Joining the marines

Kafka’s Vigil

What a night. What a day. The bed bugs started biting again last night, and I just could not get off to sleep. So, instead of succumbing to a night of useless thrashing around in bed, grinding my teeth, and yelling at the apparitions who will not leave me alone, I decided to get up and do the next day’s work. I eventually got into bed around six, had a few hours sleep, got up, went for a jog to try and clear my lungs, came back and wrote this poem about insomnia. You can read it here. I am so impressed with my own hardiness that I am seriously considering joining the marines. I am sure I can romp and kick arse with the best of them. After I’ve had my afternoon nap, that is. Good night.

 

A super week

Turn it off

Hmm, I think I’ll scratch this week if I can. I wanted to do loads of things, all of which I couldn’t manage. What did I want to do this week? I wanted to go jogging. I wanted to test the new swine inoculation for the good of mankind. I wanted to write masses of startling poetry, ensuring my breakthrough into world literature. I wanted to finish my short story. I wanted to bring my accounts up to date. I wanted to cancel all my useless but expensive policies and clubs. I wanted to go to the pictures to see a film before it’s out on DVD. I wanted to meet up with some ex-colleagues and eat sushi with them. I wanted to buy a present for my well deserving nephew. In other words, I wanted to have a nice full, productive week.

And what did I end up with. Insomnia, that’s what. At the beginning of the week I went to the doctor for a check-up before the inoculation, only to be informed that I was in no fit state for such a brave undertaking, and that I am suffering from a (life threatening) dust allergy, which has to be dealt with first, and promptly puts me on steroids. Welcome to the world of body builders and weightlifters. A world of wandering between sleeplessness and madness, wild dreams and paranoia. And you can’t just stop taking the course, oh no, you have to slowly reduce. On the positive side I suppose I am breathing again. Sleep will have to wait till next week.

Oh, and my wife has gone on strike due to exhaustion.

Anyway, this put paid to all my good intentions for this week. I did write a poem about insomnia, but it was just a piece of  tired drivel, so I’m not going to put it up until I’ve improved it. Not wanting to leave you all in the lurch, I did manage a bit of flash fiction. You can read it here.

Other people have been much more productive this week. People like my good friend Clemens Krallmann and his band Golden Tone Radio. Here’s a little taste of them live in action, in Hamburg:

 

Chuck Connelly – a little tribute

A Master’s Desecration

The other day I watched the award-winning documentary film The Art of Failure: Chuck Connelly Not for Sale directed by Jeff Stimmel, which documents Chuck Connelly’s slow disintegration. I was amazed at the man’s work and output, and disgusted at the attitudes toward him, because he did not tow the line. No doubt he is both difficult and tormented, and yet, despite this, he continues to produce moving and powerful works of art. I really got the impression that the dealers around him had picked the best of the pack for bargain prices, and were now simply waiting for him to self-destruct, because, of course, once he’s gone, I think we all know what will happen to his market price, and it won’t be going down. You can see his paintings here. I really hope that the documentary will lead to more recognition for Connelly, his paintings deserve it. Oh, and of course I wrote a poem about him – you can read it here.

 

Oh Joy

Three’s a Crowd

Oh joy, oh joy. After nearly three weeks convalescing (my wife, alas, calls it something else) I today ventured out of my flat into the outside world. Stepping outside, I was relieved to  see that my joints and ligaments did not give way, as I feared they might after weeks of non-use. Serious muscle wastage had not set in, although, strangely, after these weeks of inactivity I have lost, rather than gained, weight. Someone explain that to me, please – weeks of jogging and I put on weight, three weeks hanging around, sorry, convalescing, and I lose it (although, probably that’s not all I’m losing). Perhaps a hacking cough consumes more energy than I thought possible, but at least it seems to be getting better. On Monday I will test the new swine flu inoculation. On Tuesday I will restart my jogging program, if I am not seriously ill from the side effects of the shot.

I took a long walk through our local zoo, to wonder at the magnificent colours, mixed with the bizarre absurdity, that the humanoid species is prepared on the one hand to invest a part of its productive energy in preserving, observing and admiring its fellow creatures, while simultaneously, systematically destroying their habitat.  It would be much better to spend the money made by zoos on protecting natural habitats, but of course, this is just wishful thinking, and if you think of the carbon footprint needed to go and visit the animals on a safari in Africa, maybe going to the zoo isn’t that bad after all. Anyway, I took some pictures to save you the bother of doing either. Aren’t they nice?

Now pleurisy (okay, okay, it was probably just a bad cold…) is no excuse for not writing, and, although I haven’t managed a poem this week, I’ve started a new story. It’s about sexual jealousy, male incompetence and other such things. It’s called “Three’s a Crowd”, and you can read what I’ve written here.

 

Disgusted

Forebodings

I was disgusted this week by the inclusion of the fascist British National Party on BBC’s Question Time. Not simply by the fact that they were there, that was bad enough, but at least people got a chance to see how obsequious, kowtowing and slimy Griffin actually is in his grovelling crawl for mainstream power. No, it was the fact that British politics had gone this far downhill, allowing a blatantly fascist party to be elected, and that the mainstream parties had allowed it to get this far, that really disgusted me.

Over the last twenty-five years (and longer) all these parties have been playing up to the bigots, the fascists and racists of the country, spending billions of taxpayers money trying to solve the “immigration problem,” without one single shred of evidence to show that immigration is actually a problem. Certainly the contribution to local economies far outweighs any costs incurred. From 2004 to 2007 working migrants created more than 36 billion pounds of extra income. Which almost pays off what the banks cost Britain. Demographically Britain, like most West European countries, needs immigration to counter a declining and aging population. Europe, and Britain with it, doesn’t need less, it needs more.

But I don’t want to go on about how advantageous immigration is, but about how the mainstream politicians don’t. By “clamping down” on immigration and asylum seekers, an effort which probably costs the country a lot more than efficient fast track programs, politicians pander to prejudice rather than fight it. They help create an environment where people think it’s right to imprison innocent children and their parents because they are “illegal.” Asylum seekers, people who need help, often running from wars started by the very politicians who want to hunt them down, are criminalized. If the people who make the laws of the land do this, then it is small wonder when evil little bigots feel justified in harassing and murdering foreigners.

The next step is not so very far away. If immigration is a problem, then the people behind it, the immigrants, must be the cause. And, lo and behold, you can see it too, plain as day. All those with the wrong skin colour, please stand up, please stand up. Who can’t speak proper english (as if the English did), who don’t go to proper church (as if the English did), who speak other languages (forget it). You can see that there’s something wrong with them, or so the argument goes. Politicians supporting the bigot’s line against immigration, without delving into the issue, without treating their electorate with respect by demonstrating the complexities of the issue which does not reduce to skin colour, have supported the rise of the BNP and systematically undermined the position of ethnic minorities in the country. The fact that white people are able to believe, are left to believe, that they are in a minority, in the face of simple fact (they aren’t), demonstrates the absence of serious debate, a simple ignorance of factual truth, and politicians of all parties are complicit in both this lack and this ignorance, and have used it for their own means over the past two decades. They, and the country, are now paying the price.

But isn’t this symptomatic of the way we’ve been heading in the last two decades, anyway? Where things are so obviously going to end in disaster, but people keep doing them regardless? A veritable social Todestrieb in western civilization (if we can still call it that)? Where the vice-chairman of Goldman Sachs, Lord Griffiths can say get used to inequality, it’s the price of prosperity? What sad hokum is that? Pernicious little self-seeking bastards, trying to stash away their profit in the full knowledge that they’re still doing the same shit as before, and that if they keep doing it the banks, and us with them, will hit the wall big time, if they haven’t already. Nothing better than fucking thieves, and that’s giving thieves a bad name.

The same goes for climate change, for nuclear proliferation, and for general bad behaviour on the part of humanoids (a term I have taken from my good friend Apo). So, to cheer myself up, I read a bit of Nietzsche last night, and wrote a poem about our impending doom, which he foresaw many years ago. You can read it here.

 

Feeling slightly peeky

I Spy

Well, so far, so bad. I was up to thirty minutes running a day, and then it hit me like a hammer – the commoner garden cold. Atishoo. Not only that, I have put on one and a half kilograms since I started jogging. This, I am told, is normal as one tends to eat more, the more one does. I am now eating muesli and dried fruit everyday and feel like a sick rabbit. I have decided to take a break until my fever subsides, but then it will be back to pounding the pavement, and seeing whether muesli tastes better when eaten with a fork.

In the meantime I wandering through the Guardian and read an article about a new online game where the players have to spot and solve a real crime caught by CCTV, which got me thinking about surveillance cameras in general, and, me being me, I wrote a poem about it. You can read it here.

I’m afraid I didn’t have much time to write the last week as I had a translation assignment to finish. Now done, now back, but can one write with such a sore head? I’m not sure, but will try…
What I have tried out is the Google translator toolkit, on a bit of private translation I was doing for a friend for his website. Well, the results were certainly better than other translation software, and it’s easy to use, but, and it’s a big but, you still run up against that age old problem that almost every sentence needs to be substantially corrected, and you need a thesaurus look for better vocab. All in all, I’m still faster just typing the stuff straight in instead of doing masses of correction work. But, it’s a good kick-off point if you’re feeling lazy or out of sorts – creates the illusion that you’ve actually done something, even if it’s only pressing a few buttons.

Things I’m thinking of doing: 1. putting up readings of my poems on the web. I want to do this to music, but first I have to learn to play something before I can do that. This may take more time than I thought. 2. At the moment I’m working on creating a collection of poems as well as a collection of short stories so that I can publish two books. Of course, I know this part is easier said than done, if not nigh on impossible. That being the case I want to look at Amazon’s self publishing stuff to see whether there might be a viable outlet there. The point is always marketing, as getting a book to print nowadays is relatively cheap and easy, although you do have to watch for quality. My feeling is that new technologies such as BOD sold on the internet, and Kindle, could provide a revolution for new authors if we actually actively appropriate them for our own uses. Publishers beware! But if people can find alternative outlets then all power to them. I might try doing a dry run with my PhD just to see whether I move two or three copies that way – let’s not get to ambitious, eh.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that if a publisher came to me and offered to publish my stuff that I’d say no – I’d jump at the chance. It’s just that the hurdles have been set so high for new authors, with manuscripts not being directly accepted, and agents only accepting published authors, that the amount of work you have to put in to get noticed may be better off spent elsewhere. Self-publishing, in contrast to the vanity industry of yore, nowadays costs next to nothing, and with 50% returns on books you’ve sold yourself, if you arrange local readings then you can expect the same returns that you would get on your average first book anyway. What’s missing is exposure to bigger audiences – but, if you’re internet savvy, this can be achieved too, through blogging, and if you’re ambitious and have the cash, through mail-shots and web advertising. Of course, it’s something everyone has to weigh up for themselves, but I’d say the times are changing…

 

Jogging

I am still not convinced that jogging is a good thing. After two weeks of pounding the pathways I think that it is plainly evident that the human body is not designed for running. Look at it from an evolutionary point of view. We are slow, ungainly, our flimsy joints cannot take the incessant strain. Animals designed for running (well, not designed, but apt) have four legs, not two.

And yet, against all the obvious empirical evidence, doctors insist that jogging is good for you as the human body was designed for such painful movement. Humbug. If the human body is apt for anything then it’s hanging around on street (tree/cave/riverbank) corners up to no good, or walking to the next watering hole (pub/disco/club) in search of a good old yap and an ensuing fist fight. It’s the same with swimming. Throw all other animals into a pond and they instinctively do the right thing – they swim to the side and get out. Do that with any untrained self-respecting human being and they will look at you with baleful eyes, shout abuse at you and sink.

But that’s what they can do, is shout abuse – very effectively, in a multitude of different forms, they can talk you into doing a multitude of things you never dreamed of doing. Like working for a living… And the other thing human beings were obviously designed to do is squatting around fires, waterholes etc. inventing things which they could then turn into weapons of mass destruction. Maybe an elephant never forgets, but a human being doesn’t just remember you, s/he always gets you back, either by talking you into submission, or lancing you with a poisonous arrow (or nuclear warhead – or whatever). But that’s where all this evolutionary engineering has gone, and not into jogging…

Which, of course, brings us back to jogging. Millions upon millions of middle class morons in the western world have obviously been duped into partaking in one of the most subtle weapons of mass destruction we have witnessed in the last decades. Whereas other less vicious cultures advocate yoga or tai chi for a long life, western corporations and their doctors have invented jogging to cut down on the costs of the over-expensive middle classes. And I like the lemming I am, have now joined them. My end is nigh.

 

Feeling slightly groggy…

The Call

Today is cleaning day. Woke up this morning and informed my wife that I was feeling slightly groggy. She smiled and kissed me on the cheek, saying that I had exactly the same rights as any other employee. If I was sick and needed to take the day off, all I had to do was to go down to the doctors and get a sick note. And the cleaning could wait until tomorrow…

What cheered me up today was a mention of my name in a flash fiction contest held by Christian Yorke, which I entered a few weeks ago. My thanks to Chris for all his hard work – he got almost seventy entries which he had to judge – not an easy task. But special thanks for mentioning my piece – let’s face it, folks, nothing beats seeing your name out there. Well, apart from people paying you to put your name out there… This part might take a little longer than I bargained for. But if you’d like to read the piece you can see it here.

Actually, I quite like cleaning. It empties the mind of all things significant and allows me to indulge my admittedly badly developed anal characteristics. Reluctant to put off the inevitable I polished the chrome and dusted the surfaces, etcetera, etcetera. What was remarkable was that afterwards I went for a jog – so I couldn’t have been feeling that bad, after all. This is my newly acquired tiny piece of insanity – I have progressed from Wii jogging to actually braving the outdoors twenty minutes a day. It is hell, but I will persevere. I have found that the pain is just about bearable if you slow you pace down enough. Okay, other people call it walking, but hell, what do they know?

 

A trip to the Opera

Amateur Opera

Last week we went to see a friend singing in Dido and Aeneas by Purcell in an amateur Opera. Now I can’t pretend to be a great fan of Opera, or of anything live, for that matter – I really am a child of the television age. But I have to admit, the singing was enthralling, and the whole experience was helped by the fact that the piece itself is extremely short…

What really intrigues me at such things is the transformation the audience undergoes, from firstly being concerned with themselves and those around them, and the myriad of tiny vanities we all cultivate to give our lives the appearance of sanity, and how we are lifted from ourselves by something beautiful. So, in accordance with my own tiny vanity, I of course jotted something down. You can read it here.

 

Cleaning cleaning cleaning…

Cleaning

Yesterday was cleaning day, and, like the good houseman I am, that’s just what I did, the whole flat, from top to bottom, dusted, polished, scrubbed and shined, behind the pots and underneath the beds. Did I ever tell you I have a dust allergy….?

Anyway, I promised you all a poem about cleaning some weeks back, so I put my pen to paper, and tried putting myself in the position of a mother of two who has to do this everyday. See what you think here.

Depressing news – America sees the light and takes a big swing to the left, so what does Europe do? Swings to the right of course. Is this some kind of reactionary relationship between the electorates or are they actually planning to meet in the middle? Not that the middle ground is particularly appealing, but moderation does seem to be the message of the day.

Everyone over here keeps asking who’s going to pay for the deficit caused by banking crash, but no-one’s seriously thought about asking the banks for our money back, now they’re making a profit…