Sing The Troubled Beast
Been thinking over 'plans' (ha) for the blog. Been weighing up what I get from doing it and reckon I might carry on for a while. I contrive to keep contrivance at bay as much as possible so therefore I shall endeavour not to think about things and to just write what comes naturally so if one day you come in and there is a list of 'My 100 favourite cricketing nobodies' or 'Why I hate the England Cricket Team' then I apolgise in advance but hell...so therefore for now at least it seems the diary entry type stuff will probably continue. Particularly at the moment I think I need to keep writing about events in the hope that it will garner me some therapeutic qualities along the way. Ower the last few days I've felt the debt thing take grip. I can't stop thinking about it. It won't just be the 'dearth o' £' vibes. It'll be the general scrutiny o' my finances and by extension my personal habits that being so in hock necessitates that'll sting the most. As 'appealing' as bankruptcy might sound (FUCKING HELL) in terms o' wiping off certain problems of course it doesn't really do that at all and it certainly doesn't do it without other pressures coming to bear in lieu of the originals. I feel as if I want to avoid going down the bankruptcy route if at all possible. Shit man it seems as if I'm claiming that 'pride' is a consideration for me...fuck me...anyone who knows certain aspects of my character and general 'ways' would have to debate that, I would suggest. Christ, I'm gabbling already. I must also apologise if my last post seemed a tad melodramatic. I'd just struggled for some time to write the previous one and was a little cheesed off at the lack of flow and of any sense of variety in amongst a' the 'really's' and the 'kinda's. These words are this weeks exclamation marks..not that I'll be easing up on them totally tho', as I'm lazy but mostly because they're harder to police. I would request therefore that you allow me a few of those words on account of my scribbles being in a 'transitional phase'. For fuck's sake...btw I meant what I said re loving your comments. I hope that it didn't seem as if I had my rod out...as it were...sorry KB...shit the in jokes have started already. I'll try to escape on the grounds that I am from a class who do not 'do' in-jokes...
Where did I leave you?...oh aye...Friday aft and the stretches of aimless drifting that days off tend to invite. Felt mired in all of this ie the feeling of having 'free time' on my hands and the recent problems, some nascent, some all too mature. Started to think about wandering off on the bizarre search for this book which my father's been after for years...why is it bizarre?...well, it's a wee miniature touristy book o' Burns poems...probably run off by any ye old crappy gift shoppe inc in the darkest part of the 70's and then forgotten about...he got it in Ayr in 1980 on the only family holiday we ever had- a week 'by the seaside' in someone's static caravan. I did have a good time that week tho'- went to see Giant Haystacks in action, an experience which has never left me and also spent most of the time wearing a blue and orange velour leisure top thing. 9 ah wuz. But father sees this book as the holy grail and will not accept anything similar..it has to be 'the same book'...size, content...I feel proper embarassed looking in proper bookshops as quite frankly it's a piece of tartanry crap bought frae Burns Cottage for 10 p or whatever it was. My auntie (the clever one of the family..the only one who's ever had a bourgeois job...primary school teacher/ headmistress) has furnished me with a list of 2nd hand book stores in the capitol and mother and father have requested I go on a hunt- it'll gie ye something tae dae son etc etc. As far as mythical quests go it's not exactly Heart Of Darkness but it'll have it's metaphysical and emotional moments along the way he says a' la an even more vacuous Student Grant in that I will wonder why 'a piece of crap' means so much to him and why 'they' think they need to provide a diversion to their laddie and I will ruminate long on the oft and overly mentioned 'lack of connection' and 'lack of meaning tae my life' and so forth...on reading this bit back I feel that an urgent reassessment/quick inspection o' ma life is required for the sake of my own foolish pride...please imagine an EM at this point...Anyway couldn't summon up the stamina to tie masel doon to starting out on this quest and internally pontificated in a wan manner for the rest of the afternoon. 'Left to my own devices I probably'... won't...and I didn't. Wandered back tae the shithole through the now seemingly ever present biting wind. Felt heavily discombobulated/ displaced. The shithole is not 'a home'. It has none of the associated comforting factors therein. It is a dirty, pokey dive where I don't answer the door, I don't invite anyone in and ultimately where I hide frae folk who are after money frae me. This seems to have become a cave where I wait for the next crisis to happen- fuck, I'm getting glib but for a fair part of the time this seems like an accurate thing to say. On occasion the lazy squalor in here has to be seen to be believed. I can just imagine the workout that the landlord's digital camera will get when it comes to 'assessing' whether I get ma deposit or no. Maybe I could take a pic o' the devastation and save them a' the tru-bell. Fucked soapdish in pic 37, collapsed curtain rail at 12 o' clock and the inevitable spooged carpet in the 'living area'. I feel so edgy when I'm 'at home'. I just associate everything about here as being 'wrong' and 'undesirable'. When I leave this pliss, I'll think only of debt, of stumbling hame alone on many nights wi' a heid full o' grog and TLK and a wee carrier bag of chips and cheese, of carrying on the status quo of bad habits and isolation and all the shite that goes with that. I'll think of all the things I should have been doing, of where my life could have went if I'd been geered or if I had or hadn't done X or Y. Note to self...this kinda shit (ie navel gazing and thinking of 'what might have been') is my personal ROAD TO RUIN...the other side of this 'exile' means that seemingly 24/7 of late I've needed to be wi' folk. I need to be somewhere other than here. Here is where I'm on my own. That's a fact set in stone now and I don't want to face it so I have to get out and see people which is healthy but me being me there aren't that many folk I can be with or who, because of various moments/ acts of madness I want to spend time with.Was very happy to see CH later tho'. Met him for scran. The scran was pleasant-seductively stodgy. The chat was extremely necessary. Of late I've had times where I feel as if I just can't be on my own. I've always had moments where I've felt very 'lonely' but NEVER quite to this scale. It's a total no-brainer to say that loneliness is 'the worst', he says in a dumb ass way...shit...because quite simply it is..there isn't anything worse...so there...anyway, after scran and a comedy phone msg from my dad where he introduced himself as 'the prime minister' much to my amusement (maybe you had to be there or know my faither?) met up wi' Idles (It doesn't seem right to abbreviate this person's ID...questions in writing please...), a good pal o' CH's and a person I admire a great deal...see link to her blog therein for the evidence o' her writerly qualities. Mair guid chat. Spoke wi' Idles re respective litererary endeavours. I enjoy projecting that I have abilities in this area. It makes me feel as if I'm making a proper stab at being part of the human race, as if I'm attempting yon 'self expression' that you read about. Of course it's all for show...ha ha...It seems I am desperate to embarrass masel- by attempting to overstretch my abilities in the area o' disquisition. Anyway...Went to see 'Tsotsi' later on. I just didnae like it, he says in the Fife stylee. Way too simple, full of oddly MTV-esque visuals and another fillim reliant on punchy 'violence' for it's effect and 'power'. Again yer Bradshaws will filter it through aw manner o' context and history and I'm sure it's very very valuable from that pov but is it a great or even an outstandingly good piece of film? I really don't think it is. The characterisation and flashbacky bits have something of the Children's Film Foundation about them. I expected Cheggers to come running into the township in his Robin Hood costume and move the storyline further into an area where pesky criminals get foiled by Julians and Dicks on a barge in Norfolk. It was that good. Acht a' the white middle class students there in big scarves seemed to like it..and of course that's all that matters. From what I recall I plodded hame on Friday somewhat disillusioned with 'life', getting even further into deep contemplation of my 'lot'. It had also dawned on me that I had just arranged to meet my dad tomorrow...
So... Saturday. Another odd wandery listless sort o' day. Fucking feezing. Up early and was quickly into the mode re-introduced over the last couple of days. Despite individual moments seeming long and dull the morning just vanished, again taken up by me pissing about wondering what I should do and naturally doing absolutely nothing. At dinner time, I got an MSN message frae A-W. Was chuffed to hear from her but...she cancelled tomorrow. I was crushed, I have to say. The thought of Sunday had been self- justification for ambling through my other days off- I would have something to redeem it all on the Sunday. I started getting the paranoid stuff coming back all over again just after I had maybe started to feel a tiny tiny semblance o' presumptuous attractiveness creep in. I think I had 'unwisely' started to slip into a mode where I thought 'well, maybe she does like me?' That's the truth...another note to self...never never never get ahead o' yersel...never...I quickly suggested we meet up instead during the week. She agreed to this but said she 'didn't have my diary with me and I'm useless without it'. On reflection this sounds bad re the chances of seeing her again. Hopefully it isn't as bad as it sounds. The way she worded stuff tends to tie in with how she's always worded stuff and I didn't get any bona fide bad vibes in fact. She's not one for long MSN chats and she IS a busy person and she also seems a damn good sort who probably would be straight forward with me if she didn't want to see me again. Shit man I so want to see her again, I really do...anyway...fingers and awthing else crossed and a' that...Tried not to be but was somewhat stunned by a' this and felt even more deflated...felt the flood gate come up and the debt sludge pour through...destitution or even worse 'having to go back to Fife'...nae money for the pictures or for bands...NAE MONEY...this shit was battering around all afternoon. In the middle of it all the latest chapter of ma ain personal voyage roond ma faither began. Father can be a restless soul if you stray too far out his own territory. He doesn't like things like eating out or 'cultural' activities. He does like mammoth rants on the topic of pub closing times, he likes visiting pubs (the rougher the better. It was unbelievable to observe how more relaxed he got once we were in an authentic Leith Walk old man's pub. He felt so at home amongst the basics), he likes bookies (we spent a wee while in a bookies on Leith Walk. This was a gen up abandon all hope ye who enter here place. It wasn't just folks dreams that appeared to have been broken. The whole place was dying, wreathed in nicotine and harsh strip light. It was a brutal place- hardcore gamblers, dodgy characters, skaggers, jakies, the entire gamut- suffice to say father was once again in his element), he likes freemasonry (he apparently is some semi bigwig at the grand lodge. He's obsessed with Lord Fauntleroy or who ever it is that runs the show. For THE most working class man on the planet he has an oddly knee crooking attitude to queen and country and authority. He seems to get quite excited by meeting 'important' people. This is one of the many things we disagree on) and golf (this ties in with freemasonry in that it is a very manly pursuit at least it is in the circles he plays it in. It's all gags re 'the 19th hole' and concerns re 'the etiquette of the game' and the fear that 'the ladies section' might take up the course on a Saturday morning. He may be many things but one thing he can be defined as is A MAN'S MAN.). It was inevitable that we should end up in a series of pubs. I'd been thinking about it for a while but I realised on Sat that I want to give up drinking completely. It just ain't worth it. I've been overdoing it and I risk becoming a real maudlin cliche'..the unhappy man drinks to forget...fuck that shit...however, this meant that I was following faither around stone cold sober while he downed many Vodka and Diet Cokes. When he gets in full flow he becomes monologuey and moves from humourous and offbeat to relentless pounding on the same subject without taking a breath and without inviting any input from you. His subjects won't cover a broad spectrum- the aforementioned closing times of pubs, Scottish football, the old ways, 'thae old films' (he's always used that phrase to describe ANY film which gets shown on a midweek afternoon on Channel 4) etc. He becomes damn hard work and Sat was no exception. I just switched off for the most part, coming to life when he came oot wi' a coupla classics. He has, shall we say, his own way of pronouncing certain things. My personal faves are 'speeshiss' for species, 'serious' for series, 'waver' for wafer and 'fan-a-tic' for fanatic (The first 2 syllables sound like the 'manna' in Mannatee if that makes any sense?) These and other examples came think and fast. He also has a made up word which he uses EXCLUSIVELY to describe Rangers' style of play. I think he's trying to conjure something between 'pedestrian' and 'pedantic'(?) but it comes out as 'fucking Rangers..their style o' play's so petantic'. So next time you see Wunder Eck just imagine him saying 'aye I told the boys..go out and be as petantic as you can'..now that's advice for you. I ayways get down when he goes all one sided on you and you can't talk to him. He has a soft side which only comes out in these funny wee messages on yer birthday cards. They usually make me cry as they tend to say what he thinks of me in very glowing terms. The fact that they come from a guy who will not outwardly tell you how he feels is hellishly moving...so he headed back to Fife after a fair while. It felt like a long night as the conversation had been so one sided. I wiz exhausted by it. Before I leave faither I'll tell you aboot a bizarre wee exchange we had at the train station. I sat with him while he waited for the train. He was in the midst of a full on ramble re 'the way things used to be' and he became irate when he saw a lasses jeans being worn in an extremely low fashion. This obviously isn't the done thing in Fife. 'Fuckin' hell, that's that bairns knickers'. 'Thae troosers are fawin' off her 'erse', which of course was fact. Further absurdity came when I realised I was talking to my dad re the underwear of teenage girls- I said 'well I've seen worse' and started to point out that 'at least she's wearing big pants and not thae G-string things'. I meant well...but this line of chat seemed...wrong...off he went to the train...I went back to the shithole not thinking of ladies pants but thinking instead of the fact I wasn't 'going out' (the fatal phrase) wi' A-W tomorrow...shit...Once you've had a glimpse of a feeling that you might be joining the human race and then it doesn't happen, now that's when yer fucked...Sunday...hovered for a far shorter period than I had over the last coupla days and decided in lieu of 'real' human contact I would go to the pictures and observe simulated human interplay from an easy chair. I identified 2 fillims and intended to catch them both. Was up pretty early tho and decided (yes I managed to stick to something)...to wander down to Newhaven, hoping for some windswept vibes and some possibilities for contemplation in the sea air. Newhaven is a peculiar place. It's like Anstruther or Crail but right in the middle (kinda) o' the big city. It has a lovely harbour and particularly when I stayed in Leith, I used to walk down there a lot. It was nice on Sun but was too calm and mild to feel like the real deal. I wanted to be blown away by big acts of gustyness. It wasn't fair. Started to feel way low while there...debt of course but mostly TLK and the thought of seeing her again tomorrow...would she speak to me? Would she be 'ok'? Will I still fancy her like mad? (you notice that I try not to use the 'l' word with regard to her any more?...I'm trying to start wi' a wee gesture and move on frae there). These thoughts drove me mad. It seems crappy to throw this in but I stood for a long time and looked at the water. It would be easy to jump over there. That would be it. I can't swim. I'm going to do it. Of course I didn't. Been thinking along these lines 'a lot'. I have moments when everything does feel totally hopeless. My mind's been running away from me too and I've been coming up with all manner of crazy trains of thought and senses of conviction that the worst will happen. Not good. I don't want to die, I think I know that but there are times when I start to believe that I'm doubting that. Not sure either why I should tell you this...answers on a post card please...dear Fat Bastard, we've found you out etc etc..maybe I'm trying to get as honest as I can?...the answer to this is probably 'yes and no'. I'm still selective to a certain extent. I really am trying to work on that tho'...en route back frae the seaside, I got a call frae KB. Was happy that he was in Edin wi the KB family so we met up for a while. I needed this. Relaxed chat, genuine friendliness, empathy, 'connection'. The feeling was quite something. To carry on frae this I saw CH later and we went to see 'Capote' . Came out thinking that I wasn't sure what I made of it. PSH was great as I knew he would be. It's an odd film in that it very much presents the main character in an unflattering light, something you won't normally see from a conventional biopic. Mostly because of this you learn a hell of a lot more about TC than you would through a standard format. This is well done but somehow jars and feels alienating. This might be the intention- one of the themes is about how he was very much an outsider. A lot of the gripes for me came wi' the speed with which they fired through the events. It is a surprisingly quick paced film and it don't work imo. Supporting characters drift in and out. You don't care about them cause you don't get to know about them- Chris Cooper's character is a total nothing. Maybe a lot of his stuff went on the cutting room flair, maybe ditto Catherine Keener. This is another thing which makes it a difficult film to enjoy- good actors are given very little screen time. This is always a niggle. As good as PSH is and he does manage to show different sides to TC he's fighting a battle against a script which doesn't show enough of the engaging side o' his character. The running time is short. Maybethere was a reason for this but the fillim ends up feeling skeltal somehow. I think my mood was affected by the wave of bourgeoisie who piled into the cinema after the fillim had started. We had to stand up and let them in. Where had they been? The Cameo has a sign out front that says 'No Late Entry'. This is clearly a lie. It should say 'No Late Entry' if yer frae the wrong side o' the tracks. Acht I like The Cameo. I think haein yer viewing disturbed by the Ents Soc night oot is a bit keech. I really like the friendly lass who sits on the front desk and does her knitting..but that's another story...so I left there. Heid buzzing with many things...none of them that crash hot...mostly TLK with a bit o' debt garnish on top...lovely...
...So I made it intae work. Couldn't think of anything other than seeing 'her'. She phoned early in the day. I anticipated a bit o' 'tude. She was very nice tho', quite friendly in fact. It appeared that we were talking to each other after all. She came in. She looked amazing. Can't think of another way to describe it. I'd almost forgotten how attracted to her I am. She'd lost a bit of weight. Her hair looked shaggy and long and a bit wild. This is always the way I've liked her hair, he says completely unnecessarily. She looked tired and flushed and bleary eyed. I couldn't keep from looking in her direction. Shit man, I didn't expect this. She seemed hungover and had had another bash on the heid to add to last week's black eye... fuckin' hell....Christ, I struggled today...all the old feelings..I just wanted to be with her all the time. I couldn't get her out of my head. I can see her faults a mile high but it don't make any difference. We chatted well ABOUT WORK STUFF but didn't go on to personal areas as we would have done before. Her eyes narrowed when I had to mention anything related to the day DT died. An example of classic TLK reserve came when I told her I was leaving the work ASAP. I told her it was down to 'personal and professional' reasons. She looked at me intently. I could feel the old TLK mechanism coming into place. She answered in an offhand, practical fashion. She always does that. She thinks about the emotional response and then breaks down the resolve to provide a sober detached reply. I'm sure that's what she does. I think I know her well enough now. She probably knows the score too re the real reason why I'm leaving, in fact I'm sure she does. Knowing her she will NEVER comment on this. It'll be a real 'out of character' moment if she does. The head became cluttered again. She appeared to make it clear without referring to it that we would only talk re work things. There was never any suggestion of closeness or of being pals. She's always been a great compartmentalizer and she hasn't lost this nack. She can set her own boundaries and never cross them. She did it big style today. It was a quiet day at work. I got knackered, totally bored and all the negatives crept in. I need to get out of this place. I thought again re writing my notice. I need to leave. The day to day strife wi' the management is crap, the wages are worse and seeing TLK regularly is driving me insane. I am a stuck man. Headed to the land o' the Interweb after work. Couldn't get my act together to post anything. Struggled for some time to put owt into any half decent written form. Gave up and headed back tae the Cameo to see 'The Proposition'. Felt 'directionless so plain to see' sitting there in the dark wi' the big scarved ones flitting back and forth. There appears to be a culture in the world of 'arthouse' ie bourgeois cinema going that you are almost duty bound to get up for a piss in the middle of the fillim. You so very rarely see this at Multiplexes- it's true godamnit. Last night I was incensed by the very presence of these 2 'Sonny's Burning' anachronisms wi' spiky hair and Blixa Bargeld complexions. I bet they were wearing pointy boots too. What a fucking cliche'..sorry..it would be the cinematic equivalent of me going to see any Ian Mackaye band while wearing a black beanie...oops...anyway, these 2 'gluey ones' quite simply had to get up to go to the toilet in shifts during the fillim. Their spiky hairdos were huge. They literally covered the screen from where I was sitting when they stood up. I found their collective presence deflating. As if ma ain wasn't hard enough for me?...anyway...the fillim itsel...it had a load o' similarities wi' 'ghosts of the civil dead' (the other Cave/Hillcoat movie) in that it was magnificent at conjuring a certain atmosphere ( the copyrighted Cave atmos- hammilly semi-gloomilly showilly melodramatic. The same vibe that runs through all his music (well the vocal performances at least) and most of his writing). The weirdly existential character bits were genius. Sadly the fillim couldnae make up it's mind what it was. It seemed that everytime it got too quiet the tempo would be lifted by an outbreak of 'violence'. That's a standard movie device and it didn't tally with some of thae great scenes of characters losing their minds in the midst o' a' this madness and wide open space. The ending is poor, Guy Pearce's character makes no sense whatsoever and some of the acting is variable. It has a fair bit o' power. The shots o' the outback draw you in but arnae supported by being the backdrop to (or by being another character in) a bog standard actioner. It is worth seeing for the weird bits. Definately a fillim I would make ma ain director's cut of if I was someone else...anyway...you don't want to hear of the fact I crept back tae the shithole wi' a weight bearing doon on me but I did...so there...on tae Tuesday...did a fair bit o' writing on this post this mornin but then lost it all when the shithole had a power cut. Maybe it'll have burned down by the time I get back. That's the only fate it deserves. Work was crappy again. Strife, stress and the prospect o' being on ma ain for most of the week stretching in front of me. TLK looked even more beautiful (ma ain interpretation thereof) today. In an out of character moment she seemed to be wearing eyeliner. The effect drove me even further into some kind o' blue funk. I was on the late shift. She finished at 4 or thereabouts. The sight of her walking out the door nearly cut me in half. The new emotional regime isn't working. She once again kept on the 'we are colleagues' tip of yesterday. One minor mention of 'the outside world' but that was it. I lost it later and got negative and fatalistic wi' her about my feelings re my future in the job and this kind o' work. As she normally does she sidestepped skillfully and did not enter into any hint of a conversation relating to this. Probably rightly so of course. After she left I didn't know what to do. Had a period of about 10 mins where all I wanted to do was jump out the window. This passed and I went up the road, feeling as if I never wanted to come back to work again. Got here tae the land o' the interweb and promptly found an email from A-W. She doesn't want to see me again. We could only ever be pals. Not ideal timing but I don't feel overly bothered at the moment (Most of my head is saying well she's not TLK and she never could be. This is pure and utter insanity setting in) It is just grist to the mill. It's kinda funny that another layer has been added to build things up to a silly silly amount of 'problems'. I don't need to spell them out. You don't have enough time anyway. The phone has been going all day today and for the last fortnight to- 0870 and 0800 numbers. The financial institutions are on the war path. They want paid. While this has been going on I've been feeling desperate for a txt or a call frae anyone who knows me or who I want to hear from ie not a financial institution. Shit I'm a 'needy' person. I bother people. I'll be talking to you on the bus next. I'll be collecting glass juice bottles or shouting 'they're all fucking Yankees' at you. I truly feel the most alone I've ever felt. Not even started to analyse the A-W situ yet. No point in that. I'll leave you wi' one positive. Before the fog came back in (I picture it as the dry ice that fills up that graveyard in the 'No Quarter' sequence in 'The Song Remains The Same') a wee something flashed across ma yaks...namely...well if yer going to 'pull berds' you'll have to join Weight watchers. I truly am a working class Fifer after all. I think in soundbites and Daily Record speak. Next I'll be hounding Wee Burnie to the grave and lionising that wee shite Jinky. All together now...'This Is A Low..'...I've ayways loved that song...
Where did I leave you?...oh aye...Friday aft and the stretches of aimless drifting that days off tend to invite. Felt mired in all of this ie the feeling of having 'free time' on my hands and the recent problems, some nascent, some all too mature. Started to think about wandering off on the bizarre search for this book which my father's been after for years...why is it bizarre?...well, it's a wee miniature touristy book o' Burns poems...probably run off by any ye old crappy gift shoppe inc in the darkest part of the 70's and then forgotten about...he got it in Ayr in 1980 on the only family holiday we ever had- a week 'by the seaside' in someone's static caravan. I did have a good time that week tho'- went to see Giant Haystacks in action, an experience which has never left me and also spent most of the time wearing a blue and orange velour leisure top thing. 9 ah wuz. But father sees this book as the holy grail and will not accept anything similar..it has to be 'the same book'...size, content...I feel proper embarassed looking in proper bookshops as quite frankly it's a piece of tartanry crap bought frae Burns Cottage for 10 p or whatever it was. My auntie (the clever one of the family..the only one who's ever had a bourgeois job...primary school teacher/ headmistress) has furnished me with a list of 2nd hand book stores in the capitol and mother and father have requested I go on a hunt- it'll gie ye something tae dae son etc etc. As far as mythical quests go it's not exactly Heart Of Darkness but it'll have it's metaphysical and emotional moments along the way he says a' la an even more vacuous Student Grant in that I will wonder why 'a piece of crap' means so much to him and why 'they' think they need to provide a diversion to their laddie and I will ruminate long on the oft and overly mentioned 'lack of connection' and 'lack of meaning tae my life' and so forth...on reading this bit back I feel that an urgent reassessment/quick inspection o' ma life is required for the sake of my own foolish pride...please imagine an EM at this point...Anyway couldn't summon up the stamina to tie masel doon to starting out on this quest and internally pontificated in a wan manner for the rest of the afternoon. 'Left to my own devices I probably'... won't...and I didn't. Wandered back tae the shithole through the now seemingly ever present biting wind. Felt heavily discombobulated/ displaced. The shithole is not 'a home'. It has none of the associated comforting factors therein. It is a dirty, pokey dive where I don't answer the door, I don't invite anyone in and ultimately where I hide frae folk who are after money frae me. This seems to have become a cave where I wait for the next crisis to happen- fuck, I'm getting glib but for a fair part of the time this seems like an accurate thing to say. On occasion the lazy squalor in here has to be seen to be believed. I can just imagine the workout that the landlord's digital camera will get when it comes to 'assessing' whether I get ma deposit or no. Maybe I could take a pic o' the devastation and save them a' the tru-bell. Fucked soapdish in pic 37, collapsed curtain rail at 12 o' clock and the inevitable spooged carpet in the 'living area'. I feel so edgy when I'm 'at home'. I just associate everything about here as being 'wrong' and 'undesirable'. When I leave this pliss, I'll think only of debt, of stumbling hame alone on many nights wi' a heid full o' grog and TLK and a wee carrier bag of chips and cheese, of carrying on the status quo of bad habits and isolation and all the shite that goes with that. I'll think of all the things I should have been doing, of where my life could have went if I'd been geered or if I had or hadn't done X or Y. Note to self...this kinda shit (ie navel gazing and thinking of 'what might have been') is my personal ROAD TO RUIN...the other side of this 'exile' means that seemingly 24/7 of late I've needed to be wi' folk. I need to be somewhere other than here. Here is where I'm on my own. That's a fact set in stone now and I don't want to face it so I have to get out and see people which is healthy but me being me there aren't that many folk I can be with or who, because of various moments/ acts of madness I want to spend time with.Was very happy to see CH later tho'. Met him for scran. The scran was pleasant-seductively stodgy. The chat was extremely necessary. Of late I've had times where I feel as if I just can't be on my own. I've always had moments where I've felt very 'lonely' but NEVER quite to this scale. It's a total no-brainer to say that loneliness is 'the worst', he says in a dumb ass way...shit...because quite simply it is..there isn't anything worse...so there...anyway, after scran and a comedy phone msg from my dad where he introduced himself as 'the prime minister' much to my amusement (maybe you had to be there or know my faither?) met up wi' Idles (It doesn't seem right to abbreviate this person's ID...questions in writing please...), a good pal o' CH's and a person I admire a great deal...see link to her blog therein for the evidence o' her writerly qualities. Mair guid chat. Spoke wi' Idles re respective litererary endeavours. I enjoy projecting that I have abilities in this area. It makes me feel as if I'm making a proper stab at being part of the human race, as if I'm attempting yon 'self expression' that you read about. Of course it's all for show...ha ha...It seems I am desperate to embarrass masel- by attempting to overstretch my abilities in the area o' disquisition. Anyway...Went to see 'Tsotsi' later on. I just didnae like it, he says in the Fife stylee. Way too simple, full of oddly MTV-esque visuals and another fillim reliant on punchy 'violence' for it's effect and 'power'. Again yer Bradshaws will filter it through aw manner o' context and history and I'm sure it's very very valuable from that pov but is it a great or even an outstandingly good piece of film? I really don't think it is. The characterisation and flashbacky bits have something of the Children's Film Foundation about them. I expected Cheggers to come running into the township in his Robin Hood costume and move the storyline further into an area where pesky criminals get foiled by Julians and Dicks on a barge in Norfolk. It was that good. Acht a' the white middle class students there in big scarves seemed to like it..and of course that's all that matters. From what I recall I plodded hame on Friday somewhat disillusioned with 'life', getting even further into deep contemplation of my 'lot'. It had also dawned on me that I had just arranged to meet my dad tomorrow...
So... Saturday. Another odd wandery listless sort o' day. Fucking feezing. Up early and was quickly into the mode re-introduced over the last couple of days. Despite individual moments seeming long and dull the morning just vanished, again taken up by me pissing about wondering what I should do and naturally doing absolutely nothing. At dinner time, I got an MSN message frae A-W. Was chuffed to hear from her but...she cancelled tomorrow. I was crushed, I have to say. The thought of Sunday had been self- justification for ambling through my other days off- I would have something to redeem it all on the Sunday. I started getting the paranoid stuff coming back all over again just after I had maybe started to feel a tiny tiny semblance o' presumptuous attractiveness creep in. I think I had 'unwisely' started to slip into a mode where I thought 'well, maybe she does like me?' That's the truth...another note to self...never never never get ahead o' yersel...never...I quickly suggested we meet up instead during the week. She agreed to this but said she 'didn't have my diary with me and I'm useless without it'. On reflection this sounds bad re the chances of seeing her again. Hopefully it isn't as bad as it sounds. The way she worded stuff tends to tie in with how she's always worded stuff and I didn't get any bona fide bad vibes in fact. She's not one for long MSN chats and she IS a busy person and she also seems a damn good sort who probably would be straight forward with me if she didn't want to see me again. Shit man I so want to see her again, I really do...anyway...fingers and awthing else crossed and a' that...Tried not to be but was somewhat stunned by a' this and felt even more deflated...felt the flood gate come up and the debt sludge pour through...destitution or even worse 'having to go back to Fife'...nae money for the pictures or for bands...NAE MONEY...this shit was battering around all afternoon. In the middle of it all the latest chapter of ma ain personal voyage roond ma faither began. Father can be a restless soul if you stray too far out his own territory. He doesn't like things like eating out or 'cultural' activities. He does like mammoth rants on the topic of pub closing times, he likes visiting pubs (the rougher the better. It was unbelievable to observe how more relaxed he got once we were in an authentic Leith Walk old man's pub. He felt so at home amongst the basics), he likes bookies (we spent a wee while in a bookies on Leith Walk. This was a gen up abandon all hope ye who enter here place. It wasn't just folks dreams that appeared to have been broken. The whole place was dying, wreathed in nicotine and harsh strip light. It was a brutal place- hardcore gamblers, dodgy characters, skaggers, jakies, the entire gamut- suffice to say father was once again in his element), he likes freemasonry (he apparently is some semi bigwig at the grand lodge. He's obsessed with Lord Fauntleroy or who ever it is that runs the show. For THE most working class man on the planet he has an oddly knee crooking attitude to queen and country and authority. He seems to get quite excited by meeting 'important' people. This is one of the many things we disagree on) and golf (this ties in with freemasonry in that it is a very manly pursuit at least it is in the circles he plays it in. It's all gags re 'the 19th hole' and concerns re 'the etiquette of the game' and the fear that 'the ladies section' might take up the course on a Saturday morning. He may be many things but one thing he can be defined as is A MAN'S MAN.). It was inevitable that we should end up in a series of pubs. I'd been thinking about it for a while but I realised on Sat that I want to give up drinking completely. It just ain't worth it. I've been overdoing it and I risk becoming a real maudlin cliche'..the unhappy man drinks to forget...fuck that shit...however, this meant that I was following faither around stone cold sober while he downed many Vodka and Diet Cokes. When he gets in full flow he becomes monologuey and moves from humourous and offbeat to relentless pounding on the same subject without taking a breath and without inviting any input from you. His subjects won't cover a broad spectrum- the aforementioned closing times of pubs, Scottish football, the old ways, 'thae old films' (he's always used that phrase to describe ANY film which gets shown on a midweek afternoon on Channel 4) etc. He becomes damn hard work and Sat was no exception. I just switched off for the most part, coming to life when he came oot wi' a coupla classics. He has, shall we say, his own way of pronouncing certain things. My personal faves are 'speeshiss' for species, 'serious' for series, 'waver' for wafer and 'fan-a-tic' for fanatic (The first 2 syllables sound like the 'manna' in Mannatee if that makes any sense?) These and other examples came think and fast. He also has a made up word which he uses EXCLUSIVELY to describe Rangers' style of play. I think he's trying to conjure something between 'pedestrian' and 'pedantic'(?) but it comes out as 'fucking Rangers..their style o' play's so petantic'. So next time you see Wunder Eck just imagine him saying 'aye I told the boys..go out and be as petantic as you can'..now that's advice for you. I ayways get down when he goes all one sided on you and you can't talk to him. He has a soft side which only comes out in these funny wee messages on yer birthday cards. They usually make me cry as they tend to say what he thinks of me in very glowing terms. The fact that they come from a guy who will not outwardly tell you how he feels is hellishly moving...so he headed back to Fife after a fair while. It felt like a long night as the conversation had been so one sided. I wiz exhausted by it. Before I leave faither I'll tell you aboot a bizarre wee exchange we had at the train station. I sat with him while he waited for the train. He was in the midst of a full on ramble re 'the way things used to be' and he became irate when he saw a lasses jeans being worn in an extremely low fashion. This obviously isn't the done thing in Fife. 'Fuckin' hell, that's that bairns knickers'. 'Thae troosers are fawin' off her 'erse', which of course was fact. Further absurdity came when I realised I was talking to my dad re the underwear of teenage girls- I said 'well I've seen worse' and started to point out that 'at least she's wearing big pants and not thae G-string things'. I meant well...but this line of chat seemed...wrong...off he went to the train...I went back to the shithole not thinking of ladies pants but thinking instead of the fact I wasn't 'going out' (the fatal phrase) wi' A-W tomorrow...shit...Once you've had a glimpse of a feeling that you might be joining the human race and then it doesn't happen, now that's when yer fucked...Sunday...hovered for a far shorter period than I had over the last coupla days and decided in lieu of 'real' human contact I would go to the pictures and observe simulated human interplay from an easy chair. I identified 2 fillims and intended to catch them both. Was up pretty early tho and decided (yes I managed to stick to something)...to wander down to Newhaven, hoping for some windswept vibes and some possibilities for contemplation in the sea air. Newhaven is a peculiar place. It's like Anstruther or Crail but right in the middle (kinda) o' the big city. It has a lovely harbour and particularly when I stayed in Leith, I used to walk down there a lot. It was nice on Sun but was too calm and mild to feel like the real deal. I wanted to be blown away by big acts of gustyness. It wasn't fair. Started to feel way low while there...debt of course but mostly TLK and the thought of seeing her again tomorrow...would she speak to me? Would she be 'ok'? Will I still fancy her like mad? (you notice that I try not to use the 'l' word with regard to her any more?...I'm trying to start wi' a wee gesture and move on frae there). These thoughts drove me mad. It seems crappy to throw this in but I stood for a long time and looked at the water. It would be easy to jump over there. That would be it. I can't swim. I'm going to do it. Of course I didn't. Been thinking along these lines 'a lot'. I have moments when everything does feel totally hopeless. My mind's been running away from me too and I've been coming up with all manner of crazy trains of thought and senses of conviction that the worst will happen. Not good. I don't want to die, I think I know that but there are times when I start to believe that I'm doubting that. Not sure either why I should tell you this...answers on a post card please...dear Fat Bastard, we've found you out etc etc..maybe I'm trying to get as honest as I can?...the answer to this is probably 'yes and no'. I'm still selective to a certain extent. I really am trying to work on that tho'...en route back frae the seaside, I got a call frae KB. Was happy that he was in Edin wi the KB family so we met up for a while. I needed this. Relaxed chat, genuine friendliness, empathy, 'connection'. The feeling was quite something. To carry on frae this I saw CH later and we went to see 'Capote' . Came out thinking that I wasn't sure what I made of it. PSH was great as I knew he would be. It's an odd film in that it very much presents the main character in an unflattering light, something you won't normally see from a conventional biopic. Mostly because of this you learn a hell of a lot more about TC than you would through a standard format. This is well done but somehow jars and feels alienating. This might be the intention- one of the themes is about how he was very much an outsider. A lot of the gripes for me came wi' the speed with which they fired through the events. It is a surprisingly quick paced film and it don't work imo. Supporting characters drift in and out. You don't care about them cause you don't get to know about them- Chris Cooper's character is a total nothing. Maybe a lot of his stuff went on the cutting room flair, maybe ditto Catherine Keener. This is another thing which makes it a difficult film to enjoy- good actors are given very little screen time. This is always a niggle. As good as PSH is and he does manage to show different sides to TC he's fighting a battle against a script which doesn't show enough of the engaging side o' his character. The running time is short. Maybethere was a reason for this but the fillim ends up feeling skeltal somehow. I think my mood was affected by the wave of bourgeoisie who piled into the cinema after the fillim had started. We had to stand up and let them in. Where had they been? The Cameo has a sign out front that says 'No Late Entry'. This is clearly a lie. It should say 'No Late Entry' if yer frae the wrong side o' the tracks. Acht I like The Cameo. I think haein yer viewing disturbed by the Ents Soc night oot is a bit keech. I really like the friendly lass who sits on the front desk and does her knitting..but that's another story...so I left there. Heid buzzing with many things...none of them that crash hot...mostly TLK with a bit o' debt garnish on top...lovely...
...So I made it intae work. Couldn't think of anything other than seeing 'her'. She phoned early in the day. I anticipated a bit o' 'tude. She was very nice tho', quite friendly in fact. It appeared that we were talking to each other after all. She came in. She looked amazing. Can't think of another way to describe it. I'd almost forgotten how attracted to her I am. She'd lost a bit of weight. Her hair looked shaggy and long and a bit wild. This is always the way I've liked her hair, he says completely unnecessarily. She looked tired and flushed and bleary eyed. I couldn't keep from looking in her direction. Shit man, I didn't expect this. She seemed hungover and had had another bash on the heid to add to last week's black eye... fuckin' hell....Christ, I struggled today...all the old feelings..I just wanted to be with her all the time. I couldn't get her out of my head. I can see her faults a mile high but it don't make any difference. We chatted well ABOUT WORK STUFF but didn't go on to personal areas as we would have done before. Her eyes narrowed when I had to mention anything related to the day DT died. An example of classic TLK reserve came when I told her I was leaving the work ASAP. I told her it was down to 'personal and professional' reasons. She looked at me intently. I could feel the old TLK mechanism coming into place. She answered in an offhand, practical fashion. She always does that. She thinks about the emotional response and then breaks down the resolve to provide a sober detached reply. I'm sure that's what she does. I think I know her well enough now. She probably knows the score too re the real reason why I'm leaving, in fact I'm sure she does. Knowing her she will NEVER comment on this. It'll be a real 'out of character' moment if she does. The head became cluttered again. She appeared to make it clear without referring to it that we would only talk re work things. There was never any suggestion of closeness or of being pals. She's always been a great compartmentalizer and she hasn't lost this nack. She can set her own boundaries and never cross them. She did it big style today. It was a quiet day at work. I got knackered, totally bored and all the negatives crept in. I need to get out of this place. I thought again re writing my notice. I need to leave. The day to day strife wi' the management is crap, the wages are worse and seeing TLK regularly is driving me insane. I am a stuck man. Headed to the land o' the Interweb after work. Couldn't get my act together to post anything. Struggled for some time to put owt into any half decent written form. Gave up and headed back tae the Cameo to see 'The Proposition'. Felt 'directionless so plain to see' sitting there in the dark wi' the big scarved ones flitting back and forth. There appears to be a culture in the world of 'arthouse' ie bourgeois cinema going that you are almost duty bound to get up for a piss in the middle of the fillim. You so very rarely see this at Multiplexes- it's true godamnit. Last night I was incensed by the very presence of these 2 'Sonny's Burning' anachronisms wi' spiky hair and Blixa Bargeld complexions. I bet they were wearing pointy boots too. What a fucking cliche'..sorry..it would be the cinematic equivalent of me going to see any Ian Mackaye band while wearing a black beanie...oops...anyway, these 2 'gluey ones' quite simply had to get up to go to the toilet in shifts during the fillim. Their spiky hairdos were huge. They literally covered the screen from where I was sitting when they stood up. I found their collective presence deflating. As if ma ain wasn't hard enough for me?...anyway...the fillim itsel...it had a load o' similarities wi' 'ghosts of the civil dead' (the other Cave/Hillcoat movie) in that it was magnificent at conjuring a certain atmosphere ( the copyrighted Cave atmos- hammilly semi-gloomilly showilly melodramatic. The same vibe that runs through all his music (well the vocal performances at least) and most of his writing). The weirdly existential character bits were genius. Sadly the fillim couldnae make up it's mind what it was. It seemed that everytime it got too quiet the tempo would be lifted by an outbreak of 'violence'. That's a standard movie device and it didn't tally with some of thae great scenes of characters losing their minds in the midst o' a' this madness and wide open space. The ending is poor, Guy Pearce's character makes no sense whatsoever and some of the acting is variable. It has a fair bit o' power. The shots o' the outback draw you in but arnae supported by being the backdrop to (or by being another character in) a bog standard actioner. It is worth seeing for the weird bits. Definately a fillim I would make ma ain director's cut of if I was someone else...anyway...you don't want to hear of the fact I crept back tae the shithole wi' a weight bearing doon on me but I did...so there...on tae Tuesday...did a fair bit o' writing on this post this mornin but then lost it all when the shithole had a power cut. Maybe it'll have burned down by the time I get back. That's the only fate it deserves. Work was crappy again. Strife, stress and the prospect o' being on ma ain for most of the week stretching in front of me. TLK looked even more beautiful (ma ain interpretation thereof) today. In an out of character moment she seemed to be wearing eyeliner. The effect drove me even further into some kind o' blue funk. I was on the late shift. She finished at 4 or thereabouts. The sight of her walking out the door nearly cut me in half. The new emotional regime isn't working. She once again kept on the 'we are colleagues' tip of yesterday. One minor mention of 'the outside world' but that was it. I lost it later and got negative and fatalistic wi' her about my feelings re my future in the job and this kind o' work. As she normally does she sidestepped skillfully and did not enter into any hint of a conversation relating to this. Probably rightly so of course. After she left I didn't know what to do. Had a period of about 10 mins where all I wanted to do was jump out the window. This passed and I went up the road, feeling as if I never wanted to come back to work again. Got here tae the land o' the interweb and promptly found an email from A-W. She doesn't want to see me again. We could only ever be pals. Not ideal timing but I don't feel overly bothered at the moment (Most of my head is saying well she's not TLK and she never could be. This is pure and utter insanity setting in) It is just grist to the mill. It's kinda funny that another layer has been added to build things up to a silly silly amount of 'problems'. I don't need to spell them out. You don't have enough time anyway. The phone has been going all day today and for the last fortnight to- 0870 and 0800 numbers. The financial institutions are on the war path. They want paid. While this has been going on I've been feeling desperate for a txt or a call frae anyone who knows me or who I want to hear from ie not a financial institution. Shit I'm a 'needy' person. I bother people. I'll be talking to you on the bus next. I'll be collecting glass juice bottles or shouting 'they're all fucking Yankees' at you. I truly feel the most alone I've ever felt. Not even started to analyse the A-W situ yet. No point in that. I'll leave you wi' one positive. Before the fog came back in (I picture it as the dry ice that fills up that graveyard in the 'No Quarter' sequence in 'The Song Remains The Same') a wee something flashed across ma yaks...namely...well if yer going to 'pull berds' you'll have to join Weight watchers. I truly am a working class Fifer after all. I think in soundbites and Daily Record speak. Next I'll be hounding Wee Burnie to the grave and lionising that wee shite Jinky. All together now...'This Is A Low..'...I've ayways loved that song...
posted by Jock Gumps at 3:24 AM
1 Comments:
I, for one, would look forward immensely to "My 100 Favourite Cricketing Nobodies".
No.86 - Gordon Parsons.
Post a Comment
<< Home