Why do we worry?

There is a quote that comes to mind that is often used in reference to music review and criticism. I have read it attributed to Patti Smith, Frank Zappa, and Elvis Costello, but upon investigating - here - it appears the origin of the quip is lost.

Talking about music is like dancing about architecture.

Well, the originator isn't relative anyway, only the ethos of the line and I'm paraphrasing it for my use in relation to the topic of this post.

Worrying about your problems is like sneezing about space travel.

Really. Think about it. How on earth is fraying your nerves and going over and over a problem in your head going to solve it? I'm not dismissing channeling your thoughts and time on something that needs solved but when you reach a block that cannot be passed and you have exhausted all means and efforts to conquer said block then for fucks sake LET IT GO. If something has happened then biting your nails, pulling your hair, gnashing your teeth, and causing those who love you most to in turn worry about you are not going to alter that which cannot be changed. Celebrate what you have and do not toil on what you once had or cannot have.

Time is the most expensive yet priceless commodity that we have and to fritter it away on thoughts that loop like a high-pitched ringtone is a waste so grand it can be only rivaled by the loss of life itself.

This isn't directed at anyone in particular. It's directed at you the next time you worry.

Toy Town

life is sweet.

Everything is going right.

Could not be happier.

Well... there is one thing.

The only thing that is riling me is the fact that my ipod has a track on it that I cannot get rid of. A fucking hardcore trance tune called Toy Town by some pair of cunts called Hixxy and Sharkey. It wont fucking go away. Its hard-wired into the fuckin things memory. Ive formatted the godforsaken bastard. Twice! Its definitely not on my mac. So where the mother of fucking god does it keep reappearing from? Am I the butt of an elaborate joke? Is there a virus on my mac that's only intention is to continually re-install this fucking appalling arrangement of noise over and over and over to my ipod? Its driving me to the edge. It is tainting everything in my life. Nothing is sacred. Not anymore.

I started a new job last week in a second hand camera shop after almost 6 months of unemployment. decent pay. sound people to work with. first shout on any merchandise that comes in the door which I can buy at astonishingly discounted prices. work hours that avoid rush hour traffic. lunch breaks as long as you like. every shift I learn more about my main passion in life; photography. and do you know what? it means fucking nothing to me. and do you know why? cos Hixxy and Sharkey thats fucking why. they have cornered my ipod down a dark alleyway and they're taking turns raping it with an electric carving knife thats covered in rat aids.

Got my self a website set up for £6 instead of £100 that i can upload my photos onto and use to direct potential photo clients to. know what? that's right. it means nothing.

Got a shit hot Camera lens for £450 instead of £900 = fuck all.

I am lucky enough to have friends that are the best humans I can imagine. They are considerate, generous, loving, crazy, and funny as hell. yeah? fuck them. They may as well all be called Hixxy and Sharkey.

Where the dew drops cry and the cats meow.

The first thing i can recall is very large people standing in front and behind me. I then realised that they were not large, I was in fact small, I was a child, and the reason they were stood where they were was because I was in a queue. I leaned over to my right to peer down the line and noticed I was sat upon a red tricycle. As I tilted the trike slightly so as to get a better view I saw Stonehenge far in the distance at the end of the row of people. The people were stood on a perfectly straight gray path which had an endless horizon of neon grass on either side, and the only blip interrupting the view was the famous standing stones which the line I was in was headed for.
I blurted out "No way! Stonehenge" due to the fact that I was quite excited about getting to see it having never been there before. At this outburst some of the people around me became quite vexed and peered down the line at the structures and then I heard a voice exclaim "Is this what we're waiting for? Stonehenge? Sod this" and quite quickly the succession of bodies in front of me dissolved to a fraction of what it was as they left in disappointment at what lay ahead.
Within a few seconds I was amongst the structure of Stonehenge, and subtly the dream structure shifted slightly and I was as I am now, a fully grown adult, and the red tricycle had disappeared to be replaced by my camera. the appearance of my camera was a great joy and immediately I started prowling the grounds hunting for interesting angles. Up until this point nothing that had occurred seemed even slightly strange or skewiff but now I noticed something truly bizarre. Every time I held my camera up to peer through the view finder houses would appear behind the stone structures. When i removed the viewfinder from my eyes they were gone. It was as if looking down the lens of my camera enabled me to see into another dimension where there was a council estate built behind the ruins of Stonehenge.
While I puzzled over this and checked my camera to ensure it was not on a some kind of setting I had yet to encounter my attention was diverted by a man stood near by who was selling ice-cream from a litter bin. He resemble Danny De Vito if Mr.De Vito had a pony tail at the back and was wearing an Armani suit. the bin he was touting his treats from was no ordinary bin either, it reminded me of an American mail box, you know the ones that bombs are left in in action films, they have that large shutter drawer mouth opening on the top to prevent thievery of the mail, well, the De Vito look-a-like had somehow figured out how to outsmart the anti theft design as he could quite easily get his arm in the slot and retrieve ice cream at will, but I then noticed that the selection of ice cream was not within his control because he could not see through the drawer device, only get his arm in and around it. I went over to investigate further and decided the best way to do this nonchalantly would be to join the queue. There were two kids in the queue in front of me and from these being served I learned the system. the first boy handed Danny Armani a pound coin which he quickly pocketed while he stood on tip-toes to get his hand in the mail bin, after a few seconds of noisy rummaging he produced a feast bar, in the wrapper, and perfectly intact. not a bad outcome for the young chap in my opinion, i would be quite happy with a feast bar. The next child, also a boy, handed over his pound coin and the rummaging commenced again. A strawberry cornetto was this time produced from the bin. "My God!" I thought "He's on a role, I cant wait to see what I get." I stepped forward, a beaming grin spread across my face, and pressed the pound coin into his hand. he paused briefly and gave me a slightly concerned, suspicious look. "Fuck!" My brain screamed "hes onto you... but wait, I haven't done anything... or have I... have i somehow unwittingly missed a beat? is there a system I haven't followed?" just as the sweat started to trickle from my forehead Mr.De Vito turned and thrust his hand into the bin. The relief was immense, it was as a great burden had been lifted, I had passed whatever test i had entered. But wait, he didn't take this long thumbling for the ice cream for the others, did he? was i having a panic attack? why is so much resting on me receiving some goddam ice cream? my head... i think it may explode... my cheeks are burning... my forehead will... NO! WAIT! hes got it, he has something, he turns and there in his hand, was a fucking lamb chop. I felt nothing. no shock no anger no disappointment. nothing. I looked at him and he genuinely looked apologetic. he placed one hand on my shoulder and softly said "luck of the draw son... luck of the draw"
I woke myself up with my own laughter.

Right! Who said it!? Who said Jehovah!?

Rod the mod had given us one and half pills betwen the three of us and they were kickin in big time. Now I take a lot of pills and can quite matter-of-factly rate these as 'very good'. So there we are lying on a patch of wood chip that was put there to prevent munters like us from rolling about in the quagmire that had came about from the previous days downpour. but todays weather was superb, brilliant sun with the slightest breeze to keep you cool. We were about three hundred yards from the main stage and a large numbered ceiligh band were on. I must admit I detest the majority of folk music, but hey, I detest the majority of music anyway so I wasn't too flustered, and yeah, the pills were well under way. I was itching for nonsense. To my right was a small group of kids, maybe 4 or 5 of them and their average age musta been about 6, anyways, they were distracting themselves from the tedious tunes by building mudballs from the easily pliable muck surrounding them on all sides. "aha" i thought "prime comrades for silliness.". "hey!" I called out. A few glanced up but some were far too engrossed in the bog shaping to hear me, "right, here's the deal" i said to those who had heeded my call, "you'v got, right now, a once in a lifetime opportunity to hit me, in the face" I touched my jaw with my extended index finger just to clarify for them "full pelt mind, no holding back". One young chap, about 6 I imagine twisted round and looked at who I assume was his father for some kind of acknowledgment at what was going down but his dad was mid conversation with some other tree hugger and had no idea what I was proposing. The boy looked back at me and his expression was that of mischief. the mudball he had in his left hand he switched to his right and raised his arm at the elbow and made the motion to throw but didn't. I admit I flinched but I was disappointed "honestly it's okay" I reassured him. "I'll explain to your dad I asked for i..."

*CRACK*

Right off my fucking jaw. A belter.

I stood up rather dazed. As I lifted my head, holding my jaw, to congratulate him, I was hit with what can be described as a small boulder of dirt on my right thigh. A little girl, maybe 4, looks like butter wouldn't melt in her mouth had rattled me across the leg with a mound of muck the same size as her head. "hey! wait just a..."

*SCUD*

i had saw this one coming form another lad behind the girl who had previously hit me and manged to turn so it caught me on the back. Laurie and Sarah who I had been sittin with had got up an jumped clear while in hysterics. "Aaargghhh!" I shouted. This got they're parents attention who waded in and grabbed some of them but some were unclaimed who had gathered round me and poured on the hurt. I got up and ran thru the crowd caked in mud and howling with laughter.

I walked past some of them later that day and without hesitating they started shaping mud again. I ran.

Voice mail

"Hi Dad its Chris... Oh no wait... Chris its Dad... christ! I'm stoned. Just to let you know I've left your keys under the frog."

Mad

way it.

Taking stock

This evening, on my way out the door, I had what alcoholics refer to as a 'moment of clarity'. I was struck by the sudden realisation that I am 28 years of age. That I live with my parents. That I have no job. That I have no money. Infact I have negative money. I am quite considerably in debt to banks, my parents, my friends, companies whom I have not had dealings with in years, and my girlfriend (yes, that's right, I have a girlfriend [how?]). I also realised amongst this rude awakening of consienceness that I was dressed in a bright green teenage mutant ninja turtles tracksuit top over a bright yellow batman t-shirt. And the icing on the cake of this moment of self awareness, infact the spark of this reality slap-in-the-face, was the fact that I was goin to see the star trek film at the cinema.

With my parents.

But the glorious result of this personal review of my being was that it made me happy. While compiling the list of what my current situation was there were creeping thoughts of how I would scoff at someone in my position. Well I am in that position and I could not give a shit. I am happy. For I could easily be one of the misfortunate faces that the news throws on my television every hour whose house has been levelled, or whose daughter has been raped and murdered, one of those whose existence has been tested to the very brink of insanity by some horrible and outrageous event outwith their control.

But I am not them. I am the guy with the nachos and the cheese sauce being spoon fed entertainment and loving every heartbeat of it. I want for nothing. I will take what is given to me and make the most of it. My only fears are that it will be taken away, and that one day I may become someone who would laugh at the person in my position.

[EDIT 28/05/09 - My girlfriend has dumped me.]

Spew

I could hear the shower running, I knew she wanted me to join her in there, and God I wanted to. But, there was something... something I had to do before I could burst in there and have my way. I can't recall exactly what I was doing, something mundane like ironing. I can recall rushing the task whatever it was just to get in there before she was done, but it was too late, I heard the shower being turned off and my chance being missed and despair filled my world...

Then the all too well known sound of my phone on vibrate dragged me from sleep. 'Mother' the LCD informed me. Half past seven in the morning? she must have left for work not 20 minutes ago. What the bloody hell could she... the cat... I bet its about letting the cat in or something equally annoying. "Hello?"
"Chris could you get up and see if your dads okay? hes just phoned me and he's on his way home, he's not feeling well."
"eh... yeah sure. where is he?"
"he should be in shortly"
"yeah cool" I said, shaking the sleep from my head and cursing myself for not getting in the shower with whoever quicker in the dream realm.
I groggily pulled on some clothes and stumbled down the stairs and through the hall. Just as I opened the living room door my father walked in the back door. We were perhaps 4 metres apart. but there was no greeting, just silence and awe at the scene before us. He had the appearance of someone who had waded through a swamp of spew. It was caked to his beard, his jacket, his jeans. I only glimpsed at him briefly, not wanting to embarass him, but in the quickest of glances I knew I saw carrots amongst the debris.

Why?

Why aren't we happy with what we already have?

We have Myspace, we have facebook, we have bebo, before them we had books, and newspapers, and leaflets, and flyers, and before them we had various means and methods of self satisfying ourselves by worshipping the physical representation of the spoken word. Ever since some German realised he could mass produce the printed word using an apple press we have been deluding ourselves that someone somewhere may give a fuck what we , the masses, say, and what we, the masses, think, and even more, may want to read it. Well shit maybe some of us do, and so it is with forced hand, gritted teeth, and rotted liver that I sign myself up for his horseshit blogging tomfoolery.

I sincerely doubt that anything that will ever grace this page will change anything about anything, regardless of how insignificant that anything may be, but here goes.

So, to answer the question I asked when we first came in, because we are bastards and bastards are never happy with anything except the sound of their own voice and the hope that someone or something somewhere may be altered in some way by the sound and content of that voice.