“We Teach Life, Sir.”

I have just discovered this wonderful, and very moving poem, by Rafeef Ziadeh.   It deserves to be widely heard.  Pass it on.

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On Being An Arse, And A Bastard.

Yet again my intentions have been sidelined by my wandering and distracted mind.  I was full of the intention to write my tuppence worth on the whole Julian Assange saga, but then my own woman-related problems derailed my train  of thought.  And so, before I write anything of any substance on anything of real interest, I need to try and exorcise the demons that plague me.  Some hope!

I currently find myself in a rather depressing unrequited love triangle.  While I am forlornly trying to come to terms with the fact that the object of my desire does not feel the same way about me, I am also the object of another’s desire.  I am in the curious position of being both heartbreaker and heartbreakee.  And it is not a position I would recommend to anyone.  It is thoroughly unpleasant all round, let me tell you.

I had lunch today with the source of my romantic crucifixion.   It was quite possibly the least pleasant time I have ever had in her company in all the years I have known her.  Bless her, she tried her best to make me feel better, even buying me painkillers for my toothache, but nothing can soothe the dull ache of her loss.  She told me once that when I meet someone else I will forget her.  Which only makes me think that is what she thinks will happen when she meets someone else – I shall be forgotten.  Obviously, this thought does not cheer me much.  I am left with the certain knowledge that she is the one that got away, and I will live the rest of my life knowing that.  Knowing also, that the cause of the problems between us were largely of my  making, doesn’t help me feel better either.   You know, I used to have a half decent opinion of myself before this, now I am left thinking I’m a complete arse.

And I must be a complete arse.  Women like that do not fall from trees.   When I think of the opportunities I had, all I can do is shake my head sadly and say “John, you are an arse.”

And then there is the desire projected at me, from another lass.  But I am in no position to return it, my mind being elsewhere, with someone else.  Which likely makes me a bit of a bastard to her.

So I am an arse and a bastard.  Quite possibly the saddest and most despondent arse and bastard this side of Christendom.

Somebody cheer me up….

Stop That Brain!

For the last couple of days I have been re-reading Galapagos, by Kurt Vonnegut.  A theme of this book is mankind evolving to have smaller brains, because big brains as we currently have them are just more trouble than they are worth.  Big brains are nothing but the “irresponsible generators of suggestions”.  I can dig that.

Take tonight, for instance.  I spend a couple of merry hours this evening researching for an epic blog post I was working on about the London 2012 Olympic Games.  But after a brief digichat with an ex-girlfriend my big brain became distracted.  The epic blog post became harder and harder to concentrate on, and took longer and longer to write.  About half an hour ago my big brain made me delete a whole evenings work, probably five or six hundred words worth.  Fuck you, brain!

Mind you, I have always been easily distracted.  My Mum still has my school report cards that say exactly that on them.  It was a girl called Mhairi then.  Not that I ever actually spoke to the lass.  She lived near me, and I remember I would do anything to get on the same bus as her.  I shudder to think what her big brain suggested to her about me, the strange boy in braces who loved her from a distance, without the gumption to actually say or do anything about it.  Though I did get myself the belt once for throwing a brick in a puddle and splashing her.  My brain thought it would impress her.  I was 12 or 13 or thereabouts.

Of course, I’m nearly 40 now, and my days of throwing bricks in puddles to splash lassies are over.  Age has caught up with me, any bricks I throw now I only splash myself.

Word of advise, if you ever get an awesome woman in your life, and I mean A.W.E.S.O.M.E. Woman, don’t fuck it up.  It’s harder than giving up fags fur fox sake.  I’m trying to find consolation in the fact it’s my brain’s fault, not mine.

PS – Epic Olympic Blog Post Coming Soon 😉

Is There A Life Coach In The House?

“Life is just one damned thing after another.”  Right now I am minded to agree with those words of the American author, Elbert Hubbard.   And this isn’t just about the spectacular failure of my venture into wildlife cinematography either.  No, as I approach my 40th birthday, I find myself mired in a morass of problems easily avoided or of my own making.  I’m having visions of my supposed mid-life crisis turning into a full-on nervous breakdown.  Which I suppose at least should have positive repercussions for my creativity…

The more I think about it, it occurs to me that for 6/7 months now I have been suffering from a kind of emotional, spiritual, and psychological hangover.  Of course, being a bit of a drama queen, I may be exaggerating a bit.   All I know is that lots of things in my life are going tits up.  Family troubles, bank troubles, Occupy troubles, girl troubles; it’s like one of those perfect storms you read about.  My Mum always says that bad things come in threes, but I think she underestimates it.  Still, I have the therapeutic benefits from my work to buoy me, the knowledge that there are others in far worse predicaments than I, and the hope that tomorrow will be better.  There is also the clear knowledge that the answers to some of my problems lie in my own hands, if I pull my finger out.  Is there a Life Coach in the house?

The Loneliness of The Close Up Wildlife Documentary Film Maker

Poor, poor Helix Aspersa.  Eleven paltry views on YouTube in a week.  That snail climbed several stairs over the course of half a dozen hours for YOUR televisual entertainment.  I spent several minutes filming and editing that masterpiece of molluscan melodrama.  I wonder if David Attenborough started out like this?  A world of indifference excepting for eleven anonymous viewers, five of which are no doubt robots, three secret police, and the rest weirdo/perverts looking for snail snuff films.  There are some sick people out there.

Once again the fickles of fate frown on the fortunes of black sheep and their fantastical follies.  The world does not deserve the multi-minuted blockbuster, on a subject kept tightly under wraps, that I may or may not produce on a whim in the future.

Not that I do these things for fame.  No.  I did it for Helix,  the common garden snail.  I mean, come on, how often do you look at these things, I mean really look?  Snails have feelings too you know.  They like to be appreciated from time to time, just like everything else.  It’s life, Jim, but not as we know it 😉