Banana Republic

I’ve never been a Royalist. If they try and give me an award, at any point, I will turn it down. I don’t need a bunch of regal people telling me they think I’m good enough. If it ever got to that stage, other people’s validation will be more than enough, thank you very much. I’m also mightily annoyed the National Broadcaster is acting as if it’s State Media as well. Seriously, this is not 1953. Give it a rest, guys.

Lots to do, but for now I’ll be over here celebrating the fact I didn’t fuck up my body over Lockdown.


I’m not on Twitter today.

Back in the days when I was a Warcraft player, we had a Scandinavian tank called Than. He was an ex-Army officer, and one of the most capable people ever played with during the entirety of my time in Azeroth. I learnt a phenomenal amount from him, including the importance of principle in being the best human being you could manage, within your time and circumstance.

One day, shortly after we’d managed to beat Karazhan in the Burning Crusade, he left. No goodbyes, no warning and that was it. He’d mentioned this to me a few weeks previously, that sometimes the best way to move on is to just cut the cord and vanish, and I am reminded of him this morning for that reason alone. He needed to move on with his life. The game, as had been the case for so many people, was a distraction.

It was preventing him from what needed to happen more than playing.

Someone has emailed me this morning and called me an idiot for sticking to principle. ‘The only person who loses by you not being on Twitter is you: its your advertising platform, why boycott it?’ There will be absolutely no discernable effect of my action, and I’ll look like an idiot. Once upon a time, I would have believed this, until the concept registered that when someone else is offended by your actions, that’s their issue and not yours. The fact remains: if everyone moved as a unit, Twitter would be affected. The fact they won’t is the bigger issue now.

Those people responsible for abuse on Twitter are protected because their use as product now supersedes the trouble they cause with abuse. The onus is placed on victims to do the work, exactly as it is in reality, and this is how the patriarchy maintain their superiority. It’s how they ignore systematic racism, try and erase transgender rights and visibility, and maintain a status quo that is no longer fit for purpose. I used lots of words that will scare my e-mail creator for a reason. If, as a man, you’re not supporting feminism right now, you are part of the problem.

Sticking to my principles is more important than appeasing those only interested in what they want from me.

This week, I worked out who I am. Of course, I knew who I was before this point, but the crucial difference between Monday and now is the understanding that not only is this the right path, but I’ve already passed my original destination. What’s happening now is the path to success, and that means that the people on Twitter who are impressed at what I’ve done, and who are the ones I really need listening to me have already taken notice. What I’ve gained this week is the ability to see myself objectively for the first time in over thirty years.

There are other people boycotting today. They, undoubtedly will be disappointed at the number of people unable to disconnect from social media. I believe this shows that mental health issues right now matter more than sacrificing the ability to communicate, and that’s a crucial point that will be overlooked by many people. I’m on it. There is a plan and I intend to see if a difference can be made because of it. Having a day away from distraction has cleared my mind and helped me focus on the task in hand.

My principles have become the means by which I move my life forward.

In the end, its what you do that defines your life. That means doing what’s right, and this is.

Stuck in the Middle with You

The dentistry is done, but I am mentally fried. Stress does different things to people, for me there’s this rapid inability to be capable of anything except middle-distance staring and comfort eating. Right now both are largely under control, but a lot is left of the day to work with. Praise the Deities for more PopChips Corn Chips, is all I’m saying.

This afternoon I’ll attempt to get to grips with the next part of my Free Marketing Course Journey. Before that I need to write thank you letters to the three ladies that I worked with yesterday who were all unbelievably kind, and who are all light years ahead of me in terms of achievement and personal progress. Instead of letting Imposter Syndrome consume me, I’m going to try and get constructive results from what I have.

If I get through today intact, I will be happy.

And So It Goes

This is gonna be a tough week. It has tooth extraction in the middle of it for my daughter, and external PT at either end. I need to finally knuckle down and start eating better, and today was a decent start to that plan. On top of all of this is the realization that I have probably failed to be taken seriously again as a poet in a bunch of new places. However, the work is undoubtedly improving and that is never a bad thing.

EVERYTHING is going to hurt tomorrow, but I also have a new set of weights arriving, allowing me to do a lot more work at home. With no idea whether normalcy is coming or will indeed be staying, it seems like a good idea to finally be prepared, and it will be lovely to be able to do some proper exercise away from the Gym. In the end, it’s all future-proofing. I wish I’d been organized enough to do this a year ago.

There is plenty to do to keep me busy. All I can do now is wait.

Tomorrow Never Knows

Lines 11-14 are fucking genius. Yes, I can big myself up like this, it is perfectly acceptable. In fact, I should be doing it far more often than is currently the case. I also know there would be certain poets who’d not want to post this because a bit of it one day might make them money. Honestly, I’ve had enough of this shit. I write because I love it, and it makes me happy, and honestly everything else is a bonus. If you wanna take part, there are plenty of places where you can go and give me money. They’re all there, it’s just hard to do that right now. It’s okay. I understand.

I won’t forget a single person who stood behind me at the start. I know who all of you are. Thank you.

The Day Before You Came

It’s the time of month when I change over the WiP page. This month, a lot has changed. Trouble is, because none of it has made any money or has made me famous yet, most people don’t care. I don’t want most people as part of my life, and as it transpires therefore all of this is massive, stupendous progress.

Can’t help but think I’m on the cusp of something significant. Not moneymaking or fame-creating.

Properly significant.

Back for Good

The loss of Popchips Corn Chips was akin to the loss of a much loved jumper or a favourite pair of leggings. Somewhere between Lockdown Start 2020 and Christmas, someone in Popchips HQ clearly looked at what sold and discovered this snack was not it. The company decided to throw their lot simply into making air-fried potato chips instead, which are poor imitations of this snack’s clear superiority. I even asked them on Social media, right out, what had happened and they were honest. No more corn, just potato.

I was gutted, not gonna lie.

Then, I discovered somewhere that was still selling them…

I’ve tried a number of substitutes for this snack, and I had settled on an alternative, though it must be said that Snack a Jacks are really inferior pretenders, but sometimes you just have to accept that your favourite thing is no more. Except, if there is one box of 36 bags out there that costs me less than a pack of cigarettes? There will be others, and if they don’t expire until November 2021? OH YOU BET MY SIZEABLE ARSE I will be tracking them down and putting them into storage. There’s not much in this world I love, after all. This is pretty high up the list.

There will be further investigation into what’s out there, and I will be buying them, OH YES…

Run for Home

I’m still not right. I’m now taking this as similar to how it works when I give blood, and I REALLY need a lie in tomorrow, so that can happen and there’ll be no stress about anything else. Once I’ve written this I’ll go run my last 10 and a bit km for the 300 since Jan 1st, and wait for the reward cake. Fortunately it’s Easter next week. I have provisioned the extra calories. Everything will be alright, and I will have comprehensively proved my ability to work to a deadline, under budget. Really, it’s all win here… except the four rejections in four days. They can fuck right off.

What has been learnt in the last twelve weeks far outweighs the benefit of the exercise, when looked at objectively. Having a medal to aim for really did help, but honestly, this is not why it happened. In the end, it was about proving that other people don’t own you. You’ll do the dance, nod to the room, but they don’t get the motivation. Assuming you are there to beat other people is a waste of everybody’s time. In the end, this is another contest against yourself.

This has been one of the most significant weeks in my professional career for quite some time.

Right Here, Right Now

The definite disconnect of Monday/Tuesday is receding. I am coming back to normal, and when I run after this, hopefully we’ll reconnect some important issues. For now, I’ve had a cracking idea on how to keep the Work website relevant. We’re gonna make a new monthly wall planner too, because a lot of stuff has changed in the last week.

It’s good to be finding a better way to do things.

If I keep posting them, hopefully someone will read them. I’ll never know if I don’t try.

Design for Life

It’s odd, isn’t it. You spend about a year being convinced you’re gonna die from COVID, that at some point, however hard you try, there’s going to be a moment where it just happens, and then half your family get infected, but you don’t, and then you willingly allow someone to inject a synthetic version into your body so that you can live a normal life, except you know full well there will never be any normal like it was ever again.

Mentally, this is a significant mindfuck. I don’t care how you dress it up. To sit here as I do now, as if the world just stopped feeling as if it is properly glued together, is reasonably fair by current standards. Watching the stream of people going in and out of the surgery this morning, exactly regimented and reassuringly average, you’d be hard-pressed to know anything had even happened in the last year. The only discerning common factor was masks. Everything else was instantly forgettable. This is not how it should be, but that’s where we are.

I am very, VERY angry, still: it’s there, sitting just beyond my field of vision. Yesterday it showed me just how destructive it could be, and although it was managed, I need to do something better with it than pretend it doesn’t exist. I sense a PHENOMENAL amount of exercise coming up, just to try and wring it out of me, to make exhaustion feed on it to keep me going. People had better not fucking forget what was lost on the way to their supposed salvation.

They really had better not forget the lives that no longer exist because of other people’s fucking greed.