Revisiting the cemetery in 4%

“One thoughtmurder a day

Keeps the psychiatrist away.”

- SAUL BELLOW -

When was the last time it came together like this? I’d have to turn back, through soiled pages of vellum notepads until the vigorous crossings out of wasted paragraphs came to an end. There would be something somewhere, I’m sure of it -hopeful of it- but my old friend the daiquiri won’t allow it. “Push forwards,” he says to the rhythm of a sturdy Viennese march. In Vietnam I can buy the ingredients to make two litres of the stuff for about $7. We were going to drink them together, but she got annoyed with me about something -probably somethings- and went to sleep upstairs. She likes how I drive the motorbike as much as I like having her sitting behind me telling me how much she likes how I drive the motorbike. Most of the time we just play fight it back in to neutral, but sometimes she just goes to sleep upstairs.

I cooked a dinner of fried grouper steaks, sweet potato hash browns and a basic omelette. I left the washing up over there, in the sink whilst I remember what it is to be drunk. Sweat is dripping down my back, and I didn’t touch alcohol or cigarettes for something close to seventy days, but I’m trying to make a living out of writing and the publishers must be looking for a little something more. I don’t know what I’m meant to tell them. There are five dogs outside, and in Vietnam there are men on motorcycles that drive around at night stealing dogs. You drive past the markets and see them all cut up and for sale where the cows and chickens should be. Every time one of the five dogs barks or yelps I have to get up and look out the window just in case. They are not my dogs, but they’re dogs.

I have 10% battery left because that is the kind of world we live in now. We publicise achievements that are substandard, but in the small circles of depressed and feeble souls they mean something. We fought off sadness or illness or idleness and ran our first 5k or gave our first public speech despite the crippling anxiety and overwhelming urge to take prescription pills in the hope that we didn’t wake up. We overcame this pain, and now its time for our pat on the back. I am on my fourth daiquiri and smoking Sovi’s cigarettes whilst she sleeps, and I was going to play an open mic night tonight, but the thought of being around people is often too much. It’s nice to be left alone, even if it doesn’t do anything for your social networking, career advancement or general betterment.

It’s either their birthday, they just got married, changed their job and decided to become a stand-up comedian or have a new outfit to show us. Fuck ‘em. I think I love people too much to just keep on forgiving them for all of that. It’s why I stopped writing, and it’s why I stopped drinking. It’s also why I didn’t say much about any of it either. It’s also why I’m having a hard time thinking that this might come across as me telling you about it now. 8% and the daiquiris are down. I need to make another batch, which will take me less time than the last, but by the time I’ve done that and smoked a cigarette we’ll be sat on 6% and I don’t want any pressure right now or ever again. I do well beneath it, and I’m growing to realise that there should be more action towards doing okay before the doing well. Everyone is up and down like a fucking yo-yo because they forgot the key ingredients to doing okay. You’re hungry for more, I get it. In the gym I get to watch men freeze all opened eyed and drop their jaws when some scantily clad Eastern European aspiring fitness model walks in with a hashtag ‘sobeautifulithurts’ strut. You’re a fitness this and a fitness that, I get it. I get it because its easy. It didn’t feel easy, I know. I know because you’re telling the world about it through selfies and how you wipe your own ass, but what something feels like and what something is, is one of the biggest discrepancies we’ve got going on right now. Let them be ghosts. For Christ’s sake let them be ghosts. If someone can be someone by doing a few sit-ups, bar-weight squats and donning a pair of ass cuddling leggings then our world has further gone to shit. Master the art of ‘plain Jane’ before you think about anything else.

Love yourself and strive for bigger things. If I can do it, so can you. Be your own boss. Inspire the world. Those fucking dogs are still yelping at something, and I don’t want to stumble down the concrete hill in my pants shouting something at a Vietnamese petty criminal for someone else’s dogs, but they’re dogs. I’m going to make another round of daiquiris. I’m going to sit outside and keep an eye on those little fuckers for an hour or so, maybe read some more of Herzog. Perhaps I could tackle the washing up so I’m not woken up in the morning by the aftermath of my own deliberate carelessness. I’m meant to be benching 95kg for 5x5 tomorrow morning and feeling like a hero, but it’s been nice rolling around down here in the mess of the human soul for an evening, and it’s been much more of a pleasure being able to do it by myself.   

6%, absolutely no pressure.