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.

hivemind

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.

fitting-in-duck

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).

mould-petri-dish

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.

simon-cowell-zombie

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.

dystopian-city

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.

happy-old-people

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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