Monday, May 15, 2006

Remember the voice.

"And therefore as a stranger give it welcome./ There are stranger things in heaven and earth, Horatio,/ Than are dreamt of in your philosophy."

As much as it shames me to admit that Shakespeare does nothing for me,no connection, no shiver of appreciation at the sound in the flow of the words, but by gum he hit the button with that one. In the space of two paragraphs Shakspeare and, "he hit the button with that one". I assure you Im slapping my hand against my forehead in a "What the fuck is hit the button about?" moment.
Yesterday another odd thing happened to me. Not only me but my older brother Mad too. How can anyone claim that life is boring rational process? Strange things happen in multitudes to me. Althougth they're not strange because, erm they happen in multitudes.
One of the simple pleasures in life; watching TV with Mad. We have our reserved program's thanks to the good people at Five importing such shows as; 'Prison break', 'House', 'CSI' and 'Greys anatomy'. As part of our schedule we sit down weekly to this comfy routine. Part of the entertainment is simply watching TV with Mad. He has interesting lines of conversation and sometimes near suffocates me from the laughter at hand puppet impressions of Jurassic Park. Or perhaps makes clever revealing comments on current adverts, "But Dad you're a fucking ant!" For example.
This Sunday evening it was only us adorning the sofa. 'Top Of The Pops' was providing some crappy music to debate upon, as is 'normal' Sunday evenings.
My gaze was on Mad as he had just spoken when this funny high pitched voice very close to us said, "Boom!" It sounded human and when it was established neither of us had produced the sound I searched under the sofa for its origin. Mad checked under the scarred coffee table (my Dad set fireworks off from it when I was little) where he had heard it coming from. Finding nothing we settled back to our regular positions on the sofa. Mad seemed very blase about the incident and when I asked him what he thought it was he replied with the above quote from 'Hamlet'. Or at least he tried to. He got as far as "There are stranger. . . . oh you know what quote I mean." At least I have an excuse to forget Shakespeare, Mad used to be an actor and that's one of his favorite Shakespeare quotes. He may be laid back about the whole thing with him saying through Shakespeares' Hamlet not to worry. But come on he doesn't worry about it! He can't he forgets everything.
Me:Loads of these strange things might of happened to you and you don't remember them.
Mad: Yeah.
I'm not worried anyway, unlike Mad I won't forget, it is a funny strange memory to collect.
BOOGIE

posted by Boogie @ 2:32 PM 1 comments

Monday, May 01, 2006

How I freed my hair from it's own tyranny.

Lets just say, with a sly wink, that my health isn't fully rounded. In that it is far from complete; not near a wholesome well-being. For some obscure reason I decided to hack the majority of my hair off. Note, not attempt to cut it, no that would be far too fucking sane but hack it. This is why sobriety and I repel. Three-day weekend; enough space for you to peak under the sheen of constant occupation to find there is nothing there. A debilitating kind of dull death. Facing the harsh possibilities of the future, to see the smog restricting you never ending. A dangerous recklessness shrinking the fight, until it is too small to hold onto any longer. My affections; like images in an advertisement. Unobtainable, wondrous promising scenes, lurid shades of fake mediated happiness clashing with a void of colour, definition. Soul.

Being incapable of functioning, I am two interactions; staring and lying. The reality is packed around me. Under the bedclothes swims whispers of escape. Perhaps slashing myself up might provided some sort of activity. That is dismissed, it is an old enjoyment now and I need to heal, literally. Something brand new thunderbolts into my head. It seems such a good solution that I do not bother questioning it. I do not heed the blue stars warning me that I was wound up. Taking a pair of kitchen scissors chunks of hair fall into the bin, another part of me becoming detached. The pile of sawn off hair looks strange somehow, I cannot figure out why. It seems almost alive.

For a while the light feeling of being spent, released temporarily, resides. A state which, is familiar to how I felt after I cried when I was young. Now crying ends and the poison is not erased by tracks of healing salt water. Why oh why did I not defile my arms instead? That would be the sensible thing to have done. It's kind of ironic you can walk around with red raw arms and if anyone manages to

I never finished this and I can't remember what I was going to say. The misery that lead me to cut all my hair off with a pair of kitchen scissors, actually turned out to have a positive impact on my life. I felt more like myself with short hair and I don't think I'll ever have long hair again. Ridding myself of my locks was a ceremony, marking a new era of myself.

BOOGIE

Labels:

posted by Boogie @ 3:47 PM 0 comments