1
I was at a comedy gig with my older sister Eleanor and one of her friends. The gig took place in a dark, cavernous room packed to the gills with drunk punters eagerly awaiting the next act. The long haired, buck toothed MC took to the stage and after a few mediocre social observations bellowed out the name of the next performer through the dodgy wired microphone. The room reverberated with the sound of thunderous manic clapping and a man to my left made his way through the baying crowd. It was Graham Linehan, the co-creator, writer of Father Ted and now the I.T Crowd. While he was still in touching distance my sister blurted out "Oh I know him, he really likes the Phantom Menace" almost like in a trance-like state. I turned away, cringed and begged every God, pleading that he didn't hear her ridiculous statement. Graham stood on the stage and composed himself at the mouth of the microphone, awaiting the clapping to die down. He then launched straight into it "So I just received a really strange heckle on my way up here. Some girl claims I really love the Phantom Menace."The whole room erupted into fits of torrential laughter. I scanned the room and verified the exit points. I was then talking to Eleanor about my social life and how most of the time I feel like I am in the wrong conversation in the wrong room in the wrong house on the wrong street in the wrong town in the wrong country etc I then thought of all the hippy New Age places I used to go to and how I didn't fit in there either. Graham was now sitting on the floor and was reading out a list of puns. Not very good. He then asks the audience "Ever hear of the poem Kubla Khan?" This was greeted by a sporadic murmur. He then moved onto discussing owls. I could see a pile of books littered at his feet. Allen Ginsberg's Howl and other poems and a book entitled Bastid. I then started thinking about Warren Beatty's Bonnie and Clyde. Two drifters, drifters that weren't necessarily master criminals or even evil, almost just bored people, deluded myth makers in search of something unknown.
2
I was standing in the blue and white cracked veranda of the old Dromore West primary school in Sligo. I never attended the school but it was my playground all through my youth. It was demolished and rebuilt two or three years ago. I walked through the old poorly lined basketball court with the netless, red rusted headboards. I continued to walk and came upon Paul McCartney talking to a large crowd of people. He was talking about the importance of eggs and how he has made millions because of them. He then moved onto the topic of vegetarianism and his reasons for his dedication to the cause. His reasons involved tinfoil. I grabbed the nearest football and took leave of the crowd and made my way through the unkempt tufts of grass they called a football pitch. I started a round of keepy uppy's, an exercise I would use to whittle away the seconds, minutes, hours, days, months, years a decade ago. I was standing alone in the rugged field, to my left magnificient, towering birch trees, to my right wide open space. I turned around and could see the pretty, colourful girl from Earthsong, the hippy festival I used to go to every summer, walking towards me. I kicked the ball over to her and smiled. We spoke and threw the ball back and forth. Her shyness makes her seem cold or disinterested at times. I used to fall for her skillful misdirection and get depressed. I don't speak and continue to toss the ball. I notice her shake her inner battles from her face and movements. I told her I was happy to be back in Europe.
DAY 16th November 2011:
I overhear a news bulletin on the radio. A man convicted for kidnapping a 10 year old boy in a place called Alburry. I went to school with an Alburry. Maybe he was conceived there.
During meditation someone's car alarm is going off outside. Why do we need annoying noises to remind us of things? Do we need to be annoyed in order to be coaxed back into being human? But I suppose if everything sounded pleasant what would happen? Smoke alarms that play lullabies. Alarm still going. Don't they know who I think I am? I'm trying to transcend. Those fat black gay protestant bastards!
Still meditating. Thinking about the article I read in the Guardian this morning. The one about the MRI scan on the woman having an orgasm. They had a video were they showed all the different parts of the brain being stimulated. They said this research could help with defeating depression and pain. Are thoughts like blood, when you think of something does it flow to a particular chamber, if I think of a Mars bar ten times does it have an effect? Is it the same with phobias and fears? Is the brain soft and malleable and thoughts the craftsman's tools and hands?
Thought came to me during yoga about library books that could emit a poisonous gas if you return them late. Car alarm has stopped.
Sitting on a bench and drinking a black coffee in Highbury Fields. Thinking about my next course of action regarding jobs. Should I shave? I hate shaving. I always look like I'm 12. Also coupled with my Sinead O' Connor shaved head I'd look like a thumb. Man wearing beige shorts walks past. Distressing. If I don't shave will the employers hold that against me? Does it seem like I'm lazy? I feel mixed up. The futility of looking for a job is colliding with the guilt of not having a job coupled with the dwindling money in my quicksand pockets. Am I living off the crumbs of a daydream? Doing a lap of honour with a trophy I made at home before the match.
Two men in their early 30's walk by in leather jackets. Neither speak or show any connection. Nobody ever gets stab during the day do they? Who would rescue me? A woman with her baby in a pram eating chopped pieces of buttered toast, a man rubbing specks of a sandwich off his wrist, pram after pram after pram. I don't have any identification on me either.
I see a bald man in the distance with his daughter playing the most insulting game of tennis I have ever seen.
No love went into this coffee. Tastes like the bottom of an aquarium.
Beckett was stabbed at night. George Harrison at night. Pope John Paul. No, he was shot. At night?
Craggy bald man walks aimlessly past the bench. Probably told his nagging wife he was going out to buy lampshades. My guess is that he tests sandwich toasters for a living. I'm filled with jealousy.
I see a man walk bolt upright shouting due to his hands free phone. Its like he needs to hear his own voice to prove he exists and get alibi's. He walks like he is being instructed by an anonymous voice and that if he moves an unnecessary muscle he will be shot.
Surrounded by dogs. Pitbulls. Pidgeon dances around my feet.
Walking. I see a woman sitting on a bench wearing a bicycle helmet. No kamikaze monkeys doing stretches in the tree dangling above her head. Neurosis or laziness?
Back in the house. The oven alarm starts beeping. I approach, it switches off. I turn to leave it makes one last beep. OHM.
Walking down passed the Highbury and Islington tube station. I see a 20-25 year old man blatantly throw a tissue on the ground. He inspects my face for judgment and storms off.
Walk past a shop window displaying a butter dish in the shape of the Buddha.
I turn right at the Pizza Hut and I'm walking behind a girl in a short skirt. She sheepishly turns around to look at me. I cross the road and walk on the opposite side to show her my intentions are true and honourable. If in the future we become man and wife I will marry her in a different church. In a separate time zone. Over skype. Blindfolded. How our children will laugh and take strength from our romance in later life.
I see a pretty blonde girl dressed in winter wear as I prepare to cross the road. I crane my neck to the right to see the oncoming cars as my facial hair gets caught in my red and black scarf. I emit a short, sharp whine as she walks behind me. Tonight I am on fire. Daddy Cool Ladykiller.
See a sign in a window of a hair dressers asking for models. Someday I will walk in.
See a clump of hair on the ground outside MacDonald's. Who can morally afford to do this?
White limo drives by. My guess is that the rapper Akon is in the back getting his feet washed. Or Louis Walsh wearing nothing but a face cloth.
Walk past those really annoying young charity people on the street. If only I could hand glide at will.
Back in the house. The next door neighbour's dog barks at different intervals throughout the day. The father of the house died of a massive heart attack two weeks ago. The dog belongs to one of his two mourning gay sons.
I received a text from my mother telling me that she's in Hungry with my father. My father went over to get his 71 year old teeth done. I tell her that I just watched a great film called Beginners with my cousin Andrew and that I am heading to Tesco to get soup.
I walk to Tesco and see one of those home shopping delivery vans parked outside the door. Neurosis or laziness?
I wait in a lengthy queue with my tomato soup and garlic bread. I see one woman near the top of the line wearing a bicycle helmet and another man to my right. Neurosis or laziness?
I walk home and see another home shopping delivery van. I am the last of the famous international playboys.
Balding man struggles with three dogs that look identically the same, same breed, build, colour, age.
I receive another text off my mother. My father states that he has bionic teeth so the turkey this Christmas will be a piece of piss. Teeth-wise. Also she tells me that he had a dream of brussel sprouts growing outside his bedroom window. I asked her how does he charge the bionic teeth? By grinding at night like the rest of the family? Also that I am not really sure where Carl Jung stood on brussel sprouts. She tells me don't worry, he won't actually have any teeth to grind. Sweet dreams.
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