The Worst Song; Almost Ever Written


"Bland in all countries"

A decade or so ago, I used to write songs on my now long lost Sunburst Fender ce22 Acoustic guitar; you never forget a good plank to spank on. I have over 150 odd lyrical pieces, stashed away in a folder at home; with chord progressions and capo placing - if needed, and once upon a time, writing these songs served me well.

Reading them now; as a full grown man possessing maturity - and a hell of a lot more love in my life. I realise I was nowhere near as bad as I once imagined myself to be, and can see the bare bones of my innate talent with words. Of course, a lot of the lyrics were angst ridden, boy-like, shoe-gazing, melancholic self-pity. But I was in my very early twenties - still figuring shit out. I am still proud of these songs, as a reminder of my youth. Unfortunately - while I have developed maturity, I have not - and still cannot, sing to save my life – literally. If a pack of tribal cannibals coming off a three week fast, had me sitting in a pot of hot soup, and asked me to recite a note perfect rendition of Mambo number five? Come sundown, they'd have been chewing on my testicles all night long.

But I digress. I had a skill for lyricism, and on one particular night – inspired by John Lennon’s Being For The Benefit Of Mister Kite (a song from the - in my view, vastly overrated Sergeant Peppers album; not The Beatles themselves - they were fantastic), a song whose lyrics were taken from a circus poster. I decided to write a song of similar vein. Searching for inspiration, I found the first item which spoke to me - as it were… A good old-fashioned, British five-pound note!

I thought I was a genius, who had stumbled onto some incredible fresh idea, which no songsmith in history had ever discovered. The first line - which seemed to take about an hour, as opposed to the usual half-a-minute, was something akin to “I promise to pay the bearer the sum of five pounds”. Followed by “George Stephenson wont mind if I do” (Stephenson being the dude on the back of the note – before they replaced him with the woman whose face resembles a Yorkshire Pudding; the new note likely designed by feminists - or whipped husbands). Barely reaching the chorus, I created the line “The Queen is everywhere, in people’s pockets”. 
"Yorkshire Pudding face"

The song was awful – the writing, laughable; worse than a Roy Chubby Brown DVD - which ironically isn't laughable at all. And I cannot remember any-more than those meagre lines. It all felt bland and forced - a negative sign in any form of writing. Like the guy on Deal Or No Deal who choose the boxes in a stoic left to right, as opposed to some kind of ‘hunch’ - there was no magic; maybe it was a higher sign that money is not very romantic, who knows? 

About an hour in, and the chorus going nowhere… I gave in. The song was a terrible idea, and my plan to write an album about different forms of currency, probably deserves some kind of musical prison sentence - or maybe an award for uninspired garbage. The funny thing is, if John Lennon or Andy Warhol had come up with the idea - all the intellectuals and hipsters would be declaring it a work of art, when in reality it was a work of arrogant bullshit,

I am a talented writer - at least, I believe myself to be. And when it comes to music, I have a good moment here or there. But I think song-writing - especially as a craft, is best left to the pros.

Lee.

Run Rutherford Run.


"Gold medallists - very rare breeds"

Olympic Gold medallist Greg Rutherford is no ordinary fellow to look at. A gangly 6 feet 2 inches in height, carrying the robust solid frame of an athletic ectomorph, and - more than anything, a ginger. The twenty-six year old from Milton Keynes  - even if he wasn't a nationally celebrated hero, carries aesthetics which leave him easily noticeable in any crowd.

There is a guy at my gym who - besides one random Sunday in December, I have never seen before until this week. He is a gangly 6 feet 2 inches in height, carries the robust frame of a moderately athletic ectomorph, and – more than anything, is a ginger. He is also around twenty-six years of age, and carries the exact same facial features of a certain British ginger Long-Jump Gold medallist. If you did not know any better - and by all accounts, I was hardly sure myself. You would genuinely believe he is in fact, Greg Rutherford. The funny thing about this is… he isn’t.

It is hard to explain without a photo, but this guy is the literal doppelgänger of the Olympic champion; I mean, it is almost as if somebody shoved a drugged up Rutherford inside some kind of scientific cloning device without his knowledge, and created this fellow. It is only through a little research, I was able to decipher five reasons to convince myself he is in fact, not the Gregster; each one, more convincing than the last…

1; He has an oriental symbol tattoo on his calf. Rutherford – at least in August 2012, didn’t.
2; His training methods are shit. I doubt any Gold medallist leans into the bars of a Stairmaster, or walks for an hour on a treadmill; likes he’s strolling along Richmond Park on a summer’s day.
3; His physique is slim, yet doughy with love handles. Unless a Shot Putter or Weightlifter – Olympians obliques are very rarely surrounded in folds of blubber.
4; Greg Rutherford tweeted three hours after the gym session of his lookalike, how he had just landed in Australia. I know long-jumpers can run fast, but I doubt he is that fucking fast.
5; The most sound evidence of all – he is a member of Fitness First. 

"Looking like a bad actor - even crossing time"
Beyond this evidence, he is still scarily similar in looks. I am a firm believer that every human being has an exact replica of themselves, somewhere on this planet. They could live a town away, or across the world in some remote island, but they are there. Look at the super-famous or powerful; everyone of them always has a lesser-known doppelgänger (German for 'double goer), who makes a living pretending to be this person - wonderful if you are the Tom Cruise double, kinda shit for the pseudo-Gary Glitter.


The question I wonder between each set of doubles, is how similar - or different, are their personalities? Do they have the same sense of humour? Or interests and hobbies? Do they carry an unknown cosmic energy with the other, which borders on telepathy? Or does the world explode into a zillion particles – should two doppelgängers ever happen to meet? And what about twins? Are they their own replicas? What would happen if the actual Greg Rutherford entered a gym and saw this guy? And if this is all true, where is my lookalike? I guess he must be busy living his life as an international model and playboy; breaking hearts as he collects some more Viagra, from the chemist for Hugh Hefner.

This is more a question designed as a blog. But it does make me wonder. Maybe you have similar stories about lookalikes you have met, or known in your lives who look just like you - or even someone else.  If you do, I would love to hear about them...

Lee.

Cruel Intentions.

I've always been a believer in the idea of God having a spiritual language, we as humans struggle to comprehend; due to a mixture of an underdeveloped brain, and good old fashioned ignorance. As much as explaining human life to a Dog, makes hardly any sense to a Dog, explaining the ways of the Universe to us humans - at least from the perspective of God, is just as baffling. 

Nonetheless, as much as some Dogs are able to interpret base commands, or even guide their owners - and use ATM'S, there are a select amount of humans who can figure out some of the code of the Big Cheese. Maybe it's in nature's signals, feelings we have, and all that other random stuff that probably isn't random at all - I am not sure, but I do believe it's there. And because of this - and an inborn conscience, I tend to have a philosophy of live and let live, and try to stick to making the lives of others - if not better, than at least neutral. I don't always succeed, but I mean well.

A couple of weeks ago, I received an email from Pete, a guy who runs Mudstacle; a website which reviews Tough Mudder esque multi-terrain, boot camp 5k or 10k races; (link below). He was looking for writers who love fitness, to take part in some events, than write up a review or two on his site. Fortunately, he offered me both free entry and an event in Surrey for March 9th. Naturally I jumped at the chance, and imagined all the Krypton Factor style muddy mayhem which would await me. My girlfriend has a car. I do not have a car. As she is always with me on the journey of life - and can take great photographs of my egotistical, vain arse, the plan was to drive to the event on Saturday morning; where I would do the race, take lots of cool photos, get muddy and knackered as hell, and in general, have a great time all round together. Then, I could write about it on Monday and await its posting on the website. I am losing faith by the day in my abilites as a writer, so it came at a perfect time, and the entire idea was win win all around. 

Thinking all is positive, and proud of myself for making it happen. God out of nowhere decides to say "screw you pal, it aint happening!" In the usual cruel, malicious way he operates, the opportunity was taken clean from my hands, and all I can do is take it...

Marissa's car begins choking on Sunday. In almost two years, it has never gone a day without operating. She tells me it needs to be looked at, and already alarm bells ring inside - but I try remaining positive. Yesterday, she calls me and says the engine may need changing. This means the car is fucked, I don't race, and worst of all, she has a £500 bill to replace the engine. I am pissed - she gets a massive bill, and I lose out on Mudstacle. Different kinds of bad karma, handed to a peaceful, animal loving art student, and my good self. A few hours later, she calls me again. The mechanic tells her the car is nowhere near as bad as she thought, and instead it is just £50 for a basic clean up. Great, I think - back in the game. Except there is one problem... it wont be fixed till Monday. I suddenly realise - for no apparent reason, good old God has decided to do me royally on this one - is his usual cruel, malicious way
 
I look at other options. The train is way too far out, and I would need three changes of clothing anyway. Renting a Car is too expensive. Marissa shows her usual kindness by offering to pay for it, but as a man I couldn't live with myself, letting her do that. After all the options, I realise all I can do is let Mudstacle Pete down gently, miss out on an event I was excited about, and take it up the arse, like the rest of Gods twisted, pointless acts. Marissa attempts a balance, by telling me it isn't meant to happen. The trouble with that is; if this is true, then why the allow me to get this all set up, just to take it all away, days before the event? It is almost like a Father promising his kid a trip to Disneyland for months, then on the morning of leaving, say to the boy, "you aint really going... I was just doing it to build character. 

I am going to try and believe it is being done to help me - in some universal mysterious way type thing, I guess. But I am none too pleased about it, and at the moment I am succeeding in containing the emotion of the frustration - maybe that is the real point. In the end no one has died, Mudstacle Pete will I'm sure understand, and there will be other days to take part in these wacky races. But it just seems so cruel. And while I don't tolerate human cruelty, when it comes to that of God, I am not sure if I have a choice.

Some of natures commands are wonderful - some are just plain spiteful. Much like the human to a Dog; while some may rationalise doing so, in truth... Dogs don't really need to be hit - they just need to be loved. Human beings do too.

Lee.

http://www.mudstacle.com/

The Ocean.

Three men stand beside one another, alone on a lush Sandy beach; lost in the delightful essence of a tropical paradise. The climate is warm and the atmosphere fresh, as each man faces the clear bright sun, methodically lowering itself before them; its glow glistening upon the quiet ocean.

In a somewhat philosophical mood, the first man thoughts are spoken aloud; “You know, I could stand in this spot for the rest of eternity, doing nothing but watching the sun hit those daily waves. Enjoying nature; as it allows the water to flow, in a manner it has always meant to.”

The second man chipped in: “Personally, as much as I adore the sight of the Sun upon the waves, I would rather spend my days swimming along its current. Letting the ocean float above it waves. I could look up and gaze at the sun in the daytime, and the moon; with those millions of stars I cannot name, at night."

”The third man - looking slightly puzzled, turned his head to them both; “Is that all you want; watching and swimming. That’s it?” 

The second man replied; “Of course. What else is there to do?"

The third man's voiced raised slightly; “What else? Let me tell you what I would like to do with my days. I would also love to swim in the ocean, but unlike you, my desire is to swim downwards; further and deeper with each stride, till I reach the Corals, sea-life, and all the wonders of nature, untouched by man. Maybe if I swim deep enough I shall find Atlantis - or even a magical kingdom of wonder. Why would you want to merely watch and swim, when beneath the surface lies a multitude of possibility?”

Wide-eyed, yet calm, the second man responded; “The way I see it. The bottom of the ocean is dark for good reason. If men were meant to explore its depth, then God would have given us gills, laser beam lights for eyes, and internal oxygen units capable to breathe underwater. But they didn’t – they gave us arms and the ability to tread water. I am satisfied with nothing more than swimming” 

“The way I see it”, said the third-man, “The fact God didn’t give us those abilities, is more of a statement for us to persist and explore, no matter how adverse the conditions become. I am not satisfied with anything less than discovery”

The first man – appearing lost in his own internal bliss, looked up to the heavens, took a deep breath through his nose, and a calm smile grew upon his face; “This, gentleman, is the beauty of life. One of us seeks answers, another chases moments to enjoy the gift handed to us, and the final man is happy to simply watch on as the dance unfolds."

“What is your point?” Said the third man.

The first man answered; “If we all wanted to watch, nobody could appreciate the feeling of the sun or water on our senses as we swim. If we all wanted to swim, it would be impossible to feel the blissful peace in enjoying the moment. And if we all wanted to go deep? Well, after a while, we would be so lost in trying to find beauty, we would miss out on actually seeing it all around us. I believe this is why we all choose as we do; to show each other there are always options, neither are right nor wrong, and free-will is the real gift God handed the human race.”

“So this is why you choose to simply watch then?” The other two enquired.

The fist man laughed; “Yes. That and the fact I cannot swim.”

Lee.