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Oh, Fickle Child

Looking back through my folder of work, which was accumulating like unswept dust, I found this. Oh how things change. But I'm glad I'm never to return to the way things were. My maxim is to never wish you could go back to a previous chapter in your life, because you don't know how good the next one will be.

"This is me. I live at the bottom end of a cul-de-sac in England, where nothing ever happens. Well, there was a burst water main once so a big digger had to come and eat the road; the bin men come sometimes too. But apart from that you could hear a pin drop here. What are we trying to be? We are all so tiny and so very self-contained, just little ants going back and forth with bits of leaf. Sometimes I swear I pass myself going home when I'm leaving.

This is constant, never changing. John will always be there in the window waving (apart from at 6pm, which is when he has his head down because he's having his tea) and there will always be a cat or two wandering around - Monty likes to sit on Ian's front lawn. Oh the monotony! And from this little semi-detached house I am living and writing, existing and getting HIGH and I guess that I'm wondering whether I can get my name in lights somewhere outside of SANDYGATE AVENUE, SHREWSBURY.

You never know. Charles Darwin came from here. He changed a lot of minds and went on some pretty amazing adventures. I need to find my own Beagle and set sail before I fade away into routine and (capitalist) society.

(surprising truths spring forth from the mushroom)."



And that was that, that comparatively minuscule nugget of time in which I almost believed things really would never change. But they did. And how they changed. Now I live in a different boring place, I see different boring people and different nice people. But the biggest, the best and the change I am most grateful for - now I am in love and someone is in love with me. It eases the boredom but not only that, it makes me stronger, makes me feel that all this boredom while I'm away from him is not a waste of time. It gives me purpose, more purpose than I've ever had before, because I know that what waits for me when I get this degree and leave this place forever... my life will not be boring any more.

Gormandising Gallophil

I cannot submit this 'poem' without my many thanks to my wonderful woman PHOEBE PATIENCE. We sat down one day last year or the year before, we 'erbalists two with my copy of Walker's Rhyming Dictionary from 1924... yes... 1924!! And we came up with this beauty!

Rife with inquisitiveness

I hunted the positiveness

I bedabbled myself with gabble

With many a fribble and hardly a quibble

I swam in the tallow, as knobbly as a mallow

It was vivific.

I rubbed it in my omnifadge.

We were junketing, spunk on the carpeting.

P.S. It's not as dirty as it sounds. Which in my opinion, makes it better :)

I was going to leave this blog entry in my drafts as tonight I've been producing many and storing them up ready to drip them through but I think I might be impatient enough to let this one go tonight, as I did laugh very loudly when I reread the lost old gem. Phoebe Patience, I miss you so much.

I Do Not Worship, I Become Engulfed

"And so the question arose in the philosophy class, a row of eager, intelligent eyes looked at me and waited for my answer, but I was not sure whether they would comprehend my deepest of musings born from routine sobriety and the swirling patterns of enlightening intoxication.

"What do you believe?" said philosophy teacher Chris, in reference to the clichéd labels which he had scrawled up on the board so as to make a tally chart - atheist, theist, agnostic, spiritual or other.

Well I am certainly not a theist; the classical concept of God sickens me. Agnosticism is a cop-out waste of time and I dislike the perceived hopelessness of atheism, it it true or imagined. I am not fond of the label 'spiritual' as it too portrays wholly directionless and badly thought out arguments.

What is 'other'? I must be shoe-horned into this uncouth and discomforting category.

For my religion, if you wish to call it that, is a special unique thing, a distant cousin of the concepts of Brahman and pantheism without the theism. I do not worship, I become engulfed. I do not bow down, I become but a strand in Gaia's complex web. I do not pray, I know there is no one listening if I talk in my head, or even if I scream.

"Catching feathers, raising tadpoles, peeing in fields..." I idly listed disjointed features of such a belief.

Because my religion is everything. Literally every single little thing - existence on such a grand scale as a blue whale, which has a heart the size of a Corsa and a gullet wide enough to swim down, all the way down to the microscopic world that no one ever sees. Blood and bones but also memories, wishes, hopes and fears. Atrocities and triumphs of love and peace. Movement and stillness, blackness and white.



All of these things have a purpose in themselves and are already divine without having to deal with painful truths like the Inconsistent Triad. In a world of contingency, there are no unmoved movers, and mystery is a part of The Everything as well. Must one need a purpose outside space and time for emotion and achievement, regardless of Maya's illusion? It feels real.


But still, one must never get in too deep. These are, as I say, simply musings, a reflection on the intense bombardment upon my senses that is known by many names. I call it Life and I think it is amazing. It must never be forgotten, however, to stop and breathe and play your cards right.

After all... it's just a ride."











I wrote this when I was seventeen at the height of my philosophical education and to be honest, haven't been very philosophical since. Perhaps I should write something a little more fresh, a little less psilocybin-y.