Death and Rebirth

I want to write something but I’m not sure what. When I’ve written on this blog, it’s usually been quite self-indulgent. Kind of like an open diary, probably sharing too much. It usually came from a place that was angry, pissed off, violent, maybe a bit spoiled and greedy I don’t know.

I’ve had 3400 hits here over the past year for search terms like

“life seems pointless”
“nothing seems meaningful”
“feeling shameful all the time”

to name a few.

It’s all grotty heavy stuff. I cringe at what I wrote in the past. And think maybe I should take it down… but then it must have some value to some people. I want to help..

What I will say is that I had an experience in September where everything flipped.

I’d been living in near isolation by myself in Spain for about 15 months. I’d just gone on a mountain trip to Lanjaron, near Granada. The heat was pelting down and I’d been on long hikes into the hills with a rucksack of cheese, bread and ham.

It sounds very idyllic and it was in many ways. But I went to this bar, ordered a beer and the girl brought it over to me. The TV was blaring away. There was a family on a table next to me. And I just became incredibly sad.

It wasn’t just the sight of this family. It was the heat, and tiredness and general weariness with everything. I just felt this emptiness and isolation and desolation. I felt so bummed out. I’d come here to cheer myself up yet I felt so miserable. I went to my hotel room and cried.

Various other events happened through the following few weeks. It felt like I’d hit the end of the road and there was nothing more I could do with my life. My plan to do everything myself and live it up in Spain and whatever had come to an end. It felt very very bleak.

Then I had what I can only describe as an awakening.

An absurd amount of energy was coursing through me. I had various visions of how I’d tied myself in knots. There had been all this blackness in my heart, although, at times my heart had been golden. I had built this gigantic tall towering castle with me in a turret at the top. No-one could hurt me here. But nor could anyone touch me. The the tower crumbled into the ground.

I had a very happy couple of weeks, but then I realised I was too open. I was starting to see things that I’d filter out before. Lots of very unpleasant things. I won’t go into it here, but a great deal of it was very scary. I can only say it was like going into my deepest fears. One moment I’d feel like I was dying. My body felt like it was burning up. The next moment I would be clowning around on Cloud 9 without a care in the world. I was feeling other people’s emotions more strongly than they were.

I worried I was going mad. I worried that my entire world was turning upside down. I worried that aliens would land. I was worried I’d be made homeless. I worried that I wouldn’t be able to survive. All my normal rational man-view of the world was out the window. I was finding some things incredibly scary. I would find other things incredibly wonderful.

Eventually I couldn’t take it any more, and went back home to England. I talked through a lot of difficult things and fears with parents and a few old friends. They helped me rebalance and stay grounded. They were very good. There was a lot of crying, a lot of release. I felt very crazy and nothing was making sense any more.

But I just said “one day at a time” and it happened one day at a time.

I had had all these ideas in my head of who I should be, what I should be doing. And most of that faded away. Some days it was such an intensely difficult challenge just to make it to the end of the day. But that’s what it became. Just make it to the end of the day. Anything else is a bonus.

I was totally over-emotional, over-sensitive and a total mess. To be honest I hated it all. I hated the intensity of everything and feeling overwhelmed all the time. I’m sanitising all of this for you now, but at the most intense moments it felt like being a real zombie.

Now that process is still going on, except at a gentler pace. I’ve got a few more defences back, but I’m still very sensitive to people and places and their energies. I’m generally very intolerant to cities and crowds. Some mornings I feel like crying for no reason. Other days I’m angry. You could probably diagnose me with endless diagnoses and mental disorders. But as long as you get through the day without hurting yourself or anyone else and appear normal, everything is fine. One day at a time.

Other days I’ll feel totally inspired and in a healthy happy place. I write pages and pages. From everything I’ve read – both of these things are normal and natural. I just let it all flow.

Overall though I’m so grateful that I’ve had support and a roof over my head and friends and family. Isolation is valuable in small doses, but it eats away at you and you neglect yourself if you do it for too long. Humans are social creatures. Even some time with knobheads is better than no social interactions at all.

I also have a greater sense of faith and belonging and hope. Over the past few months, I’ve joined a writing group at the local uni. That’s been a total lifesaver and it’s felt like finding kindred spirits.

I’m not saying any of this to brag. In many ways this whole experience has been very horrible. In the past I’ve been totally overconfident and bolshy and “my way is the only way and everyone else is an idiot”. I’ve been humbled.

There’s a lot to be said for the normal and the boring and the mundane. “Ignorance is bliss” is a very true phrase. “Curiosity killed the cat” is true too. A few days after my awakening there was a dead cat in the street outside my door and I took this as a sign.

What I’m trying to say is it’s ok not to look under every dark rock. It’s ok to not want to change. It’s ok to have a perfectly average 2.4-kids-mortgage-job-ford-mondeo-cul-de-sac-housing-estate-life. It’s much better for your general wellbeing and sanity.

That’s probably clear to everyone else. But it seems like a revelation to me who’s had his mind set on “changing the world” all the time. I’ve realised it’s not that everyone else is an idiot – they just do the best with the knowledge they have to make themselves comfortable.

I’ve been probing all these dark places and doing the things I’m not supposed to do because it hasn’t been a choice. I feel like I’m some kind of ‘special snowflake’ and seeking has seemed like the right thing to do. I’ve also had an obsessive focus on the harsh effects of social conditioning through families, schools and workplaces. So this has skewed my perception and driven me somewhat.

In some ways I probably am a bit strange and special. But if that goes to your head, you start to go doolally, feel like Jesus, and then the universe trips you up and you land on your face.

Bringing this to a close: what I’ve realised is it’s worth being close to people despite the crap you and they go through. We’re all in this together really. We all have “stuff” we struggle with and work through. But most people have good hearts and warm souls underneath it all and there’s a lot of love once you let it in. The only thing that matters is that you give your best to your relationships and your craft.

I have a talent for writing – that I’ve recently used for stories. I’ll go and write a few subtlety-revolutionary books, win some writing competitions, earn a few bob, go on a few travels, make some new friends, get a cosy wood cabin with a sexy lumberjack somewhere in Scandinavia. Or something like that until the next mission calls.

(It won’t be that straightforward, but it’ll be a hell of a lot more pleasant than the crap in the past)

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The ugly side of perfectionism

I dread writing this post because I don’t know what will come out, and I’m afraid of what I’ll write about myself. But I’m just going to go for it.

In fact this is actually a very advanced element of perfectionism. I’m trying to say “I’m imperfect and that’s OK and normal”. When actually I’m just saying the words and don’t really mean it at all.

Actually this is a just an attempt at trying to be liked.

I bond well with people. I get to know people very quickly. I see things, I feel their energy, get under their skin and have an intuitive sense of who they are and what they need.

My problem is I don’t trust myself, the universe, anyone else. No that’s a lie. If I didn’t trust anyone, or myself, or the universe I’d have killed myself on many previous occasions.

But I pull people close very quickly. And push them away just as quickly. What I like is people in a sweet-spot range. Close enough to be friendly with and somewhat intimate. But not too close that I’m obligated to do things with them or be too responsible for them.

I think it’s just a cynicism. Cynacism of love, relationships, happiness. I feel intimidated by all those things and would much rather be sulking around alone, than actually dare to open up to people 1-on-1.

What it feels like deep down, is like I’m damaged goods. And like everyone has been out to get me. Like being chased. Writing that, I know that sounds loopy and stupid. But it’s true.

I’ve self-sabotaged a lot. I’ve not taken opportunities. I’ve shunned good interesting work opportunities, and friendships. I’ve broken many boys’ hearts.

I think it’s like I don’t trust things or people if it all comes too easily. Love that’s unconditional feels unsafe. And if I enjoyed a job then WOAH I’d have to commit to it to a few years and then lose out an all kinds of new and varied experiences.

So I keep hermited and have sporadic contact with the outside world via Whatsapp, phone calls, and Facebook.

And I write. I’m embarassed and a bit ashamed of it sometimes. But I have to do it because being face-to-face or on the phone with someone limits what I can say or express. I’m influenced by that energy and restrict myself to what I feel that person can hear.

So anyway, I’m a perfectionist hermit at the moment. But that’s OK. I own it. And in time, once I feel more secure in myself that will change.

Stream of consciousness

I don’t really know what to write here. I’ve just decided to open my laptop, this webpage, and see what comes out. I think the best writing, performance, art – comes when it’s totally improvised. When everything has been over-rehearsed, over-edited, over-hesitated-upon, it loses it’s magic. Then it becomes bland boring, whatever.

Blah blah blah. I don’t know what I’m writing. I’m sat upstairs in this house in Spain. I have an empty wine glass next to me. I also have a clothes rack half full with clothes. The pants and socks dried in the day.  The bigger things like hoodies and trousers are still a bit damp. I’m cross legged looking out the window, past the net curtain to the hill that cars come down every now and then. Although right now it’s quiet. All I can hear is the bullfrogs in this amphibian/reptile centre that’s opposite the house.

We have the last hints of dusk right now. The light blue hues before the dark navy blue night. I can hear music faintly. It might be a neighour. It might be one of the boy raers going past somewhere in the street. I don’t know. I just hear it. Oh now there’s the odd dog barking.

 

If I’m brutally honest I don’t really have a clue what I’m doing with my life. Why I’m writing this, or anything really? I.. oh there’s the rubbish truck beeping as it reverses.

Where was I? Oh yeah – I don’t know what I’m doing. I keep this blog which is a mix of half cringey/half insightful writing. I have writtne a book. I’ve done all these kinds of achieements. But to be honest they don’t really mean anything to me. I achieved a lot of that just because I was scared. I was scared that I would die early and my life would be insignificant and amount to nothing. Hence all this effort and being a bit of an experience junkie – like doing everything trying everything, traveling everywhere until the point of burnout. I’m glad I did it. I miss it a bit really. But I also think it’l happen again, maybe at some point, if the time is right.

 

this rrom is warm, it’s like a greenhouse. We have this french doors, why are they called that? I mean like sliding glass doors. So as it’s the top of the house, it gets really warm in here. I like it. I love the heat of summer  when you feel everything sweat out your body. You  keep replenishing the water and fluids to keep fresh. The atmosphere is like one giant sauna. I love that. lots of british people dislike it. They find it too much. The problem is we get used to air conditioning and everything. Your body is the most amazing natural air conditioning system. Your body will aclimatise to whatever the heat or cold is. The problem is when we have air conditioning and unnatural devices, we get used to  21 degrees. So when we got outside and it’s not that, we feel it’s too hot or too cold. If we get used to the natural temperature and seasons we don’t need it.

Blah blah blah. Blathering on about nothing.

I spend my dayshere looking through my emails and Facebook and usually getting disappointed. I don’t know what I’m expecting. Or what I’m looking for. I hope some kind of message from a prince charming. Or some kind of new work? Or some kind of adventure possibility to a far off land. I enter a lot of competitions for holidays and that kind of thing. The problem is I like where I am. But if I were to leave I’d really miss it. But I also want to leave to some extent. So yeah it’s confusing. Humans are impossible to satisfy. Me especially.

The happiest times of my life have been  when I have been living like I am now. No I’m going todelte this line.. i’m blathering on and am not sure where I’m going with it.

I’m going to top up my wine. Back in a mo.

Ok topped up. This is Palacio de Vivero – Palace of The Nursery Garden according to Google Translate. It’s a white wine. 12.5%. This is my second glass tonight. I don’t drink much. I haven’t drunk much, only recently really. I was worried I was becoming an alcoholic at one point, but I don’t think it’s that bad at the moment.

Lots of expats who come to spain end up becoming alcoholics. They sell up their house in england, buy a cheap house here. Then spend the rest of their money in the bars. Then end up going back when they’re out of cash. I used to be very judgemental of that. But now I think there’s probably nothing too wrong with that. You’ll have  probably enjoyed yourself more than in some depressing council estate in Rotherham, being here.

I don’t know. I’m very lucky is some ways to be who I am, to have grown up where I grew up. To be able to have some time where I’m not working and not  under the pressure of a mortgage or children or whatever. To some people I must sound like an arrogant snob. There’s a woman here I know hwo thinks I’m like that. I don’t know. I don’t know.

Everyone’s their own person and has their own wonderful and ugly traits. And everyone interprets things differently. My problem is I can see things from so many people’s points of view, I don’t have my own. Or I don’t trust myself to have conviction in it.

 

What’s that saying? The ignorant talk the most while the quiet man is full of self doubt. I’m paraphraising it. It’s not that at all. But I look at some Americans who are spouting out all kinds of garbage and think I could do better than that. Then I think “yeah, but you don’t really want to do that and what if people criticised me”. Then I have a bit of a worry about that. So I don’t really do much about it.

The bullfrogs are still ribbiting. I can see a fly buzzing around this room. Oh there’s a loud car now screeching. People drive cars too fast because they’re bored. You can see it in a lot of the young people in a town like this. Young men full of testosterone are bored, they don’t have enough of a challenge or whatever. in the old days they would fight a battle, or hunt some food. Now, in our sterilised culture, they don’t have these natural outlets. Who knows? What am I gong on about?

The problem is I’m bored too easily. It’s very rare that I meet someone who really stimualtes me or sees things my way enough to intrigue me. So nobody really has any value to me. I might be nice to be nice and civil. I might be mean to push them away a bit. But I can often predict them before they respond. So it gets a bit boring. I’m a cat with a ball of string. What I want is other creatures to play with, not nanimate objects.

I do realise this slags everyone off reading this. Which is not a good thing. But I don’t really know waht to say. It’s the truth. I don’t really like other people very much. They don’t interest me very much. They’re a bit too predictable. But then if they were too unpredictable like the rude alcoholic, or the crazy man – I’d probably feel really uncomfortable too. so ultimately there’s no pleasing me.

The issue with not liking people is it’s very hard to spend time with them. You don’t have much interest in them. You don’t get close to them. You just want to be away from them. Furthermore, to earn a living you often need to sell something to someone. Or provide a service and interact. And well, I don’t really know that.

Well, no that’s a lie. I do crave human interaction. But with the right people. Does that make sense? I don’t know. But who are the right people? Who will I feel comfortable around?

Maybe I just dislike myself? Do I dislike myself? A little bit.  I like myself more than I did in the past. I give myself what I need more – like time, space, calm blah blah blah. This is all very self-indulgent. just a drunken ramble about myself. Who knows? Who knows anything?

I don’t really know anything. I’m a charlatan really. I see a lot of things, but that doesn’t necessarily mean I’m right. I see things from my point of view. Others see it differently. It doesn’t mean I’m wrong. Or they’re wrong. Or I’m right or they’re right. It’s just all this multitude of opinions exist and that’s that. I’m aware of them and that’s that.

I’m bored of writing now. I’m not that interesting really. I’m just Ramble von Ramblehoff. Schloopy Schloopy Lou. Blobbydyblooblahblah.

Everything is OK and will be OK. We’re the universe dancing with itself. We’re different parts of the world playing with each other. And I guess we just need to realise it is a game. I get terribly bogged down and serious trying to figure it all out. I get terribly cerebral writing long, angry blog posts that get read by a handful of friends. When actually we’re all ok. We’ll all be fed tonight, sleep well, get up tomorrow, do what we need to do, and continue. Until the day we’re not here any more.

And the bullforgs will make those noises. The young men will drive too fast. The clothes will need to be washed and be half dry. And I’ll keep writing nonsense and babble that people will hopefull keep reading. I just need to find a way of earning money from it.

I finished and published the book I wrote. I did a free promotion on Kindle over the weekend where I got 81 downloads. I got up to #23 in the category it was published in. However I haven’t had any paid sales yet. And I’m too afraid of sharing it here for the time being.

It’ll be the right time at some time. Maybe. who knows? Who knows how much longer we’ll be here on the planet for? Who knows how many thousands of words of drivel I’ll keep writing. We’re up to 1722 at the moment. 1752 rather. 1754. Ah this is a recurring sequence that will never end.

Ok I think this writing has reached a natural conclusion. I could go on but I don’t think it’s in either of our interests to continue. You get the gist. Blahahahahhahah blahhaha bllahaha. Flobbabdobadob said Bill. Flobadobadob said Ben.

Ok bye.

Bye.

Growing into your own skin

All these articles are a bit like looking at your own bum. It’s a bit self-indulgent, most people don’t really understand and well, it’s probably not that pretty.

But on the other hand, I’ve had to write. I have little tolerance for fakery and facades. And by probing in all the places that people don’t like you probing, by asking all the questions you’re not supposed to ask – you understand yourself, and shake other people out of delusions which aren’t serving them.

I think people in society are a bit like tectonic plates. If you’re in the middle of one, you’ll probably stay in tact your entire life, you won’t change much. Ok, there might be problems here and there, but you’re rooted in the soil, you’re supported by other people, you’re OK.

submerging-tectonic-platesBut if you’re on the fringes, on the edge of a tectonic plate – it’s like you’re being submerged into the earth’s crust. You’re being submerged into the lava by forces who don’t even realise they’re doing it.

You have to suppress things, conform, melt, mould and reform yourself. You melt down into the earth’s mantle. You flow around as a current, exploring where you can make it to the surface again. You’re this high pressured current of hot angry frustrated molten rock… you look for where the crust is thinnest. Then you spurt out as a volcano, or out of a volcano. Ultimately you become a bit like the Pacific Islands, Hawaii and suchlike. You become your own island. Eventually the adventurers will discover you, plants will grow from you, animals will roam around you and you can support a population and nourish them in a lot of ways.

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I say all this. But I don’t know if any of that’s going to happen yet. I hope so.

This writing tends to attract fringe type people – people going through reconfigurations, people who aren’t comfortable in society despite trying to fit in, people who find many situations unbearable.

Society is created by the mass market to fit the needs of the mass market. TV companies try and find the lowest common denominator for their programming, for the biggest audience. Careers advisers try and guide people to ‘sensible’ roles and boxes for people in life. Schools are designed be ruthlessly authoritarian to create compliant people who are good for industry and do what they’re told. They also become breeding grounds and shark tanks for bullies, so that nobody has the self-esteem or confidence to be revolutionary.

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And for the majority of people – society meets their needs reasonably well. They have somewhere to live, somewhere to work, TV shows and culture that resonate with them, the supermarket supplies their food. Most importantly they can blend in to most groups. They feel comfortable and have a sense of belonging in the group, in the hivemind. It’s very good that many people feel that way.

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The problems arise if you’re intelligent, or perceptive or curious. Things don’t add up. The world seems to be full of people fighting, cheating, stealing, conning people. The power structures and hierarchies are oppressive. Power is misused. The culture is bland and desolate – it’s very rare that a TV show or film really speaks to you. Everyone seems to be controlled by fear around you. Fear of lack of money, fear of losing things, fear of losing face, fear of illness, fear of terrorists, fear of death, fear of being alive.

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It feels like being the only man who can see among the blind.

The hardest part is until you’re 18, and can’t leave home – you’re probably alone in it all. Everybody seems so inert, and indifferent, with no passion in their eyes. It all seems so hopeless.

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Everyone thinks there’s something wrong with you. You doubt yourself. You try and change yourself. You try to fit in somehow. You have to do what you’re told. You have to play the game. You have to build up defence mechanisms to survive. You have to control and manipulate people and situations (which other people don’t even realise you’re doing).

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The more intolerant and acidic the petri dish where you grow up is, the more layers of crud build up. And there’s no escape valve. Parts of you are cut off and die – but those are the most important, relevant parts to finding meaning in life. They’re what really matters. The playful, naughty, silly, mischievous, wrong, creative, deeply emotional, caring and loving sides.

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It’s a problem I see again and again in rich men. Money and power hasn’t satiated them… because what they’re really longing for is that feeling of being carefree, playful and childlike again. They’ve had to self-mutilate their minds to survive hostile environments. They bought into the myth that fame and fortune will make you desirable and loveable. But no amount is ever enough. No accumulation of land, houses, trophy partners or cars is satisfying.

There’s that Rolling Stones song – “I can’t get no… duh duh duh. satisfaction… duh duh duh”. Even being the Stones, high as a kite on drugs, having girls and boys throwing themselves at you, being the most admired rockers in the world. It wasn’t enough.

Because the only satisfying thing in the world is taking a good honest look in the mirror and saying, am I really doing myself justice? Am I respecting myself here? Am I being honest about who/what/where I am – and am I doing the best that I can here?

If yes. Then good. And if no, then good too. It’s getting somewhere, it’s unraveling the layers and defenses and crap that have accumulated over the years.

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The truth about all that crap, none of it’s really your fault. Childhood and adolescence are supposedly the happiest times of your life. But it can actually be rather terrible. You have no control over anything. You are beholden to your parents regardless of how good or bad they are. You have to go to bed at certain times. You have to please parents and adults for your survival. You probably can’t communicate everything you need or want. You have to deal with the piranhas of teachers and bullies at school. Your innermost needs to emote and play and love – are probably not acceptable and laughed at by others.

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Then you’re thrust into adulthood, university, jobs and cities. And it’s usually as equally harsh. The only relief you get is your evenings and weekends, and the few friends that you make if you’re lucky.

The cycle continues. The layers build up. And you eventually you realise you’re becoming one of the ghastly adults you were so loathsome of when you were younger. It’s all too much. You might turn to food, alcohol or sex it or some other kind of addiction. For me it was alcohol and sex with strangers. It doesn’t change anything. Nobody understands. You become like this nuclear bomb where you’re desperately hopefully, praying for some kind of change, some kind of relief. You become dangerous.

zombie-suit

Then you either kill yourself (possibly not physically, but most probably just mentally and become a zombie).

Or you transfigure yourself if you’re lucky to have someone who can see you and pull you out of it. Suddenly they’ll be a big crescendo – everything will be falling apart, nothing is possible, you reach a dead end. And you realise that something has got to give. You erupt, transform, utterly change.

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And then everything’s OK. Everything has a fresh zest about it. You become a different person. You’re able to talk honestly about what’s bothering you. Everything changes. You feel empowered. New paths and possibilities unfold in front of you. You kind of become a beacon for others who are as equally troubled as you. You’ll repel people who aren’t ready to hear or process what you say.

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Fuck it all Derek!

Everything becomes OK again and actually quite enjoyable. The average age for this stage to happen (if at all) is probably about 60-65, when people retire. Suddenly with lots of time on their hands, people can’t avoid the truth of the above. So if you reach this stage at 50, 40, 30 or 22… then you’re ahead of curve.

And the other side of this, you do become your own island, sustaining your own life and people. Where I live here in Spain has become a kind of retreat center. Seven stressed out friends have come and visited me in the past year and they’ve gone back as different people. They are much more in touch with themselves, more calm, more content. There’s a whole energetic shift in them. I’ve changed too.

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I’m also 18,000 words into writing a book. It’s not one I want to share under my own name because it’s a bit too dark and has elements of people I know in it. But I hope and suspect that it will touch a few nerves, shine light on taboos, and stimulate the unconscious mind.

I’m still a bit unstable, insecure, indebted, lonely and many other things here. But I feel more hopeful than ever before. I feel safer, saner and more comfortable with myself than I have ever felt before too.

Even in the worse case scenario, if the book is a total flop, I get into piles of debt over the next few years, declare bankruptcy, I have to live with my parents and work on a supermarket checkout – I would be OK with that. I feel like I’m comfortable enough with myself to not need to become this mega-high-achieving, tech billionaire that I needed to be a few years ago. It all seems like a silly idea now.

I might become that, or something else. But we’re only as big as our spirits, not our labels.

Woohoo, what a cheesy authoritative line. Who do I think I am? I don’t know.

Remember, anything’s possible. Anything’s possible.

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Getting to self-acceptance

I’ve written about a lot of dark and heavy things here. As I have, certain light things.

This blog started as a blog about marketing and copywriting, and getting clients. As you move on, your priorities change. Work isn’t interesting any more. You ask bigger questions – like what matters? Or what do I want to do with my life? What’s enjoyable?

Then you start to unravel. You start to see beyond various illusions and institutions. You deal with emotions that you’ve had to repress for survival. You start to confront your biggest fears and worries. You have a good cry and a laugh and let it all out.

Then it’s OK. You begin to accept yourself more and more. And lots of good things can come in.

These problems were particularly acute for me because:

  • I am a wierdo that didn’t really fit in with other kids or adults at school
  • I am sensitive, I feel a lot and many situations can be overwhelming.
  • I can see through people and things to their real motives. If it doesn’t feel authentic, I won’t listen to a word they say and don’t like them.
  • Not being able to talk about the above with anybody
  • … which leads to self-doubt, self-attack, frustration and anger
  • I can get very lonely but I’d rather be alone than with people I distrust
  • I can connect the dots together between things – solve high level problems and get to the nub of the issue.
  • But because I don’t feel safe and have little to gain from challenging people or speaking up – I often say nothing.
  • Which makes me feel a bit frustrated and useless again.

Anyway this is all very self-indulgent. What I’m trying to say is I feel lots deeply and see through things. I think many things through.

That makes other people uncomfortable with me. And me uncomfortable with them. I’ve been extremely harsh on myself to try and adapt. But that doesn’t work.

The end result is: you feel what you feel, you think what you think, you see what you see. You can’t be anything more or less than that.

You might need to be tactful. Or lie sometimes if it’s convenient or you need to.

But once you listen to yourself and feelings – accept them kindly, and as valid, you accept yourself.

You’re OK. You respect yourself, look after yourself and give yourself what you really need.

There was a copywriting client yesterday who accepted my proposal. Then they read through my website. And cancelled the next day, with a short message saying I wasn’t a fit for their brand.

Well their brand can go fuck themselves! I don’t care enough about them or their brand to fight for the project or even respond.

That is all for now. Let’s party like the teletubbies.

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Your evilness makes you real

evil

Psychopaths are evil. Apparently. Everyone else is angelic. Apparently. That’s what various articles I have read recently would have you believe. But in reality, I don’t think anybody is really that bad, or that good.

In fact, I believe you’re not real until you’ve dipped into deepest darkest desires… as evil as they are.

Firstly, what is a psychopath? It’s someone who is considered to put their own needs ahead of others. They may exploit, deceive, lie and downright attack others to reach their aims. They may be equally charming and charismatic in their approach. They may be hostile. Whatever gets results.

Criticise them as much as you can. But they are effective and ruthless in getting what they need and want.

Psychopaths (in these new agey articles) are often pitted in a battle again “empaths”. Empaths put the needs of others above their own. Often looking for validation in return for the favours they give. They may say they hate it. But on some root fundamental level it gives them a kick and a thrill. Thus you have co-dependant relationship. Women who stick to abusive men for years. People who stay in unpleasant workplaces for decades. It may be unpleasant and exploitative and just plain unhealthy. However on some level it feels familiar and safe so nothing changes.  Even if it hurts.

I am psychopathic. I’m also very empathic. You are too to varying degrees.

We all use various amounts of cunning, skill and acting to manipulate people, information and situations to our best advantage. We tell people what they want to hear.

There’s a TV series I’m loving at the moment called The Night  Manager. Hugh Lawrie plays the role of charming, cunning, evil weapons dealer Richard Roper. While Tom Hiddleston plays a hotel’s night manager, who is recruited by Britain’s Secret Service to infiltrate Roper’s operation and implode it from the inside.

The most interesting character is the night manager. At first he is ultra charming and perfect. But then as the plot thickens, he has to become a violent drug dealer.charming and nasty businessman and two, three or four-faced spy.  It’s amazing because the subtext is: we’re all actors, we all become different characters depending on what we need from situations.

We’re all psychopathic.

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If we lived in a world where we could freely express what we wanted without fear of judgement (in ourselves and others) – we wouldn’t really need these traits. But if we feel we can’t want what we want, or can’t be honest, or have to be loyal to someone. That’s where these traits come in. We have to adapt ourselves, be subversive and underhand in our methods.

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So here’s me. I am an weird, offbeat emperor. I want to use that power to awaken people so they fill the world with marvelous creations. I’m an enabler, a connector of the dots. My idea of paradise is one where we can all communicate freely. One where we are all really seen and accepted to the bottom of our souls. One where our strangeness and weirdness is seen as an asset rather than something to be ashamed of. There is the space, energy and time to really see and hear each other. We also fill out time with play, mischievousness and laughter.roman-baths

I shall spend my days writing, giving speeches and appreciating the wonders of the world. It will be in an old town or city. I will be brought many handsome men to debase. I love the feeling of domination, wrongness and absolute power. We shall live like the romans.

roman-banquet

Grapes and cheese will be devoured in rooms with tall ceilings. There will be many men in my life as lovers, friends and acquaintances. I shall roam with the other kings – enjoying our nights of wine and debauchery. We will erect great statues monuments and building that celebrate our ideas and rule. We shall fund great artworks that stimulate the soul and unconscious. mind. We shall create great theaters where the untold stories of this world stir the spirit. Our language will evolve, as will the people – to live in this awesome age.

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It will be an era of glory, plenty and fullness. Magnificent fresh fig tree will line the streets. Orange trees will be scattered too. We shall pluck them for our breakfasts. The birds shall sing. The river will flow. Weird and wacky contraptions will be invented by our citizens for our benefit. The sun will shine. Buskers will make every street a melodic maze. Accordions, pianos, saxophones, harmonicas will make the city a living thriving music box. Bicycles and our feet will take us through the city so we can absorb it in all it’s depth and texture. Smiles will abound. The food and wine will flow. The buildings will be masterpieces unto themselves. Great labyrinthine structures of turrets, spiral staircases and balconies. The roads will be quiet except for the hum of human activity and the birds.

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Under the belly of this city. The servants and workers will live in dignity. They shall be given good housing, good food and plenty of time to enjoy the city they so dutifully serve.

And so that’s my evil plan. That’s the society I want to lie in. That’s who I am. And I will use any means necessary (within reason) to create or find that. It’s in my best interests and the best interests of the those I will lead.

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What’s bothered me all my life is that I couldn’t share this. Nobody has that vision or imagination – bar two or three friends. The general vision of people’s lives in Britain are so small, sheltered and limited. Let’s build a cul-de-sac of semi-detached houses. Let’s build a supermarket where we sell plastic sausages. What sensible career do you want? What (socially acceptable) hobbies do you have?

So boring, so small. So bloody bland.

There’s no big questions of “what’s your vision of paradise”? Or who the hell are you really? Or what do you really want beyond what society told you to want?

Thus we become fragments. Flakes of realness buried underneath a heavy, bland facade of “normality”. And when you dare reveal anything real or weird – you get shut down or shunned.

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Returning to the point. You’re not really yourself until you dwell in your psychopathicness, your evilness, your naughtiness. In that place you can have anything you want. You can imagine. You can be anything, anyone.

There’s nothing wrong with having ‘bad’ or evil thoughts. Nothing wrong with having power. Nothing wrong with wanting to give your power to someone else in exchange for their care. There’s nothing wrong with wanting abuse or wanting to take advantage of others.

It’s incredibly liberating to explore beyond the constraints of your current world.

You tap in to your essence, with this process. You get to your senses, your primal natural beastly desires.

Then and only then do you really find yourself… the strong, healthy unrestrained god or goddess that you are.

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Darryl the Rainbow Pigeon

Once upon a time there was a pigeon called Darryl.

He wasn’t a black pigeon, a white pigeon or a brown pigeon.

He was a rainbow pigeon!

rainbow-pigeon

Nobody knows how or why Darryl was a rainbow pigeon. His parents did have some colourful feathers, but they hid those.

Darryl always stood out. The other pigeons thought he was wierd.

Darryl tried to play with them but they were stupid and boring. They just wanted to fight and poo on shoppers on the high street.

Darryl didn’t care. He was colourful and the others were not interesting. So he played by himself. He would look at himself in puddles or shiny windows.

Often he would feel an energy, then act it out. He would pull poses and become different characters.

Sometimes he’d be a parrot in the jungle.

Sometimes he’d pretend to be strict and grumpy like his grandad.

Sometimes he would dance like a gorilla.

He loved being crazy.

But then one stormy day – everything changed.

Darryl’s family invited him together. His dad looked very stern

“Big pigeons aren’t like you. You need to take responsibility. All this dancing around is all fine and dandy, but will it build you a nest? Will it bring you worms for your babies?”

“I don’t know” said Darryl.

“If you’re lucky, you might get a few scraps. It’s better to play it safe.”

After that Darryl had to join the others in formation, when they were flying and finding food.

He was actually an excellent forager. But then he had to share it with the others who were not as good.

He didn’t like them. And they didn’t like him.

They were so grey and boring and bland. They were also very slow and bad at getting food. The others talked lots about nothing. They would never hunt too much, to avoid standing out and looking too good.

It was like they were doing this to fill time and feel important. Darryl just wanted to get food quickly then go back to play.

Darryl got very angry. “How can anyone live like this?”

He would despair. He just wanted to play and dance and be. He couldn’t bare a lifetime of foraging for scraps with these ignorant runts.

The days went on. He got angrier and angrier until it became a rage.

Then he looked in a puddle and was shocked. No this couldn’t be possible. No. No. No.

Half his rainbow feathers had become a great dirty black! “Noooooooooooooooooo!”

“NOBODY GETS ME!” Darryl squarked as a long squarky wail.

He cried. Big pigeons aren’t supposed to cry but Darryl had found a quiet place alone in a field.

He felt terrible. Then he felt much better.

He did a little jig. Then he pretended to be a parrot. Then he became various different characters – one after another

Finally, he smiled and flew around in circles.

Because he was proud to be Darryl the rainbow pigeon. And he was unstoppable.