So here I am burning the candle at both ends past 12:00 am on another Sunday night, no scrap that I’m damn well blow torching it, I’ve got Sky blaring out Charlie Wilson’s War in one eye whist I’m clicking blogs left right and centre in a vain attempt to drag in a little more traffic for my blog, almost as if my life depends on it. It’s funny how one gets about one’s blog, as if life itself depends upon it. I am and therefore I blog or is that the other way around? Anyway I’ve had to cram the weekend, left to my own devices it may as well be a Mogadon trip, seeing as my gf has been on a bender with her best friend (bar me), a girl called Claire who’s taking the plunge and getting married to a guy that I and just about everyone and their proverbial wife suspects she doesn’t love but then again who am I to judge.
I am not my blog, I am a human being, but seeing as I’m here I may as well spill my guts under the interrogation of a world of prurient gazes by a legion of strangers who may or may not turn out to be the friends of my future. I’ve been talking about the speed of life with my significant other, Chris, amongst other things. Those other things include alternative canvases, and the negligible value of paint, I mean what if I simply printed my images as transfers on to objects, wouldn’t that still be a valid statement of intent, artistically speaking of course? Anyway I’m considering a Black Christ transfer printed on a toilet seat, and Reigning Men on a chest of drawers for two, but who knows, drunken minds can wander.
Yes, in case you haven’t noticed I am rather inebriated, the point is as I’ve mentioned before I’m weekend cramming, and it’s spilled over into the early hours of a Monday morn. The truth is Chris has been away and so I’ve been temporarily insane of sorts. and what I’ve noticed primarily over many other observations is the speed of entertainment, the pace of virtual life, it’s rather incredible really, how drama has grown ( or is that shrunk?) to take account of the modern way of life – the short attention span is a dubious thing, it could be treated as a disability if you’re in a sober frame of mind, or perhaps, and this is probably my favourite theory of the moment, we are all cramming it in, life that is.
We have a lot to think about these days, and forget the myth that women are the multi-taskers, we’re all multi-tasking these days, it’s almost a state of war out there, and God knows where out there is, it’s just the way things are done these days, all at once and one for all. Keep up with me now, I’m on a roll.
The speed of life is a panic reaction, something rather akin to certain maniacs you’ll find (if you’re unfortunate enough) at your local mental asylum, there are those who let the world beat them down and take it on the chin, or up the rear, and then there are those who fire back, machine-gun style, rat-a-tat-tat, hoping that somehow their stream of consciousness will take precedence over all others, that in some strange and minuscule way their words will beat reality to a pulp, reduce it to a digestible liquid in a mental blender, and spew out a new and more acceptable form that both suits the sane and the insane.
There are times when we are altogether, here in the slipstream of life, the New Year is one example, celebrations all over the world bar the Chinese, a new and clean start, a difference oh so desperately needed by so many of us from time to time. But on a Monday morning, a very early Monday morning on the 9th of February, well that’s a different matter, that’s something that many would describe as odd, if not peculiar, or even mad. Still I am that man of the moment, in the middle of my own accelerated turmoil, sitting in my own imaginary observation post gunning down the lesser attractive aspects of reality, picking out my peculiarities for display, to sprawl across the walls of a gallery of public approval or disapproval, and I sit here typing for my life before the sickly sweet blanket of slumber draws down my eyes in to the boredom of inner consciousness once more.
Hold out your hand and grab, take it, it’s now, and it’s your turn, and do hurry. We’re all in a race here, a human race, a race against time and mortality, a race against our own limitations, a race to finish all our dreams before the nightmare of failure overcomes us all. This could be the end, or the beginning, or the beginning of the end or vice-versa, but I know what ever it is it feels like a ride at a cheap fun fair that will most definitely be packing up and leaving town tomorrow morning.
War is a pointless act, but is creativity, does it make a difference, I’m being brutally honest here, how much s catharsis and how much is going to make a positive change to the world. The disappointment of reality can be disheartening, promises, promises, promises. We can choose our icons, and we can raise them up or shoot them down, we can mimic them or reject them, but what we can’t do is escape our own destiny, I’d just like to know who’s writing the damn thing, is it us or is it a mythical creature from beyond that will be nailing us all down with those tiny decisions in our past we never even paid attention to, you tell me, it’s anybody’s guess.
Depression, economic, personal, historical, it’s all the same thing. Mankind can do wonders when he’s pushed, relatively speaking mind you, we’re little more than dust down here, in the great scheme of things, but if this fish-pond is all there is then yes it’s possible to do great things, great things that reveal greatness, then again I am no judge, I’m a dot in the expanse of nothing, the vast black interspersed with solar winds and black holes and balls of fire that reach beyond my reach, but still I’m here and I’m giving it my best, my feeble, inebriated best.
Give the world your all, what have you to lose, except yourself, and thinking about it, relatively speaking (once more) – that’s hardly a bean in a mountain of beans, still it’s something to count until oblivion. Here’s to the terrible invention of time, the cruel joke of mortality, the fallacy of irreverence and the love of love. I wonder if we’ll all meet on another plane one day, somewhere where time has stepped out the back door, slunk away with its tail between its legs, its head bowed in shame and a sly smirk on its face.
Watch the TV, skip the ads, tell your mother, your father, your lover you love them, you may hit a dead end tomorrow, it maybe too late. The speed of life can jump, it can slow down, but there are few times you can really open your heart to those you love, let alone those you don’t, we should be friends, we should talk, we should learn everything from each other (somehow) but not right now, the cycle is just about to begin again.
