That’s how many more people need to come to my blog for me to reach 6000 hits.  Yet I don’t really write any more.  Why?  I want to and frequently construct entries in my head but when it comes to the sitting and the writing and the composing, well my muse leaves me.  Stranded in the desolation of the internet and the shallow reciprocity of many online interactions.  I sometimes miss that online blanket of like minded people with similar ideals but when it comes I also miss the physicality.

……………………..aside……………………

When my brother was younger he had an imaginary friend called Chocky.  He was young at the time and not corrupted by all the movies I let him watch way too soon.  Chocky lasted for a year or two and then one day departed.  It was only years later that I found a battered copy of Chocky (by John Wyndham) in a charity shop.  It’s about a boy who has an imaginary friend who turns out to be an alien consciousness communicating with the boy’s mind.  There’s no way he would have known of this or seen the TV version.  That freaked me out quite a bit.  It’s quite an unusual name to just make up.

……………………..return……………………

The time I wound down the writing corresponded to the time I found the wonderful xkcd – this sums up my feelings about the internet and online journals pretty accurately:

So true.  And it struck home.  I mainly exist in comments these days.  Find me there.

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In my absence my blog seems to have been slowly ticking over and I’ve had over 5000 visits.  I don’t have much need for this any more though so not sure where to go.  I crave the anonymity and selective exposure of my earlier blog.  The ability to write absolutely anything and not worry about people you know reading it.  Writing to strangers.  There is something in the desire to publish and put out those intimate thoughts and events to be read by random unknowns, to be followed and supported, yet to be kept hidden.  A paper journal holds not the same appeal, the outrage of finding someone you know has peered within the sacred confines of a personal diary does not translate to the internet.  It also highlights the reality of what you’re doing when you sit, pen in hand and detail those troublesome thoughts to the page.  I am tempted to just hit that delete button for this and my past outlet.  Or perhaps reappear somewhere new with no fanfare.

Common joy seems to have lapsed into something sweeter.  This has been a fortnight characterised by a heap of new people and the discovery and rapture of a new muse (most fitting to Aoide); the associated back-tumble to the stages of my life that fling themselves into stark contrast with how things have been and how they can be no longer; and a god awful hangover that eventually lapsed into vague sickness.

There is (despite the runny nose and generally foggy head of the last few days) a smile on my face, a whimsy of the body and a desire to create.

On a somewhat related note I recently bought a new fountain pen.  Haven’t owned one for many a year but decided writing for me had become a chore, an act of work.  I wanted to take back the enjoyment.  Currently it’s been sent to Australia to fit a finer nib but once it returns I shall use it.  If anyone would like a letter drop me a line and address.

Watching ER tonight and talking with Katherine has led to me thinking about my death (not in a particularly morbid way – I’m still smiling) and what I want to happen (all because the black guy who’s name I don’t know, tragically died).  So I thought I should put my thoughts down somewhere in case ‘bad things happen’ before I’m ready.  So here we go:

  • I want to be buried, not cremated.  I know it costs more but I have money and I like the idea of rotting.  That may sound strange but not being a religious person, for me the concept of degrading back to my base atoms and rejoining the universe is more comforting than some garbled vision of a heaven.
  • I want my funeral to be a celebration of my life with smiles and laughter, not a mourning of my death; my Nan had a Humanist ceremony and I thought it was a wonderful way of approaching it.  I actually learnt things about her life that I wished I had learnt while she was still alive.
  • I want to be buried in a small village cemetery near a tree.  A picturesque tree.  On the coast with a sea view.  Far away from any big towns.  (this one may be tricky).  Actually, if I could really get my way I would like to be dispersed in space.  That’s a genuine desire and the fact that I’m never likely to enter space and voyage between the planets is probably the most saddening thing in my life (the fact that is the most saddening thing in my life hints at how privileged I have been).  As for an explanation why, I have a story about an experience with Jupiter that I may share one day.  Unless I’m already dead, in which case either hunt out people I’ve already told it to or make one up…
  • I would like 2 songs played; both are by Mogwai and I want both of them to be played really loud.  And if anyone speaks or moves while Helicon is playing I WILL HAUNT YOUR ARSE FOR ETERNITY:
  1. Superheroes of BMX (to be played first; for the chaos)
  2. New Paths to Helicon 1 (the live version from the Tour EP (ask my brother – he’ll know) to be played at the end; for the beauty)
  • I want to donate ALL of my organs to people who may need them (f they’re in good shape I don’t need them anymore).
  • My books can be donated to a local library (or a second hand shop for cancer research); my brother can have my music and films; my sister can be forgiven; Katherine can have my jumpers, my Mogwai collection, my fish necklace and my soul; my Mum and Dad can have my paintings and the knowledge that I loved both of them and were proud to have them both as parents (even if I never rang home often enough or told them enough).  Saying that – if I die before my parents I’m going to be pretty pissed off – no offence guys but I want to be around for a bit longer than that).
  • Fuck it – after all that, I want you all to get really drunk on Jack Daniels and have a party.

So there you go.  Morbid perhaps and I have no intention of karking it just yet but you never know what’s around the next corner.  I would rather have said it than not.  Ultimately it won’t matter because I’ll be dead but I wouldn’t mind having a lasting impact; if only for a few short hours.

Some tears in my eyes; perhaps.  Damn ER.  😉

Andy x