Good life, Bad life.

Strange as it is, many good things have happened to me recently.  Also a few bad things too.  I love the way life layers the good and bad life a big cake, you get a bit of each with every bite but you’re bound to get more of one now and again.
So in my bid for world domination, I have been accepted as a Wondermentalist author which for me is a big deal.  I also performed at Uncut poets last week and it went down amazingly with a good clapping and a few cheers.  Adella and Jane were there amazingly, however Jane was clearly in a hurry to get out of there and didn’t speak to Polly, Peter or myself apart from waving like a maniac at the beginning.  I am still trying to work out if Jane started out life as a member of the opposite sex, but I am still working on that theory.
Anyway, apart from that the good stuff stopped on Saturday night when on route to Budleigh Salterton for chips and beach related frolics, my indicators packed up.  The relay went, and most of Sunday was spent trying to work out why it was going wrong and what we could do about it.
Then last night, Laura got a call from her brother to say that Bob had had a heart attack.  We are all worried, but so far the doctors think it was unlikely to be a heart attack now.  It’s amazing how fragile life is.

My last post was written heavily influenced by..well, god knows what.  I stopped myself before I wrote anything stupid.

Yey to stuff. Good luck is good.

Two good things have happened today. Well, yesterday too.  Good isn’t it?

Exeter, devoid of students for a few weeks…

It’s that time of year again.  Well it happens on multiple occasions to be honest, the great student migration.

Some students pack their own cars, fill to the roof with their belongings and other students have Mummy and Daddy to come and pack it for them.

Land Rovers and Mercedes traverse the narrow Quarters of Mount Pleasant and St James, ploughing their way through the sea of Saturday shoppers and ‘everybody else’ like an invading army of middle class management drones, to pick up their offspring like a chopper swooping in to a war zone to pick up a special ops after a covert black operation in deepest dangerous Devon.
And as usual, their collective resentment for anyone that drives anything else smaller then a Hummer becomes obvious as they perform sanity deprived manovures like pulling out in to the middle of a road and then slowing down, or cutting up small cars because after all they are as important as bacteria in the great circle of life.  And yes they are, and like a bateria, small car owners will spread like a fire in a dry bush.  Soon the Mercedes will fall at the feet of the KA and will worship them like they know they should.

I jest.

But there is a reason I don’t go out on Saturdays. Humanity loses sense and the normal people turn in to consumer driven drones that are programmed to ‘go to town and buy…’ stuff.  Same for Sunday but not as bad.

Wondermentalist Take The Mic and The Curse of the Phantomly Unfinished Poem.

I did it! Yes I got up and performed properly, well I got up at any rate.  I did perform but it was a combination of me shaking with nerves and confusing everyone.

I wrote a fantastic poem about account numbers coming to life and attacking a call centre, however I lost everyone when I tried to introduce it.  It’s ok, it happens I guess, and this is the second attempt I have made to perform my poetry.  I hadn’t memorised it as I wasn’t really, well, in that sort of zone.  I can’t memorise a shopping list, let alone a whole poem.  Sure, if it goes wrong you can blag it and pretend you know it whislt making it up, but I am not an actor, just a humble scribe.

I call it the Phantomly Unfinished Poem because it was meant to be finished but ended up, as I read it out, appearing to me as more and more unfinished the more I read it.  Anyway.  If I hadn’t had lost my entire hours work, I could have read out my poem about Axilliary Hyperhidrosis, or excessive sweating in other words.  Still as disgusting as the BO Revolution poem.

Making late night vegetarian pie. Yum.

Slam Poetry Vs. Traditional Poetry, Writing, Comic Relief

It is like climbing a mountain.  The process of sitting down at a typewriter or a computer and writing something coherent and humourous is immensely hard.  And that is why I am writing in here, because despite my best efforts I have managed to spend the time that I was going to spend writing, playing quake and watching YouTube.  So now, whilst cooking myself something to eat, I am feeling very guilty and annoyed as I have to hoover and fight my way through the throngs of mindless DIY’ers in Bee n Coo.

I have been playing with the idea of keeping a Vlog.  For the uninitiated, it’s a video log, a bit like a weblog but with videos.  I am nearly convinced this is a good idea, however I am not too sure given the fact I am an ugly munt, and I have a weird voice that is a bit embarressing when it is obviously coming from my mouth.  If it’s just an audio recording I can deal with that.

So I have a reading on Wednesday, well it’s called ‘Take the Mic’ hosted by the Wondermentalist troop in the Phoenix bar on Wednesday night.  After going to the Vibraphonic poetry slam last week and watching a lot of slam poetry on YouTube I have started to question whether slam poetry is really the same thing as ‘traditional’ poetry.
Many slam poets memorise their work, which seems to be a necessity so that you can pull faces and scream a bit, sceptically you could argue that this is needed to cover up essentially bad poetic form.  If it has a notable rhythm then you don’t need to shout as loud.  Notable exception is when it’s actually a good poem such as ‘What Teachers Make’ by Taylor Mali. I will come back to this guy, as he is truly genius.
The main argument here, slam poets could use is that poetry was essentially spoken before and that writing poetry down is a relatively new development.  Yes, true. Take it back to the roots of what it was.  But the love of poetry is about being able to share it.  I was lucky enough to be close enough to see the title of the book Simon Williams was reading from at the vibraphonic poetry slam, it’s called Quirks and it is a really humourous little read, from what I have heard of it.
And although you can share slam poetry, you can often lose it in the sense of the moment.  Its delivery is a shared experience with the people in the room, but unless you record it, it goes no further.
Yes, many slam poets publish their own material but many do not.
So with that, am I really taken with slam poetry?  Yes and no.

Although the performances are amazing, although the acting is often melodramatic and heartfelt, and although going to a poetry slam is an amazing experience, I am not hedging my bets on it.  Slam poetry is amazing in its own right, but it feels too much like a monologue in poetic form, it closely shaves the line between performing a poem and acting, which is a very different sort of thing.

I know I might not be giving performance poetry its due, and don’t get me wrong, to perform a poem is a talented and gifted undertaking that only a few people can carry off really well.  Taylor Mali, John Hegley and a few others, but it is rare you really find someone who makes it feel like a poem being performed rather then a monologue being acted (and normally badly).

This is where I realise that the last few paragraphs have been long winded rant, so here is where I turn it around and decide to write something else. *gets up and makes a cuppa*

It was Comic Relief yesterday, and for once I did my bit.  On the crest of a suggestion from Sally and Polly, I decided to get my nails painted for Coming Relief!  I managed to keep the nail varnish on for about 4 hours before Laura started getting freaked out, comparing me to Eddie Izzard (RIP Drag Eddie).  So after that I had to go and take off my colourful digit decorations, which was strangely saddening.  However, the thing that struck me was more people that reeled in embarressment when they looked at my nails, rather then patting me on the back and saying ‘well done’.  I am still trying to work this out, is the shock that someone is wearing nail varnish more then the admiration that you get if you ‘do your bit’?  Not wishing to sound like a glory hunter, but it makes you see how easily shocked and arguably narrow minded many are to things that are a bit out of the ordinary.  Anyway, I raised £35.
Showing how colourful my digits are!

Bargains at the Car Boot

This is trite, but I am happy enough to write about it in here.  I went down to the carboot as an afterthought after dropping Laura off this morning and bought an american flag bandana, a pair of blue shades and a signed copy of The Gum Theif by Douglas Coupland.  I reckon it was nicked (ironic given the title) but I am not complaining or questioning.

I hadn’t realised he’d released a new novel saying that, so this was an added bonus.  Have just finished cleaning out pigwins so am going to take phone back to my mums and get some shopping and then pick up my beloved.  Wrote new poem, have to cut it up now but proving harder then first thought.  Peace.

Top 10 ‘In My Head’ YouTube posts.

I am addicted to YouTube, it is official.  My addictive personality makes me do some weird things, typewriters, writing poems, play Quake Wars solidly for 5 hours.  But I am happy to say that like many people that read this blog, I watch YouTube constantly.  It’s a great source of music, and you can discover things that are so bizarre yet compelling, they enlighten and entertain you.  It’s good for dossing around on at work when no one’s looking, but I didn’t say that.

10. Yeah Yeah Yeahs – Maps

Thanks to Rock Band, this amazing song has been in my head recently.  I don’t know a lot about this band, but I expect you’ll hear more about them from me soon.   Best score with this song is about 98% on Medium.

9. Garbage – Paranoid (HQ version)

Another Rock Band inspired song.   The hypnotic drums and the Scottish-ness of it all makes it a good head sticker.

8. Nickelback – Gotta be somebody

No matter how much stick they get, the song writing is fantastic.  Chad Kroegers voice always sticks like Uhu to my psyche.  Great power ballad too.

7. Apocalyptica feat. Till Lindemann – Helden (Heroes)

I never realised that Apocalyptica are totally Cello based.  This has to be my favourite cover of all time of any band ever.  Seriously, great song by the Bowie meister, plus Till Lindemann of Rammstein fame providing his unique gravel vocals.

6. Hammerfall – Bloodbound

Hammerfall are big in Sweden.  They come under the interesting genre of ‘power metal’.  It’s a weird sub genre that really came in to itself in the eighties with Kiss and Poison.  This modern take on this genre  is captivating to say the least.

5. Hammerfall – Last Man Standing

Nuclear powered metal, again from these hit Swedish rockers.

4. Red – Start Again

This hasn’t been released yet officially, not even a video out yet!  But it’s really stuck in my mind.  It’s one of my top played on my iPod, but, but it’s  Christian Rock. Yes, that’s right.   But, it’s good music.  Or is that the idea?  POD were good too, but then, does it really matter?

3. Nightwish – Bye Bye Beautiful

According to my good friend and Nightwish addict Tori, this was written as a response to Tarja (first singer) being kicked out for being useless and bitchy.  I love the power and emotional  feeling that the lyrics convey.

2. Nightwish – Amaranth

More Nightwish head sticking.  Not sure what it’s about, the video is even weirder, but  what a sticky song.

1. Hammerfall – Any Means Necessary

This is the video people.  How do you fit this really odd title in to a song?  I wanted to know, and now I am hooked.  This is their first video with their new guitarist Pontus Norgren.  What a name.  But he demonstrates why in this riff filled feast of power chords the the most over the top video I have seen in a while.  GENIUS.

OK so that does it there.  Also, Tom Green that comedy person type showoff has his own YouTube channel http://www.youtube.com/user/tomgreendotcom

Angry Post with Nice Food

Last night makes me realise that there are things in this world that are worse then rape and torture.  One of those things, apart from eternal damnation is snobbery. Snobbery is a thing that makes me rile in my boots, it makes every inch of my skin crawl with that sort of tingling discomfort that you get when you scratch a black board with a fork. It is not my place to cast judgement, not my place to lable and segregate people in to categories, and maybe I am making no sense so I will explain.

Last night, we went for a glorious meal in the Merry Harriers just outside Cullompton.  It was small, cosy, rustic and they went out of their way to make us feel welcome and provide some extra veggie options.  I digress. During the meal, Laura’s aunt spoke of her horror when she was out with one of her grandchildren the other week and she pointed at a block of council flats and said “look granny, that’s where council scum live”.  She was abhorred to hear this, after all her mother had lived in a council house and she was a proud and dignified woman.  It was obvious she had been shaken by this, and obvious that the poor kid had not formed this opinion all by himself.

The parents, are at a lack for a better word, uber-snobs.  They have implanted this notion in to their child that people who live in Council Houses are scum.  That they are people who you should not talk to, not even look at with out squinting at them and pointing whilst throwing tomatos and rotten celery at them.  Thank you for warping this child, for ruining his mind at such an early age.  Another Daily Mail reader created.
But then it dawned on me that in fact, I have said some things before.  I then I thought back, and realised that I had been a snob on many occasions.  Referring to people as common,  and when I felt this I felt guilty like I had ran over an old lady with a milk float or guilty like giving my cats the wrong sort of food.  The fact that they had said this to their child made me angry, but then the realisation I had said snobby things as well, made me even angrier with myself.  Thankfully the food was nice so I quickly forgot this as I was trying to mix stilton with sticky toffee pudding, and it tasted nice too.

But then the question dawns on me, in a weird ‘Sex In The City’ kind of way.  Are all humans inately snobby?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w0DUsGSMwZY
This is the famous Two Ronnies + John Cleese sketch that generalises the class system in a comedic and satirical fashion.  But it demonstrates quite nicely this ‘upstairs downstairs’ attitude that still seems to preoccupy the minds of many people in Britain today.
To actually answer the question would require a mountain of evidence, take about 4 years to write, would most probably mean me studying Sociology and Anthropology.  Then I could answer the question in a really good, well rounded way.  Instead I’ll write poem.

Snobbery is social robbery
Of rational thought and
Common sense.
Snobs are judge, jury and
Executioner.  But then
Are we no better then
They are? To lable someone
A Snob, means, you
Are judging them by the same
Sweeping brush stroke
That they tarnish you with?

That was really an extension of the sentence, however as it was a ‘poem’ I could get away with making my real point without losing the objectivity of this post.  But that is it in a nut shell.

So really, snobbery is a human condition.  I expect in many respects they are simply jealous that they have to spend thousands on things that some council tenants get for free.  Maybe they are jealous that ‘council scum’ are actually much happier people as they have less assets to lose in the recession, but then lets not tarnish ourselves with the same brush they use to tarnish us.  I know I won’t.

How to cope with cancer, some friendly advice from a fellow sufferer

Through a couple of conversations I have had with various people, I have started thinking about how someone is meant to cope with having cancer.  I have it and people say I cope very well, and I keep being asked “how do you cope with it?” and I never really know what to say.  Apart from saying, “well if I didn’t cope with it, I’d go mad”, you don’t want to analyse how you do it, for fear of discovering the secret, but here I am going to try and unpick it and divulge some tips for people who might be in a similiar position.  I am not a trained psychologist, so see this advice as not medical advice but advice from you would a friend or acquaintance.

My past history is quite long, but it has come back enough times to know the sensation of being told that whatever it is that has grown or appeared is cancerous.  It’s like being kicked in the shins and winded at the same time, and after the usual anger and shock, you will feel scared.  At this point, is the time to rely on people you are closest to, and whatever you do, do not push them away.  Sounds silly doesn’t it?  But many people distance themselves from those around them, either because they don’t want to ‘drag them down’ too, or because that is how they cope with  bad news.
It’s important to make them feel like they are helping too, as often news like this is as bad for your nearest and dearest, as it would be for you.  I found I often handled it better then my wife, but then if you switch on the empathy I would feel so much worse if she had something horrid.

Everyone finds their own perspective on life after finding out they have the ‘C’ word.  I found my ‘zen middle ground’ as I like to call it, quite quickly.  You realise that despite the ground breaking, earth shattering news, life doesn’t stop.  The milkman doesn’t stop delivering, the bills don’t stop billing and although you are walking around with this doubt sat at the back of your head, life still continues.

I found distractions helped, things that occupied my mind would often help me pass periods of uncertainty.  Take up a hobby, throw yourself in to a part of your life that might already distract you, but balance that with the time and attention your loved ones might want from you, knowing the unknown lurks around the corner means they’ll want you more!

But most importantly, there is only one way to cope with cancer and that is your way.  Everyone is different, and advice people give will often, like this post, be their own experience.  Sometimes you have to cope with it in a certain way, and if that makes you happy and if you think it will help you cope, then go for it.