What about if I were to simply explode?
I don’t think one can argue with dramatics at a time like that.
Plus the mess I make post-pop could provide work for the workless (I will be swept and mopped), meat (a tad hairy) for the hungry (I’m looking at you, lucky vultures) and a reminder of me as I used to be; wet, showing too much flesh and gradually making my way down your wall.
I can only apologise for the mess. If offended; feel free to concern yourself with the less-fine cuts.
Fertiliser is fertiliser after all.
Apologies also for the windows; at least we have people to deal with that for us; window washers. I hope they’re trained to such a degree as limbs on the pane.
If it weren’t for window washers we’d have to go about that extraordinarily simply task all alone with a sponge.
“All alone with a sponge.”
Let these words haunt us like the remnants of me snail-pacing myself down your window.
A real curtain-shutter.
I don’t know about you guys but I want to stab and burrow the little dot of an exclamation mark deeply into the Earth before I depart.
“BOOM” suits me nicely.
Just to be clear here; I’m not advocating any terrorist activity.
Don’t do that.
It’s bad for your health and the economy.
In particularly, MY health and economy.
Don’t touch my economy.
Terrorism in the form of faux-martyrdom (annihilating oneself and as many as possible of the unsuspecting non-believers around you) is cowardice in its most vulgar and blatant guise.
Heroes also suffer the throws of slings and arrows whilst they burden the daily and die slowly in an effort to improve the world (though relative).
If destroying yourself and the lives of those you haven’t even spoken to is your best method; you should really get out of the world-changing game because you are woefully unarmed on a planet currently dealing in and thriving on words and ideas.
Courage is all the more essential in matters that are slow and are accordingly all the more un-noted.
Exploding yourself and killing others is capitulation to the rigours of a worthy fight.
Not to mention that you disembarking a few dozen/hundred/thousand folk from the planet’s surface really is testament to how petty you are.
If all I’d achieved in my life was the murder of others; I’d consider the life a wasted one. Fortunately and tragically never to return.
Blow yourself up; leave the world unchanged (though of course there is now one less cunt in it).
I’d rather be all alone with a sponge.
In the meanwhile; I believe I was talking about my own preferred means of departure.
REAL CLASS is lacing oneself with explosives, enjoying a final meal of rare steak and (please) no lit candles, before making my way out into the desert/mountain top/bridge of your own cute little boat (let’s keep it secluded, eh fellows?) and having a good long think.
Follow that think, whatever it might have consisted of, and push the button.
Probably the red one.
Exploding must be one hell of a sensation; though admittedly brief.
They say a head decapitated is still open to thought and sensation for several seconds.
Perhaps it is alike to the chicken running headless around the farmyard in what it hopes is the least axe-like direction.
Time to kill, post-suicide, eh?
If only my head remained; I think my options would become wonderfully limited and clear.
Can’t say “Ow” (though appropriate). Can’t sing (though appropriate; exploding really is breath taking). No final soliloquy.
Only one thing for it.
Give the sky a big kiss and continue rolling.
Mwah (you get one too).
It won’t change the world, but since it’s your life; do as you choose with it.
Plus; worms need grub too.
Bugger off in the style you deem most appropriate.
That’s what I’d like to do.
That’s how I’d like to go.
I would, of course, fiercely recommend living that life first.
It is ever-so-somewhat the point.
(PS. I likely have much more to say on the variety of topics covered here; I’ll get to them at some point. Probably not sponges and window washers though; I don’t know how they happened.)
By all means, avoid the blue ball.
Glasses will smash, noses will be blooded, and conversations will be rudely interrupted, all on account of the blue ball not actually being there whilst you swipe full-force at it.
The red, yellow and white however- they’re you’re business. Like the colours of the flag of pool (we’re going to need one of those).
First things first, you need to step back, then forward again so as to assault the table in every sense of the word. Whether or not people are watching you- either they’ll remember you, or the table sure as hell will.
Then we’ll leave you alone, once we’ve dragged you away from the green and that’ll be that for a while.
You’re a good person now, so just give yourself five minutes to enjoy that feeling and then breathe deeply once and make your way back inside.
Although fact that the table is inside is part of the problem.
Naturally- you’re drinking throughout your pool performance. The violence is natural, the pool is natural and the drink is natural- all you need now are some natural surroundings, so a nice meadow in which to enjoy a game of pool is increasingly important now. Have yourself a pool table, and stick a meadow underneath it.
The reason for the act of violence being natural is that it’s svelte, not the violence, the pool table. The violence is not so much svelte as much as it is loud and eventually leaky.
We rarely encounter that which is svelte in our day to day lives. Apart from babies- they’re fairly svelte, but they haven’t got the arrogance of a pool table. If violence feels svelte to you- then you must’ve been practising.
A pool table will stand there as though it’s clever to have four legs and no skirt on, arrogant and obviously pompous- because somehow it’s winning without playing, whilst also swallowing my balls and not giving them back. It only gives the white ball back, but only so that you can prolong your own agony as you don’t succeed in potting the correct ball and wishing that the blue ball was real.
The house always wins, but you can change the interior before you are made to leave. This doesn’t mean that you should wallpaper the walls, but it does mean that you should take some wallpaper home with you, and perhaps a couple of bricks. The same method applies to pool. Make sure that this cheeky table remembers you- you’re going to lose but leave it a pretty little scar.
That is good pool. Though it may well sour relations with the next player who might well, and justly so, enquire as to why their pool table is scarred and why you have a mouthful of wallpaper. You’re appropriate response is: “Go and do likewise fella, now excuse me…I have a need to flee”.
So the violence is natural.
The pool is natural too, and ties in very smoothly with the naturalness of the drinking.
Drinking is natural owing to the fact that…here it is! Nature is a matter of opinion, with “death by natural causes” being the most debateable.
If I’m eaten by a mountain lion (fine- as long as I truly deserve it) then there really is little more-natural a death to be had by this talkative ape here. But, the police, and hopefully my family, would freak out at the fact that technically I died from being chewed. For some mountain-born kid in the…mountains…it’s likely that being eaten by a mountain lion is comparable for him to a kid in New York dying from being hit by a car. Tragic, and it doesn’t happen to everyone (someone has to be the driver), but- it’s not unnatural. Maybe what’s natural is what’s common in your habitat.
Drinking is happening all around; my town has a raging alcohol and budding weed problem. So it’s natural.
I believe that we have an urge to flaunt the mind’s capabilities when we are drinking, and so either some strong conversation, testy little quiz or a bit of hand-eye co-ordination is what we need at the time of the consumption of alcohol. This is why darts boards, quiz machines and pool tables are found in bars and pubs.
Conversations can also be found here, although they tend to be free of charge. Maybe they won’t be for long, as good conversation can be hard to find and lonely people are plentiful- a very valuable resource for those that sell things in the place of a social life. ‘Whoring your vocal chords’ is how it must be put, since ‘whoring your mouth’ is rather more misleading and much more popular.
All in all, to ensure you’re playing pool as if you’re a good person; be sure to leave the pool hall a little different to how it was when you arrived. Preferably with other people leaving their mouths open as they watch you waddle out with in a funny fashion because you groined the table in a moment of 17 century sexuality- in which you became so aroused by the sight of naked table legs that you grabbed a leg and beat it with it, whilst also beating, with the aforementioned leg,…off.
But how does this relate to you being a good person?
Well, aside from doing what is natural (apologies for not being able to find an alternative word for ‘natural’), you are making a difference.
Change is good, whilst change is also bad, eventually in a good way. If it hadn’t been for the horrors of the holocaust, then the best of human nature would not have been displayed, nor would we have the option to generally be against the holocausts- a cause most aggressively espoused by more good people than bad. So, as an aside, if you want to play pool as if you’re a good person, then play it whilst also being against the holocaust.
Make change of the world’s arse (GHETTO LANGUAGE USED IN WIT- THANKS FOR READING), and then things will be continuing exactly as it always has- constantly changing, hopefully evolving, possibly just changing- lacking a point for which to do so being the reason for it being so.
Sudden and shocking action, unto a room unexpecting it, is a favour to all. Particularly if you don’t know any of them as it is the finest of conversation starters.
Think of it as a social call to those few others that might be there want to contribute to the sudden action. Having a point to the action, let us call it…’momentum’…is something that might matter, as opposed to most things that happen, and do not matter.
Play pool as a good person by making a difference; any way you choose, but I recommend the sudden and shocking method as a call out to the people that might also want to leave the room, which is temporarily the world, a little different from how it was when you first arrived.
That’s about it. The ethos of ‘make change’ prevails above most others- even the one about helping old ladies cross the street- and change is natural, change is good.
You are natural; you are good.
When you love something immensely, you put it on your head.
I do at least.
In a manner of sheer ape-ish enthusiasm, the object of my delight is on my head and I am proceeding about my day. I do it in the bakery all the time (bagels).
I don’t seem to be able to help it. When entranced by an object, I have it as close to my head as I can whilst trying to keep the situation from getting messy, whilst also enjoying it when the messiness comes to a head…my head.
So I wear it upon my head, like a King wears his crown out of either love for the power or love for the duty. Or perhaps just the love of looking lovely in a crown.
Things I have put on my head owing to enthusiasm.
Buckets are an obvious example I’m sure we can all relate to, and this is probably owing to the fact that we get so content with a bucket around. A bucket- the archetypal vessel- has never been able to be replaced, and so in the presence of such perfection- we are happy, and we put it on our head.
You can’t beat a nice, warm bucket on a Saturday afternoon in the summer time.
In my opinion, seeing as how harsh the world is going to become in terms of surviving the future…buckets are going to become more in vogue than fucking, and that’s been popular since before there was a word for it.
So we put it on our heads (both buckets and fucking)
Why on our head?
Because it is notable about us- what we wear upon our head is an obvious statement of what we regard as important at the time of being viewed. Such as the king’s crown, such as when I am jubilant about apples (I also wear apples…because I’m really, really happy about them).
It is as if we are stating: “Yes- it certainly is on my head, just as it deserves to be. What are you going to do about it?”
I left the previous many paragraphs for about two weeks. This was owing to drunkenness. Not from being drunk for two weeks, which is beside the point, but because when I was writing last- I was somewhat hammered. Which did not help. Which is a shame because at the time it felt like it did
I was waiting for something to say, but now I know I shouldn’t wait. Nor should you.
I swear that sometimes you just need something to say and that you shouldn’t pussy around with the intimidation of the blank page and the feeling that “I can only write when it comes naturally”. Force those words and then you’ll be able to do whatever you want with that once blank page.
So that’s the situation. Write whatever you feel like and if a point comes out of it then that can turn out to be the good reason for it. Other than that- just continue doing things to keep that page from being blank. I mean- I started out talking about hats for fuck sake, and now here I am giving the down-low on writing ethics.
It’s not just about writing, as the philosophy translates easily to leaving your front door.
I caught a frog within seconds of leaving my front door three days ago, the broken toe I temporarily had was all forgotten for the moment, and the wish to only capitalise on the moment being lived was all that existed, aside from the frog.
It took a moment to pick it up, but other than that it was docile as toast.
What do you mean by that Sam?
Well, thanks for asking and let me get right down the brass tacks of answering your question.
‘Docile as toast’, which I have referred to this frog repeatedly as, is a nod towards the fact that the sheer amount of resistance the frog put up against my ‘carpe diem’ sensibilities of the moment was the act of being apparently buttery and falling.
Which is what toast does. It can be vaguely slippery and fall.
And then when it falls, it lands, and typically it simply remains. Which is what the frog did.
I couldn’t really call it a ‘get away’.
And so the simile works.
‘Docile as toast’- use it.
But I still had to repeat and utter and acknowledge and repeat the fact to the people that I encountered that day that I had caught a frog and that it was docile as toast.
The brilliance of the situation, the entire surge of the ‘carpe diem’ momentum that had willed me palm-wise towards a frog seemed lost on them, as was the simile- which I still maintain is worth anyone’s time.
To share the victory (called as such because I realised that technically I hadn’t lost anything) was a fubar point to these people.
I had to carry the joy that was temporary with me so as to make it from my front door of that morning until the next victory occurred.
Sometimes, that has to happen.
No one else ‘gets’ the joy, and so you have to be a little more joyous- not that you should keep smiling too much otherwise it will ruin everything you. Looking like a psycho only works is a few stabby little circles.
To re-iterate though, you should not forget that when you were putting that frog on your head because you were happy about it- it was more than an act of doing what you wanted with the blank page of your day- it was an act that might have led to a good reason.
Your ‘good reason’, your ‘point’, is our own meaning of life, and it is only likely to happen when you push and smile.
Do whatever you want to that blank page, discover if a ‘good reason’ happens afterwards and then put the consequences on your head because you love it. And keep pushing and smiling, but don’t smile too much.
If you want…
So, that’s where you get to with a blank page that you bully into being whatever you want, then talk about the importance of putting that pride and joy on your head, followed finally by saying you should apply this to your waking life as well. You get a blog, and you get that blog because you weren’t being a pussy.
Here’s another point, applicable to some other subject if not this one…I like the wording of it though- I might use it next time:
Sons and daughters of the land, throughout your lives, every proud moment of yours that your parents have rejoiced in, your mother has deep-down experienced the ultimate ‘emotion’ of “my-fanny-did-that”. Well done her.
That’s it- I found my good reason…I might print this and put it on my head. I hope you find your good reason too.
Don’t be a pussy with a blank page.