2013 the year of… STOP IT!!!

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I have always been un-enamoured by New Years. Probably because it is essentially a time where we all give ourselves the excuse to blatantly lie; and that is not only regarding everyone’s ‘serious this time’ resolutions. No, the New Year is all encompassing in its egotistical drivel. A New Year brings along with itself a revisionist sentiment towards the last, which time and time again we all manage to fall for, even though the events where literally a couple months ago. Everyone is so desperate to make these lists and countdowns, that they forget the actual significance of any of it.

With an old year gone we must find a way to remember it, and sadly that always is done in the wrong ways. We pick out certain trends and certain events, and summarise a complete year to just that. If  I ask you to describe the 70’s it is pretty much unlikely you will tell me any interesting events that weren’t extremely major, and instead of remembering it in any depth or understanding , you will probably just talk about things like; hippies, blaxploitation, long hair, flairs, punk and the other tropes we have built around that age. We slowly morph huge durations of times, feelings and movements into weird distorted tropes.

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If we can do this to a whole entire decade, imagine what we can do with a small year.

‘The 70’s was a time of change’. Now honestly look back on the past year you have experienced and without the droning voices of those darn listers, please try to summarise your 2013, please. See, every experience in such a huge block of time cannot be equated to something as simple as a sentence.

But I will assure you that is what will happen

‘2013 the year of …..’

And that is why I am totally against New Years because in all honesty – it is full of crap. I am tired of people doing the same thing to all of human history (not only just the 70’s). Because history is the most important thing we have to navigate ourselves through the present. History in its nature is repetitive, and if we hold with us no real understanding of what came before it leaves us all lost out here. It leads us to repeating mistakes and it prevents use being able to build ourselves a better society.

I still find it hard to understand why we put so much emphasis on it anyway, all it is is a New Year. Don’t we all realise by now as long as we keep living we are always at the furthest point in human history. We always live in the new. Every day is literally a new day that has never been experienced before. Every second we live is new. Every millisecond is new. And they are all fleeting. Why don’t we appreciate that gift? We live at the precipice of the future. And so we can directly influence the future. We have such power. And if we realise how fleeting the present is more often it may push us off are bums, and make us actually do something. To actually make more changes, and to not confine oneself to a resolution but to do something every day.

http://youtu.be/-kl4hJ4j48s

Maybe if we drop the significance of New Years and eras in general we would have a much greater understanding of history and a much more exciting present. Or maybe I am once again being overly critical of a mindless, fun event.

Learning To Ride a Bike : Overdue, But Worth It.

I hate is when they laugh at it. ‘It is not a joke’ I tell them, but by the time they find out it’s already too late. I am not a man to them any more.

Most men are insecure about; how strong they are, how little girls they pick up, and the size of their cock, but I on the other hand have an insecurity much greater, a gaping hole in a nearly finished package. I try to keep it a secret, but it is time to come out. I can’t ride a bike. There, I said it. I am ashamed. And with curse of anti-cyclism, I am afraid I will always be a child.

However that is all going to change soon. Tomorrow I am going to learn! No matter how ridiculous it looks that I will be a grown person, in a public park, in central London learning what 6 year olds can do with no hands, I am still pumped. Overdue but so worth it.  Wish me luck! And I will keep you updated no matter how many bruises I gain on the journey.

Microscopic Imperfections

Imperfection is the only thing that is certain. Everything from the overwhelmingly large to the inconceivably small can be certain of one rule – every rule is made to be broken.

An incense stick burns. A line of smoke ascends from the black tip straight up, perfectly aimed and calculated. 90 °. This is the work of millions of particles. The minuteness of it all so overwhelmingly large when you see the single atoms that create this grey stream. It continues up straight as a ruler. But like everything – there is an imperfection. There is one atom out of place. One microscopic indecency. One atom out of the billions. Then the perfection topples and falls over itself. In turmoil as it meshes and distorts, its smoke reaching out and winding itself together again like a helter skelter ; desperately trying to rewind it self together as it spreads infinitely apart. But it can’t regain perfection. It is now plummeting upward in a beautiful imperfection.The line was made to topple. The wool was made to unravel.The empire made to fall. All because of something as minute as a single atom amongst billions. But something small is always the catalyst for something great. Aeons ago their was an imperfection – an infinitely small dense point suddenly just went bang, and created the shrapnel we now call home.

Yes, the only thing one can expect is imperfection. That is my state of mind for everything. Nothing ever goes to plan – but that is not a bad thing. Imperfection is the great sadness and gift of life. It is never going to change; we all just got to embrace it.

When Shit Hits the Fan 2 – One Flip-flop,Torn Shirt, Dripping with Sweat and Blood

Don’t trust Love, Birds or Hallways. This is how my phobia begins.

You can tell a lot about someone through how they react to a situation. Yes, when shit hits the fan that is when you can sus a person.

Salerno. 2011. I stayed in the most beautiful hostel ever. The very European brick building stood up at the top of a cobbled street that interlinked with narrow Italian passages. Downstairs in the courtyard there where coy swimming in a pond, green vines climbing the uneven stone walls that surrounded us, and tables laid for morning breakfast and evening meals. We stayed right at the top so that we could see the whole town and the vast ocean. Round midnight the boats glowed up the deep blue of the sea like stars in the night sky. The line between water and the galaxy was so faint it was as though the boats where drifting through the heavens. There was no air-con, but that was not a problem if you opened the windows. Yes, all you had to do was open the windows, but if you have learnt anything from part 1 opening windows is a bad fucking idea.

Infatuation usually wears off, but I loved this place like a mother. Coming back from another day of enjoying myself, I had officially decided I was in nirvana. I walked through the wide hallway out of my room to go downstairs. In the corner I saw two birds (or what I thought where birds).

I didn’t make out much but I saw the two of them. It was cute, they danced with each other like old lovers. I wished I had a camera. They must have come through the open window. As the flying waltz continued they got closer, but I enjoyed the beauty. I got on the lift. I looked at them once more. The way their wings moved was so weird, I had never seen anything like it. The matt black of their exterior was unusual. It was almost as though they had skin or a shell. Then something happened I would never forget. One looked back at me. Its two red eyes stared right at me and immediately I knew they were fucking coming for me…

I nearly fucking shat myself. I had already pressed my stop. And before the lift door closed one of them got in. It was shooting about, like a ricochet bullet. I stayed in the corner still. That’s what you are supposed to do right; stay still?  Be quiet?  Well evidently Bear Grylls is a liar. I pressed the open button as quietly and steadily as possible calming myself down, but it hit me hit me. I pushed it away and desperately tried again to press the open button. It kept swopping down trying to bite me or scratch me, I felt a tear in my shirt but didn’t want to look up. I pissed a little in absolute shock (a manly piss of course). I was confined and it got more aggressive. But through the weird kindness of fate the door opened. I misinterpreted this gesture, fate just wanted to make things a little more fun to watch. The door opened and I missed its next hard swoop.

I was on the same floor. I was thankful to not be confined. But now there two of those motherfuckers. I ran down one side of the hallway. As fast as I could as the two fuckers came for me. I made my way to the balcony of the hallway and had managed to cut my foot while running in my overly large flip-flops. My body ignored the pain. I caught my breath as I closed the balcony door, I thought I was free. But these where smart creatures.

One of them went through one window. And one of them headed towards me in the hallway, waiting for me. I was surrounded and trapped on the small balcony as they swooped towards me. The question now was Fight or Flight?

Both. I picked up a crappy plastic chair opened the door and ran towards one screaming. Simultaneously I ran away from the other. I through the chair straight at the motherfucker in front, and ran down the hallway from the other I didn’t look back. A flip flop fell off, I couldn’t even think of picking it because this time around the creatures weren’t chasing me for fun. It was serious. They wanted revenge. I ran away like never before. I mad it to the stairs and I ran down five flights to the courtyard. I had made it.

As I walked through the courtyard everyone watched. I stood there in my torn shirt, with one flip-flop, sweaty, out of breathe with a bleeding foot and said nothing. I wondered whether anyone ever investigated what had happened that night, why I was the way I was, why there was a chair and lone flip flop in the hallway, who’s screams came from upstairs, and why I always shut the hallway doors until I left. Don’t trust Love, Birds or Hallways. Ever.

When shit hits the fan; Brie she solves it.

When shit hits the fan I throw a fucking chair at it, run and don’t look back.

New part coming soon