerity to feel less than distraught. Or like killing myself. I think I can lay the kudos for this emotional renaissance at the door of prozac, but I also hope that in some vital ways I have grown, and matured, and have learned to handle life with a smidgen of sense. Have I actually learned something from the boulevard of broken dreams that is my life? A little. Maybe. I hope so. I like to think that life can improve. I cling to that hope. Its what keeps me going. Keeps me coming back for more.

I know though, that without prozac I would probably be a total mess right now, and I am glad I am not, for I would be missing so much wonder. Life is sorrow, but that is just one aspect. Acknowledge the sorrow, and let it go. Life is still there, waiting…

let it go–the
smashed word broken
open vow or
the oath cracked length
wise–let it go it
was sworn to

let them go–the
truthful liars and
the false fair friends
and the boths and
neithers–you must let them go they
were born
xxxxxxxxxxto go

let all go–the
big small middling
tall bigger really
the biggest and all
things–let all go
xxxx so comes love

Pop Quiz

  1. Choose a band / artist and answer ONLY in titles of their songs
    White Stripes
  2. Are you male or female?
    Same Boy You’ve Always Known
  3. Describe yourself:
    Who’s To Say
  4. How do some people feel about you:
    Offend In Every Way
  5. How do you feel about yourself
    I’m Bound to Pack it Up
  6. Ex boyfriends/girlfriends:
    Forever for Her (Is Over for Me)
  7. Current boyfriend/girlfriend/crush:
    I’m Finding It Harder To Be A Gentleman
  8. Describe where you want to be:
    Walking with a Ghost
  9. Describe how you live:
    The Denial Twist
  10. What would you ask for if you had just one wish:
    Union Forever
  11. Share a few words of Wisdom:
    Though I Hear You Calling I Will Not Answer
  12. Any general advice:
    Stop Breaking Down
  13. Share a favorite pickup line:
    You’re Pretty Good Looking
  14. And if that one doesn’t work:
    Why Can’t You Be Nicer to Me?
  15. What secondary school do/did you attend:
    Candy Cane Children
  16. Pepsi or coke:
    One More Cup Of Coffee
  17. Any pets?
    China Pig
  18. Favourite food:
    Sugar Never Tasted So Good
  19. Do you smoke?
    I Fought Piranhas
  20. Say goodbye:
    I Can’t Wait

Boredom strikes

la di da

Ok…I’m bored. Officially bored.
I think the arrival of summer has done it. I get all antsy at this time of year and want to do crazy stuff, mostly travelling, doing mad stuff, and generally being irresponsible.
I want to talk to total strangers, do stuff I don’t normally do, get on planes to random destinations…
Somebody talk to me! I’m even getting bored of blogs…all we do is sit in our little ivory towers chucking bits of fluff at each other…where did the love go?
Well, I do talk to a couple of people through email and IM, but it’s not good enough. I need more.
My google id is gloomferret@googlemail.com. go ahead. add me, talk to me when you’re feeling frisky. Or not. Anything!
Otherwise, email me with something interesting about yourself, or what youre doing in life, or suggestions to relieve my boredom.
Come on people! If I don’t get some help I’ll end up on a plane somewhere weird…