This is a story I have been writing for the past couple of weeks in the creative writing group on Fridays called Maybelienes sheep, it is quite different from all the other things I have posted but i hope you enjoy reading it.
MAYBELIENES SHEEP PART 1
'What a good way to make a first impression' said Maybeliene sitting on a fence that over looked a large sheeping penn.
'Its not often I go out on dates' she spoke with a thick lumpen accent, wearing a pearly skirt and thick woven shall, with blonde curls lolloping over the top.
The sheep just glared at her whilst they munched on the green grass.
she sighed 'Oh I dont get many admirers in this place' she looked eye tot eye with the sheep. Its eyes looked empty and glass like, you know how sheep's eyes usually look, but secretly it was planning away, as sheep can be very deceiving.
'Life just seems to suck away here, you know like the sands of time' she said staring off into the distance. 'what would you know your just farm animals' she sighed.
Maybeliene lived on a farm right out in the middle of nowhere, nowhere being a massive stratosphere. she bemoaned being stuck out in the middle of nowhere, on a farm with her mum and dad being the only humans around, and a flock of around 1000 sheep.
A voice rang out from the rickety farm house, 'Maybeliene its Supper time'
'Coming' she said leaping up and skipping off towards the little rickerty tin shack that was the farm house.
'I'll see you later'
The sheep then huddled together. 'The coast is clear' said one of the sheep, then they all began to stretch their bodies and stand on their hind legs.
'God I feel sour, after standing on all four legs and this grass ' said a big muscley sheep
'You should have been listening to the poor lass'
'We must do something to help her' said one sheep with a concerned tone in the voice.
'she's been going on about tom for quite sometime'
Tom for those of you who are interested was the name of Maybelienes date, he was a handsome young chap who was new to the area. Tom came from place called Somewhere, which is completely different to Nowhere, as it has lots of big buildings. where as Nowhere has well er nothing of the sort.
He actually lived right on the border of Nowhere and Somewhere, because he still had business dealings in Somewhere.
'These darn humans cant hear us all they can hear is unmitigated bleating'
'I have an idea, why don't we writer him a letter from her'
'But there is one problem, we don't have a pen or paper'
'not to worry I have a cunning plan'
Now if you ever hear a sheep say that last phrase then you should be very afraid as usually things can go very wrong.
So later that that night after the sun had set, the sheep surrounded the farm house, it looked very quiet in the house, not even the mice were stiring.
'Right so I have to go in there and nabb a piece of paper and a pen' barked one of the sheep in a orderly fashion. 'Butter cup and Randy give me the all clear'
'Righteo Sean' they bleated.
Sean was the most adventurous sheep, at time admittedly he was a bit gung ho a bit like a sheep variation of Rambo. he always had to take charge of every situation
'All clear'
Sean crept forward through the front door that had bee left a jar. creeping through the house he bundled into things, because you see sheep dont have very good balance. Easy does it he thought to himself as he poked his head into a low lit room, with a flickering TV and a thick tweed couch that held up both of of Maybelienes parents who were fast asleep, slumped together.
Sean eyed a small office desk in the corner, which had a pad of paper and pen out on top. 'Bingo' he said to himself as he edged towards the desk, snatching pen and paper. But of course sheep dont have hands, so you imagine that picking things up are quite difficult.
There was an almighty crash as he had flung himself at the desk. Luckily for Sean Maybelienes parents were still fast asleep on the couch. Maybelienes parents are really heavy sleepers, so heavy that they have slept through hurricanes and earthquakes. you name it they have slept through it, aeroplane crashes.
Phew he thought to himself that could have bee close.
He managed to nab a pen and piece of paper in his mouth and pass by Maybelienes room. Her door was open and Sean poked his head through into her room, casting his eyes over her sleeping body on a thick sagging bed that was struggling to contain the mattress that she lay on.
Bless her, she really is trying her best he thought to himself with a fond heart. maybelienes room was no different to any ordinary girls room really with photos and posters of her idles strewn all over her walls.
He then noticed both Buttercup and Randy peering through a window opposite the bed, he signalled for them to leave as he turned to make his way out of the house.
The very next day Dawn came around as per usual, waking up everbody with its morning sunshine. Sean organised the sheep so that they could write the letter, he had several sheep hold down the piece of paper whilst he grappled the pen in his mouth, he made it look like the sheep were grazing.
Sean had deployed Randy and Buttercup as look outs as they were pretty much the only sheep in the flock who were good at alerting the other sheep of any danger.
'right how should we start this letter?' Sean asked the other sheep
'I think most humans start with the word dear,dont they?'
Sean just stood thinking for a few seconds, 'Dear, Der, Dear, der, dear, or Der, Dear Der' was floating through his head, as he proceeded to write the letter. As you could imagine the writing was pretty shaky,I mean have you ever written with your mouth. It was like an endless mind game for Sean.
well anyway he carefully guided himself around the letters.
'I swear those sheep are up to something!' said Maybelienes dad staring out of the kitchen window across the sheep field.
'In what way dear?' queried his wife who was serving up breakfast
'I dont know! but they are acting a bit weird' he said staring at Maybeliene as she hoofed down the breakfast which consisted of maple waffles and syrup.
'Maybeliene make sure you chew propperly because we dont want you getting that gut rot again.
These words went un noticed as she pile driven food down her throat.
'Right I am off to play with the sheep' she said before sprinting out of the door.
'Quick hide the letter' shouted Randy and Buttercup as they could see Maybeliene running towards them in scary abundance of glee.
This facial expression dear reader would strike fear into most animals hearts, as she set about playing with the sheep until the evening.
The Evening came about and the sheep huddled together.
'Right,this is the finished letter' said Sean producing a scruffy piece of paper covered in shoddy writing, it wont be made clear what was written until later in the story.
'How are we going to get this to him?' asked one of the other sheep.
'Well' Sean paused for thought @We are going to hav e to deliver it to him ourselvs aren't we' he said puffing out his chest.
Wednesday, 26 January 2011
Tuesday, 18 January 2011
The Passing Of A Dear Friend
This next post will follow on from events that happened after my hospital incident. Because if it wasn't enough having nearly died in hospital, then what was about to happen was a lot worst. It was worst because it was unpredicted and happened suddenly.
I am talking about the death of a friend, which triggered off a whole series of events which nearly tore my family to pieces.
This is something which I haven't really properly talked about with a lot of you. So this may be a bit hard to read, so I am going to do my best to sum up the whole situation.
So here goes, my parents decided to lease out half of the house in Horsley to a popular young family, the Harvey Lewis's. They were, Chris and Imogen, with two children Kit and Jake, they were the kind of family that was almost instantly endorsed in the whole village. My parents saw a younger version of themselves, because they threw themselves into all sorts of things.
They were really great to have around, largely because of having someone like Chris around it helped me ease tensions that had arisen between me and my dad. I think this might have something to do with the fact that dad kind of was feeling that he had been a bad parent to me because he did not know how to relate to me. so Chris was a bit of a meditative personality for me, her helped us understand each other so that we would not be cross with each other, I will admit to being a complete hopeless slacker at the time.
Chris was really heavily involved with helping out a local theatre group called Fair Game, who were a started up by local villagers with an aim to provide theatre that had ethical messages behind it which they would take to schools and stuff.
Their first play was about chocolate and the slave trade that many of the producers like kraft use.
Chris used to help them out with the lighting and sound effects, often at times doing narration for their stories. it was whilst he was working for them that he suffered with Anyuerism to the head.
If you don't know what an anyuerism is, it is when a blood vessel bursts because it has been putt under pressure. So basically he was out with the Theatre group at a School when he suddenly collapsed. The thing about Ayuerisms is that there is no way that you can predict when they are going to happen, its like all internal ilnesses you cant predict anything.
You see when I got a call from my Mum saying something had happened I thought to myself it cant be something that serious, it was only the next day when she came to see me in bristol that I got and idea that it was pretty bad. My Mum is usually a pretty cheery character, but that she was pretty cold and emotionally grey.
'They suspect he had an anyuerism bleed in his head' she said coldly as we were having lunch together. 'He may not make it through but if he does then he will be servierly brain damged'
'What is the likely hood of him surviving?' I asked .To which she replied 'The doctors think that it is pretty unlikely'
she placed a hand on mine and said 'We had better prepair for the worst'. This note struck a chord with me as I felt a cold chill.
That night I wrote a song about him called Shining Star, I still have the words somewhere I think, if I do the I will post them up. I had a little prayer because this sent me into turmoil of depression and self blame.
He was placed in a coma, where he was two weeks before he passed away. He was only about 18 years older then me, if he was around to day then he would only just about be 46 years old.
The whole anyuerism thing cast a massive cloud over the village community, things felt like we were started to be placed in a pressure cooker because of the uncertainty of if he was going to survive or not. My Mum would often go in and visit him reporting back on any progress.
I never went to see him in hospital because I was too scared to go anywhere near a hospital. it was only a matter of months after I had been there, in a coma and I didnt want to be reminded of it. And so because I didnt have the nerve to go and see him on his death bed, I kind of blamed myself for his death, i probably shouldnt have, but with the two events so close together I couldnt help but feel what I did.
There was a massive amount of strain endured by my parents around this point, you could just feel tension running out. I mean my parents celebrated their 25th wedding aniversary and joint Birthday Party, even though the event was supposed to be fun, I felt an on running sense of frustration in-between my parents.
There was a lot of stress going on and emotional problems for my parents, I found it really hard to speak to people at the time, you I was a really shy reclusive person, who had little or no social skills at the time.
I was lucky I was at Access To Music at the time par taking in a 3 year course studying in Contemporary popular music in Bristol. so I was lucky that I was not in the cauldron, litteraly it did feel like a cauldron, I would go back to my parents on the weekends because I would get home sick.
The place felt like a valley of death, all emotions were stale. I missed his funeral due to going on a pre arranged skiing holiday with my Mum and my Sister. I think dad couldnt help but feel a kind of frustration.
On the day of his funeral, I had a bad anxiety attack in the worst possible place to ever have one, on top of a mountain about 35,000 feet above sea level, this caused me to go nearly careering off the mountain. I guess that would have been quite some way to go out. My confidence was shot to pieces.
So for me I never got to say good bye to someone really close to, which heaped the sense of self blame on myself and poured pressure on my parents relationship. Things soured pretty quickly, it is amazing to see how quickly the tide can turn on people really, because one moment my parents were lauded as heros of the village and the next moment they were public enemy number 1.
This was partly due to my mum evicting Imogen and the kids, this maybe seen by some as an over reaction. But she hated the feeling of there being no let up in the tension, she also evicted them because she feared loosing my dad her husband, because as per all males pretty much have the soft spot for younger women. She felt very threatened.
You know the whole sticks and Stones, may break my bones but words will never hurt me malarkey, well I tell you from my experience words can lethal weapons especially when you are in small village then words travel very fast. mounting pressure from who you thought were your friends turned their backs.
This is kind of how I felt as my parents separated for 6 months, I felt a grey ness mixed up bag of what I should probably be feeling and what I was actually feeling. I felt hurt by people because I could over hear little whispers hear and there and back stabbing words.
It was a really hard time, because I could over hear my parents rowing in the kitchen below my bedroom sometimes. This made me scared to go down stairs because I didn't know what whirlwind was going to hit me, so I would often hide myself away writing down lyrical notes on pads of paper which my parents would fins scattered around the place.
I didn't feel like I had a voice, you wouldn't believe it now with the amount of noise I can make. I used to just hide behind the drum kit hitting them hard, I hit them real hard, so hard you could hear across the valley.
It was during this period that I created my rap personality Manic F, as in all the gigs I would talk about this period on a track I called Wanted In The Valley Of Death, where I would talk about the feelings of self doubt. I felt that the villagers to a certain extent blamed me for his death, although they probably didn't.
I guess I tried to use music as an anger management tool, because I was really reeling, or maybe still am.
I saw his brother about a year or two ago, both Chris and his brother were huge music fans, especially when it came too chill out music or psychedelic rock. I was at a Secret Machines gig in the Thekla where he turned up. I couldn't bring myself to speak to him. I actually had quite horrific flashback during that gig of me in Hospital and actually had a mini freak out panic attack sort of thing.
I guess this is kind of a bit hard to understand, but hopefully this will have cleared a few potential things up!
I am talking about the death of a friend, which triggered off a whole series of events which nearly tore my family to pieces.
This is something which I haven't really properly talked about with a lot of you. So this may be a bit hard to read, so I am going to do my best to sum up the whole situation.
So here goes, my parents decided to lease out half of the house in Horsley to a popular young family, the Harvey Lewis's. They were, Chris and Imogen, with two children Kit and Jake, they were the kind of family that was almost instantly endorsed in the whole village. My parents saw a younger version of themselves, because they threw themselves into all sorts of things.
They were really great to have around, largely because of having someone like Chris around it helped me ease tensions that had arisen between me and my dad. I think this might have something to do with the fact that dad kind of was feeling that he had been a bad parent to me because he did not know how to relate to me. so Chris was a bit of a meditative personality for me, her helped us understand each other so that we would not be cross with each other, I will admit to being a complete hopeless slacker at the time.
Chris was really heavily involved with helping out a local theatre group called Fair Game, who were a started up by local villagers with an aim to provide theatre that had ethical messages behind it which they would take to schools and stuff.
Their first play was about chocolate and the slave trade that many of the producers like kraft use.
Chris used to help them out with the lighting and sound effects, often at times doing narration for their stories. it was whilst he was working for them that he suffered with Anyuerism to the head.
If you don't know what an anyuerism is, it is when a blood vessel bursts because it has been putt under pressure. So basically he was out with the Theatre group at a School when he suddenly collapsed. The thing about Ayuerisms is that there is no way that you can predict when they are going to happen, its like all internal ilnesses you cant predict anything.
You see when I got a call from my Mum saying something had happened I thought to myself it cant be something that serious, it was only the next day when she came to see me in bristol that I got and idea that it was pretty bad. My Mum is usually a pretty cheery character, but that she was pretty cold and emotionally grey.
'They suspect he had an anyuerism bleed in his head' she said coldly as we were having lunch together. 'He may not make it through but if he does then he will be servierly brain damged'
'What is the likely hood of him surviving?' I asked .To which she replied 'The doctors think that it is pretty unlikely'
she placed a hand on mine and said 'We had better prepair for the worst'. This note struck a chord with me as I felt a cold chill.
That night I wrote a song about him called Shining Star, I still have the words somewhere I think, if I do the I will post them up. I had a little prayer because this sent me into turmoil of depression and self blame.
He was placed in a coma, where he was two weeks before he passed away. He was only about 18 years older then me, if he was around to day then he would only just about be 46 years old.
The whole anyuerism thing cast a massive cloud over the village community, things felt like we were started to be placed in a pressure cooker because of the uncertainty of if he was going to survive or not. My Mum would often go in and visit him reporting back on any progress.
I never went to see him in hospital because I was too scared to go anywhere near a hospital. it was only a matter of months after I had been there, in a coma and I didnt want to be reminded of it. And so because I didnt have the nerve to go and see him on his death bed, I kind of blamed myself for his death, i probably shouldnt have, but with the two events so close together I couldnt help but feel what I did.
There was a massive amount of strain endured by my parents around this point, you could just feel tension running out. I mean my parents celebrated their 25th wedding aniversary and joint Birthday Party, even though the event was supposed to be fun, I felt an on running sense of frustration in-between my parents.
There was a lot of stress going on and emotional problems for my parents, I found it really hard to speak to people at the time, you I was a really shy reclusive person, who had little or no social skills at the time.
I was lucky I was at Access To Music at the time par taking in a 3 year course studying in Contemporary popular music in Bristol. so I was lucky that I was not in the cauldron, litteraly it did feel like a cauldron, I would go back to my parents on the weekends because I would get home sick.
The place felt like a valley of death, all emotions were stale. I missed his funeral due to going on a pre arranged skiing holiday with my Mum and my Sister. I think dad couldnt help but feel a kind of frustration.
On the day of his funeral, I had a bad anxiety attack in the worst possible place to ever have one, on top of a mountain about 35,000 feet above sea level, this caused me to go nearly careering off the mountain. I guess that would have been quite some way to go out. My confidence was shot to pieces.
So for me I never got to say good bye to someone really close to, which heaped the sense of self blame on myself and poured pressure on my parents relationship. Things soured pretty quickly, it is amazing to see how quickly the tide can turn on people really, because one moment my parents were lauded as heros of the village and the next moment they were public enemy number 1.
This was partly due to my mum evicting Imogen and the kids, this maybe seen by some as an over reaction. But she hated the feeling of there being no let up in the tension, she also evicted them because she feared loosing my dad her husband, because as per all males pretty much have the soft spot for younger women. She felt very threatened.
You know the whole sticks and Stones, may break my bones but words will never hurt me malarkey, well I tell you from my experience words can lethal weapons especially when you are in small village then words travel very fast. mounting pressure from who you thought were your friends turned their backs.
This is kind of how I felt as my parents separated for 6 months, I felt a grey ness mixed up bag of what I should probably be feeling and what I was actually feeling. I felt hurt by people because I could over hear little whispers hear and there and back stabbing words.
It was a really hard time, because I could over hear my parents rowing in the kitchen below my bedroom sometimes. This made me scared to go down stairs because I didn't know what whirlwind was going to hit me, so I would often hide myself away writing down lyrical notes on pads of paper which my parents would fins scattered around the place.
I didn't feel like I had a voice, you wouldn't believe it now with the amount of noise I can make. I used to just hide behind the drum kit hitting them hard, I hit them real hard, so hard you could hear across the valley.
It was during this period that I created my rap personality Manic F, as in all the gigs I would talk about this period on a track I called Wanted In The Valley Of Death, where I would talk about the feelings of self doubt. I felt that the villagers to a certain extent blamed me for his death, although they probably didn't.
I guess I tried to use music as an anger management tool, because I was really reeling, or maybe still am.
I saw his brother about a year or two ago, both Chris and his brother were huge music fans, especially when it came too chill out music or psychedelic rock. I was at a Secret Machines gig in the Thekla where he turned up. I couldn't bring myself to speak to him. I actually had quite horrific flashback during that gig of me in Hospital and actually had a mini freak out panic attack sort of thing.
I guess this is kind of a bit hard to understand, but hopefully this will have cleared a few potential things up!
Wednesday, 12 January 2011
Hospital Drama
Ok so some of you, may have heard this story and you might have heard me talk about this a lot. So I am sorry if I annoy you. its just that I have been in a bit of an emotional mood recently, this is partly due to being a bit lonely in some way. Some of the stuff I am going to write about in this post may be a bit close to the bone yet again with honest things.
So basically this is the story of what happened to me in the tail end of 2002, I came really close to dieing on the opperation table at Gloucester Royal Infermarie (I am not sure if I spelt that word right or not!).
About two months after my 20th Birthday I fell really ill from Appendicitus, It felt like I was being stabbed in the stomach because the pain was seathing. I don't know if any of you out there have had appendicitis, if you have then you would probably understand what the pain is like!
what happened to me was a complete changing period in my life, I can remember the fear I had when my Mum had to drive me into hospital. Not only was I deep in agony but I also had blood poisoning at the same time. This was causing me to feel very shaky and my skin to go an off yellow colour.
I have never been a big fan of hospitals, I dont think anyone really is a fan to be honest. I especially got a really bad feeling where I could just sense something was going to go wrong.
This feeling wasn't helped by the fact that the doctor who was trying to get my blood sample took 7 times to get the right vein. I was already pretty queasy with needles, but this made things a lot worst, especially as my muscles tensioned.
I can remember saying to my Mum that I thought something was going to wrong, she just said 'Now now we cant have you like this, you are going to be fine' she said reassuringly. 'Will I be able to watch the fa cup game', I know this was of little consequence to what was about to happen, but I was a massive Forest Green Rovers fan and didn't want to miss the chance to see my team in the fa cup
But as it proved to be something did go wrong and almost fatally so. I was admittedly fearing the worst when the anaesthetist came round to see me before surgery.
All i can say is the surgery was a pretty bad botch up of an opperation, I think that there were several flaws in what they did, the most major one was that they misjudged the muscle relaxant I would need. I am a pretty strong guy, I know I dont flash my muscles around, but i am a lot stronger then you think.
So it gets to the point where they are lets say half way through the operation, where the anaesthetics start to wear off this meant that I had a sudden muscle spazzm and for me to become semi concious.
I remember seeing a light and a franrtic face staring at me with, a level of stress. You see they had also just found my appendix next to my liver. My muscle spasm had caused me to bight onto the air tube causing my lungs to flood with fluid. so i was effectively drowning on the operating table. Now you could probably imagine what this was doing to my already over powered liver.
what a way it would have been to die, at 20, not really having had much of a life.
So they plunged me into a coma like state to help ease my breathing and so they could put me into recovery, this lasted for 3 days.
I can remember waking up coughing up red roughage as my eyes were jolted into action. The bright lights shone light white halogens, causing scratching in my eyeballs. There were relieved looks on the face of five shaky looking figures that surrounded me. I think there might have been some form of comforting words coming in my direction as they pored over me. My brain froze me, a sterile thought passed on through this head, which was blocked with congestion.
“What time is the FA Cup game on?” I said, without realising I had been knocked unconscious for three days solid.
I screamed, “Show me the game on the TV!”
My parents’ flat lined honesty was met by a growing frustration.
“Show me the game on the TV,” I barked with a dogged sense that I was right.
At the time, I was a hardened fan of Forest Green Rovers who were a facing a South West derby in the FA cup against Exeter City. My appendicitis had conveniently decided to kick off that weekend, making me pale and shake like a dilated alcoholic. Because of the placement of my internal organs, my liver was at risk of being flooded out.
That, aided by the surgeon’s general incompetence, nearly forced me into an early grave. At the tender age of twenty it would be too early to snuff out life’s candle. How easy is it for fully trained anaesthetists to get it so horrifically wrong? Their ineptitude led to me biting on the air tube dangling down my throat. My lungs flooded with dripping fluid as my muscles spasmed faster than you can shout ‘Jumping Jack.’ All I could remember was a bright light and the sound of panicking surgeons pushing me back to sleep.
The sense of my awakening brought about a huge wall-like sigh of relief. My eyes met their smiling faces with a bemusement before an irritating noise kicked into my ears coming from the gas machine pumping out the air. A mechanical clanking started to sound like an eighties dodgy European hair metal band.
“Turn it off!” I screamed, pulling the gas mask from my face, “That Helloween is rubbish.”
My parents slammed the mask back on my face as my eyes began to drowse sleepily.
“I do not need that!” I screamed, rabidly plucking it off my face.
“Your breath is weak and you’re very ill,” spoke a stick thin man who was taking my observations.
My Mum was sat by my side, serving me up crushed ice as a form of nourishment as I was unable to eat anything. My muscle strength was something less than depleted as three days in a comatose state had left me feeling empty, like a rotting corpse ready to hit the hay. My life was floating when a sense of fear drifted over me as I was wheeled off. My parents walked either side along with my sister, who had made all the doctors blush because of her low cut tops. Having her appear over my bed was kind of refreshing, rejuvenating the link between us because there had been something missing for a while.
They wheeled me into the intensive care unit. A place where you feel death grow as the bleeps from the heart monitors signal another person’s dying breath. This had me lingering in thoughts of desperation as the day turned into night. I tried to sleep but a mixture of the paranoia of being on a hospital ward and vivid hallucinations from the hospital drugs tripping me out kept me wide awake, playing like a weird dream cross between a psychotic mass rave and a dodgy romance film. You know, like a cheap Patrick Swayze Ghost style rom com, with Kenny G providing the soundtrack with the sort of music that would send any right-minded person up the wall. This is the effect of five different types of penicillin and Morphine mixed together to make a Molotov of hallucinations. I kept on having weird visions of mud moulded animals and surreal structural shapes, with me as some form of leader, which was bizarre.
The following day there was worrying talk floating around of me possibly needing to have a tube inserted into my throat because I was struggling to breath. This really worried me in my frail position, but as day turned to night there was something in the air. The night staff decided to try the Patch Adams method out on me by laying on a night of entertainment. Now you can imagine the drugs mixed with the night’s goings-on had some resoundingly profound effects on me. Including one such bizarre nightmare involving two of the doctors who I swear were evil scientists. I thought that they were trying to turn me into a serial killer by using the giant gas mask strapped around my face to project visions. Starting off with gentle images gradually getting more and intense, something similar to the torture scene from A Clockwork Orange.
I didn’t know what they were doing, but, hey, it seemed to be working as there were weird messages telling me to calm down. Whilst taking in stronger breaths, I could feel a sense of victory peeling off. My miraculous recovery was nothing short of spectacular and I had managed to stun the surgeons who were fully prepared to push a tube down my throat, because I was not only smiling but I was sat up out of my bed.
This gave a feeling of power as I laughed in the surgeons’ faces.
“Pah hahahaha” I spluttered at their inexplicable glumness written all over their speechless faces. I had a new fight installed, a new determination not to be plagued by the bleeps from the heart monitors. Their hollowed sounds had been plaguing me like the locust on any crop, constantly pushing me down with the worry of being at death’s door.
That same day my gran phoned up the hospital to see how I was getting on, with which I shouted out loud and clearly that I was going to be out of this place tomorrow, of course I wasn't. It was this steely sense of determination that aided my recovery.
Now I looked up with a golden horizon, everything did not seem quite so grey in the world. it took me about a week for me to recover enough to be taken home. I had to re learn one or two things because my muscles had forgotten how to do certain things like, how to eat, because had been placed on Nil by mouth this meant all the vital nutrients I needed from food was piped into me.
I had to learn how to balance again, because my muscles from the waist down had been completely out of use for the past few days. so walking was a bit of an issue.
My mum and Dad came and saw me on regular occasions, my dad even cried because he was scared of loosing me 'your not supposed to die before me he said, and I was really scared we were going to lose you' he said in a very sensitive tone
This was probably the first time that my dad had really opened up to me, I smiled at him and reassured him everything was ok.
My sister came into see me a couple of times this pleased the male staff because she had a habit of wearing low cut tops and lets just say the female side of my family are quite well en-dowered.
I tell you the day I was finally released I was so relieved to be home!
So basically this is the story of what happened to me in the tail end of 2002, I came really close to dieing on the opperation table at Gloucester Royal Infermarie (I am not sure if I spelt that word right or not!).
About two months after my 20th Birthday I fell really ill from Appendicitus, It felt like I was being stabbed in the stomach because the pain was seathing. I don't know if any of you out there have had appendicitis, if you have then you would probably understand what the pain is like!
what happened to me was a complete changing period in my life, I can remember the fear I had when my Mum had to drive me into hospital. Not only was I deep in agony but I also had blood poisoning at the same time. This was causing me to feel very shaky and my skin to go an off yellow colour.
I have never been a big fan of hospitals, I dont think anyone really is a fan to be honest. I especially got a really bad feeling where I could just sense something was going to go wrong.
This feeling wasn't helped by the fact that the doctor who was trying to get my blood sample took 7 times to get the right vein. I was already pretty queasy with needles, but this made things a lot worst, especially as my muscles tensioned.
I can remember saying to my Mum that I thought something was going to wrong, she just said 'Now now we cant have you like this, you are going to be fine' she said reassuringly. 'Will I be able to watch the fa cup game', I know this was of little consequence to what was about to happen, but I was a massive Forest Green Rovers fan and didn't want to miss the chance to see my team in the fa cup
But as it proved to be something did go wrong and almost fatally so. I was admittedly fearing the worst when the anaesthetist came round to see me before surgery.
All i can say is the surgery was a pretty bad botch up of an opperation, I think that there were several flaws in what they did, the most major one was that they misjudged the muscle relaxant I would need. I am a pretty strong guy, I know I dont flash my muscles around, but i am a lot stronger then you think.
So it gets to the point where they are lets say half way through the operation, where the anaesthetics start to wear off this meant that I had a sudden muscle spazzm and for me to become semi concious.
I remember seeing a light and a franrtic face staring at me with, a level of stress. You see they had also just found my appendix next to my liver. My muscle spasm had caused me to bight onto the air tube causing my lungs to flood with fluid. so i was effectively drowning on the operating table. Now you could probably imagine what this was doing to my already over powered liver.
what a way it would have been to die, at 20, not really having had much of a life.
So they plunged me into a coma like state to help ease my breathing and so they could put me into recovery, this lasted for 3 days.
I can remember waking up coughing up red roughage as my eyes were jolted into action. The bright lights shone light white halogens, causing scratching in my eyeballs. There were relieved looks on the face of five shaky looking figures that surrounded me. I think there might have been some form of comforting words coming in my direction as they pored over me. My brain froze me, a sterile thought passed on through this head, which was blocked with congestion.
“What time is the FA Cup game on?” I said, without realising I had been knocked unconscious for three days solid.
I screamed, “Show me the game on the TV!”
My parents’ flat lined honesty was met by a growing frustration.
“Show me the game on the TV,” I barked with a dogged sense that I was right.
At the time, I was a hardened fan of Forest Green Rovers who were a facing a South West derby in the FA cup against Exeter City. My appendicitis had conveniently decided to kick off that weekend, making me pale and shake like a dilated alcoholic. Because of the placement of my internal organs, my liver was at risk of being flooded out.
That, aided by the surgeon’s general incompetence, nearly forced me into an early grave. At the tender age of twenty it would be too early to snuff out life’s candle. How easy is it for fully trained anaesthetists to get it so horrifically wrong? Their ineptitude led to me biting on the air tube dangling down my throat. My lungs flooded with dripping fluid as my muscles spasmed faster than you can shout ‘Jumping Jack.’ All I could remember was a bright light and the sound of panicking surgeons pushing me back to sleep.
The sense of my awakening brought about a huge wall-like sigh of relief. My eyes met their smiling faces with a bemusement before an irritating noise kicked into my ears coming from the gas machine pumping out the air. A mechanical clanking started to sound like an eighties dodgy European hair metal band.
“Turn it off!” I screamed, pulling the gas mask from my face, “That Helloween is rubbish.”
My parents slammed the mask back on my face as my eyes began to drowse sleepily.
“I do not need that!” I screamed, rabidly plucking it off my face.
“Your breath is weak and you’re very ill,” spoke a stick thin man who was taking my observations.
My Mum was sat by my side, serving me up crushed ice as a form of nourishment as I was unable to eat anything. My muscle strength was something less than depleted as three days in a comatose state had left me feeling empty, like a rotting corpse ready to hit the hay. My life was floating when a sense of fear drifted over me as I was wheeled off. My parents walked either side along with my sister, who had made all the doctors blush because of her low cut tops. Having her appear over my bed was kind of refreshing, rejuvenating the link between us because there had been something missing for a while.
They wheeled me into the intensive care unit. A place where you feel death grow as the bleeps from the heart monitors signal another person’s dying breath. This had me lingering in thoughts of desperation as the day turned into night. I tried to sleep but a mixture of the paranoia of being on a hospital ward and vivid hallucinations from the hospital drugs tripping me out kept me wide awake, playing like a weird dream cross between a psychotic mass rave and a dodgy romance film. You know, like a cheap Patrick Swayze Ghost style rom com, with Kenny G providing the soundtrack with the sort of music that would send any right-minded person up the wall. This is the effect of five different types of penicillin and Morphine mixed together to make a Molotov of hallucinations. I kept on having weird visions of mud moulded animals and surreal structural shapes, with me as some form of leader, which was bizarre.
The following day there was worrying talk floating around of me possibly needing to have a tube inserted into my throat because I was struggling to breath. This really worried me in my frail position, but as day turned to night there was something in the air. The night staff decided to try the Patch Adams method out on me by laying on a night of entertainment. Now you can imagine the drugs mixed with the night’s goings-on had some resoundingly profound effects on me. Including one such bizarre nightmare involving two of the doctors who I swear were evil scientists. I thought that they were trying to turn me into a serial killer by using the giant gas mask strapped around my face to project visions. Starting off with gentle images gradually getting more and intense, something similar to the torture scene from A Clockwork Orange.
I didn’t know what they were doing, but, hey, it seemed to be working as there were weird messages telling me to calm down. Whilst taking in stronger breaths, I could feel a sense of victory peeling off. My miraculous recovery was nothing short of spectacular and I had managed to stun the surgeons who were fully prepared to push a tube down my throat, because I was not only smiling but I was sat up out of my bed.
This gave a feeling of power as I laughed in the surgeons’ faces.
“Pah hahahaha” I spluttered at their inexplicable glumness written all over their speechless faces. I had a new fight installed, a new determination not to be plagued by the bleeps from the heart monitors. Their hollowed sounds had been plaguing me like the locust on any crop, constantly pushing me down with the worry of being at death’s door.
That same day my gran phoned up the hospital to see how I was getting on, with which I shouted out loud and clearly that I was going to be out of this place tomorrow, of course I wasn't. It was this steely sense of determination that aided my recovery.
Now I looked up with a golden horizon, everything did not seem quite so grey in the world. it took me about a week for me to recover enough to be taken home. I had to re learn one or two things because my muscles had forgotten how to do certain things like, how to eat, because had been placed on Nil by mouth this meant all the vital nutrients I needed from food was piped into me.
I had to learn how to balance again, because my muscles from the waist down had been completely out of use for the past few days. so walking was a bit of an issue.
My mum and Dad came and saw me on regular occasions, my dad even cried because he was scared of loosing me 'your not supposed to die before me he said, and I was really scared we were going to lose you' he said in a very sensitive tone
This was probably the first time that my dad had really opened up to me, I smiled at him and reassured him everything was ok.
My sister came into see me a couple of times this pleased the male staff because she had a habit of wearing low cut tops and lets just say the female side of my family are quite well en-dowered.
I tell you the day I was finally released I was so relieved to be home!
Sunday, 2 January 2011
Christmas Break
Hello everybody, Well Christmas came and went pretty quickly, it has this annoying habit of speeding up every year, its like as people say that things come around faster the older you grow. Even if you want things to slow down, then they wont.
It kind of has this nasty habit of doing this to us, especially me. I feel that sometimes life is like a meteoroid hurtling through time and space faster then you can say jumping Jack has spazm attack.
As per usual Christmas gave me a much needed break, for solitude and pesimism to escape me, as my body had become weary with all the activities of 2010. I mean this on a serious note, the week before I went away to my parents I had made myself really mentally unstable, this was of course due to lack of sleep.
I was yoyoing in-between emotions, generally sparking full on pandemonium. from secound to secound my moods swang from overly hyperly positive and down right narcissistic pessimism. I think this partly may have something to do with kind of getting heart broken by another one of my crushes, I really should no better but hey I am me forever a dreamer.
Its like as if in my head I have what I call crystal chandelier fantasies, where I place sed person in my head, now I know I am not the only person that does this.
I know loads of people who fantasised about other people.
I know people have built entire carriers on the fact that people fantasise, just look at the world of celebrities and adult stars, most of them are sold on the premises of fantasy.
Its perennial their grass is greener then mine state of mentality, that we tend to eye upon a lot of people, with various kind of band wagons which they are paraded in front of us. When in truth they are probably about the same in greenness.
I know I have been waffling on for quite a bit for the last little while about absolute nonsense, but this is how my mind works, its a many random thing.
So getting back on my original subject, my Christmas. Went down to my parents in Plymouth. Yes, I fled these leafy greens of Bristol to the Leafy Plymouth, or leaky Plymouth as it is really out on the sea front.
As per usual I turned up at my parents in my impressive state, head hanging on a 45 degree angle, eyes bleeding from lack of sleep and body shaking. These are some of the side effects I tend to suffer, when my body pays me back for the past year.
But boy I was in an emotional mess, my parents as per usual just wrote off as me being one of those kind of states, that they usually pick me up in. I mean I love my folks to bits they have helped me out so many times its un believable.
My parents are the kind of people who also really know how to build a community spirit where ever they are, they have taught me many valuable lessons, even if they do come across to some people as being a bit odd. For instance not many people would have a bonfire out in the snow, but hell yes my parents and I did and it was amazing.
So they treated me royally especially with my Sister not being around, to be honest I do get pretty spoilt. They got me an ipod shuffle for my main present with which it is currently loaded with lots of Ian Dury and Iggy Pop stuff.
I have tend to visualise the bands playing the songs, right in-front of my eyes when ever I hear them on record, I can see the colours and the patterns that the melodies or the guitar noise can make.
I also realise that different sounds have different effects on me, for instance listening to What A Waist by Ian Dury put me in a positive mood because not only is it a great song by one of England's greatest song writers but you can sense that his parents saw him as a bit of disappointment and the struggles with life, it puts me in a positive mood listening to his punk style joy de vie.
Where as Raw Power by the Stooges really turns me on in a kind of sexual way, because there are some guitar sounds which have an automatic turn on device to me. If there are any girls out there reading this that wanted to lure me into their place with music then give me Igg Pop and the Stooges b or MC5 because the sound of guitar feedback makes me go wild. I admitedly will probably start drawling which aint too attractive
You probably didn't want to read that last paragraph, I wouldn't blame you if you were throwing up in slop bucket on reading it. Its a probably a bit of a sick thought that may haunt quite a few of you out there.
Walking around listening to my ipod did remind me how much I get sucked into the sounds, I quite often find myself pretending to be the front man of which ever artist is blaring in my ears. I have tendencies to get really carried away, even ever now and the breaking into little dance moves.
Its fair to say I got quite a few weird stares from people, i even had one guy point at me 'Hey mate there's Widow Twankie' as I strutted my stuff past him on the Plymouth High st.
Around Christmas time I found out that I tend to turn into a demented 12 yr old whos been locked in a sweetie shop, especially if there are any fair ground rides about. You see I am attracted to things which flash bright colours and are fast moving in spinning actions.
When ever I see fair ground rides, its fair to say that my attention focus is like dog with squirrel, i could be having a deep conversation with someone, and then all of a sudden must stair at big swing arm thing with red and green lights, ooow it goes really high up and down, spin spin spin, oooow.
You probably think I am completely stoned, but I reassure you this is my perfectly normal behaviour, yes really acting my mental age in its full swing, and of course I must go on the rides even if they make me chunder a pale shade of blue.
This I know is all completely over the top and stupid, but boy aint it fun, even though I am actually sitting hear, thinking what will become of me in 2011, who knows, there are one or two things I would like to see happen, It would be nice to find someone I can share special experiences with, ie like a girlfriend and also be paid to do some of the stuff I do.
But what ever happens I wish everyone out there a successful 2011
It kind of has this nasty habit of doing this to us, especially me. I feel that sometimes life is like a meteoroid hurtling through time and space faster then you can say jumping Jack has spazm attack.
As per usual Christmas gave me a much needed break, for solitude and pesimism to escape me, as my body had become weary with all the activities of 2010. I mean this on a serious note, the week before I went away to my parents I had made myself really mentally unstable, this was of course due to lack of sleep.
I was yoyoing in-between emotions, generally sparking full on pandemonium. from secound to secound my moods swang from overly hyperly positive and down right narcissistic pessimism. I think this partly may have something to do with kind of getting heart broken by another one of my crushes, I really should no better but hey I am me forever a dreamer.
Its like as if in my head I have what I call crystal chandelier fantasies, where I place sed person in my head, now I know I am not the only person that does this.
I know loads of people who fantasised about other people.
I know people have built entire carriers on the fact that people fantasise, just look at the world of celebrities and adult stars, most of them are sold on the premises of fantasy.
Its perennial their grass is greener then mine state of mentality, that we tend to eye upon a lot of people, with various kind of band wagons which they are paraded in front of us. When in truth they are probably about the same in greenness.
I know I have been waffling on for quite a bit for the last little while about absolute nonsense, but this is how my mind works, its a many random thing.
So getting back on my original subject, my Christmas. Went down to my parents in Plymouth. Yes, I fled these leafy greens of Bristol to the Leafy Plymouth, or leaky Plymouth as it is really out on the sea front.
As per usual I turned up at my parents in my impressive state, head hanging on a 45 degree angle, eyes bleeding from lack of sleep and body shaking. These are some of the side effects I tend to suffer, when my body pays me back for the past year.
But boy I was in an emotional mess, my parents as per usual just wrote off as me being one of those kind of states, that they usually pick me up in. I mean I love my folks to bits they have helped me out so many times its un believable.
My parents are the kind of people who also really know how to build a community spirit where ever they are, they have taught me many valuable lessons, even if they do come across to some people as being a bit odd. For instance not many people would have a bonfire out in the snow, but hell yes my parents and I did and it was amazing.
So they treated me royally especially with my Sister not being around, to be honest I do get pretty spoilt. They got me an ipod shuffle for my main present with which it is currently loaded with lots of Ian Dury and Iggy Pop stuff.
I have tend to visualise the bands playing the songs, right in-front of my eyes when ever I hear them on record, I can see the colours and the patterns that the melodies or the guitar noise can make.
I also realise that different sounds have different effects on me, for instance listening to What A Waist by Ian Dury put me in a positive mood because not only is it a great song by one of England's greatest song writers but you can sense that his parents saw him as a bit of disappointment and the struggles with life, it puts me in a positive mood listening to his punk style joy de vie.
Where as Raw Power by the Stooges really turns me on in a kind of sexual way, because there are some guitar sounds which have an automatic turn on device to me. If there are any girls out there reading this that wanted to lure me into their place with music then give me Igg Pop and the Stooges b or MC5 because the sound of guitar feedback makes me go wild. I admitedly will probably start drawling which aint too attractive
You probably didn't want to read that last paragraph, I wouldn't blame you if you were throwing up in slop bucket on reading it. Its a probably a bit of a sick thought that may haunt quite a few of you out there.
Walking around listening to my ipod did remind me how much I get sucked into the sounds, I quite often find myself pretending to be the front man of which ever artist is blaring in my ears. I have tendencies to get really carried away, even ever now and the breaking into little dance moves.
Its fair to say I got quite a few weird stares from people, i even had one guy point at me 'Hey mate there's Widow Twankie' as I strutted my stuff past him on the Plymouth High st.
Around Christmas time I found out that I tend to turn into a demented 12 yr old whos been locked in a sweetie shop, especially if there are any fair ground rides about. You see I am attracted to things which flash bright colours and are fast moving in spinning actions.
When ever I see fair ground rides, its fair to say that my attention focus is like dog with squirrel, i could be having a deep conversation with someone, and then all of a sudden must stair at big swing arm thing with red and green lights, ooow it goes really high up and down, spin spin spin, oooow.
You probably think I am completely stoned, but I reassure you this is my perfectly normal behaviour, yes really acting my mental age in its full swing, and of course I must go on the rides even if they make me chunder a pale shade of blue.
This I know is all completely over the top and stupid, but boy aint it fun, even though I am actually sitting hear, thinking what will become of me in 2011, who knows, there are one or two things I would like to see happen, It would be nice to find someone I can share special experiences with, ie like a girlfriend and also be paid to do some of the stuff I do.
But what ever happens I wish everyone out there a successful 2011
Thursday, 16 December 2010
Going For Council
Right this might be a complete crack pot idea and I have had many of those like Robbing Reliant F1, where we take Robbin reliant cars and replace their engines F1 engines. Which I know is ridiculous and so very dangerous, trust me it would kill by the millions, having little little wobbly 3 wheelers with 500 horse power engines is never a good idea.
But anyway the idea I have is one seen in as many ways nowhere near as dangerous, which is that I might run for council, I know that will have some people running in fear and blow up my ego to about 20 times the size it is, trust me its big.
I am not sure of how to go about doing it, I dint have much in the way of funds and I sometimes am completely overwhelmed by tasks in hand or Hope to get my voice across in the right way. For some people I am way too loud and maybe a bit obnoxious.
There are some key issues that I feel very passionate about, like the fact that people in Bristol seem to concentrate on the past on not on the here and now. like when ever I have spoken to people about music in Bristol, they go oh yeah Massive Attack, Portishead, Tricky blah blah blah and not see some of the fantastic bands that we have around now. i could list hundreds of great Bristol bands but I wont because I would probably lose the point that I am trying to make.
I personally feel that people from Bristol under sell themselves, I know this is something I have suffered with myself ala being unemployed pretty much my entire life, this is partly because I have never had a clear sense of direction. I will admit to being a complete ethereal dreamer and sometimes tend to get side tracked by my emotions.
Its like what my friend Joe said when we were having a discussion last night, what generally starts in Bristol dies in Bristol. Its almost like as we fear where we are from or live, we are completely embarrassed to admit where we are from.
If all the cities were school kids then, then London and Manchester would be big brash School bullies, Birmingham would be the hard kid and little ol Bristol would be the whimpish kid in the corner constantly looking down on its self, feeling scared of everyone else.
People do have the tendency to judge people on where they are from, we are generally seen by the outside world of Bristol as hippy, raving, peace loving nut cases. now this
Of course it is important not to forget the way Bristol has shaped this country in the past. I mean lest we forget that Bristol had a huge part to play in the fight for equal rights especially within different racial backgrounds.
Bristol used to be a really radical city, it was only back in the mid nineties that the st Pauls riots were kicking off. these were riots which would shape the Cities social and political divisions.
Maybe I am thinking to much about the past here, I don't know. but it almost feels like we don't know how to celebrate this city for all the great things that it has given us. we forget how great Bristolians are with humour I mean we are some of the most sarcastic people on the planet, some of the biggest names in UK stand up have cut their teeth in Bristol. I have got my sense of humour from people in this city.
Anyone who spends more then half an hour with me will realise I am as sarcastic as anything, even in making serious points.
As many people will know I love this city, I think it has some of the most amazing people in the planet, but it seems to lead by council that in general promotes it like as if it is London, meaning that Bristol has lost its sense of identity.
This may come across as big words from a jobless gob shite, I would like to promote Bristol in a positive way and that we are not just flower power hippies or drug taking maniacs. We are far more then just that
Sorry if I am over running this with stereotypes and it is probably foolish to do so, but this is how I think we are perceived by other cities.
I mean we may not be London or Manchester but we can make a difference, or I would like to make difference, wouldn't that be great thing to tell people that everybody counts.
I would like to try and represent people who may not hae the confidence to speak out. I guess I want to throw myself into the ring because I feel that I have got a lot to offer the council.
As a member of art and Power I am regularly in contact with people who aren't really being listened to by representatives for the council, weather they are people who suffer with disability or suffer social exclusion due to issues with self esteem
I am a member of a disabled arts group called Art and Power, who are an amazing arts organisation that have really helped to support artists who suffer with disabilities or social problems of one sort or another. They have really helped me out and developed me as a person.
Its like as if they gave me a bit of a purpose or a drive to say I am good at something.I probably wouldn't be here breathing on this planet if it wasn't for them, if you have read some of my poetry then most of the stuff you have read by me was written in the Creative writing group.
Its also thanks to these guys that I have been able to take myself a bit more seriously and discovered that I am a good performance poet and that sometimes I can see things in people, kind of like good qualities and I can be quite perspectives of people.
Your probably thinking there was a lot of ands in that last paragraph, which yes there was a lot of ands in that last paragraph, sometimes I use that word because I don't know how to link things together and I know by this point that I am warbling away from the stakes I was trying to raise.
I know that some people already see me as cultural icon, it is something that i was not prepared for in life, I don't think anyone could really be prepared for it.
If I was to brand my name about then I would like to use it for good things and not just for being a bit of a dancing weirdo who finds it hard to string together conversations sometimes.
I love helping characters to develop, I have seen many great things in people, if you are my friends reading this then you are great people, because I dont accept assholes.
Wouldn't it be amazing if we had a confident Bristol and not have one that is shouted at by its council. I mean not to have ago at the council members, because i don't like belittling people or using bully boy tactics which has taken politics from the public grasp. its also why I have never been a great business man and I am a completely irreverent day dreamer.
I am not quite sure what I would offer in a manifesto just yet, its something I have to put a lot more thought into and how do I word it, because it will have to appeal to both the ordinary public joe and to people and to people who like supposed 'sexed up dossiers'.
I don't know what people in the media mean when they use the term 'sexed up dossiers, its sounds a bit like an over the top MNS advert, you can just imagine it with the Torrie party which is quite frankly wrong in every sense of the word. Must get that David Cameron voice out of my head, because it is so wrong, no men with orange skin are not trust able.
I dont know how to write such things, this is partly because I have never written anything like manifesto, I mean i have written lists of dreams before, but not promises. I feel it might be like writing a death will if I croak it, or it could be a complete revelation.
I mean we might even be able to challenge the Torrie's with question like how much of a pay cut are they getting for all their fat pigged MPs? and how is cutting funding on all education by 80% going to get us out of the recession?. The way that the current government is leading us to a 3rd world styled education.
I know i wont be able to change much if anything on my own, but I would like to say that I have given it a go and not just been a moaning armchair fluesy complaining all the time.
I guess that I could be either amazing and inspire everyone or be or let my anxiety get to me an whimper about.
You may read this and think I am on about going on an egotistical trip, but all I can say is that I want to make a difference.
But anyway the idea I have is one seen in as many ways nowhere near as dangerous, which is that I might run for council, I know that will have some people running in fear and blow up my ego to about 20 times the size it is, trust me its big.
I am not sure of how to go about doing it, I dint have much in the way of funds and I sometimes am completely overwhelmed by tasks in hand or Hope to get my voice across in the right way. For some people I am way too loud and maybe a bit obnoxious.
There are some key issues that I feel very passionate about, like the fact that people in Bristol seem to concentrate on the past on not on the here and now. like when ever I have spoken to people about music in Bristol, they go oh yeah Massive Attack, Portishead, Tricky blah blah blah and not see some of the fantastic bands that we have around now. i could list hundreds of great Bristol bands but I wont because I would probably lose the point that I am trying to make.
I personally feel that people from Bristol under sell themselves, I know this is something I have suffered with myself ala being unemployed pretty much my entire life, this is partly because I have never had a clear sense of direction. I will admit to being a complete ethereal dreamer and sometimes tend to get side tracked by my emotions.
Its like what my friend Joe said when we were having a discussion last night, what generally starts in Bristol dies in Bristol. Its almost like as we fear where we are from or live, we are completely embarrassed to admit where we are from.
If all the cities were school kids then, then London and Manchester would be big brash School bullies, Birmingham would be the hard kid and little ol Bristol would be the whimpish kid in the corner constantly looking down on its self, feeling scared of everyone else.
People do have the tendency to judge people on where they are from, we are generally seen by the outside world of Bristol as hippy, raving, peace loving nut cases. now this
Of course it is important not to forget the way Bristol has shaped this country in the past. I mean lest we forget that Bristol had a huge part to play in the fight for equal rights especially within different racial backgrounds.
Bristol used to be a really radical city, it was only back in the mid nineties that the st Pauls riots were kicking off. these were riots which would shape the Cities social and political divisions.
Maybe I am thinking to much about the past here, I don't know. but it almost feels like we don't know how to celebrate this city for all the great things that it has given us. we forget how great Bristolians are with humour I mean we are some of the most sarcastic people on the planet, some of the biggest names in UK stand up have cut their teeth in Bristol. I have got my sense of humour from people in this city.
Anyone who spends more then half an hour with me will realise I am as sarcastic as anything, even in making serious points.
As many people will know I love this city, I think it has some of the most amazing people in the planet, but it seems to lead by council that in general promotes it like as if it is London, meaning that Bristol has lost its sense of identity.
This may come across as big words from a jobless gob shite, I would like to promote Bristol in a positive way and that we are not just flower power hippies or drug taking maniacs. We are far more then just that
Sorry if I am over running this with stereotypes and it is probably foolish to do so, but this is how I think we are perceived by other cities.
I mean we may not be London or Manchester but we can make a difference, or I would like to make difference, wouldn't that be great thing to tell people that everybody counts.
I would like to try and represent people who may not hae the confidence to speak out. I guess I want to throw myself into the ring because I feel that I have got a lot to offer the council.
As a member of art and Power I am regularly in contact with people who aren't really being listened to by representatives for the council, weather they are people who suffer with disability or suffer social exclusion due to issues with self esteem
I am a member of a disabled arts group called Art and Power, who are an amazing arts organisation that have really helped to support artists who suffer with disabilities or social problems of one sort or another. They have really helped me out and developed me as a person.
Its like as if they gave me a bit of a purpose or a drive to say I am good at something.I probably wouldn't be here breathing on this planet if it wasn't for them, if you have read some of my poetry then most of the stuff you have read by me was written in the Creative writing group.
Its also thanks to these guys that I have been able to take myself a bit more seriously and discovered that I am a good performance poet and that sometimes I can see things in people, kind of like good qualities and I can be quite perspectives of people.
Your probably thinking there was a lot of ands in that last paragraph, which yes there was a lot of ands in that last paragraph, sometimes I use that word because I don't know how to link things together and I know by this point that I am warbling away from the stakes I was trying to raise.
I know that some people already see me as cultural icon, it is something that i was not prepared for in life, I don't think anyone could really be prepared for it.
If I was to brand my name about then I would like to use it for good things and not just for being a bit of a dancing weirdo who finds it hard to string together conversations sometimes.
I love helping characters to develop, I have seen many great things in people, if you are my friends reading this then you are great people, because I dont accept assholes.
Wouldn't it be amazing if we had a confident Bristol and not have one that is shouted at by its council. I mean not to have ago at the council members, because i don't like belittling people or using bully boy tactics which has taken politics from the public grasp. its also why I have never been a great business man and I am a completely irreverent day dreamer.
I am not quite sure what I would offer in a manifesto just yet, its something I have to put a lot more thought into and how do I word it, because it will have to appeal to both the ordinary public joe and to people and to people who like supposed 'sexed up dossiers'.
I don't know what people in the media mean when they use the term 'sexed up dossiers, its sounds a bit like an over the top MNS advert, you can just imagine it with the Torrie party which is quite frankly wrong in every sense of the word. Must get that David Cameron voice out of my head, because it is so wrong, no men with orange skin are not trust able.
I dont know how to write such things, this is partly because I have never written anything like manifesto, I mean i have written lists of dreams before, but not promises. I feel it might be like writing a death will if I croak it, or it could be a complete revelation.
I mean we might even be able to challenge the Torrie's with question like how much of a pay cut are they getting for all their fat pigged MPs? and how is cutting funding on all education by 80% going to get us out of the recession?. The way that the current government is leading us to a 3rd world styled education.
I know i wont be able to change much if anything on my own, but I would like to say that I have given it a go and not just been a moaning armchair fluesy complaining all the time.
I guess that I could be either amazing and inspire everyone or be or let my anxiety get to me an whimper about.
You may read this and think I am on about going on an egotistical trip, but all I can say is that I want to make a difference.
Sunday, 12 December 2010
Sex and its Frustrations
Ok so this is probably going to be me embarrassing myself, but I am going to talk about something that I have no experience in, and that being sex and or sexual relationships. now this may surprise people because most of you out there probably think I am an ultra confident person when it comes to dealing with the ladies.
I mean I might occasionaly be able to talk in confident tones, but in reality I am not a very confident person, especially not at inter relating with people of the opposite sex. It may surprise some of you for me to say that I am a virgin, I am not one out of choice so much as it is about circumstances, like situations where I have felt uncomfortable. It doesn't help me that I have quite a low opinion of myself.
You may think why am I writing about this, its just the other night I had a conversation with a friend called Charlotte about Sex. she was surprised by my honesty, as I expect some of you maybe as well. it basically boiled down to her saying how much she enjoyed having sex, you have got to find a pretty girl and just go for it she said, this to me is like setting a mission impossible.
You see I am not the sort of person who finds it easy to be confident around people, girls especially. its like as if there is some loose wiring in my head which goes into auto dysfunction, like a voice going don't say that to the pretty lady she wont want to hear it from a fat oafish person like me and sort of a chat up line will just sound like a deranged pervert.
I mean sometimes getting a simple hello out of me is bit like poking a dead budgie, you may have heard me use this expression before, but it really is relevant in these situations because no matter how hard you poke it it aint going to budge.
For instance if I was in a bar and I saw some pretty lady that I wanted to say hello to I would probably wait while and in that time she would more then likely have some male who is more attractive and confident then me, this can often lead to me feeling like a waist of space.
Charlotte said that for her confidence has nothing to do with doing it, where as to me it really has everything to do with it. I guess I make this point because confidence does affect my over view of life, I mean I know that if I am confident then I am more relaxed around people.
I struggle to be assertive with people, this is why I do not exude confidence towards people in some ways. So I find quite often that I am accidentally excluding myself from a lot of social situations, like group conversations.
A lot of those sort of things just fly over my head, I am never any good at making small talk. This is usually is because I am completely petrified that I will only disappoint people and that I wont be able to live up to their expectations.
It doesn't help me that every girl I have tried to ask out has pretty much rejected me! I even tried internet dating and that was a massive flop, you know joining upto sites that said they free. Free my ass, because as soon as you wanted to message someone then up would pop a thing saying you had to pay monthly! it doesnt help that I am on the dole in that case.
I guess part of my struggles are to do with questioning what do girls really see in me, I know I am a nice guy and all that, but quite often I feel like I need to be more then what I am.
I know that last paragraph probably sounds ignorant self be moaning and all that.
I have had opportunities to sees the initiative with people, but I have just been to scared, you see I could be sleeping in a bed with the worlds hottest girl and I would still be to scared to do anything about it!.
I guess its to do with some of the male images that I tend to see around me, I mean lets face it I am not a skinny indie hipster, I am quite a flabby person really and I am not also a macho person, I am way too sensitive to be macho.
I don't really drink because drinking can make me really depressed, so I just feel feeble and embarrassed!
For me music has replaced sex, or always been in place of sex. This is why I tend to have more of an emotional and sexual connection with music then I do with people, this is because with music it doesn't judge me as a person, I don't have to pretend to be anything else other then me.
I mean I might occasionaly be able to talk in confident tones, but in reality I am not a very confident person, especially not at inter relating with people of the opposite sex. It may surprise some of you for me to say that I am a virgin, I am not one out of choice so much as it is about circumstances, like situations where I have felt uncomfortable. It doesn't help me that I have quite a low opinion of myself.
You may think why am I writing about this, its just the other night I had a conversation with a friend called Charlotte about Sex. she was surprised by my honesty, as I expect some of you maybe as well. it basically boiled down to her saying how much she enjoyed having sex, you have got to find a pretty girl and just go for it she said, this to me is like setting a mission impossible.
You see I am not the sort of person who finds it easy to be confident around people, girls especially. its like as if there is some loose wiring in my head which goes into auto dysfunction, like a voice going don't say that to the pretty lady she wont want to hear it from a fat oafish person like me and sort of a chat up line will just sound like a deranged pervert.
I mean sometimes getting a simple hello out of me is bit like poking a dead budgie, you may have heard me use this expression before, but it really is relevant in these situations because no matter how hard you poke it it aint going to budge.
For instance if I was in a bar and I saw some pretty lady that I wanted to say hello to I would probably wait while and in that time she would more then likely have some male who is more attractive and confident then me, this can often lead to me feeling like a waist of space.
Charlotte said that for her confidence has nothing to do with doing it, where as to me it really has everything to do with it. I guess I make this point because confidence does affect my over view of life, I mean I know that if I am confident then I am more relaxed around people.
I struggle to be assertive with people, this is why I do not exude confidence towards people in some ways. So I find quite often that I am accidentally excluding myself from a lot of social situations, like group conversations.
A lot of those sort of things just fly over my head, I am never any good at making small talk. This is usually is because I am completely petrified that I will only disappoint people and that I wont be able to live up to their expectations.
It doesn't help me that every girl I have tried to ask out has pretty much rejected me! I even tried internet dating and that was a massive flop, you know joining upto sites that said they free. Free my ass, because as soon as you wanted to message someone then up would pop a thing saying you had to pay monthly! it doesnt help that I am on the dole in that case.
I guess part of my struggles are to do with questioning what do girls really see in me, I know I am a nice guy and all that, but quite often I feel like I need to be more then what I am.
I know that last paragraph probably sounds ignorant self be moaning and all that.
I have had opportunities to sees the initiative with people, but I have just been to scared, you see I could be sleeping in a bed with the worlds hottest girl and I would still be to scared to do anything about it!.
I guess its to do with some of the male images that I tend to see around me, I mean lets face it I am not a skinny indie hipster, I am quite a flabby person really and I am not also a macho person, I am way too sensitive to be macho.
I don't really drink because drinking can make me really depressed, so I just feel feeble and embarrassed!
For me music has replaced sex, or always been in place of sex. This is why I tend to have more of an emotional and sexual connection with music then I do with people, this is because with music it doesn't judge me as a person, I don't have to pretend to be anything else other then me.
Friday, 3 December 2010
Wank Staind Walls
The frustration builds out of me when I see a room full of inanimate objects. nothing makes sense unless you can understand the posh jargon, written in a condescending way to those who don't understand it.
Picking up a leaflet saying that XYZ and artist is trying to explore the boundaries that we surround ourselves with, by looking at the daily fabric of life, or other such over flowered ways to describe vast spaces of emptiness, with maybe too boxes in it or something.
If you haven't cottoned onto what I am talking about, and I don't blame you!, I am talking about concept art and its de valued effect on the nature of creativity. Or specificity how I feel when I am at openings in the venues like the Arnolfini.
In my opinion concept art is generally like the artistic version of leprosy, the sort of thing you don't want to be locked in a room with because you fear it might infect you like a plague.
It has tendency's to lecture you because you are not the intellectual enough to have listened to all of Gershwins works. I mean I am quite an intellectual person, I just dont like being talked down too. which is the exact feeling I get at openings in the Arnolfini.
I mean there are a number of problems with this place anyway, its cold and unfriendly, the layout is all wrong and makes it extremely excluding for some people. I mean whos idea was it to put a big black piece of boarding stuff up with pretentious words written in red on the entrance to their cafe?. I makes look like your entering into a scene from Star wars and not into a place where you just want to have a coffee or something to eat.
You have to be a certain type of eccentric to get Concept Arts mass in joke. You know you have to have mass gelled up hair, brightly coloured cloths with thick rimmed glasses screaming look at me I'm mad and a creative type. when actually they just look like dodgy extras from Skins and proclaim to be much brighter then you actually are.
Everyone has to speak in an ultra condescending manor and pretend to be more intelligent then anyone else, turning their noses on people who do genuinely talk outside the box a bit.
Oh leave me alone, I can feel myself when such a skin twitching individual approaches me, in his crass over the top kind of thing.
I stair around a blank room where a blood stained string is shoddily tied from one side of the room to another. Looking at the badly written description, it is the carp Diem of the bodies lost in drugs war. I shudder to think what that means.
Isn't this exciting art, is it heck. If this is exciting Art
in exclamation marks, then I feel the world of art I belong to is invalid. Its almost like Nazism where everything is cold and sterile, all emotions dead. Its like as if creativity has almost been beaten out of colour, whipped, chained or starved and drilled into set shapes.
Your all spastics for thinking differently, I can hear everybody clatter with the chinks of glasses, clamouring that I can not be calling myself an artist because I don't look like them with their thick rimmed glasses. all dressed the same with the snobby side partings staring at wank stained Walls.
'This is the wall of love' said one person, 'I painted using my knob, its the only way I could get my circular effects and my spray upon the wall' he said doing a circular wrist action.
This is a statement on common life said another person with a cock for his head,n I mean the room was looked with dust cases, how can it be a statement on common life. Its like as if the sort of thing a 5 year old could have done but without any of the charm.
I find myself paralysed with fear when I am in a room with these people, there is something about them which makes my skin crawl. could it be a crass fakeness I get from these people?, I mean I get the sense they are often playing up to me with a smarmie voice pinning me down! Fuck off I can hear myself screaming out loud but I am way too polite to say it out loud. I feel like punching most of the people around me, but yet again I would never act in such a way.
At a bar where I can see Arrogance and his friends Ignorance and Self Indulgence, talking in their self important ways of how great they are, whilst swilling clavier!.
come here I can hear them say in condescending tones, they eyes try to read me with scrutinising looks. he thinks differently to us I could hear them say with an attoned feeling of disgust in their voices.
One by one they come towards me, 'You will believe with us this is art' I can hear them say sounding like the Mysterons from Captain Scarlet. I can feel myself panic when they call this stuff art.
I mean please where ever all these skin crawling people come out from can we tell them to go back under those rocks. I am not thick, I do have a learning difficulty and I am an artist.
On the whole I hate the world of concept art and its cold condescending feeling of places like the Arnolfini, I mean I get on fine with most of the people there Ijust find there is a horrible coldness about the place.
If this is art then I may as well hang myself!
Picking up a leaflet saying that XYZ and artist is trying to explore the boundaries that we surround ourselves with, by looking at the daily fabric of life, or other such over flowered ways to describe vast spaces of emptiness, with maybe too boxes in it or something.
If you haven't cottoned onto what I am talking about, and I don't blame you!, I am talking about concept art and its de valued effect on the nature of creativity. Or specificity how I feel when I am at openings in the venues like the Arnolfini.
In my opinion concept art is generally like the artistic version of leprosy, the sort of thing you don't want to be locked in a room with because you fear it might infect you like a plague.
It has tendency's to lecture you because you are not the intellectual enough to have listened to all of Gershwins works. I mean I am quite an intellectual person, I just dont like being talked down too. which is the exact feeling I get at openings in the Arnolfini.
I mean there are a number of problems with this place anyway, its cold and unfriendly, the layout is all wrong and makes it extremely excluding for some people. I mean whos idea was it to put a big black piece of boarding stuff up with pretentious words written in red on the entrance to their cafe?. I makes look like your entering into a scene from Star wars and not into a place where you just want to have a coffee or something to eat.
You have to be a certain type of eccentric to get Concept Arts mass in joke. You know you have to have mass gelled up hair, brightly coloured cloths with thick rimmed glasses screaming look at me I'm mad and a creative type. when actually they just look like dodgy extras from Skins and proclaim to be much brighter then you actually are.
Everyone has to speak in an ultra condescending manor and pretend to be more intelligent then anyone else, turning their noses on people who do genuinely talk outside the box a bit.
Oh leave me alone, I can feel myself when such a skin twitching individual approaches me, in his crass over the top kind of thing.
I stair around a blank room where a blood stained string is shoddily tied from one side of the room to another. Looking at the badly written description, it is the carp Diem of the bodies lost in drugs war. I shudder to think what that means.
Isn't this exciting art, is it heck. If this is exciting Art
in exclamation marks, then I feel the world of art I belong to is invalid. Its almost like Nazism where everything is cold and sterile, all emotions dead. Its like as if creativity has almost been beaten out of colour, whipped, chained or starved and drilled into set shapes.
Your all spastics for thinking differently, I can hear everybody clatter with the chinks of glasses, clamouring that I can not be calling myself an artist because I don't look like them with their thick rimmed glasses. all dressed the same with the snobby side partings staring at wank stained Walls.
'This is the wall of love' said one person, 'I painted using my knob, its the only way I could get my circular effects and my spray upon the wall' he said doing a circular wrist action.
This is a statement on common life said another person with a cock for his head,n I mean the room was looked with dust cases, how can it be a statement on common life. Its like as if the sort of thing a 5 year old could have done but without any of the charm.
I find myself paralysed with fear when I am in a room with these people, there is something about them which makes my skin crawl. could it be a crass fakeness I get from these people?, I mean I get the sense they are often playing up to me with a smarmie voice pinning me down! Fuck off I can hear myself screaming out loud but I am way too polite to say it out loud. I feel like punching most of the people around me, but yet again I would never act in such a way.
At a bar where I can see Arrogance and his friends Ignorance and Self Indulgence, talking in their self important ways of how great they are, whilst swilling clavier!.
come here I can hear them say in condescending tones, they eyes try to read me with scrutinising looks. he thinks differently to us I could hear them say with an attoned feeling of disgust in their voices.
One by one they come towards me, 'You will believe with us this is art' I can hear them say sounding like the Mysterons from Captain Scarlet. I can feel myself panic when they call this stuff art.
I mean please where ever all these skin crawling people come out from can we tell them to go back under those rocks. I am not thick, I do have a learning difficulty and I am an artist.
On the whole I hate the world of concept art and its cold condescending feeling of places like the Arnolfini, I mean I get on fine with most of the people there Ijust find there is a horrible coldness about the place.
If this is art then I may as well hang myself!
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