Tuesday, February 27, 2007

Trip Mckenzie and the in five minutes.

Hell yeah, that title makes no sense.

Only got five minutes to write this. don't even know what I'm going to write yet.
ISS on the screen. Shouting for the Bream.
Substance abuse running through my veins, if the right girl had just said lets get some drugs you know I would.
Or not, something to think about.
Or not, who needs to think. Not enough time, only got five minutes then I'm back on.

Talk about matters of the heart, spirit of life, dance, rhythm and no blues. Pretty good huh, a whole night without any blues. If you could have that maybe once a week then you would have something. Or maybe not. I mean just because you don't have something negative does not mean that you have anything to fill the space.

What a way to live a life.
Add up the minutes hours seconds years draw up a chart find something to fill every second hour minutes year and day. Pick your experiences and then fill your life.
What a way.

Not for me though. That kind of organisation is for squares and I'll be damned if I'm one of them.

Running out of time, I only had five minutes for this, not enough time for thought. Thought gets too much attention anyway, what about instinct. So what we share instinct with the animals, ever watched a jaguar fight an anaconda? Ever seen a whale hanging around in the National Geographic? Or seen a Polar Bear gut a walrus?
They all live on instinct. Seems like a pretty good way to live.

Five minutes, instinct alone. What I would do if there was an opportunity to act on my instinct right now. Guess I'm not gonna do it though, no opportunity you see. Just gonna write this. And what is it?

Nothing. That's what.
But there ain't nothing wrong with nothing. Way I see it.

Wednesday, February 21, 2007

Trip Mckenzie and the short climb left.

My god this process of getting my damned thesis ready for submission is tiring. With each big step that I take it seems that a thousand tiny ones take its place. The distance keeps getting smaller yet at the same time it seems to break down into infinitesimally many points. Certainly I will have finished by the week, but so long has it been in getting to this point that I can in no way comprehend the end; so it is that each of these tiny hurdles seem like a mountain left in my path.

Ah, but I only have to remember that the view from a mountain top is the most breathtaking of all. I shall not get disheartened as I come to the summit; I shall see myself again at the top of the world.

Sunday, February 18, 2007

This place is pretty spooky; empty like this.

Lights, caravans and tents of joy. At night they are all empty, lifeless and desolate.

The lights are up anyway though, just for us. Tell me that ain't just a bit spooky?

There's a church in a sepia graveyard. Outside the church is a plasticine tree, like a monster out of an old Ray Harryhausen movie. Maybe some nights it comes alive, stop motion, unnatural, unnerving. Jerkily moving from grave to grave, drawing amputated stumps of arms across the stones. Lovingly, despite the clumsiness. It checks its wards, ensures that their rest is ever peaceful. If it does though it is missing the tragedy, they were all gone long ago.

Come on. I want to get out of this place. It feels like a million eyes on me. All looking right inside me. Can't we get out of here, I want to get out of here.

Don't you feel like that? How long have I felt like its time to get out of here. How many places have I felt like that. Yeah, this place is spooky. It's nothing new though is it? A circle of light, an infinite darkness outside the light. Nothing in the circle but yourself and you just want to get out. Go some place else, find something else, someone else, a world which extends past the horizon. Even to the horizon would be something.

Yeah this place ain't nothing new. Really its the same as every other place I ever am, every place I have ever been.

Maybe its not the place huh?

C'mon, let's get out of here man.

The only residents left in this sepia city are much more diminuitive than the tree's wards. There are millions of them occupying this place. Opportunists, stow-aways, plague-carriers, people of Apollo. Take your pick, they fit all of them well. Their empire extends around the world, but rarely do you spot them. In the graveyard though they live free. The ancient guardian, so protective of its domain remains ignorant of the blight beneath its feet. His old eyes are poor these days, his ears are gone, he cannot hear their scratch or their scurry, he cannot see their burrows and their holes. But I saw, saw them run across the grass, carefree and careless. Saw them run across the grass, under the tree, into the bushes, into their burrows. What we discard they take as home, what we bury, they feed. A city of bones a city of rats. A sad old tree, all alone.

You were right.

What about?

Let's just get out of here.

That's what I've been saying.

I know, let's get out of here.

How come? What was in there.

You were right?

What about?

Let's get out of here.

How come? What did you see.

Nothing. Let's get out of here.

How come. What happened.

You were right. They saw me.

Who saw you?

You were right.

What about?

A million eyes. A host of eyes. A city of eyes.

Let's get out of here.


Where we gonna go?

I don't know. All I can see is the dark.

Friday, February 16, 2007

Trip Mckenzie and the bus of the night.

Hell yeah, this is gonna be great. Write something inspired and imaginative and dream-laden based upon such a mundane experience as taking the night bus home after a dull night out.

(let's not even get into the fact that a night which ends at 1.30 is hardly a night out. I should hardly even be out by that time.)

It maybe a mundane experience, the theory goes, but it is still an experience. There will be people on the bus, all kinds of people, who have had all kinds of adventures, all kinds of stories to tell. I can just look at those people and imagine what paths they have trodden to sit on that bus with me. What paths they will tread once they alight at their chosen destination. God isn't this actually really exciting? Something which seemed so mundane at first glance, but with a little thought we realise what amazing potential it has. What possibilities!

Not only could we imagine the lives of these nightlife explorers, but we can imagine ourselves interacting with those lives. Becoming entwined in the personal and infinite stories of our fellow night bus travellers. My god is that not exciting fuel for the mind? A million stories for each person and we could be a part of any of them. Imagination or reality, either one is a thrilling concept isn't it!

Standing at the bus stop, only ten minutes till this smorgasbord of experiences arrives. I can't even contain the excitement, so I waste five minutes finding a secluded spot to relieve the excitement.

Something seems wrong though. The bus is only two minutes away. So where are all the people?

There is a greasy fat kid, his greasy ugly friend and, I don't know, someone else, pretty sure there are three people but my mind shut down before I could even come up with a description of the third. It's not like my descriptions of the first two were that inspired either.

What is going on? This certainly does not seem like an imagination on fire. Creativity let loose, fanned, stoked, poked and fed until it runs wild and consumes all around it. This seems more like... wait for it... wait... this seems more like...

A really mundane bus trip back home after a dull night out that finished at the, so early it's not even disappointing, time of 1.30 with the accompanient of noone more inspiring than a greasy stupid looking teenager and his friend.

Well good god if that was not a disappointment.

Thursday, February 15, 2007

Trip Mckenzie and the whispering canyon.

Godamned those walls are high. Walls? Or are they cliffs? Or sides, maybe a canyon has sides.

Whatever the answer, godamned those things are high.

There is hardly any light down here on the canyon floor. I can't even see my... wait, my mistake, two feet right there. Same place as usual, end of my leg.

So ok, it isn't that dark. I can see my feet, my hands, even my nose. But still, pretty dark down here. Dark enough for me to comment on how dark it is at least.

Plenty light up there, above the canyon. Sun is out, looks like a good day. Actually, its probably more hellishly hot than pleasant. I am in the desert right. Or under it. In a canyon.

God. Why the hell I am at the bottom of an impossibly deep, reasonably dark canyon, all on my own. What possible purpose is being served by my being here.

Have I mentioned how cold it is down here. I shouldn't be surprised really, the canyon is on a glacier afterall. More of a ravine than a canyon if I am totally honest. Sorry did I say that I am in a desert. I meant an ice field. Which would mean that its not going to be hellishly hot up there at the top of this hole. It still won't be good weather though, just cold. Hel-ishly cold at that.

Hey, where did my nose go. Dammit. Now it really is dark. The sun just disappeared too. Went down pretty fast. How long have I been here anyway? Ah well, there are stars now. The stars are so much prettier than the sun anyway. Well, even though the sun is a star. Ok, so its a matter of perspective then, but from this perspective at least the sun is not as pretty as the other stars. Too damned big. And hot looking. Gold vs. silver. I always preferred silver, it speaks of night-time, loneliness, endless space, void. Gold is too warm. Who has time for warmth at the bottom of a godforsaken canyon. Ravine.

Still I'm sure the sun is just as pretty from the perspective of another star system. Maybe its even the prettiest damned star out there. Wouldn't that be something.

Did I tell you that this canyon has been whispering to me. For quite a while now, at least as long as I can remember. Which is... well I don't really know how long that is. Kind of hard to measure time when nothing happens. I suppose I could use the sun and the stars to mark time, but I seem to be too absent-minded for that. I keep getting distracted by these whispering walls. Really high whispering walls.

Not that I could tell you what they have been whispering to me. I have not been able to make out the words yet. Quite possibly it is in a language I don't understand. Odds are that it would be, can't expect all mystical canyons to speak english now can we. Especially the ones which are not in England.

Although I'm not sure if this one is outside of England. I suppose the answer to that would be pretty obvious if I could remember how I came to be in this abyss. But I can't. I couldn't even say with too much conviction that I have ever not been here.

There is that whispering again. Like I say, I can't make out the words. It is definitely speech though, it has that unmistakeable rhythm to it. Definitely, this canyon has been trying to speak to me for a good while now.

Man, it must be getting pretty annoyed by now. Waiting for the stupid human to understand its words. I guess it has plenty of time on its hands though. Longer than I have anyway.

I wonder which will come first, understanding or death?

Maybe I can't die here though. That would be pretty nice. Certainly been stucking in a canyon forever doesn't sound that great, but I bet if I can make out what these walls are saying to me it will be worth it.

I'm gonna be quiet now. See if I can pick out a word of too. The canyon is whispering to me again.