Started well, I've been on the computer most of the day. Mainly, as a result of discovering facebook. How long will it last. In fact it's scary. I started doing that thing where you look up everybody you could ever remember form you life. Not from a need to have loads of friends but because I was curious. It's kinda shocking that alot of people were still in touch from High School. I've always felt quite radically debased. I have no home I am a bum. The thing is that's a choice. Not because I'm not capable of getting into the system working like a bastard and making loads of money. What's it all for? I think this was covered in the previous blog. Moving on.............
Is this handing your life over to God? I think you have to do what makes you feel good. Somebody from a long time ago once said 'You don't spend the time you spend in work back' I pretty much live by that. I've got a life.
The weather's been playing up today and the clouds were going in a very unusually direction as engulfed the Argyll hills. It funny that. How clouds can hug hills and mountains revealing contours that are invisible without them. Jamie and Emmett arrive tomorrow. I'm looking forward to seeing them. Afton arrives next week and I'm not sure how that will be.
Tuesday 24 June 2008
A day later
The solstice has come and gone, and for the first time in long time I missed it. I knew it was coming. Some how I didn't check the days and it got away from me. I like the Solstice not because it's a hippie thing or anything but more because it's steeped in mystery. It demonstrates that we are part of an immense universe all logically worked out and functioning. It's bigger than us, yet encompasses completely. The seasons passing and the contemplation of time creating it's own markers is very powerful;far from digital watches and calenders it's all there. In this day in age as concrete becomes king and we can't see the stars for smog and street lamps or confuse them for satellites and planes, many have little knowledge of the greatness of what surrounds us. I suppose that's why people move to Cornwall or get a new life in the country. It bothers me immensely that people should try to swap cit life for country life it's strange. I find it very weird when people tell me like they've unlocked a great secret 'Do you know the sea changes everyday'. It's a basic; kind of like the sky or even our inner selves we are different everyday. How strange that you should have to learn all this stuff from scratch.
I lived in Guildford once, I also watched 'Bladerunner' once there seemed to marking similarities. I'm going to give you all a great tip if you're reading this from town. You can't buy you way out of the rat race. You can't buy things that can't be bought. It's ridiculous someday maybe in the not so distant future somebodies going to try and buy summer, kind of like how they try to sell it to you. Do you really care about being skinny enough to get into a bikini, or being at all those music festivals or on exotic beaches? These things are imaginary and maybe that's why grasping ourselves or trying to figure out happiness makes you so difficult. You might never go to Venice. That doesn't make your life any less worth living. What we're sold are all the experiences that we should have. We are very rarely sold the terrible reality 'No matter where you are there you are' you don't become instantly develope 'latino spirit' going to Spain on holiday. All those experiences that you've been saving up for are not real. Not only that we now see that television is now even promoting tribe immersion to learn what is real. Here's the deal breaker. The only thing that is real is love. I'm not talking about hippie love or free love or any of that. Love is the only thing that feeds us and allows us to be who we truly are. As a rule the less people have the more love people have to give. Poor don't have to protect there imaginary construction produced from greed and selfishness. I have nothing, so to share nothing with you is easy. So if you want to become truly happy give everything you own away.
That was a lot deeper than I thought I'd go today. I really wanted to talk about yesterday. I've been ill for a few months now. Not really ill, just ill in a very comprehensive way, body and spirit. So I've been back home with maw and paw; which has had it's difficulties. To be honest I've done alot of lounging around while being addicted to productivity. I ended up with a crochet blanket. So I spend most of my day looking out the window - We have a sea view and we've always had one it's always been there. If you've got any sense at all you'll never want one; for this simple reason, to be without one makes you sick in your soul. I swear you grieve for it. Anyways lots of things happen on our little stretch of water, In fact Johnny Cash even mentions it at the beginning of his last autobiography and there's an ER episodes that give it rave reviews. Actually this is really boring and I can't be bothered writing it. In short there was a navy boat with engine failure, a Trident submarine that had to ask a fishing boat to move and one of the old Fife's America's Cup yachts in full sail. Maybe that was interesting. Now I have a to do list to be getting on with.
I lived in Guildford once, I also watched 'Bladerunner' once there seemed to marking similarities. I'm going to give you all a great tip if you're reading this from town. You can't buy you way out of the rat race. You can't buy things that can't be bought. It's ridiculous someday maybe in the not so distant future somebodies going to try and buy summer, kind of like how they try to sell it to you. Do you really care about being skinny enough to get into a bikini, or being at all those music festivals or on exotic beaches? These things are imaginary and maybe that's why grasping ourselves or trying to figure out happiness makes you so difficult. You might never go to Venice. That doesn't make your life any less worth living. What we're sold are all the experiences that we should have. We are very rarely sold the terrible reality 'No matter where you are there you are' you don't become instantly develope 'latino spirit' going to Spain on holiday. All those experiences that you've been saving up for are not real. Not only that we now see that television is now even promoting tribe immersion to learn what is real. Here's the deal breaker. The only thing that is real is love. I'm not talking about hippie love or free love or any of that. Love is the only thing that feeds us and allows us to be who we truly are. As a rule the less people have the more love people have to give. Poor don't have to protect there imaginary construction produced from greed and selfishness. I have nothing, so to share nothing with you is easy. So if you want to become truly happy give everything you own away.
That was a lot deeper than I thought I'd go today. I really wanted to talk about yesterday. I've been ill for a few months now. Not really ill, just ill in a very comprehensive way, body and spirit. So I've been back home with maw and paw; which has had it's difficulties. To be honest I've done alot of lounging around while being addicted to productivity. I ended up with a crochet blanket. So I spend most of my day looking out the window - We have a sea view and we've always had one it's always been there. If you've got any sense at all you'll never want one; for this simple reason, to be without one makes you sick in your soul. I swear you grieve for it. Anyways lots of things happen on our little stretch of water, In fact Johnny Cash even mentions it at the beginning of his last autobiography and there's an ER episodes that give it rave reviews. Actually this is really boring and I can't be bothered writing it. In short there was a navy boat with engine failure, a Trident submarine that had to ask a fishing boat to move and one of the old Fife's America's Cup yachts in full sail. Maybe that was interesting. Now I have a to do list to be getting on with.
Sunday 22 June 2008
Compromises in Catholosism
Umm well, The day started at 7.20 am with the alarm going off on my mobile phone, that I had left on the wooden window sill in the downstairs living room. All though I could not hear the actually alarm ringing I could hear the juddering vibration of the electronic implement with it's high pitched and persistent rumbling. It was a long time before it's sustained fit would end. I was not getting out of bed, though persecuted myself for a short time for not leaving this object on a softer surface. You can't win them all and it is Sunday. Later and what seemed a rather short time later I was visited by my mother, who jumped on to my bed exclaiming "what shall we do today?" clapping her hands and rubbing them together. I replied "I don't know. What shall we do today?". Mother not being one for a fight than rather gruffly yet in the sweetest possible way said "I asked you first". Then I suggested mass. I vaguely remember her wandering off to have a bath. So there it was.
Being essentially lazy we'd missed Mass in our own parish. However I think both of us were evasively aware that we wouldn't be seen dead at church in our own village. Not because we didn't like the village church, but more we didn't like being reminded that we were no longer villagers but engulfed in the suburbia of Greenock, a town we didn't agree to live in.
Mass was pushed and eventually a compromise was struck. Mother would go to the antiques fayre in Kelvin Hall, while I attended Mass at St Samuel's and we'd meet up after. It was/is raining today and as mother had question last night "Do you think the Scottish summer has arrived?" I didn't answer. So from a Polish delicatessen yesterday to Polish Mass today. I have to say more than likely Mass in English can be pretty good, though it does tend to be dependant on a good priest. If you listen closely enough there is always something relatively ponderous to go away with whether you agree with it or not, and generally people are nice to you when you are at church. St. Samuel's was packed there must have been three hundred strong in there. It was impressive. Though a Mass in Polish was not. I mean maybe I am looking for a quick fix but a whole hour seems a bit excessive. The woman next to me acknowledge my predicament at the 'peace be with you part' by saying rather confidently and in English "peace be with you". It appeared a great social event for the Pols to meet up at, maybe go for a coffee after, that kind of thing. Before everybody gets really uppity about the Eastern European immigrant thing, as far as I understand St Samuel's has always been a Polish church. I think even built by Pols at the turn of the century. So there you go. Eggs Bendict for breakfast and some tea lovely.
Spoke to Brendan today, hes good off on more international adventures after spending some time with Mum back up in Liverpool. Jamie's been working hard on the whole Falmouth Wharves Blog thing so all in all a good day. Not necessarily a day of rest though.
Being essentially lazy we'd missed Mass in our own parish. However I think both of us were evasively aware that we wouldn't be seen dead at church in our own village. Not because we didn't like the village church, but more we didn't like being reminded that we were no longer villagers but engulfed in the suburbia of Greenock, a town we didn't agree to live in.
Mass was pushed and eventually a compromise was struck. Mother would go to the antiques fayre in Kelvin Hall, while I attended Mass at St Samuel's and we'd meet up after. It was/is raining today and as mother had question last night "Do you think the Scottish summer has arrived?" I didn't answer. So from a Polish delicatessen yesterday to Polish Mass today. I have to say more than likely Mass in English can be pretty good, though it does tend to be dependant on a good priest. If you listen closely enough there is always something relatively ponderous to go away with whether you agree with it or not, and generally people are nice to you when you are at church. St. Samuel's was packed there must have been three hundred strong in there. It was impressive. Though a Mass in Polish was not. I mean maybe I am looking for a quick fix but a whole hour seems a bit excessive. The woman next to me acknowledge my predicament at the 'peace be with you part' by saying rather confidently and in English "peace be with you". It appeared a great social event for the Pols to meet up at, maybe go for a coffee after, that kind of thing. Before everybody gets really uppity about the Eastern European immigrant thing, as far as I understand St Samuel's has always been a Polish church. I think even built by Pols at the turn of the century. So there you go. Eggs Bendict for breakfast and some tea lovely.
Spoke to Brendan today, hes good off on more international adventures after spending some time with Mum back up in Liverpool. Jamie's been working hard on the whole Falmouth Wharves Blog thing so all in all a good day. Not necessarily a day of rest though.
Saturday 21 June 2008
Different different day; pick a topic any topic
Never being one to limit myself I don't think I will. Today was a good day. How much I'll manage to tell you about it I'm not sure, having had a glass and a bit of wine. Should I go backwards or forwards when retracing my day? If you know what I mean? Well Brendan hasn't returned my calls. Should I be concerned? And no he's not a love interest. And no that isn't a hook for an evolving story. I already love Brendan, who wouldn't. He's truly avant-garde, darling! That's enough about Brendan. Hmmm to much to much to tell can I edit? Oh quotation of the day "Better running to confession, than running to the club" Unfortunately I missed that one, as I was running to confession. My mother relayed it to me later in the car home. Apparently after I had run into, not only the church but the Metropolitan Cathedral in Edinburgh (doesn't that just make you want to be catholic), my mother was accidentally consumed into a lady congregation member's monologue. The monolouge had went on to question why I was running to mass, explaining that the priest was always late, and that was bad because it made people late, and that some day he'll be on time and have to wait because everybody will be late! My mother explained that I was running to confession. I can't imagine what the look on the lady's face would have been, but I'm sure it would have been a kind of raised eyebrow quizzical kind of - oh. To which she said "Better running to confession, than running to the club".
I'm not a religious nut or at least I'm trying not to be. This was my second confession over two weeks after a period of about fifteen years. In some ways the whole story is far to multi-faceted and over far to many years to even try to explain in this one blog. So for now we'll leave it at; I was baptised a catholic, raised a catholic (including school) and was not confirmed a catholic. Now after some years I've found myself back there/here and not as the result of a hallelujah moment. To be honest they've impressed me. So now as the result of a well meaning and in fact truly exceptional and pleasant ninety-four year old monk who gave me my very own bible. I have promised to go to mass every Sunday. I don't know if I was duped. He is ninety-four and he has spent almost his entire life as a monk, so really, it's best not to argue. The only thing is it's a double whammy, that's what they don't get across in the films. Not only is confession a opportunity to get all sorts of things of your chest, but in order to receive the true benefits of mass; holy communion aka Jesus' flesh & blood and therefore God himself, you have be pure of all mortal sins. That means having not committed any of the ten commandments - which is a biggy. Just read them and you might be surprised how many crop up on a weekly basis. So confession & mass go directly in hand with one another. So that's religious instruction for the week.
So let me tell you about my confessional, there wasn't that much in it I just explained that I had lost my temper with my parents over the last couple of weeks. During confession I also managed to lie, (so I'll have to go fix that kind of like this blog). So like I said I'm a newbie at all this. In the old days or when I last made confession you used to go into a box with a curtain - like you would expect in films. But now it's all very open you just take a seat up there, in front of everyone. So I was a bit confused after having run across the cathedral to the confession boxes to find that there was no green light/ red light thing going on or even door open door shut. There was however a priest sitting right in front of one of the side alters with an empty stool beside him. Was he praying? Was he performing confession? I get really close inflect, waiting for a signal, there's none, he must be praying? I have to go back and ask some girls standing around a grand piano, who point me back to the alter. I hurry back. I start making my confession, which is rushed and grossly inadequate. Not only that but while I'm sitting there I realise I'm sitting in front of a shrine to Saint Andrew (the patron saint of Scotland) and I'm a real patriot. I'm fascinated by that kind of stuff. These are proper relics. I'm not sure what but there definitely looked to be some bone matter there. I was trying very hard not to be engrossed. Yet at the same time mildly disappointed with the state of my confession, not only in front of parts of our Patron Saint but in front of parts of someone who had hung out with Jesus himself. Is this powerful stuff or have I lost you. The priest lets me off with a very light penance which included personal prayer, I didn't quite catch the rest of it he spoke very softly so I done a Hail Mary, A Glory Be and an Our Father, though I'm sure I'll be doing a lot more. I have to tell you though those prayers made a difference, maybe only to me but I felt it. Is it unholy to discuss confession on a blog - probably but I'm sure I'll get to that.
Other factors in my day included meeting up with my brother with mum at a polish cafe,after his honeymoon on the oriental express. Watching 'Spiderman' with mum and then the remains of 'Interview With A Vampire'. I hadn't seen 'Spiderman' before though 'Interview With a Vampire' did give me an opportunity to explain who Kirsten Dunst was to mum. Jamie emailed me some very good photographs of the Wharves. Mum got seriously stressed out about meeting Dad on a reconnaissance mission (and they're not even divorced). I still worry bout my mum dying but luckily I can hear her snoring through the wall right now. Everything else relating to this kind of stuff is just a little to close to home to jot down for all you folks to read. Yesterday i finished my crochet blanket. Robert Mugabe is just evil and consumerism reins on. Tomorrow I aim to help mum tidy the house, phone Afton, phone Therese. And maybe, just maybe I'll get round to regigging this blog like I spoke about yesterday. Before I logged on tonight I was a bit bemused that what appears to be a reasonable prominent New York literary website was already using the name 'small spiral notebook'. Should I stick with this theme? Does it matter? are there any original thoughts left? I still haven't mentioned Jamie's inspiration via Emmett yet. Maybe I'll leave it for when I'm dry or you guys are particularly board.
I'm not a religious nut or at least I'm trying not to be. This was my second confession over two weeks after a period of about fifteen years. In some ways the whole story is far to multi-faceted and over far to many years to even try to explain in this one blog. So for now we'll leave it at; I was baptised a catholic, raised a catholic (including school) and was not confirmed a catholic. Now after some years I've found myself back there/here and not as the result of a hallelujah moment. To be honest they've impressed me. So now as the result of a well meaning and in fact truly exceptional and pleasant ninety-four year old monk who gave me my very own bible. I have promised to go to mass every Sunday. I don't know if I was duped. He is ninety-four and he has spent almost his entire life as a monk, so really, it's best not to argue. The only thing is it's a double whammy, that's what they don't get across in the films. Not only is confession a opportunity to get all sorts of things of your chest, but in order to receive the true benefits of mass; holy communion aka Jesus' flesh & blood and therefore God himself, you have be pure of all mortal sins. That means having not committed any of the ten commandments - which is a biggy. Just read them and you might be surprised how many crop up on a weekly basis. So confession & mass go directly in hand with one another. So that's religious instruction for the week.
So let me tell you about my confessional, there wasn't that much in it I just explained that I had lost my temper with my parents over the last couple of weeks. During confession I also managed to lie, (so I'll have to go fix that kind of like this blog). So like I said I'm a newbie at all this. In the old days or when I last made confession you used to go into a box with a curtain - like you would expect in films. But now it's all very open you just take a seat up there, in front of everyone. So I was a bit confused after having run across the cathedral to the confession boxes to find that there was no green light/ red light thing going on or even door open door shut. There was however a priest sitting right in front of one of the side alters with an empty stool beside him. Was he praying? Was he performing confession? I get really close inflect, waiting for a signal, there's none, he must be praying? I have to go back and ask some girls standing around a grand piano, who point me back to the alter. I hurry back. I start making my confession, which is rushed and grossly inadequate. Not only that but while I'm sitting there I realise I'm sitting in front of a shrine to Saint Andrew (the patron saint of Scotland) and I'm a real patriot. I'm fascinated by that kind of stuff. These are proper relics. I'm not sure what but there definitely looked to be some bone matter there. I was trying very hard not to be engrossed. Yet at the same time mildly disappointed with the state of my confession, not only in front of parts of our Patron Saint but in front of parts of someone who had hung out with Jesus himself. Is this powerful stuff or have I lost you. The priest lets me off with a very light penance which included personal prayer, I didn't quite catch the rest of it he spoke very softly so I done a Hail Mary, A Glory Be and an Our Father, though I'm sure I'll be doing a lot more. I have to tell you though those prayers made a difference, maybe only to me but I felt it. Is it unholy to discuss confession on a blog - probably but I'm sure I'll get to that.
Other factors in my day included meeting up with my brother with mum at a polish cafe,after his honeymoon on the oriental express. Watching 'Spiderman' with mum and then the remains of 'Interview With A Vampire'. I hadn't seen 'Spiderman' before though 'Interview With a Vampire' did give me an opportunity to explain who Kirsten Dunst was to mum. Jamie emailed me some very good photographs of the Wharves. Mum got seriously stressed out about meeting Dad on a reconnaissance mission (and they're not even divorced). I still worry bout my mum dying but luckily I can hear her snoring through the wall right now. Everything else relating to this kind of stuff is just a little to close to home to jot down for all you folks to read. Yesterday i finished my crochet blanket. Robert Mugabe is just evil and consumerism reins on. Tomorrow I aim to help mum tidy the house, phone Afton, phone Therese. And maybe, just maybe I'll get round to regigging this blog like I spoke about yesterday. Before I logged on tonight I was a bit bemused that what appears to be a reasonable prominent New York literary website was already using the name 'small spiral notebook'. Should I stick with this theme? Does it matter? are there any original thoughts left? I still haven't mentioned Jamie's inspiration via Emmett yet. Maybe I'll leave it for when I'm dry or you guys are particularly board.
Friday 20 June 2008
same day
Does this mean I'm addicted to blogging? Just spent the last half hour customising the blog I quite like it! What do you think? I've already hit my first major dilemma. Setting up the blog I used the word notepad instead of notebook. Are they interchangeable? I don't think so, my preference was for notebook but i haphazardly used notepad in a moment of misjudgement. I will probably delete all this except for the post and reset it up again like you wouldn't notice. Except I've told you. Being honest is good. I'll probably change Notepad to Notebook throughout the first post see I'm telling you everything. Do you think I should keep a separate blog for art stuff? Art stuff has already seeped in the first of my very separate lives has already seeped in. I hope it's not poisonous.
Today
well today I'm sitting at home (well home for today) creating this blog and contributing to another blog I completely rebuilt yesterday. I don't know if I'm meant to write this blog kinda like a mission statement or whether this should be a refined and cuticle trimmed and edited version of who I actually am? Or maybe (and I'm seriously considering this) I should have a blog for each of my different dilemmas and dramas as they surface from this day forward. Also is it appropriate to backdate my blogs could I rebuild my whole life story retrospectively? Would that be appropriate? Who's' names should I use? How upset should I allow my bogs to be? Will anybody read it if I appear unstable? Do I want anybody to read it in the first place or is this just for me. The thing is a blog is pretty clear cut, isn't it? Blog's are not like all those spiral bound notepads and multicoloured pens that I exasperatingly try to keep hold of and lug around. Blogs are focused you can't fill up a blog of endless emotional drivel and crappy spiral scribbles and squiggles surrounded by pretty looking words rewrote a hundred different ways; creating a whole new genre that nobody's really released yet. Because to be honest their not really scribbles, their more abstract (with out the intelligence)and not intelligent enough to be scribbles. I mean there just swirls and pretty words. I mainly do them when I'm on the phone and if I study them very carefully sometimes I can retrace some of the conversation. So that is why I'm here so I get it down the important thoughts (which is one written page to five doddle pages) are recorded and formulated so I won't need to buy anymore notepads (though I do love them) or loose anymore pens or kill anymore trees for my own entertainment (more boredom alleviation). So that's it anytime I want to write something it will go on here. Hoping that in fact I will have access to the internet, a working computer and of course time to empty my brain of what can be drivel. Like this. Or maybe you'll come to be pleasantly surprised by the things I think I don't know this is kind of like sitting on the edge of space asking if there's anybody listening.Will this electronic transmition someday meet the edge? Maybe that's it's greatest legacy as it floats off into the ether, can things float out of the internet? or is it earth bound? Lots of questions. So the main things to get down here I think (nothing to profound)I like to write with multicoloured pens and spiral bound notebooks. I get agitated anytime that I have to write using a black pen or in a black anything. I try my very best to avoid black clothes -no I'm not kidding. Only spiral notepads will do it means you can rip pages out with no one knowing or stuff loads of stuff in it like papers and postcards without the binding cracking and I like to write. So here I am writing. Oh and more to the point I hate computers in fact I'm pretty much anti technology so this is a big step, handing it over to us humans and saying good job; maybe all this stuff can have high functionality. Though I'm sure and I might be wrong here that one day Google will collapse or bought out or existing power systems will fail or we will have used up all of the worlds resources so that computers will be no longer available and of course I will die so that this poor wee blog will have no other option than to boldly go on that mission, to the edge. So Google I'm putting my faith (faith to strong), trust in you that this blog will be kept going for as long as I'm interested and will not be deleted before a hard copy can be made only to be destroyed by fire or possible immortalised until the planets destruction in stone and even that doesn't work. So there you have it. Doodles in a notepad and possible journeys to the edge the possibilities are infinite.
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