Writing The Lost Art Form

I know what you have been thinking why I haven’t written one of these wonderful blogs in a while, well like a fat man with diabetes the answer is predictable; I am writing a play. Yes from failed musician/poet to failing writer/comic I truly am arrogant enough to think people want to listen or read my opinions I actually believe I have an important voice. I am not joking, I am simply broken. So I know that the idea of me, a man with the talent of a dry halibut and the comedic skill of wet bread writing a play is a funny one. Oh did I mention I am writing a one man comedic science fiction play? I think I am doing it just to be able to say that, sounds better than I bartend. Also I think it’s good to have unrealistic dreams, basically I want to be Woody Allen well a Greek Woody Allen, and I will avoid any unpleasantness by not adopting. 

I want to have put it on by the end of the summer; I’m putting on a show me, going to show myself up more like. As my own deadlines have been and gone I am just starting to get the uneasy feeling I might just like the idea of me being a writer but not the actual process. I want two things a talented writing partner and they need to have massive coat tails. People need to hear my important voice, impotent voice.

Thoughts on shopping and Megan Fox

I like to ask the big questions of myself, you know the earth shatteringly important ones. Is there a God? Can there be true altruism? What force does Kalis’ milkshake exude and how big is her garden? If she indeed wanted to bring all the boys to the yard, I am thinking there for I aming… A solid two minutes went into deciding if that joke was worth keeping; my conclusion was some jokes are just for me so fuck you! OK. So it came to me as quite a shock when I stopped asking myself all these important questions to focus on one; can I get this cheaper somewhere else. It is January people and you should be shopping like the nice little consumer you are, the nature of your id can wait have you seen how cheap these chinos are!

Mind you I am no Marxist but I don’t think it takes a genius or a filthy red to realise we are being screwed, if they can sell them this cheap then why do I have to pay so much in the first place? Marx would say it is price fetishism, we don’t see the actual cost of the parts and labour coming to a rational conclusion. We see the shiny toy and go gee whiz that must be a billion pounds! What it is only £120.00 for those shoes; but the silk from heaven alone must cost more than that in shipping. So ask yourself one great question this salesuary, why do I put up with all these artificial inflated prices all the other months?

Here ends the propaganda, and for being a good little internet person; here is a barrage of filth about Megan Fox, I wouldn’t touch her pussy with Magic Johnsons dick. The only thing worse than her acting is maybe child rape and even then it’s a close run thing and I would probably want to stay in a room longer with a child rapist than her. Megan Fox can be smelt before she can be seen, cats have been known to leave their homes in New York to search for that great fish smell in the west, most die on the way, but does Megan Fox clean her acrid cum hole to save the little kitties lives, no she doesn’t give a fuck. She was the worst thing in a Transformers movie, that’s like being the least sticky at a bukkake party. She sounds like little orphan Annie had she had to suck a lot of dicks. Her arsehole doesn’t close anymore. Megan Fox lost the main role of Elizabeth Taylor to Lindsay Lohan in Liz and Dick the worst movie this year and it was a TV movie; the only way she could get lower in my estimation is if she; there is no way I hate her and I hope she is barren because if she breeds it can only be the devil seed and the end of days.

Goodnight, sweet dreams.

Private Eye: The story of the girl and the thing she wanted

This is to be read in an american grizzled accent, please enjoy the working opening on my show that I will eventually put on somewhere.

It could have been mid-night or mid-day I didn’t know; three nights making love to lady whiskey will do that to a man, but held in her embrace I could almost learn to trust again, almost. I’d been through hell on my last job finding a little girls cat, nine days I searched every tree in the city, there wasn’t a litter box I hadn’t gone through with a fine tooth comb, when I found the pussy crushed by a car I almost went mad, payment on delivery; that’s my promise. Scrapping a cat up off the road with nothing but your bare hands and a grimace will change a man on the inside and is as good a reason as any to start a passionate affair with the only women that will never leave me; whiskey. Not that I ever need a good reason.

She came into my office like a stick of dynamite; I knew if I got her hot it could be dangerous. She had a face like a light in a dark rainy city, comforting. Lips like and open pair of legs, inviting; her body was a wonderland; I really wanted to have a long think with it. Most dangerously she reminded me of whiskey, my wife, my lover and my only friend.  She didn't make the rules on beauty but she sure as hell broke the mould. She is charming, positively coquettish. In short that bitch from Troy didn’t have shit on her. Red Herring she introduced herself as and right away I didn’t trust her, like a lazy pulp fiction writer I knew she would prove an interesting plot device in the third act. She had one hell of a job for me, no cats this time; but for some reason I couldn’t shake the impression I was going to get some pussy.

The Blogympics: Field of Screams

The Olympics is the biggest sports day in the world and being both Greek and English you would think I would be all over it like white on rice; but I’m not. Honestly I couldn’t give a fart in a bath tub about it. I am not one of those people who will say the money could have been spent more wisely or the legacy of the games is usually debt and sports facilities one uses. I am a simple man some might say stupid but they are mean, I simply hate the fact that television, Twitter and Facebook have turned in 24/7 sports broadcasters. Take rowing for example; I don’t know anyone who would actively go out of their way to watch it at any other time. “Yes, let’s get some beers in and watch the rowing league game” In my scenario there are leagues in rowing. To be honest I have no idea how rowing works and you might say that the Olympics gives me a chance to learn about a sport but frankly it’s just useless information sitting in my brain till a time it chooses to turn into a tumour and kill me; I’m not a doctor but I am pretty sure that’s how it works.

You could be forgiven for thinking I am just shitting on the games because I am not a sports minded kind of guy, but you are wrong I follow some sports to an almost sickening standard. Ok I watch football and MMA and get all the gossip but I don’t know them inside out, I am not one of those people, times and dates of past achievements aren’t my dag. Maybe a history degree was a bad choice. I just think it’s an excuse for people to be nationalistic and prideful which are meaningless things to me, yay a person I have never met won at a sport I have never tried but because he is from my nation I get to be boastful. You don’t; so please stop, go back to posting pictures of the meals you have made or a quote that inspires you because I have made an active choice not to watch the games, most for the companies sponsoring it are known killers and the people taking part are so alien to my way of thinking that I might as well be from a different planet.  

I guess all I have to say is there must be something going on in your life that is more pertinent to those whom follow or friend you on your social networking site of choice than the achievements of other people. I want my social network back!

I started something...

The start of something is always the most difficult part for me, getting ready for it and the anxiety associated with activity; that’s not a typing error, everything gets me in a state of mega Woody Alleness. I genuinely get all sweaty about doing anything new, it doesn’t even have the decency to be the sexy glistening sort but more a full on flop sweat; so when I am faced with a MEETING (cue Foley artist thunder and Lighting technician switching the lights off and on) I stay up and smoke cigarettes . Granted not the best idea but almost unavoidable I’m afraid, having tried many methods of stress management, most including booze or drugs I have whittled down all the available options and quite by accident I find myself with my own coping mechanisms, which all revolve around distracting myself till I am doing the activity, in this case a meeting (I have a limited budget for this blog; do you know how much imaginary Foley and Lighting crew are when they are union? With the state of this economy you can’t go none union sends the wrong message).

I know what you’re thinking, but where would I get a freeze ray at such short notice and more to the point I hate the cold. Oh? Are you sure? You weren’t thinking that… Oh OK. I hope we can just move on and leave this ugliness behind us.

There; nice new paragraph to get away from all that business. It may seem a sort of empty headed idea trying to distract oneself, and raises more questions than it answers, but it’s simple really; if you are not inclined to deep existential thought and avoid the pressing metaphysical components. You simply don’t have to go to the meeting till after you have watched TV and had a shower; it’s like a treat for time about to be served. I really have tried everything; I mediate daily and go for long walks listen to BBC Radio Four which I think is the auditory equivalent of 4 Diazepam, but stress is a part of me as much as this lump is on my back which I don’t think was there yesterday and I am pretty sure if it was there yesterday it has changed colour twice.

I am an easy going guy really; I have affected an air of arrogance that can only come from being so universally disliked at high school. I have goals and I strive to achieve them but try to get me to do something new and I am sweaty tired idiot. So there is not a moral to this one really. Oh I suppose support imaginary unions in this time of fantasy bust.

Self Love Songs

 Who says love songs have to be for people with somebody else to love? The couples that who, not enough I have to be reminded of my own failure as a human to find a mate by their insistance on posting messages and pictures on facebook but when they go out to bars together and rub my face in it; that just takes the cake and does a big shit on it in the shape of the word single. Well I have had enough! No more will every love song be a stab at my heart from now on they will remind me of all the good times me and my dick had. The Top Ten Self Love Songs, for extra points wank to the beat of each and try to get to the end.

 

 

10. Chaka Khan - Ain't Nobody

 

 

 

9. Fine Young Cannibals - She Drives Me Crazy 

8. Flying Pickets - Only You 

7. T'pau-China In Your Hands

6. Waterboys-The Whole Of The Moon

5. Aztec Camera - Somewhere In My Heart 

4. Level42 - Lessons In Love 

 

3. Cutting Crew- (I Just) Died in Your Arms 

2. Duran Duran - Girls On Film 

 

1. Elton John- Can You Feel The Love Tonight Music

 

 

Tips on writing from a lazy shit!

Long-time no see; since last I wrote and you guys read I have been very ill, which was a massive bag of balls it also gave me an excuse to do exactly nothing, which is my favourite thing. In fact I have been well for a while but I love doing nothing also I think I have reached the limit of my creativity my brains is as empty as a hookers eyes grinding away trying to forget all the terrible life choices she made, one more fix then she will never touch the stuff again maybe get into a program, talk to her mother; she might even move back home for a while till she can get on her feet; but those are just lies she tells herself she’s stuck and she knows it, her eyes seem to say “Don’t cry for me, I’m already dead.” While Love lifts us up where we belong plays on the radio in the pick-up truck while the john grunts out of time.

So how do I improve my output both in terms of quality and volume? It’s a real brain teaser that me and hookers share, I could try and work harder, organise my time better and be less critical of my ideas till I have them formed into a piece then review and hone the work till I am pleased with the final product and release it when its ready. Sounds like a lot of work right? And how does it relate to hookers? It does and you should drop the hooker thing already its making you look desperate.  So I am thinking what if I just go for bulk like looking at a news article and write any old shit about them. I think that sounds easy and as you might have gleamed I am lazy and I think we should legalise prostitution. I mean why can I not just be unoriginal like a sort of covers blogger, bands seem to make a living doing old songs at weddings and such.

Please legalise prostitution and stay tuned to me just churning out crap till it gets good.