Friday, March 29, 2002
dear god (second in a series of 324.6)
Dear God,
It rained. People got lost. One of them knew more than me. The other groups knew more than them. They didn't have torches, gas stoves and tin openers, God-given or otherwise. I found no big stick, the land was rough and hard, and I still can't stop time.
"Someone's" going to be rugby tackling the vicar on Sunday morning.
Yours,
Tim
p.s.
If you could possibly give me some football skills some time soon, this would both prevent future embarrassment and also convince me to reconsider the whole "rugby tackling situation". You scratch my back, I'll scratch yours.
p.p.s.
Obviously, if you ACTUALLY wanted me to scratch your back you'd have to provide some sort of step-ladder.
p.p.p.s.
Or give me the ability to fly (hint hint).
Thursday, March 28, 2002
dear god (first in a series of 324.6)
Dear God,
I have somehow found myself if charge of a group of 14 year olds for a two day hiking trip. Please do not make it rain. Please do not let any of them get lost (even in the name of sheep parables). Please make sure I know more than them. Please make sure they know more than the other groups. Please bless them all with glorious God-given torches, gas stoves and tin openers. Please let me find a big stick by the path which, when I use it for walking, makes me look like Moses. Please let the camp site have a toilet. Please make the land flat and the ground soft. Please grant me the ability to stop time so I can take ample rests.
In return I will stop making faces at people when they're praying.
Yours
Tim
Wednesday, March 27, 2002
etchings
My body -- my body is unblemished and this is wrong. Oh there is the small indent underneath my left eye from when, as a seven year old, I fell out of bed and my parents put a plaster over the cut while I was sleeping and when I woke up in the morning I felt my face and thought I'd developed a skin condition which meant you could pull your skin off your head and mould it into rude shapes, but that's it. I want battle scars!
My skin is too thick - I want to be able to create impressive, irreversible marks easily, so that people will say, "Oooo! That certainly is an impressive, irreversible (yet irresistible) mark you have there - were you bitten by a shark?" And I will say, "Actually, no - I put my hand in the oven." And they will say, "Really? That's even more impressive, let me give you some money and hot lovin'" And I would say, "Thank you, but no. I have to go to bed, so I can get up early and have my friend stand on my foot."
A tattoo - would that count? - it is a mark but it is unnatural, contrived, masking, and, far more importantly, painful. I've had a long desire for a tattoo of the Daily Mail "Has The World Gone Mad?" logo on my arm. Would that be impressive? More impressive than a shark bite? More impressive than a oven burn?
I want my body to tell my stories for me. And I want them to be told in a deep sexy voice.
Tuesday, March 26, 2002
when you lose control and you can't go on
What I need in my life is some tragedy. Where are the deaths of those I care about most? Where are the life threatening illnesses? Why has my love not run away? With a sailor? To Guatemala?
How am I expected to emphasize, to help others, to fulfill all my potential, if I have not been given the opportunity to experience? I want to create beauty out of disaster and art out of pain. I want my path to fame, fortune and history to be marked with barriers that I must past - to show strength and determination - to have my character held up as an example to the rest of us.
I have suffered no tragedy, and that itself is the greatest tragedy.
Unless -- unless the tragedy is building up, as each tragedy-less year that passes another 10lbs are added to the giant anvil which will, when I'm least expecting it, fall from the sky and squash me into the ground. And all I'll be able to do is kick and scream as I'm pushed deeper into the ground, unable to climb out, to carry on, and the people will walk past and say things like, "you should be careful what you wish for", and a small opportunistic printing company will create bumper-stickers with "emphasize THIS!" written in big bold white lettering on black.
I want to suffer enough to feel it, but not enough to make it hurt.
Maybe I'll take up smoking so at least I have the looming tragedy of lung cancer to look forward to.
Monday, March 25, 2002
designed for life
Last week, after beginning to re-read Zadie Smith's White Teeth, seeing Weezer live, and watching the first epsisode of the new series of the West Wing, I decided what I wanted to do with my life:
Be a novelist
Be a rockstar
Be a politician
Be great at one of them, and very good at the rest.
I'm not greedy, just ambitious. And hungry. Where did I put that muffin?
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