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.

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