Fucken Dramas

What do I really day dream about?

Like actually? Not just what people say when they don’t want other people to find out what they are REALLY daydreaming about. I’ve caught myself (and Rach has too) daydreaming heaps lately- maybe it’s this damn chest infection causing a haze of semi-reality that seems to be spending up my thought patterns. Sometimes it feels like that- my brain is the bank and ideas are currency and If I think about the wrong shit it’s just eating up my mental cash. Some days the bank is poorer than others.

So I started thinking about what I daydream about- or those thoughts I have just before I sleep.  Kind of like a weird game with myself I’d try and catch my mind when it was away- a game where I had to quickly think what I’m thinking about without stopping thinking about it to think about the question instead. If that makes sense- which it does. Surprisingly, of all my captured thoughts, there was nothing about about sex. OH shit! This breaks all the rules. Or not- I still think about sex a lot, but not as a daydream, but more as in real life. I guess my minds contentment in that area removes the need to create any fantasies in that regard.  So if you were expecting a steamy sexy FFM you would be mistaken (sorry :( ).

Where my mind went was divided into 3 main areas. The first was probably quite cliche- becoming alarmingly rich. I would, by a series of successful business ventures or a chance lotto win (with just hazy enough detail and relevance to keep them interesting and marginally plausible, and not too much as too slow the story down) become a multi-millionaire. Am I thinking too small? haha. I would think of all the different ways I would invest and or spend the money- preferably with everyone else not know I was filthy rich, and just loving me for me. All the things I would do, places, people etc. Which would generally lead me to my next category of romanticism. Magically being able to spend more time with my daughter. I don’t want to go too much into the specifics of this particular fantasy- sometimes the situations surrounding those events are less than beneficial for some of the people involved, including my death! Usually include a magically fabulous relationship with her as a result- it is just a kind of dream after all. 

The final area I think about it is kind of funny for me. I am in no way a macho-man haha. But, for some reason, something horrible will happen to someone close to me (occasionally me) and I will have to fight as a result. Maybe a raping, someone being picked on, a kidnapping, someone trying to fight me etc etc. Sometimes the people I fight are people I know but I always win of course, I am justified usually, just protecting Rach or Hope. I ussually spend quite on a long time on the dialogue- the words are spun carefully to make me sound my own peculiar version of what my subconcious finds cool. Often, I would avoid being hit first or try to take the peaceful option. This would never work. I would tell the perpitrator exactly what was going to happen to him- right down to his specific injuries, if he did not do as I told- maybe that was to leave, or to wait for the police, or to stop grabbing my child. Then, I would give those injuries to him, maybe even relish it- if I have to do this, why not enjoy it. I usually got no further than the fight, going back over it to change details if I reached the end of the battle. 

So what the FUCK is my brain doing eating up its frikkin cash on THAT? HAHA I may as well pretend to be the monopoly man living in a tree-kite (I don’t know what that is, I kind of just made it up. Doesn’t really sound plausible). What kind of action should I be taking as a result of these finding of my mental audit. Who would have thought I was an accountant. 

Maybe its the ginko! I started taking ginko bolba or whatever its called so my brain would be on fire. But I only started taking it yesterday and it probably takes months to kick in. Ginko Placebo! WOOOOOO.

You can’t kiss through clenched teeth, you cant high five when you’re making a fist

It seems that of all the emotions the flood our pathetic wee bodies, there is one which has the propensity to take over the rest, one that is most likely to lead to dramatic life changes and actions seemingly based on whim. I like to call this emotion “froggle”. You would probably know it as love. 

Froggle gives us satisfaction, it gives us longing, it aches and it feels good, it consumes us and we can find ourselves explaining the most bizarre actions with a roll of the eyes and “he(or she) is in love”. Most people know that love makes you act crazy, and takes over other emotions. THANK FUCK (I’ll explain the thank fuck later). Sometimes love grabs us and shakes us often without an awareness it’s even occurring.

They say that being on crack and being in love, mentally, are pretty similar. Drugs are so enticing because they allow us to be carried away into the moment or carried somewhere far away in our minds or a combination of both, a sort of in control but out of focus. Froggle distorts our focus, which is sometimes exactly what we need and other times exactly what we don’t need. Some pretty shit sthings have been done in the name of love; love for family, love for god, love for women. War, beatings, betrayal, adultery- you name it, chances are someones done it and sighted “love” as the reason.

The down side of froggle- the irrationality, the pain caused when it fails, the actions it sometimes causes, are all valid. But to explain the “thank fuck” what about the benefits of being carried away? What about the advantages of being able to be somewhere different from your situation, if only mentally?

Personally, I’ve had to make choices. Some things in my life have made me feel very keenly some other emotions than froggle- frustration, anger, bitterness, pride, sadness, helplessness. Mostly in regards to my daughter and the situation surrounding that. But, I am SO FUCKING GRATEFUL for the all consuming abilities that love has. There is just not enough room, when you are full of froggle, for any other kind of negative emotion to take any kind of permanent hold. I guess that’s why people tell you to “fight with love.” They don’t mean fight someone else, they mean fight yourself- your other emotions and the things distracting you from your love. My love for my daughter, and Rach to be honest, have been the saving grace for me in the last few weeks when these other horrid emotions have reared their ugly heads, thank fuck that froggle is so extreme.

For you this might be common knowledge, for me this has been pretty revolutionary. Sorry if I’m behind the times. Prevention is better than a cure, even for emotions. If I know something is going to piss me, or if I feel pride too keenly, or I’m feeling impatient or unkind, I know my best option is to love stronger and let THAT take over. After all froggle is patient, froggle is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. If you are doing all that you don’t really have time for anything negative. You can’t shake hands if you are holding a gun, you can’t kiss if you are too busy spitting razors.

Party, get tattoos, laugh and drink and be cool and different like everyone

You are improving, whether you like it or not. Maybe it’s not the kind of improving you wanted, or needed, but it’s happening. Not entirely consciously perhaps, but a fact none the less.

Maybe you are getting better at working with focus from home- better at ignoring your children when they talk to you. Maybe you have become an expert at drinking beer- your large tolerance mirrored by your stomach. Maybe you have become better at lying to the people you love. Maybe you learned more about what clothes they have for sale at backdoor, and how much you’d have to pay. Maybe you got better at drumming, maybe you got better at riding your bike or skateboard. Maybe you can party and get tattoos and laugh and tell jokes and have “fun” all night now- you’ve gotten so good at it. Maybe you learned to sleep on an airplane, maybe you learned how to take shots off girls chests. Maybe you got better at fucking thanks to a long line of semi-willing sluts. Maybe you learned to use an iphone, you got better at taking pictures at night. Maybe you’ve learned all of that without realizing it.

What you do dictates what you learn about and improve at. Whether good or bad, you are improving at something. Practicing it, perfecting it. I bet you are fucking great at sleep and eating- you’ve done them so much, you don’t really have to think about it. What happens when bad habits become that ingrained? 

Don’t rain on my parade…

… with something as irrelevant as the truth.

Factual inadequacies aside, I’ve been enjoying my short stint of happiness.

But what if this is a case of mistaken identity,

What if doing stupid things is my way of making my life interesting? What if listening and pretending to care is finding a way out- where there’s a will there’s a way.

I’m damned if I do, damned if you don’t.

I was caught red-handed between a rock and a hard place,
I was caught off guard when you caught my eye,

now you’re caught in the crossfire,

But the answers are numerous and blowing in the wind, as easy as 3.14159265.

That all my days are numbered, and with that considered- do you really want to spend them with me?

Its a good rule of thumb that a good man is hard to find; I’m not a good man, and I am missing half my thumb, so the rule doesn’t even apply.

Do you know what you are getting yourself into?
If a a good beginning makes a good ending, how are we going to end? Suddenly? We started as a half-baked idea and a pair of happy campers, or maybe it was a half baked camper, and a recipe for success, a hope and a prayer whispered at night while bodies intertwined tight. Will I end first, before us? A frog in my throat and in need, so I can finally be a friend indeed?

An apple a day keeps the doctor away- maybe a compliment a day will keep our despise similarly waylaid?
Do you hear when you get an earful? Does dentistry or glasses save you from an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth?

Beauty is only skin deep and we’ve both been around the block. Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t- or better still, no devil. Better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all- or better still, loved and kept. Better to remain silent and be thought a fool that to speak and remove all doubt- or better still, be humble and ask when you don’t know, if you want to stay ignorant and useless, convince yourself you are smart and better at everything. 

It might be an oldie and not a goodie but it sure takes the fucking cake away from guesswork. Its meant to be so simple, right? Blood is thicker then water.

But nothing is that simple. Cliches won’t save my soul. Did I bite off more than you could chew?
I’ll bite the bullet,
I’ll bite the dust,
I’ll bite your lip.
You’ll never bite your tongue.

But facts remain. A winning combination is us, and a word to the wise: persistence.

You are not some feather in my hat.

You are not any fries short of your happy meal.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder- so I guess I had 24 years of growing fond of you, my ace in the hole void of sexual innuendo.

decisions decisions, people always go on about then. Well I’ve already made mine. Choose? what Choice? Would you take a million in cash, or would you rather a direct debit? Would you like a new china or a new crash? Would you like to get punched or kicked?

All is fair in love in war.

There is no use in playing favorites.

A chain is only as strong as its weakest link anyway.

Actions speak louder than words. They’re love with caution, shes loving with caution. What happened to reckless abandon? Are we suddenly old a fragile, our hearts unable to withstand their fates?
After the rain comes a rainbow. This is our rainbow- don’t hide away from it “just in case”, and I’ll find a way out of our rock/ hard place.

Sometimes I give a shit, sometimes I don’t

Like little waves they come up; one day jealousy, the next pride. One day a desire to work, the next a inkling to spend the day in bed. Each day the topic of my moods presents itself dramatically to my mind and plays merry havoc with my emotions. Shall I give a fuck today? Should I listen? “Is this something that’s just popped up today, or something I care about everyday?” I catch myself asking my mind most weeks. And, despite whether I care about it on a regular basis, I seem to feel about it a lot more- with a lot less control.

Theres the old “take every thought captive” mantra. Thoughts are easy- its emotions that are hard. Even when you KNOW you shouldn’t feel this way about it, you still do, in spite of what you think. All the thinking in the world wouldn’t lead your heart anywhere different.

So the heart vs head conundrum continues on a macro level at every moment, A battle royal where either way you win and lose. The concepts rattled and toyed with, till one unlucky thought or feeling is internalized and round 2 can start. As the winner is chosen, its clear its not a battle of importance or strength, but of popularity and looks; more of an egotistical exercise in who’s the coolest than any kind of meaningful logical showdown. Everytime I try and interfere with the fight; every time I call out “lowblow” or “unfair”, the result is unaltered- the contestants shaking their head in pity to my obvious lack of understanding in regards to the rules. So it become apparent that I can’t change the outcome of these battles. I can’t really stop them happening. I can’t even change the parameters or the decision making process. Is a review of priorities in order? A shifting of the blame?

But I can change what i do, physically, in the hope that my brain will come around. Creating a new arena to fight, and ignoring the rumbles already taking place- perhaps without an audience, they won’t bother? Or maybe a more direct confrontation should result? On a day I feel particularly jealous, I should love unreservedly? When I feel particularly prideful I should do something deliberate to humble myself? When I feel like working a lot, only do my normal amount of work; when i feel like not working, do the same? Imagine if your actions could be acceptable to you despite any of your possible emotions or thoughts? That somehow, what you did fitted in with them all? That would be nice.

Life by Design

Nothing is a mistake. Including, it would seem, my upbringing. Suddenly the late night beatings and the strange early morning ritual of teasing my hair is starting to make sense. The marks on my body from being hit with a hammer and the fact I got my frist drum kit for my 8th birthday after a year of full on torture in the form of being made to play the recorder. My Dad, my Family, it all makes sense now.

You see, my mother had a cunning plan. Unbeknown to me she was carefully crafting my every experience for one explicit purpose.

It all started in 1955, long before electric toothbrushes. Television was a relatively new thing, and it was creating quite a buzz in the world of media. My mother, a teenager at the time, was no foreigner to “the box” and used to watch for 15 minutes every early evening at 6- when the programs came on. She watched only 15 minutes because the television would heat up and need turning off. One fateful evening in spring my mother was completing this same ritual when something new came onto TV, something magical, something fantastic. The TV series “Sam and Friends” began to air (seriously, Wikipedia it) and included a strange bunch of people, lovingly refered to as “the Muppets”. My Mother was both fascinated and obsessed by this group. One in particular, a drummer, and a puppet, named animal. Now I must interject here to say I should honor my mother by not going to deep into the psychological issues surrounding this fad, or what was really an obsession. She has had the help needed, and is in a stable state of mind apart from occasionally talking like kermit the frog. But, to cut a long story short, my mother got it into her head that she wanted to HAVE animal. That he would be hers.

Several years, and several B and E lawsuits filed by various movie studios, my mother realised she would never get close enough to steal animal. She had to make one. Just like it. My mother found my Dad- a rough man with wild hair and a thick mustache, and decided that together they could create a real version of this character. They tried twice before me but both were much to placid.

I remember being born. I came out, and hit the ground. My mother whispered to my Dad “this is the one Pete”, and looked down at me and smiled. She then gave me my very first beating with a piece of wire straight from the fire.”My little animal” she said with care in her voice, as she lifted up and down her arm, holding the wire tightly. The very first drops of blood ever spilt from my tiny body started to hit the floor. “You’re my little animal.”

“When you get to our age your bones will start to break”

Teeth fall out. Hair goes Grey. Back begins to arch. Your driving slows, house becomes cluttered with antique teaspoons and your fridge is filled with pickle inside, and outside pictures of friends childrens babies. Your body gains a mass of excess skin and the smell of mothballs magically forms around you. You have to squint at everything and that pile of logs you just kicked yelped and ran away like it was a dog.

I remember skating on my new, bright green, skull skateboard down at the uni. My mum was in some lecture, so I was left outside to skate the uni campus alone and cool, wind blowing through my air, rumbling on the pavement beneath me stroking my ego. Yep, I was pretty cool alright, I could have any one of these uni girls- who wouldn’t want to go out with a cool little 12 year old like me riding a sweet green skateboard.

Like all board sports, my enthusiasm far out-ways my skills, and my enthusiasm for skateboarding isn’t very high, so I guess that says something about my skills. My version of a trick is front flipping onto concrete… by accident, without my skateboard. But considering how pimping I looked I didn’t care about that. I came around a blind corner on the path to see an old lady being supported on one side by a walking stick and on the other with a carer coming towards me. Stop? I did. My skateboard? Not so much. It connected, although not very hard, with this poor old morsel’s shin. It just looked like it dented her stocking, but then the moan came. The sound that escaped this poor old ladies lips was as harrowing as all the scariest horror films combined with 1000 ghost feeding on the corpse of a 16 year old virgin. The dent in her stocking began to poor with blood- quite a fascinating thing watching blood try to make its way through pantyhose. The carer’s nonchalance to the sheer quantity of blood frightened me even more and I remember, from that point in time, being petrified of getting old.  

I was reminded today about how fragile we get when we are old when a work colleague said ” It must be the age. When you get to our age your bones will start to break. Look after yourself while you are young”. But I don’t want to! Its no fun looking after yourself.

So I don’t think I will. I’ll do small things; one less Mcdonalds meal, a run around the lake- to make myself feel better short term. But I guess rather than looking after myself till my body fails, I should probably just use it effectively, having fun and being productive, instead of shrink wrapping myself like it seems many my age are doing. I won’t count the years, Ill know when I get old because I’ll forget I’m old so it won’t be a big deal because I’ll still be young.

Shit, I do go on.

Anonymous asked: Hope is lucky to have a father that loves her the amount you do.

Is the amount a father love’s his daughter the most important thing, or the amount the daughter is aware of it? I think most parents love their children; it’s a question of how they act, what they do, to show this love. The fact is, I am not given adequate time or neutral unbiased grounds to demonstrate that love. Other things; my choice of partner, living environment etc seem to out-way the fact that I love her in the minds of everyone else who has contact with her. Because of this, the issues take over and the love gets overlooked. Its fucking stink.

Anonymous asked: "I would like to meet up with you in person though, I think you would find my fist quite acceptable up your anus." I would like to meet up with you in person too so I can tell you to your face how pathetic you are. If my son ever ends up like you I will be truly gutted. See you round dickhead.

X love you too sweety

Anonymous asked: come on write something you fucking faggot

is that meant to be an insult? I’m not finding it insulting