Mercy Plea

Gosh, how easy is it to disappear? Three-hundred and eighty days* of pure, unadulterated silence smashed by the fervent clicking of keys. I suppose I had a whole year of nothing excitable to share other than the wild debacle of my life falling apart around me and really, who wants to read about that any more? It's all very routine isn't it? I feel this mercurial blog post is already becoming strangely akin to something I wrote all those months ago.

But this is what we do when we require a spark isn't it? I can't say I've changed. I'm still chomping furiously as the sides of my wannabe-moustache. I'm still smoking myself into some kind of oblivion with reckless abandon. I still drink tea (this is always important). Everything around me hasn't exactly manifested itself into what I expected either, so I guess you could say nothing's really changed. This does make me sound rather bitter though and I can promise you I'm far from. It's only those classified mistakes that duly wind up as regrets that really eat away at my public need to do something for the better i.e. consider change.

And I've had a lot of those mistakes. An autumn full of them. We should carefully consider them a cruel learning curve - that sometimes you will end up hurting people had displayed such potential to be a huge part of your future. I don't know how or why I do it. I never used to be this way. Driven by lust and greed? That would make wondrous sense. I try not to dwell on something like this though, as poignant as it would be to remind everybody how disgustingly beautiful forgiveness is I'm, sadly, going to break your hearts and decline that inviting route. It's dark and dreary and I don't have a torch.

Life being the congenially linear thing that it is has made something abundantly clear to me and it's so simple: you cannot change the past. Some might say that it's easier said than done but it's impossible to avoid the truth of the matter: what's done is done. No thoughts, no words, no actions can change what has happened, you can only serve to contribute to picking up the pieces afterwards. What you do with those fragments is entirely up to you but rest assured you will never be able to put that vase back together with the same intricacy with which it was first produced. Such purity cannot be replicated.

Sometimes you're better off just buying a new vase. And some new flowers too.

*This is a stab in the dark, I have little interest in working out the exact time scale. You'll get over it.

Words that crash.

In a day and age where technological advances have skyrocketed and the internet is surely close to peak capacity of almost insignificant knowledges, it seems near impossible these days to stand out, be different and do something unique. Original content is almost unheard of and everything that is new is considered a rehash of many other things preceding it.

Thoughts follow this same wavelength.

It's borderline laborious for me to write in this blog already because nothing I can possibly say or do is anywhere near original or new or different. Every thought, every emotion, every subtle little hint of ingenuity has already been explored in extensive and meticulous detail and it leaves the most troubled of us exasperated and deflated because we just pale in insignificance.

Take this blog for example:

I look back occasionally on the words that crash out from under my fingertips and all I see is just a bunch of empty adjectives to intensify some lost and burdensome feelings and, in all truthfulness, it's fairly arduous to write something worth reading that hasn't already been spouted before. In better detail. By a better writer.

I always considered myself a decent writer. Hell, sometimes I think that with the right people around me to remind me of my potential I could still make something of it, but it'd have to be a significant improvement on the garbage that comes here. I guess I'm going through a phase - again - where I have so many notions running in between the ears that instead of letting them reach the finish line of the blog, I force them to continue running laps until they crash out in a fiery blaze and trigger a heated breakdown.

I just get bored really easily.

And move on.

Only time will tell.

My liver has taken an embarrassing pounding this last month or so and it sickens me that I've allowed myself to fall from grace so readily. Everything that was so simple and wonderful but two or three weeks ago has since slipped from my grasp because of my incredible ability to clinch misery from the jaws of happiness. I have come and gone faster than any angels can fly and all I've got to show for it is a muscular injury in my upper back and a shit-tip of a room that makes Beirut look like Miami.

Don't for a second believe that I'm blaming anybody but myself though - that would be ludicrous. I put so much pressure on myself in far too many aspects of my life and let it consume me so much that I couldn't hold it together. Conforming to one standard or another opened up a whole new world for me and then I violently slammed the door back in my own face by trying to maintain impossible standards for myself. Sadly, it's the one thing I needed  the most  that I managed to waste and though it breaks my heart already, perhaps it's for the benefit of others that I step away - not that I want to, but I don't think it's my choice any longer.

Or perhaps I'm wrong and this has just become yet another notch on my bedpost of whiny rants about how life isn't fair this and life isn't fair that. I found something I really wanted and then stupidly contrived to throw it away. Maybe there'll be forgiveness one day. Only time will tell.

Oh, what I'd give to go back two weeks and start over.

Familiar words to all of us, I'm sure.

I see your IQ test results were negative.

A man flying in a hot air balloon suddenly realises he’s lost. He reduces height and spots a man down below. He lowers the balloon further and shouts to get directions, "Excuse me, can you tell me where I am?"

The man below says: "Yes. You're in a hot air balloon, hovering 30 feet above this field."

"You must work in Information Technology," says the balloonist.

"I do" replies the man. "How did you know?"

"Well," says the balloonist, "everything you have told me is technically correct, but it's of no use to anyone."

The man below replies, "You must work in management."

"I do," replies the balloonist, "But how did you know?"

"Well," says the man, "you don’t know where you are or where you’re going, but you expect me to be able to help. You’re in the same position you were before we met, but now it’s my fault."

I glowed and shone so you wouldn't be gone.

In a moment of clarity I've come to the conclusion that we are all just candles flickering in the dark.

Some candles are bigger than others, some have better wax than others and some emanate a beautiful light.

Some candles smoulder a lot longer than others. Some burn brighter, some burn faster.

Some insist on displaying a small light for a long time and some more light for less time. Some revel in a warm combination of the two.

The type of candle you want to be is entirely up to you - we all have our personal preferences.

Whisper it proudly - there is no shame in the comfort of longevity.

But the brighter you burn, the more you see, the more you enjoy what's in the dark - more than someone happy to introvertly desocialise from it.

And so what if you burn out a little?

Embracing the darkness once in a while sure beats the mundane security of fading away into empty obscurity.

After all, when it all boils down to it, we are all just candles flickering in the dark.

¿Qué?

Things I don't get:

• People who don't have specific butter knives for spreading,
• Just how many people don't realise that gmail is the same as googlemail,
• The amount of people who criticise my love of peanut butter and cucumber sandwiches but have never tasted its deliciousness first,
• Why guitar plectrums disappear forever the moment you drop them on the floor,
•  And I just can't see why kids love the taste of cinnamon toast crunch.

 These are life's unfathomable mysteries.

Word limits were overrated anyway.

Personality surveys.

You can't tell me that somewhere deep down you don't get this thrill of expectation whenever you do some nugatory questionnaire to ascertain your personal traits, strengths and weaknesses. To me, it seems very Sisyphean to insist on spending what little time you have bumbling around on this Earth filling your head with generic balderdash with about as much authenticity as the Zodiac horoscope readings.

But I guess it's pretty efficacious in assuaging the harsh realities of mortality by making humankind believe that our personal quirks and idiosyncrasies actually mean something while we're alive. Because heaven knows that my alleged ability to problem solve is unique to me and that being caring and understanding is something that only I could possibly be capable of based on the quality of my answers.

Suddenly, BAM - I should be a doctor. It makes sense. All these answers have made it so clear to me. How could I not see it before? Problem solving? Check. Caring? Check. Understanding? Check.

Excuse me, I'll be back shortly. I'm just filling in my first job application on the NHS website. Qualifications? Personality survey. Relevant work experience? Good at concentrating for extended periods of time, as proven by filling in the quiz. Why should I get the job? The quiz said I have all the relevant attributes and I learn fast. I also believe everything I read so you won't have any trouble with me.

Come on, guys. Please? Get your shit together. It pains me to believe that there are still people out there gullible enough to believe half the shit that's posted on the internet. These are the same people who expect things to be handed to them on a silver platter with little or no input of their own and yet half the time, it's these idiots who succeed because the public lap up morons like that and are completely oblivious to the fact that without the smart, logical folk running everything else in the background, they'd be nothing again.

And what frustrates me the most is that we just sit back and let it happen! Like it's the natural order! Our country isn't the only one guilty of suffering from this giant, self-inflicted migraine but the flat out refusal to take any painkillers is baffling. Sleeping it off has proven fruitless time and time again. As Albert Einstein said: insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. This country is going insane.

Yet, I find myself, every once in a while, bored amongst such a wealth of information and resources and I slip into a stupor.  Like a recovering alcoholic, every once in a while, I find myself scratching and itching for a subtle release - just one drink and I'll be fine, right? Sure. And so I go searching, every once in a while, for something to give me that little buzz, that little kick, that little shot from a needle in the arm and I still don't know why. Maybe I'm one of them? Maybe the idiots are right all along.

All I know is that, every once in a while, I fall guiltily back into my degrading, depression-relieving routine and scrounge despairingly for my one true pick-me-up:

Personality surveys.