The Ballads Of Mister Rhodes

“The paradoxical and tragic situation of man  is that his conscience is weakest  when he needs it most.” E R I C H    F R O M M  ..... Last time on the Ballads of Mister Rhodes (give me one of those ‘to catch a predator’ voiceovers) I took a brief look into the human being’s innate ability to decide -often at least partially blindly- upon certainty in a world of possibilities. Yup, believe it or not, that was in there. It all ties into the fear of freedom , and how the ego thrives for the concrete. I get it. I have a small lump on my right testicle that I never noticed before and the glands in my groin are the size of kidney beans. I think I have a little less energy than usual, but that could just be in my head. I keep getting the sensation that tiny bugs are crawling beneath my skin. I sincerely hope that’s in my head. I get pins and needles in my hands when I lay down for more than ten minutes and last time I checked my blood pressure...

Genuinely, I‘m cringing so much I could conceive my colon creeping right out of my ass crack, right now, and I’ve despised alliteration since my early-twenties. Ever since spoken word artists showered me with their animated and often misunderstood diatribes to love and life. Alphabet raps and misty morning meadows half way into the first stanza of some snotty notebook. But the snot doesn’t belong to the author. No. It belongs to one of their kids and the author is in their mid-twenties and they should know better. Some might also say they should have known better when the question of conception arose, but they were feeling emotionally mature at the time, and who are we to judge. They’d been feeling emotionally mature ever since they started writing poetry back in high school after mum was diagnosed with something or other and their friends started telling them how strong they were. Well, extinguish the camp fire and put those fucking bongos away, I’m about to go off on one. Did y...

“He who is infected with the fear of illness, is already infected with the disease of fear.” - Michel de Montaigne -  Ok. Well. Yes. This is an opinion piece. Not that the WiFi is working. Not that the WiFi will be working anywhere in the world, ever again, by the time I finish writing this. And, even if it was, everyone will have chained themselves and their families to the radiators of their stockpiled maisonettes.  It will be the same stupidity that ate it all up and got them there in the first place, that leaves all the electronic devices over on the couch, out of reach. Who would have thought that Dean fucking Koontz would end up being the next George Orwell? So, this Coronavirus epidemic is really happening. I mean, it’s not really happening. Not like they say it’s happening, but its definitely fucking happening. I even took a job as a freelance writer, hence the slightly new format. ‘Take what they teach you.’ Apparently, I can do things to actually ma...

“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 ...

“It was morning; through the high window I saw the pure, bright blue sky As it hovered cheerfully over the long roofs of the neighbouring houses. It too seemed full of joy, as if it had special plans, And had put on its finest clothes for the occasion.” - Herman Hesse -  Limber up. I woke up fresh, an hour before my alarm was set for. I had just finished running 5k at a generous incline when it went off. I saw the new year in with an echinacea tea, and a video call with a slightly tipsy Sovi and the adorable stray she rescued. I haven’t written anything in a while and just wondered if the words go down the same as they used to. My desk is a clutter of vitamins, minerals, medical reports, notebooks, half drunk cups of herbal teas, empty electrolyte sachets, coins from four different countries, a pair of sunglasses -lenses down- and one pink gum shield. I wasn’t going to write anything because I’m working on a novel, but I’m not doing so much work on the novel so...

"All the gods, all the heavens, all the hells, are within you." - Joseph Campbell - I stopped 'clapping' mosquitoes. It seemed strange to be stopping things from doing what they were designed to do. It seemed even stranger to decide I had the right to. Headphones in, one foot in front of the other, let the rain come down. The cats were waiting for me when I got back. Perhaps they'd seen her leave too. Sip a coffee, dream of the fire of a cigarette, smile when you start acknowledging the distractions. Keep adding on the easy fixes until you're almost somebody else. Sit with the many sides of yourself; try not to jump. Try not to look around at other things. A bikini clad blonde walks past the window in the direction of the pool. It's been fifteen hours since you last had sex. Sit still. There is time for everything, but all of it will either mean or amount to nothing until you have taken time for yourself.  Simply put, from my viewpoint,...

“Sometimes we love with nothing more than hope.  Sometimes we cry with everything except tears.  In the end that’s all there is:  love and its duty,  sorrow and its truth.  In the end that’s all we have - to hold on tight until the dawn” - Gregory David Roberts, Shantaram The sun casts a glance over the city of Zurich as I think about totality; the everything. The Swiss alps lay silently in the background as a cello softens my eyelids and relaxes my breathing. It is not so much what happens to us over elongated periods of time, but what we allow to happen to us in those unsuspecting instances that seem to find us. There is a journey of trips, dances, wide and narrow strides, falls and fumbles before us all; the only thing that I might contribute to mastery is the willingness to allow it.  I try not to write guru-esque or with specific individuals in the periphery, but the only paint on my canvas has come from the significant othe...