Category: complete gonzo

Against the grain for the greater good

On the topic of last week’s post, let’s talk about human value again, shall we? Specifically in terms of making untraditional choices and society’s failure to realise that the reason behind said choices does not concern anyone other than the person making it. I am of course, yet again, talking about something people like to pretend doesn’t occur in their world, because acknowledging it would mean they would have to reflect on why on earth they didn’t take a beat to contemplate just how clever it would be to bake a batch of mini-mes with subpar ingredients…

Firstly, I’d like to begin by explaining that this is not necessarily about deciding whether or not to have children – we need to acknowledge the fact that there are quite a few people that would very much like to have them but cannot. The reason should be of no importance to anyone but the person and/or couple suffering from involuntary infertility, unless you are in a position that allows you to help them realise their dream of reproducing.

Secondly, many of my friends have kids. Some were perhaps more of a surprise than they would have liked at the time of conception and others not, but in every case they have shown themselves to be rather spectacular at this whole parenting gig.

So, let it be known that I am not against people reproducing. I am simply hinting at the fact that whether you want to or not should be a private matter. Furthermore, choosing not to doesn’t mean you hate children. In more cases than not, I expect it is the complete opposite.

Let’s say you’re just getting to know someone and you’re of a certain age, so you’re trying to find out just how compatible your lives are before commit to a serious friendship. Asking them if they’ve any children would be perfectly natural. If their answer to your question is no, however, you have absolutely no right to ask them why. Doing so would be rather cruel, plus it is none of your business.

It would be akin to asking you why your mother didn’t allow you enough oxygen when you were in the womb, or, indeed, why on earth you found it necessary to contribute to an overpopulation that is threatening to drain the earth’s natural resources. You can read more about the intricacies of population growth, environmental degradation and climate change in article published on the UN’s website by clicking on this sentence.

Regardless, you could stir up a whole turdnado (you know, like a sharknado, but with shit) by poking your nose where it doesn’t belong. Just think about it – would you be able to handle it if your ‘simple question’ was the last straw for this person?

Granted, for some, it’s about taking the responsibility of not forcing the life of an unwanted creature on an often unsuspecting world. But that’s a decision that will have layers to it as well. There might be a family history of mental illness or a birth defect of some kind, it could be the lack of any known family history, perhaps they experienced or observed traumatic events during their own childhood that impacted their choice. Or, hot fucking take, they just didn’t want to risk having their downstairs ripped apart by someone they might not even like, only for post partum depression to take over once the downstairs have stopped aching.

Also, in case you didn’t know, raising kids is expensive. Not everyone has savings or a steady job to help fund the endless list of activities and made-up holidays everyone has to attend nowadays. Or a partner with which to share the financial struggles, for that matter.

Then there are people who didn’t have a choice in the matter. Victims of rape, some of which might not even know they are pregnant until it’s too late to do something about it. Women that have been forced to live with a living, breathing constant reminder of one of the worst, most painful moments of their existence, only to develop a love for the thing, stronger than the love they have for themselves. Or women that have experienced the same and having to give the child up for adoption without their consent. Asking them why? Not okay.

There’s a multitude of possible reasons why one would make the choice of going against the norm. Perhaps the term childless is the culprit. We don’t call the opposite child-riddled, so why does not having kids deserve such a negative suffix? If I’d had more time, I’d dive deep into the etymology here, but I will save it for another day.

There are plenty of happy childfree people out there as well, of course. Guess what? Their reason is also private, unless they bring it up.

So, my frustration remains with society’s lack of respect for the privacy of those who have chosen differently than the norm. Take, for example, a setting where colleagues are getting to know one another and one party is pointing out left and right the other’s ‘poor’ qualities, such as their failure to own the newest Tesla or a house in the best school district, their unsuitable romantic partner (or lack thereof) or how they spend their wages on ‘silly’ things that make them happy. Yet, in the same breath, they demand to know why you’re not bringing any children into the world; as if they wanted a filthy pariah to have little clones running around. Perhaps they’re afraid their offspring won’t have anyone to pick on, if the lesser caste refuse to comply with the demands of beige society.

My only fear is that all of the clever people have stopped reproducing and that the idiots have taken over.

Right, that’s enough for today. Luckily, I know that some of the finest humans around have managed to produce at least one or two good eggs over the past two decades, so I’ll not be around when the turdnado comes, nor do I need to worry about any descendants of mine suffering through it either.

See you next Tuesday. Until then, enjoy this little gem from NOFX:

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Pearls and swine

“…bereft of me, long and weary my road has been”, sings Chris Cornell in the 2003 Audioslave tune I am the Highway. Now, before you start thinking I’ve sunk low enough to steal someone else’s words because I’ve been suitably bereft of the ability to think of any of my own… this is just where I’m at today. Left to my own devices, my thoughts have gathered at these words forever tattooed onto the walls of my inner workings, as they so often do when I refuse to acknowledge it’s time do admit defeat.

Why do we let ourselves entertain the hopeful thoughts so far-fetched even the most oblivious can spot it a mile away? Well, it’s better than never daring to hope for anything at all, I guess. And, as we all know, hope becomes the motivation we need to get closer to our goals. Although, I’m beginning to think that it’s time I started to figure out what my goals really are. Daydreaming doesn’t really cut it when you have to deal with the outside world.

Alas, I am not about to start moaning about my hopes and dreams. And, for those of you hoping that I’d become much wiser just because the number of days I’ve spent on this earth has increased by all of seven since last time you were on this site, I’m afraid you’re in for some disappointing news – the person writing this is no sage just yet.

BUT. There’s a lot to be said for having experienced the least disappointing birthday in all my days. If you were a part of it, whether physically or in spirit, know that there’s not enough gold stars in the world to decorate your page in my book.

There’s some sort of storm brewing, I can feel it. But I will leave any deeper reflections on that for another day and instead bring your attention back to the unicorn on the donut in the blog photo. Someone made sure I got a donut with Scotland’s national animal on it on my birthday and it was excellent. Even brought a smile to my face. And it got me thinking that this outside world might be ready for my return. Although, I can already promise you, that the previous week can attest to the fact that I’m nowhere near finished making ‘mistakes’. But, hey, I hear experience can make you wise… as long as you’re willing to learn from it and/or own up to the fact that the only person you need to honour and look in the eye (in my case, at least) is yourself.

See y’all next Tuesday. Until then, have a listen or two to the song mentioned earlier:

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These may not be the droids you’re looking for…

… But perhaps we can interest you in some noise producing humanoids instead?

As promised, all will be revealed today. After all, it’s the week of our birth and if no one seems to give two shits about the actual day, the least one can do is indulge in some more or less shameless self-promotion.

First things first, apologies for the odd Star Wars reference. Although, we’re hoping to ultimately ‘Jedi mind trick’ you one way or another.

If you’ve been following the blog, you may already have noticed some mentions of endings and chapters closing. Boy, this year has been littered with them. Luckily, they’ve been mostly of the good kind. Interestingly, all of them (bar one) have opened more doors than they have shut in their own unique ways.

I know I said “all” will be revealed, but this ain’t The Sun thirteen years ago. Thus, I will save some details for myself and dive straight into things before you give up on me.

Among the things that have ended is the band Kenodromia, but in its wake it leaves behind its second EP, entitled Black Swan Songs. The 4-song effort will be out on Thursday this week, as a Bandcamp exclusive, so if you have any love in your heart for the people who occasionally purge a few hundred words a week on this platform, I urge you to click on this sentence – this will direct you to the band profile. On the not so off-chance you despise these verbally incontinent imps, I urge you to do the same. Maybe you’ll find something new to hate?

Regardless. The name Kenodromia means ‘running in the void’. Although the name seemed apt at the time of its conception, perhaps the moniker was in fact the beginning of the end. Maybe it’s time this sense of running without getting anywhere goes back to being a metaphor. Perhaps now’s the time to let lessons learned make way for other, perhaps more fruitful, ventures with a little less of the sour grapes thrown in for texture (or whatever).

Who’s got time for those anyway? (Sour grapes, that is) I woke up this morning from a sneeze that would make Morla feel young and fresh – I’ve no time for dwelling on futile fuckery.

Today I leave you with a request. It is out birth week, after all, so who are you to deny us? The request is quite simple: do something for yourself that you’ve perhaps put off for too long, or will allow you to let go of some fucking stress.

In the words of Fiona Apple, “so, tell that girl you don’t love her and if you do, tell her two times”. Or, in my own, slightly less poetic, ramblings: tell the girl to fuck off so she’ll get the hint she hasn’t taken yet.

Life’s too short.

See you next Tuesday! I’ll be a whole year older by then (or a week, if we’re being technical about it), so perhaps I’ll have outgrown some of my less than charming antics. Or, perhaps not, maybe I will have embraced them wholeheartedly, knowing I am the only person that will have to share its existence with me. Here’s to at least one more year of digestive tract talk!

Below’s the only bithday song I like. Enjoy. Yay, me. Or us or whatever.

Also, there’s talk of the second coming of PIEMAGEDDON.

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Irreverent reveals

Backside of statue in a city square

Someone commented on the not entirely spectacular fact that I haven’t posted anything on a social media account in over a year. Well, that’s due to a number of factors, but two of them are a) whenever I am out doing something with people whose company I enjoy, I tend to keep my phone tucked away and/or I’ve not got the Mark II on me, or b) what I consider a typical Kodak moment these days is something akin to the header photo. Now you know.

The above has very little to do with what I am about to write, though, other than that I found something that is revealed in the carving of the statue of which we can see the backside as particularly post-worthy. Why on earth would you spend time on including the cloaca of an inanimate object? It’s not like it’s going to need it? See, its mere existence beckons an array or questions.

On another note, you can do a deep-dive into cloacae (tee-hee) and/or other “digestive tract talk” by checking out the Three Bean Salad podcast. Perhaps start with the Adverts episode. Right, that’s enough of the anus for one day.

My recent posts may or may not have revealed that I’ve been on my second book, but somehow let procrastination get the better of me. So, in an attempt to force myself into holding myself accountable, I’ve decided to unveil the title, as well as the prologue to see what you guys think about it. Feel free to weigh in however you like, either by clicking on the icon you prefer below

or, you can comment on this post or use the contact form. If you’ve yet to read my book, the Kindle version is cheap as chips.

Next week’s post will also be a reveal of sorts, but we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.

Right… are you ready? Am I ready? Here goes:

Life in Reverse – Killing Myself to Live

Prologue / Suicide Note, Pt. 1

A year has gone by since we left Hannah on that bus, finally strong enough to take a step in the right direction and standing up for herself to a person that had caused her nothing but harm over her formative years. You would think she’d be thriving right about now, right? That she’s finally all settled in her lovely new flat, aching to get back to work with the support of her therapist, a healthy romantic relationship brewing somewhere on the horizon. It turns out, though, just because you’ve decided to start making things work for yourself, doesn’t mean the universe is going to get on board. Funny, isn’t it? We’ve all heard the words; It’s going to get worse before it gets better.

The problem is, we can tackle ‘worse’ just fine. It’s what we do! It’s the ‘better’ that might just be the end of us.

And, yes, all of the chapters are related to relevant pieces of music. Also, if that tickles you, you should read Trackman; a spectacular piece of writing by Catriona Child.

So, I shall see you next Tuesday, for my second unveiling. Until then, here’s the song mentioned in the excerpt:

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Catch-’26

This week, I’ve been thinking a lot about choices. Or rather, the fact that the choices I dared not make are the ones I’ve come to regret the most. To quote my dear friend Bob (misquoting Wayne Gretzky):

“You miss all the shots you don’t take”.

You could say our lives are shaped by the choices we make. Sometimes, the choices we don’t make shape them in ways we cannot control. In fact, refusing to make a choice is a choice in and of itself – it’s choosing to avoid taking responsibility for your own life and/or actions.

Right, a bit bombastic, perhaps. But you catch my drift.

The most annoying thing, though, about the choices I didn’t make, is that I went against my instincts by not making them. Every time, without fail. More often than not, I refrained from making a choice simply because I was waiting for someone else to do so – as if I was unable to make the right choice for myself when I knew very well that their choice would be detrimental to myself, if not the both of us (or worse).

Now, I’m not the type of person who wallows in bitterness. I’ve no time for that. What’s in the past is in the past and I don’t like wasting my time on making myself feel terrible because I’ve acted out of bitterness or resentment. Alas, when one is seemingly unable to learn from one’s mistakes – i.e. the pattern seems to re-emerge over and over again – one simply has to stop and try to shake some sense into oneself. Wouldn’t you agree?

Please excuse my self-indulgent ranting, but I’ve had 8 hours of sleep two nights in a row for the first time since I was a teenager and don’t know what to do with myself. We’re going full gonzo today. If you’d prefer something more nuanced, let me direct you to a page containing links to outlets from which you can purchase my book, or this post about some nonsense that other readers seemed to enjoy.

Another thing that worries me is this; what signals am I sending my subconscious by ignoring my gut feeling?

I found several pieces of writing on exactly this, but only one of them seemed to be rooted in scientific research and based on The Arbinger Institute’s Leadership and Self Deception: Getting Out of the Box (2000) and was posted on Psych Central seven years ago. You can read the article by clicking on this link. The conclusion mirrors my beliefs/fears; self-deprecation.

So, how do we change this? I once read somewhere that it takes approximately 14 days to change a habit and I’ve regarded it as truth ever since. You cannot change my mind. But, that means actively doing something to implement the desired change over those 14 days. Surely that’s a lot of work just for the sake of some unconscious self-respect? Or is it in fact a very small price to pay for something tremendously valuable?

I think I’ll put what I learned from last week’s post about hope theory to good use and set a goal for myself for the next fortnight and find out, as an experiment. Perhaps I’ll even give you an update on my findings.

I’ll see you next Tuesday. Until then, stay true to yourself and listen to Lowrider:

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Jagged little pills

I’m pretty sure you all knew that I wasn’t going to write about what I hinted at last week, because life happens. Or doesn’t, to be fair. Time is a fickle beast. So, let’s just move on, eh?

Also, this is going to be very, very short.

I have no idea how this song snuck onto my radar as a kid, but I’m going to assume the radio had something to do with it. (If you can’t remember a time where the radio and/or fanzines got you into new shit, this blog is not for you). Regardless of its origin and my disregard of the band’s popularity – and my being the ripe old age of about 12 – I found the song’s lyrics resonated with me in such a way that it’s still a go to for my brain’s playback system whenever I am about to head straight down into the welcoming arms of the great abyss:

“I’ll do my crying in the rain”

Makes sense, doesn’t it? It also makes me think that perhaps that song was one of many reasons I fell in love with running in Edinburgh; whenever I hit one of those milestones PBs, it was on an empty stomach, a monster hangover and an all-encompassing need to knacker myself out in order to deal with everything – and if it wasn’t raining, the morning haar rolling down off the Seat would do the trick.

Also, apologies to any pedestrians along the Porty promenade that may have found themselves in the way of a greetin’ bastard singing along to one of David Hasselhoff’s greatest hits instead of breathing, punding the pavement as if they had any right to be there…

These days, I’d like to think I’ve found better ways to deal with my emotions (or, perhaps having someone teach me how to put certain things into words rather than trying to force them out in the most violent way possible had something to do with it), but very few things will feel as cathartic as a good old cry in the rain.

And it is this that I’d like to dwell on for a bit today, if you may. Because things are bound to happen. Something will remind you of something that impacted you in your youth. I came across a lyric the other day, from one of my favourite songs off of an Alanis Morisette album, that I’d never once thought about before:

“I’m 13 again. Am I 13 for good?”

And the words moved me, because my one of three reasons for still walking this earth is trying to do things that would make ‘the dreamer‘ (AKA 13yo moi) happy. Something that would make it all worthwhile. And something’s awakened this dreamer and it has left me terrified that all of my attempts to rid the world of my essence will come back to bite me on the arse. I’ve crossed off a big item on my bucket list and I find myself daring to hope it won’t be the only one.

That is all for this week. I’ll see you next Tuesday. If you made it all the way down here, here’s a special treat for you:

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Sun, shades and second chances

I’m not quite sure how, but we’re at the end of another month. I’ve been waiting for Summer and now it’s almost gone before I’ve fully realised we’re in it. (Shockingly, I can be more preoccupied with analysing past mistakes than living in the moment).

Last week, however, I got the chance to go to a festival I’d otherwise be reading about in the papers. Not only did I get to see a bunch of brilliant bands (Alice Cooper, Anthrax, Accept, Death to All, to name a few), but I got to leave my laptop behind and experience the outside world – turns out I’d forgotten about all of the good eggs breathing the same air as me. Now, don’t try to picture an egg breathing.

It’s funny how anything meaningful tends to turn to shit when you’re busy staring into the abyss.

Regardless, the whole experience sort of opened my eyes to how this mystical festival realm/alternate reality became a platform for reconstructing a few bridges that I’d feared were long burned beyond repair. Turns out, an apology really does go a long way. You can read more about friendship stuff in a few of my other posts, but I think this one needs to stay a little philosophical, somewhat hopeful (yet, still, consistently anxious). The lack of any rants or verbal incontinence in this post might serve as keys to its incredible shortness, but the same can be said for my return to the living (however brief it may be).

Turns out, with the likelihood of unlikely friendships, even a thistle in all its spiky glory can experience being part of the universe’s many symbioses.

See you next Tuesday. Until then, go see a gig this weekend. Do something for you and fuck everyone else (maybe not in the carnal sense, but if you do; use protection) – I find it’s when you prioritise yourself that the good stuff happens. Also, if you find yourself in the south-eastern part of Norway, you should take yourself to Rockstream festival near Tønsberg. It’s gonna be a good’un. And you just might see a familiar face on stage Saturday night.

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Booty is in the eye of the beholder

Brynseng Subway, Oslo, 2026

Yep – you read that right. Bear with me.

I somehow managed to throw my back out from laughing like a crazed hyena last night – at a bloody meme (or, let’s be honest, its absurdity). Needless to say, I’ve slept next to fuck all and my brain is acting very much like itself. It does what it wants.

So, it should come as no surprise, then, that the very thing that made me see the Kodak moment quality of the scenery in the post’s featured image was a song that’s been stuck in my head all day without me realising it was. I was trapped in a Buffyverse-like demonic musical with no end in sight, with every song derived from the holy grail; the song that continued to escape me, just as I had it on the tip of my tongue. Until the sun ripped through the clouds for approximately 32 seconds, creating the mirage of a slightly silvery shine to the pavement, I had no idea I’d been building up to a Victor Hugo classic.

Have you guessed it yet? Not to worry, you’ll find a link at the bottom of the post if not. Well, the link will be there regardless…

Anyway… went off on a bit of a tangent there. But, if that particular song isn’t a deluxe version of a booty call, I don’t know what is.

I’ve never been fond of metaphors. Never liked the mystery, shall we say – I preferred directness’ more bombastic quality. Yet, as I’ve grown older and more afraid of being caught in a special kind of fuck up loop from which there’s no escape (unless you fancy winding up in a parallel dimension fuck up loop bonanza), it seems I’ve started using them.

“Desperation

Zombie nation

Vacant, lifeless stares

Screens displaying my worst fears“

My own goddamned lyrics, but only I know the meaning of the words I didn’t dare say. This, of course, shall remain a mystery. Unless you read my book, of course.

But, yeah, back to the booty. The term booty, as we know it today – I’m not about to go into a whole thing about its origins – is synonymous to three things; a loot plundered from an enemy (as seen in numerous pirate movies), a somewhat sizeable arse or, you know, that thing. Now, the original expression is ‘beauty is in the eye of the beholder’. I’ll argue that we can gather from any anthropology experiment, that people will have different views on what they will define as either of those three aforementioned definitions as well. In fact, I think beauty in and of itself has lost its meaning, with the constant need to push beauty standards so far up into the atmosphere that you need the help of artificial intelligence to do the airbrushing. So why not say it like it is; what might shiver your timbers may not shiver those of your neighbours.

Ooft, that was a bit of a mouthful.

What do I want from you, you may ask. Why am I ending this post before I’ve even reached a conclusion? Well, I want you to tell me what you want to read about, what you think the booty’s all about, why you think a 40yo woman can’t make herself write the word that’s fallen between the lines here…

Again, buy my book and you might get an idea. Haha. It is very late and I have a sequel to write, as I was ever so gently reminded of earlier today.

Now, I am going to go “live inside my head” for a bit. See you next Tuesday.

*This week, we mourn the loss of the late Anthony Head. May he rest in peace.

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More is more…

A for anarchy in red on black background

Once upon a time, when the hacker was still just as elusive and enigmatic as Sméagol himself, a pointless character in a nonsensical movie franchise uttered the claim “ignorance is bliss”, a phrase that has since been quoted ad nauseam. Whilst uttering these meaningless words, said character was chomping away at a slab of beef – all the while pointing to the fact that he was aware that the steak and the whole situation in that particular reality itself was entirely artificial and bogus. Regardless of the fact, the character portrayed himself as blissful because he chose to be unaware that the scenario was being fed to him via The Matrix. Which, in and of itself, defeats the whole purpose of him being ignorant, as he was clearly aware of his existential circumstances. If you are aware, you cannot claim to be ignorant. Thus, if ignorance is bliss and you are aware, you cannot be blissful.

What’s more, ignorance is not ‘bliss’, it’s defined as a lack of awareness and foresight. To simplify – much in the vein of rock legend Yngwie Malmsteen – bliss is bliss and ignorance is ignorance. One does not follow the other in any logical way.

Yes, I know it’s just a movie, but this particular scene planted a seed… a seed that somehow grew into a gargantuan parasite that set out to infect an entire generation with thinking those words justify their unwillingness to learn. It’s given them an excuse to be selective about knowledge (something we all know is the only point in getting old and senile; you finally get to edit out the shite you don’t want to hear).

Eejits.

Hold on tight, I can smell a rant coming.

I currently find myself living in a country that seems to have some sort of vexillology fetish. If, for any reason whatsoever, there’s cause for getting a flag out, out it shall come. Hoist that fucking rag (brilliant Tom Waits song, by the way), regardless of said rag’s connotations, be they political or similarly sinister in nature.

Here, they love marching for no apparent reason. They’ll gather at the town hall and walk around in circles, waving their flags and shouting messages whose origin no one really took the time out to figure out. They just like the feeling of doing something good. They like the word solidarity, but haven’t a clue what it means.

It’s as meaningful as claiming to support ‘the troops’, without knowing what troops they are supporting, what they are fighting for, or from whence the fuck they’ve originated, for that matter. They boast about their support of one nation’s leader and proudly post about their hostility towards another on social media, not even realising they are two sides of the same coin; evils, where neither is the ‘lesser’.

They hang flags in their windows in support of a nation they know nothing about. Without thinking, they do what the Internet tells them to. Do they even know what the flag stands for?

Will they admit that they didn’t even care about any conflict. That, truth be told, it wasn’t even on their radar until it started affecting their cost of living? The energy prices have skyrocketed, so you must blame someone. Anyone. Did they think the flag they bought off Temu, that wasn’t the exact colour but close enough, was going to bring down the price of petrol?

My meaning here is not to point fingers at anyone picking sides… I think any desire to solve conflicts with warfare – cold or not – is abhorrent. No, what I mean to say is this; educate yourselves enough to know how these things can be avoided, or at least subdued. Or, worst case scenario, you’ll know enough to morally decide which side to fight on if push comes to shove. Fighting for what’s fair shouldn’t have to end in bloodshed or everlasting war.

Ignorance is not bliss. Ignorance is the beginning of the end.

If I’ve not scared you off for good, I’ll see you next Tuesday.

Listen to Bad Religion!

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