No time to breathe

today

2008-10-27T10:05:00.009Z

Is there anything left to feel great about today?
Or are all the kids right, to lose their fight today?
As all of their dreams are ripped at the seams and taken away today,
It's no wonder the world is just getting worse with every other today.
With all of this hurt it's not enough to pray it away today,
And it is no surprise when I open my eyes - I can't stand to face today.

broken morning. slashed pride.

2008-10-13T10:26:00.004Z

hold on there hussler. yeah, wait up tiger, why all this hurry to just get going?

We've got so much more life to give you yet.

But wait still further, we've got even more to take away from you.

So you sit, searching looking for the reasons you do this every day. and slowly one by one they dissappear and the new reasons that come along don't seem to carry the same weight as you get older. And I have got older, as you do you wonder, "fight or flight" or even "stay and pray or run-away". But there's no runnning now. Too intrenched in this cycle, no room to move.

what needs to be done

2008-08-20T15:08:00.002Z

enough is enough is enough.
How many more hours, How many more days, weeks, months and years?
I could sit here till it's time to retire - they'd still pay me and I'd still do as I'm told and what needs to be done. But what's in it for me?
Wages for rent, bills, food and holidays, but this is not the only source of money and it is certainly not the most convenient.

So -
Live life until you are twenty-five,
Because you'll spend the rest
avoiding and putting off death.
Find a second wind - begin again.

Thus I start from scratch, looking at the surface for indentations I've made over the years - if there is something there surely you would feel it rather than hastening and chastening this life away. There must be something better I could be doing with this time and talent that I've been awarded. But by the time I get home my eyelids will be upon me and the chores will be waiting to occupy an evening spilling over with sport on the tv.
And so all hope is lost and I'll be back tomorrow. Same time, same place, same disillusioned face.

"grey skies get under my skin"

2008-08-08T08:57:00.000Z

just another grey day in august England.
I can't stand this so called summer.
If things don't change come next december
I'll be ready and fit to explode.
Because wind and rain don't drive me -
anywhere but home.

enough of self imposed slavery

2008-06-18T09:23:00.004Z

Secret desires - they fill my work day. All the things I might be doing, all the places I could well be. This desk, this chair, these screens, these people - carrying nothing but contempt around all day. When really it was my choice to place luxury above the pursuit of my dreams and aspirations.
Well now I'm ready, fly out the window, set this 9-5 life on fire and not look back.

what you love, what you are good at.

2008-06-18T07:54:00.005Z

If you are lucky enough to earn a living from what doing that which you love, then you must be good at it and it's probably just that - luck. Work is not hard if you love something, work is not hard if you are good at something. If you "put shoes on your feet and food on your table"* doing what you love and what you are good at, you probably don't work. Work is waking up with dread ahead of the day. It's pushing yourself out of bed, into the shower, out the door and in through another. It's not wanting to go to bed because you know when the alarm sounds you know you have to do it over again. So if I can't get paid to do that which I love and that which I'm good at; I'll sit here and let others who pay me little for worthlessness to do it instead.
They take my liberty and give it back in installments, why should I not take some time for that which I love and that what I'm good at too?

Be a good day. Let this be a good day...

*Retun of the Jedi - Reuben

Now

2008-06-17T18:52:00.002Z

It has to be done now. It is demanded, as much by others as myself. The desire has grown too strong to resist. Words have to be spilled, ordered and contorted to fill this page ready for eyes to consume, causing discourse and further contortion by minds. So it begins, again. It never stops starting. I’ll take first steps till I cease my stumble and fall the final time. Fresh ground is the only surface worthy of these footprints. Emptiness the only space that appeals to be filled. The new is the future in the present and that is where we find ourselves. Once more, here again in this instant, grasping at that which has already gone, again.

Did you catch it? Don’t go back and look for it. It’s not there, the key to all this. If the answer is not found in the question, it was in the space that followed. When you look back it’s gone, when you look back you are missing it, again. This is now.

Ask us for more

2008-06-03T09:46:00.009Z

Hopeless Romantics, charge these here glasses.
Are you the one to ask us for more?
But all of these antics, don't cover the damage
Of hearts too saddened to ever be healed.

They dance like diamonds, seen glistening on highlands,
Knowing there's no need to ask us for more.
Yes their grip tightens on our heroes so frightened
Of cherubic faces and rose petal skin.

The final combatants, bruised broken and shattered,
Know that no one will ask us for more.
So the last bastions, don't seek companions
Fulfilling a charge to not crumble nor fall.

for the boys...

2008-02-18T10:27:00.004Z

With all the insanity running through and through,
You must be mad if it never gets to you...

"my people"

2007-11-08T19:49:00.000Z

Running on empty, but we're running, even if we're running out.
Out of promise - out of hope or out the door to above and beyond.
Beyond reason, ambition, beyond the boundaries of what we thought we knew.
We knew all along, but never let on, we knew too much and did too little, too late.
Little did we know, better late than never and a little goes a long way.
Longing to go a long way away, any how to anywhere. Any way, any one watch us...
Running.

run in with the muse...

2007-10-15T18:00:00.000Z

when you have a run in with your muse and she berrates you for not writing more. It is strange to find you have indeed only posted four times in a year.
But how does one write without one's muse...?

28 but still in the wrong age

2007-06-07T23:24:00.000Z

With the rain dripping down outside but not thankfully at Headingly where play has recommenced - it is an English summer. Celebrating my birthday at the end of May, generally within reach of a bank holiday, some sun can usually be expected - but not on this dreary Monday. So instead I’ll celebrate by watching and writing, rather than walking and listening – as long as the earlier hail holds off in Yorkshire and the wickets keep falling. Although there are now only four left to deliver home victory and with the opposing Captain injured that is realistically three. But it can’t be long till tea and I’m not sure in this weather how long the light will last… If you are not from my land nor versed in our summer past time of cricket you will not appreciate my utterings – lest I remind you in short - I am of a different age to that which I inhabit. I’m writing on a wireless laptop in my lounge – with cable carried TV pictures and webcast commentary of the game that gives respite from my paradoxical life. My weekend has been one of Shakespearian tragedy at open-air theatres in the sun, of walking the West End, Embankment and Southbank to the crackle TMS on longwave – a literal contradiction to my surroundings - the cosmopolitan twenty-first century London. I pass through inconspicuous, camouflaged by the fashion about my body and the female at my side; the commuters, tourists, travellers and if there are any left locals, leave me unchallenged – they do not see nor sense my bewilderment at my predicament. I do not feel made for this age. And that gentlemen, is Tea.

the saddest battle to lose

2007-06-07T23:17:00.000Z

the saddest battle to lose is when you realise that just by the life youwere born into, though it came with the best of intentions, is just destroying the planet, breeding unhappiness and feeding false hope. Yet we as individuals are powerless to change any of it, our lives or the effects yet the surrounds of thisgracefully gifted existance holds us here, ever submersed in guilt, for just being.

instant heroin addict

2007-02-20T10:13:00.000Z

just add 12 hours at work, four hours sleep, and repeat.
a vague early morning parade to the station, loud music piped into the brain.
an argument with the railway staff, it is not service they offer.
smile on the platform, gaze into middle distance -
drinking the tea you brought from your bedside.
instant brown, instant karma.
no wonder they stare as I crumble away from the day.

show me your friendship - i'll show you your weakness

2007-02-20T10:01:00.000Z

family you can't choose. friends you can.
choose to get rid of that is.
company exists ahead of frienship, it has the common ground, the shared experience but without the emotional attachment - that opens up each soul to sadness.
firends will let you down, just the same as family, lovers or enemies.
They shouldn't but they will. If you can make do without too many close friends, you'll get by on an even keel, perhaps you'll miss some highs but you will forego the suffering of betrayal.
Aquaintences not friends. There is not as much to lose.

Night Sky Invaders

2007-01-23T01:29:00.000Z

Stopping off on my way back from the Styx, it was a cold, dark night atop the downs. Droll, I know but it was, all right? If I’d started this any other way it would have been a lie – and that is no way to begin. There was no moon bearing over the night sky on my way back into the city but it was clear enough to see galaxies, constellations and the regularly revolving orbitals that supposedly make my life easier. Gazing beyond the shadowed forests and rolling downs, only the amber haze of civilisation behind me and the blinking drones of civil aviation above blotted my gaze into the black with shining dots. But drone they do, those beasts in the sky - all day and all night blinking and buzzing above us. They cut a swathe through the relative silence offered by the gentle breeze, ever accompanied by the distant groan of carriageway and punctuated by the nearby bark of domestic dog or engine. Even in winter countryside at the dead of night, this land bears the scars of it’s dominant species. I had walked through forest and meadow and stood at the highest point within easy reach of my dwelling but there is no escape from humanity on this planet anymore.
Turning my back to the darkness I descended into the centre of town at 11pm on a December Tuesday night. I had seen the strips of neon along an evening spot from the heights of my travels, they were a pointless effigy to a culture intent on destroying it’s host. Or rather that’s how you think after ten minutes of staring into the relatively untouched night sky. Worse I knew that I had to pass the neon encrusted building and it’s booze-leavened clientele on my way home, which meant a whole different type of civil interaction. It is strange to my evolutionary makeup that I should be more at risk walking through the confines of my own locality than through the damp dark forest I had traversed some fifteen minutes previously with my prime evil senses on constant alert. Really the only predator left in our countryside worth any fear is the same as that leaning against the neon lit bar and writing this. I’m right to be scared, but they should be too; as I walk through the city I can be fairly sure I am the least likely and last thing that anyone would want to encounter. Especially when I’m in the kind of condition to come home and write this even before taking off my coat or either of my two jumpers.

But like I say, it was a droll cold dark night to be walking home. I’m there now but the skies are still buzzing, burnt by city lights and combusting transportation deadens the air that we can’t hear or breathe. Even if there is someone who dares to care and wants to listen, she is not at home to tell, so I wrote it down. Sorry you had to hear the truth from me but…

Only drive to work in a car by yourself if you have to.

It was cheap, fun and easy to ruin the planet; it’s going to be hard and expensive work to put it right. But forget the usual derogatory feelings towards ‘expensive’, ‘hard’ and ‘work’ – this isn’t a case of doing your bit, we all have to change the environmental course of the planet. If it sounds impossible, know that where ever, whenever and by whom ever these words are read – the planet will have changed because of it, along with an infinite amount of other choices we all make in each moment. Every blink and breath co exists with this planet, use your existence here to improve it for the future whilst giving present life more meaning and hope. We are all we have and time is short.

Thank you for reading.
Marcus

A holiday for the brain

2006-09-27T00:31:00.000Z

I went on holiday this month to the Norfolk Broads on a boat for a week with two friends. Relax and unwind! With the boat and life travelling at a top speed of 4 miles an hour, these tasks seemed positively energetic. Life slowed to an apparent stop and I was able to write about it.

“Endure all that has gone before, then enjoy any that should remain. Modern life is simply penance and scant reward, with neither particularly preceding nor following the other. It is a constant cycle of appeasing needs through selfishness and paying high prices for things that are rarely a privilege. There is no safe middle ground that can support us for any length of time. The only modus operandi for surviving life in these times is submersion or flight. We either sign ourselves up to doctrines that govern our every breath and thought or we escape to the emptiness we somehow know underlies it all. Indeed there is nothingness in these very words, the fact that they exist in a somewhat understandable order dictates that any truth they may carry is marred by the condition and perception of both the reader and writer’s language. Yet, despite the apparent loss of inherent purpose for this document – where there is existence and therefore suffering and happiness, there should also be explanation, comment and analysis. Particularly if that discussion should acknowledge the nature of it’s own reality. All of which only defends the material existence of this work, it’s content will hopefully go on to give it materialistic value by enriching the reader.

Take a holiday from times and dates, from the responsibility and worries of a modern mind living a modern life – and do this regularly. These escapes can exist where ever you are, whatever you are doing and may last anywhere between a split second and a life time. Recognise then capture your freedom in the present moment. Upon doing this it is important to keep your eyes firmly open and acknowledge the false realities that plague us, rather than hiding from them. Moreover we should, in times of clarity see the greater picture of all life’s falsehoods & inequities and meet it with sorrow and empathy. We should do this for all beings, not just our own lives. Through this projection we may see that our place in the world is perhaps not deserving of the attachment and importance we place upon it. Should your mind return from holiday bring something back with you, it may ease a path through modernity.

Once you subscribe to it, the suffocation of modern life makes for constant unwanted company. It engulfs us in obligation, routine and responsibility - often at signed contractual agreement. To consider this level of submergence highlights the need to leave our crazed existences behind once in a while and gain perspective, morality and a greater understanding of what each of us should both expect from and give back to our world. Hopefully, if I have been successful in my aim in writing it, by taking the time to read, consider and understand this text you will return to the reality of modern life with something to ease the incumbent suffering.”

Of course life is now back to the usual groundspeed of 900mph and I am always due a holiday, but it all made sense at the time and, as ever, is therefore worthy of our attention now.

rise with cries

2006-09-20T18:32:00.000Z

It is impossible to say where I found the motivation to get up this morning. Perhaps it was the thought of not slipping into another nightmare of faces I'd rather not see. Some how though, I got up, showered, dressed, drank green tea. Running on empty, running on routine I left the house and made my way to the train. Duty bound to my employers and my bank manager but nothing else. I would give anything not to be on this train going to work this morning. I would take anything else. It plagues me daily this chemical imbalance between my ears.
It all falls to pieces so easily... I changed jackets before leaving the house, leaving my tobacco, rizlas and lighter in the pocket of the other garment. For a man as dependent on smoking as me, with as little money as me - this is an earth shattering revelation. It is fashion, self image, self esteem that has brought me to this. I swapped a jacket for a jumper because my only clean t-shirt which I'm wearing is quite tight fitting and therefore shows off my slightly build and detested body. So instead of having to walk around a hot office all day in a coat to hide my meager muscles - I put a jumper on, forgetting to transfer the contents of the pockets. Now My credit card will get put into action and I'll be even later for work.
Of course none of this matters really, but none of it makes anything an easier. It's just getting harder to go on and on. How or why will I get up tomorrow?

the best policy

2006-09-19T22:58:00.000Z

if you can't be honest with yourself or the world at large, then life is wasted upon you.
Welcome to my world, where truth rules all.

Depression, Dreams, Euphoria. Repeat.

2006-09-19T21:59:00.000Z

Stephen Fry had a documentary on BBC2 tonight about manic depression. I pre-empted him with my own 4 hours of mental chaos earlier on today.

After 5 hours of drink induced sleep I awoke at 4.45 this morning, initially just confused as to why my alarm had not woken me up to watch the overnight football game from America on Channel 5. It took 10 minutes of fumbling and stumbling to locate my alarm system / mobile phone beside me beneath the duvet, having searched the entire house, the alarm was set but not activated for 2am. After that I spent 5 minutes stone cold sober and wide awake watching the preview of next weeks game on the TV. Returning to my bedroom my head became a chaotic mess, twisting, turning from debt, to heartbreak, to work, too illness to general matters of life, love and death on grand scales. Unslept an hour later I was naked screaming, banging my head against the foot of the bed - "Get out - Get out! Just let me sleep" But my brain was far from finished with it's torture of my soul and body. Ten minutes later there were the sounds of those readying for work and I had reached what all insomniacs will know as no return, bird song. Then the magic words kick in, Don't just lay there - Do something. So as the crescent moon faded away to the sun's rise I made a list of all the things racking my brains, smoked a cigarette in the garden before returning to bed. Eyes firmly shut, duvet, over head and brain blanked I slept. I woke to my reset alarms a mere hour and a half later to find the world and my mind had changed. I had just lived, vicariously through a myriad of wonderful lucid dreams. Each bathed in sunshine and none containing anything from the list. There had been dreams within dreams. Laughter with loved ones, swimming in the ocean with seals, fighting off playful puppies and a universal sense that everything was as beautiful as my own self image in my unconsciousness. I awoke with such a feeling of bliss I couldn't help laughing to myself as I went about my morning routine; even at my near death slip upon entering the shower. Inexplicably I then smiled all the way to the train station. I was at one with the world, my mind, my life - or moreover they were at one with me. I sat on the train at a table, I position I never normally feel worthy of and put the last 4 hours into these words. Now it is after a day in the office and the list is creeping back to my brain. Each item plagues my waking mental state even if it does not reside in my unconsciousness world and mind.

I watched the documentary and every word spoke to me in some degree, there is no doubt now in my self diagnosis - rapid cycling, that is me. I know my manic episodes do not last long enough for any real concern - I don't have the financial capacity to disappear for months at a time. But I know I would if I could. What would I score in the test? What cocktail of meds would they select to overt my madness? The grip of depression never really leaves me, even when manic, I am still living for the lows. My inner world with it's delusions of grandeur. The struggle to find get up and go, the struggle to sleep. The all encompassing sense of it all.

Self diagnosis. Self medication. Self harm. Self destruction. This is what makes me, me. And no Mr. Fry I would not trade it either. It gives me these words.
I'll need something to sleep. I need something to be sad about. Then it will change again and I may escape to bliss. Be atop the world, driven, adept.
Knowing always disaster awaits at each turn. But I go on, ever on.
My self worth too low to inflict the pain of my demise on others. Or is it a lack of courage that one day will evaporate? Surviving for survival's sake.

Find a level, keep it there.
To be stable is everything.
But there are no drugs, nor anyone's to steal.
And it all just reached the surface.
Because there really is no more money for booze.
I don't subscribe to alcoholism,
but is preferable over suicide.
I may well sleep tonight
but if I should, it is more than likely
that recurring nightmares
and madness will wash me over board.

Should I find myself with your attention. Read on to “Make our home Utopia”

2006-09-08T23:24:00.000Z

There seems to be an incumbant feeling in my geration that it is already too late to change our ways and save the planet for future generations. An assumption there is no point, the Earth is done for anyway... Not only would I assert that this is pessemisstic but also wrong.

Regardless of global warfare or natural disasters, with the current level of human civilisation, evolution and pollution, I’d estimate our world has about 200 years before it’s too late to ever reach a state of universal bliss.
Which apparently is what everybody, deep down, really wants.

I know I’m special because I am the first to experience everything that is happening to me at this particular moment. More importantly though I am one of many befitted with a language and access to tools that can learn and then spread word to every inch of our ailing planet.
So, since I have not heard it said recently by anyone on any grand scale:

With every breath we each live a life never felt by another, before or after.
Whilst our every step treads new ground, do not trample on past, present or future,
Tell each other we should know better and think on our own actions.
If you understand this, you are privileged; think about yourself less and others more.
Then go forth. We have 200 years to right too many wrongs and make our home utopia.

over evolved / cloaked in drama.

2006-09-08T22:55:00.000Z

I’m having trouble writing about myself. It is not that I can’t put my life into words, more that it goes by with such drama and speed it is difficult to hang on to it and get it down. Short sentences. Quick fingers, tell it like it is - so they all said, “Beauty and art come from truth, honest expressions of souls.”
“You’re Gay!” others will say.
“No, I am metro-celibate.” I shall proudly respond.

Four sentences with four things from the last four weeks: I took a diving catch low down to my left fielding at shortleg to dismiss a batsman for a golden duck. I took a picture of myself giving a two-finger salute to the White House. I took a £10,000 loan out over the Internet without meeting a single human face then cancelled it an hour later. I took cover from one of my best mates and my ex-girlfriend, who just got back from a year in Australia; where they miraculously ended up together. If I needed a fifth example: I took back my MP3 player to my electronic retailer for the third time this year.
And people say all I do is give.

My case: Supposedly living the height of civilisation, modernity and evolution I have been gifted with a generous, if not extravagant upbringing and education in the home counties of England. Turning 21 and graduating in the year 2000, I was raised through Thatcher and Blair by my divorced Mother under the reign of QEII.

Many humans throughout the world and all of history would look at the technologically and industrially enriched, even manicured life I have lead and long for it, perhaps in place of their own existance. Increasingly though it seems, I care less and less for our continual advancement - we have already come too far - too quickly. I claim to be part of an over evolved generation; it makes one unhappy because the advertised world we were raised on is not ready for us, nor seemingly will it ever be. No wonder there are many that realise this truth and simply give up. My work here is to explain, through the sum total of my own education and life experience, the plight of the C21st man. How the luxury of modern life breeds unhappiness in model male citizens, as they make their way through it.

To put forth an initial thesis, I blame Darwin and Freud. The former for my ability to observe the complexities of my own modernisation and evolution; the latter for my analysis and explanation of my place in this civilisation. My understanding of the process of putting my modern life in to words comes from a more cotemporary range of literary, philosophical and metaphysical backgrounds, HH The Dalai Lama, C. Bukowski, D. Adams, HS Thompson, to throw some names out with considered abandonment. You may know none of them, it could be argued that the correct one is still currently living, but it is not a debate that I, nor any of those fine gentlemen, would get involved in.

metro-celibate – Despite the fact I’m attempting write poetry for a living I never crossed my mind to be a homosexual. Indeed I was a practising heterosexual, but seeing the errors of many ways I chose to bypass metro-sexuality for metro-celibacy. If nothing else it’s safer this way. Cheaper too.

Marcus Woodrow's shortleg catch

2006-09-07T12:04:00.000Z

A. Falkon of the Ancient Mariners was bowling accurate wrist spin to the feet of novice batsmen and it was working. He’d just clean bowled the last fellow, clipping the leg bail with a ball that pitched on at least off stump if not outside.
Clapping the new man toward the crease from a squarish mid-on, I was sure there would be an attempt to get bat on the next ball. My stride towards the wicket widened as I saw the chap taking guard with inappropriate black training shoes. This was every inch a village cricket number 10 batsmen.
Walking in, I was perhaps 8 feet short and square on the leg as the ball pitched, turned with a pop and was glanced down to leg by the backfooted batsman. It was with a jump and a stretch but not a leap I descended towards the path of the cherry projectile.
My knee dug in to the turf as the ball would have grounded, save for my fingers underneath it. The prize came up in the claw and was offered to the umpire, but the sighs of the batsman and cheers of the fielders spoke for him.
I looked to see the new Primary Club eligible walking, distraught, his plight shared by all who have also suffered a first ball dismissal. Still, catcher and bowler, then fielders celebrated on, “Mariners! Hat-Trick Ball…”
Though the master spinner never got his hat-trick, he got his fifer and it was a winning performance which made four victories in a row. Our late august form was blossoming. Jugs anyone?!
Also See: Cricket.

Up, up, and going away…again

2006-08-29T16:46:00.000Z

Gutted in seat 26J of UA938 would like to report he has been some what of a fucking twat. He was meant to pack in his laptop bag for this flight a CDR/DVD drive so he could watch either of the kung fu films that he chose to bring along on this trip to the home of the cubs, bulls, bears and white socks. Unfortunately I decided that the CDR/DVD drive I brought with me for the laptop I am currently travelling with would be better safely tucked in a flight case awaiting shipment to Washington DC for next weeks conference. Meanwhile I am somewhere over the Atlantic ocean struggling to keep abreast of my fingers as I type up what has been an eventful if not rock n roll few days. Since that is my only option at this removable media deprived time. We shall start with the statistics. Time: my watch says 1am, don’t believe the lies; it is in a corrupted time zone. Altitude: 10972m (36,000ft), Distance travelled: 3192km, Tail wind: 31mph, Time at destination: 7am, Ground speed: 507mph, Outside air temp: -53OC, Time since departure: 3:30, Distance travelled 3272KM. In short somewhere off the southerly tip of Greenland and feeling like taking a few wickets in the cricket match I shall definitely make it home for.
I just realised this shit is going straight on my blog as soon as I have access to the outside world of the internet, which, alas, premium economy does not afford me. I’ve paid out £20 over the last 4 days for gin on aeroplanes, I’m currently sat in a window seat with a laptop running on dual battery power, which although good for writing incessantly, it brings disappointment in so far as I would rather be doing anything other than that which I do best, i.e. give me bad kung fu films over knocking out the novels, whatever time zone I happen to be in. The guy in the aisle seat next to me is asleep under one of the blankets they give you, he didn’t pay out for the gin like I did, in fact I think I am the only person below business and first class to realise the benefit that booze affords you on long haul flights. Still it makes you need to urinate incessantly which is never good a good thing when confined to an enclosed window seat, such is that where I currently reside. Luckily it becomes less of a problem when you have done nothing but watch incredulous action movies for 3 hours and you can subsequently bound yards in milliseconds without waking those beneath your leaps; as has just been proven.
That which I drank at the airport consisting of rum and gin, helped me through take off, in that I remember and was conscience for push back, but as far as take off goes I just remember the thrust of the engines and thinking, “Yep we’re up”. Throughout take off my MP3 player had been secretly tucked in action, one headphone secreted into an ear pressed against a provided pillow, which was in turn pressed up against the side of the aircraft. The lead from the solitary head phone draped down inside my t-shirt and connected to the player in my pocket; in complete disrespect of airline rules which determine that any electronic device should be switched off during take off and for at least 10mins after. Still that is not the worst of my transgressions; much worse is the two packets of matches I have secreted in my hand luggage, which as I was told a thousand times must not contain anything. On the way out I was bright enough to realise that if I needed to smoke something upon immediate exit from the airport, as all should, it’s best to put lighting materials in checked in luggage. However, that level of mental faculty let alone the matches I had on the way out were certainly not present for the journey home; the matches having been saturated by a thunderstorm I got myself caught up in. Instead I just stuck two books of matches from the hotel in my carry on bags, more as an act of insubordination rather than a test of security. Apparently it’s not that full proof, still that’s no reason to set fire to a vehicle carrying 250 people at 11000m at 500mph. Though there is a lot to be said for the battery 8.5 hours remaining and I could be typing when the aircraft re embarks for wherever it goes from Heathrow, but I think I’ll sleep until landing, then jump in a taxi home. Until the next flight…

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Pampered of seat 60k on BA217 would like to report that in the last five days my experience of air travel has varied as widely and greatly as that of the leaves in the garnish that accompanied the salad I had for starter. Residing on the upper deck of this 747, it seems in the air at least – the class system is alive, healthy and as discriminatory as ever – and why should it not be?! I have no reason for my surprise upgrade other than the glint in my eyes, frequent travel and company paid ticket – I am not wearing a suit – although, as always, I was carrying a laptop! There is many a seat available in the business section; it seems strange to be sat in the lap of luxury having so recently felt the full restrictions of economy – or even premium economy class but should I in the name of my politics turndown the offer? The flowing and free gin and tonics would suggest nay. Despite the guilt and loss of political integrity I take on these rewards of luxury more as a pre-requisite to travel rather than an undeserved over indulgence. It is something I have become accustomed to, not necessarily deserving of, but as I remarked in my journal earlier I work hard and am rarely rewarded for it. That journal entry having been made sat in the airport bar prior to boarding the aircraft, it should be noted my presence there was due to the fact that while my upgrade afforded me the leisure of ‘fast-track’ through security and boarding, it did not give the much sought after access to the airport lounge, where true decadence and inebriation begin. Thus I was with the minions and masses prior to boarding and as I also remarked in handwritten scrawl, in these poor last few days before payday it was nice to feel the pain of a bulging belly as I tucked into my expenses paid breakfast with in the smoking section. My stomach has swelled further since then, had I been required to select a dessert from the in flight menu I probably would have foregone the chance, as it was, I declined the offer of it when it came by on the trolley. The first two courses of my in-flight culinary experience would normally be sufficient to keep me going for in excess of 24 hours. But this is taking full advantage of that which is on offer, as one should with unexpected upgrades.
It had all been mentally projected so differently, starved of sleep I would be hunched in economy watching a film, clambering for booze until my eyes closed for as long as possible and I could escape to the relative peace of in-flight rest. But now with the confused clock telling me its early afternoon and the gin telling me to write; sleep seems a strange prospect and the horrendous selection of cinematic entertainment merely a distraction from the commentary of my life – which I, perhaps alone, hold so dear. I think its right that the work of any author is worthless before his 30th birthday, yet I would say at the tender age of 27 this, for me, has come and gone. May be at 25 my writing was immature, limited and lacking direction or life experience, now I feel 50, wizened, crafted and astute. I might as well be published, knocking out my next novel or serialisation on this plane, my fingers prancing over the laptop keyboard. Instead I sit here on the verge of sending my first work off to prospective agents, publishers and editors this coming Monday. My shit is good – that much I know – but who do I send it to – and why should they be so fortunate to have first refusal of my work. Perhaps it’s the gin or the business class seat, but I don’t know how many of those privileged enough to live in these civilised heights have either the inclination or the vocabulary to describe it. I wish I could say this is written for the man on the opposite side of the screen from my backward facing airline seat, but it is for the eyes and minds of the future. Contemporary literature leaves me bored if not sleeping, though just as words from the past fascinate me, I would hope writing from this day and age would absorb those of the future. Such it is to live in times of great change; almost everything in my daily life is unrecognisable to those of perhaps 3 genuine generations ago. This is a button activated world and why it may not be important to know which buttons to press it is important to realise that sometimes it best to conceive of reality before you put it into words – in this task alone, here I have failed. But that is not to say I can not express that with the same eloquence as the point I was trying to make. The lack of sleep and the gin is taking hold it’s time to do the custom forms and then sleep for an hour or 3.
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61F of BA292 is back in economy and ready to explode. Or at least I had been, I was forced to move forward into the empty carriage of world traveller plus to type this, there was simply no room back there either to write or explode. I can count perhaps six people in the 5 rows of 8 higher comfort seats on this side of the dividing curtain. I had to make a break for it; I had started to make gnashing noises at the guys sat in the seats in front of me, both of them in fully reclined positions. Having already scraped the contents from my nose and deposited it on his hair and continually kicked the back of his chair for 5 minutes it was time to escape the stress. I said ‘guys’ in front because I was actually lucky enough to have a spare seat next to me, the tray table of which I was using to rest my laptop on after the person directly in front of me crushed the screen into my face as he reclined, but then as the other guy, or perhaps moron is a more acceptable term, also reclined, my laptop was forced to a 45o angle making it somewhat difficult to type and see the screen. It is ridiculous that when you only have 12inches of space between you and the person behind, you should be able to oppress them further by reclining the chair, leaving about 6inches between back of head and nose. I also saw someone on the other side of the aisle in a similar predicament, although much larger than me they were unable to even make it from their seat to the bathroom because of the recliner in front. These are the selfish people of the world and economy class highlights the effect they have on simple living folk. Even though I only had a minute elderly Japanese lady in the seat behind me, I would never think to press that button and move myself towards her, even though she was fast asleep. Luckily for me, just as I was starting to think my behaviour was irrational and the effect of being spoilt by my recent business class experience I looked over to see the man in front was actually reading the Da Vinci code, this is after it has been and gone from the cinema, so I knew I was right, he too was a moron. If that bloody book should go on to become a classic of my generation and my work remains unpublished, I’ll perhaps rethink matters – but for the time being – I would assert I am just and he is a fucking prick.
However, it is noted that the oppression, anger and stress that has cursed through my veins since checking in and realising I was restricted to the economy cabin might be due to me having become accustomed to travelling at a higher class. Yet I would assert karma has treated me badly today. It can’t of course treat people badly, it is what it is - and it is us with our conditioned perceptions that make it into a good or bad thing. I suppose in this instance I feel hard done by because I recently carried out one of my greatest selfless acts, again this is all confined by perception and conditioning. As I left the hotel in the USA’s capital the morning before last (depending on your time zone) I witnessed a magnificent site that set a broad grin across my face. A Krispee Kreme delivery driver was doing his rounds and had stopped outside an office block; from the back of his van he loaded up another guy with arms outstretched with tray after tray of doughnuts, it was a joy to stare at from across the street and I did. As the delivery driver was just shutting the doors to the van he looked across and saw me – stopped dead in my tracks. “You’ve got the best fucking job in the world, man” I exclaimed at him. Then, with an action that will confuse me until I leave for the bright white light of death, he took a box of doughnuts out and held them in my direction. “You want some?” he yelled at me, then burst into laughter probably upon seeing my eyes bulge as I stepped into the road and began to cross regardless of on coming traffic. “Wow, you sure?” I asked as I got nearer, “Yeah, my man, no worries” he replied. I was stunned and stood shaking my head as I took the box of 6 raspberry filled glazed doughnuts from him. “That’s amazing, so kind” were about the only words to drip from my amazed face. He followed up my mumblings by shocking me further, “You want some more?” Glancing into the back of the van and seeing it packed high with shelf after shelf and box after box of doughnuts my reserved Englishness took over, “Nah, I can’t do that, man”, I must have sounded sad and shook my head he was taken a back as he said “Why not?” There was no logical reason; this was the be all and end all of sugared snacks, the like of which in the UK are reserved for special occasions, being offered to me for free. Yet, reasoning was required and I managed to say “I got a long way to walk, I can’t carry anymore – or I’d take everything you could give me”, he smiled as we shook hands. “Ok man, well you enjoy and take it easy” he said fastening his van doors. “Yeah, you too and like I said – best fucking job in the world man!” Laughing we went our separate ways, hopefully each feeling an added spring to our step. I know I did as I headed off to the Jefferson Memorial, doughnuts in hand.
Moments later he drove by and honked (as he would no doubt say) at me and I waved furiously. “God bless America” It’s the first time I’ve ever said those words without a hint of jest and they came to me before I had a chance to realise what I was saying. Striding down the concrete sidewalk I thought of the permutations of the situation, what he thought of me and how it had come to be. “Probably his first and last day on the job” I imagined, “just driving round handing out doughnuts to people!” Just then as I was, for a change, admiring the land of the free, rather than bemoaning it, the reality of the place hit me - as it always does. Crossing under a bridge I saw and smelled the dwellings of a homeless person. There was a makeshift mattress to the side of the pavement with a threadbare blanket, some bags of trash (as he would call it), a pile of newspapers, and even some torn books. This was advanced vagrancy, the guy had obviously been there sometime, with a smile I placed the doughnuts, none too carefully, on the pile of books, knocking a couple off the pile. I hoped it would be a nice present to come home to, that is if he had one. It was a selfless act, especially taking into account my love for the doughnuts, but I’d had a $20 breakfast at a 5star hotel that morning, I didn’t need them. As I walked on…
Apologies - my sentence was just interrupted by a member of the cabin crew asking me, none too politely, to return to my original seat, they are the policewomen of the sky, engrossed in their power trips. I am now back behind the recliners, my laptop forced upon me with my elbows raised and extended as I struggle to type. Get to the back of the bus, – it seems the karma and class train rolls on in the skies of our world.
…. I realised there in lies the problem with America and its people, they love what they have, are thankful for it and proud of their achievements but it is a vast place and there are many without the trappings of the dream like lifestyle they aspire to. Furthermore, not often enough do those share the dream with those who can’t afford it. I guess it’s the same everywhere, but in the US it’s more noticeable because of the outlandish divides between rich and poor. There are, in short, enough doughnuts to go round, you just have to buy your own and pass on the free ones to those that can’t afford them.
Karma it seems didn’t care for my selfless act which I thought would at least get me an upgrade to business. But as a forceful ejection from the next cabin has proved – sometimes there is no pleasing that which is unaware. Oh well, it’s an hour and half until landing, best try to get some sleep, or at least mediate for a bit. I remembered the CDR\DVD drive this time, but I can’t see the screen on my laptop to put it to use, may be I’ll watch it at home and try to avoid long haul flights for a while.

dispell despair

2006-08-22T12:16:00.000Z

Do not despair for despairs sake. Save it for when all else is lost and wrong.

When the wages from a job you hate barely cover the debts you have nothing to show for,
And there is little left from which to afford food or find fun.
When you live in world that is dying and no one with the power cares to save it.
When you realise the futility of friendship or family, as each lives and dies alone.
When tiredness rules conciousness and reality only brings more pain.
There is only the hope of whims and prayers that do not dispell despair,
but just give the illusion of freedom from it.

For me, it is the toil of my pen that saves my soul from the suffering of existance.