Short Story…Sunday, 10/04/2016
Here’s a short story I wrote…
I woke up at about 9 to find that I’d slept for 8 hours without the anxiety that had pervaded the previous two weeks. Jack – my friend who had agreed to be trip-sitter, had given me one mushroom to eat before bed just to test I didn’t have any strange reaction. He assured me this was too small a quantity to have any psychoactive effect…
I’d had a very vivid dream that had taken place outside a hotel I knew from somewhere or other. A long glass wall and then a round window in a bricked square section. Curtains of polyester looked faintly religious – and then, ringing into being I felt the anomie rising… I walked, head down, towards a delapidated rose garden and all of a sudden became aware that the beloved person was holding me from behind, his arms
Same Topic, New Ideas…Monday, 4/05/2015
There’s a force driving each of us, that has to be known – and perhaps it’s completely beyond our control, perhaps it’s beholden only to our genetic makeup and environment – and the whims of nature that have brought us about. There may be no such thing as free will and we may be mere spectators of a film – that’s happening to us. It seems fashionable to accept this as fact nowadays and to my mind, compelling enough to believe.
What gets in the way a little, though – intuitively at least – is that sense of importance that comes with awareness. The experience of being alive is so intensely hubristic – it’s such a spectacular dance of surfaces assembling to greet you wherever you go – and you’re there, wired into this beautiful feeling mainframe… and you have this innate desire to live and to thrive and a
Getting Out: Being an Ontological FlaneurSaturday, 18/04/2015
I found myself at a comedy venue, the other week and who should be on, but my friend, Ian Stone! “Every time it snows in this country,” he began, “the first thing they tell you is – don’t take any unnecessary journeys …Now …how often exactly…do you embark upon a journey… that’s…” and the audience was already laughing before he’d finished the sentence…
Of course old Stoney had completely overlooked the flaneurs amongst our number – because the art of The Flaneur is just that – idling, urban exploring, finding joy in going for going’s sake – in essence, taking unnecessary journeys.
Or so I imagine – because I get it, I really like the idea, and yet I’m not one myself. I keep meaning to be – I keep wanting to read certain texts on it, and engage in certain practices, but something stops me from doing it…