“I can’t believe the things you say” Charlotte turned from the kitchen counter as she said this, lending a kinetic energy to her statement as her eyes settled on Clive. “I can’t believe the things you say!” Clive replied, struggling for more than mimicry in his defence.
The young couple had just returned to their apartment from a party where only one of them had been having much joy. It had been in a townhouse out in one of the newer suburbs and almost everyone there had been Charlottes friends long before she’d become involved with Clive.
Ignoring his paper thin remark, Charlotte pressed on. “I simply cannot believe that you got pissed…”
“Three pints is hardly getting…”
“You got pissed and started talking to your friend Greg about how you thought the rest of the party were all snails!”
“Slugs, love, I referred to them all as slugs. Snails at least have the foresight to invest in a portable home.” Clive had no idea why he sought to clarify this point. The overhead light dimmed slightly, obviously on the way to needing replacing. Hands falling down to her thighs for emphasis, Charlotte let out a huff of exasperated air as she leaned against the counter. “Slugs it is then. Why do you have to be so judgemental?”
“Alright, fair play, I was judging. But I wasn’t being judgemental in that I wasn’t trying to bolster my ego by pointing at all the shitty people. I was just trying to articulate a feeling is all.” Clive took a seat at the kitchen table. He knew Charlotte already had the moral high ground so she might as well be physically looking down on him too. Taking her silence as a cue to go on, he did. “It’s a feeling I’ve been having more and more ever since we got out of school. The feeling that I’ve no more time to waste and it repulses me, fills me with a kind of fear, when I am wasting time.”
“Okay…and spending time with my friends is a waste then, is it?” she said with a shallow calmness. “Yes, for me it is. I get nothing from them and I don’t care how mercenary that makes me sound. How self interested. How diabolically…”. His voice was rising, his left hand tensing slightly for a fist when he didn’t want to hit anything that could be touched. “Alright” his lover replied “Then how does this lead to you insulting them all? How does your disinterest and fear make them slugs?”
“Because that’s precisely what they are! That and an assortment of gimmicky, put on personality traits and problems which are forever being maintained as the most interesting things they have to offer! All they do is pass though life leaving nothing but waste product behind them. Fucking. Slugs. ” Darting in while he took a breath, Charlotte said “You know, I’m being entirely too polite with you considering what you’re saying about people who’ve been quite kind to me for some time.” as she stepped over and behind his seat. Placing her hands on his shoulders and looking forward at the clock on the wall, Charlotte thought “It’s enough hearing him get wound up, I don’t have to look at it as well….and I hope he winds down before it gets too late. I’ve got to open the store tomorrow.”
Clive noticed his left hand’s behaviour and he steadied it by curling the index finger around the one on Charlottes left hand, then letting it hang limply as he continued. “That may very well be but…the negative aspects positively drown the positive”.
“You’re being quite the little accountant Clive. Does it comfort you to think that others might not weigh you as being in the black on their own little ledgers?”
“Of course it does. It’s happened, I’m sure of it. But that isn’t relevant and if someone doesn’t enjoy my company then why should they be forced to be in it?” Charlotte waggled her left index a little, playfully swinging Clive’s forearm back and forth. He let her. “Alright Clive…I suppose you felt forced to be in the company of my sluggy pals then?”. “Well” he muttered towards the linoleum “A little bit, but mostly I was hoping that it might be a fun and rewarding time after all. But I was kind of fooling myself since I’ve never really enjoyed myself at those parties before.”
Charlotte slid her hands down to gently rest at Clive’s waist and playfully dug her chin into the top of his head. “Right, then when you were disappointed yet again you decided it somehow wouldn’t do any harm to tear into these people since you didn’t care if you ever saw them again…forgetting to consider my feelings.”
She was right on the money but not the whole of it. Clive really did find these people disturbing. Disturbing in how they seemed to throw away great swaths of the most precious thing we have, time, with total indifference. Disconcerting in how self-improvement was less important and valued than self-indulgence. Distressing in how they would talk about serious problems, like depression or chronic health issues, with the kind of wide eyed vigour usually reserved for telling people about your achievements. Discombobulating in how…
Okay, there wasn’t really anything about them which upset his sense of balance and it was getting late besides. Best to push it under and remember what’s really important. “You’re right Charlotte, I was disappointed and I did forget your feelings. Let’s just go to bed and forget the whole messy thing”. He gently slid Charlotte off of him as he stood up, but she had her own ideas and spun him around to face in her direction as he did so. “Well Clive, you might be on to something. I’ve been having my doubts too, though I don’t entirely agree with you. Stacy has been talking about her low metabolism way too often for my liking. But whatever, I have to open up tomorrow and I want to get to bed. I also don’t want you to just push this feeling of yours under and stew.”
Clive cocked an eyebrow as he said “Okay”, like it was a question. “Okay” Charlotte answered “We can talk about it some more another time, but I still might want you to apologize to some of those people. I’m not going to just saw off a huge branch of my social life because you got scared”.
“I wouldn’t say I got scared…”
“Yeah well don’t worry, I’ll say it for you. You got scared of your own mortality and took it out on these people as vengeance for their boring you.”
Clive shrugged and rolled his eyes. “Well you seem to be halfway towards getting what I’m saying. Now let’s go to bed and if you’re well behaved I just might let you play with my body”. Then it was Charlottes turn to roll her eyes, just before turning off the kitchen lights and making a mental note to change that light bulb.
Thursday 22 February 2007
Tuesday 20 February 2007
Manlyfesto
Why a third blog?
I want to do something which I would not want to do in Straddling The Atlantic and which Dirk Hardwood is too constrictive to allow.
So...what is that, exactly?
Artists doodle. Photographers take throw away pictures of their breakfast at an odd angle which makes it resemble the obelisk from 2001: A Space Odyssey. I think that those who engage in either of those artistic endeavours have a certain privilege in that they can just throw shit down and not have to explain where it came from or where it is going. Meanwhile, non-poetic writing has a much stronger pull towards expanding in either direction along the line of teleological development.
But sometimes I get a burst of inspiration and all I want to do is write a page or two of a specific moment in a story without attending to anything but that one moment or scene without any snaky tendrils of continuity pulling at my heels. This is a desire I tried to articulate in the beginning of my Dirk Hardwood notion, but which I can more properly explore in something far less structured than good ol’ Dirk.
Why not do it on paper or in a word file?
As anyone who shares my interests and has known me could say, I not only like to share but often feel compelled to do so. Comments have been placed within reach of whoever wants to post them and all levels of reader participation are encouraged. Hell, if you feel inspired to write what came before or after something I put here, wing it up in the comments and I could very well post it in the main body if it tickles me just right.
Why not do this in Straddling The Atlantic?
Because I don’t want to dilute STA. I feel that right now it has a good structure and I want to keep it on target with posts that primarily relate to my ladder climbing in England and the sort of conversational posts which, I’d like to think, are akin to having a natter with me. Finally, there is a healthy possibility that what I write here could alienate some of the people who read STA and I’d like to show those readers a bit of respect.
So…you talk about being unfettered and possibly alienating people, does that mean this is going to devolve into a load of tripe with no relevance to anyone but you? Are you going to swear and use racially charged vocabulary because that’s “edgy”, you pretentious bastard?
I hope not! As with any exercise with a minimum of structure, that is a danger. I do feel that swearing only has as much power as the reader gives it and that large swaths of society have become afraid to discuss race (amongst other things) to the detriment of common discourse. But I plan to be vigilant and I have no delusions about being a crusader of enlightenment, bringing brilliantly polished insights from the lofty cliffs of my mind down to the swarming, sweaty plebeians below.
I just….I see the things that more unrestrained individuals like R. Crumb do…or I read something anachronistic, like John Jakes The Asylum World which shamelessly posits a future split entirely along the white/black racial divide…and I envy their freedom. But envy isn’t satisfying and I would like to explore Bill Cosby’s style of finding humour without cruelty or filth just as much as I would also like to free myself from the bullying brand of political correctness which I know I have at least partially ingested over the years. That’s what I’m getting at when I talk about being unfettered and I mention potential alienation more because I know that people come to STA for the kind of content I’ve stated, not for what I will be doing here. I want to remove barriers so as to allow my mind to wander into new fields, not as sloppy justification to press the big red button labelled “Offend” over and over in teenage masturbatory provocation.
Okay, but you know that anything you put on the internet is basically there forever? That at some point in the future anybody could use things like that Internet Archive Project to dig up something you said and perhaps use it against you in another setting?
Well, they’re welcome to try. Outside of this first entry, I don’t plan on qualifying or justifying a damn thing unless it interests me to do so. I’m disgusted by the lazy pundits who trawl through the lower intestines of the internet to find ten year old forum posts by which they think they can crucify public figures. Anybody who tries to pull that nonsense will get both barrels straight to their sense of self worth.
Right, one last thing, why the name? Is there going to be a lot of content to do with religion?
Well the name means something one way but I’d argue it means nothing of consequence at all. The point of origin, from my perspective, would be Richard Dawkins as it is a way in which he referred to the world’s most popular invisible friend that made me pump my fist in the air and execute a saucy, 35 degree swing of the hip. It’s stuck in my mind for some time and it seemed as good a name as any for this endeavour since I will be somewhat playing the role, whipping small worlds into existence and snuffing them out at a whim.
But I’d argue that it means nothing at all as it will in no way dictate the content of the site. When it comes to titles and names of works (or bands, for that matter) I am coming more and more to the line of thinking that we need to stop plumbing them for such depths of meaning and simply accept them the way we accept the names of people. There is such a deluge of content in the world, one which is getting stronger and stronger, that to get hung up on titles is to waste a good deal of energy and thought. Something something “book by its cover” right?
Right.
Let’s get started then.
I want to do something which I would not want to do in Straddling The Atlantic and which Dirk Hardwood is too constrictive to allow.
So...what is that, exactly?
Artists doodle. Photographers take throw away pictures of their breakfast at an odd angle which makes it resemble the obelisk from 2001: A Space Odyssey. I think that those who engage in either of those artistic endeavours have a certain privilege in that they can just throw shit down and not have to explain where it came from or where it is going. Meanwhile, non-poetic writing has a much stronger pull towards expanding in either direction along the line of teleological development.
But sometimes I get a burst of inspiration and all I want to do is write a page or two of a specific moment in a story without attending to anything but that one moment or scene without any snaky tendrils of continuity pulling at my heels. This is a desire I tried to articulate in the beginning of my Dirk Hardwood notion, but which I can more properly explore in something far less structured than good ol’ Dirk.
Why not do it on paper or in a word file?
As anyone who shares my interests and has known me could say, I not only like to share but often feel compelled to do so. Comments have been placed within reach of whoever wants to post them and all levels of reader participation are encouraged. Hell, if you feel inspired to write what came before or after something I put here, wing it up in the comments and I could very well post it in the main body if it tickles me just right.
Why not do this in Straddling The Atlantic?
Because I don’t want to dilute STA. I feel that right now it has a good structure and I want to keep it on target with posts that primarily relate to my ladder climbing in England and the sort of conversational posts which, I’d like to think, are akin to having a natter with me. Finally, there is a healthy possibility that what I write here could alienate some of the people who read STA and I’d like to show those readers a bit of respect.
So…you talk about being unfettered and possibly alienating people, does that mean this is going to devolve into a load of tripe with no relevance to anyone but you? Are you going to swear and use racially charged vocabulary because that’s “edgy”, you pretentious bastard?
I hope not! As with any exercise with a minimum of structure, that is a danger. I do feel that swearing only has as much power as the reader gives it and that large swaths of society have become afraid to discuss race (amongst other things) to the detriment of common discourse. But I plan to be vigilant and I have no delusions about being a crusader of enlightenment, bringing brilliantly polished insights from the lofty cliffs of my mind down to the swarming, sweaty plebeians below.
I just….I see the things that more unrestrained individuals like R. Crumb do…or I read something anachronistic, like John Jakes The Asylum World which shamelessly posits a future split entirely along the white/black racial divide…and I envy their freedom. But envy isn’t satisfying and I would like to explore Bill Cosby’s style of finding humour without cruelty or filth just as much as I would also like to free myself from the bullying brand of political correctness which I know I have at least partially ingested over the years. That’s what I’m getting at when I talk about being unfettered and I mention potential alienation more because I know that people come to STA for the kind of content I’ve stated, not for what I will be doing here. I want to remove barriers so as to allow my mind to wander into new fields, not as sloppy justification to press the big red button labelled “Offend” over and over in teenage masturbatory provocation.
Okay, but you know that anything you put on the internet is basically there forever? That at some point in the future anybody could use things like that Internet Archive Project to dig up something you said and perhaps use it against you in another setting?
Well, they’re welcome to try. Outside of this first entry, I don’t plan on qualifying or justifying a damn thing unless it interests me to do so. I’m disgusted by the lazy pundits who trawl through the lower intestines of the internet to find ten year old forum posts by which they think they can crucify public figures. Anybody who tries to pull that nonsense will get both barrels straight to their sense of self worth.
Right, one last thing, why the name? Is there going to be a lot of content to do with religion?
Well the name means something one way but I’d argue it means nothing of consequence at all. The point of origin, from my perspective, would be Richard Dawkins as it is a way in which he referred to the world’s most popular invisible friend that made me pump my fist in the air and execute a saucy, 35 degree swing of the hip. It’s stuck in my mind for some time and it seemed as good a name as any for this endeavour since I will be somewhat playing the role, whipping small worlds into existence and snuffing them out at a whim.
But I’d argue that it means nothing at all as it will in no way dictate the content of the site. When it comes to titles and names of works (or bands, for that matter) I am coming more and more to the line of thinking that we need to stop plumbing them for such depths of meaning and simply accept them the way we accept the names of people. There is such a deluge of content in the world, one which is getting stronger and stronger, that to get hung up on titles is to waste a good deal of energy and thought. Something something “book by its cover” right?
Right.
Let’s get started then.
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