Thesmophoriazusae

I think it's all been a bit too personal round these parts the last few weeks. 

"Duh, it's a blog bag of slime-filth!" I hear you cry from behind your packet of sultanas...eh! - Well that's exactly what todays little ramble is about. Well it's about two things, the first is rambliness, and how it can amuse, and secondly it's randomness, a term a loath, but also hold up as an over-simplification of what my 'method' or 'voice' is, if there is such a thing.


(Yes, shush, I shall waffle about this for as long as I like, go and play with your genitals in the corner!) 


I like to assess and self-reflect that my life, and life in general is an arbritary sequence, we have no free-will, just a series of choices, we live, we die, we know why not, we never will, an absurdist mantra if you will. Now, there is a little way to cheat the stalking cuck-eyed existentialist beast, HUMOUR and DRIFTING, if one is jangled, tussled, nudged and occasionally tripped into different spheres and areas of life, without your prior consent, and if you live within your means, or stay with people you can tolerate, your life is made for you without you having to have made it. I like this. This is untrue but I like it.... for the most-part that is... 


This is where it all comes into play; people (friends - believe it or not, although I must be using the wrong term) have levelled

Have to start again. An acquantance of mine recently said 'You don't have to use every single thing you write' tempered with an exhaustive sigh; I put this in the criticism pile along with 'self-indulgent' and 'poor grammar and spelling', but it is true, I am a horder... horder of my own words, ideas, plots and fantasies, as I spend a lot of my waking life immersed in them, they are the sports and hobbies, cooking, love and sex of others, but all the neurons and synapses I have are all devoted to the rotting stream of garbage that leaks from my fingertips.... Oh christ, I am not getting my wind up this blog this evening....

I was going ruminate and expunge on the ideas of my randomly slotting ideas together, and how on first appearence you may not know what the hell I am going on about and think it all madness and jibberish, but as Polonius says 'this be madness, though there is method in it'... there is something behind it, not always considered... a sort of Jackson Pollock of thoughts and ideas... there are more ellipticals than punctuation, more apologies than spelling...

I could let one into my secrets for example MY TITLE - the apparent random title looks pretty and special, but is plucked from random and does not signify anything that follows CRAZY, not so - my whole dead brain-stem was trying to arouse itself through a 'random blog-generator' throwing up subjects, one was ARISTOTLE'S PHILOSOPHY, I read up on old Ari and went on to Socrates then onto Aristohanes, and one of his surviving plays bears the above title.... *gasp*

And the other point I was going to make was on how transient the nature of life is, the whole 'WE RENT THIS WORLD' mentality, but whereas in youth this terrified me, and in adolescences gave a failed hedonism which was simply meagre self-destruction, now in the very first flush of adulthood, barely, I think it may be a positive thing, it creates modesty, throws posterity into the flame, and gives rise to THE MOMENT, my favourite thing, I attain, so rarely, and it's that THE PRESENT MOMENT - which when I write has the same feeling, of churning out the words to suit the mood of the moment, but it is not of the moment.... And that's why I no longer horde my words as much, my ego has shrunk and become realistic...

Muhummed On A Ski-Lift! I must apologize for this evening - normal service will be resumed soon - think of tonights offering as a transcript of scribbled notes from a note-book written whilst in a fit of stupidity .

NIGHT.