dislocated adventures

No exit

Sun, 12 Mar 2006 00:46:57 +0100

I am sat on my perch above the high street and the friday night zoo story is unfolding before me. I am in a dark room and am afforded the sight of a sniper, mentally following people past who do not know I am there. there is a guy with a guitar who has been sining the bridge of 'I just called to say I love you' reggae style in a loop for at least 15 minutes, seemingly trapped in an unwitting reprise and unable to make it out of there. A bin is being used as a football and I am above it all, above even the Cc tv cameras that are catching us all from every angle. Up here on the roof there is noone but sounds, dislocated voices that call and yell. It is friday night and whether it is my age creeping cancerlike through my veins, (probably) or whether the weekend culture has changed for me as a 30 something, (weekends seem now to be filled with a combination of motorways, rehearsing, wine with friends, dinners and walks) bur there is an unrest at the bottom of the growl of the street. People seem pissed off and the friday night pissup is not venting enough any more. Booze don't do it, E's are too cheap, coke is so passe and smack is for the losers, so what next. Don't even need to mention weed. So what next? What next, what next, there has to be an exit, some way out of our dilemma, someway to ignore, put off, escape from the worrying niggle that we might be fucking stuck here, that this, terror of terrors, might be it. our lot. I hear a strangled 'Whooo' and a shit load of glass hitting the pavement. There is the discontent sucking the pint out of the glass and the sound distorts at 50 feet into an incessant foot-scuffled, can kicking ticking time bomb. Exits. We have to have them and at the moment I see all of us so demographically placed, marketed, sorted, decided with our career paths and our mortgage choices - 'and at the end of the day, mate, 'ees a fuckin' wanker'- and our inane Englishness, (down at the Burger Van even the the street fighter will queue for kebab and dubious sauce) lapping all the tick-boxing up, so that even the friday night escape has been a carefully monitored seduction by the powers that control the pornography of persuasion - even that is calculated and planned out for us, watched, of course, on Cc tv to make sure we get it right and land our lines on time. There is no exit. I'm not even sure where I came in. There is no exit from this play - I feel like I've been cast in this role and I'm still not sure I want it. Where to from here? I feel today we are all in search of a community, a space, some kind of freedom outside ourselves, outside the now of today.

Blogging? Working in a space in search of a community? So yesterday. What next?

Down below me, I just called to say I love you just calls again.

Comments

title-634259

Sat, 11 Mar 2006 20:22:15 +0100

Comments

a happy accident

Wed, 08 Mar 2006 22:58:51 +0100

Happy accident.

We are like passing ships at the moment, grabbing quality time in the car on the way to/ from work, both in rehearsals for big pieces. Nathaniel West and Hamlet are a force to be reckoned with. The Dane and the Satirist are hell bent on keep either of us from grabbing much more than a sweet word shoved between a flurry of verbal stickies and to do lists.

I had a really good rehearsal this evening and for one fleeting moment, for one dangerously teetering instant as I walked back to my car on the soft soled shoes of quiet confidence, I actually thought that I was coming somewhere near to grabbing with outstretched fingers the slender thread of control.

When the dusty, rusty red beast that is my chariot still wouldn’t start 30 min later the slender thread drifted away and the heady delights of Tuesday night in Bath opened themselves up to me.

My chariot is now gone, safely tucked up with its jump leads in the nearest stable. Hamlet takes Ophelia from me tomorrow night and Thursday and Friday night and twice on Saturday. I am in the thick of the storm, but when the wind blows loudest the, waves have to be ridden. One can either shake a fist at the sky, or put a tongue out and enjoy the taste of rain. I like the taste of rain and have to look upon the my ailing chariot as a rolling opportunity for me to experience beautiful serendipity. In that frame of mind a happy accident is unfolding in the form of a well-deserved and unexpected treat; A hotel, and breakfast thrown in, and we are in the town centre. This means a rise at stupid o clock to be at the service of the inbox is out of the question and a lie in to the decadent hour of 7:30 may even be possible.

The possibilities are endless, life is not a straight line and what happens from here in Bath and Tuesday is anyone’s guess…

Comments

locked

Mon, 06 Mar 2006 23:02:39 +0100

I am not locked in, or out - just locked... Somehow left my keys in a place - I'm not sure where-that is probably locked by some other keys in a building I now can't get out of, as my keys are the ones that lock this place up. Now if I was an existentialist, this may give me cause for worry... However, it gives me time to think as I may well be here for the night... Rescue is coming, possibly, but if not rescue, then arrival of girlfriend with possible set of keys will cause much grief as on the missing set of keys, is the house key and more importantly the car key, which holds, in its magical grooves and dents, the means to actually getting to the house I am currently locked out of and the bed and meal I feel I deserve/need.

This event, though reaching me at the end of the day, pretty much sums up the whole, really.

Whatever happened to open doors?

Comments

Number one.

Fri, 03 Mar 2006 21:19:54 +0100

So here we go... a beginning a start, some kind of cadence kicks things off. A lull in the hectic everyday that is filled with 'to do' and an outtray that snaps at my heels long after I have shut the door on it. The weekend is a kind of strange time for to do lists and in trays because I reach monday again, or rather, monday reaches me, and despite the machine that feeds the intray (allegedly) taking time to whirr and grease its electronic cogs in time for the monday assault on my frail lego brick wall of sanity, in reality the assault has never stopped, simply shifted down a gear on Saturday and Sunday so that when I come back, the intray is like a monolith before me and the to do list has magically acquirred a spagetti-like scrawl of associated tasks.

I digress before I've even started. Such a post modern victim. I feel like a pastiche of people I've heard about in conversation with other people who remind me of people I may have met or seen on tv. With our celebrity confessional tv as fucking pulpit to the world key to all that is revered and holy it's not really suprising...

Off once again.

I want this blog to be a record of what I'm thinking. My job affords me the amazing luxury of spending quite a significant proportion of my time in what them normal folk call cloud cuckoo land. I'll leave you to guess what I do, (both of you...) But when I'm not stapled to the intray/ outtray to do list, I'd like to share what I'm thinking. I'm not going to edit - just stream of consciousness and see what happens

A phone call intrudes like an persuasive child on an adults shopping excursion and so away till next I am free, (a highly subjective term, take it as it comes, not as it was meant..,)

Comments