Indecent Decency.: January 2010

Kiss Both Cheeks, I’m Leaving.

Don’t even think about forgetting to pack a thick coat. It’s fucking freezing over there. It’s not exactly tropical over here, but trust me, you’ll appreciate being nicely wrapped up. If the harsh windchills and that cold, thin atmosphere don’t ice over your flimsy, pathetically weak lungs then your inability to adapt to everything else will. Your lungs will shrivel and freeze in that place if you don’t learn to adapt quickly. Try putting a polar bear in a two-bedroom flat in Chiswick and see what happens. Everything will change. The culture. The language. You won’t have a clue what to say, how to say it, and what you’re actually telling people when you make a stupid face, move your hands too quickly or try too hard. You won’t know. You really don’t stand a chance, especially not in those shorts and little t-shirts. This isn’t playful weather. There will be no skimpy, skinny little ‘lekkerdings’ around here, just roly-poly fat faced hairy boomers, growling at you while you try to take their women. So make sure you wrap up warm. Take a nice thick coat, and really practise to speak as English as you can. And by that I don’t mean incorporate all that filthy slang you’ve had drilled into your naïve little self-important brain for the last 15 years, I mean, English how they, over there in that cold little country think English is. Posh. Clear. Concise. Don’t mumble on about unimportant things, Jesus, just get to the point. Articulate as best you can.

This place may as well be Beirut, India, Chad. Anywhere but where you think it is. Because some kind soul tells you where you are you’ll just believe them? You wouldn’t even fucking know if the place you were told about didn’t really exist, would you? You wouldn’t. Your sheltered little mind has hardly experienced anything outside of your own garden has it? You wouldn’t have a clue. So thank God, actually get down on your tired aching knees and thank Allah, right this second, thank him for giving you a lifeline, thank him for giving you that friend you don’t deserve, that friend who teaches confused people how to speak your stupid language, that friend who went out on a limb for your skinny ass. And thank Vishnu for that high-ceiling, tall-walled lanky flat with the creaky floorboards and heavy doors. Thank him for letting you prance around that flat in your boxers and colourful vests and even though the extractor fan in the bathroom doesn’t work, thank Krishna for that toilet that stinks of shit, and sweat, and how you need to blast open the windows to flush out that disgusting smell. Along with your boxers and vest privileges. You’ll definitely need a nice, thick jumper at least, after you’ve been in that bathroom.

I guarantee you’ll feel rich. Thousands and thousands and thousands of whateverthefuckitis currency will do that for you. Things are cheaper over there. They’re bound to be, have you not lived in Seattle? Inflation ravaging the normality of things in just a few years. I’m sorry, but over here you’re being left behind. You’re simply not fit enough to run in this race. You’re practically coughing up your lungs each time you try to catch up. That phlegmy mess in your throat, that blobby texture caught in the top of your trachea, that’s your wake up call. That’s what you’re using to breathe and you’re more than ready and willing to spit it out all over the pavement. Like a fat dog, eating greasy left-overs, pieces of shit being slobbered all over, greedily mangled in its slimy jaws, only to find out its eaten too much and can’t even swallow. Regurgitation of the highest order. Of the most profound order. Of the most symbolic order. Gorge yourself today, gorge yourself tomorrow. Be that fat dog. Eat, eat, eat then cry, cry, cry about it later. Over there you’ll be fine. You can be a fat dog in that country, they’ll probably worship you or at least size their anorexic frames up against your over-indulged chassis of a corpse. While their flimsy tongues flap about like a battered flag in a brutal wind, yours will just salivate patiently, knowing exactly what’s about to happen. They won’t know what’s hit them. Just you wait though. It’ll all come crashing down if you’re not too careful. Every dog has his day. And you’re a fat one. So you’re in for an interesting twenty four hours when they come.

You have to be expecting better things to look at. That’s a given. Pasty white-grey pigeons suddenly become brightly colored finches and you’ll become quite the avid twitcher. You’ll probably develop a condition. OCD will be your best friend and might even get you somewhere, what with that posh, English accent of yours and all those thousands and your nice thick coat. You might even get lucky. There’s probably a good chance of it. You’ll want to make sure you’re different too. Never try to fit in. That’s why you’re here isn’t it? To experience this country that may as well be Beirut, India or Chad? Yes? You’ll never experience it like these people who have lived here all their lives, who are from this place. But do you want to experience it like a runny-nosed tourist, intent only on getting good souvenirs and more ‘life-experience?’ No. I hope to fucking high heaven you don’t. So treat it like your own home town, where you come from, where you know, but realize you know fuck all about this place, probably have no right to even be here and that if anything happens you’re bottom of the list of people to give a fuck about. If you don’t forget that then you’re going to have a great time. Maybe even the best time of your life so far. Who knows how you’ll fare, but just be wary of those brightly colored feathery creatures, flying around your shy schoolboy head, that same little schoolboy who was always frightened of blabbing out a wrong word to the girl of his dreams.

There is a very obvious upside to this whole situation. The twitcher situation. Like one of those anoraks sitting carefully in a dank bush waiting for his bird of choice, he understands language and communication have no part to play in this whole courtship. Just patience, respect and desire. The bird more than happy to be seen, but far too clever to be anything but elusive and avoidant. Happy to let the chase unfold safe in the knowledge of a painless victory. This will be what you’ll be facing. Language is already out the window. There’s less chance of you fucking it up before you even open your mouth now. And even if you do it’ll probably all blow over because you’re something different, new, improved. Something they haven’t had much of before. You could become their all new flavored, all new improved crack. Put you in their pipe and fucking smoke you. Take you all the way in, let you slide back deep inside them, letting you touch them in ways they hadn’t even realized were possible, like screwing that schoolgirl that first time. You told yourself she was older but deep down you knew you wanted to be in her pipe for that night. You wanted to let her smoke you. You wanted to let her take you all in the way in, breathe you in as deep as possible and let you roll her eyes so they almost sank into the back of her pretty, delicate little skull. You’re disgusting. But that’s almost an art over here. You could be a glorious artist and they your muses. But, just like the twitchers, and the little brightly coloured winged faeries, just like them, you can never touch for too long, and all you’ll have is an image, a picture or some film and then nothing. They know you’re not over here for good, they can smell a visitor and that smell is like a good coffee when it’s warm, right up until that lukewarm stage where it’s not that interesting anymore and a new cup is ordered. You’ll be fine if you don’t go lukewarm. But you will. It’s an inevitability. Don’t worry though. It’ll be fine. Not everyone even likes coffee. You may not even want to be smelled in the first place. Don’t get too carried away, this is just one scenario and there are plenty more. Just be prepared to watch from a distance, marvel from a secluded hiding spot and even if you get to snag yourself a precious little thrush, be ready to watch it tear through the cumulus almost as ready as you felt its rustling wings inside your clammy palms. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Literature shouldn’t be undervalued here either. Not at all. It’ll be your best friend when you realize no-one is actually talking to you, and no-one wants to, and even if they did you wouldn’t understand them. It’ll be helpful if you took something to remind you of home other than your pictures, accent and hair. You’ll want something more substantial. Books can really be a good friend amid all that confusion and chaos. You’ll definitely be thanking yourself when you can almost hear someone else talking to you from inside those little folded papery things. You’ll find it easier to cope with when those words that you can actually recognize start running around in front of you, singing like excited little mice. You may even feel less pathetic. Although, you’ve probably little need to worry, as your language, your moronically special language that everyone for some reason seems to value so much, that language of ignorant fools is already quite understood over there. For some reason it’s deemed important enough for you to not have to bother to learn theirs, important enough for you to sit on your tired bony little ass and not give a shit about anything other that yourself. Like you needed to be told that. Like you needed any more procrastination, any more self-importance. But don’t feel bad about it. Don’t you dare. This wasn’t your choice. “I’d have learned it if it I had too” you tell yourself, trying to convince your own feeble mind of how ignorant you’re not. But you don’t have to. Why do anything you don’t have to do? Why bother yourself with those insignificant things, those little, flimsy concerns that hold absolutely no weight to you because you know, at the end of the day you’ll get by. You’ll drift through it all like you always do. Hardships? You don’t have any. You don’t have time for any! Only what suits you. Fuck, if that thrush has to die so no-one else can see it, so it can’t reveal how much of a visitor you are, how lukewarm you’ll really become, then why not? Why should it be able to fly away if you don’t want it to. Better for it to have no choice than disagree with you. That’s how it’s always been. We’re all bastards for change, we all seem to advocate a new beginning, a revival, when really, deep down we know we can’t be arsed for it. Let things stay the way there, because let’s face it, it’s been a pretty easy ride so far and why would you want to give yourself a hernia now?

Don’t forget to make friends. Everyone needs a good social life, rammed with decadent orgies of furious madness, where even the fattest of plungers can dance on a toothpick. Parties, dinners, coffees, walks, sightseeing, day-trips, road-trips, having a meeting place, late-night half-drunken talks about the way of the world and how things really are (like a sober mind can’t take it without imploding), watching films, lusting over more nubiles you can lick your eyes at. These are all important things. Stupidly important, and you’d be a cock if you choose to ignore them. Do yourself a favour and make sure you’re listening. You’ll be able to find the English over here within a painstakingly obvious hasty second. They stick out like sore thumbs. Pasty pigeons squawking at their prettier cousins. Shitting all over whatever statue they can find. Scoffing on the soggy bread being hurled at their gaunt faces. You’ll spot them. And you’ll join them. Maybe you’d want to try fitting in with the locals, or other travelers, tourists, visitors. Do you think you have much of a chance? To be fair you look better than you ever did and you’re not as boring or unassertive as you always used to be so you’d probably be OK to try. Just don’t get your hopes up too high. We wouldn’t want a sorry case on our hands now would we? Not your new best friends. That’s the last thing they need. Don’t be so selfish. Get a grip. I’m not going to lie, but you’ve got a good chance of screwing things up thinking like this. Take it one day at a time and don’t overvalue your own company.

But hang on. All this time I thought you were going to have to go over there and start afresh. “You’ve made a ballsy decision!” I said to you. “You’ve stuck one foot in the deep end and sawn the other one off.” I thought to myself. But hang on. You’re not going to need to try at all. It’s all made for you. Thank Buddha you’ve got that friend over there. That friend who will make everything OK for you. That friend who will make sure you’re alright and look after you and hold your hand and maybe even wipe your shitty ass if you ask him nice enough. Thank Jesus Christ for that guy because without him you’d be struggling. It’s just like you. Get half a chance to do something big and brave and risky and you’ve got someone to fight your battles for you right away. Before they’ve even started. Maybe one day you’ll have your own backbone rather borrowing pieces of everyone else’s. Maybe one day you’ll feel your own sweat. You’ll fit in though. With his friends. You’re bound to because that’s what will happen, it’s got to happen otherwise you’re fucked. And you’ll genuinely like them, see them as good people; for who they really are, but deep down you’ll always be thinking do they actually like you? Do they actually like you? You’ll hope they do but they have no reason to. You’re filthy. You’re falling apart! You can barely eat properly and you haven’t had a good sleep in God knows how many months. Oh and that annoying habit has really got to stop. You’ve seen how it makes you look. Fucking weasel. Squirming around. It’s quite funny and everyone has a right to laugh at you. I’m sorry I’m going to have to open a window, let the fresh air get rid of that stale, monotonous smell of yours. Let something new and refreshing take over. Stale bread. Nothing but mould and decay to come. Enjoy that, enjoy that change because it’s coming your way, heading right for you and it’s going to smack you right between the eyes like a 16 tonne flatbed screaming into the back of a Ford Fiesta. Dull Carnage. Twisted metal and there’s no chance of an escape.

Sorry, am I boring you? Is this not important enough for you to give a crap about? You’d prefer to watch a film? Perhaps you’d like to watch those old home movies of you when you were just a little nipper? Or root through some old pictures, school photographs. How you used to be. I thought not. We wouldn’t want to start feeling sorry for you now would we? We wouldn’t want to start giving a shit, pitying you. So let’s carry on shall we? You’ll pay attention again? Good.

Make sure you eat as much as you can, whenever you can. It’s going to be cheaper, and maybe you won’t like all of it but it’ll do you good to try new things. Develop as a person, experience more and broaden your horizons. A change will do you good. I’m pretty sure someone said that, maybe even sang about it too, and if that’s the case then it’s obviously true. If you haven’t heard that song or really hate it, then I’m sure you can stick to the same foods. Globalization will make that possible. Fish and chips wherever you are. Burgers, chips, steak, English breakfast. It’s all going to be there and you know it, so stop fretting. Stop worrying! You’re always worrying yet you manage to put on such a front. You really convince those friends of yours and everyone else for that matter. You don’t let those insecurities come through at all, you’re unreadable like all those words waiting for you in that strange country you’re going to. It really would be a shame if you forgot how to chew and just lost your appetite before you’ve even got going. It’s not advisable, especially not in a cold, far away country where you really will let it get to you no matter how much you try to not think about it.

It’s Always Sunny Above The Clouds

Take off is the best part of flying. Most people will close their eyes, hold on to the arm rests and try not to think about what could happen if the plane doesn’t make it. Some people will be overly enthusiastic about the entire situation. Looking around, being obviously fake with their tolerance and may even just gaze out of the window, waiting all too eagerly for the ground to disappear. Some people don’t do anything. They just sit there. Far too still, emotionless, seemingly uncaring about the fact this huge fat metal bird is trying to take to the skies in such an ungraceful and tiresome manner. The truth is, no matter how any of us react to the take off, we all react to it with anxiety. In some way or another we are all aware of the fact that this chunky albatross may not make it. It may not have the legs to leave this concrete flume. It may nosedive before it’s even flapped its wings. It is common knowledge that if the plane fucks up its take off, then you really are clutching at straws. A flock of birds glide into the engines with an ironic grace, like giving poisoned water to a perished refugee. Boom. The engines have exploded. The plane is struggling. It gets higher, and higher but is struggling. Another complication means another engine is down. I’m pretty sure some planes can run with only one engine working. But when you’re climbing at such high speed, and already without stability, already without that consistency, you really are taking the piss. You’re asking for a tragedy. If the captain has a seizure during take off. If the pilot suddenly feels suicidal. If the plane just doesn’t work properly. During take off, this is not going to help your situation. If the captain has a seizure at 30,000ft it’s fine. Someone will take over and have enough time. If the pilot tries to nosedive when amongst the clouds, don’t worry, someone else will sort out the situation. There is time. Because this isn’t like a take off. There is a safety net. Take off is hit or miss. 9.9 times out of 10, 999,999 times out of 1,000,000 you’ll be fine. That 1 in a million chance is a bastard. It’s what we all fear. What we all close our eyes for. It’s not about how much you fly, it’s about which flight you take.

Unlike driving a car, you really have no control and it’s all about luck. A lot of road accidents are stupidly avoidable. Don’t accelerate too fast. Look before you pull out. Slow down. Turn away from that huge lorry that’s obviously intent in ploughing into the side of you, just because he’s a bigger whale than you. Even if it’s someone else’s fault, just let go of that pride. That notion. That road rage. It’s easily let go of. Now, that is a huge generalization, but it’s not to say that on the whole, you’re stupidly safe driving a car, but it’s more likely you’ll die while behind the wheel than in a 747. Why? Because there is more human element involved with driving. People make mistakes. People are stupid. Careless. Prone to screwing everything up. We don’t have a circuit board for a brain, or perfect muscle memory, we don’t see things in dots and squares or numbers and algorithms, we don’t understand the frequency or pitch of the noises we hear and our reflexes " no matter how catlike they can be " are never 100% consistent.

We get tired if we haven’t had enough sleep, and even an artificial sense of being awake from one too many coffees doesn’t go to say you know what you’re doing or that you’re totally in control. Muscle cramp sets in after overusing your extremities, keeping them locked in the same place doing the same thing for a drawn out period of time. We aren’t built for driving cars. We’re not suited to sitting down for long periods of time. We are the hunter gatherer of the natural world and yet we create an entirely artificial environment for ourselves to try to adapt to in a wholly unnatural way in each generation. It’s a huge middle finger to Mother Nature, an audacious slap in the face to the rules of Gaia and it’s no surprise that after a while, after all these artificial rules have been created, after the way things really do work have been diluted into a barely reasonable alternative, it’s no surprise then that after all of that, people get killed. By other people. When they don’t mean to. People career their little Ford Fiesta off the side of a cliff because they didn’t get their 8 hours sleep last night. People get careless when they have responsibilities. How many annual deaths by hedge-trimmer? All because dopey Alfred turned round when his wife, lovely Ethyl came out to tell him dinner was ready, but forgot to turn off the damn thing. The blades revving as fast a Ferrari Spyder make slicing through the upper vertebral column easy work. Off with her head. All because dopey Alfred didn’t stop to turn the stupid thing off. We forget how much responsibility we have. We lose ourselves in the moment. It’s far too easy.

They say you have more chance of winning the lottery than experiencing a plane crash. You are more likely to match the 6 numbers plus that extra one and win yourself some £9,000,000 than die in a plane crash.

I hope this plane crashes. I want my rollover. My Euromillions jackpot " dream number included. I want my rain-soaked twenty dollar car-park find, my three of a kind scratchcard win. Just to see the look on their faces, this Fokker 100 entourage " crew included, although they always smile like china dolls too afraid of breaking. I want to see if they know how lucky they are, how blessed they are to be in this position, to see if they know exactly what they’ve won: their proof of life.

God has answered you. He’s here. He’s answered your call and he’s listening. He can hear your screams, your desperation. This is your phone call with your God. And you’re plummeting to the Earth. He’s finally here and all you can do is scream. Maybe he’s seen you for what you are. It’s in mortal hands now. No-one forced you to get on that plane, you chose to do it yourself. Maybe your God can see the real you, see you for what you are. Maybe God sees you for the cunt you really are, and he’s going to have let you go, let you fight for yourself. You’ve been relying on him for far too long, and for what? So you can fuck it up like you always do, bringing everyone else down with you? This is the opposite of Jesus Christ. Other people dying for your sins, dying for what you’ve done. This is your fault these people are going to die, crashing down to Earth with you and your mess. If only you didn’t choose to go on that plane none of this would have happened.

How do I know the other people are innocent? How do I know this posse of scared faces don’t deserve to die? Good question, but don’t forget, finally after all those years of waiting, God is listening. He’s on the other line, breathing heavily as you struggle to even feel your lungs. Consider this. Consider that information is on a need to know basis. I’m sorry but we’re going to have to put you on hold. I’m sorry but you’ll have to settle for elevator music and Christmas songs for an indeterminate amount of time. I’m sorry we couldn’t redirect you, please ring again later. I’m sorry we can’t connect your call. I’m sorry but the number you dialled has not been recognised. I’m sorry you have insufficient funds to make a call. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. You’ll simply not be told if that seated throng some 30,000ft up in the sky is innocent or not, only that you are far from purity yourself. Maybe this is your fault the plane has stopped working.

There aren’t many people who experience a plane crash. Not many people have that in their locker. To be facing certain death, to be finally awakened, stirred from a blissfully ignorant, long, deep sleep. You have two options when the captain informs you that the plane has stopped working, the engines are failing and that you are probably going to die. You have two options when you see the oxygen masks drop down for the secret roof compartments, telling you the air pressure in the cabin isn’t equalized anymore and you need oxygen before you get a brain hemorrhage. You have two options when you realize all the engines have stopped working and the plane is nose-diving rapidly towards ground that is getting bigger and bigger. You have two options when you are informed that the plane is running out of fuel and all there is beneath you is sea. You have two options when you notice the little cracks, those little hairline fractures on the stewardesses faces a smile tries to hide. You have two options when you finally understand there is no escape and you face certain death: either panic or accept it.

Panic is the most natural response. What we don’t understand scares us. We fear not knowing how to solve a problem, how to avoid what we don’t want to experience; how to not die in a plane crash. Scream. Shout. Piss yourself. Collapse. Punch the person next to you because his snoring was intolerable during that four hour long stretch and really, as you’re all going to die anyway who gives a fuck. Mutter to yourself about how unfair it all is and rapidly pray to a God you’ve never even considered to exist. Give yourself have a heart attack and die before the fall gets you. Masturbate furiously. This is your last chance. You’ll probably be wanting to do one of the stewardesses in this situation, and who knows, maybe you’ll get lucky. You probably wouldn’t have the balls to do it anyway so I wouldn’t worry. Go crazy. Start singing a childhood song to take your mind off things, not daring to look outside the window or feel how freely the plane is rocking, telling yourself you’re 6 months old again, being rocked to sleep in your little cot by your darling mother. Heaven forbid you should realize your mother isn’t there to protect you, you’re plummeting to your death and God doesn’t give a shit. Heaven forbid you should ever open your eyes before they’re sealed shut forever.

Some people come to terms with the situation. This is very rare but it happens. These people are out there, standing in an almost endless queue waiting for their turn.

Indecent Decency.

Saturday, January 23, 2010

Cactus.

Monday, January 4, 2010

Book.

Oh, Charlie.

My luck.

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