Pigeons.

I love Pigeons.

Wherever we roam upon this world of ours, we are likely to come across intermittent collections of our feathered cousins - they live everywhere, and spread like wildfire. The older I become, the more I find myself happily looking on as they go about their daily business, as I quiet think to myself - 'I love Pigeons.'

The majority of living creatures on the planet, in general, keep a wide distance from the human race. In most instances, it is somewhat a wise move on their part. While we are a wonderful, complex, and quite extraordinary species, we also carry ruthless, driven, biological tenancies to pretty much use and abuse all the resources of this world, at our disposal - animals being one of many examples. We tend to either kill them, eat them, or nurture them - the latter being a choice of a developed level of empathy... which, as incredible as it is, will, ninety-nine percent of the time, lose out to a need to continue our personal existence; a source of both tremendous strength, yet destructive weakness, for our species.

I am not someone who personally believes human life carries greater value over other living organisms; I view anything which lives as attaining equal value - a Lion, Donkey, Fly, even plants and trees. They all - much like the human race, live upon Earth. And they all - just like me and you, are embarking upon a journey through this planet; a journey related to each and every creature, not purely for the sake of human endeavor.

Pigeons, however, are an entirely different concept. They treat human beings exactly the same way human beings, in general, treat virtually every other organism of the animal kingdom. There is a confidence, perhaps even an arrogance about their stride - an attitude which conveys a message in a direct language of silence, to the human race... 'Screw you, humans. If I wanna live in your gutters, crap on your heads and streets, and eat your discarded food, then I bloody well will. I'm a Pigeon - my reality, my rules!

They openly walk around crowded shopping centers, parks, buildings, you name a place, they are there.  Next time you venture into in a busy outdoor area, look around; I guarantee you, the only animal you will see anywhere near a man, woman, or child - is a Pigeon. It is also a note how all children tend to love Pigeons; nature compels them to, it is only the adults of the world, who teach them otherwise. Sure they spread disease, but only to humans. Humans are in many ways a disease for pretty much every insect ever existed. I doubt cars are particularly well regarded in the communities of Hedgehogs, Rabbits, and Cats - much less our pollution, to any bird in the sky.

In essence, the Pigeon is the human of the skies - much akin to the omnivorous Rat being the human of the underworld. Expect in both instance of their respective species, carrying a mass abundance of genetically confident members, who have not - unlike the human race, suffered an enforced conditioning by societies of emasculation, for a perceived greater good prognosis. They are the bully bird, who self regulate through our discarded remains, work together, yet fight alone, and can fly away in a moment, should instinct beckon them to do so.

To some, they are a vermin. To others, a nuisance. For me, they are rebels, they are rogues. They do what they want, as they please, how they like, and when they like. And, as is the reality of all universally despised elements of societies (With the exception of traffic wardens - no one likes them), they are another beautiful, yet misunderstood creature of God's universal Earth.

While we could learn so much from them, I doubt we ever will. Conversely, they will never stop learning from us. I only wish my shoulders, contained wings of their own...

Lee.

Life In A Paradigm.

I live inside of my own paradigm. Designed and constructed initially as a mode of protection, now an unintentional form of incarceration. Shit - this wasn't the plan I had in mind, in my mind - not at all. Where did everything change from bright sunshine and open doors, and turn into this constant feeling of a flat, disillusioned numbness? I can't remember a time in which I have felt so alone in this world - which is odd, considering I have experienced enough periods of feeling this way before.

I wander through life right now, but, something has slowed me down - made me almost stop, and ask myself why I continue on a path of trying to build a world which - on a long enough timeline, is only going to crumble through nature, and the ruthless ambition of every generation which comes after my own; trying to stamp their own mark on history. A stupid question, when I am fully aware - on a deeper level, that the journey of life in itself, is the answer, as to why we venture anywhere, to do anything, in any way.

It is an odd feeling - I don't even know if it can be considered a feeling; there are no emotions attached. I still maintain the necessary for biological and psychological survival inner and outer strengths, of my personal existence; I still train at the gym, eat healthy, edit my book, and socialize with an ease of calmness to make me appear fully engaged with humanity; especially with those I know and have built a solid base of comfort and rapport with, before this feeling took over. It's just - I don't know, it is like the blue cloud surrounding me, has seemingly turned a little too grey for my liking.

I grow tired of the human race; different faces, different styles of dress and outward perception. Yet the majority express the same old stories, which I have heard countless times, through countless ages; same point, different tone and words used to convict it. I am bored. Bored of convention, bored of a lack of expression, bored of the small paradigm inside my mind, and the incredibly unparallelled one I see before my eyes outside of it. I know this is merely my view, and in no way an absolute truth of living. But I feel so emasculated, jaded, and wondering why I should even bother anymore? I haven't felt this way in a long, long time; I guess depression never really leaves anyone, once it arrives.

I need to get my heart and soul back into the external world. I need to find that anger, passion, and drive inside my ego, that pushes my desire to be bigger, bolder, and feel better than anybody else, who undertakes the same tasks I do. I need to remember life is a magical gift of sorts, and how lucky I am to have been handed the opportunity to live it as I try to. But I can't, not right now.

Maybe this is enlightenment - but I don't think so. Possibly it is a phase of accepting harsh reality - which could be accurate. In the end, I think I know what it is, and, like anyone truly brave enough to remain devoted to the cause of artistic creation, at whatever cost. In a few weeks, the cost will finally make sense, as a hard rain's a gonna fall down upon me - which should clear the grey cloud, and leave a whole clarity of golden blue skies and warm sunshine. Or maybe this is me living more in a slightly ignorant and naive hope?

Either way, don't worry, I know myself better than anybody... I will be okay. And If you have any concern, then I accept checks, postage stamps, and Monopoly money orders.

Lee.

Eventually Be Computers.

The internet is the second coming, and television was infiltrated by the devil…

Sounds pretty crazy, as an idea or perception, I know. But I was thinking about this idea I had constructed, a little, and in many ways, the more I consider it, the more it actually has potential.

So television was designed to educate; this is what it does. But for the early inventors, the education meant to infants and young children. Stuff like the alphabet, language, and so forth. Eventually, through the infiltration of capitalism and control, it became an educator of stupidity, ignorance, selfishness, and, even though there was entertainment – there was also capitulation.

Whether we agree with the concept or not, it is hard to argue our world has become dumber, lazier, and more eager to gratify and generally become a  poor excuse for genetic code. Was our world really designed to have us spend all day sitting down in our houses, watching the world pan out outside your window, inside a Television? Why view other people living, when you are alive as you do?

The Internet is the wild west of technology; and our world has possibly been given the greatest tool of communication, since the dawn of words. In no other time in human history, could the entire globe openly and freely express any idea, truth of opinion, and expression, with zero filter system whatsoever. Religion, money, fame, all taking the idea of life, and washing it down to suit a generally negative and soulless means – there was no real freedom of speech, just a distorted idea there was, as we became brainwashed by it all; perhaps the most dangerous of enemies… the silent one.

Online, anyone can say and do anything, at anytime… this is the true essence of freedom. Plus wasn’t Mister Christ supposed to be able to been seen by all, at one single moment? Where else could he do this, than on the information superhighway.  Of course, it doesn’t mean old JC is going to set up a Facebook account or start a series of Youtube videos (though the latter could in theory work as an idea), it means more the external system in relation to the internal world – which then moves back internally into humanity – a perfect circle, as such.

Now, it sounds out there. 200, 300, maybe even 500 years from now; who knows? Religion will as it always does, change. God will not, whatever God is. But the human definition, in my view… will eventually be computers.

Lee.

The Random Bag.

So I am sitting on the floor of my bedroom, clearing through a few items - as this act often clears my head, for a short while anyway. In doing so, I come across an old rucksack/bag of mine. Inside I have collected - over a short period of the last year, a small list of random items, and, as I look before them all, have decided to list each one; as both an interesting account of deciphering portions of my brain, and as a reference point to view, years from now. Anyway, lets have a look inside my mesmeric bag of mysteries...

1. A deck of ASDA Playing Cards; I purchased these in order to show Marissa the one card trick I can perform acurretly - she was amused for about thirty seconds... it was worth it.

2. A dodgy Chinese Mp3 player, without headphones; I was using this for running at the gym, and it still contains a list of Rage Against The Machine, Motorhead, Green Day, and a host of other guitar driven songs of anger and passion... much better to run to, in my view then Tiny Temper, or any of the other lightweight pop stuff we English seem to have a fascination with.

3. An RGB cable; for when I wish to watch laptop movies on my Television - which is not as often as I like.

4. A copy of Matchstick Men on DVD; never seen it, probably never will. Marissa left it here with a copy of Ameile, which I finally came around to viewing, and enjoyed. This is the only DVD in my possession.

5.A postcard of a full grown Tiger, sitting proudly next to a group of baby pigs, all wearing red bows and tiger costumes. Apparently in Thailand, this is to stop the Tiger eating the little porkies. Though she must smell bacon. Why they do this, I have no idea.

6. A black tie; worn for Dennis's funeral. Could also hold up a pair of Hobo's trousers, in an emergency.

7. An unopened Fitness First condom; Would probably break half way through, and still find a way of ripping me off - as opposed to the other way around.

8. Pens, pencils, a stapler, a refillable ink cartridge, a USB stick, a padlock, a bank statement, birthday and Christmas cards, and a shower gel packet; because I didn't want them, but didn't want to throw them away.

9. A solitary school photo of me as an Eight year old; In this shot, I am smiling in a way which I don't know I ever will again. Why do old photos make you want to cry - when they only represent times of innocence and happiness? I think I just answered my own question.

10. A small book - 60 Ways To Change Your Life; it is hardly 1984 or The Alchemist. But hey, it is positive, it is profound in places, and I should keep it with me really... even though I know I wont.

11. Half a draft of a comedy script; this was based on a guy I know, who is a celebrity obsessive. Was pretty funny, but I will store this and all my other fictional writing, for the future. I still get greater satisfaction with writing screenplays than books, but it's pretty close. If anything, this reminds me of my desire to be able to write in any form, and any genre, in a professional way - I believe I can, and will.

12. A small, A5 sized, pink notebook; this contains the very first initial writings of my book. One day it will sit in the British Museum, next to the Magna Carta, and the lyrics to Yesterday by the Beatles. Either that or sit in my bag until I accidentally throw it in the garbage.

13. Black Nail Varnish; tried it once, didn't really suit me. Still, worth an effort.
 
So that's that. Perhaps in no way deep, profound, or heartfelt. This is a representation of a short period of my life. Something feels missing on first thought. But then, when I think harder, I realize all these items are only of momentary value, and all the real memories are out there, in life. They cannot be contained in a black bag, nor a bedroom. And every other article I have ever written, is simply an account of items in the vast rucksack of my mind... which is full of all manner of despondently exuberant crap.

Lee.

Darkness.

I guess I have quite a lot of darkness inside of me. Not in a bad way, as such. I mean I don't desire to directly harm, destroy or corrupt anyone elses life, as a shittier place to live, it's just - I don't know, I just don't see as much clarity as I probably need, to shine into my tired eyes.

It saddens me a little, life. I mean, we can't win, in the end. We don't lose either, but there is nothing we take with us into the afterlife, beside the soul we possess. Even then, there are times when I wonder if we even have one of these at all - though thinking it exists, in some ways, makes it so. I see human potential, ideal, innocence, and even desire, crushed by a pretty ridiculous world our species have created for ourselves.

I am just as guilty, however, my potential is wasted internally, as opposed to anything obvious. I allow anger, rationality, emotion, sometimes pride, and even plain old psychological gratification to get the better of me - not that there is really any other form of gratification. But it's hard, life is fucking difficult beyond words, for pretty much anyone and everyone.

But I can handle it, I am pretty resolute, and somewhat jaded enough to lack a need for considerate arbitration of reconstruction - I just fight life every day, square in the eyes. It is always going to win the war, but if I ever find a way to smile every moment - regardless of the events surrounding me, then my own success is assured.

I have seen people die young, on the outside and inside, and it hurts. It hurts to see others lose themselves in the confusion and hardships of it all - it is human to fail, to struggle, to worry, to give in, to try again. It is also human to dislike ourselves sometimes for feeling as if we are alone; while we see everyone else putting up masks of ability - just as we do, because biology deems we have no choice.

It is late, I am tired. I write, maybe because this is the only way I can express these ideas. Maybe because I need a validation fulfilled in a form of understated understanding. And maybe in others understanding this is all part of life, I will find a little light. Maybe, we all have darkness - and I just allow myself to throw it on the table, and bring it out into the open; I just don't know...

Lee

My Fried Brain.

My brain feels fried. I mean, shit, it feels like the container of a metaphorical party of intellectuals and anti-heroes, in which somebody has laced the punch with speed and ecstasy; rendering the Einsteins and Clint Eastwoods with a passionate desire to dance around in togas, as they play terrible air guitar to the greatest hits of Motorhead.

This is a stupid example I know. But my mind is so disorganized and disjointed from fourteen hours of editing over the past two days, I can barely think with any sense of clarity. I won't lie, I have had moments in which I wondered if I was teetering on the edge of a mental breakdown - perhaps I am. But this is something I need to go through, in order to reach a better place... probably.

This is a rough period in my personal existence - its pretty hard to explain. My head is in a daze, my days are in a haze, and everything around me seems like a scene in a war movie when all around goes silent, and yet the chaos continues. Everyone I see remind me of ghosts. Of course, they are not ghosts, I am; but I don't have Whoopi Goldberg as a vocal platform for my words - so I have to remain silent and isolated.

I am wondering if all the frustration, confusion, and self imprisonment of writing and editing this book is truly worth it? The last seven months have cost me my sense of humour, my ability to see or consider people lives and current events, my social life, portions of my sanity, my smile, and my soul. And in many ways, it has almost certainly screwed up elements of my relationship - though it makes me appreciate being with someone who believes in the path I choose regardless - which I cannot say I will ever fully understand. Then again, love is the one concept of life I have never tried to consciously figure out - I guess I am not that crazy, yet.

So I keep going, with a fried egg for a brain, and a feeling of being completely dissociated from the human race. My main thoughts which keep me moving forward - much like any incarcerated being, is how I will be, once I come out of this self-induced psychological comatose state. I guess it will be okay. I will likely be smarter, wiser, stronger, hopefully a little happier, and maybe the most important factor of them all - somewhat humble, in the knowledge that the world is a place far bigger, than any living being which lives upon its shores, or swims within its oceans.

I am tired, I need to sleep. Please don't read this, and assume I have lost my sanity. It is merely taking a vacation, while I allow the architect in me to work the attentive intricacies of his business. When the man in me which carries my marbles is back in town, I will let him get back to writing these articles. I just hope he doesn't miss his flight...

Lee.

Fortress.

The sun is in my hands, the world is on my shoulders
And no one understands, the life behind these closed up borders
I wish that I could start all over, and never dare to hope or dream
But I know if I started over, I wouldn't change a thing

The sky is crashing down, as clouds surround my eyes in dust
It's hard to recognize who I see, much less decipher who to trust
I wish that I could leave this prison, and be the man I used to see
But walls aren't built so you can't visit, they are there to contain me

The ground is caving in, my feet here waiting for the fall
And when they do I'll simply stand up, and back into the world I'll crawl
I wish that I could build a fortress, anywhere outside my soul
But life is not a simple process, onto another day I go...

Lee.

The Liar (Poem).

I could always play the solider, laying dying in the breeze.
I could be an empty coward, giving life up on grazed knees.
I could forge my role as chancer, dealing every hand but mine.
I could walk a lonely dancer, singing rhythms lost in time.
I could climb outside of beauty, building walls of pain and tears. 
I could crawl inside of darkness, wasting life within my fears.
I could regress back to infancy, without caring nor concern.
I could wander in this state, and wonder what it is I'd learn.
I could turn into an angel, spreading peace and hope and love.
I could mask the heartless devil, killing all of the above.
I could live for revolution, and then lose it overnight.
I could fight to be the poet, whose forgotten how to write.
I could seek a deeper clarity, a path to set me free. 
I could just remain the liar, and forget these all are me...

Lee.

The Recurring Dreams: Part One.

Dream One: Trousers
I stand alone. I walk in my black smart shoes with a pensive hush, in a field fresh with short yet subtly sharp grass. Nothing else surrounds me besides a tall, aging tree, full of half dying leaves, but still strong and sturdy. I do not wonder why I am alone. I do not even consider the thought; the feeling seems normal, and quite comfortable. Everything is quiet. I feel like a living ghost.

Grey clouds loom overhead, though my eyes are still able to view intermittent clear blue sky in various patches; they are powerful, but too minimal to allow the sun to force its way through. The gust of a cool autumn wind leaves goosebumps upon my skin, and a slight chill, but nothing to phase me in any way. I wear a long, white, short sleeved cotton t-shirt; the fabric hangs down to just above my ankles, almost like a draped curtain. It protects my tired legs; even though I wear clean, white underwear, I am without trousers. My legs feel the breeze.

A pair of black trousers - my trousers, rest above me, high at the top of a tree; an incredible product of nature, which I am too small to reach, and is too large to climb. Every now and again, I find a metallic ladder, or a sharp long branch which has eroded and fallen from the tree. I aim for my trousers - reaching, stretching, even shouting at the wind to blow them down, but to no avail. I should search for other means to cover my legs - but I don't; all I want are trousers, my trousers - the ones atop of this giant, irritating, beautiful tree.

I am still alone. I continue to consider no one else, in order to help me reach my goal. Perhaps I do not believe they can. Perhaps I do not believe at all. This cannot be true, however, for even though I never succeed, I also never give up...


Dream Two: Rucksack
I am on a bus, headed towards the gym, I am eager to workout, but feel a little tired nonetheless. Sometimes I am traveling to school, headed towards my secondary classes; even though I am, in the dream, a fully grown man, who left school many years previous. It is dark, and it must be the afternoon of a winter which makes it feel like early evening. I am sure it has just finished raining.

Even though I am alone, there are other people around me, as I aim for my destination. Yet I cannot remember seeing, hearing or even remembering a single one of them; I never see another face or have another conversation, beyond with myself. This doesn't feel odd, it only seems usual, and empty.

Each differing rucksack I carry, contains my gym gear, or my school books. Once I arrive at the destination of the gym/school, my stomach drops, as the cold realization dawns on me; I have left my bag and all my belongings inside of them - on the bus. I know the bus has driven away long into its journey, and I am too cynical to believe I will hold my items of use ever again. Sometimes I chase the bus, in a vein hope I may catch it. Most times, I simply swear at myself, for being so stupid as to allow this loss to happen - then wonder what it was which distracted me enough to make the error; I never come to any conclusion.

Regardless, aware and accepting of the reality of my mistakes, I attempt to configure ways to both train, or join my class for study; I grow more and more agitated, feel lonelier by the moment, and, never seem to reach either vicinity. The only times in which I ever do, they are barely five minutes away from closing for the night. I made the journey; tired, missing all the tools I needed, and melancholic from so much easily avoided effort I personally created. The caretakers carry the keys to lock up the main doors, and he has forgotten me. I am alone, yet still in the building...

-----------------------------
Every time I awake, I accept I may never understand why these dreams continue to repeat on me.
Then, I fall asleep - one more time...

Lee.

Questions.

There are no rules, just an impression.
This is no truth, only perception.
If there is God, one has failed the other.
If there is nothing, we have failed each other.
Within each mind, there is wisdom.
Without your mind, you have freedom.
We have no answers, only questions.
We need no answers, only questions.

Switch On/Switch Off.

Marissa and me are sitting on a park bench in Ealing, on a warm spring afternoon. For the next five minutes, we watch as a large, black Pigeon, bullies a small, random collection of white members of his own bird - forcing them to fly away from his guarded patch of wasted human vegetation and comfy grass. I crack a joke about the fat bird using Malcolm X as a source of inspiration, and how Pigeons will become only the second species - after human beings, dumb enough to use colour as an excuse to be shitty to each other. It is funny to me, humorous to her, and indifferent to the passers by - who neither know nor care for what we quietly laugh about.

Moments after the laughter subsides, her mind moves onto the next topic of thought; which frappuchino to drink in Starbucks, organizing her day at the gym tomorrow, or even the type of rice she will cook for that evening. These are normal, progressive thoughts of any life, and it is how her mind operates. Sure, she is intelligent. But for her, life is life - she is aware of the future, yet lives in the now. She does what needs to be done, then moves on.

In this two minute period, however, I have already run through a strand of about fifty different ideas, born from the fat black bird... Why is the Pigeon so greedy? Why did Pigeons never learn to share? How come human sharing is generally limited? Is all human nature innately selfish? If so, is this a result of a reality of human beings, being little more than a progressive disease, born from abiogenesis? It goes on, and on, and on, never ever ending. One stupid sight of a fat bird, and I am already racing to construct understandings in the meanings of the universe - even though, deep inside of me, I am certain I can never figure out these answers.
 
I drain people, lots of people. My energy and passion is strong, and I make those around me think - and I mean really think - to the point they would rather be someplace else - which is natural, I guess. This has been a product of instinct throughout my life, since I was old enough to remember remembering. I have always believed elements of life would silence the internal dialogue; hard work, exercise, drink, drugs, entertainment, pro-wresting, and finally, perhaps the biggest hope of them all, love. Nothing worked. Nothing.

I suppose this is a way of a rational mind - to think of the answers, as opposed to just let go and live in a world where the answers truly are. It is alienating, it is a lonely feeling, and it is probably a good reason why intelligence and happiness are like the Israel and Palestine of the human race; enemies by design, yet associates of nature.

Marissa once said most brains are full of cogs and whirls, whereas mine is futuristic and digitized. And I should learn to pause, relax, and rest sometimes. But I am sorry world, I just cannot do this. I cannot switch it off. I truly want to, and undoubtedly need to - but I don't believe I ever will. This is my internal gift - it is also my external punishment.

Lee.

Gurkha Wisdom.

I had just experienced a conversation in the sauna of the gym, with a retired Nepalese Gurkha, who had fought for many years, beside the British Army. He was regaling me about his love of cycling, disdain of unfiltered cigarettes, and the mass foreign invasion of London being something he carried little fondness for either - which was odd, considering he was at one point a stranger from another land, setting on these shores. Regardless, I didn't mind. I wasn't there to judge the guy, I was there to listen - and relax after working out.

He had the kind eyes of a man burdened by humane morality and principal. His razor thin haircut and pleasantly rounded belly, coupled with a raised knee sitting position in the intensely warm glow of the saunas heat, made me wonder if he was a manifestation of the Buddha - but it wasn't Confucian wisdom he possessed, just a bunch of funnily pronounced swearwords, and an interest in the fact that I was an Englishman with a Chinese name.

Ten minutes previous, I had been lying alone on my back, in the quiet heat of the steam room. Thinking about how 2011 would play out in my life, and how I would view this twelve month period, many years from now. It dawned on my how one third of the year had passed, and how, even though it has and still often feels, as if I am going through a personal hell of sorts, a deeper awareness knows I am reaching a greater path of Enlightenment. I thought back to all the other dark and painful roads I have traveled along, and smiled in the knowledge of the strength I needed to attain, in order to pass through them. And how in doing so, I became a much stronger, well rounded human being.

I am thirty years old. And I have a feeling this may well be the year which defines the life I am to lead; one which will either make me, or break me. I have reached a point of a philosophy to simply continue to strive for my goal, using a 'Whatever it takes' mentally. Life is pulling me in the direction of a leader, as it reminds me of the abilities I feel inside, to carry a heavier burden of weight then average, for no more than positive purposes. But I also know every now and again,  I need days like today - days where I can simply step back upon myself, and realize I am working and constructing something much bigger than I like to give myself credit for; still remaining humble, yet confident.

I almost went straight to the shower. I almost missed the Gurkha. He had already crossed off the core of his own journey. Yet he was still alive, content, and moving forward, as he enjoyed the time he has left, to live on this planet. I felt a slight level of respect for the guy, and hoped I could attain some of his outlooks, once I reach his age.

Minus the dislike of foreigners that is, for I spend most of my life around them...

Lee.

Paradox.

We are born alone, and we will die alone.
We have seen too much, but shall never experience enough.
Everything rests in our hands, even though the palms are empty.
Our feet may walk another fifty-thousand miles, yet barely move an inch forward.
This mind is still, as it runs another daily marathon.
The world is beautiful, no matter how ugly it appears through our eyes. 
Life is a journey, we constantly forget we are traveling.
We are born together, and we will die together.

Lee.

Mountain Life.

There has always been a portion of me, which has always felt a small desire, to throw a fat middle finger to all the general bullshit of humanity, then travel, alone, to a small, heated wooden house in the wintry mountains - and spend the next five years of my life there. Just me, me alone, and a German Shepherd puppy, who I would name only after I met him - as I would need to see his eyes, in order to tell me the answer.

I would grow myself a Jim Morrison beard, and let the hair on my head run wild like a rampant Ivy tree, as I immersed myself in writing as many books about this crazy circus we call life, I could possibly muster. I would reject a society I had come to see as somewhat predictable and redundant, and live alone as a human, with only my thoughts as company, while raising my baby Dog as my buddy - with me for life, no matter what.

I would also bring along a collection of items for the time frame, including:
* A large collection of tinned food, sustainable meat, and an unending supply of P.G Tips tea bags.
* My laptop and an electricity generator; as a writing tool, avenue of films and entertainment, and a means of maintaining minimal contact with the outside world - just enough to render my sanity in tact.
* About 100 books which I have always wanted to, but never read; War And Peace, The Brothers Karamazov, and all the other deeply intellectual literature, which I could never discuss with anyone outside of my own head, as examples.
* A German and Japanese language learning book. It is still a lifetime ambition to become fluently bilingual, and this would be the perfect opportunity to do so. 
* Around 1000 bottles of whiskey and vodka, to simply get pissed. Everyone in this life needs at least one vice - as sex and drugs are off the menu, I would have to suffice myself with alcoholic spirits.
* An acoustic guitar - music would be therapy, and would pass the time quite nicely. Plus, I could play at all hours, and no one would hear a single beat of my wonderful playing, and terrible singing.
* A Rubik's cube, a 1,000,000 piece jigsaw puzzle (if they exist), and a set of boxing gloves and punching bag. I doubt I could train like Rocky Balboa in Rocky IV, but I wouldn't wish to remain physically stagnant.
* And finally, a Dartboard; because I like throwing Darts.

I could probably discover so much this way, but also lose out from the direct experience of all kinds of people. Then again, as different as everybody is in their reaction, deep down, we are all the same in desire. So perhaps half a decade in my wooden house could be quite beneficial; as long as I allowed it to be.

In choosing this life, there would likely be two potential outcomes, once the five year period is over; One, I go so deep inside my own mind and soul, that I end up writing a bunch of works of pure brilliance - and in doing so, find the person who I truly am. Or two, I completely lose myself, and go mad. Spouting gibberish about the New World Order, and bizarre conspiracy theories, whilst smelling of all kinds of pungent aromas; it would be worth the risk.

Of course, I am highly unlikely to ever do this. There are far too may aspects of life, and people, I would miss, as well as responsibilities I don't know I would have the courage to leave behind. But I wonder, if one day, should all circumstances make this a possibility, and my journey decided it is a feasible option - who knows?

I have always wanted to grow a Jim Morrison beard...

Lee.

The Entertainer.

A crowd they laugh, the clown he cries, providing life as his heart dies
The entertainer's priceless cost, when curtains fall the soul is lost
Without the lights, the man who could, becomes the boy misunderstood
Rich in sorrow, deep in pain, he begs himself to leave again

Then hearing silence, viewing darkness, he feels the rush of last nights glances
Just 'one more drug' to cure these fears, a cycle he'll repeat for years
A crowd they cheer, the clown he cries, destroying life as his heart tries
The entertainer's priceless cost, the curtains rise, his soul still lost

Lee.

Sri-Lankan Nerd Bag.

I have a satchel, otherwise known as a man-bag. It is a cheap throwaway item I purchased from a Primark store, to contain my laptop, as I travel to and from Starbucks, to continue working on the greatest book I have ever written - which nobody can disagree with, because it is the only book I have ever written, so far. It replaced it my previous, more formal carrying sack, referred to as my 'Sri-Lankan Nerd Bag'. Which, even though I am quite fond of both Sri-Lankans and nerds, probably never really suited me that much; though it may explain the reason I was thought to be an I.T Programmer.

Anyway, being a cheap piece of material, and my laptop weighing a couple of kilos, it caused the straps to become worryingly loose on either side. The first time I became aware of this, as I left my house,  I gingerly held the left strap side in my fist, just in case it broke - it didn't. The second time I left my house, I still held it, only with less conscious awareness - it didn't break. The third time, I thought about it, a little. The fourth, barely. Five, six, seven... eventually, I stopped thinking about it - and it did and has remained strong; now there is no more fear; I carry it around, and am not worried in the slightest.

And when I think of this routine towards my fear of the strap breaking, I realize it has been the same for every slightly irrational fear, I have ever defeated; the first time I drove a car, ordered a pint of beer, worked a job, wrote a script, held court in a social setting, paid a bill, trained in a gym, hell, even the first time I wallpapered a room in a house, was treated with the same functional system of just doing it, until there is no longer any thought about it being hard, it is merely something you do; eventually, it is no longer a fear, but a process of normal living.
Of course, these are basic aspects of life, and the much harder fears, such as raising a family, battling an illness, running a company, etc, are going to be a challenge. But even these seem to me, as simply similar constructs, only with greater personal responsibility to both yourself and others; the framework is the same, only you need stronger arms to hold the weight.

The human mind is very creative, and an idea of a negative or painful consequence, generally tends to force us as a species to hold ourselves back, but why? Have you ever done something a little scary, then thought to yourself - "that wasn't anywhere near as bad as I thought it would be." This is the crux of creating and also conquering fear; ugly in the eye of the mind, beautiful in the eyes of reality.
I guess many of these fears are ingrained through the environment and hereditary nature in childhood - both small and major, at a time when the mind does not think of action, it simply acts; fear is as much conditioned, as it is a biological reaction. Regardless, they are all breakable, and desire is the real key to achieving any form of progression.

My bag is strong, my brain is sharp, and my desire to crush every fear ever given to me by humanity, remains more prominent than it ever has. It is an interesting concept, and with age, the bag gets bigger and heavier, so we all need to practice training our arms, in order to make them able to carry the weight; I know many people who are capable, because, deep down, everyone is capable.
 
My bag is probably going to break tomorrow...

Lee.

Idle Poem.

Take the time to listen, while you make the time to talk
Find yourself a reason, as you run the road you walk
Think about tomorrow, with a heart lost in today
Fight for all your history, then give it all away

Never doubt desire, with a weight to crush your dreams
Nothing that the eyes can see, are ever as they seem
Use your energy for truth, don't waste this life in lies
Try to gauge some empathy, for those who you despise

Teach us in divinity, that God is just a word
Be weary of a prophecy, that's already been heard
Dance all night and sing all day, as badly as can be
Ignore the code of rhythm, remain as one too free

Walk inside of darkness, to appreciate the light
Don't take this as gospel, these are idle thoughts I write
This world is your and only yours, yet still it's also mine
No one needs to listen here, but thank you for your time...

Lee.