The Lost Clause

Good evening and welcome to news at six.

This year kids around the world might face disappointment on Christmas morning. Mr. Kris Kringle aka Santa Claus has been reported missing. A distraught Mrs. Kringle told reporters today that for a while she has been noticing certain erratic behavior in her husband. In the end, she had enlisted the services of a private detective, but so far had received no news as to his whereabouts. The elves have been sent around on a worldwide hunt and the reindeer are scouting from the air for any signs of the beloved old man.

Wait, this just in: Mrs Kringle is currently on a phone call with our studio executives and she has said she received a telegram from the detective she had hired. We are waiting for her to fax it to us. Ah, here it is (thank you Trisha).

And it says: “ Santa Claus in rehab; too many Ho Ho Hos.”

Conversations with myself - part 1

“What’s wrong”, I ask myself.

“I’m not quite sure” I answer. “There’s this pent up raw mass of emotional impedimenta just waiting to get out”.

“Oh, is that it?” I say, “why didn’t you say so? And why couldn’t you use simpler words? Seriously, raw mass of emotional impedimenta? Why couldn’t you just say I feel kinda fucked up? That explains the situation just as well”.

“Well,” I reply, having thought about it for while, “it just sounds more potent, put like that y’know? It makes me sound deep”.

“Makes you sound like a proper twat it does” I say, sneeringly.

“Fine fine, I admit it. I do tent to overuse the language a bit. But sometimes when what I need to say has to be veiled so that the people they’re intended for don’t get it, it has to be done”.

“Hmmm. I get what you mean. But when you talk to me, I would appreciate you ditching the flowery language – just say it like it is, no need to gift wrap it”.

I smile.

I Return the smile.

“Anyway, so that’s how it is. Do you think it’ll get better anytime soon?”

“I dunno”, I reply. “But here’s the thing, as long as you continue to be this self absorbed you wont be doing anyone any good”.

“I know. And I’m going to drag myself out of this. Soon. I have to.”

“You will.” I say, understanding full well what I’m talking about. “Sometimes you need to be a little self indulgent and wallow. It’s all part of the process.”

“It just sucks, y’know.”

“I know.”

I sit back, feeling slightly better for the conversation, the company and the realization that no matter what, I can always count on myself to dig me out of whatever hole I’m in.

Rambling on...

Is there any point in dwelling on the why? We insist on harping on the why me and why now and forget that whatever it was has already happened; without lamenting the why, the best thing might be to move on. Deal with the now and forget about ever getting any answers as to how things got fucked up. It’s another one of those unanswerable questions that insists on hammering at us till we’re broken. Dwelling on the why – that way madness lies.

How to Build a Working Relationship- Step 1 - Problem Solving

Men tend to approach problems armed with a sledgehammer and a box of tools. If a woman tries to talk to them about something that’s bothering them a man will stop her mid-sentence and fire off a series of questions. They will completely ignore her need to just talk and insist on getting to the crux of the matter. Then they will provide solution after solution after solution. All of which the woman will dismiss because she didn’t come to him for a solution; she came to him to whinge. But he aint listening; he’s brandishing that sledgehammer and threatening to take the drill-bits out.

So there we are. This is why women have girlfriends, who listen for as long as they need to complain without seeing the need to offer any sort of solution. They will counter by offering similar examples from their own lives and nodding in agreement at whatever is said. Tentative solutions will be suggested, but these are mere evasive maneuvers. Not the ball crunching solutions a man would provide. Sated of the need to complain, the woman will return to the man smilingly happy and the man will unwittingly surmise that she’s happy because he solved her problem.

Summary: for a relationship to function without hiccups it requires three entities; the man, the woman and the other woman.

Musings (7)

Maybe we're all supposed to be alone; with random bursts of happiness to lull us into a false sense of security only to have the rug pulled out from under our feet when we're looking the other way. That should be our status update for life.

Musings (6)

How many times do you struggle to your feet only to be shoved down again, before you say fuck it, i'm done?

Want

Unbidden

enter the realm of the fanciful

stalk the darkness, chase the shadows

A glimpse of the light

withheld by propriety

hovers

teasing, taunting tantalizing

The shape of perfection flees the imperfect reality

The craving longing needing

engulfs, smothers the spirit

Unheard

Unheeded

Unloved

Pepper-my-roni (act 1-scene 1)

(doorbell) ding-dong
Scantily Clad Blonde: “oh, I think my pizza’s here!”
(bounces towards door)

Unusually Buff Pizza Delivery Boy: “I hope your table’s laid coz your pizza’s here” (smirk)

Scantily Clad Blonde “I hope my table’s not the only thing that’s getting laid!”

(unusually buff pizza delivery boy sweeps open door, sweeps pizza down on the ground and sweeps scantily clad blonde off her feet and into his arms )

Unusually Buff Pizza Delivery Boy:"and i hope your doorbell's not the only thing i ring." (wiggles eyebrows)

/end scene/

carousal

lost in the madness of the indefinable

crazed by a notion that’s so ridiculously naïve

wandering in the maybe of the never ever will

look out from within, reality mocks you

while happiness points its withering finger beside

endless twists and turns

the undefeatable labyrinth of the mind

take us where you will

enslaved by consciousness

defeated by free will

Musings (5)

randomly coming across writing that is pure genius makes me feel like an illiterate buffoon.

(i initially wrote "retard" instead of "illiterate buffoon" then realised that retards live in their own world of colourful whimsy and that i'm not worthy of the description)

Cat Murder Mystery - UPDATE!

This just in!

Tom Cat has fled the scene of the crime. Girlfriend bereft.

The victim was interred today in a private ceremony presided over by an udella and my cousin's home-help boy.

Police have sent out an APB for Tom Cat but suspect that he has fled the country on a forged passport.

Felinus Expirus Maximus

There's a dead cat in our garden. I know it's dead because I compared it to a live cat. A live cat (Fig A), when you poke it with a stick, tends to wiggle and look at you quizzically, as if to say “why are you poking me with a stick?”. A dead one (Fig B) however, doesn't much care.

From the positioning of the body I suspect the neighbouring Tom Cat (who is the current paramour of the wild cat that inhabits our garden) murdered him in a jealous rage and cleverly positioned the body under a fallen coconut tree to stage a suicide attempt. I however, am privy to the fact that the coconut tree fell down the day before the fateful event.

I’m onto you Tom Cat, I gots my eye on you.

Ineffectual Rage

how do we battle loneliness

that feeling of utter emptiness

benumbing

inexpressible

just pure frustration emanating from your pores

give in

bottomless pit of despair

try to rise above

but there’s no one there

who will hold you when you cry

who will want you now

a shell of who you once were

masquerading as a person

it’s all pretense

unreal

unfeeling mass of malcontent

wallowing

pitiful

repressed anger holding you down

so much to let go of

so much to hold on to

where is the damn light when you need it

what do we strive for

where will we find it

diminished hope

absolute

utter

loneliness

Discontent

Invisible borders

Roping us in

Dictating the beginning and the end

Defining the possible and the impossible

Taunting us, containing us

Break free and there lies bewilderment

Unleash the monsters and they prey

Savage our being

Ravage our core

Stay within, conform

Dissatisfied yet safe

Damn the system,

Damn it to hell

Musings (4)

We constantly seem to be on the brink of something. The start of, the end of, even the middle is a standing ground for some sort of left or right turn. When ever are we going to be satisfied with our lot? Is the need for a better state of being ever going to abate? Even when we say that we are content with our lot, do we not secretly wish that someone somewhere would pick up the phone and dial our number? Do we ever let go of the remnants of yesterday that echo in the misty corridors of our mind, or do we let them hover behind the cobwebs, dormant, waiting to be unleashed at our most vulnerable moments.

Why do I sometimes write such sanctimonious tosh? J

Song for Boo

Swore to myself

I wouldn’t be here again

stuck in the sameness

of the all over again

At the crossroads i stand

unwilling to decide

to win, to lose, to stay benign

or to give up the goddamned fight

One step either way

life changes forevermore

can’t I please stand here in the middle

coz I really can’t let go

Can’t face the fact

that I have to live with the choice I make

reluctant, indecisive

by which path do I gain

Peace of mind, peace of soul

a piece of me forevermore

I lose

whichever step I take

Hunger

What defines loneliness?

Is it the lack of someone, the need for someone or the want of someone?

That all too familiar sinking feeling

Strangely occurring in our most crowded moments

Surrounded by everyone, enveloped by no one

Haunted by a notion, a half formed idea

Caught unawares by a need we didn’t want

Scream out into the silence

Only to have the walls echo your screams back at you

We wait for it to abate

For we have nothing else but time