I’m struggling to relate consistently, effectively, to myself. I’m questioning my motives which seem to shift in alignment with my general mental disposition.

Read: when I’m down, I seek externally (sex; time; attention, but also rich food; Netflix) to buoy. To quote Heath Ledger as The Joker, “I’m like a dog chasing cars – I wouldn’t know what to do if I caught one.” To take that one step further: neither the dog nor the car would, to my mind, be served by the catching. It’s a confusion, a conflict, of paradigms.

This jittery awareness of awareness and constant drilling into motivation and perspective is counterpointed by egoic posturing and narrative construction.

I feel like I’m living numerous overlapping realities. It’s getting difficult to hold a light conversation when I’m in the weeds and struggle to optimise my state for connection with the other.

So I won’t. I’ll just turtle for a while.

Back in July…

Step it up, blitz ‘em with love. I may fail, but better to shoot for love than wallow in shit. A moonshot seems an OK way to die. The crowd thins out and the air grows rarified; I’ll see the stars unadulterated before my lungs collapse. Sounds beautiful to me.

…And where I am in October

Hahahaha, dude, I intend to live simply and without all this addiction to drama. As Antolini said in Catcher: “The mark of the immature man is that he wants to die nobly for a cause, while the mark of the mature man is that he wants to live humbly for one”.

I’m going to make some ham and cheese on toast.

The Real Wall Street

I can’t believe it took me this long, as it is so simple, but I have discovered humanity’s ultimate currency.

More powerful than sex, drugs, rock and roll. Way more powerful than money or chattels. Stronger than “love”. Men and women will go screaming into the grave for it. Commit or receive atrocities for it. It is the cornerstone of governmental and especially religious power. It creates and destroys families, builds empires and rots them from within. It is the ultimate aphrodisiac.


It occurs to me that there is only one defence: find God within.

Do you have any fucking idea what a person could do with this knowledge and decent oratorical skills?

Sharing space

Yesterday I was chatting to a middle-aged woman in the bank for a bit.  I’d gone in there to drop off a direct debit form.  This was the second time I’d been there this week because the first time I got there at a quarter past four and, let’s be honest, the bank has far too much money to bother staying open past 4pm.

Anyway I was talking to this woman.  She was wearing a uniform and had a good figure.  Dark hair and a pleasant face.  She was possessed of a sincerely amicable disposition, which was probably why she was a meeter-and-greeter at small suburban bank.  Only a bank could afford a middle-aged, nicely mannered, friendly meeter-and-greeter.  Her breath was a little on the off side.  Not too much, just enough to notice it and realise that I was talking to another human being with feelings and history.  It was nice.

It was hard to get on the same page, though, as I was dressed like a bum in a good suburb and she was dressed beautifully in her bank uniform.  But we both knew that the uniform wasn’t really hers so there was some common ground for us.  She felt like a fraud in her uniform in her bank, I felt like a hermit in my bum’s outfit, clutching the form which would change the way I make repayments on my investment property.  Me unshaven and well-spoken.  Her all dolled up and starting to rot inside.  Both of us scrabbling desperately under the gross believability our respective facades to find a scrap of shared space in which we can come up for air and stave off the obliteration of apartness for a moment before we sink back below the waves.