There has been an open, bright and warm sun shining outside upon the capital city I both live on and was born in. My girlfriend has turned into a personal training machine. My baby nephew has grown a full head of hair. Arsenal have blown yet another series of potential trophies. The Rock has returned to the World Wrestling Federation. A new year has arrived, and an old year has passed. Governments have fallen, people have died, babies born, marriages, divorces, friendships, hopes, dreams, associations, all come and gone over the course of a one hundred and eighty six day period.
And yet, while I am aware of all these moments of life passing by my eyes, and even though it registers in my mind. In all honesty... I can barely see a thing.
You see, right now, all of this; every thought, feeling, idea, passion, position, preference and source of living, has been instantly locked away in a large deep vault in the vast recesses of my mind - as a 'Busy' sign rests on the door handle of my conscious thought. The reason? I have had a book to write. And for the past six months, almost nothing has been able to grab my attention, long enough to barely cause me to raise my head to see what all the commotion is about, let alone stop me from working on the words I process.
Since October 27th, 2010, I have not stopped to pause - I don't even know if I can anymore. I tend to take most aspects of life to extremes, carrying a philosophy of wondering why do anything by halves; which has always felt pointless, and more an action of design, than a process of passion. The goal was to finish a target, the goal remains to finish a target. I intend to reach the end, regardless of the sacrifices which come from doing so. It is somewhat selfish, I am aware of this - ambition can attain a very ugly side to it, but the bigger picture serves a positive purpose, and those who understand me, understand this. In all honesty, I receive nothing but good vibes from everyone as I chip away; dedication is a respected quality, I suppose.
Old beliefs have died, new ones formulated. I have awoken to a notion of God, yet lost all forms of religion. I have suffocated too much feeling, yet discovered so much reason. I feel as if I understand more than I ever have, yet wonder if the knowledge I can never go back to sleep, may make me more passively cold and distant, than I am as I live life in this zone. I am both alive and alert, yet asleep and alone; I am sitting in the corner on my own in a dark, quiet, empty room; as only a few small red candles burn around me, providing a natural source of light as I hold pen to paper, and construct something which has been without doubt, the toughest task I have ever undertaken, both personally and professionally.
But I will keep rolling to the very end. I cannot stop, I wont stop, I don't know how to stop. I worry if I do, even for a moment, I wont be able to begin again. It is an odd, slightly numbing feeling - like looking at life through one of those pillow-like blue clouds of a clear day; though sometimes they turn to the dark thick grey ones in the distance, promising a thunderstorm later on. I am tired of these - though they do produce an incredible rainbow afterwards... which is perhaps the best metaphor I can think of for this book.
Of course, this is all a learning process. This period will make me a much stronger and adaptable person. But I guess it gives me faith in the duality principal, that when you gain something, you lose something else in the process; I have gained a book of my own hand and mind, yet lost - well, I am not sure yet. I will let you know when I hit the final word of the final page; and know the task if finally complete...
Lee.
Introducing Adam...
Tupac, Biggie, Eminem, Snoop Dogg, Doctor Dre, Plan B... Adam Lout!
*Adam's Language*
Adam, the world is waiting... hopefully not forever...
Lee. :-)
Born from the mean streets of suburban London, this new wave of revolutionary grime rapper/poet/philosopher/visionary extraordinaire, is without undue question, going to be placed in the same vein as these veritable giants of the brutal and angry lyrical passion of modern rap music.
He is destined to find himself the giant slice of Turkey, sandwiched between Lady Gaga and Susan Boyle, as he becomes one of the wealthiest masters in the currency of musical expression. His talents know no bounds, and is a true polymath of the age.
Some say he is a deluded, no talent, wigger of low-intellect. But they do not appreciate the finer qualities of his music. With a tight squeeze of his Teddy Bear, and a large gulp of his very own pussy juice, the young man is, without undue question, the future of British music - both underground, and mainstream.
So, who better to explain the man himself, then the man himself. And, if any of you struggle to understand his unique grimy style, I have translated his words, into standard English...
Mister Lout, over to you...
*Adam's Language*Holla,
wot dey say on ma patch iz if u cum round ma endz u get nocked owt blad! datz just da way it iz on da mean streetz of desmun tutu estayte norf wheezy. im just tryign 2 make it bruv.
soon u will c me on da stage rock1n da joint wiv ma beatz coz im da nxt big rappa in da uk. peepz try to hold me dwn but dont let it get 2 a bruvva coz ushally dey just hatin on ma skillz. so n e wayz a uk produkshun companie haz askd 2 followz me round 4 a week 2 c how i liv n da talant & da skillz i sho 2 b top ov da chartz brap brap!
At da end of da day u wil all c how i rock da mic n liv da life. dey will also av exsluiv accexx 2 ma new trak & musik vid calld wivout u - see why im da nx big ting n betta dan ndubz n dizZy raksals n da tinchy temperz n stridas
At da end of da show, da produchun peepz gon giv ma dem0 tapez 2 da muzik peepz 2 c if dey can make me a star yeh! hope dat u all njoy wotchin ma shiz peepz n how my lyfe iz! fanks 4 da support cth mE on da fazebuk n U2ooB, me lynx iz beelo, stay bless.http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=1122321081
http://www.youtube.com/user/AdamLoutUK?feature=chclk1luv
aDam LoUt AKA mC lizzLe
aDam LoUt AKA mC lizzLe
*Translated*
Good Afternoon,
If you are to visit my area, there is a chance you may experience an act of violence; it is a very dangerous land, fraught with inequities and adversity.
There are many detractors to my hard earned abilities, but thankfully, a British production company has agreed to follow my career progressions, as I create a credible life in music for myself; I am a very talented performer.
This is simply how things are in these merciless and troublesome lands in which I live upon. But eventually, I will become an immensely successful British musical artists, therefore able to ascertain a progressive life moving forward with due diligence.
I am allowing the professional outlet, exclusive access to my new songs - one in particular titled 'Without You'. I am an aritst of wider talents, in comparison to performers such as NDubz, Dizzy Rascall, and Tiny Temper.
I will be very famous, very soon. Please endorse my pathway I desire to reach, and follow me on YouTube and Facebook; the links are below.
http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=1122321081
http://www.youtube.com/user/AdamLoutUK?feature=chclk Regards, and love to you all,
Adam Lout
Adam, the world is waiting... hopefully not forever...
Freedom.
I am not free, not yet anyway. Freedom will arrive when I can happily and loudly sing and dance to music I like in public places, in my appalling rhythmic style. When I can create conversations with anyone and everyone, about anything and everything - though I am getting closer with this. Or when I can say what I truly feel, at any given moment. In short, when I can approach each and every day, with the knowledge that I simply do not care if society accepts me or not.
There is an irony to this, as I have learned from personal experience you find acceptance in yourself - both internally and externally, when you just let go, and stop trying to find it through other people. The reasoning I assume being that other people gravitate towards those who they perceive to attain attributes they feel they do not have in themselves; confidence, charisma, courage, dedication, determination, a few examples of this.
I grow closer, but still it is not enough. Not entirely through design, but more in reaching points where I really cannot be bothered to play the game anymore; I always play this external life as a shadow of everybody else, but the intricate and subtle rules are drawn up by my own desires - I only adapt to social conventions as a retainer of acceptance within its constructs. In truth, if I knew it wouldn't dissipate my survival and replication value, I would walk around in a moo moo, belch very loudly when I needed to, and tell most people I meet that I really couldn't give a shit whether the weather is overcast or not.
I break social taboo on a regular basis; working on subconscious reaction, as opposed to any adaptations of awareness; I am hardly ever rejected, and most of the time, people like me more for doing so.
I feel as if I have spent my entire life stripping myself of all the backward logic society has attempted to force me to adhere to - I can pinpoint over my entire adult life, each and every period in which I have worked against a form of societal conditioning, which was created by humanity to serve no other purpose, than to aid the wider world. It has never been easy; most times it has taken initial periods of tremendous courage and faith, but I have always succeeded, and, even though each time, a portion of me feels just a little less understood and a little more isolated for doing so, it feels right - therefore, why stop?
I can never truly be free; the truly free retain zero conscious awareness that they are, and I will always remain somewhat trapped by a mind which never stops thinking - this and the knowledge that freedom in a system such as the one we experience in life, is really a construct within a square box where we learn to manipulate and distort the frame, to create an illusion of personal control. Perhaps true freedom is anarchy... but I don't really desire anarchy - I like sleeping in my comfortable bed.
The more I do this, the more I feel sympathy for others, as I watch desire crushed by convention. I see those who wish to commit one act, only to enforce another upon themselves; the one which society has deemed 'acceptable'. Some make sense; murder, theft, physical violence, they don't help anyone. But think about it... who is going to feel hurt if I started jiving along to Mambo Number 5, in the middle of the cereal isle of my local ASDA?
I guess this is freedom - a mixture of not caring about reaction, while at the same time, never giving up to progression. To accept that there is no real competition in the world, beyond the internal battle we fight from within.
Or maybe this is all bollocks. And real freedom is to accept that with life comes death, with pleasure comes pain, with day comes night, and to stop worrying, thinking, or analyzing, and simply sit back and enjoy the roller-coaster of life, the way we were probably always meant to. Which if true, means I am writing this blog as a prisoner - this blue shirt on me right now kinda looks like something a convict would wear.
Time to find a public place and start dancing...
Lee.
There is an irony to this, as I have learned from personal experience you find acceptance in yourself - both internally and externally, when you just let go, and stop trying to find it through other people. The reasoning I assume being that other people gravitate towards those who they perceive to attain attributes they feel they do not have in themselves; confidence, charisma, courage, dedication, determination, a few examples of this.
I grow closer, but still it is not enough. Not entirely through design, but more in reaching points where I really cannot be bothered to play the game anymore; I always play this external life as a shadow of everybody else, but the intricate and subtle rules are drawn up by my own desires - I only adapt to social conventions as a retainer of acceptance within its constructs. In truth, if I knew it wouldn't dissipate my survival and replication value, I would walk around in a moo moo, belch very loudly when I needed to, and tell most people I meet that I really couldn't give a shit whether the weather is overcast or not.
I break social taboo on a regular basis; working on subconscious reaction, as opposed to any adaptations of awareness; I am hardly ever rejected, and most of the time, people like me more for doing so.
I feel as if I have spent my entire life stripping myself of all the backward logic society has attempted to force me to adhere to - I can pinpoint over my entire adult life, each and every period in which I have worked against a form of societal conditioning, which was created by humanity to serve no other purpose, than to aid the wider world. It has never been easy; most times it has taken initial periods of tremendous courage and faith, but I have always succeeded, and, even though each time, a portion of me feels just a little less understood and a little more isolated for doing so, it feels right - therefore, why stop?
I can never truly be free; the truly free retain zero conscious awareness that they are, and I will always remain somewhat trapped by a mind which never stops thinking - this and the knowledge that freedom in a system such as the one we experience in life, is really a construct within a square box where we learn to manipulate and distort the frame, to create an illusion of personal control. Perhaps true freedom is anarchy... but I don't really desire anarchy - I like sleeping in my comfortable bed.
The more I do this, the more I feel sympathy for others, as I watch desire crushed by convention. I see those who wish to commit one act, only to enforce another upon themselves; the one which society has deemed 'acceptable'. Some make sense; murder, theft, physical violence, they don't help anyone. But think about it... who is going to feel hurt if I started jiving along to Mambo Number 5, in the middle of the cereal isle of my local ASDA?
I guess this is freedom - a mixture of not caring about reaction, while at the same time, never giving up to progression. To accept that there is no real competition in the world, beyond the internal battle we fight from within.
Or maybe this is all bollocks. And real freedom is to accept that with life comes death, with pleasure comes pain, with day comes night, and to stop worrying, thinking, or analyzing, and simply sit back and enjoy the roller-coaster of life, the way we were probably always meant to. Which if true, means I am writing this blog as a prisoner - this blue shirt on me right now kinda looks like something a convict would wear.
Time to find a public place and start dancing...
Lee.
Words.
Words are trying to express feelings, but they can't really achieve this.
Words often carry feelings, but they are more of a pathway to reach the emotion.
Words wear a veil behind humanity's true communication.
Words speak louder when a mouth remains silent.
Words can be loved, yet words will never make you fall in love.
Words remain trusted to tell us what we wish to know.
Words try to understand, without understanding it is impossible.
Words lie, eyes never do.
Words were created to organize humanity, not to internally find it.
Words are trying to express feelings, but they can't really achieve this.
Lee.
Words often carry feelings, but they are more of a pathway to reach the emotion.
Words wear a veil behind humanity's true communication.
Words speak louder when a mouth remains silent.
Words can be loved, yet words will never make you fall in love.
Words remain trusted to tell us what we wish to know.
Words try to understand, without understanding it is impossible.
Words lie, eyes never do.
Words were created to organize humanity, not to internally find it.
Words are trying to express feelings, but they can't really achieve this.
Lee.
Clarity Begins At Home.
'Written, unedited, sitting on the grass in Hyde Park... sometime early this evening'
I need to go home. I don't know how I am supposed to do this exactly, but somehow I must begin a path that may be the only true road which will set me free. I am a sinner of sorts, I guess. I am not ashamed of these sins, for at the time I fully believed they served a genuine purpose of a greater good. But, in the long run, and through these acts of immaturity - nobody benefited form them; especially myself. These errors of judgement now seem so trivial now, but they are not - for a sin is only as powerful as the effect it has as the particular time of life in which it takes place; time may heal all wounds, but we still carry the scars as reminders to try and do better next time around.
I have been contemplating the idea that everyone in my life I have ever found an emotional connection with, has God, or a form of God in their lives. I have always had God in my life, but more as an enemy to fight against, then a friend to help guide me along my own crooked highway of what lies ahead. I fought because I believed I deserved more in this life; but as I sit here I know - not think, but know... why should I deserve more? What makes me so special? God, or whatever God is, has given me so much more than anyone could possibly ask for;
They have given me fantastic health and genetics, an incredibly strong and resolute mind of capabilities very few are lucky enough to attain, a good adaptability structure and openness to any form of ideal in culture, class, colour, creed or belief system, and a rich and genuinely loving, soulful heart... I embrace all but the latter, and the only way I believe I can unlock that key to this, is by finally finding my way back - to finally go home.
You see, the guard was designed as a mode of protection at a time in which it was a necessity to defend myself, as I was very young, very irresponsible, and ultimately, very scared. But I am long into being a man now, and I don't need to wear the veil any longer. I am still living in my association of yesterday... which means I was lying to myself; covering the truth of my lies in the security of delusion. Should I continue to do this, I remain a child of sorts, and will continue to burn bridges I initially build so well as a psychological architect. Eventually, it may probably leave me very wealthy, yet extremely lonely - and I will take true love over hard cash any day of the week... even if this does sound a little dodgy and easily misunderstood, in the style it is written.
A portion of me is still afraid my true self will be exploited, ridiculed, and rejected. And it will, to a point, as is true for anyone... this is a part of life's abject nature. But it will also be admired, inspected, and accepted. Even if the bad stuff does happen, I am a man... I can deal with it, and in the mean time, try to help those who need it. I am now remembering primary school hymns, sleeping in the Church the night before the shoot of The First Chord, those who gave me words, literature, time, empathy, and more than anything else, a complete lack of judgement towards the life I lived. I know I am intelligent, but sometimes, being intelligent means knowing when you are an idiot, or at least, knowing you are too blinded by the frustrations of unmerited desire, to see the clarity of those who cared for my well-being. I need to listen to this more, I need to hold on to these words, while letting go of these chains.
This is hard for me to write, but I want to be as honest about myself as I can, in case my wall finds a way of rebuilding itself. Going home may take a long long time... it may happen tomorrow, I just do not know. But it is a road I am prepared to travel, and man enough to face. In many many years from now, and hoping nature is kind on me, and I finally reach the end, I will thank everyone who guided me and helped my path, as I walked along the open road of the life I never truly figured out like I thought I would - and hope that in someway, I helped them along in theirs too. I feel a desire to give back, and it feels as if it from a source of my soul. I like this feeling, it feels like it should be.
Until then, and yet again, I find myself a little closer to God, but it is a warm glow, and I really need it in my life right now. I can either get bitter, or get better... and usually, even though these messages of life take a long time to get through to the inbox of my brain, once they do, I am usually wise enough to do what needs to be done.
To be continued.... whenever...
Lee.
I need to go home. I don't know how I am supposed to do this exactly, but somehow I must begin a path that may be the only true road which will set me free. I am a sinner of sorts, I guess. I am not ashamed of these sins, for at the time I fully believed they served a genuine purpose of a greater good. But, in the long run, and through these acts of immaturity - nobody benefited form them; especially myself. These errors of judgement now seem so trivial now, but they are not - for a sin is only as powerful as the effect it has as the particular time of life in which it takes place; time may heal all wounds, but we still carry the scars as reminders to try and do better next time around.
They have given me fantastic health and genetics, an incredibly strong and resolute mind of capabilities very few are lucky enough to attain, a good adaptability structure and openness to any form of ideal in culture, class, colour, creed or belief system, and a rich and genuinely loving, soulful heart... I embrace all but the latter, and the only way I believe I can unlock that key to this, is by finally finding my way back - to finally go home.
You see, the guard was designed as a mode of protection at a time in which it was a necessity to defend myself, as I was very young, very irresponsible, and ultimately, very scared. But I am long into being a man now, and I don't need to wear the veil any longer. I am still living in my association of yesterday... which means I was lying to myself; covering the truth of my lies in the security of delusion. Should I continue to do this, I remain a child of sorts, and will continue to burn bridges I initially build so well as a psychological architect. Eventually, it may probably leave me very wealthy, yet extremely lonely - and I will take true love over hard cash any day of the week... even if this does sound a little dodgy and easily misunderstood, in the style it is written.
A portion of me is still afraid my true self will be exploited, ridiculed, and rejected. And it will, to a point, as is true for anyone... this is a part of life's abject nature. But it will also be admired, inspected, and accepted. Even if the bad stuff does happen, I am a man... I can deal with it, and in the mean time, try to help those who need it. I am now remembering primary school hymns, sleeping in the Church the night before the shoot of The First Chord, those who gave me words, literature, time, empathy, and more than anything else, a complete lack of judgement towards the life I lived. I know I am intelligent, but sometimes, being intelligent means knowing when you are an idiot, or at least, knowing you are too blinded by the frustrations of unmerited desire, to see the clarity of those who cared for my well-being. I need to listen to this more, I need to hold on to these words, while letting go of these chains.
This is hard for me to write, but I want to be as honest about myself as I can, in case my wall finds a way of rebuilding itself. Going home may take a long long time... it may happen tomorrow, I just do not know. But it is a road I am prepared to travel, and man enough to face. In many many years from now, and hoping nature is kind on me, and I finally reach the end, I will thank everyone who guided me and helped my path, as I walked along the open road of the life I never truly figured out like I thought I would - and hope that in someway, I helped them along in theirs too. I feel a desire to give back, and it feels as if it from a source of my soul. I like this feeling, it feels like it should be.
Until then, and yet again, I find myself a little closer to God, but it is a warm glow, and I really need it in my life right now. I can either get bitter, or get better... and usually, even though these messages of life take a long time to get through to the inbox of my brain, once they do, I am usually wise enough to do what needs to be done.
To be continued.... whenever...
Lee.
Goldfish Bowl.
I started writing my book almost six months ago. Since this quiet, long forgotten October afternoon, when the above sentence hit my small notebook of paper from the pen in my hand, whilst sitting in the Harrow Starbucks, I have hardly paused to look up at the world; to smell the roses, see the trees, or hear the sounds of frantic humanity rushing past me. I feel as if I am living in a very small Goldfish bowl at the moment; which I guess makes me the solitary Goldfish living inside of it.
I needed to think. I needed to think very long and very hard about every paragraph, sentence, and single word, of the 90,000 or so I have created. The further I have continued the process of writing and editing, the deeper I have moved into the house of my own thoughts and ideas; my aim was, and still is, to create the greatest piece of non-fiction literature I could possibly achieve. I am happy with everything at this point, but I really never expected it to come at a price of almost losing myself in the process. Then again, I never thought about the psychological implications anyhow - I just wanted to write my book.
I am currently deep within the world of humanity - while looking out towards it through my Goldfish bowl. I am not letting anybody, and I do mean anybody - with no exceptions, inside at this moment.... my bowl is clean and the water is just the right temperature for me. The food is okay, the silence calming, for now, and the window it has been perched upon has a lovely view all around, with beautiful sunshine glistening upon it. It is not that I do not wish to let anyone inside, and in all honesty I really need to, as this feeling of enforced isolation for the sake of artistic merit, is leaving me feeling a little jaded and empty. But I need to maintain this focus. I am still taking care of the people and issues of life around me, for they will not simply stop of my asking (though that would be some magic trick), this is simply a sacrifice I must currently undertake. I do not particularly enjoy being cut off this way, and, I still remain social enough for hardly anybody to even notice. But no path in life which is worth traveling, is ever easy, and I have walked way too far along the highway to turn back and go home.
I guess all I can hope is that those moments when I open the small door of my bowl to the external world of those who knocked upon it, to garner my attention - have my attention. There is no personal affront attached to all the people I have become distant from - this is pretty much the slightly selfish and merciless way I attempt anything I care about... full on and with no looking back. It is of a somewhat interesting irony, that stepping inside of myself to figure out what lies outside, has also taught me a sense of human value in everybody else; and it is a stark reminder that all I am really doing, is trying to find a very tiny needle inside one big giant haystack. I have found the needle, and it is held inside a firm grip of my left-hand; I am now slowly finding my way back to daylight.
I wont be inside of the bowl for much longer, for I miss connecting emotionally with people way too much. And, when this book is finally completed, book two (which I know exactly what its subject matter will be), is going to be a much more fun and engaging work... which should bring me right out of myself to full social capacity; which my ego desperately holds a blinding light of a torch for. But, until this time arrives, I will try to enjoy my solitary life as a lonely Goldfish in a small, circular, transparent bowl - as well as keep a good eye out for any hungry felines coming my way...
Lee.
Captain's Blog.
So, this blog was flagged the other day, for offensive or abusive content... I guess somebody doesn't like dogs - or Michael Jackson. Anyway who cares. Some loser has nothing better to do, not my problem. All I will say to you are the words of Alan Partridge; "get yourself a girlfriend". Probably some dude who adds desperate young models to Facebook, and knows every line of dialogue to the entire Star Wars series. Still...
It got me wondering what kind of blogs you could write, that would be so offensive to actually piss off the web - which is more or less the modern world; to a degree.
First of all there has to be a pro-Nazi site or two floating around - there always is. Blog updates on why hating the Jew is good, and that black people should still be slaves, and think Mexicans are Oriental, etc... With some low rent hate fulled Hitler punk song playing in the background as you read - I say read, but i doubt it is very articulate or thoughtful.. I mean, waste of time, pointless, and ignorant as shit perhaps, but a lot do seem to believe that bullshit. Stupid pawns.
On the flip side, you probably have the pro-militant various racial groups, anti-gay or female article sites, and the far right Christian lot. The latter are a real bunch of deluded dickheads. I mean, seriously; I am sorry you were bullied as a child, but move on. Then the rampant hating of the Israelite. If there is a God, I don't think hating Jews was ever a part of his plan. Why do so many people hate the Jews? I would - but Sigmund Freud, Bob Dylan, Woody Allen, Leonard Cohen, And on and on... they make for seriously smart dudes. I am sure they have their Fagin or two, but which social group doesn't? All people man, it's all a load of bollocks in the end.
Maybe a few extreme fetish or perversion blogs exist; Midgets lovers, extreme blow up costumes, rubber Worzel Gummage mask wearers, whatever. This lot are truly messed up. I find sexual perversion is born from two sources; those who have done too much, or those who have had very little. I guess both are corruptive, in their own ways. You can add really unique ones like; 'Tank Top Designs Blog" or "Shots of Dianna Troy's Boobs In Star Trek" something like this. Ones which are bloody boring and awful, yet the owner devotes a lot of time to it. But I salute them, it's different, original, and kinda passionate. But these are excellent qualities, in anyone. Even if it does leave some of then as 50-year-old Virgins.
Tributes are good. Sports teams, not my thing but very useful - when written by a guy with a brain anyway. Fashion, beauty, self help, emotions, new technology, insightful ideas, poetry, thoughts on existence - both personal and external, art, and so forth... these are all great. And what blogging should really about.
In the end, they are there. Like them or not, they exist. Truth is, much as I have no time or interest in any of them, in another light, I am absolutely for freedom of speech, in all forms. The generation below my own will learn this from the net; which no government, business, or radical revolutionary can control. When they become full men... it will, probably attest to that pearl of Confucian wisdom: 'may you live in interest times". By then I will be much older, and probably be too chilled out and seen too much to give a shit. But will still smile at those trying to smash the system... then failing; as everyone does in the end.
If anyone knows of any funky blogs site, feel free to let me know. I will thank you later, somehow. But probably not. I am now wondering if their is a tribute blog to an actual blog? Anybody?
Lee.
It got me wondering what kind of blogs you could write, that would be so offensive to actually piss off the web - which is more or less the modern world; to a degree.
First of all there has to be a pro-Nazi site or two floating around - there always is. Blog updates on why hating the Jew is good, and that black people should still be slaves, and think Mexicans are Oriental, etc... With some low rent hate fulled Hitler punk song playing in the background as you read - I say read, but i doubt it is very articulate or thoughtful.. I mean, waste of time, pointless, and ignorant as shit perhaps, but a lot do seem to believe that bullshit. Stupid pawns.
On the flip side, you probably have the pro-militant various racial groups, anti-gay or female article sites, and the far right Christian lot. The latter are a real bunch of deluded dickheads. I mean, seriously; I am sorry you were bullied as a child, but move on. Then the rampant hating of the Israelite. If there is a God, I don't think hating Jews was ever a part of his plan. Why do so many people hate the Jews? I would - but Sigmund Freud, Bob Dylan, Woody Allen, Leonard Cohen, And on and on... they make for seriously smart dudes. I am sure they have their Fagin or two, but which social group doesn't? All people man, it's all a load of bollocks in the end.
Maybe a few extreme fetish or perversion blogs exist; Midgets lovers, extreme blow up costumes, rubber Worzel Gummage mask wearers, whatever. This lot are truly messed up. I find sexual perversion is born from two sources; those who have done too much, or those who have had very little. I guess both are corruptive, in their own ways. You can add really unique ones like; 'Tank Top Designs Blog" or "Shots of Dianna Troy's Boobs In Star Trek" something like this. Ones which are bloody boring and awful, yet the owner devotes a lot of time to it. But I salute them, it's different, original, and kinda passionate. But these are excellent qualities, in anyone. Even if it does leave some of then as 50-year-old Virgins.
Tributes are good. Sports teams, not my thing but very useful - when written by a guy with a brain anyway. Fashion, beauty, self help, emotions, new technology, insightful ideas, poetry, thoughts on existence - both personal and external, art, and so forth... these are all great. And what blogging should really about.
In the end, they are there. Like them or not, they exist. Truth is, much as I have no time or interest in any of them, in another light, I am absolutely for freedom of speech, in all forms. The generation below my own will learn this from the net; which no government, business, or radical revolutionary can control. When they become full men... it will, probably attest to that pearl of Confucian wisdom: 'may you live in interest times". By then I will be much older, and probably be too chilled out and seen too much to give a shit. But will still smile at those trying to smash the system... then failing; as everyone does in the end.
If anyone knows of any funky blogs site, feel free to let me know. I will thank you later, somehow. But probably not. I am now wondering if their is a tribute blog to an actual blog? Anybody?
Lee.
03/04/2011
I was sitting in Starbucks today, trying to edit, and stay awake from trying to edit, all the while being a little less social than usual, as not to distract myself from fixing the rest the stupid amount of words I have left to fix up. This is actually a lot harder to do when you are comfortable somewhere. Until the past six months or so, I had always written alone. This is I believe how must people who think, write. As most people who write do indeed think. But it is an odd mixture. It is always inspiring to view human life as it passes by us all every day. We tend to stop seeing it after a while; life, stresses, crushed dreams, radical conservative governments, liars, thieves, con-men and bullshit, and so much kinda takes it away, eventually we are just trying to survive... we are always all just trying to survive. What else can you do? So today I look, or more accurately, listen to what is around me... what is there?
There are a large group of smartly dressed and quite upbeat and positive Romanian churchgoers. They are here every Sunday. They come in a group of about 30, mixed of males and females aged 18-49. The first time I saw them, they had stacked all the chairs in a row, like a Romanian Churchgoer Macdonalds party. I half expected to see the Hamburgler pop out at any moment. They are loud, confident, full of life, and the women dress like members of the Amish. They only seem to mix with each-other, but this is okay. I begin thinking how closer people from less fortunate nations tend to be; then I remember why this all makes sense.
There is now a rough looking English lady in her fourties, wearing a vest showing two arms and shoulders covered in tattoos. It was an impressive sight. I imagined her arms as if they belonged to some kind of swamp monster, and wonder if she even knew what a swamp monster was. She was talking to a friend, but I wasn't really listening; the swamp monster arms said a lot already, and this made me feel calm.
There are a group of good old fashioned chav family; complete with beer bellies, tattoo's, fake tans, and the obligatory old person who hates everything. There are a lot of them, and organization isn't there strong point. I wonder how they would get along with the Romanian Christians, and consider it would be either very well, or very badly. Half of the clan leave, then the other half left, begin to bitch about those who are gone. I smile at the simple nature of human psychology, then remember how this isn't limited to Jeremy Kyle rejects.
I see a young, quite large, Muslim looking girl, half working on a laptop while chewing on a panini. A loud noise beckons from the mouth of one of the chavs, a noise which gives away a whole host of a lack of social intelligence. She looks at me and I look at her for a moment; her eyes look sharp, and I can tell they get it. A second later we are both total strangers again. I begin to think how regular an occurrence this is in our lives, and how for only a brief second or two, two people connect... then ends so fast. 99/9% of them, we never connect with again.
There are more; a teenage boy and girl talking about society and psychology. They have no idea. Ten years from now, they should be fine, I thought, but life's greatest teacher are the arse-kickings and brutality outside those educational corridors. Fifty years of reading about love, has less power in the soul then five minutes of feeling love itself. Words cannot really explain life, just a shadow of what we wish it to be within ourselves.
People come, people go. Some I hear, some I see, some I never even knew were there. I get up. I pack my book into my bag. I talk to Sabi, one of the baristas, for a minute or so about her make-up; she seems happy. This makes me feel better. I say goodbye, I leave. I walk home, surprised that my decision not to wear a jacket was not one I would regret. I wonder if anything I learned today will carry me through. It may take me years to figure something out that did, or never remember anything at all.
But I am not worried about this, for there is always tomorrow...
There are a large group of smartly dressed and quite upbeat and positive Romanian churchgoers. They are here every Sunday. They come in a group of about 30, mixed of males and females aged 18-49. The first time I saw them, they had stacked all the chairs in a row, like a Romanian Churchgoer Macdonalds party. I half expected to see the Hamburgler pop out at any moment. They are loud, confident, full of life, and the women dress like members of the Amish. They only seem to mix with each-other, but this is okay. I begin thinking how closer people from less fortunate nations tend to be; then I remember why this all makes sense.
There is now a rough looking English lady in her fourties, wearing a vest showing two arms and shoulders covered in tattoos. It was an impressive sight. I imagined her arms as if they belonged to some kind of swamp monster, and wonder if she even knew what a swamp monster was. She was talking to a friend, but I wasn't really listening; the swamp monster arms said a lot already, and this made me feel calm.
There are a group of good old fashioned chav family; complete with beer bellies, tattoo's, fake tans, and the obligatory old person who hates everything. There are a lot of them, and organization isn't there strong point. I wonder how they would get along with the Romanian Christians, and consider it would be either very well, or very badly. Half of the clan leave, then the other half left, begin to bitch about those who are gone. I smile at the simple nature of human psychology, then remember how this isn't limited to Jeremy Kyle rejects.
I see a young, quite large, Muslim looking girl, half working on a laptop while chewing on a panini. A loud noise beckons from the mouth of one of the chavs, a noise which gives away a whole host of a lack of social intelligence. She looks at me and I look at her for a moment; her eyes look sharp, and I can tell they get it. A second later we are both total strangers again. I begin to think how regular an occurrence this is in our lives, and how for only a brief second or two, two people connect... then ends so fast. 99/9% of them, we never connect with again.
There are more; a teenage boy and girl talking about society and psychology. They have no idea. Ten years from now, they should be fine, I thought, but life's greatest teacher are the arse-kickings and brutality outside those educational corridors. Fifty years of reading about love, has less power in the soul then five minutes of feeling love itself. Words cannot really explain life, just a shadow of what we wish it to be within ourselves.
People come, people go. Some I hear, some I see, some I never even knew were there. I get up. I pack my book into my bag. I talk to Sabi, one of the baristas, for a minute or so about her make-up; she seems happy. This makes me feel better. I say goodbye, I leave. I walk home, surprised that my decision not to wear a jacket was not one I would regret. I wonder if anything I learned today will carry me through. It may take me years to figure something out that did, or never remember anything at all.
But I am not worried about this, for there is always tomorrow...
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