It's been 461 days since I've written. The muse of my now decadent mind clearly went sauntering off to a more attractive debauchery but I find myself sitting here wishing to write something, anything, once again.
A freshly raw and creative honesty inspired by a fresh copy of The Happy Hypocrite's Linguistic Hardcore and a few incredible captures from Fiona Tan has taken hold of my fingers this time and is jabbing them furiously into the keyboard at impulse and random rate, thank you one Gustav Metzger. The simplicity of any creative media free from too much contrived garbage is something I will always strive to find.
Like a king without his crown, keeping it a little loose but trying to keep it tight I find myself playing back a portfolio of haunting memories from the past year on a daily basis and just locking them up and watching them over in my mind. Watching is something I'd say I'm pretty well versed at, yeah. Watching Films. Watching all the people around me scurry off in their lives and daily endeavors. Watching hours of nothing. Watching spiders. I feel like I'm in an astronaut at low gravity desperately trying to run at full pace to catch all his dreams flying by at speed. It's just such a token tragic comedy. "Thing's will be fine." "Keep trucking!" You name it I've heard it, but for those people who think patience is a virtue which is progressively rewarding with easier times ahead, you're mistaken.
Some days I don't care. Some days I feel like I'm a prisoner. Some days I'm just happy to be alive. Some days I just laugh. Some days I feel like spending my whole bankroll on a shipment of pint glasses, drinking beer, wine and scotch out of them first and then finding a very desolate and hard place and smashing every single one of them. It's a lovely cycle. It's not that I feel sorry for myself, or if I do I'm simply in denial, but more that I'm so more comfortable in my defeatist, lonely and convenient ways that I'll sit right there twiddling my thumbs on my arse until someone goes well out of their way for me or I get lucky enough to experience the soulfulness and diversity of this world on my own two feet. Most of all, I can't help but feel more and more lately that the one place I've relied upon and sought my comfort, brutal and unrefined honesty and love is slowly drifting away from me. Like the disappointing look in a young boy's eye at discovering the secret behind a magicians trick, I close my eyes and wish that the magic, that place, will come back. Or rather, that I get up and make it come back. That I find it again.
It's a good thing I have humor the little parrot sitting on my shoulder because I wouldn't see much behind lots of things in my day without a duly laugh. It's a pathetic, naive and an ignorant disdain to what a truly wonderful existence has been placed before me but isn't it always the case that on the days when you're feeling most off balance you feel greatest lack of dignity, grace and care?
I saw one of the most gorgeous girls today and so in the laugh of Shane MacGowan, I leave you. "Eeeeeeshshshshsh."
Si, always a Mitchell.
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