Questions answered, and more questions, always.

Question: WILL I EVER HAVE ENOUGH TIME TO DO THE THINGS I REALLY WANT TO DO, WITHOUT WORRYING ABOUT WHAT I'M NOT DOING?

I picked a piece of hair off my shoulder. It was making me itch. It was definately one of my own, still falling out. I'm sure it was just the other day when I couldn't even get it into a pony and that the floor of the restaurant was glistening with second hand oil from the kitchen.
I never hated working there, I just hated working. Serving overweight American tourists who all looked like big fat dollar bills to me. I hated the fact that I loved being able to tell them that Drury Lane was actually just a five minute walk away, or that the best place to shop was not in fact Oxford Street but Spittalfields market. The more information I gave, the more I could see the tip-o-metre rise.
I remember one of the Brazilian chefs, I don't think I ever asked him his name, during a really busy Christams lunch period using his white chef's jacket to wipe both his sweating forehead and the plate of microwaved steak and kidney pudding that I was about to take to table number 3. I stared at him in disbelief for a second and when our eyes met he simply laughed and handed me the dessert. I contemplated re-wiping it but then thought that whoever came to eat in a place that advertised "real English food" deserved the sweat of an illegal immigrant's brow.

It feels really strange not to be working this new year. I feel out of place and unsure of what my next move will be. I have had hours of free time lately, mostly taken up by sleeping or reading. I have let go of the guilt of doing "nothing" and started to enjoy the fluidity of pure relaxation. But as the 9th approaches with it's promises of work, i'm starting to feel real fear about time. Giving it to other people. Stealing it for my self. Wasting it.
I don't want to relive eighteen hour days, regardless of whether I love my job or not. I don't want to write bite - sized journals on serviettes in my five minute break from whatever i'm supposed to be doing. I'm scared about serving the beast of ambition without taking time to think, to really think about what it is that I want. That I want.

I've decided not to make any resolutions this year. I'm going to do what I can, in small doses and hopefully start to enjoy a little more of what I have than agonise over what I don't have.

Answer: WHO KNOWS?
2006... ?

An ode to Jack Kerouac and by that I mean meaningless stream of conciousness writing, but don't get me wrong I love ole Jack.

I know I should blog more often, but I keep thinking what the fuck am I gonna say? And does it matter if people read it? Who am I writing this for anyway blah blah blog blog blog blog blog!

Okay I've decided to pay tribute to Jack Kerouac and write a stream of conciousness blog. A "morning pages " blog if you will, unedited (yikes I dunno if I can)

I just finished watching the 23rd episode and all the special features on the SCRUBS DVD and lemmie tell ya all it is friggin fantastic. get out there and watch this comedy series. When the Americans get it right boy do they get it right.
I wanna be on a series like that and get up and go and play. That's why i'm writing a comedy sketch show of me own. Not writing it on me own though, are you crazy?

But more about that another time. Aagado do do see what happens when the mind is left to roam. Roam on the range/ where some folk may say i'm deranged/where the psychophants drool on celebrity stool/ and the warthogs dont' accept change! (hey, i am just the messenger)

I feel a little drunk, but I think it's just the tiredness talking and I still feel that i'm editing myself. see I hesitated, isn't free concoiusness supposed to be quick on the draw draw pudding and pie. kissed the girls and made them cry. My dad used to sing Georgie porogie to me when I was a littlun.

If anybody reads this I will be amazed so please feel free to comment.

What will 2006 bring. Good question sonny boy but can you answer it. No but I sure can be super super positive and use ll that mind power I learned about in the John Kehoe book of the same name and imagine my year to be uber great. gee I think i'll do that. can I imagine that I'll(oops I unintentionally edited).

Okay enough. Not sure I want to my my insides out there.

Bon noit, laila tov and good night x

Blaspheming & irreverance ( or how i stole the bible from the bedside table) Part 1- Chip-0-the-Devil

Father forgive me for I have sinned.
I have willingly lied. Stolen. And blasphemed.
And I have thoroughly enjoyed it father.

I recently read the Marilyn Manson autoboigraphy "the long road out of hell", kick ass by the way, and I was particularly interested in the chapter about his religious up bringing.

As I read line after line about how "everyone, children and parents alike, will suffer" and " Those that don't receive the mark, the number of his name, will be decapitated before their families and neighbors" I realised that ol MM and me had more in common than just a penchant for dark lipstick- we both had pychopathic grade school happy clappies in charge of our young, impressionable minds.

My teacher was not a nun- I went to a public school-mine was a forty-something, sunburned, lesbian bitch who was not only incharge of our physical education but of our religious education as well. Miss L...

Miss L towered above our class of twenty twelve year olds. Twenty blank canvasses. Twenty dry sponges. I remember clearly as she matter-of-factly told us how in the year 1999 the world as we knew it would come to an end:
We would all have to get micro-chips inserted under the skin on our wrists. These would be the mark of the beast. They would hold all the information about who we were, what our financial status was and what we thought.
Those of us who did not have this chip would die a miserable death and go to hell.
(i have been scared of credit cards ever since)
We were told about the Anti-Christ and His merciless wrath and of course about La Diablo.

We were then told to pack our books up, go out to break and try to enjoy the daylight.

I remember sitting in the quad and seeing a Satanic Hell-Worshipper rip a six-year-old dribbler off the jungle gym, pull his chest apart and eat his tiny beating heart.

I remember the number 666 blazing in crimson glory beneath the green face of Beelzebub on my bedroom wall at three in the morning.

I remember being taken out of religious education class by my parents and sitting outside in the corridor, while nineteen little wrists were implanted with the Chip-O-the Devil.

and on the third day blog created.

And the blog said unto itself
"let there be write"
and there was write...

see you later