What happened?

So. That went quite fast then; faster than I expected, and so I didn’t quite get chance to see in 2010 with any more than a shudder, and then, well, here we are in a new year. So happy new year to one and all.

Thus far, I have managed to break all of my new year’s resolutions, since I am neither sober nor fitter, and yet still retain a fear of social contact such that here I am, on a saturday night, compiling details for a tax return rather than doing anything more interesting with my life. We went out today, though, and I took photos. That is the new mission: to overcome the loss of creativity that took its cancerous grip in 2010, and to photograph, maybe to write, and perhaps sometimes to set fire to buildings in a particularly artistic way.

2011 brings with it the promise to shoot my second feature film. This is truly an adventure, and those can be good, once the panic of existence is put to oneside.

Perhaps poetry will come back. I miss the lines, and still compose, sometimes, in my head. But they rarely make it out, staying instead in the prison of imagination, awaiting the release of the iceman.

Welcome, then, to the new year. Welcome to the new old, to the promise of change and the reliability of not. Welcome to the hope that sometimes lasts until almost the end of the first month, before the self delusion is drowned and the new year turns to carbon of the past.

May it be happy, and prosperous, to one and all.

Happy New Year

Its 2010. The world has not yet collapsed under the weight of man’s stupidity. I think it will be saving that until at least February. I have many invoices to send. Well, 2. And I stall probably distractg myself slightly, by using PuppyBurger again (unless I change the URL to something new for this new start).

Happy new year.

The lesson leaned from school days was of hate, blame, and grudges. The fantasy of escape supports this, as the notion of best days of life takes second place to the countdown to the end, of the days and the contact with others. In the early afternoon minds wonder from recycled teaching plans, and head towards the gates, the busses home, and the fist in the face of that week’s hated favourite.

Of course, this is the best preparation possible for the office. Vacuous games continue with the politics of well dressed backstabbing and self importance.

On the misanthropic society, and my refusal to reply to the invitation

People create societies because they want to belong. There’s strength, see, in numbers and a shared opinion that saves you from thinking for yourself.

A contact of mine, who fancies himself as a bit of a wag, created the misanthropic society. And he asked me to join.

Such an invitation created a distopia of feelings. Whilst its nice to be asked to join a group, no matter how facile the subject matter might be (or, in this case, perhaps how anti-facile since it involves avoiding the majority of the gene pool in acknowledgement of their inadequacies), extending such an openness would be missing the point. And from the very people who are supposed to embrace misanthropia.

I clearly cannot join a misanthropic society that has any members. Membership is contact, human contact, and an acceptance of value. I cannot be part of this.

18.12.02 (amended)

At the end of another day, in th equiet off the alleyways, the side streets, and in the ginnels – and in the most lonesome and empty rooms of the houses – the universe unwinds. The noise is like the all the conversations you’ve ever heard, all the sounds of the day, slowly being reversed, out and in again, the sound of a giant’s great slumber. You mustn’t wake the giant, for he needs his rest
Some forget this. And when it happens, the giant deals with interruptions – say, the child who wonders about his parents’ house after they have gone to sleep – with quiet efficiency.

Luncheon

I spent yesterday lunchtime sat on a corpse, eating a period preserved in vinegar.

Its surprising that, in the time I’ve worked around the corner from the University-owned churchyard in the city of [this place], I’d not before used it as somewhere to sit. Students and staff alike were out in force, and the inhabitants had plenty of company for once. My only slight disapointment was the lack of certainty that the sandwich – purchased because the rather fine Japanese food stall had been towed away – contained free range egg mayo.

I can imagine the discussion between God and the Devil over who should have the souls of the Chuckle Brothers.

To me.
To you.
To me.

And so on, until eternity is over.