Happy New Year. Shit, it’s almost February

My head is full of cold and I haven’t written anything in a while. That’s usually not a problem, but I can feel myself becoming more ‘bitey’. You know how it is when you’re not in the greatest of places... You start looking around and pinning it on the outside world, but the reality is that you’re just having one of those ‘sorry piece of shit’ moments and its easier to be blasphemous. I just really fucking hate it when my immune system reminds me that I’m not an undiscovered superhuman. My ego doesn’t need that. I like being 36, stronger than I’ve ever been and slowly getting rich doing nothing much.

I semi-jest. I do thoroughly enjoy being 36 and being stronger than I’ve ever been, and passive income is my kind of employment. I’m not rich, but nor am I desperately searching the nooks and crannies for half-cut ideas to make a few quid while I’m not allowed to leave the house, but I can leave the house because I’m on an island off Vietnam and not some bum-mungle-strewn city. I don’t need to handcraft personalised paint-by-numbers family portrait photos framed in recycled tampon wrappers and sell them on etsy so I can afford toothpaste. I know, I know. I’m being a little cut and dry, but that’s one of the only reasons I write. I don’t have the luxury of being close enough to any fuck-nugget to scream what I’ve been thinking in to their ears.

Bought myself some fake Beats by Dre, so I understand the hypocrisy. 

Hypocrisy is important, it’s part of the learning curve, but I’ve covered that before. I received a message a while back. I never really replied. Not sure if you’ve been there, but you know when you want to say something, but if you said it that person might never be okay again? It was one of those. So i invested in to my karmic bank account, and I guess I’m about to withdraw.

Do I need to tell you the context? Nope. Maybe. Nope. 

Never, be like Coronation Street. 

Not in any way. 

Well, towards the climax of this message the sender decided to inform me that my mother would be ashamed of me. My own deceased mother. Ashamed of me. Now, I know you’re all a little bit Coronation Street... You can’t help it. That’s why I’m over here and have a point of not socialising with English speakers. Why are ‘they’ -its a she obviously- so angry that they bring my dead mother in to it, and why would my dead mother be ashamed if the deceased could possibly be ashamed.

I’m feeling ‘bitey’ not heartless. All I want to say on the matter is... If you, or anyone else for that matter is going to announce to the world that ‘its’ suffered a mental breakdown, and then reannounce ‘its’ return to social media as if we’ve all been left waiting on tenterhooks. If you’re going to do that and then successfully exhort the world for sympathy, but leave out the bits when people’s dead mothers should be ashamed of them amongst other tit-bits. Well, fuck.

For my next piece I’d like to talk about mental breakdowns. Mental breakdowns are usually when the reality of your existence comes to its wits’ end with the altered verion of reality you choose to wear over the top of what’s actually going on. That’s when what you can actually touch, smell and genuinely feel calls bullshit on your masquerade. That’s when you realise that you’re not part of some higher order of chosen beings who understand more than others, and actually you’re just a bit dim and not so well adjusted, but you’re fragile so the world wants to know you’re okay.

My biggest problem is that I made mental breakdowns look quite good. There’s something exciting in them. Like life is about to call you out on your bullshit and you’re either going to get through it or not. Its a bit like gambling, but not much. I was never one for sympathy, and that’s okay. I’ve got that Robin Williams curse I guess. Which is why when I released ‘The Lorn & Trembling Blues’ -a song about what the world looks like when you’re on the verge of calling it a day- I decided to donate everything I might make to a couple of suicide prevention charities. Because, despite everything I just said, my heart will always hold a very - I don’t know what the word is- it has a place for people who feel like there’s nowhere else to go. I don’t know what you’d say.

I remember finding a guy on the train track a few years back, half-way through a bottle of shitty convenience-store whiskey. I spent half a day with that guy. So many times he flinched and tried to break for the tracks when the trains approached. He told me I should get going, that I looked important. And I was. Back then I dedicated my time and well-being to supporting individuals with autism and learning disabilities. But who the fuck is too busy to stop for a moment -even if its half a day- and give some time to someone who thinks they need to end it. And that ladies and gentlemen could be the most distasteful plug you’ve ever encountered. 

So, if you haven’t spent 99 pence on my new single, which will be donated to two charities that do their part to prevent suicide: To be available to speak with people when they need people, but there’s no one around. If you haven’t done that yet, then please do. You don’t have to, of course, I’m not one to judge, but it’s a bit cunty. And in no way do I mean a ‘ahh he’s alright, he’s a good cunt’. I mean Cunt cunt. You know....

Anyhow, I feel better. Largely disappointed still, but better.