Avoiding the Mainstream

Thursday 31st May 2012

 In the dream I’m rummaging through a case for some papers and a cassette, very impatient. The school is pretty much deserted. Damn the dream was so vivid at the time. I thought it had a strong narrative but it’s gone. And now it’s a waste of time. 

   Lying in bed dreading the prospect of physical exercise, but today’s the day I said I’d start and that’s what I’m going to do. It’s only six exercises and I’ll start off really light with ten reps of each. Shouldn’t take more than ten minutes: leg extensions, bicycles crunches, star press-up variations elbow to opposite knee crunches, bar bell bends and horizontal back-stretch leg-raisers.

   It rained last night and I have a feeling it’ll be pretty grim out there today. Will wait till evening to ride the bike

   Last night John Cooper Clarke in his tv documentary said he would never own a computer coz the internet would be too much of a distraction. I’ll just google that quote by Groucho Marx, and that clip from Withnail and I, or that rare demo by the Pistols – it’s something we do all the time. It is easy to just sit at the screen and let curiosity or greed suck you into a cyber playground of trivia and desire that you don’t really need to enter. And as the guy only records his poems on audio, he doesn’t even need to type them up. Imagine make your own handwritten chapbook, photocopy the pages and still be a published author, having never touched so much as a typewriter. That would be cool, especially if you’ve got distinctive handwriting and can embellish the pages with doodles or illustrations here and there. Wonder if I could get away with that some time. A reproduction handwritten manuscript book of short poems and journal pieces. The pages could be parchment and the cover hand-assembled collage or letraset. DIY. Photocopier and stapler. Anyway, just a thought. Suppose I better get up and weigh myself then attempt some form of physical exercise.

Friday 1st June 2012

Friday the first of June and it’s a grey tune from the dawn chorus ladies and gentleman it’s a grey tune. The blinds are down and it’s with a frown that we view the time piece strapped to our wrist, stinking from all that sweat, running on the treadmill of life, just wishing we could have a little more time. Even the luxury of self-employment in the arts can feel like an albatross or a straight jacket at times. The days all blend into one and the hours at the hard screen leave you spent and yearning for the easy stroll about town, sightseeing with the little scribbling block against the palm.

Taking in notes from the world at large. These days it’s more fucking admin than anything else. This writing from the early rise before we even see outside  creates it’s own sort of prison. Maybe we should change the system. Maybe we should set the pen and pad up in another room. Actually leave the bed and let the head spill its woes and wonders in another zone. Today is shake the dust week five. Another brief engagement. An hour with Kate and the Newton Aycliffe team till lunchtime then I don’t have another appointment until next Thursday evening’s Poetry Jam. I’m devoting the whole week to advancing my own manuscripts and memorizing some texts, submit to mags and read. Need some fiction hardwired to get me through Clayport library course.7.17 am.

LATER: Just coming to the end of possibly the most sustained piece of writing I’ve ever done. Been at the computer all evening from half six till half eleven doing a written response to interview questions for a magazine called Blue Eyes being put together by Katie Metcalfe. Nine questions, up to three hundred words an answer. The interview is based around Shades of Grey and my process as an author. It’s nearly done.

Went to Shake the Dust full of enthusiasm this morning but yet again time constraints cause frustration and make us doubt the process. Really hope we can pull something out the bag next Friday; we have a longer day with the 8-Team, five hours. And then pretty much the same amount of time on the Monday before the slam. But it means they’re expected to write and learn three poems in a week.

Really hungry. Have eaten pork pies, apple pastries, bacon mayonnaise sandwiches, oranges and bananas; drank  apple juice and Ribena. And now after an evening at the typer I’m hungry again. Given loads of info for Katie’s mag. Really want to get it finished and submitted asap – as in before tomorrow morning. 11.50 pm.

Saturday 2nd June 2012

Didn’t go to bed till quarter to three this morning and then tried to read for a while. Woke at eight and wrote some notes on Shake the Dust. Got an email from Katie Metcalfe thanking me for interview/essays I wrote up last night. Really pleased I did it, a good exercise in sustained prose. But have felt knackered for much of the day. Watched a documentary on TV Smith and The Adverts. Attila the Stockbroker was in it – he encouraged TV to do solo acoustic gigs. It’s that DIY ethic again. Rollins was in it. And Ian MacKaye. Three people who inspire me to keep thinking about the indy approach to life. Makes me think I should be doing my own book next year. Really fancy doing a handwritten one, but the next publication should be INK BOMB magazine. Going to start in on it after the Waddy courses are over.

Think Jenni is coming over later this evening. It’ll be the first weekend in ages that I haven’t left the house. It’s really fucking cold today. Won’t be riding bikes. Did abdominal exercises this morning. Watched a good Attila the Stockbroker interview on line, read a couple as well. Just seen a memoir blogspot post by Ettrick Scott. He has 350+ pages  set of vignettes on line. Intend to write my own book of memoirs – not the same as journal at all. But probs in a good few years. Lots of books to read as well. I can hear my tinnitus above the computer whirr. That’s pretty bad. House is very messy. I’ll do some washing up and and general clutter clearing over the next few days but right now just feel totally hammered. Played a few Nine Inch Nails tracks – covers of Queen’s ‘Get Down Make Love’ and Adam and the Ants’ ‘Physical’. There’s a whole album of Ants B-sides on Spotify. Think me and Jenni will watch  some films. Might have to put the heating on. It’s June, for fuck’s sake. Anyway, I’m done for today. Marking time, that’s all. 7.32 pm.

Sunday 3rd June 2012

Lazy Sunday watching trashy telly. Grey and blue and near rain and sunshine breaking through. Me and Jenni larked about and set the world to rights for a couple of hours. The Krays is on at ten. First saw that at Consett Empire in my teens. Steven Berkoff is in it. His book Diary of a Juvenile Delinquent is on the couch but I haven’t got round to reading it yet. This morning in bed I read a few more pages of Scornflakes by Attila the Stockbroker. Done very little  but eat and sleep today. Haven’t done anything at the computer and don’t intend to. Jenni is upstairs playing Scrabble. This is the first Sunday that I haven’t been at Jen’s house since Xmas.

Earlier we were talking about human greed. People earning more than they need. I’ve never given myself  a full forty hours minimum wage on a regular basis. I usually draw about a hundred from the bank. Thirty-five of that goes on public transport. I don’t have many extravagant tastes other than going to some music concerts that cost a bit – but otherwise what I spend on books and cds a month some would spend on a night on the booze. Jenni says I lack the solidarity to be a communist, but I’m certainly not a capitalist. Need to sort out poems for mags this week and have a look at the INK BOMB file. I’m pleased to have the day off though. 8.27pm. 

Monday 4th June 2012

Sometimes you see the world through dust-tinted spectacles. Sometimes, a walk down the street is enough to coat your lenses with enough filth to distort your view of life for good. Might make you think there’s no point trying to engage. Nothing to strive for. That you’re wasting your time looking for any kind of connection with your fellow man. Sometimes, you need someone to tell you that your lenses are dirty and although embarrassed by the fact you thank them, clean the lenses and a little bit of a eureka moment take place. It’s almost summer, there’s leaves on the trees, the pavements are dry and warm, the sun coats everything with a friendly glow. You don’t need to bury your woe under layer upon layer of black, topped off with an overcoat that has pockets filled with antisocial devices such as pens, notebooks, diaries and selfish philosophies. Sometimes it’s okay to relax into the day and just take everything as it comes. These are good times. When the wolf is away, you can laugh and joke and play. But it’s hard to sustain equilibrium. Coz it’s hard to earn a living being nice and breezy. Hard to make any headway in the shit economy of today.

Sometimes I think I’ll end up back in a factory. I wonder how long I’d last not being allowed to be one hundred percent obsessed with my own self-serving desires. Probably a week. I’ve tried it before and found that I don’t really belong out there in that world of orthodox living. I found a little niche for myself that kind of works alright most of the time. A mental breakdown pushed me beyond all the nine to five. Or rather, all that nine to five pushed me to a breakdown. It said: This is what a shit societal belief system does to free sprits; it crushes them. The free spirits try to fit in, to kerb their enthusiasm and desire for an alternative way of being but desire is too strong. It’s impossible to keep up the pretence and just go along with the mainstream. And the more resistance, the greater the pressure until something just snaps and it becomes glaringly evident that continuation in the ordinary humdrum world isn’t going to work. Something is gravely wrong when a person is sectioned under the mental health act due to pressure of a day job. What is there in a small town for someone who aspires to be an artist, a musician, a painter, a writer, an actor; what the fuck can they do when all that’s on offer is a bunch of factories, small business, supermarkets, pubs, taxi offices and fuck all else. You have to get out or get the message out. How do you get out with no resources. No money, no acquaintances in the same game? The picture has changed greatly since the late nineties. The internet is a wonderful tool for shut-ins like me who need to plot and scheme and rehearse their entire lives in order to break through the wall of apathy. Online, we can be whoever we want to be. Re-invent ourselves, present a version to the larger world and we are that revamped self. We short circuit the mundane and get to play our little games for the few who get it. 9.58 am.

LATER: Finished reading the story Graft by Steven Berkoff this morning. I want to read more by Adrian Mitchell.

Me and Jenni went into town this afternoon. In Lidl I observed my first unusual moment in a while. A tanned man in his late teens/early twenties with shoulder length shaggy hair and sporting a white Chas and Dave t-shirt. How retro is that?

Today is the second day I’ve abstained from logging onto Facebook or my email account. 7.20pm.