The word psychotic often is used as a derogatory remark, it sparks fear in our heads. And the even more clinical-sounding psychosis makes me think of it as an actual condition not reserved to the few in mental institutions.
I have been reading Marya Hornbacher’s Madness: A Bipolar Life, in which she describes at one point having a psychotic break (meaning the first time you break into psychosis) & believing that she is a millionaire high-society lady that should be treated with utmost respect due to her superior station.

This threw me for a loop considering I have never been told what psychosis feels like, only textbook descriptions from the outside of what it looks like.
Her descriptions of the sights, sounds, tastes & feelings of psychosis almost surprised me because like many people something as serious as psychosis frightens us to no end & to hear of someone I feel I know almost intimately from her writing, experiencing this lessened the stigma I had about it.

Because after all, she is not forever tainted by the fact that she has endured psychosis, unable to give us all her life story & insight into the life of a person with bipolar.
I am surprised that it surprised me, oh well she’s been psychotic, maybe it isn’t the end-all of end-alls. Even the most open-minded & accepting people must admit that we’ve unduly labeled some people as damaged goods, (was once psychotic!) it is more terrifying to those who do not understand it.

I hardly ever hear of what people experiencing delusions of any kind are feeling, how they feel rather than just a description by the DSM of what it looks like, what to ‘watch out for’ as if it is a monster hiding around the corner ready to steal our sanity at any moment.
Maybe the fear is rooted in our fear that it could happen to anyone, or maybe because it is an unknown to us.
Whatever it is we’re truly afraid of in regards to psychosis, I have lost some of my fear, this may sound odd but it does’t seem as crazy as I once thought it to be.

This mad man Schumann has me by the throat
And he doesn’t seem to want to let me go.

I know as much about music as a horse
knows about mathematics, probably less
since some horses count, others dance
like the one I saw on “Your Show of Shows”
one Sunday night fifty or more years ago.

But, I feel Schumann’s thumb on my carotid pulse,
His long fingers meeting at the back of my neck;
Long enough to span two octaves they said.
This is no simple caress!

He whispers, “Play this!”
And presses a shivering chord down my neck.
But, I can only listen.
“Listen then,” he says, “And I will be neither
Mad nor dead.”

Is it because it’s not as exciting reading blogs from someone whose heart isn’t shattered in a zillion pieces and lying around?

Is it because it’s not as exciting without all the drama going on in random directions all over the comments section?

Is it because all the sadness

(madness)

(darkness)

is gone?

I now realize it gave you immense joy. You logged on especially for that.

Well. Sorry to disappoint.

]]> http://spiderplant88.wordpress.com/2009/11/29/the-mental-weather-apocalypse/ Sun, 29 Nov 2009 12:29:21 +0000 Lisa Harding http://spiderplant88.wordpress.com/2009/11/29/the-mental-weather-apocalypse/ http://russl.wordpress.com/2009/11/29/lots-of-things-to-see-and-do-in-the-west-midlands-december-2009/ Sun, 29 Nov 2009 12:07:58 +0000 Russ L http://russl.wordpress.com/2009/11/29/lots-of-things-to-see-and-do-in-the-west-midlands-december-2009/

I’m sure there must be lots more lovely Christmas stuff, but I can’t seem to find very much of it. Nuts to New Year. This is the West Midlands, not Scotland.

Standard disclaimers: I can’t ensure that these events will go ahead, that they’ll be good, or that I will be going to them. This is just a list of things I found that looked like they might be interesting, so please do not contact me to ask for your event to be included. That’s not the way it works.

Until Saturday the 6th of Feb – “George’s Marvellous Medicine” (Birmingham Stage Company) @ The Old Rep, Birmingham – Mixing up everything in your medicine cabinet is not recommended at home, kids. Unless you’re genuinely thirsty.

Until Saturday the 9th of January – “A Christmas Carol” (Birmingham Rep Theatre Company) @ The Rep Theatre, Birmingham – Seems fair to me to say that “Marley was dead: to begin with” is the second greatest opening line in all of literature.

Between Tuesday the 1st and Saturday the 19th – A whole tonne of Capsule stuff to celebrate ten years of ‘em @ various venues in Brum – There’s loads of stuff. I’ll list the lot (and just link to their event pages) for the sake of completeness, so this doesn’t mean I’m seriously recommending SunnO)))~!111: Monotonix, Esquilax, Beestung Lips and Cum Dogs at Vivid in Digbeth on the 1st; Tunng, Six Organs Of Admittance, Lightning Dust And Bella Emerson at the Town Hall on the 2nd (this is the one I’m most looking forward to); Lightning Bolt, Tweak Bird and Pete Prescription at Vivid on the 8th; Sunno)))}}}]]] and Om at The Asylum in Hockley on the tenth; Pram and Light Trap at Vivid on the 11th; a free afternoon film showing at Vivid on the 13th with a buffet and pictures provided by 7 Inch Cinema; Beak, Einstellung and Thought Forms at Vivid on the 16th; some sort of evening social or suchlike at Vivid on the 17th; and a final partay with Modified Toy Orchestra, PCM, Calvados Beam Trio, Una Corda and Stinky Wizzleteat at Vivid on the 19th. You owe me a pint if I’ve managed to put all of those links in without cocking up the code at all.

Tuesday the 1st – Alice Cooper @ The Civic Hall, Wolverhampton – Giving a golf seminar, perhaps.

Thursday the 3rd till Saturday the 12th (but not the 7th) – Aston Hall By Candlelight @ Aston Hall, Aston, Birmingham – This year themed around the Victorian household entertaining a royal visitor.

Thursday the 3rd till Saturday the 5th – “The Just Price Of Flowers” (Stan’s Café) @ A.E. Harris, Jewellery Quarter, Birmingham – Inspired by Brecht, but not actually one of his (apparently there has been some confusion). Parallels are drawn between modern-day financial nuttery and 17th century Dutch tulip nuttery.

Friday the 4th – Chris Addison @ The Wulfrun Hall, Wolverhampton – Ollie Ollie Ollie, Oi Oi Oi.

Various dates between Saturday the 5th and Saturday the 19th – Verdi’s “Othello” (Birmingham Opera Company) @ The Argyle Works, Bordesley, Birmingham – Birmingham Opera Company’s version of “Idomeneo” last year was greater than great can be. Judging by the postcode, the venue for this should be somewhere in the general vicinity of here.

Friday the 5th – Frank Sidebottom @ The Wulfrun Hall, Wolverhampton – Fantastic showbusiness.

Saturday the 5th – Boxing (dunno who’s promoting) @ The Hilton Hotel, Coventry – Including Max “Max” Maxwell vs Martin Concepcion, in what must be Max’s 381,789th Midlands area title match (EDIT: or 4th, if you want to be boring and accurate).

Sunday the 6th – Madball @ Busk, Birmingham – Hardcore for tuphguyzzz. I will forever maintain that “Droppin’ Many Suckers” is one of the greatest names that anyone ever has called and ever could call an album.

Monday the 7th – The Unthanks @ The Wulfrun Hall, Wolverhampton – North-Eastern folkifiers formerly known as “Rachel Unthank And The Winterset”. I’m glad they’ve changed their name. OtherUnthankSister didn’t outwardly appear to do any less than Rachel, so it’s fairer this way.

Tuesday the 8th – Jodi Ann Bickley @ The Hare & Hounds, Kings Heath, Birmingham – Interesting and endearing poetry, happening at the same time as the ’Freestyle’ photography exhibiton.

Wednesday the 9th – Alexander O’Neal @ The Civic Hall, Wolverhampton – Or rather “80s soul nuisance Alexander O’Neal”, as the in-joke that you won’t get has it.

Wednesday the 9th – Seth Lakeman @ The Wulfrun Hall, Wolverhampton – Frequently fancied fiddler fascinates folks (with) folk.

Wednesday the 9th – The Bookhouse Boys @ The Hare & Hounds, Kings Heath, Birmingham – Like Tindersticks on holiday in Hawaii, or somesuch.

Wednesday the 9th – “Arc” (with Graft) @ The Vaults, Jewellery Quarter, Birmingham – The first of a new monthly art night, with a different set of artists each time. Here ‘Graft’ (whoever they might be) will bring a Jewellery-with-other-meanings exhibition from “The Institute Of Meaningful Interaction” and artist Mark Baldwin appearing as part of the structure of the building. Apparently. All very vague as a result of the fact that no sod seems to have a web presence because… I don’t know why not. I love The Vaults, though, it’s a great place.

Thursday the 10th – Madness @ The Academy, Birmingham – Mavva Brahn’s got her knees up, presumably in the process of skanking. This one is (unsurprisingly) sold out, but they’re also at The Civic on the 17th.

Friday the 11th – “Resistance, Revolt, Rebellion: A Double Bill of Civil Disobedience” (Kindandgenerous Productions and Emma Purshouse) @ The Arena Theatre, Wolverhampton – In Love And Taxes, current Brum poet laureate Adrian Johnson and Jessi of Eastfield bring songs and stories recalling the popular opposition to the poll tax. In “Are You Sitting Comfortably?”, Emma Purshouse tell poems of “rebellion, revolution and armchair inactivism”.

Sunday the 13th – Basement Jaxx @ The Civic Hall, Wolverhampton – Let’s all have a disco, let’s all have a disco.

Sunday the 13th – Depeche Mode @ The LG Arena, Marston Green, Birmingham – A band who I’d say have been quite the unsung influence on quite a fair bit of music in recent years.

Tuesday the 15th – Public Image Limited @ The Academy, Birmingham – Given that my LOTTSADITWM often feature metal and boxing, it seems only too apt that a band who put out an album called “Metal Box” should be in here. Also: post-punk legends, Country Life butter etc.

Wednesday the 16th till Sunday the 20th – “The Snow Queen” (Screamingvoiceyouththeatre) @ The Arena Theatre, Wolverhampton – Screamingvoice etc.etc. are absolutely ace, they really are.

Wednesday the 16th – Nile @ The Wulfrun Hall, Wolverhampton – Ancient Egyptian themed death metal, and I can’t see how you could possibly think that isn’t the best idea ever. Nothing I’ve ever heard by them is quite as good as the concept, but Krisiun are on the bill too and they’ll blow your earwax free (I mean that in a good way).

Wednesday the 16th – The Pogues @ The Academy, Birmingham – [Slur]Dirty old Towwwwwwwwwwn…[/slur]

Friday the 18th until Friday the 9th of January – Funworld @ The NEC, Marston Green, Birmingham – I don’t see how anyone could dislike a world of fun. It’s a huge indoor funfair (including, apparently, a “300ft bungee slingshot”. Indoors, I’ll repeat with vague concern) and has to win the all-time title for “event I’ve been handed the largest number of the same flyer for”.

Saturday the 21st – The Beat’s xmas party @ The Asylum, Hockley, Birmingham – 30 years since they started, apparently (see also the 27th).

Monday the 21st – The Wildhearts @ The Wulfrun Hall, Wolverhampton – My unbroken run of not managing to see any Wildhearts or Wildhearts-related gigs since 2001 will definitely continue here. They’re still ace though.

Monday the 21st – Musical Youth @ The Hare & Hounds, Kings Heath, Birmingham – Don’t take the mick, you know which way you need to pass it.

Wednesday the 23rd until Sunday the 3rd of January – “The Gruffalo (Tall Stories) @ The Town Hall, Birmingham – They had The Gruffalo plodding along as part of the Reindeer Parade in town recently. I thought he was cute.

Friday the 25th – IT’S CHRIIISTMUUUUUUS!

Sunday the 27th – Drongos For Europe’s xmas party @ the Asylum, Hockley, Birmingham – 30 years since they started, apparently (see also the 21st).

Lea growled, but followed.

Lea looked around.

Lea muffled a snicker.

Lea shrugged, “What?”

Lea almost shouted.

Reid laughed behind her.

Lea’s watch beeped.

Lea nodded.

Lea considered herself lucky.

Lea’s eyes almost popped out of her head.

Reid’s face lit up.

Lea admitted.

Lea shrugged.

Lea smiled a little.

Kick ass, Lea!

Reid sounded furious.

Reid obeyed.

Lea’s stomach growled.

Reid looked wary.

Church left with Grant.

Lea did a double-take.

Church quirked an eyebrow.

“Give Lea Mr. Carmichael’s regards.”

Lea was now Reid’s honorary nurse.

Fox was here .

“Nothing happened, Lea.”

Reid whimpered, “Or surgery…”

Reid reeled backwards, clutching his jaw.

Lea didn’t even know people read those anymore.

What the heck, Reid?

Jeez, Reid’s grandmother was sneaky.

WORD COUNT: 45,870

DAYS LEFT: 2

WORDS LEFT: 4,130

Oh, my. How on earth am I going to do this? Wish me luck, my microscopic amount of readers. I’m going to need it.

At just a little after four in the afternoon
My wife brought me a bag of popcorn.
I was listening to a symphony by Schumann
Who ended up in some asylum.  Tragic.  German.
Romantic.  The symphony was his first one.

She, my wife, put her own popcorn and a beer
On the table near the green corduroy chair
She sat in.  It’s by the window where
She likes to sit and read when we are here
As we are now for the first time in three years.

Just four feet or so between us, she with her
Beer and popcorn; and me with mine that’s for sure.
I was thinking I just may be the first ever
To sit in this room, or anywhere for that matter,
And take in Schumann, beer in one hand
popcorn in the other.

I think Schumann would get a kick out of that.
And, just now, as the french horns announce  a great
Change in the weather within I wonder if he had
Me and today in mind while he was going slowly mad;
With that graceful animated allegro at the end.

The students had always found this teacher to be intelligent, and thoughtful. He never censored them, and was interested in their opinions. They respected him, and thought him a good teacher.

On Thursday, he came and asked them, “can we just talk?” And so they put the syllabus aside and talked, about philosophy, culture, politics. The big stuff. But there were hints that all was not OK. He divulged embarrassing personal details: he was 30, still lived with his parents, didn’t have a girlfriend.

The next day he came to class, and started the same. He spoke of Nietzsche, Confucious, the Sino-Japanese war, liberty, equality, freedom, the past, the future – but these students weren’t at a level of Unclese where they could fully understand him. But still he spoke, he rambled, on and on. One of the French students described it as, “mettre son âme à nu” – literally, “undress his soul”.

And then, in the midst of this undressing of the soul, he undressed his body as well. For fifteen minutes, in front of a shocked, horrified class, he stood, talked, completely naked.

When this true and scandalous story rippled through the university that day, eventually reaching me in the afternoon, it saddened me greatly, and has haunted me ever since. How desperately lonely he must be. How shocking this act, how incredible, but also how human.

Isn’t that what we all want? For people, for someone to know we exist. Know that I am here. See me for what I really am.

And is this blog not a similar kind of sad, self-exposure?

Only days earlier I read this disconcerting story, of a lonely and isolated Unclese student in Sydney who went mad and stabbed a cabbie to death. There is madness in the air. Do we all stand teetering on the edge? What does it take for someone to so suddenly slip and find themselves falling?

I worry about what prolonged loneliness may do to me.

I met a guy at a party and thought him tall and attractive. I liked how deliberately he talked. He had a masculine presence, and when I talked to him I felt like he was really all there, a full person, giving me his careful, clear and undivided attention. And there was something intriguing about him, he didn’t seem like the rest. And I was certain he too was curious about me.

Then I felt a huge, angry sock in my stomach. No!

Why do I do this? Why do I over romanticise like this? Why do I see magic in a moment that has none? There was no special connection, this isn’t the beginning of a story, of which I am a protagonist. I and he are not interesting, sexy or worthy of writing about. There is nothing and no one in this. We are just two strangers sharing the same space. We are all alone together, not touching.

I blame novels. I blame movies, music and art. But most of all, I blame novels.

I am on the verge of finishing Jean-Paul Satre’s The Age of Reason, and I blame him. Life, and the people in it, will somehow never be as alive as the invented reality of that novel. Because in that fictional existence, every single element has a purpose. Every single thing serves a higher meaning, something concrete and purposeful – the beauty of the narrative.

But in my narrative – that is life – there is no point. Things are just there, for no reason, and they don’t give a fuck about me, and any need for something real, and deliberate.

When this guy saw me, he probably saw an empty body, and felt nothing. When I saw him, there was nothing beyond my projected desire for authenticity, meaning, connection, love, respect, friendship, – and a narrative that has some sort of point, some bracketed subtext where I could say “the reason why this happened is because …, and how extraordinary and worthy it was.”

Instead of being here, like a ghost. All of us living in suspended states, revolving door strangers, together alone, not touching.

L: Mira esta lata, parece que dice ”aaaah!”
H: Parece que dice ”eeeh!”
L: Bueno…pues ”eeeh!”
H: No no, dice ”quiero tener sentimientos, como el hombre” y el hombre dice ” No quiero tener sentimientos, como la lata”

Mz. B.

Port, Gdańsk 2009

Joda

Kiss your chaos – life is a mess anyways.

That’s something I read somewhere and it made me feel pretty good in my everyday chaos. Some people want their every day to be in perfect order. They write to-do-lists about everything,  they plan the whole day from morning till night. Control freaks is a word for those people. The opposite must be a chaos freak – a me. My home is a chaos. My every day is a chaos. My whole life is a chaos. But the thing is that I have allways felt good about living in my chaos. Well, it sometimes happens that I start thinking that maybe it would be smart – just a little – to make some sort of order in my chaos. And when – about once a year – I try to find order, then, POOF! something unexpected pops up. And I go back to my world of chaos.

And the point is that you can’t control life. No matter how much order you keep on your desktop, no matter how well organized your drawer is, no matter how well you plan your day and no matter how many to-do-lists you write for your life, life allways ends up surprising you with unexpected events.

And thus! you can choose one of two ways to go.

1. You can choose to keep on trying to get control of everything in your life.

2. You can choose to kiss your chaos – accept it… even learn to love it.

If you choose number 1, you will – sooner or later – end up on valium or even worse. Because, since life is a thing you can’t control, a real control freak will just have to go nuts trying to do so.

If you choose number 2, you will find out – like I did – that your life, everyday of it, is a matter of chaos, a mess,  no order at all,  not even in your drawer. But – on the other hand – you have not a single moment of stress in you every day since you allready know disasters will happen, you expect them to happen, you even say HELLO and WELCOME when chaos arrives.

So I’ll just repeat now:

Kiss your chaos, life is a mess anyways

Toys R Us was a mitigated disaster–some desires were fulfilled, but the main crux for our being there was destroyed after leaving. We learned that we’d purchased the wrong children’s picnic table. It was an appropriate level of fail that corresponded with the acute measure of suck that comes with standing in the cold for an hour and forty-five minutes, then another hour in the cramped electronics section to purchase some twenty dollar Wii Maracas.

Surprisingly, the boasts from a pack of beastly female locals who promised sexual compensation behind the store for the doorman in exchange for expess entry inside was not as amusing as it was horrifying, no doubt in part because they’d mentioned in conversation amongst themselves that they all had some number of children.

Did pick up 2 copies of Monster Hunter Freedom United for $40 at Gamestop, something my niece and I can play. My design for it is to sew a segue from Pokemon to anything else. She’s eleven. It’s time to put Pikachu away and move on to more adulterated fare (i.e dragon slaying for mad loot).

How far can we go?
Until we hit the rocks.
Until the waves come crashing down.
How long can this madness last?
Until I finaly break.

Where are you, my mad hatter?

Un piccolo compendio di storia della musica popolare:

Nel pieno di un rivolgimento politico (la consunzione del Labour Party e l’avvento dell’era Thatcher) e sociale (l’avvento del punk e delle ribellioni figlie del ‘77) nascevano in Inghilterra una serie di gruppi musicali che portarono grande fermento ed una esplosione del rock inglese a livello mondiale – quella che negli USA fu chiamata la “British Invasion”.

Una delle costole di questo fenomeno si dedicò al recupero ed alla rielaborazione della musica giamaicana, importata dai molti emigranti che dalla colonia venivano a cercare miglior fortuna in Inghilterra. Era il fenomeno della musica SKA. Una delle prime band a vedere un riconoscimento di pubblico la proprio lavoro furono “The Specials“, un gruppo che da Coventry cercava di imporre il “2Tone way of life” ovvero, prendendo spunto del bianco/nero del proprio nome e logo, l’integrazione tra bianchi e neri in un periodo in cui gli episodi di violenza razzista (soprattutto da simpatizzanti del National Front) erano all’ordine del giorno.

Alla fine del 1979, accompagnato da un 2Tone Tour con Madness e altre band ska, pubblicarono il loro primo disco. Un successo clamoroso, ripetuto l’hanno segunte (in tono minore) dal secondo disco “More Specials”. Nel 1984 un “In the studio with…” segnò lo sgonfiarsi definitivo della band.

Il 28 dicembre 1979 andai, con mio fratello, all’Hammersmith Odeon di Londra per vedere suonare “The Who“, una delle maggiori band di rock degli anni ‘70 (quelli di Tommy, per intenderci…) che si sarebbero esibiti dal vivo dopo la morte del loro batterista Keith Moon, e dopo un tragico incidente in uno show negli USA in cui morirono 11 spettatori di un loro concerto. Il programma prevedeva 2 band di supporto la prima “The Pretenders” (all’epoca avevano pubblicato un solo “singolo”) fu letteralmente cacciata dal palco dopo 3 pezzi al grido di “Nuda! Nuda!” all’indirizzo di Crissie Hinde. La band successiva erano “The Specials”. Qui accadde qualcosa che non mi è mai capitato di vedere: una band di supporto che “letteralmente” ruba la scena: propone uno spettacolo entusiasmante, divertente ed in totale e perfetta “sintonia” con il pubblico (10 volte di più della media dei loro spettatori abituali) e viene letteralmente costretta a ri-suonare le proprie canzoni da capo… uno show previsto per una mezz’oretta durò quasi un’ora e mezza (avevano un repertorio di non oltre 60 minuti di canzoni). Il concerto degli Who cominciò con più di un’ora di ritardo sul previsto (e fu anche quello memorabile). Quella sera nacque – non solo per me – il mito degli “Specials”.

La sera del 25 novembre sono andato a risentirli, un po’ timoroso di restar deluso, celebrare i loro 30 anni di attività, proprio nello stesso teatro in cui li avevo visti nel 1979. Dopo 30 secondi le quasi 5.000 persone presenti erano in piedi a ballare e a divertirsi con uno show perfetto e coinvolgente, senza un attimo di respiro. Mi è capitato solo due volte di “augurarmi” che lo spettacolo a cui stavo assistendo finisse presto perché “noi, il pubblico” eravamo stremati: nel 1985 e nel 2003 con Bruce Springsteen (ma in entrambi i casi si era dopo la terza ora di concerto…), stavolta –  quasi me ne vergogno, dopo un’ora e venti ero già al “lumicino”… sarà l’età…

Qui c’è il brano con cui hanno chiuso il concerto (il mio cellulare non è gran che…).

MET IDUL ADHA, ALL!!

*******

Errh.. Idul Adha ga bareng keluarga inti..

Ga bareng khemas..

Flu beraaat..

Surabaya hujan badai..

MATI LAMPU!

Arghh.. haruskah PLN melengkapi penderitaanku dengan mati lampu?

Lebaran-an gelap2an sama sekali gak asik, u knooow!

Kecuali bagi org yg mau makan banyak tapi ga ketauan..

Setelah batre laptop ini habis, tamatlah riwayatku.

PLN, drpd nyusulin nasib kambing2, ayo dong, idupin lampunyaaaa..

GOSH!

PARMA [WMAT NEWS] – An enormous crowd of bargain hunters lined up outside the Toys R Us store on Day drive in Parma.

The line stretched almost half a mile, with a crowd estimated at anywhere from 800 to 1000. It was so crowded, people began parking across the street at Parmatown Mall, due to the lack of parking at the store itself. Parma Police were also called to assist the store workers in crowd and traffic control.

The rainy weather certainly didn’t damage the spirit of these shoppers. Even those towards the back of the line remained very enthusiastic.

Not only were there several hundreds of shoppers. The huge line also drew dozens of spectators as well.

The person who was first in line at the store told us she had been waiting in line almost six hours before the store opened at midnight, and that she was shopping for her grandkids and some of her family members.

According to the store, the majority of their yearly revenue comes from Black Friday, and the four weeks leading up to Christmas.

©2009 Westcom/WMAT News

You

are so beautiful,

the blood of your lips

so close to your skin.

Blue eyes,

close your lids.

I love

madly

everything you are.

Come

roll your cells

like seas

across my soft self.

I don’t care

if you shake me

like a thousand bees in a box,

in autumn fires,

if you hurt me so hard

against the trees

I nearly die.

I am white

and wild

and I sting

like a

wet

winter

and I want you,

armies of you,

swirling in my blood like sulphur,

bold osmosis,

glitter of clit

and spices,

your teeth

sharpening on my veins,

your angles

throwing their own Christs on the wall,

our fusions shining

and buzzing like jewels,

pink stars,

perfect.

August 2006.

There is an old saying that suggests that a sure sign of approaching madness is that one’s work appears suddenly very important. This is happening to me, and has been growing more so in the last couple of years.

Now, either I am going mad in an effort to find something ‘worthwhile’ to do with my short time here on Earth, or I have actually stumbled upon an idea that is really worth pursuing. If I am lucky enough to be in receipt of an especially potent combination of memes in my mind, and their combination marks the seed of something new and extraordinary, then my excitement at the possibility of that seed’s germination is fully justified.

If, however, my excitement is along the lines of the Philip K. Dick school of paranoia and conspiracy – themselves brands of delusions of grandeur and self-centric universailty – then I’m clearly about to throw my noodles onto the wobbly stool.

But it’s not as if I have nothing to go on here – I’ve been working at both facets of what I shall call The Great Project for a few years now, and it’s still getting better and better, and more and more possible and exciting in its scope. It’s actually happening in the real world, rather than in my mind, and I cannot now stop myself from doing it, or thinking about it. Everything I see bears some reflection of its potential in the world, as long as I can get it to work, and get it finished.

It’s a lonely life, though – full of doubt and nauseous faith in oneself, but there are occasional moments when one is buoyed up by a breath of fresh, invigorating air as it washes down from the mountain on which one can envisage one’s beacon shining out from the future. Sometimes glimpses of other people climbing the same mountain spur one on, and sometimes they make one pale in hopelessness as one sees how much better kitted out one’s competitors are.

What I probably need is a team of collaborators – people with whom I can share my dream, and with whom a stronger bond of self-reliance can be forged that will take us all to the same victorious upper slopes.

But for the moment, I’m still trying on crampons in the village shop in the foothills…

“A hater is someone who is jealous and envious and spends
all their time trying to make you look small so they can look tall.”
Maya Angelou, “Hater“

I used to be a hater. I used to look at websites of people who were doing creative things and in my head, I’d make fun of them. Who do they think they are? I’d mutter. How pretentious! How egotistical! Gee, I bet they are going to fail, and then they’d be really embarrassed.

Looking/Hating these people was a time consuming hobby. Addicted as I was to feeling smug and righteous, I sought my “hit” of hatred every day, sometimes multiple times. It made me feel better for neglecting gifts, for my laziness and lack of effort.

I don’t think it is any coincidence that in the past few weeks, when I have allowed myself to be more creative, the hating habit has stopped. I have no desire to tear these people down. In fact, I’d like to see nice things happen for them, just as I am starting to wish for nice things to happen for me.

Nobody can bring order to such chaos.

There is a circle of hell reserved for the most evil Asperger sufferers. Those who rape nuns, abuse animals and devour human flesh.

It is called supermarket shopping.

Woebetide those who enter this arena.

Few make it out alive.

Anyone ever noticed that the pattern of love runs a remarkable parallel with the pattern of insanity?

I’ve known some of the most rational people imaginable turn into spectacularly moronic and ill-tempered individuals and all down to the ‘L’ word. A friend of mine is the type of guy, who in his younger and more prolific days, was quick to obey the sacred ‘Three F’s’ – Find ‘em, Fuck ‘em and Flee. He was quick to give a cold-shoulder to anyone the moment they even appeared to be becoming close or exuding emotions. Nothing seemed to bother him and he was blissfully unaware of the trail of devastation, broken hearts and dishonesty he left in his wake. Regardless of being in a relationship he was quick to grab hold of each and every opportunity that presented itself to him with a huge fucking smile and a bloated sense of achievement.

Then one day he let his guard down.

Sure enough he met someone who blew him away and the veneer of machismo he hid behind for so long was shattered as if it were a dividing wall in Berlin. He fell in love and he fell pretty damn hard too. Gone was the posturing, gone was the ‘bad-boy’ image and gone was the philandering. These not-so-noble traits were quickly replaced with their more virtuous opposites and he became an honest, caring and faithful guy and one that gave serious consideration to both settling down and marriage – conversation points that acted as kyrptonite to the same guy a few years ago and would invariably result in him running through the nearest door without stopping to open it first. 

 I’m sure it doesn’t take only the great deductive minds amongst you to guess what’s coming  next.

Yep, you got it folks; the poor fucker got dumped and he brought forth the insane behaviour. The normally ice-cold Lothario was now a blubbering excuse of a man, sobbing at any given moment, writing lengthy letters and begging for that elusive ’second chance’. He doggedly persued her at every opportunity and went to severe extets to hurt her feelings for the pain she caused, only to apologise and declare his love as quickly. His mind was unable to focus on anything other than his misery he become reclusive and unapproachable. My mother always told me that you ‘reap what you sow’ in life and perhaps there is no finer example of this than what happened to a friend of mine.

Goes to show that love makes you crazy.

Here’s a little treat for you music lovers: ‘Justice’ are a brilliant act from France and their remix of MGMT’s ‘Electric Feel’ is my favourite break-up tune. It’s a love song, but a screaming French electro one that rocks my world and encapsulates both the affection and anger you feel – if your computer is hooked up to a good sound system, then play this as loud as you can.

'I say, Rupert. Just love the flowers. Did mumsy trim them for you?'

What’s this I read in The Daily Mail?

The toffs at Eton College are willing to share their boating lake and sports’ facilities with the common lads from the local scruffy comprehensive school?

And – according to their headmaster, Tony Little – they are quite happy to be involved with other schools, too.  As if they have been thinking about it!  And for a long while!  After all, mutual links between independent and state schools are not new – and it is 2009, after all, Mr Little!

Wow!  So what’s going on at Eton College?  Do I detect a warmer, more humane wind a-blowing through them fausty old schoolrooms?

Or is there something more sinister behind their seemingly wonderful act of benevolence?

So, is this sharing being done out of the goodness of their rich little hearts?

Or is it because the Charity Commission is after their rich little arses?

A Charity Commission who would not hesitate to remove the charitable status of any independent school who dares not to engage positively with the community around them.

So what would it mean to a school like Eton if it did lose its charitable status, you might innocently ask?

Well, the school would have to pay more tax, that’s what!  Something they don’t do as much as you think because they are all charities – you know, like Oxfam, Mencap, Mind……except without the good works for the benefit of mankind! You get the message – a charity in name only……but with all the tax benefits.                                                                                                    

So some charity these schools then, you might exclaim!  Greedy, eh?

Yes, I would cry!

And who would benefit from all of this charitable status?

Well, there’s only one answer, isn’t there?  It’s the monied, priviledged middle class of this country, the ones who send their Ruperts and Herminoes to posh schools and who want to ensure that these schools continue to thrive for centuries and generations to come.

After all, like begets like.

Until the financial cord is cut.