30.10.04 | Conversations With My Pumpkin (Part 6: How Positive Vibes Really Work. As Revealed By The Saturnyne)
Special Halloween Conversation for your delectation and delight! On this Day of The Dead, when the year too dies (If yer still a follower of the old traditions).
So gather ye closely, good reader, but not too closely!- In case ye too suffer the terrible horrors that lurk just under the slender surface membrane of the Saturnyne's Miiiind...
"...So, yes. to answer your question, i HAVE had a terrible day, and am feeling really down. And i'm sorry for biting your head off earlier."
No you haven't just arrived in the middle of a post-slaughter cannibal apocalypse with undertones of guilty angst. It's merely a depresssed Pumpkin apologizing on the phone for having to put up with my mind-bending wit. Which if truth be told, No-one should have to apologize for. Except me of course. So Pumpkin must really be feeling low.
(Shall i try and cheer her up, gentle reader? But of course i shall!)
"Awww, mah poor Sweetie! Ahm so sorry yer 'avin' a bad day. I know!- i shall enlist the aid of some Positive Vibes and send them over to aid you in your time of crisis."
And i wait for the penny to drop, as it will shortly, once Pumpkin has had time to reflect on my words. She is very smart, you know.
Interlude: Positive Vibes As Defined In 'The Saturnyne's Handy-Dandy Tome of Ye Alle Knowledge'
Positive Vibes: Or P.V's, are tiny round creatures, measuring between 1 and 2 centimetres in diameter, predominantly a bright orange colour, but specimens have been found in shades of every colour of the visible spectrum. The colours though, are always rich and vibrant. As is their demeanour. Sometimes irritatingly so. For they are nearly always bright, cheery and breezy. This is as equally apparent in their little smiley faces, as it is in their language. Curiously, though, they are also capable of turning instantly invisible, which they will do on appropriate occasions, for though annoying at times, they are kindly generous creatures with true hearts of gold.
They communicate in high pitched squeaky voices, perhaps how one imagines cartoon mice would sound. And use a language rich in happy platitudes and/or proverbs.
Eating: P.V's will eat anything you offer them with undisguised glee. Although they are most fond of soups, and tomato soup in particular. Which they like to swim in also, bobbing around and splashing each other for hours at a time. Also using discarded cutlery as a miniature diving board.
Lifespan: The truly amazing thing about P.V's is that they're totally indestructible and have a lifespan of millions of years, even without tomato soup. It has yet to be ascertained how they breed, or indeed, if they breed at all. (WARNING FOR SOUP LOVERS: Check yer soup beforehand, when consuming in areas frequented by Positive Vibes, as accidentally swallowing any can lead to sleepless nights, due to them holding parties and frolicking in yer stomach, which to them, is like a big indie disco. Eventually, though, they get bored and leave, finally allowing you a pleasant night's sleep, uninterrupted by squeaky singing and Dinosaur Jr songs etc.)
Habitat: So far, the only known sightings have been in the vicinity of The Saturnyne, whom they regard as their bestest friend and ally and also "Tomato Soup Provider Supreme." Occasionally though, he asks them to undertake missions to the unhappy and sad and despondent of the world... Where they arrive with a cheeky knock on the door, before bouncing playfully between the legs of the door opener and into the nearest kitchen, where they enquire after the possibility of soup (tomato first) in their squeaky voices.
"Oh thank you Pleb-Boy. You're so very sweet someti- Wait a minute! What do you mean by "enlist the aid of"???"
So i tell her.
And she laughs.
27.10.04 | John Peel (1939-2004)
Did you ever have a really cool uncle? One of those with the kind of record collections that pissed all over yours from a great height? And yet was totally unpretentious and charming and modest at the same time? One who would always have time for you?
John Peel, the Radio 1 disc-jockey, who has died today, aged 65, was invariably such a man.
Every student here in the U.K., from the 60's to the present day, has at least once been sitting by their radio in the evening, saying "What the fuck?", and "That was brilliant!" Or even pogoed around the room, or perhaps merely let their mouths hang open in gobsmacked amazement at the total diamonds he'd ever-so-dryly introduce to us. THen we might equally cover our ears as he'd play something almost unlistenable by the likes of Extreme Noise Terror (Mercifully short songs, those), but, we'd listen all the harder to those it was challenging to love, because, well, if He saw something good in them, we'd be ashamed and mortified to be missing out on what might be something really cool.
He was probably more than responsible for bringing to the worlds attention, the likes of The Pixies, The Smiths, The Cure, Joy Division, Cocteau Twins, Cranes and My Bloody Valentine. He was a massive champion of The Fall and The Wedding Present. But always the newcomers.
Two things that always stressed him out about being a DJ: One, he was always worried about his responsibility to all the bands that sent him demo-tapes (From around the world. And he listened to every demo he could). And two, he was afraid of missing something fabulous amongst the hundreds of hopeful parcels he received every week. A fanatic. You could tell.
He was responsible for two of my most cherished musical moments ever from a radio.
1. Hearing Birthday by The Sugacubes. A song so beautiful it still brings tears to my eyes. (i know, i know. I'm a big wuss.)
2. Driving back from Blackpool with a bunch of friends at the age of 18 or so, and excitedly telling everyone that the that the next song must be Waiting For Mary by Pere Ubu. And it was! It fucking was!!! My friends couldn't believe it. I don't know how i knew that it was gonna be the next song. But i was absolutely certain. I think it was around then that i noticed all the very strange coincidences that occurred in my life with disturbing frequency...
John Peel. We loved ya much much more than Princess Di, we indie kids.
Rest In Peace, Uncle John.
From The Saturnyne.
(With tear-stained face, and aching heart)
Articles and obituaries
From The BBC
From The Guardian
From The NME
Damn! Who're we gonna listen to now?!!?
25.10.04 | Ah, More Stuff I've Nicked From People
Saw this first on Tam's and Jessie's blogs, they saw it on someone else's, and someone else saw it on another someone else's. Like i'm gonna track back through half a million blogs until i find the original source. Even if i don't have a life, i need to pretend i have!
First, Last And Now Blah.
- First job: Washing dishes for a wedding reception. 200 of everything! Took hours! Thank god for dishwashers! But it was kinda fun. Was invited back in the evening to collect glasses in the Townies nightclub on the floor below. That was even more fun. I became a glass collector extraordinaire, PLUS, being incredibly poilte, i was able to stamp on the feet (Oh yes, of course it was all an accident) of all the dancing townie scum, apologize, and get away with it. Now there's a talent for ya.
- First screen name: Like a film star? The Saturnyne. Have been for years.
- First funeral: My Grandfathers. Everyone wept. But not I. I was numb inside.
- First pet: 'twas probably a budgerigar called Peter. We had several, 18, i think, one after the other. All called Peter. Many died in unfortunate circumstances. Eg; accidentally rolled on by father, necked in the door. None, however were as dreadful as the one i read about in the paper the other day. A poor budgie-bird got entangled in net curtains, so some kindly aunt grabbed a pair of scissors to cut it free. Alas, she cut the poor birds feet off in the process, leaving the little fella to fly around the room in circles until dropping to the carpet dead with exhaustion.
- First piercing: Haven't i answered this one before? 21. Shards of broken glass straight into right eye. Avoided piercings after that. Also avoided drunken youths with attitude problems whose idea of a birthday celebration is to beat the crap outta everyone in sight.
- First tattoo: No tattoos. No piercings. No body art things whatsoever. Am perfect enough.
- First credit card: Never owned a credit card. Should get one, i know. The internets so cheap these days.
- First kiss: Burnley bus station. Girl called Anne. I was 18, and thus a late developer, i guess. Fantastic kiss. Lasted ages. Full on tongue action. I was great! She was impressed! But then i'd been imagining the act for ages. Plus watching the experienced peeps really helps, ya know. She dumped me six weeks later, an' started going back out with her ex. I recovered in the arms of a 30 year old mother of 3. Regrets- i've had a few...
- First enemy: Dead. All dead. Of course, I never touched them, an' was probably hanging out with several alibis, all of whom can vouch for my exemplary character, and love of kittens.
- Last car ride: Taxi on the way back from the cinema with Pumpkin. Went ta see "Hero". More on that in another post though.
- Last kiss: Hug anna platonic peck from Pumpkin. Last full-on snog was quite some time ago and happened in bizarre circumstances, that i have hinted slightly at on Singlefins and B's blogs. It was a racy, but eventually depressing evening. I won't be blogging about it, but anyone who wants ta know the sordid and yet amusing details, is free to email me... first one to do so can request a topic for a future blog. Don't all rush now! Oh. You didn't...
- Last movie watched: At the cinema, it was obviously Hero. If i was to blog this in a couple of days time, then it'd be either The Motorcycle Diaries, or a dvd ahm currently looking at on me desk called The Warrior, which is supposed to be splendid.
- Last beverage drank: Pure orange juice. Am really into drinking that at the moment. Otherwise it's wine. Red wine.
- Last food consumed: My very last Waifa bar ever. Plain choccy obviously. Am reliably informed that Terry's have stopped making them! I am AGHAST! I am MORTIFIED! not to mention DESPONDENT! I've been eating one with a glass of milk every sunday for the past million years or so. Kit Kats are rubbish by comparison, and just don't go with my sunday newspaper. If any of you come across any of these yummy things in the shops, i heartily suggest treating yerselves. Better still, i heartily suggest sending them to me for, ah, conservation purposes.
- Last phone call: Made: The bloody dentist, for more dentist traumery! Oh how i love to suffer... Received: Pumpkin, telling me what a great day she had. BAh!
- Last time showered: Always after breakfast. I won't go out unless i can have a nice shower. I feel all yechhy otherwise.
- Last CD played: A little known Irish band called The Latecomers. Album called That's All From Memory Lane.
- Last website visited: Any one of you lot. Or mebbe something with nekkidness on display... who knows...
- Single or taken: Single. Take me! Take me now! Actually, don't! You'd only regret it. Am really quite a challenge. Wouldn't want you to suffer.
- Gender: I like the fact that this comes under the "Now" category... like i might've been something else before. Male... with female tendencies an' attitudes. Probably.
- Birthday: Hah! I was never born! You can't prove it!
- Sign: Usually an in yer face "V" sign. Oh all right, you Zodiac fetishists, i'm a Taurus
- Siblings: Older brother. Apparently, i'm the "Quiet One".
- Hair color: Blackish-brown, withsilver streaks that catch the light just so.
- Eye color: Hazel. Bloodshot.
- Shoe size: 8 and a half. Or 43 if yer continental.
- Height: Somewhere between 5'7" and 5'9". I've never measured it exactly.
- Wearing: Black kimono, with tacky silver dragon pattern, black levi's, black pullover, mocassins (guess what colour), pentagram, eye-shadow... ok, mebbe not any eye-shadow today, but if it was, it'd be blue or black, to go with the lippy. Actually, i think i'm too old for da lippy now, so it'd be just eye-shadow. I do get very stained lips from all that red wine, though.
- Drinking: Coffee. Strong. Touch o' milk. 1 sugar (unless i'm being awkward, then it's half.)
- Thinking about: Escape. Freedom. Anger. Willpower. Sex. Love. Sleep. Loss. Strength. Beauty. Compassion. Sorrow. Dreams. Living.
- Listening to: The quiet hum of my pc's fans. The wind and rain creating a symphony outside. My breath; the silence at the centre of the storm.
| What Does A Harle Syker Sound Like? (The Saturnyne Points The Way)
Many of you have been wondering, subtly and subconsciously, i know, what folks sound like in my part of the world. So i've been racking my humble brain, in an attempt to show you. And last night, while carousing through my vast library (all three bookshelves) i found a solution.
Step forward, the late Mr R.D. Kippax. Friend and fellow bowler probably (Like I can remember that far back) of The Saturnynes equally late and wonderful Grandfather (On his mothers side). Also a very well respected and known local poet...
(Yeah, i know he can't very easily step forward, what with being quite dead for probably longer than some of you have been alive, but perhaps we could fit his urn or coffin with some nice shiny wheels so he can roll forward instead. With a cheerful helping shove. Where was i? oh yeah...)
Taken from the now out of print: 'Th'owd Syker Looks At Life'
Aggate 'Airse O Lords
Th' Airse o' Lords up th' Aggate wer i' session,
His Lordship frae t' Valley i' t' chair,
Not a vacant seat i' the bairlairse,
Expectancy rife i' the air.
New rise i' t' rates for discussion,
On the agenda, the cairncil flats, too
But they first hed to discuss pollution-
Ther' wer a horrible smell blowing thru.
The Speaker said "This pugent aroma,
What is it that's causing this smell?"
But when t' greenkeeper came into t' bairlairse,
It were him it were easy to tell.
He said "Ahm mixing a tonic, airt ut back ere
An ahm bairn spreard it airt on ter green.
It's some boorns, some dried blood an' some potash
Wi' some Epsom Salts mixed in between."
He put all ut he'd mixed in a spreader,
An he scattered weer we could see,
Mixed wi' stuff he called organic matter,
Which mearns 'orsemuck to yo and to me.
We doornt know what that tonic were meant for,
Whether for t' worms, or for t' soil, or for t' grass,
But them worms nair are fierce and ferocious,
And the birds 'ev departed en masse.
First coom a seagull frae Blackpool,
Gliding gracefully dairn on' ter green,
It took off a blooming seet faster,
An' were o'er Ireland when last it were seen.
It' really bin ard ont' er th' insects,
It's performed such a lot o' queer tricks,
The centipede or hundred legs as we called it,
Alas now it has niney six.
The daddy long legs, which kids loved to capture,
At times it could move very quick,
It's nair in a state of enrapture,
An' it moves wi a hop an a kick.
The caterpillar is 'evving convulsions,
Which mearns ut it's gettin it worse,
It can nobbut move backwards and sideways,
It's gears ev getten stuck i' reverse.
The leatherjackets, alas are in tatters,
Wireworms are hiding i' t' cracks,
An' cockroaches are suffering frae hiccups,
They'e surrendered and are laid on their backs.
This tonic is quite omnipotent,
They say it'll go worse when it rains,
So yo Sykers yerd better be wary,
Nobody knows what'l come airt o' yon drains.
-R.D. Kippax (R.I.P.)
So, there yer have it. Yer now have a bit of an idea what a "Syker" sounds like. Alas, that there are so few of us left. But that's the way of the world, old customs and ways die out, they give way to the new. One may as well try and push back the sea, like old King Canute, for all the good it does in resisting change. I shall try and hold my memories of what this old Lancashire village was once like though, and perhaps when i too am old and forgetful, these memories, and the memories of my Pumpkin will stay with me and see me through to that final exhale of breath.
Goodnight, gentle reader.
22.10.04 | Conversations With My Pumpkin (Pt.5. Interior Cadaver Wiring)
Ah, the continuing sage of The Saturnyne and his Pumpkin. Newcomers may be wanting to catch up on previous conversations, so here they are for your delectation and delight:
(Extra information. Pumpkin and i have been best friends for over 15 years, i think... although she didn't realize this at first. It took a lot of persistent stalking on my part to convince her that, yes, she did indeed need me and sadly, couldn't live without my charming companionship. We were a couple for a little while during that time, until she realized that her one true love was Colin Firth playing Mr. Darcy. It may also have had something to do with me being a useless tosser, but we'll skip lightly over that small detail... after all, if George and Tony can do it, why can't i? Still... She's only one of two people that i have ever considered marrying. We may not be a couple, but i love and adore her immensely.)
now read on, o' marvellous ones!
"...so i'd thought about having you stuffed with the help of a taxidermist and put in a corner of the room"
(Ah that's my Pumpkin. She can't bear to be without me. She really does love me!)
"But of course, Orangy-Light-Of-My-Life! Anything for youuu."
"And if at some point you could do some cd recordings of your voice, that would be really helpful."
"Oh? How so, my Little Fruitiness?"
"Well i thought i could have you wired with little speakers and a remote control unit. Bung a cd player or something inside, to play your voice and have some wheels and pulleys for movement. Nothing sophisticated... i wouldn't want you behaving unnaturally. Just enough for some simple movements
But i did think it would be nice if i could get you to wave at me occasionally, or do that eye-rolling and eyebrow wagging thing that makes me laugh sometimes. Oh!- And that grin that scares people. That'd come in very handy in case of burglars."
"And what would you have me say, O' Darling Globe of Joy? Something wise and profound no doubt. Perhaps some Shakespearian quotations?- A poetry recital?!?!"
"I don't think so. No. Just the usual bollocks that you seem so capable of uttering on a day to day basis...
(See aforementioned Conversations. Particularly no. 3 for classic examples of The Saturnynes WIT and SOPHISTICATION)
"...And if you continue to call me your 'Darling Globe of Joy' etc. in this conversation or any other time, you may find yourself stuck in the corner sooner than you'd appreciate."
"Shut it, Pleb-Boy. Now, do ya want to give me a date for when you'll be done?"
"The recordings you idiot! Annoying as you are, i still love you too much to get rid of you on a silly whim...
"...Besides, i havent yet told the taxidermist what i want you stuffed with... i did think lavender. After all, then you'd smell sweeter in death than in life..."
(Hey neat idea! Suddenly i like the whole shebang and start enthusing)
"Or what about Helium? I remember this great Eddie Izzard moment, where he was imagining all these smiling cats stuffed with helium, on a string, like balloons!!!"
"Yeah, and i could replace your voice cd, and put some music on whenever i get tired of you speaking, which would be often... Your mouth could open, and the cd would slide out..."
...and there we shall leave it for the present, dear reader... although i might add a special Halloween Pumpkin Conversation on the 31st. Just for you. Oh how lucky you are.
Quote: Getting married is a lot like dying. You don't worry about it much until people start discussing the actual date...
(Well i think it went something like that...)
Actually, on reflection, i have a better one: Love is like a garden shed; If you eat it, it'll stick in yer throat.
19.10.04 | The Milltown Cat (or 'More Tails of Hot Pussy')
Prudence with poise!!! Clicky for full glory. Oyess.
So Prudence returns to my blog once again. Mainly because this is just about my most favourite cat picture i ever took. Also it was an incredible fluke, because i hadn't done any focussing or anything!! Depth of field?- What's that?!?!
I was quite new to cameras then, using an old manual pentax slr that me dad bought for forty quid from a second-hand shop. Still have it. Still works just fine.
Anyway, i was talking about the dear departed Prude (We actually called her Moodas, just as often) to her owner the other day. And so i remembered that i was gonna post this.
Next up: The Saturnyne remembers his childhood television habits, PLUS (Gasp from an adoring audience please)... What exactly does a Harle Syker sound like? The Saturnyne gives you some mirthful pointers...
12.10.04 | American Presidential Debate: The Truth
Ahh, so that's wot it woz!
This cartoon and more like it can be found by visiting my "Guardian Angel" Linky... somewhere down the right there... The cartoonist is called Steven Bell, or Steve Bell, or Maybe Steevey-Weevey Belly to his chums.
Mr Bell to you and me, though. Especially if we make bad jokes around his name.
Anyway, continuing the theme... in a roundabout way... which we'll come to later... i was at my favourite venue in Burnley-town last night watching the ever-charming Sian sing our socks off (She's also in me linkyloos down the side). (Blame Tam for me calling 'em "linkyloos" by the way... did i mention that Tam is also in... yeah yeah... ok, i'm digressing...)
...where was i? Oh yeah, Music. Venue. Called The Red Triangle Cafe. Lovely place. You must come and have a mug o' coffee with me there sometime.
Got delightfully drunk. Got slightly stoned. Not. (about 1%... waste o' time really. Cannabis never works for me when i smoke it. Although it doesn't stop me from optimistically trying it when passed on those very rare occasions when it comes into reach. Interestingly, most of the drug-dealers in this area are probably aged about ten... Where do they get it from, i wonder? Evil clowns, i reckon) Met nice people, and re-met an old friend who i thought was never going to speak to me again. His missus, was there also, an' she's currently living down near Mr Singlefins (links. *sigh* Over there *waves hand in links direction*), apparently. Listened to some great music, and some awful poetry readings, which one watches in the hope of the very minute chance of spontaneous-combustion live onstage...
Came back with my-reacquainted friend and spent the rest of the night/morning watching Weebl and Bob (scroll down/scroll up/look across the page to the right a little. Notice the badly titled thing which is my poor approximation of something called Links. Except i obviously haven't called it that. No, that would be too easy. As would including proper links to everyone i've mentioned so far, directly from this post. Well i like to make ya work for yer enjoyment an' pleasure. It's one o' the ways i get my cheap kicks. Anyways i'm digressing, so back to what i "was doing"...), and playing fps computah games (fraggerama!), oh and watching Sian's friend Kylie, dyeing her hair live on webcam. For this entertainment, we taunted her with drunken gibberish, spoken in cheap posh accents.
Oh, yeah, getting back to the tenuous "theme"... while i was sitting drunkenly in the caff' i happened to notice some leaflets demanding "Bush Out".
Now call me stupid-
(Everyone: "You're stupid!")
(Me: "Roight you lot, Ahtsoide, Naah!")
... but in my drunken state i first thought that it was some anti-feminist fanatics propaganda. An' THEN i considered hopefully that i might be some pro-feminist propaganda, seeing as i was in a socialist environment...
"Sisters! Feel my solidarity!" It was one of those kind of moments. Oh dear...
Of course i realized my faux-pas. Erm... later.
Well!- i was drunk!! Ok? I just hope that nice looking old couple i was sitting next to at the time, understood that too...
Anyway, in closing, i want you all to go an' say Hi to Janey. (No pansy-wansy excuses for not doing). Who has recently suffered a furry bereavement, an' needs lotsa condolences, cos she's utterly one of the nicest people in the entire wide world ever, an' i adore her. (She also looks kinda scrummy, too!)
Ay thank yew!
10.10.04 | Yeah, But Is It "Art"? (The Saturyne "Investigates")
Hello gorgeous, i'm back!
Didja miss me?
(insert "lie" here)
Thank yer! Thank yer! I missed you too! More than my first wife, who i incidentally haven't married yet, to the best of my knowledge...
Well anyway, i've been reading about the Tate Modern gallery, down in London, which by all accounts, is a bloody fabulous place, capable of HUUUGE and amazing exhibits:
Marsayas by Anish Kapoor (Click the "HUUUGE" link above for a true sense of scale
And also, erm, the truly bizarre and mundane. Read THIS before reading any further...
Oi! i said read the link! Stop yer headlong rush to the end of this post right NOW! Or else...
*sigh* They threw away his exhibit, thinking it was merely rubbish. Tchah!
Well it seems that some folks just have the right connections...
After all, for years and years, i have been displaying similar art, wryly titled "Bulging Black Bin Liner (And Wheelie Bin)" freely for all my neighbours to appreciate and admire. In fact it's become something of a community project, with several others in my street displaying such varied titles as "Seven Days of Plate Scrapings"; "Rancid Nappy Monster Retch Alert"; and "Porn Mags That The Wife Discovered Behind The Wardrobe" (A favourite with the young men around here, that one).
The project has taken on an aura of sadness and defiance though, as it seems, before we receive the recognition and riches that we deserve, every monday, men from the council come and take our sculptures away, claiming that "It's just rubbish" and fit only for the tip... i fear that "The Tip" is not some new avant-garde gallery, as some of my more hopeful neighbours have desired, but a... real waste disposal site! The horror! There must be millions of pounds worth of art there by now...
If anyone feels sympathy for our plight in the face of such mirthless vandalism, please leave your comment below in the "petition" space provided, and hopefully i shall hand it in to the town council at the earliest possible opportunity, demanding at the least, either the repatriation of our artworks, or equivalent monetary costs. (Hopefully the latter, because then i can buy some nice compact discs and DVD's in time for Christmas.
I remain yer most humble and brilliant servant,
7.10.04 | The Saturnyne Takes A Cigarette Break
Having a time out for a few days, dear people.
Going to be sad and hate the world.
But mainly sad.
'tis only for a couple of days, me darlings. My batteries need recharging and i've had a rotten day (/week/month/season/year/decade/life/multiple lifetimes of pissy reinarnations)(Just joking. Probably)... , which has put me on a downer.
I'll probably be up and bouncy by the weekends end.
4.10.04 | The Saturnyne Muses Upon Death
"What do they think about, in their beds beneath the ground?
What do the dead people think about?
"When the summer earth swelters, when roots press against their backs like creases in the bedsheets...
When sleep won't come, what notions do they entertain in those frail parchment bulbs that once were skulls?
The party continues overhead, with songs heard before and dances long since wearied of.
Slumbering below, is it a consolation that as with roots and trees, all things above are determined by what lies buried beneath?
Dreaming amongst the foundations of the world, are they content? Do the yellowing ribs still grate together in a nostalgic parody of breath?
"Do the dry sockets thirst for one final glimpse of sky?
Tongueless do they fondly repeat old dialogues, headstones tilting together to share a grievance?
Life In Death
"What do they talk about, in their beds beneath the ground? What do the dead people talk about...
...And which voices are the loudest?"
-From The Saga of the Swamp Thing #41,
by Alan Moore
Today, i have been spending the rainswept twilight hours stalking through graveyards and considering what it means to die and be dead...
Do we really have souls? Does a soul really weigh 21 grams? Where does it go? Which religion has the answer?- imean, they can't all be right, can they? I'd be more willing to bet that they can all be wrong, though.
And does that God guy really have much to say these days?
Does (S)He even exist?
Some people want to leave their mark forever, as if that's some way to immortality. Realistically speaking, i don't think that's gonna happen for anyone. The really really really lucky one's will get a few thousand years at most. Looking at history, i wonder if even your Mohammed, your Christ, your Moses etc. etc. will get that long... Nope, everything ends. And is forgotten. Accepting that, might enrich the lives of many...
Having thought on this at length (years. Of existential crisis), i have to say.
I don't fear the actual dying. I'm hoping that it'll be like waking up (grins).
I'm not so sure how i'll feel about the moments leading up to my demise though...
Will i be afraid? Sad? Happy? Joking through it all like an evil motherfucker? Perhaps a curious mixture of all three.
And the point to all this musing?
Well, Lady Death will come for us all one day, and she's a capricious thing. Any place. Any time, ya know...
If you have things unsaid or love not given. Make a point of saying. Of giving. Today. For tomorrow we die. Probably.
Hopefully just after tea (Harle Syke tea) and with a nice glass of something sweet and alcoholic in hand, and just after dessert, which will hopefully involve something chocolate. Actually, if we could leave it a few hours after tea, it'd be nice to be able to fit in a few rounds of mad pash lovemaking, too, and perhaps a couple of records, anna favourite movie...
Big love to ye all.
1.10.04 | Yowsa!
i have Peek-A-Boo comments! They're so gorgeous. They're sooo mine!
Hugs to yer all.
As it is currently verry laaate; I am really tired and so this is a short post.
THank heavens for my highly trained team of spiders, who even as i speak, are weaving special threads to my eyelids to keep them open.
THis unfortunately, has the side effect of making me look like a wild-eyed goblin. With spiders running busily about the face.
Still, it keeps the children away. And that's good.